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cas-backwards-tie · 8 months

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Chapter One: Hesitations Downfallen

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

The Family Name

Summary: Stuck in traffic in an overheated car with your fellow camp counselors, you're left with a decision that could buy you more time to chill before the kids arrive at camp, or that'll lead to a major scolding from the Head Counselor.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Impulsive Behavior, Peer Pressure, Racism (if you squint), Assault,

A/N: This is something that's... so random for me, personally, to write. I think it's because I'd been following the beta'ing of TCM game and then watching as it released. So we can thank Delirious for this! Considering this is also out of my usual element, I think it'd be fun to experiment with and write something a little more gruesome, unruly, and dark.

It felt like it went on forever, the endless highway turning into road as you lean your head against the window. “I don’t know why they chose to go this way when there’s a fucking downed bridge! If they just followed the map they’d see it’s much quicker if we hopped off and got back on at the Two-Ninety Junction.”

Eyes shifting to the two yellow buses leading your caravan down to Pedernales State Park, you let your attention flicker back out your window onto the grassy plains that seem to stretch on into the distance. Trees sporadically line the walls of fence that edge the highway, roofs of houses now having lessened in number now that you've passed Austin. The plush green and cream-colored grass swaying in the wind is relaxing juxtaposed to the stagnant piled-up highway that’s been directly in front of the car for the past forty minutes.

“Guess someone didn’t read the papers this morning-“ Connie says, “or they were just too lazy to reroute the trip.” The comment elicits a laugh from the group of friends and colleagues you’d been pushed to travel with. As one of the returning counselors this summer at Camp Cherry Springs, there’d been an initiative to get to know the new recruits that had the pleasure of joining you and the more experienced counselors— Connie, Sonny, Leland, Julie, and Ana—in the cars while the ones who’d taken the short straws wound up joining the kids on the buses for the three-hour drive.

With a jerky stop-and-go, cars begin moving ever so slowly. "There's an opening, Lee!" Julie exclaims with a little bounce in her seat as she points out a dodgy game of cutting people off to get to the nearest exit on the highway. Sonny groans in his seat, sitting back against the sticky warm fabric of the car. He fans himself with one hand as you've all been trapped in the car without air conditioning for the past twenty minutes. The engine had started to compensate when it'd begun to overheat.

"Let's just get on with it! If we can get off, find a bathroom, and maybe get something to drink before getting back on the road and still beating them to camp, then I'm in," Sonny concedes. Ana looks between you and Sonny in the backseat, questioning whether she should encourage Julie and Leland's impulsive behavior or stay with the caravan, as directed by the Head Counselor: AKA the Boss.

"Mm, if Sonny's in then I gotta say go for it! What about you?" Ana turns her attention to you for a moment before eyeing Connie in the back. "Connie?"

"Hit the pedal, Lee!" Connie encourages. With the exit just feet away, Leland turns on his turn signal, giving scarce warning before turning the wheel and cutting across three lanes of traffic to get off the highway. The line at the light is still fairly long, but not nearly as horrifying as the seemingly neverending stall of traffic on the highway. Soon enough the street light turns green and you're able to cut a right turn and head down Julie's supposed shortcut.

With a fifteen-minute ride down a local highway, you wind up eventually taking a left, and then a right, and now the town's shops and homes start to turn into barns and acres of farmland. You don't mind, however, the cows, horses, and occasional sheep are a nice welcome compared to the previous mechanic purgatory everyone seemed to be suffering in considering the air-conditioning had stalled. Now, however, the air is back on, though it's not needed. The sun has passed its peak, windows are down, and cool air is freely flowing through the windows of the car, creating a vacuum of pleasant and exhilarating wind.

The thump of the bass of the music playing on the classic hits channel is something you could easily find yourself bopping to, glad your friends had taken that chance. Hand out the window, you watch as it dances in the wind, making shapes with your fingers and letting the wind drift around it. Sipping on the slushie you got back at the Quik-Trip you'd stopped at a few miles back, you let yourself hum in delight at the cool sugary sweet taste. Ana passes over the corn chips and you pop a few into your mouth, crunching away, a blissful contrast of sweet and salty coating your tongue.

No longer antsy and intent on getting to camp as quickly as humanly possible, you can easily see on the clock that you're well ahead of schedule. Once again you've found yourself admiring the scenery, farmland occasionally now interspersed with factories and a ghost town or two. While not uncommon in this area, you find it intriguing to imagine what the towns must've once been like. Surely, someone at some point built the place and was intent to live there. So what was their story? Distracted and lost in thought, you hardly tune in when Sonny speaks up. It's only when Leland repeats what the former must've said that you realize it's more pertinent than you'd thought.

"Bathroom? Good luck finding one out here, bud!" Leland laughs, shaking his head. "Just go in the cup and chuck it out the window."

"I've... actually gotta go too," you speak up hesitantly. Leland's current attitude toward Sonny isn't the nicest, and while you know that Sonny's the odd one out, you can't help but feel compassion for him. The man releases a quiet groan, fingers tapping against the side of the driver's door as he thinks.

"Well, if you see anywhere we can actually stop, then say somethin'!"

Though you'd needed to pee about ten minutes ago, the urge increases, and you all are running out of stops. "Good Barbecue Ahead!" Ana reads a sign as you pass it on a side road. Though some of the places you've been passing have become more sparse and give an eerie sense of de trop. "Maybe they'll have a bathroom there?" She proposes.

"Good idea," Connie compliments, hands resting on the back of your guys' seat. "Plus we could grab another couple snacks if need be."

Focused on the bouncing of your leg, you try to keep calm. You hadn't thought things through before getting a big slushie at the convenience station back there. Luckily, your friends had your back.

As trees pass and the grassy plains start to look a little more habitable, more wildlife emerging, you know you're getting close. "There it is! Pull over, Leland," Julie commands. Knowing Leland, he'd joke, drive past, and then turn around only to go in. Or make Sonny just go in the cup if you hadn't needed to go. A cruel joke, boys being boys, they'd argue.

As the car comes to a stop, Leland decides he'll top off the gas. Sonny races for the bathroom. Ana debates staying in the car while Connie decides to see what barbecue they have. Of course, you follow after Sonny.

Quick Soda. The name of the service station. Underneath the red Coca-Cola-resembling sign lies another one in darker red reading: We Slaughter BARBECUE. The presentation is nice. Pushing the slated swing doors open, you see a bar to your right while a counter lies on your left. Connie inspects whatever's inside the counter's display case, while Ana seemingly decided to join and look at the little gift shop trinkets. "Can I help you?" A sweet and drawn-out voice causes your attention to drift over to the far right where an older lady stands behind a cashier's stand. You hadn't noticed it at first.

"Oh! Hello- Hi- Yes. Do... you guys have a bathroom by chance, Miss?" You ask. While she'd caught you off-guard, you still want to be polite. Even if the need to pee is becoming increasingly more urgent.

"Same as I told that boy. It's 'round back. Got signs on 'em. One for the men, one for the women... 's open." With an unaffected face, she seems ready to end the conversation before sticking her hand out a little for your attention just as you'd turned. "Tell yer frien' to slow down, why don'tcha?" She chuckles.

"Will do, Ma'am. Thank you," you retort, offering a playful smile and nod before heading back outside and around the back.

While the front may have been trim and proper, the further back you go, the less unruly the grass gets. The outhouse looks fine enough, even if it's a little shabby. Luckily, it's only this once. Well... until you get to camp. But it isn't anything unfazing. Country life is different, after all! There's a long white fence out back behind everything, some boards broken, though overall a nice picture of the country as farmland spans on for miles behind it. A few trees scatter the edge of the property, some wildflowers poking out of bushes and the tall grass.

In the outhouse, it doesn't take long for you to... take care of business. Fortunately, there was toilet paper, even if it was one-ply and not the best, you made do. After all, you're sure the shopkeepers are doing what they can and so far their business strikes you as impressive for what you'd seen of the town so far on the way here. That being, there wasn't much of one, really. Though people out here are probably used to a longer commute, you figure. Upon exiting the outhouse you hear a whimpering that catches your attention, worry emerging.

Interest piqued, you walk over to the source of the noises coming from a spot directly behind the wooden building by the fence. After a moment of pulling the tall grass back, you find your lips parting as a silent cry lingers in your throat.

--------

Like an angel surrounded by white and pink, the color of all things lovely, there's an innate femininity in the way she holds herself. Perhaps it was the jewelry adorning her earlobes, neck, and fingers, or the way her face was painted that day... yet ultimately it was a sight to behold there in the flesh. A swish of her long locks over her shoulders to gracefully tumble down her back, her eyes set upon him.

Lips parting in surprise and shock at the unexpected sight, astonishment is the only word that comes to mind. It's the one that made her hesitate momentarily as she took in his soft-looking curly locks and the intense set of eyes drawing her to the giant before her.

Only a matter of a yard and a half stood between them, yet it didn't take long for reality to set back in. With determined, purposeful long strides, he attempts to close the distance before she even thinks to run. The woman whips her head back toward whatever she'd been looking at before meeting his eye once more.

Putting her hands up in a silent command, she makes a pushing movement twice, a telltale sign for him to 'stop' or 'wait'. He knows that much. Repeating her earlier movement of gauging something in the grass beside her, beautiful light eyes find dark ones again. The man hadn't slowed down from her perception, yet he'd been taken aback for a split-second, causing him to second-guess his familial orders. Finger raised to her lips, she commands him again. It flicks downward till she's pointing at the shielded spot. Whatever lie in the grass, it's not visible to him from the few feet still lingering between them. Her vision shifts again, yet once they meet his, it's over.

Another surprise, a fortuitous omen, perhaps, if one believed in such things. An unforeseen exchange, something he never would have predicted upon waking this morning; a smile graces her lips. Teeth peek out from behind her rosy lips as her hands curl up in front of her, beckoning him over with a tacit motion. Upon first glance, he could admit to himself that his reaction was not one he anticipated, personally. Though the signs and motions elicit a curiosity that one cannot deny has its clutch on humanity. Especially those that are sheltered from much of life's offerings. It doesn't even feel like a decision; at least, not a conscious one, at that. Thomas slows his pace down to a quiet, normal approach. While the woman may not know that her implicit request was unnecessary, being there no current reason to speak, he follows suit, nonetheless.

"Look!" She quietly calls, voice traveling the short distance between them now as he bends her knees slightly, vision returning to that patch of grass once more. "Look."

While it may annoy him to no end that whatever it is certainly has more intrigue than him, the excitement that fills him in anticipation is exhilarating. There's a fear too, no doubt, a worry that she will make a break and run for it once he finally gets close enough. However, the kind regard has left him feeling a multitude of emotions he can't begin to comprehend, nor analyze at this moment in time.

As the giant of a man slowly gets within reaching distance, she points out the object of her focus in hopes of sharing a fond memory with someone. None of her friends had come in search of her, and while the saying of 'stranger danger' is by no means simply a children's tale, she's found there tend to be many more friends than foes in the world. "Look at how cute," she whispers, the smile never leaving her lips as she shifts her vision between the giant and the sight. Within the tall green grass sat behind the rest stop's main building there the woman had heard a quiet 'chittering' upon exiting the outhouse. Being one of a curious nature, she found that in a divet where the grass has clearly been passed over many times, there was an open bundle of kindling, soft fur, twigs, and grass all twined together. That, though, had not been the cause of her smile. Inside, a nest of baby bunnies were wiggling and squirming about as a way of seeking each other and their warmth out.

Hands on her knees, the woman finally looks back at him, this time with a concerned look in her eyes. "Do you think their mom abandoned them?" Thomas' eyes finally detach from the adorable sight before them. He wants to tell her that 'No. It's unlikely,' yet he can't bring himself to. She shakes her head, a smile reappearing on her face once more as her attention returns to the sight before them. "What am I saying? Of course not. She's probably out getting food for them or something. They're fine." Watching the woman straighten her posture, he does the same, however, he still overwhelms her stature by easily over a foot and a half if not more.

A little daunted by his stature, she continues to smile through the uncomfortability of being so close to a stranger, a man, at that. "Right?" She asks, attempting to break the silence between them as he still hasn't said anything. He hadn't even commented on how cute the baby bunnies were! Their fluffy little bodies and tiny ears still pressed to the napes of their necks, eyes not yet opened. Watching him slowly nod his head, eyes having never left hers once they'd both come to a stand, she's finally relieved that she's not talking to a wall. Just as she searches his eyes and goes to say goodbye, he quickly brings his intertwined hands down upon her head. There's a feeling of falling, and then... blackness.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

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ozma914 · 11 months

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Finding The Cure for Chicago traffic

Seven years ago, I swore I would never, EVER drive in Chicago again.

Last Saturday, we drove to Chicago. Again.

It was for the same reason as last time, to see The Cure in concert. The Cure's music is ... well ... it's been called post-punk, gothic rock, new wave, and alternative. Robert Smith has fronted the band since the late 70s, so I assume it wasn't all that at the same time. Oddly, while I don't care for those types of music, I actually like The Cure. Not the way Emily does. Not "we have to go to Chicago to see them play". No, sir. But I love my wife, and proved yet again that I'm willing to put my life on the line for her.

The venue was different from last time, giving me the hope it wouldn't be as far into the city.

It wasn't as close. It was closer. We actually drove between the skyscrapers at one point. We experienced our version of "The Suicide Squad".

The place is called The United Center. As I understand it, some sports-ball team plays in it when concert season is over. The Bills, or the Bulls, or the Boobs, something like that.

We got the nosebleed seats, but I didn't realize how literal that was. Our seats were in the very last row of a stadium that seats 23,500 people (sold out), and to get there we had to buy rock climbing equipment and hire a sherpa. It never occured to me that anyone would put in sections so steep that your toes are at the level of the next fan's head, which I'm sure has caused a fight or two. The place had to have been built in the 50s--no way would authorities allow such a fall risk these days. If I'd slipped on the top step, I'd have kept tumbling until I bowled over the drummer.

(I checked: It opened in 1994. They probably had some celebratory hang gliders launch from our position that day.)

And the band? Well, the band was great, but I wish I'd brought my telescope. They looked like little Polly Pockets, if you remember those. Kind of micro-dolls. There were two big TV monitors beside the stage, but we could barely see those either, especially once the questionable smoke started to rise from the audience.

As you can see from the above photo, we actually had a seat right in the center. Cool, right? The crowd is shining their cell phones to bring the band back for an encore. I don't know what encores are in other places, but this was more like the halftime show.

The Cure started a little late, and after that "encore" we walked out to the parking lot, got in the car, and ... sat there. Driving to the venue had been a lot like the asteroid field in "Star Wars V: Crazy Drivers Strike Back". So we decided to let things clear a little, and the more we thought about it, the more we let things clear.

We were, in fact, the last car through the exit gate. On purpose.

Surely, by well after midnight, both the concert crowd and regular traffic would have regained some measure of sanity, right? RIGHT?

Chicago driver are insane.

Not "bad". In fact, many of them are quite good in a NASCAR kind of a way. Sure, they may arrive with their cars covered in dents and scratches and pedestrians, at a speed that nets them a good 9 mpg gas mileage, but they'll get there fast.

Base, drums, amplifiers ... much calmer.

I had to drive 15 mph over the speed limit just to keep from being rear-ended. Even then, every few minutes something would streak around us like an F-15 doing a flyover. Then it would veer across three lanes, pass someone else, and dive back across the same three lanes without ever touching the brakes.

In heavy traffic. Well, it probably didn't seem heavy to them.

I'd like to speak specifically to everyone in the Chicago area who drives a Dodge Challenger. We saw the rear-end of several, because despite my instincts, I had to keep my eyes open. You people, you're crazy. Nuts. Looney-tunes. The fact that any of you survive is proof of guardian angels.

Typical Chicago Driver Enjoying the Mayhem.

As for us, there were only a few times when I had to stand on the brakes and swerve into another lane. Emily may have screamed, I don't know. I did. The rest of the time my death grip stayed on the steering wheel, my head on a swivel, and my stomach in my mouth.

We got home around 4 a.m., and after we stopped shaking slept most of the day. Then we woke up with a concert hangover. That's a real thing.

Then, the next day, Monday, my muscles remembered they'd spent six hours so tense you could bounce a quarter off them. Not to mention the three hours in the stadium seats, which were actually comfortable for the first hour. (Yeah, my ears popped on the way up, but nobody dropped a car on me.) Ironically, after all that sitting over the weekend, on Monday I couldn't get off the couch.

I'm glad Emily got to see her favorite band, and I'll take her again--if they ever come to Albion.

http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Remember whenever you don't buy a book, another driver is born in Chicago. Oh, the humanity!

#humor #driving #chicago #the cure #robert smith #reckless driving #concerts

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

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C A L L M E C A T, chapter nine

January 2017

We had time off near the holidays, space for all of us was good. The rush of our record deal and newfound fame was suffocating in moments, exhilarating in others.

Niall journeyed back to Ireland and Miles back up north to Massachusetts. Jules’ parents were only in Connecticut, and Harry had already made the trip back to the UK to see his family.

By the time the New Year came, I was sick of being in Florida with no friends and minimal interaction from my parents. Our last night together as a band was the night of my drunken exit, something that we all knew was awkward and tense but didn’t dare to mention the next morning.

Being around my parents made me drink less just because I feared becoming them. Which was probably good for both my liver and my mind, but bad for my emotional state. It had been a few weeks since I’d spoken to Miles or Harry. Jules would check in just to make sure I hadn’t murdered my parents yet, Niall sent pictures of his nephew and the pints he was drinking back home.

I sat on the back patio a few days into 2017, sunglasses on to block the sun and hoping to get a bit of a glow on the unseasonably warm day. My phone buzzed beside me and pulled my attention back to the pool in front of me, my parents were both at work and I finally had a minute without them to gather my thoughts.

Nothing about the sunshine state made me want to stay, especially not the locked door down the hall that had been untouched since 2011. The bed was likely unmade and I was sure dust had collected on the trophies that lined his shelves.

I picked up my phone and read the message that had just come through, one that made me want to abandon my home state more than I already did.

Harry Styles (1:03pm): Random question, are you still in Florida?

I looked around the backyard, boats buzzed by on the water and the waves glimmered in the sun.

Cat Fonder (1:04pm): Unfortunately

Harry Styles (1:04pm): Me too.

I pulled up the phone and read it twice before I pressed the phone icon near his name. It rang once before he answered.

“Hi!”

“What are you doing in Florida?”

“Well--bit of an airline issue, so I ended up on a flight here instead of New York. I’m stuck here overnight.”

“That sucks,” I admitted, turning on my side on the pool lounge chair. “What are you going to do?”

“Well,” he took a pause, but I could tell he’d already decided. “You’re going to come get me at the airport.”

“What makes you think that?”

He laughed on the other end of the phone. “I mean, you wouldn’t let me sleep overnight in the Miami airport would you?” I let out a groan for him to hear, laughed a little when he threw in: “I know you have enough bedrooms at your parents house.”

Marta, our longtime housekeeper and an adopted member of our family, slid open the door to the living room. “Do you want lunch?”

“In a few!” I called back to her. “Harry--you can Uber here if you want.”

“Oh just come pick me up--how far do you live from the airport?”

“From Miami? Like an hour and a half!”

“Which is exactly why I’m not paying for an Uber, Catherine.”

I exhaled through my nose, licked at my lips, already regretting the decision to take one of my dad’s cars into a Miami afternoon. The air was sticky and the climb in my heartbeat made me feel stupid and childish. Harry’s chastising on the other end didn’t help.

“Did you hang up on me? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Cause I’m trying to think of a plan to be in a car with you and not kill you.”

He let out a belly laugh at this, noise from the busy airport terminal was seeping through the speaker and into my ears. “I’ll make sure we don’t lay any hands on each other.”

Goosebumps rose on my skin, his voice almost melodic when he said see you soon!

I grabbed the keys and took a sandwich for the road from Marta, prayed to some type of higher power that I didn’t rear end someone or fuck up my dad’s Mercedes. He drove the Tesla to work, which was good, honestly, because I wouldn’t even know how to turn that one on.

It took me only an hour and fifteen, which didn’t seem like a result of my timid driving but more the lack of traffic and time of day. When I rolled up to the baggage claim and saw him standing on the curb with sunglasses pushed up and a hood over his head, I rolled the window down.

“How’s the disguise working?”

He made a face at me, stuffed his suitcase in the backseat and climbed in front. “You joke, but there were girls who literally cried when they saw me. And a few photographers, I think--which is really weird.”

“Really?” I looked over my shoulder and put on my blinker, hoping to merge effortlessly over three lanes to get out of the hellhole that was Miami International.

“Yeah--don’t know why but people apparently like our band in Florida. Hometown pride, maybe.”

He had a point--apparently my name had been one of the most searched google phrases in the state at the end of 2016. But we weren’t really paparazzi level yet, once or twice in New York or LA when we’d do shows, but they’d yet to really follow us around.

“Okay, well you might have to be silent the rest of the ride if you want to get to Palm Beach in one piece.”

He turned towards me with an amused look. “Do you suck at driving?”

“No,” I said, looking over at him quickly, a car merged in front of me and made me swerve to the side a little bit when I took my eyes off the road.

“Jesus fuck!” He laughed, “oh god--you would be absolutely rubbish at driving. This is actually extremely on brand for you.”

“I’m not rubbish at driving,” I twisted my face. “I’m just out of practice.”

We made it four miles away from the airport before he demanded that I get out and let him drive, arguing that even if the steering wheel was on the other side and we drove on the wrong side of the road, he’d be a safer bet.

He got a coffee at a gas station and took a picture of me with the girl behind the register, more pleasant than I’d ever seen him be. He put the windows down and played me the songs he’d been listening to over the holidays and laughed when he pointed at my hands. “You got a manicure!”

I hid my face, embarrassed at the sellout I’d become. Thirteen whole days in town and my mother had convinced me to sit beside her, watch daytime talk shows while the spa ladies buffed and snipped our cuticles.

She made me, I laughed. You might end up with one too before you leave.

We rolled up to Island Drive right before my parents got home from work and Harry leaned towards the window to get a better view of the house. His mouth hung open when we turned into the shrub-lined driveway. “Jesus, Cat. What do your parents do again?”

“Work too much,” I told him. “Mom’s a dentist and my dad’s a financial advisor. They’re super obnoxious so please try to interact with them at a minimum like Marta and I do.”

“Marta?”

“Housekeeper, my old nanny--she’s part of the family.”

He nodded, still taking in the fountain and manicured lawn when I pulled his suitcase from the backseat. Harry had known that my parents were wealthy--mainly from the time that Miles made me sound like an obnoxious rich kid when we wrote at their apartment. But Harry was apparently surprised by the level of wealth that was held in Palm Beach. His lips parted when I brought him in the front door, views of the water over the crest of the lawn and the pool, eyes landing on mine after a few seconds.

“And you moved to New York, why?”

I kept my voice quiet, didn’t want Marta to hear my bluntness from the other room. “To get out of here.”

But soon she smiled and rushed over, eager to take Harry’s suitcase and bring it to the guest room. She offered him tea and coffee and all of the snacks that he joked he would have held out for if he knew she was here and waiting.

I brought him upstairs to show him the room he could sleep in, around the corner from mine, a view of the side yard and the gardens that a landscaping company tended to every Saturday morning. I laid the ground rules: no mentioning our partying, no mentioning times when I’ve been too drunk. If he wanted a free place to sleep with good food and a king-sized bed, he needed to keep his mouth shut about that stuff.

He saluted me and stifled a laugh. “Yes ma’am.”

“I’m serious,” I told him. “Just be quiet, don’t give them a reason to ask you any questions.”

“Alright--I mean, come on, they can’t be that bad.”

As if on cue--as if Harry showing up in Florida wasn’t enough bad karma for one day--the alarm beeped downstairs letting me know one of them was home. Lorna first, she came in with big sunglasses and greeted Harry with a smile, her hand outstretched for her afternoon glass of Chardonnay before Marta could even hang her keys up by the door.

Frank strolled in a little after six pm, dinner was almost ready when Harry excused himself to the bathroom and I took it as my opportunity to corner my mother before she was too drunk to remember it.

I knocked on her office door twice, waited for her to look up from her computer before I took a few steps inside. “Hi, dear,” she said, a small smile before she looked back to the papers on her desk.

“Hi--I just wanted to uh, ask you a favor, actually.” I approached her with my hands on my hips, unsure if I’d get her full attention or if I’d have to snap my fingers to get her eyes back on me. I sat down in the chair across from her, a formal chess move to let her know I was serious.

“What’s that?” She leaned back in her chair and waited for me to spit it out. Her direct eye contact made me nervous, I stammered over my words and tried to sway her by bringing my dad into it.

“I, uh, just asked dad the same thing--he said it was fine.”

“Just spit it out, Catherine.”

“Can we not talk about Cameron in front of Harry?”

She set down her glasses at this, watched me for a second before she tilted her head to the side. “Okay.”

“Like, at all. Okay? Not even once.”

She sighed, almost as if my request was painful for her to consider. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Maybe she’d tone it down with a stranger in the house. Maybe not talking about Cameron for someone else’s benefit would make her respect the limit more than she had in the past.

I had hoped for so long that one day it’d stop, one day she’d forget his name or leave it out of conversation even if just for my sake. But my mother was too selfish for that--always forgetting that while she was grieving a son, I was grieving my other half.

I should have known she couldn’t help herself--she had to relive the moment over and over, desperate to keep herself alive in the past as if it was safer than the present. His name slipped out of her mouth like she didn’t even realize it, I nearly choked on my asparagus at the dinner table when she said it.

Harry was busy making small talk about our upcoming album, the studio sessions we’d be heading into once we flew back to the city. “Our manager said it’ll be good timing to release an album, makes us eligible for award season the following year.”

She pretended to be interested, pretended to care for a second about our careers, but then she did it. “Reminds me of the time Cameron won that award--”

“Mom,” I said it quick, my hands falling to the table with a thud, fork and knife in my grasp when I cut her off. “Don’t.”

The noise startled Harry, but the genuine smile on his face only faltered a little. “No, I’d love to hear the story,” he didn’t even have a clue to the fire he was igniting.

“We talked about it mom,” I gave her a death glare--which I could tell threw her off. She was frozen, torn between pleasing her dinner guest and pissing off her daughter, two of her favorite past times.

She gestured at Harry. “Well I don’t want to be rude, Catherine.”

“Dad,” I looked over to see him on his phone, my voice pleading for him to intervene.

“Lorna, leave it alone,” he said, disinterested, phone screen still lit up like he was begging for a distraction.

“Oh,” she sighed, sarcasm threaded in her words. “Right--we don’t go there.”

Harry was across from me, mid-bite of his steak. He looked from me and to my mom, then back, while he chewed. He had no clue what was happening but he could tell he’d said the wrong thing.

My mom picked up her wine glass, brought it to her lips and offered a sweet smile in Harry’s direction. “Nevermind, dear--don’t want to upset Catherine.”

I rolled my eyes and stood from the table, “Harry, do you want to go for a walk?”

He was caught off guard, still uncomfortably in the middle when he nodded quickly, stood from the table and thanked both of my parents for letting him stay the night as I headed for the front door. He hurried out behind me, his voice barely a whisper in the hallway. “Did I do that? Did I fuck up?”

“No,” I said, calling to Marta over my shoulder. “Dinner was delicious, Marta! We’ll be back!”

“What even happened in there?” He asked, still a few steps behind me once we walked out onto the moonlit driveway.

I stopped short and turned around, the anger in my chest was threatening to spill out and onto the concrete. “Nothing--my mother is just fucking stupid and selfish.”

“So the intimidating level of rage coming off of you is not my fault?”

“What? No.”

I spun around again and headed for the street, a left turn towards the familiar route that I’d escape to when something like this happened. He walked beside me on the tree-line street, silent and steady until the neighborhood opened up. The same empty field at the end of the road that gave access to the lagoon, the same location I’d come to so many times after storming away from dinner as a kid. Doing it at 22 felt no different than at 15.

He shoved his hands in his pockets when we stepped onto the grass. “What is this place?”

“I don’t know--an empty field at the end of my street.”

“Is this your ponder spot?”

I looked over my shoulder, his face was lit up by the glow of the streetlights. “Ponder spot?”

He nodded and offered a shrug, “you know, the place you run off to when you need space.”

I bit back a laugh, embarrassed that his words couldn’t have been more accurate. He took my silence as confirmation, followed me over to a picnic table that sat close to the end of the water.

I threw a leg over the bench and let my head rest on top, a groan escaping my lips once I felt his weight shift the structure.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head but didn’t lift it, so he let me sit in silence for a little while. A breeze blew my hair around and after a few minutes, he sighed, like he already knew the answer but wanted to ask anyway. “Do you want to tell me who Cameron is?”

That got me to raise my head. “Definitely not.”

He smirked a little, a tiny nod as if to tell me he wouldn’t push it. He reached a hand over and patted my thigh, chin in his hand as he watched people cruise by on their boats.

For the first time I felt comfortable with him--not pressured or panicked. He brought his eyes over to me and then fished into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a small joint, a dimple appeared on his cheek when he said: “I found this in the guest room.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, pulling it from him and sniffing it to inspect. “Did you really?”

He nodded, “which one of your parents is the stoner?”

“Well my mom is too high strung, so--must be Frank.”

He pulled out a lighter and held it up, watched when I placed it between my lips and then inhaled. I passed it over to him, thankful for a buffer between us now aside from the moon and the breeze.

Smoke escaped my lips and floated towards the stars, he drummed his fingers on the table before I passed it to him. “Do you feel overwhelmed ever?”

“Ever?” He laughed at my question, licked his lips and then looked out over the water.

“I mean by the music stuff lately.”

He shrugged. “Excited mostly. Why? Do you?”

I nodded, unafraid to admit that being home brought a different layer of complexity to life. “My parents will just never get it.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not successful.”

I looked down at the faded wood and the fresh coat of polish on my nails. “It kind of feels that way, though--you know, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, did it really happen?”

He stared at me for a second, sure that I was joking. “You’re mental,” he said. “The tree is down on the ground, of course it fell. Who fucking cares if they were around to hear it or not?”

I nodded, took the joint back from him and took another inhale, reminded of the first time we did this type of thing.

He passed it to me, watched as I let smoke dance through the chilly air before he asked: “Why do you go by Cat?”

Another shrug, how I answered most questions these days. Do you have nightmares about it? Do you think about him all the time? Do you feel easily agitated?

“Just don’t like Catherine. Too formal.”

I didn’t want to get into it. My mother calls me that, my brother called me that, all good reasons to pack up and leave behind in the childhood bedroom that held bad memories.

“I like Catherine,” he admitted. “S’pretty.”

I let my eyes sweep over to him, the moon reflected in his eyes, curls of hair poked out from the beanie on his head. “Just--don’t call me that, please.”

He laughed, completely unaware of the way it made my chest heave in the shower or the way it sent a shiver down my spine when my mom had to cut herself off--Catherine and Cameron--no, just Catherine.

I had to correct her now too. Catherine felt like it needed to be followed by something, another name, the one that had been linked to mine since birth, born two minutes apart.

“I think you’re pretty fucking successful, you know.”

I glanced over at him. “Yeah?”

A single nod. His short hair was still something to get used to, it bent in the wind and blocked his eyes when he turned to look at me. “I will never admit I said this, but, we’d be nothing without you.”

“Well, we only got big once you came along.”

He smirked, “so you’re aware of that?”

I gave him a shove, shaking my head at his stupid ego. His eyes lingered on mine for a second, his knee knocked against mine when he flicked the joint and then he let out a sigh.

I wanted to lean in and kiss him, and I probably would have if it weren’t for Lila. As far as I knew she was home in New York, maybe in Jersey with her parents or siblings, but certainly an obstacle to whatever kind of intoxicated hook up could have happened between us.

I cleared my throat and looked up at the sky. “Do you want to go write a song?”

He smiled, a soft one, nodded a few times and patted me on the thigh again before he stood up and offered me a hand. “I’d love to.”

He followed me back to the house, up the stairs to my bedroom and stared at the ceiling while I plucked at the guitar.

I don’t know where I wanna go,

But it’s far away from here

Don’t know what I’m running from

If it’s you or me, my dear

He watched, listened, nodded along while it poured out of me, more of a witness than a participant.

It’s good, Cat, he said, keep going.

Everybody’s talking now

But no one seems to say a thing

I do my best to drown them out

I just wish that I could be

Somewhere far away from here

Back to myself, back where I could see clear

Somewhere far away from here

Won’t somebody take me far away from here?

Sleep was heavy on my eyelids, Harry down the hall and a rough version already sent off in an email to Niall before I realized he’d said it. Four and a half years of begging him to say it, call me Cat, hoping one day he’d just give in and go along with it. All this time I thought fighting him and pushing him away would make it happen.

It was fitting, I guess, that it was the exact opposite that finally got me what I wanted.

Niall was excited that Harry had accidentally landed himself in Miami, and he was even more excited when he learned that I told him he could stay with me an extra few days before I was due to return to Manhattan and the responsibilities of work.

He was eager to see my town, made me drive him by the high school and the parking lot where I learned--or failed, according to him--to parallel park. He swam in the pool and spit water in my face, completely deconstructing the wall I had managed to build over the last few years with a single glance in my direction.

He promised he stayed because he was having fun, not just because flying home with me meant a first class seat.

It was rare, these days, too, that I found myself on a boat. A few times since the accident, maybe three or four. But his excitement and delight was contagious when he learned my parents still had one--the same one--and it was down on a dock off the backyard.

I let the motor hum to life, pinks and purples splashed over the sky on our last night when he popped a bottle of champagne. I wondered if Lila knew he was here--he seemed undisturbed by his phone and altogether disconnected and unplugged.

I drove us out to the middle of the lagoon, dropped anchor and told him about the time I learned to swim off the back. I was three or four, always in a life vest and completely unaware of the irony that my life was accumulating.

Cam would jump off first, his floaties on his arms as he swam over to my dad who’d be in the water already. My mom would clap and snap pictures, throw us a noodle or two and then wrap us in towels back on board the boat.

Harry was treading water beside me, though, hair dripping wet after he’d pulled off his shirt and shorts.

I laughed when he dared me to jump in after him, said he hoped my swimming skills were better than they were back then. He splashed enough water at me on the boat before I gave in, promised he wouldn’t watch me undress and wouldn’t tell a soul that we’d been this cliché, swimming in our underwear and conversation laced with champagne giggles. So I tossed my shirt to the side and shimmied out of my shorts before I let myself sink under the surface.

When I came up, he was watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing--just--s’been nice to hang out with you.”

I twisted my face at his kindness, crinkled my nose at the friendship that had suddenly blossomed in the cool Florida weather.

The laughter from another boat floated over the waves, a big splash is what did it.

I looked over, searched for the person only a hundred yards away, desperate for their head to emerge from the water, unlike his. My heartbeat was in my ears, throat tight and shoulders tense.

“Where are they?” I asked, my head turning frantically. “Do you see them? Did they come up?”

“What?” Harry followed my gaze and the smile faded from his lips. “What are you talking about?”

A man popped back up, a group of people on the boat cheered for him and sang along the music that hummed from their speakers. Harry could tell something was wrong, I tried my best to slow my breathing when I realized what was happening.

I swam over to the boat, hands clutching the ladder as I pulled myself up. My breathing was sporadic, the images flashing through my head with no option to pause. Allie’s voice, Will’s voice, the feeling in my chest when I knew he was dead and we couldn’t do anything about it.

But I was acutely aware of the moment around me, Harry climbed up to the boat behind me and had a terrified look on his face, green eyes searching the floor for a towel before he draped it over my shoulders.

“You’re alright--Cat, you’re alright, it’s okay,” his arms were around me when a sob slipped out, eyes stung from a mix of salt water and tears. I couldn’t do this, it couldn’t happen here and now.

The waves from that day couldn’t show up, drag me under until I couldn’t breathe like he couldn’t. Not in front of Harry.

“Hey,” he said, moving my shoulders to force me to sit down, his knees across from mine when he looked me in the eyes. “You’re alright, nothing’s happening.”

I nodded, licked at my lips and wiped at my eyes with the towel when I blinked a few times. Feet on the boat, hands around the towel, I could see blue and white and the keys in the ignition. “Okay,” I said, more grounded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, hands on my knees now to keep them from shaking.

Silence for a minute when I looked back at the other boat. They were fine. No one was drowning. I wasn’t drowning. I was on the boat and Harry was on the boat.

The sun had sunk lower now, almost meeting the horizon when I met his eyes again.

“When did he die?”

“What?”

“Your brother.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He plucked at his lower lip, he dropped my gaze for a second and then sighed. “It’s okay, Cat.”

I felt the water in my eyes at that, let my head swivel side to side to argue his claim. “No,” I said. “It’s not okay. This is why I don’t talk about it.”

“Maybe that’s why this is happening, then. Maybe you get like this because you refuse to talk about it.”

I pulled away from him, angry at his accusation and the way he sounded like he knew me better than he did.

“Unless the two ten-year-olds in the frame above the guest bath are just random people,” he shrugged. “That’s Cameron, right?”

I was caught--unsure where to go and stuck on a boat with him. I didn’t look at him, kept my eyes on the floor and nodded slowly.

He repeated his original question. “When did he die?”

“The summer before senior year of high school. He drowned.”

A breath of air escaped from his lips, like he’d expected a different answer. Cancer, maybe. A terminal illness or something less violent and avoidable.

“Were you--with him when it happened?”

I wiped at my eyes, wishing the tears would stop and the memories would, too. “In the boat--we were drunk.”

He nodded, his focus solely on me when he leaned forward. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there,” I said quickly, defensively. “You have no clue what happened.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t. But I know it’s not your fault.”

I cried harder at that, vision blurred when I nodded. “It was, Harry--I didn’t realize how long he’d been underwater. I was too drunk.”

“It’s called an accident for a reason.”

“You’re not supposed to know any of this,” I reminded, eyeing him skeptically when I pulled the towel up to cover myself more. “Niall doesn’t know. Miles doesn’t know. No one knows.”

“Does Jules?”

I nodded. “Cause I’m a fucking moron and got too drunk one night.”

He laughed a little. “Why’ve you been hiding it?”

“Cause college was the first time I was just me. Not Catherine and Cameron, not one of two. I was just me for the first time and it was okay--it wasn’t sad or tragic that I was just me. I wanted it to be normal.”

He nodded in understanding, offered to drive us back to the dock if I showed him how. My parents were upstairs for the night, enough space for us to sit at the counter and heat up leftovers that Marta had made while we were out. He listened when I talked about the nightmares and the flashbacks, followed me up the stairs and nodded solemnly when I made him promise to not tell the others.

He echoed his sentiment on the boat: it’s not your fault. He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear before he leaned in and kissed me outside my bedroom door, softer than before, and most importantly, sober.

He followed me over to the bed, his touch gentle and warm when we slipped under the sheets. It was easy--slow and careful, not like the time before. He made me feel grounded, actually in the moment for the first time in a long time. He didn’t know it, but he made me feel seen.

Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

It felt different to wake up beside him, knowing he knew and knowing he still thought I was a decent human. I looked over to see him, eyelids fluttered against his cheek when I stirred.

A buzzing on the nightstand grabbed my attention, though, his phone vibrating with an incoming call when the morning sun crept in. A stomach dropping worse than ever, a shiver down my spine when I saw her name, a picture of the two of them side by side.

Incoming call: Lila DiPretto

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author’s note: wowowowowowoooooww! A doozy of a chapter I hope none of you hate me too much for all of the emotion in this one! Things are heating up and now Harry knows Cat’s secret.....shit can only get weirder from here!

taglist: @mellamolayla @meganlikesfandoms @afterstylesmadeit @sing-me-a-song-harry @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfics-xx @shawnsblue @avipshamitra @a-secretyoucankeep @groovybaybee @nearbyou @blueviiolence @kiwicherryharry @thurhomish @bopbopstyles @live-at-the-forum @ajayque @mleestiles @ashbabao @anssu-amry @odetostep @bemib @caritocp @ursogoldenshan @rainbowbutterflyboy @bubblegumstyles7 @1142590m @winter-soldier-007 @beingsolonely @sloanferg @ivanacats @mumplans @wastedsweetcreature @harryssugarhigh @wanderlustiing @sunflowers-styles @g0bl1nqueen @stepping-into-the-light @kara-246 @stilljosiegrossie @harrys-cherrry

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

I Don't Know Much (But I Know I Love You)

Author: @juxtaposie

Prompt: An international student comes and they never celebrated thanksgiving or seen fall colours before. Coming from a country they don't see those colours often... It's amazing to them becuase they never had anything like this before maybe a first snow fall. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125]

Rating: T for some swearing and described adult activities

Summary: Katniss might be in love, so it’s really too bad she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone she was bringing him to Thanksgiving.

Author’s Note: As before, many thanks to @mandelion82 for being my point person, @eiramrelyat for keeping me on schedule, and @jroseley for the proofread!

__________

The drive down from Boston had been rough. What should have taken eleven hours had taken closer to fourteen, the highways clogged with holiday traffic, but Peeta had been a good sport about it. He’d gamely manned the aux cable, fed her french fries in traffic, and even talked her down from rear-ending the asshole who’d cut them off when they’d merged on to US-50 in the last hour and a half of the drive. He’d made a hellish experience bearable, keeping her spirits up when they’d hit traffic - again - outside of Harrisburg and she’d nearly run off the road avoiding a pile-up. He’d smiled at her, and made her laugh, and kept her sane, and that feeling was bubbling again, that feeling that she’d been stomping on since the first time he’d put his arm around her (over the Irish breakfast plate, in a booth at the Wheelhouse Diner, both of them so hungover they could barely sit up).

She hadn’t said it yet, but she could feel the words clogging her throat every time he held her hand, every time he put his arms around her, every time they made love.

It was really going to break his heart when he realized she hadn’t told anybody she was bringing him.

It wasn’t like she was keeping him a secret - not exactly, anyways. Prim knew they were kind of sort of dating, that they’d been out a few times and that Katniss liked him. What she didn’t know was that for the last month Peeta had more or less been living with her. He had his own apartment, of course, but she could barely remember the last time he’d slept there. He didn’t have a drawer or anything, but there was a stack of his clothes on the floor of the closet. His toothbrush was sharing a plastic bag with hers, packed neatly in her duffel, because she’d grabbed both of them out of the cup on the bathroom counter. She was wearing his oversized All Blacks sweatshirt.

Jesus, why hadn’t she told anybody she was bringing him?

A low whistle from the passenger seat interrupted her shame spiral. The two-story ranch house had just come into sight at the end of a long drive lined with live oak trees. Even at 1am, the surrounding lawn was well-lit, and the house gleamed a shining white. Most of the windows were dark, but the porch lights were still on, and Katniss breathed a sigh of relief. She could stave off the shitshow for a few more hours at least.

Peeta groaned as he climbed out of the car, stretching muscular arms above his head and across his chest. “Glad that’s done,” he said, smiling at her over the roof of the car. “I’m knackered.”

“You weren’t even driving,” Katniss groused as she popped the trunk on her second-hand Corolla.

“The control freak at the wheel wouldn’t give me a turn,” he countered, maneuvering her out of the way so he could grab both their bags.

“Can you blame me?” she asked as they climbed the steps up to the front porch. “You flat-out told me you drift into the left lane when you’re tired.”

Their shared laughter died when the front door swung open abruptly.

“Get your asses in the house,” Haymitch grumbled. “I wanna go to bed.”

Katniss froze, stunned by the complete nonchalance her uncle was displaying upon finding her on the porch with a strange man. Beside her, Peeta dropped one of the bags so he could offer his hand in greeting.

“I’m-“

“Peeta, I know,” Haymitch interrupted before saying to Katniss, “He’ll have to sleep in the game room. Guest rooms are all taken.”

“You didn’t have to wait up,” Katniss said, kicking the door shut as they followed him into the house.

“Nah, you know how your aunt is,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal. Then, turning to Peeta, “Game room is in the basement. Goodnight.”

Peeta just laughed, shaking his head a little, and turned to hand Katniss her bag. “Goodnight then, I guess,” he said, bending to kiss her gently, heedless of their company.

“Goodnight,” she echoed softly, already feeling lonely at the prospect of sleeping without him.

“Hold on a second,” her uncle said when she turned resolutely toward the staircase.

Katniss paused, annoyed, and turned back to find him fighting back an obnoxious, shit-eating grin.

“Prim ratted me out,” she surmised.

“Sure as shit did,” Haymitch replied. When Katniss made a displeased sound in the back of her throat, he continued, “Didn’t say anything about him coming to Thanksgiving though, I’m guessing because you didn’t tell her.”

“I didn’t know if he wanted to come,” she tried to defend, but it was only partly true.

Haymitch just shook his head at her, and headed for the stairs.

“For the record,” he said as he passed her, “I don’t care where you sleep. Just don’t let Effie catch the two of you. She’s already so far up my ass about tomorrow being perfect. Think she might stroke out if we add premarital cohabitation.”

“You lived together before you got married,” she protested, smiling.

“Goodnight,” was Haynitch’s only reply as he disappeared up the staircase.

Biting back a grin, Katniss made her way toward the basement stairs. That hadn’t gone half bad. Maybe things would be fine.

***

Much too early, Katniss was dragged into consciousness by a loud slurping sound. She and Peeta had crammed onto the game room couch, clinging together so neither fell off, and she poked her head out from the warm cocoon of body heat and blankets to find Johanna Mason sitting on the floor, not three feet from the couch, with a large, steaming mug of black coffee.

Johanna took another loud, slurping sip, smacking her lips and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Who ya got under there, Brainless?”

“Go away Johanna,” she grumbled, turning her face back into Peeta’s chest, which was now shaking beneath her in silent laughter. He’d clearly been awake longer than she had, and Katnuss groaned unhappily. If there was anyone in the house she wanted to keep Peeta away from, it was Johanna Mason.

“Hi,” Peeta said, extracting a hand from the blanket pile and reaching in Johanna’s direction. “I’m-“

“Peeta, I know,” Johanna said, taking his hand and shaking it so enthusiastically that Katniss was jostled.

“Did Prim tell everyone?” Katniss asked as she sat up, her ire rising.

“No,” Johanna said easily, still grinning. “But Haymitch did.”

Katniss scowled at her. “Why aren’t you asleep? In your own room. Far away from us.”

Johanna’s grin just widened. Ignoring Katniss, she said, “So New Zealand. Thrill capitol of the world. Ever been skydiving?”

Peeta sat up beside her, pushing unruly curls back from his forehead. “A couple times, yeah.”

“Bungee jumping?”

“Once,” he replied. “It sort of loses the novelty once you’ve jumped out of a plane.”

Katniss was shaking her head, both at the apparent cheeriness of her morning-person boyfriend and the thought of jumping out of a perfectly good plane.

“What time is it?” she asked before Johanna could continue with her inane questions.

“After seven,” Peeta offered, slinging an arm around her dropping shoulders so he could pull her in against his side and kiss the top of her head before pushing himself to his feet. With a smiling, “Excuse me, ladies,” he stepped around Johanna and disappeared into the bathroom.

Katniss watched him go, but when she turned back to Johanna the other girl was craning her head around to watch the now-closed bathroom door.

“Stop,” Katniss said firmly.

“I’m not even looking at you,” Johanna said. “And can you blame me? Look at you. Look at him! I thought for sure he was going to be ugly, or weird, but he’s actually pretty hot. His arms are almost as big around as my thighs.”

Katniss flopped back over, intent on hiding in the blankets, but Johanna climbed onto the couch before she could burrito herself in the blankets, and continued to make inappropriate comments until Katniss pushed her bodily back onto the floor. She practically skipped from the room, still cackling, when Peeta reappeared mere moments later. “Up, up, up!” she called down the stairs in a surprisingly accurate impersonation of Aunt Effie. “It’s a big, big, big day!”

“I don’t see what you’re always complaining about,” Peeta said as he pulled her up off the couch and into his arms. “She’s not half bad.”

Craning her head back to see his face, Katniss took in his beatific smile and said, “You heard her call you hot.”

“She only said ‘pretty hot’,” he reminded her, tightening his arms around her until her heels came off the floor. She took the hint, closing the last few inches of distance between them to kiss his smiling mouth while he pulled her completely off her feet. Laughing, he spun them around and began walking backwards toward the couch, but before he could sit down there were footsteps on the stairs.

Panicked, Katniss tore her mouth from his and pushed on his shoulders. “Put me down,” she whispered urgently, feet scrabbling for purchase on his shins, but it was too late.

“Katniss!” Effie exclaimed, somehow managing to shriek despite the fact that she was almost whispering. “What are you doing? Who is this?” Then, before Katniss could answer, Effie was hustling back up the stairs, yelling, “Haymitch! There’s a boy in the basement!”

Peeta let go of her as the basement door slammed shut, and took a big step back. They stood in awkward silence as Katniss tried to come up with something to say, but Peeta beat her to it.

“You know,” he said gently, “I don’t care that you clearly didn’t tell anyone you were bringing me, but you could’ve let me in on that.”

“Peeta,” she tried, reaching for him, but he shrugged her off.

“Give me a minute,” he said, kneeling to dig around in his duffel.

Katniss swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said.

The basement door opened again. “Hands where I can see them,” Haymicth shouted before appearing on the stairs. He gave the two of them a long look before saying, “Your aunt wants me to talk to you, so when you get dressed and come upstairs just… act like I yelled at you, or something.”

“I see you come by the avoidance naturally,” Peeta said to her, and Haymicth let out a barking laugh.

Face burning, Katniss asked, “Don’t you have something better to do right now?”

Haymitch shook his head. “Better than embarrassing you in front of your new boyfriend? Not a chance. Hope you’re ready for the third degree.” Addressing Peeta, he said, “She’s never brought a boy home.”

“What, ever?”

“Gale was over here all the time,” she protested.

“Yeah, but you didn’t like him,” Haymitch said. “You thought you did, for some reason I still haven’t figured out, but you didn’t.”

Peeta laughed, teasing, “Do you like me, love?”

“Don’t blame you for not being able to tell,” Haymitch said. “Girl’s pricklier than a cactus.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Katniss shot back.

Haymitch held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Why don’t you two get dressed and come have some breakfast. I’ll, uh, give you some privacy.”

When he’d gone, Peeta reached for her hand and pulled her toward him. Still kneeling, he wrapped his arms around her thighs and rested his chin against her belly, looking up at her through long, golden eyelashes. “Do you like me, love?”

Just like that, the feeling she’d been pushing away roared to the forefront of her mind. Suddenly shy, Katniss plunged her hands into his hair and bent to press her cheek to the top of his head, inhaling deeply. “Yes,” she breathed, feeling like she was confessing something much bigger. “I like you. So much.”

****

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. After they dressed they had breakfast in the living room, eating english muffins, eggs, and sausages off paper plates while sitting cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table. Effie was practically vibrating, peppering Katniss and Peeta with questions as she moved in and out of the room. Prim finally came downstairs, shrieking in delight when she realized who was sitting beside Katniss on the floor, and just as predicted she got along with Peeta like a house on fire. It made Katniss feel warm inside, to see the two people she most adored talking like old friends even though they’d just met.

Haymitch and Johanna left for the airport, and returned an hour later with Finnick, Annie, and their 2-yr old son who was named for his father. Prim immediately commandeered the baby, while Finn and Peeta bonded over surfing, and Peeta promised to take them all to Tauranga if they ever made it to the North Island. They put the parade on the big screen TV hanging over the crackling fireplace, and Peeta put his arm around her. Despite the raucous conversation and an audience composed of almost every one she cared about, Katniss was content to tuck her feet up under her and snuggle into his side.

“Do you need any help?” Peeta asked Effie, causing Haymitch to shake silently with laughter.

“Aren’t you darling!” Effie exclaimed. “No, you just sit right here until Santa shows up.”

“She’s not cooking,” Katniss supplied after Effie had left the room.

“I thought eating was the point of this holiday.”

“Oh, we’re gonna eat,” Haymitch said, “but Effie’s not cooking. No one wants that.”

“We made everything yesterday,” Prim said, bouncing the cooing baby in her lap. “Effie and Lavinia are just heating it all up.”

Even so, after the parade ended Peeta left Katniss with her family and went to the kitchen, where he was promptly put to work making pastry lattice for the three pies - the only things being made fresh that day.

With Peeta otherwise occupied the teasing began, and continued for nearly twenty minutes until Haymitch said, “All right, let her alone. If we keep it up too long she might disappear on us.”

“He seems really nice,” Annie offered sincerely.

“He is,” Katniss agreed, unable to keep a smile off her face.

They kept the TV on, enjoying the dog show and the warmth of each other’s company. Baby Finn was particularly enamored with the animals, which launched a discussion about pets, past and present, wherein Prim reminisced fondly about the absolute monster of a cat she’d lost just the previous year, and no one, not even his wife, could talk Finnick out of the idea of providing a puppy for his son to grow up with.

“You’re leaving for college next year,” Haymitch told Prim. “You’re not getting a damn cat!”

After the dog show they put cartoons on for the baby, and Katniss went to rescue Peeta from her aunt only to find him happily engaged in a conversation about his family’s bakery in Hamilton. He loved the bakery, Katniss knew, even if there was so much bad blood between him and his mother that he’d left the country over it. Effie was in her element, directing Peeta and Lavinia around the kitchen as she finished the place settings in the dining room. When Katniss poked her head through the door to take in the year’s decorations, somewhere tastefully between Thanksgiving and Christmas, she was roped into moving the serving dishes around the table until her aunt was satisfied everyone would be able to reach everything.

“I think we’re almost ready,” Peeta said, bending over in front of the oven to survey the baking pies.

Effie checked her watch, declaring that they were right on time - it was a few minutes before 2pm - before sending Katniss into the living room to corral everyone.

When they were all standing around the table, waiting to take their seats, Effie elbowed Haymitch until he cleared his throat and said, “All right, well… Here’s to the family we choose. Let’s eat ‘til we puke.”

“Haymitch!” Effie exclaimed in dismay, but she was drowned out by laughter and the scraping of chairs as everyone took a seat.

The meal was incredible. Katniss took Haymitch’s advice, having seconds of everything until she felt sick, and somehow still managed to find room for pie. Peeta’s hand rested on her thigh under the table, and every time she looked at him she could feel an unmatched fondness bubbling up in her. He took the teasing in stride, laughing as her aunt, uncle, and sister told embarrassing stories about her, and even offered a few embarrassing stories about himself, and Katniss had to hold herself back from kissing him. Her heart was as full as her stomach.

By the time everyone was done eating she was sleepy and content, and when everyone drifted away to find their own quiet corner in the house, Katniss took Peeta’s hand and led him up the stairs. Her old bedroom was just as she’d left it when she’d moved to Boston for school, and she pushed Peeta toward the bed before shimmying out her jeans and joining him.

“So that’s American Thanksgiving,” he said, his hand drifting up and down her arm.

Katniss laughed. “It’s not over yet.”

“We watched the parade, we had turkey and stuffing and pie, now we’re having a nap,” he ticked off on his fingers. “What’s left?”

“We’ll probably go to the movies later,” she said, “then Effie and Johanna and Prim will get up at 3am to go shopping.”

“Black Friday is real?” he asked with a laugh.

Katniss groaned. “Unfortunately. You might get roped into going. They always need a pack mule, and Haymitch bitches so much my aunt doesn’t make him go anymore.”

“They’re an odd pair,” Peeta said.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “They are.They fought all the time when I was little - they still fight all the time. She drives him crazy, and she used to get so mad at him she’d go into the basement and scream. I didn’t really get why they were together.

“Didn’t like past tense?” Peeta asked, squeezing her tighter.

“You don’t drive me crazy,” Katniss said, immediately understanding what he was driving at.

“Might be doing something wrong then,” he said, pushing up on his elbow until he was leaning over her.

Taking his face in her hands, she stroked his cheek, her thumb catching in the dimple beside his smile. “Did you enjoy your first Thanksgiving?” she asked quietly.

“Love, I enjoy anything I get to do with you.”

She didn’t mean to say it, hadn’t wanted to say it, but the “I love you,” tumbled from her lips before her brain could catch up with her heart, and when she realized what she’d done she pulled Peeta down against her, burying her face in his neck so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

He laughed, and she was mortified - she hadn’t said those words to anyone but Prim, since her dad died, and Peeta was laughing at her - but before she could fall down the spiral of despair Peeta said, “I knew it,” and kissed her.

It was a sweet kiss, just the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, his free hand buried in her dark hair.

“I knew it,” he said again when he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. “You’re awful at hiding how you feel, you know.”

But he hadn’t said it back, so Katniss swallowed down the lump in her throat and asked, “Do you love me?”

“Are you blind?” he shot back. “Of course I love you. I’m crazy about you.”

Before he could kiss her again, the door to her bedroom flew open and Prim bounded in, heedless of the moment she’d just interrupted.

“Movie’s at 5:40,” she said, “and the mall opens at 10pm this year, so we’re just gonna head over after.”

“That sounds awful,” Katniss groaned, hiding her face in Peeta’s neck again.

“Can’t wait,” Peeta replied. “Better get some rest then eh?”

“Yep, rest,” Prim agreed. “I”ll just lock the door on my way out, shall I? Happy Thanksgiving, guys.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Katniss echoed, and for the first time in her life, she meant it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #juxtaposie #submission #prompt

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sweeethinny · 4 years

Text

Trick or treat, sweetie?

I wanted to do something for Halloween, but I'm a little skeptical, and spirit stories and these things don't really do much to me BUT thinking about Sharp Objects and all the True Crime cases I’ve heard, I managed to write this, and I think I did something decent thanks to the hinny discord that helped me choose the costume for our couple

It was Halloween day, which meant that almost all teenagers in town would lie to their parents saying they were going to get candy when in fact, they would be in the forest drinking, making out behind the rocks, or throwing themselves into the clearing that was there close by.

Ginny would be no different.

She had convinced Harry to wear a couple costume, not because it was just tacky and funny, but because his ass would look much better on Princess Leia's costume than it did on her. Also, she was much more suited to Han Solo than Harry.

‘’You look great.’’ She said, hitting his ass as soon as her boyfriend came out of the bathroom, still fixing his wig on his head

"This shit itches" Harry complained, sitting on the edge of his bed so that Ginny could straighten the clip that held the fake hair back. "You look hot." His hand also hit her ass, staying there. "Your mother would die if she knew we were like this.''

‘’She knows, and she said that as much as you look good in white, you should wear Han Solo’s clothes’’ Ginny kissed him quickly, squeezing his chin and sucking on his lip ‘‘I disagree. I think men in skirts are sexy’’

‘’I’m happy that I like your beauty standard’’ The boy stood up, putting the last details before looking at her ‘’Ready?’’

‘’I’ve always been’’ Ginny lifted her chin, taking his hand and pulling him out of the room. Of course Lily asked the two of them to stop for a photo, commenting to James about the two being beautiful and that Harry should start wearing a cape like that more often because it did so much for his shoulders.

‘’Behave yyou two! I don't want to go to the police station to take out two stupid teenagers'' James warned them before they left the house, which Harry promptly confirmed and calmed them down about the two of them being home before one in the morning (everyone knew it was a lie, but at that day they would all pretend to be true)

‘‘Han Solo who should drive’’ Ginny reminded him, sitting in the passenger seat while warning Hermione that they were already on way

‘’If he had a driver’s license, for sure. For now, let me do it.'' Harry left his hand on her thigh, as he always did, following the old path they used to reach the clearing, passing through the town square where the children were having fun, gathered to start picking up sweets or throwing toilet paper at someone's house, and going straight until they reached the street of the pig slaughterhouse, to finally reach the road.

‘’Mione said she’s also going’’ She said ‘‘Do we have to buy anything?’’

‘’No, I left the drinks with Seamus yesterday. We just need to get our nice ass over there’’ Harry smiled ‘‘I hope you won’t be jealous when everyone looks at mine, instead of yours’’ Ginny laughed, denying and shrugging

‘’Feel free, I’m not jealous’’

‘’Ah, sure’’ Harry used all his sarcasm, barely taking his eyes off the empty road ‘‘It’s ugly to lie, Han’’

‘‘I’m not lying’’ She defended herself ‘’When did you see me jealous?’’

‘’Yesterday when that girl flirted with me at the market’’ He barely stopped to think, which made her a little irritated, even though she was amused

''Ah, so you admit it was a flirtation'' Ginny tossed her hair behind her shoulders, crossing her legs and looking out the window, seeing the city a little further away now ''I remember you saying it was just her way''

‘’But she’s like that. Ask Nev’’ She looked at him, arching an eyebrow and holding back laughter

‘’Nev didn’t have sex with Kimbely’’ Ginny argued

‘‘I don’t know’’ Harry shrugged ‘‘She is very friendly’’

‘’And what do you know about that?’’ She poked, still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a smug smile on her face

‘’Nothing, just what-- What the fuck!?’’ Harry braked the car with much more speed than was recommended, the noise echoing down the empty road, seeming to shake the trees that lay there. Ginny bounced forward, her body being stopped by her seat belt, but her head hit the panel, causing an irritating pain.

When she looked up to look at the road in front of her, a curse escaped her mouth, staring at the woman standing in the middle of the road, all dressed in white while carrying an ax dripping with blood.

‘’Do you think we should see if everything is okay?’’ Harry asked, gaping at the scene, still staring at that woman

''I think you should back up and runaway from here'' She replied, scared to death ''It's the fucking woman in white, what are we still doing standing around?'' The woman in white , the urban legend of that small town that, a few years ago, had been the local of three brutal deaths.

The three girls were not even fifteen when they disappeared, one at a time; the first disappeared in the summer, some said that she had run away with her boyfriend, others said that she had killed herself in the clearing, and it was only after three weeks of searching that her body was found, on the roof of the pig slaughterhouse, all dismembered.

The second was in the fall of that same year, but she had not been gone for more than three days, and her body was found hanging from the traffic lights on the main street, exposed for all to see.

In the meantime, the parents were already in a panic, and no more children or teenagers were seen alone on the street, the doors were closed before six and no one left the house at night. For a city with less than 5,000 inhabitants, that was the biggest terror they had ever faced.

The third disappeared after a year, on the anniversary of the death of the first, she had disappeared after going for a bike ride on the way to a friend's house, and for months no one had any news or evidence of the disappearance. On the anniversary of the death of the second, her body was found half on the roof of the slaughterhouse, and the other half, hanging from the traffic lights.

It was chaos.

When a truck driver pleaded guilty - a few months of panic and terror for everyone in the city afterwards - everyone pretended to be more relieved. He never confessed the reason for killing the three girls so brutally, but it didn't matter, the population would pretend to be peace again. Even if one of the boys who lived on the way to the clearing, claimed that he had seen a woman in white carrying the body across the road, dragging it into the forest.

The police always denied it, saying that there was no chance of a woman committing something as horrible as that, but the population never let themselves forget the legend. Sometimes, someone said that he had seen a woman dressed in a great bloodstained robe walking around the city. Another said he had seen her in the clearing. Another said that she was always around the slaughterhouse ..

And now, there was a woman in a white dress full of blood, an ax in her hand, in front of Harry's car, looking like the devil as she looked at them.

Her hair was blond and looked dirty with dirt and something Ginny hoped was not dried blood, her eyes were big and dark, like two holes in her pale, almost skeletal face, and all over her bust were marks of scrapes and cuts.

‘’The car doesn’t want to start’’ Harry almost screamed, turning the key and seeing that nothing was changing

''What?! No! I will not die! This shit will call and we'll go over that motherfucker'' Ginny shouted in response, nervous to the last strands of hair for seeing that the woman was starting to walk, using her free hand to clean what looked like blood dry, from her cheek.

''I do not know! Damn!’’ Harry hit the steering wheel, and the horn barely seemed to startle her, and maybe, she was already less than two meters away from them

‘‘Where’s the knife I always leave it here?’’ Ginny opened each compartment, shivering as she rummaged through Harry’s mess looking for metal

‘’She has a fucking ax, what the fuck are you going to do with a knife? She will kill you before you can say the word ‘Please’ ’’ He looked at her, looking like a piece of paper so white, then turning forward and moving the key again

‘’Harry, she’s getting close’’ Ginny whispered, terrified that the woman could hear her trembling voice

‘’I know, I’m trying’’ The blonde was walking more and more, starting to laugh like crazy, loudly and laughing with her head back, dragging the ax on the road floor, causing a terrible sound of the blade on the asphalt

''Trick or treat, sweeties?'' Her voice sounded loud but at the same time it seemed to be whispered, her black eyes blinked towards them both, and the moment she got close enough to touch the hood of the car, lifting her ax and ready to break the windshield, Harry managed to turn the key.

The noise of the engine echoed and the tires sang with the sharp reverse they made, moving further and further away from the woman who now ran towards them

‘’Go over it !!’’ Ginny screamed, terrified of how fast she could be

''I'm not going to jail!'' He also shouted, changing lanes so he could accelerate and got out of there, but he couldn't avoid when the woman threw herself on top of the car, rolling over the hood and falling on the road, staying still dirtier than before, but not looking dead. She was still laughing out loud and was able to move, looking like she wanted to get up.

'’Don't you dare stop. I swear Harry, I'll kill you!’’ Ginny felt her heart racing to the point of thinking she was having an attack, barely able to breathe properly ‘’ Accelerate and let’s go ’’

‘’Shit Gin!’’ Harry stepped on the gas, much faster than the law allowed, and left, feeling completely shaky ‘‘Damn I think I’m going to pass out’’

''I swear to you, if I hadn't gone to the bathroom before we left, I would have peed in my pants'' She took a deep breath ''What the fuck was that?'' Ginny asked, still looking back as if she expected see her again

''I do not know! Where did that fuck come from?’’ He said

‘’From hell’’ Ginny said. Harry had the audacity to laugh, but he didn't seem very happy ‘’I need a strong drink’’

‘’Me too’’ He replied, parking the car in the middle of the trees and listening to the sounds of music and conversations, some headlights were on and you could see the bodies walking from side to side. Harry squeezed Ginny's thigh, as if to confirm that she was there. ‘’Do you want to drink and then have sex in the back seat? I think I need to discharge the adrenaline’’

‘‘I don’t think you’ve ever come up with anything as good as this’’

#hinny #hinny au #harry x ginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #Harry and Ginny #halloween

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virtueangel · 4 years

Text

limitless.

chapter four.

wc: 3,109. original publish date: october 7, 2020.

JFK starts the car forty-five minutes later. He turns the key in the ignition cautiously, silently begging the car not to make too much noise. Van Gogh is asleep in the passenger's seat. The car whirrs to life and Kennedy doesn't rev the engine this time. He turns to Van Gogh and smiles slightly. He realises for the first time that the boy is wearing his old junior varsity cross-country jacket.

***

Van Gogh wakes up some time later. He stretches before opening his eyes. He rubs the sleep out of them as they adjust to the darkness. The cool outside air seeps in through the windows and suddenly he wishes he'd brought gloves. Gogh plunges his balled fists into the pockets of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket. The boy inhales deeply through his nose as he takes in the scenery, seeing nothing but pine trees lining the outstretch of the quiet highway in front of them. There are no cars in sight. No buildings or houses or rest stops. There are a few white markers shoved into the ground next to the road, but most of them are bent or broken -- probably from swerving cars crushing them out of shape.

"Where are we?" He asks in his small voice, foggy sleep still tugging at his throat.

JFK turns his head ever so slightly, as if to make sure his best friend is really awake and he's not just hearing things. Satisfied with the reality of the boy, he nods toward the built-in GPS screen. "One hundred three miles outside of Exclamation!," he replies.

Van Gogh furrows his brow at the machine. "Yeah, but I mean where."

"I just told you."

Gogh gives up and sits back in his seat. He opens his mouth to nag Kennedy about turning on the seat heater, but the button is already illuminated. He smiles to himself.

"How long have you been driving?" He asks a couple minutes later, his eyelids weighing down again.

Kennedy scrunches up his nose. "Over an hour."

"I was asleep the whole time?"

JFK nods in affirmation. Van Gogh stares at his side profile, his eyes tracing his pointy nose and thin lips. His gel is wearing off, causing his brown hair to flop around his ears and the top of his head a little bit. Kennedy blinks slowly, and Gogh does the same, almost in solidarity.

"Are you tired?"

JFK shakes his head, but he's squinting.

"You're tired," Gogh decides. He's only met with a shrug.

"Let me drive," he tries daringly.

Suddenly, Kennedy is miraculously alert. He straightens his back and he opens his eyes up fully. "You can't drive, Van Gogh. You don't know how."

Van Gogh shrugs, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You could teach me."

The car fills up with silence again, but it's a different kind than when Van Gogh was asleep and JFK was lost in his own head.

Van Gogh tilts the face of his digital wristwatch upwards to read the time. "It's 11:30, Kennedy."

"Is it?" He asks absently.

"We should stop somewhere. We could both sleep."

"I don't even know where we are," JFK protests.

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "You're the one who said we didn't need a plan."

Kennedy nods, his motions sticking with the rebuff of tiredness. "I haven't seen any signs for miles. Think we should just get off somewhere?"

Van Gogh shrugs agreeably. "I don't see why not."

JFK pulls down his turn signal and the car hums with melodic clicks as he changes lanes. He slows down the vehicle each time he passes over the dotted white lines even though they have the highway all to themselves. He follows the rules when he's alone -- Van Gogh can't help but think that's something he was never supposed to know.

Kennedy exits the highway seamlessly, and stops the car at the intersection. The traffic light is glowing red even though all the other lanes are empty. Van Gogh always thought there was some sort of censor in the road that knew when cars were pulled up to the lines, waiting to be dictated through the intersection. He wonders when he'd started thinking that, who'd told him, if it was true. He pulls the cuffs of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket over his hands and brings his knees to his chest, balling himself up in the warmth of the seat heater. Even with no snow on the ground, the town of God-Knows-Where is having as harsh of an April as Exclamation! is.

The town looks just like every common roadside stop -- clean sidewalks, towering lampposts with chipping paint, empty convenience store parking lots sprinkled with litter, barren gas stations lit by buzzing yellow lights. In the dead of night, the whole world freezes and the town looks like a photograph on a gift shop postcard. Van Gogh wishes he'd packed his camera so he could capture it in all its drowsily nostalgic glory.

Finally the traffic light glows green and Kennedy turns left, driving the car into the centre of town. There's a park with chemically green grass, visible even under the moonlight alone. In the middle of the lawn is a white statue that seems to be made of marble.

"That's just cement," Van Gogh says.

"Hm?"

He points out the window. "That statue. It's supposed to look like marble but it's not actually."

JFK nods, and then smiles. "That's kinda dumb."

Van Gogh smiles in return and sneaks a glance at the boy. "Yeah, it is."

With a controlled turn of the steering wheel, the car glides blissfully around the park. Kennedy continues to drive, but slower than the speed limit. Van Gogh, balled up and shaking from the cold, still manages to stare out the window at the sleepy neighbourhood, wrapped in a blanket of the night. Some of the houses have their porch lights on. Some have cars parked in the driveway, others on the street. All of the houses look the same, and it reminds Van Gogh of his own neighbourhood, only posher. The houses are two stories and their porches are made out of poured concrete rather than splintering wood. The doors have brass knockers and the windows are French, full of panes and feminine glass. Van Gogh wouldn't mind living in a photocopied world if it was at least a picturesque one.

"Do you think there'll be a motel in this town?" JFK asks, penetrating Gogh's quiet bewilderment.

He turns his attention away from the window and onto the driver. "Probably not a motel, but maybe some small family-owned inn."

"I don't see one."

"That's because you're in the residential part of the town," Van Gogh scoffs, the magic of the anemoia wearing off. "It'll probably be back where the gas station and stuff was."

When Kennedy turns toward Van Gogh, he looks almost disappointed.

"You wanna look at the houses some more, Gogh?"

Gogh shakes his head, but the movement is mechanical. His eyelids drop and he has to blink fast to keep himself alert.

Kennedy sighs in serenity rather than exasperation and pulls into the driveway of one of the cookie-cutter houses to make a three-point turn. He reverses the direction of the car with ease and continues through the town, driving slowly enough to quiet the noise of the engine but quickly enough to get Van Gogh into a bed before he can fall asleep in the car.

The inn is small and the parking lot is empty of all cars. Unlike the convenience store parking lot, this one is clean, and the bushes along the sidewalk and the edge of the lot are perfectly manicured. JFK pulls into the spot closest to the long, wooden stairs leading up to the porch. The building looks almost like a house from the outside, only longer, like a mansion made of common shingles and dusty edges.

The sign doesn't have a full or vacant indicator on it, but Kennedy guesses it's the latter due to the nature of the parking lot. He reaches over and rests a hand on Van Gogh's shoulder gently. Van Gogh blinks and looks up at him, his eyes wide with innocence. Kennedy smiles softly. "I found an inn."

Van Gogh unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door. JFK does the same on his side of the vehicle and they walk up the stairs together. The wooden porch groans under their weight and Van Gogh steps the rest of the way across it quickly, a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him it'll break if they don't get off of it soon.

JFK pushes through the door of the inn first and holds it for Van Gogh. He huddles close to the taller boy as he walks, his stomach somersaulting with each step he takes. The inside of the inn is dimly lit and furnished with consonant floral wallpaper, every wall a different pattern and colour. The lobby itself isn't very large: room just enough for a fireplace decorated with pictures of past tenants on one wall, a congregation of chairs and a game table set in front of it; a wide, dark hallway across from it, where Van Gogh can just barely make out the white railing of a grand staircase; a tall bookshelf exploding with leather bound novels, complete with shiny gold lettering snaking down the spines on the third wall; and on the fourth, a bored woman collapsed against a desk, a clunky old computer in front of her and a stack of travel guides by her elbow. She's tall, lean, and pale, with short magenta hair and a face full of piercings. In this light, she looks like Joan of Arc -- but Van Gogh knows she's back at home in Exclamation!, probably spending her Friday night sulking.

The girl doesn't react even as JFK steps up to the desk. He leans against it, batting his lashes at her in his overly flirtatious nature. Van Gogh rolls his eyes and walks up next to his friend to ring the bell, stomping his heel down on it.

"Hi there. What can I do for you?" The girl drones in a monotonous voice.

"We'd like a room," Gogh says before JFK can make a snarky comment.

"Great. How many beds?" She asks, still in her flat tone.

Van Gogh can see Kennedy turn toward him to consult out of the corner of his eye, but impulsively answers the girl before he can talk to JFK. "Two."

The girl sucks on one of her snake bites as she punches the keys on the slow computer. Van Gogh watches her intently now, wondering if this is one of her anxious habits. She seems to fidget with her piercing the way JFK chews gum.

"You look like my friend," Van Gogh blurts suddenly, not sure why he felt the need to tell her, or why he referred to Joan of Arc as his "friend". He's talked to her once or twice on the teen crisis hotline (which Kennedy could never know about), and she's JFK's friend, but Van Gogh doesn't have time to think about making friends. John F. Kennedy is enough for him.

"Oh, yeah?" The girl replies absently.

Van Gogh doesn't say anything more. JFK's smile fades.

"Okay, here you are," she says, pulling a key off one of the nails stuck into the wall behind her and handing it to Kennedy. "Room one-oh-four."

"You have one hundred four rooms in this place?" Gogh asks.

The girl shrugs. "Probably not. I think the rooms start in the triple digits."

"That's dumb," Kennedy replies, and Van Gogh wonders if he'd said it himself since he'd opened his mouth.

Thankfully, the girl -- secretary? -- doesn't take offence. "Yeah, I think so too. But I guess there's more ring to the three-digit numbers than anything else."

"How much?" Kennedy asks, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his letterman jacket.

"How many nights?"

"One," Van Gogh says before he or Kennedy can think.

"Like twenty-six dollars? I don't know. No one ever stays here."

"What town are we in, anyway?" JFK asks, swiping his card through the machine.

"Blackbox."

"Well, I'd say that's why no one ever stays here," Van Gogh retorts.

The girl's eyes narrow. "Why? Where are you two from?" She scrutinises the boys.

"Exclamation!," Kennedy replies.

"With an exclamation point on the end," Gogh admits.

The girl laughs. "Oh man, and you're criticising this town?"

Both boys stare at her blankly. She rolls her eyes and pulls a travel guide out from the stack next to her. She fishes a pen out of one of the drawers on her side of the desk and bites the cap off with her teeth. She holds the plastic piece in her mouth as she scribbles something down. When she's finished, she sets the pen on the desk and takes the cap out from her teeth before covering the pen with it and throwing it back into the drawer. She flips around the guide so it faces Kennedy and Gogh.

"This is Marshtown," she says, pointing at a circled spot on the map with her finger.

"Is there a marsh there?" Van Gogh asks. "It's a lazy name either way."

The girl takes a moment to think, sucking on her snake bite again. "I think so. But it might've gotten its name because it's foggy there all the time -- like, all the time. There's no ocean to blow a breeze over or anything. I think it's just like that. But anyway, you should check it out. Think this place is creepy?"

Both Kennedy and Van Gogh nod without looking at each other.

The girl smirks, and continues. "If you want a real kick, go there. I've been there with my boyfriend a few times."

"Oh, we're not-" the boys start to explain at the same time, their cheeks glowing pink and their temperatures rising.

The secretary girl smirks again. "Whatever. It'd still be fun to go."

Kennedy pulls his card out of the reader as it beeps. To the girl, he says, "thanks." He turns to Van Gogh, handing him the door key. "Go find our room. I'll go get our bags from the car."

Van Gogh opens his mouth to protest, but Kennedy is looking at him with his intense stare again. He decides to let it go. He nods, mumbles a quick "thank you" to the secretary, and heads toward the grand staircase. He shudders as he walks through the darkness, the cold suddenly burrowing deeper than it did when he was outside. He pulls Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket more tightly around him.

He climbs the staircase, the wood hard beneath his Keds. Van Gogh trails his hand along the railing as he walks, steadying himself as he observes all the gold-framed paintings hung along the wall. They're all oil-painted people he's never seen before -- very much different from Exclamation!, where he's met the clone of all the people in the paintings. These faces look respectable, but common, like they're only made to seem like they're important. Van Gogh exhales. Maybe it would be nicer here, where he isn't constantly reminded of how he'll never be the man whose DNA he shares.

Eventually, Gogh makes it to the top of the stairs and pries his interest away from the paintings. There's a sign tacked to the wall directly in front of him: rooms one hundred through one hundred fifty to his left, rooms one hundred fifty-one through two hundred on his right. He turns left and walks almost all the way to the end of the hall, turning to open the door marked one hundred four. The key slides into the lock easily, but the door takes an extra push to open.

Inside is the same hideously mismatched wallpaper as the lobby and atrociously unclean carpet as the hallways. There are two queen beds side by side with their headboards against the wall to the left of the door. Where the wallpaper peels, Van Gogh can tell that the room itself is painted a mossy green, which clashes with the already clashing patterned duvet covers on the beds. There's one window shielded by sheer white curtains and an old white space heater beneath the windowsill. There's no desk, but there's a stone fireplace on the wall across from the beds. Thankfully, there are no framed pictures of past tenants. Van Gogh couldn't sleep with them watching him.

The boy steps all the way into the room and closes the door behind him. In the space behind the door is another door. He pushes it open. It leads into a large bathroom, complete with a heavy mirror and speckled yellow tile on the floor and lining the shower wall. Van Gogh closes that door and looks around the room, feeling that there's something missing.

There's no closet or dresser. Great. Good thing they're only staying one night, because he'll have to live out of his suitcase. He can't stand to think that he'll have to refold all the clothes he rifles through after getting dressed each morning.

Gogh claims the bed closest to the window and sits in the middle of it. He's just begun to untie his shoes when the door pushes open. Van Gogh sinks in on himself, terrified of what could be trying to break in.

"Relax, relax! It's only me," Kennedy laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Van Gogh scrunches his nose. "Took you long enough."

Kennedy pushes Van Gogh's brown suitcase and it rolls across the carpet to him. "Here. I thought you might want this."

"Thanks," Gogh mutters, pulling off his shoes and sliding off the bed.

***

By the time JFK and Van Gogh have showered and changed into bed-appropriate clothing, it's nearly 1:15 in the morning.

"We should go to sleep," Kennedy suggests, sitting up in bed and readying himself to go turn off the light.

Van Gogh shakes his head. "No. I'm wide awake now."

Kennedy gives him sleepy eyes, still holding himself up on his elbows. "How long do you need?"

In the low lighting, JFK is made of soft edges and rounded corners. His mound of brown hair is fully flopping over his face now without the gel, and every thirty seconds or so the boy has to push it out of his eyes. The collar of his grey Harvard shirt hangs off of his neck to reveal his collarbones, and his eyes are heavy with sleep. Van Gogh's pencil scratches against his sketchbook.

"Fifteen minutes," Kennedy mandates.

Van Gogh takes another look at the boy and smiles. "Fine by me."

He starts to draw.

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfogh

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

Text

A Year to Eternity? - Chapter 8

“Please tell me you have something else to listen to,” Bonnie sighed. She slumped into her seat and poked at her ears. “I swear this is perforating my eardrums.”

“What’s wrong with opera?” He glided around three cars on the highway, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed.

She hugged her jacket closed against a blast of cold air and spun to face him, folding one leg under the other.

“It’s boring and loud and half the time at a register that only dogs can hear,” she said, ticking off reasons on her fingers. “And slow down. You might not be able to die in a fiery car crash, but I can.”

“I won’t let you die Bonnie.” He dutifully lowered his speed until he exceeded the limit by a measly thirty miles an hour. With his right hand he flipped to a second preset station. “Is Jazz more to your liking?”

“I’ll take it over Opera,” she rolled her eyes. “What’s the rush?”

“Do you want me to slow down and delay answers for Elena?” Kol shifted lanes.

“No, but I do want to be able to actually help her, so it would be nice it you didn’t wrap us around a telephone-pole.” She leaned into his space, pressing close enough to smell his aftershave. “At this speed you’re gonna turn a fourteen-hour drive into eight. Eager, much?”

“Eager to get this over with,” he inhaled, breathing in the soft array of flowers clinging to her hair. “I want to get the spell from Davina and get out fast.”

“Bad break-up?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Amicable, actually,” he shook his head, passing two trucks.

Bonnie watched the half-tonnes shrink in her mirror before tapping her nail on the gear shift and turning her gaze to him.

“If it was amicable then why’d you bring me?”

“What do you mean?” His jaw clicked. It was the only chink in his calm.

“You don’t need me to retrieve a spell,” she tilted her head, curls bouncing. “I’m clearly a buffer and I wanna know why.”

He passed another car before he sighed.

“Because if the gossip has spread, as I suspect it has, it won’t be anymore.”

~oOo~

She watched the road without seeing the asphalt, taking twists and turns on autopilot. Elena’s dark eyes flashed in her vision with every beat of her heart; she kept hearing the strain behind her even tone.

I might not even need you; it could be another dead end.

Her stomach twisted up tight. Thirteen dead witches tight.

She took a left turn and was momentarily disoriented by the canopy of leaves that covered the winding driveway.

You don’t get to talk like that. There will be no giving up hope, and I am always going to help you.

She put the car in park, shut it down and hopped out. The door slammed behind her.

Her voice had been too even, too restrained, but her eyes had held the truth.

She paced towards the house and froze, staring up at the towering structure as her mind lingered somewhere back at the Grille. The conversation replayed again and again.

She loved her baby. She possessed the protective instinct to keep her child safe. Anyone who looked at her, who watched her with the infant, could tell how much she loved her. She clearly didn’t hold what had happened against her innocent child, but she saw it in Elena’s eyes.

The haunted gaze of the violated.

And whether she had been physically harmed or not they knew for sure her mind had been invaded.

“Caroline?”

The voices in her head cut off. She stared at him across a sudden ringing silence, sucking in a deep breath that seared her lungs.

“I d… don’t know why I’m here,” she dipped her chin, applying pressure to her chest to keep it from trembling. The brief drive felt like a blur; she had been certain the roads led to the school, and yet.

He stepped lightly onto the drive, moving forward until he could reach out and lift her face.

“What happened?”

She shook her head, gaze focused on the gleam of gold along his jaw. Her shoulders rose in a shrug.

“Caroline, something is wrong,” he moved his hands to her shoulders. “What happened?”

The trembling began somewhere behind her internal organs, spreading out in spasms until it overtook her hands.

“I don’t know,” she shoved her fingers through her hair, dislodging a few roots. The sting helped ground her. “I don’t know, and she doesn’t know, and that’s the whole problem. And it’s all my fucking fault!”

He took a small step back, giving her room to scrub her palms down her face, but kept his hands on her upper arms. His eyes roamed over her as he spoke slowly.

“I think I’m going to need a little more information, love.”

“Why?” She scoffed, tears pooling in her eyes. “It’s my fault!”

A memory tickled the back of her mind.

“And yours!” She shoved him hard; the change in demeanour caught him off guard.

He stumbled.

Confusion turned down the corners of his mouth.

“I was ready to run,” she explained around a sob, “and then you answered Stefan’s phone!”

“Caroline…” he blinked once, mouth popping open.

“Somebody screwed with her memory so she would forget there was a chance she could be pregnant.” Her hands balled into fists.

His mind reeled, trying to keep up with her train of thought. If he had it right they had gone from her self blame to the twins and were now jumping back. Although, how the two points connected remained a mystery to him.

“Elena?” He guessed, brows raising.

“She was only there because of me.” Caroline suddenly spun on her heel and kicked the front tire of her car. Her aggression broke the perfect circle that had once been a rim.

“She went to Brazil for me!” She punctuated each word with another kick.

Klaus wrapped his arms around her upper body, trapping her arms as he pulled her back to prevent her inflicting further damage on her poor vehicle.

Caroline fought futilely, but she knew her chances of actually breaking free when Klaus had no intention of letting her go were non-existent.

Once she calmed down he allowed her the space to turn without letting go. His strong hands remained on her lower back, gently moving up and down in a soothing motion.

“I won’t pretend to know everything, but I can tell you that whatever did happen was not your fault.” He caught her gaze. “Odds are that whoever the person was to affect her memory did so after and unintentionally removed her daughter’s conception.”

A scream of frustration built in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it, and the urge to shove his perfectly reasonable explanation back in his face, down.

“She wants to believe that,” her voice emerged strained, “but it’s not what happened.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” His fingers pressed gently against her spine. “You just claimed that nobody knew.”

“Because she’s my best friend,” she shifted, losing the will to even pretend she didn’t want to lean into his embrace, “and she was only missing for an hour and half, and she’s not easy.”

Tears flooded her eyes again. She made no attempt to stop him from lowering her head to his shoulder where she quickly soaked through his shirt. The gentle pressure of his fingers in her hair brought on more tears; it didn’t matter how many times he claimed otherwise because she knew.

“It’s my fault,” she choked.

~oOo~

The rocking chair’s gentle sway had long since lulled Serena to sleep. It reminded him of calmer days spent between the new world and the old long before air travel entered vogue. Were she a little older with the experiences to make comparisons he would have said the easy glide reminded her of water; something he knew she found soothing.

Anyone else would have placed her in the crib when she drifted off, but he persisted. The motion relaxed him, and he had given his word.

It was the only way Elena would agree to rest. He swore without hesitation to watch the infant throughout the night. He could have done the job just as well from the crib, but it eased his mind having her in his arms where it would be impossible to miss the first signs of dry skin.

And of course, Serena loved to be held; cradled in his arms or those of her mother.

It felt like a dream, snuggling an adorable baby while Elena got much needed rest. He would gladly take whatever mockery his siblings could dish out; it wouldn’t change the fact the he would have happily let the world burn if she stayed safe and never again cried out in anguish.

He hadn’t thought it possible to care for someone so deeply when they lay beyond the bonds of blood.

Marcel, adopted into the family, never found his way in, not completely.

Hayley took months and reminded him on many occasions why he spent so long shielding his heart.

Elena snuck up on him, found a backdoor and changed the locks before he registered what happened. No amount of reinforcement could keep her out because she was already in, not that he had tried after his mother’s ritual. One failed attempt had been enough. She was in and that was that.

He didn’t let people in easily, but one unfocused blink and an uncoordinated fist broke down his walls and built up new ones, reinforcing support around the infant he never wanted to let go of.

Until three weeks ago Hope had been the only one to ever evoke such a response from his heart.

Serena’s even breathing stopped, halting his heartbeat. Panic gripped his chest until her breathing picked up again after a catch.

“Normal,” he breathed, “perfectly normal.”

Hope had stopped breathing many times, giving her parents joint heart attacks; Rebekah called it periodic breathing.

Knowing didn’t keep his heart from stuttering.

“It’s a good thing I’m frozen,” he whispered, brushing a finger over her cheek, “or else you’d be giving me grey hair.”

Her mouth twitched in a smile.

Across the hall Elena shifted in her sleep.

He wondered how much rest she truly gained in the midst of her tossing and turning. He offered her dreamless sleep, and he suspected she might have taken him up on it if the Grille hadn’t put vervain in the decaf coffee she drank during lunch.

He shifted, settling in the chair for a long night, but before he could get comfortable a loud bang came from downstairs. A jolt traveled through him, but Elena hardly registered the noise.once the shock settled he accepted the knock hadn’t been that loud.

The second threatened to knock the newly fixed door from the hinges.

He made his way downstairs, listening to the hiss beyond the front door.

“It’s the middle of the night!”

He recognized the familiar sound of emotional exhaustion in Caroline’s voice as he reached for the doorknob.

“She has a newborn. She’s not asleep.”

He opened the door, smirking when his brother jerked backwards to keep from falling inside the house. He brought his hand down for extra support on the wriggling baby.

“She has, in fact, been asleep for an hour in spite of having a newborn in the house.”

“What the bloody hell are you doing her?” His eyes flickered to Elijah’s arms.

“At this moment in time I am answering the door.” His thumb touched Serena’s soft cheek. He knew the picture he must have painted in his unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up; not even he could have said where his tie and suit jacket had ended up.

“Where’s Elena?” He rolled his eyes.

“Were you not listening? She’s asleep.” His eyes narrowed as Klaus shouldered his way inside and up the stairs before he or Caroline could stop him.

“Niklaus!”

He followed, Caroline on his heels, and pulled his brother away, too late, by the back of his shirt.

Elena blinked through the cobwebs of nightmare fuelled sleep

She sat up, surveying the scene with a sigh.

“I knew I’d regret that invitation.”

~oOo~

Bone deep exhaustion, the kind that gripped in the dead of night when consciousness forced away sleep, gripped her.

She mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, shoving her face into the pillow. Persistent fingers wrapped around the dark fabric of her comforter.

“Hope, wake up.”

The blankets were thrown around her waist, making way for cold air to circle around her upper body.

“No,” she whined, curling into the fetal position.

“Hope!” Hands shook her shoulder.

She cracked open an eye. Under the weight of exhaustion her stare felt less withering. A mop of curly black hair came into view. It took an incredible amount of effort to lift her head and read the bright green numbers of the alarm clock.

“It’s 2:48 in the morning,” she could barely lift her voice above a whisper.

He fidgeted, clutching and smoothing out his sweater. “I have to talk to you.”

“At 2:48 in the morning?” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “I was sleeping.”

She could feel him moving, bouncing with nervous energy. Under normal circumstances, at more reasonable hours, she found his idiosyncrasies adorable, but it was 2:48 in the freaking morning.

She liked sleep.

Scratch that, she loved sleep.

She wanted to remembrance sleep, but his bouncing leg made it impossible.

She peeked again: 3:01.

“Landon,” she dragged out his name.

“I stole something,” he blurted.

Her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright and crossed her arms. She blinked away her bewilderment to study the conflicting emotions on his face.

“I don’t know why I did it,” he hurried, explaining in a whisper, “I don’t even remember doing it.”

“Then how do you know you stole it?” She stifled a yawn.

“Because I remember it from the tour,” he reached into his pocket for a short dagger. “It glowed from my backpack and woke me up.”

“It glowed?” Her sleep addled mind refused to register the significance of his words.

“Bright orange,” he nodded, “like fire.”

“You couldn’t have stolen it,” she rubbed her eyes, coming awake with each word. “There are wards.”

“Then how did I get it?” He countered, emotions going out of control. His eyes tracked her as she stumbled out of bed and shoved her feet into slipper boots. “Where are you going?”

“Coffee,” she cinched a purple robe around her waist, “then find out how you got it.”

Days spent unable to sleep while the Hollow poisoned her body meant she knew the quietest path through the hall, keeping her off the teacher’s radar.

In the kitchen she went through the motions of making coffee between yawns.

“Coffee?” She poured cream and sugar. Her nose wrinkled at the two sweet taste, but she lacked the energy to remake it.

“Aren’t werewolves wide awake at night?” Landon shook his head and followed her into the hall, falling into step at her side.

“Only on full moons,” she whispered. Her hand shot out, fingers clutching the front of his hoodie to stop him. In her mind’s eye she saw the outline of the hot spots as if marked with bioluminescent paint.

“Squeaky floorboards,” she jerked her chin to a closed door, “and Mr. Williams is a light sleeper.”

“So how do we get to the library?” He focused on the dark door less than twenty feet away.

“Follow me and step exactly where I step.” She sat her empty mug on a hall table and began picking her way across the floor. She kept one hand behind her, holding tight to Landon.

Her eyes narrowed when they got close. She stopped up suddenly, nearly tumbling into a wall when Landon ran into her; his arms around her waist saved them a loud bang. Low voices drifted out of the ajar door with a distant light from a lamp.

“I think someone noticed,” she hugged his arms, muttering a spell under her breath to turn them invisible. “Don’t let go.”

~oOo~

Caroline shifted on the bed, smoothing out the material of a striped onesie.

Elena patted Serena’s back absently as she nursed and watched the stacks of clean clothes get higher. The silence stretched out between them until she physically couldn’t take it.

“Care, what’s going on?” She watched her shoulders draw up and elbows tuck in. “Come on, Care. Klaus didn’t barge in here so you could compulsively fold my laundry.”

“If I don’t fold it you’ll put off putting things away and pick up clean stuff from the baskets.” Her eyes darted up and then back to the blanket in her hands. “Why not just hold it when it comes out of the dryer?”

“I have a newborn,” she lifted Serena to burp. Her fingers skimmed the soft skin for any signs of dryness.

“You’ve got Elijah here, if not 24/7 then close to it,” she sighed. Out of laundry, she clasped her hands together in her lap. “Plus the rest of us popping in.”

“Which is what enabled me to do the laundry. I’m not supermom like you.”

“I’m not supermom,” Caroline’s laugh came out watery.

“You were a neurotic control freak before you became a vampire and gained the ability to speed clean,” Elena crossed her legs and held Serena carefully as she placed her in the bassinet by the bed. “I have pictures of the Dallas house and I know Ric is the organized chaos kind. I did live with him. You worked, took care of the twins and kept the house immaculate. You’re supermom, and I may have a little inferiority complex.”

“Why?” Her brows shot up.

“Seriously?” Elena gestured to her bedroom. Books lay scattered across the nightstand, and thanks to Caroline they were the only things out of place. Her journal sat open on the last entry where she had listed the vague details of Serena’s first bath; she still needed to add the dry out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fingers plucking at a loose thread on the blanket.

“Don’t worry,” she waved a hand, yawning. “I’ll find my groove and eventually get over it.”

“Not that,” her chin quivered.

Elena tilted her head.

“You…” Caroline faltered, reached a hand over to the bassinet. “Elena, you’re only in this position because of me… because I dragged you with me to Brazil. I left you alone.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” she insisted. “I left you in the hotel alone.”

“Where I was safe,” Elena reached for her hands. “I made the choice to leave the room. I decided to go for a walk. When you left me to go to that meeting I was safe.”

“It still feels like my fault,” she shook her head.

“It wasn’t, and I’m fine,” Elena sank against the headboard.

“No, you’re not,” Caroline shifted and sat next to her, careful of the piled fabric. “I know the signs Elena, and now that I know what happened they all make a lot more sense.” She took a deep breath, holding Elena’s hands tighter. “You pulled away from us. You hid what happened. For months you would jump when anyone touched you.”

Elena chewed on her bottom lip.

“I don’t know what happened.” Her stomach trembled.

“Yeah, you do.” Caroline blew out a rush of air. “You’re not one-night-stand-girl Elena, and that should have been my first clue. Somebody violated you, and you didn’t tell anyone.”

“I told Elijah,” she protested in a small voice.

“And if the two of you weren’t the two of you that might actually sting.” Tears burned in her eyes. “I guess I can’t blame you for not telling me sooner… I never told you.”

“Care?” Her heart stuttered with foreboding. “Oh my God, Care.”

She sat up.

“He… he convinced me I wanted it, and after I turned he made me think it was my fault,” she whispered in a hollow voice. “And then rituals and hybrids complicated things. You got a sire bond and I convinced myself it was better for you, and everyone else, not to know.”

“I…” Elena swallowed. “Caroline, I… I thought he was just feeding on you; that’s why Stefan helped me get you on vervain. If I.. if I had known I wouldn’t have… I would have told him to go to hell.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I know,” she felt a sob in the back of her throat.

The slid down in the bed, laying side-by-side. She curled an arm around Elena’s waist and blinked back her own tears to focus on the shimmering brown eyes of her best friend.

“Call it even?” She grimaced at her lame attempt to joke.

Elena’s laugh caught on a sob. “The other option is to say ‘I-hate-you’ and go our separate ways.”

“We’re beyond the point of leaving each other,” Caroline sighed. “Forgive me?”

“I never blamed you, but yes.” She hugged her close. “Forgive me?”

“I was bitter for a while, and genuinely terrified for you, but I already forgave you.” Caroline managed a half-smile. “And you seemed happy enough when you turned it back on and the bond was gone.”

Elena lowered her eyes, cuddling closer.

“What is it?” Her eyes narrowed.

“It wasn’t gone,” she whispered. “Damon didn’t want to hear that it was still there so I lied. And to make sure he never found out I lied to everyone.”

Caroline was silent for a long while, digesting the information. When she did speak it was in a decidedly calm voice.

“Do you think if we told Bonnie she could find a way to bring him back so we can kill him?”

“I think a spell like that could kill her,” she shook her head. Exhaustion beckoned her close.

“Best to let sleeping dogs lie,” she shut her eyes.

~oOo~

If she had accurately kept count it was her fourth yawn. Stifling it brought tears to her eyes, blurring the store fronts and street signs into a solid block of multiple colours. Several quick blinks brought her surroundings into crystal clear focus.

She saw the ceiling of the car with perfect clarity.

Her fingers curled around the warm wool covering her from chin to knee, mapping the dark blue material down to where it bunched near her hips and protected her from the sharp dig of the belt buckle.

“You covered me up,” she mumbled. Her fingers fumbled near the door, hunting for the lever that would raise her into a seated position again.

She saw him shrug from the corner of her eye as she rose.

“You looked cold.”

“And laid me down?” The seat snapped up, hitting her back with a dull thud.

“There would have been a crick in your neck otherwise.” He pulled into a parking space.

“Did you speed up again?” She squinted at the dash clock.

“Yes,” he turned off the ignition, “because if I stuck to your speed we wouldn’t have gotten here until 10 in the morning.”

“That’s not right,” she sighed. Her stomach growled, reminding her of the last meal she ate before they left Mystic Falls.

“What is right?”

Her mind scrambled. She carried ones and sevens and put decimals in the wrong places before admitting the fog in her brain was to dense for simple addition so she held no hope of mentally working a complex problem at 4 in the morning without chemical assistance.

“I’ll tell you after coffee.”

A shiver travelled up her body when she stepped onto the street; Kol’s jacket settled on her shoulders. Standing made the material swing around the bottom of her thighs, lower than half of the dresses in her closet.

“You’re tall,” she garbled around a yawn.

“And you’re very articulate before coffee,” he chuckled, steering her with a hand on the small of her back. “Come on, love.”

Bonnie made no comment to the physical contact, though he suspected an earful after the caffeine hit her bloodstream. Then again, she had never scolded his behaviour during Elena’s labour.

They crossed through the familiar green of Jackson Square. It was as deserted as any place in New Orleans could be during the early hours of the morning.

A handful of people occupied a handful of tables in the café that would bustle with energy in a handful of hours.

He left Bonnie beneath a green and white awning, sitting in a dark green chair.

She blinked at her surroundings.

He wondered from his place at the counter if the wrinkle in her brow was the result of attempting more mental math or if her confusion came from the sudden stillness.

She startled when he returned with two steaming cups and two orders of beignets.

Her throat released a pleased hum when she sipped the coffee. She had finished half the cup before he made it through the first beignet.

“I thought you two were living in San Francisco.” Bonnie picked up a beignet. Warmth radiated beneath the layer of powdered sugar.

“Were you keeping track of me daring?” He took a bite to mask his smirk.

“It’s always best to know where the hurricane’s brewing.”

He huffed.

Powdered sugar blew out in a cloud, dotting her cheeks with ghostly freckles that she swiped away before eating her own beignet.

Her eyes went round.

“We were in San Francisco, but Davina moved back here after we ended things since her magic is stronger here.”

“All magic is,” she murmured, watching the tiny hairs rise on her hand. “I can feel it humming under my skin like electricity. It’s making the air static.”

“I remember that feeling,” he nodded. At her confused frown he explained about the months spent in the body of Kaleb. “It was another attempt of my mother’s to kill her children; only in body though.”

“Glad she didn’t succeed. Though, I do admire her commitment to her goals.” She polished off the first beignet. “And 8 am.”

“8 am?” He tilted his head.

“That’s when we should have arrived.” Over the rim of her cup her eyes sparkled. “You took four hours off of the drive, maniac.”

“Psychotic maniac.”

Kol froze, cup halfway to his mouth, eyes darting towards the new voice. She stood watching them with crossed arms and a curious expression.

“Davina,” he greeted, lowering his mug.

“Kol,” she nodded, shifting her weight onto her heels. “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment I am plying Bonnie here with caffeine and sugar,” he cleared his throat. “Then I was going to look for you.”

“You drove through the night like a maniac to find me?” Her eyes darted briefly to Bonnie as her brows lowered; her gaze flicked to his daylight ring. “This have anything to do with the rumours about Rebekah?”

Bonnie traced the white cover on her cup, noting how the colour momentarily matched his complexion.

“I came for a spell…”

“So Rebekah’s not human?” Davina cut in, pressing her fingers into her arms.

“She is…” he cleared his throat.

Information slotted in place from their conversation at the hospital until his comment about rumours and amicable splits made sense.

“Oh my…” her fingers flew to her open mouth. “You never told her about the cure.”

Davina didn’t want to turn. Kol didn’t want to turn.

Kol knew every option. Davina knew one.

“There’s a cure?” She took a step towards the table. “How long have you known about it?”

“Sorry,” Bonnie mouthed her apology.

“Kol?” Davina prompted and when he didn’t answer she turned her focus to Bonnie. “Do you know?”

“I…” she chewed her bottom lip, eyes darting from one to the other. Her nail scratched at the Café logo on her cup. “I’m a little fuzzy on the history. Wasn’t it the twelfth century when you heard the rumours?”

“Early twelfth,” he nodded.

“I don’t care about rumours. I care about the facts.” Heat flared in her eyes. “How long have you known?”

He inhaled slowly and tipped his cup around, addressing his answer to the powdered sugar dotting the table.

“I have known where to find it for nearly eight years, and I knew where to look when I was possessing Kaleb.”

Jazz filled the ensuing silence. When Bonnie dared to look up it was into the face of indignation a split second before Davina Claire spun on her heel and stormed out.

“She’s not gonna give you anything now is she?” Bonnie sighed. She got to her feet when he shook his head and left him at the table.

Davina’s maroon jacket flashed between the locals on their way to work.

She ran around the people and after her, bemoaning her shoe choices.

“Wait up,” she called, gasping for breath.

Against all odds Davina listened.

She caught up and sucked in large gulps of air as she whipped off the now too warm coat; Davina’s eyes settled on the fabric.

“I’m not giving him anything.” She crossed her arms.

“Then give it to me,” Bonnie’s breath puffed clouds in the air. “My best friend, we’re practically sisters, just had a baby and because of magical interference she doesn’t remember how she got pregnant. Elijah says you’ve worked with memory before; you can help her.”

“Why don’t you just ask her boyfriend, or retrace her steps?” Davina uncrossed her arms.

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend, and retracing her steps doesn’t give answers.” Bonnie rubbed a stitch in her side, mentally making a note to get in shape again. “All signs point to someone hurting her.”

Davina glanced beyond her shoulder; Bonnie looked back to find Kol on the street.

“He could have told me,” her eyes narrowed.

“Could’ve, should’ve, didn’t,” Bonnie sighed. She kind of understood why; Davina had refused to entertain the idea of being a vampire, and Kol didn’t want to be human. He wouldn’t compromise when she wouldn’t consider the more obvious option.

“This has nothing to do with him though. This has to do with a woman who’s hurting and in desperate need of answers. So help me to help her.”

She drew deep breaths, looking Bonnie up and down hesitantly.

“The Originals have a house in town, right?” Bonnie tucked her hair behind her ear.

“The Abattoir,” Davina nodded.

“Okay, so we’ll be around until tomorrow morning,” she gestured over her shoulder. “Come morning we’ll leave again, and I’m hoping it will be with one of your spells.”

She left Davina standing in the square and walked back, coming to a stop in front of Kol.

“Withholding information? Really?” She handed him his coat.

“This information wouldn’t have made a difference in our situation for many reasons that I told you weeks ago.” He touched the bridge of her nose; his thumb came away with powdered sugar. “I saw no point in revealing the information and my reluctance to take the cure.”

“Why not?” She fell into step beside him.

“I knew it was over, but she still made a formidable ally. Why introduce animosity?”

“I guess I can see your point,” she nodded, eyes darting around the street. “Twenty-four hours in New Orleans… what to do?”

“I’ve got a handful of books I want to grab,” he shrugged, “maybe there will be a spell in one for when Davina doesn’t deliver.”

“Have a little faith.” She swayed, nudging his side.

“People these days don’t have faith,” he snorted.

“You’re not exactly of these days though,” she teased.

“Are you calling me old?” He opened the passenger door.

“I’m calling you ancient,” she flashed a quick smile. Her hand curled around the top of the door, brushing his fingers as she did; a tingle raced up her arm.

“Age brings experience, darling,” he took a step, boxing her in the space between door and car.

Her heart skipped.

“Not necessarily wisdom,” she breathed. Her eyes flickered to the smirk overtaking his lips.

“First I’m ancient and now I’m a fool?” He tilted his head.

“Your timing could be better,” she tilted her head, holding his gaze.

“I happen to have excellent timing.”

“Prove it.”

His hand settled on her waist, pulling her body to him.

Her palms settled on his chest above his beating heart.

Her touch starved skin tingled everywhere their bodies met. She thought she might analyze that further, but then his mouth captured hers in a slow kiss.

He tasted of coffee and beignets; the combination sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she stood on tiptoe to get closer.

He pulled back, brushing a second kiss along her bottom lip that left her breathless.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheek. She stared a beat too long at his lips.

He noticed and smirked.

Could he smell what his kiss had done to her, or was the press of her body enough?

She struggled to think beyond the sensation of his strong fingers pressing deliciously into her hips and came up with a single word.

“B-books?”

++++

“This couldn’t have waited until the sun came up?” Elijah traced the rim of his mug. The white ceramic held a heavenly blend of coffee the he purchased after Elena compiled a mountain of research into the effects of caffeine on breast fed infants. Not the he doubted her; the information was to convince Caroline when she inevitably found the bag of coffee.

“I couldn’t allow Caroline to sink further into her guilt.” Klaus stared out over the lake, vaguely illuminated in the pre-dawn. “It would have consumed her and destroyed half the mansion in the process. Your desk lays in ruins, by the way… not that you’re ever there to notice.”

“I’m at the mansion all the time,” he looked up and then down, fascinated by the grain in the patio table.

“You have been there for a grand total of sixty-three hours in the last twenty-one days. Three hours in which you sleep, shower and change.” Klaus scoffed.

“You know we don’t require much sleep, Niklaus.” He mused, tilting his head.

A slim vial of bright green weighed down his pocket. He had yet to find a suitable storage solution for the precious spell that felt safest on his person.

“How many of those other hours were spent here?” He took a drink of coffee.

“I’ve lost track,” he shrugged. “Most of my time is spent here when I am not on the phone with various contacts in and around Brazil.”

“Brazil,” Klaus nodded, crossing one leg over the other as he tapped the table with a finger, “so you know?”

Elijah nodded, already having worked out that Caroline told him; he had thought the information would be leaked by Kol first.

“She told me a few hours before you arrive to beg her help.” The wind ruffled the water. “I was looking for answers. It has recently become apparent that the information needs to be found sooner rather than later.”

“Why? Did the bastard gift her something more than an unwanted child?” His expression darkened.

“No, Niklaus,” he lifted his chin. If his brother’s expression was dark his own was thunderous. “And you will not refer to Serena as such again. She is wanted even if the circumstances surrounding her conception are not.”

Klaus went silent for a moment, letting the anger run its course. The cold fury rivalled the rage his brother had sported the night he awoke after the ritual.

“Very well,” he finally said, “you would know better of that situation, after all, practically living here.”

“I am not living here.” Elijah returned his attention to the lake.

“I said: ‘practically’,” he smirked, “you’re too comfortable with the girl to not be, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you restocked the pantry.” He sipped his cup and raised both eyebrows. “The coffee blend is a dead give-away.”

The wind kicked up.

“She’s been a little too busy to run to the store.”

“With the daughter who now requires answers,” Klaus hummed. “Will you be explaining that one?”

“Serena is not entirely… human, he studied the stain at the bottom of the cup.

“Obviously not,” he snorted, “her mother is a gypsy and a doppelgänger.”

“And she is something else.”

“Something else? What else is there?” Klaus shifted, leaning over the table. “No supernatural species can make themselves apparent at that age. Unless it’s a werewolf who killed their mother in childbirth, but those children never survive the first shift.”

“She’s not a wolf, and she’s not a witch,” he frowned. “There’s some gypsy magic from Elena, but something else is dominant.”

“There is nothing else, Elijah.”

“Then I suppose there’s not point in showing you the pictures,” he set down his mug.

“What pictures?” Low growls drowned out his question.

Wind blew down, flattening their hair beneath a fast moving shadow.

Klaus looked up, sensing Elijah doing the same.

His mind struggled to accept the physical evidence blotting out the light. He reached blindly for Elijah’s arm, afraid to take his eyes off the impossibility for even a second.

“Are you seeing this?”

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms@morsmornte@xanderling@bellemorte180@iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88@njeancastro316

#Elena gilbert #Elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #bonnie bennett #Caroline forbes #Klaus mikaelson #klaroline #kennett #elejah #Elena x elijah #legacies #the vampire diaries #the originals #ayte

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Diego Requests an Audience -1

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess gets the rich bad boy equivalent of a call the next day from what she thought was a fairy tale of a one night stand.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and 'the code is more like guidelines' outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Mentions of drugs/alcohol use, no actual smut in this one but references to multiple forms of sexual activity with m/f dynamics, plus size woman+fit man, early stage sugar daddy vibes, bad boys with too much money and not enough impulse control, secondary OCs, excessive swearing (???), illegal business dealings... I mean, its DIEGO

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me. If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I'm not a fan of "plot" so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Constructive criticism is always welcome. I'm an old timer at Fandom but a baby content creator.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read @chelsfic Princess pieces first, that is the beginning.

https://chelsfic.tumblr.com/post/613340476058304512/princess-for-1zashreena1-diego-jimenez-x

https://chelsfic.tumblr.com/post/618297838815920128/princess-awakes-diego-jim%C3%A9nez-x-reader-ficlet

Last thing before Murder Panther, I promise!

Huge, tremendous, throbbing THANK YOU to @chelsfic ! My fanfic creator mommy, I could not and would not have done this without you or your devious reverse psychology You're gonna have to thwack me super duper hard with a rolled up newspaper to get rid of me because ily.

Massive shoutouts to @symbiont13 @rosee-sensuelle @bunnykjm @mandoplease @nicke0115 (y’all know what you did)

You're sitting in your car on your lunch break listening to the same song for the seventh time in a row because that is a thing that you do. When you like something, you like it. The song has pounding bass, if you close your eyes you can almost imagine being in a club. You never did get to do much of that, your twenties were spent working two jobs and sleeping in your car sometimes, so your just passed birthday weekend escapade was really something else. You've never done anything like that before and it was-

Ding-DING

Your phone chirps with a text message from an unknown number. You peer at the screen with a furrowed brow, I don't know anyone in California, must be a wrong number. You open the message cautiously, who knows what kind of weirdness it might be.

Good morning Princess

What. No. There is no way. Absolutely not possible. Un uhh. Nope.

You should come back to NYC. I want to have you again.

Holy fucking shit. Its really him. It's Diego. Its Diego of the big brown eyes, even bigger hands, and absolutely the biggest cock you have ever seen. Diego viciously-gorgeous stupefyingly-rich incredibly-dangerous exhaustingly-insatiable Jimenez.

Whom you most definitely did not Google upon your return home only to discover that he is an international criminal. Yeah, he's criminally hot.

You really do wish that little voice in the back of your mind was helpful.

Yes, but he was nice to you. Really not helpful. How many times did you even come that night? There was the bed, the floor, over the back of the sofa, the kitchen counter (which he referred to as 'snack time' because he ate, and wasn't that adorable), and then that kiss/invasion of your oral cavity before you left. After he made you breakfast. And gave you a pair of Ugg boots that were magically in your size because it was cold out. Okay, so he was REALLY nice.

Wait. I didn't give him my number, what the fuck.

Hi Diego

And you hit send before you can stop yourself. What in the actual fuck am I doing?

I knew you remembered me. 😉Come up here this weekend. I want you

He wants you. He said it himself. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. Like, want-want? He saw you naked in broad daylight so he definitely knows what you look like. I want you, your mind just keeps repeating it. Hold up, is an international drug lord, cartel boss, top ten FBI most wanted man texting you with emojis???

I hadn't really budgeted on another trip so soon

Is that too much? Are you revealing your pathetic poor-ness and he definitely will not be into that?

Please🤚 Do you want to come?

Oh lordy, but he knows exactly how to word things.

… I mean, yeah. Preferably repeatedly

Okay, yes, you've always been a pervert but something about this man only encourages you. Surely it wasn't how he laughed every time you made an innuendo.

Then I've got you 💵😙 Princess👑

Do you want a hotel or stay with me?

Harrisburg is your nearest airport, yes?

Never before in your life have you had cause to use the word 'Baller' but here you are. Is he seriously going to fly me to him? Am I seriously going to go? What level of booty call is this?

Penthouse. Spoil me 😏

And yes Harrisburg. What are you going to do, fly me up there?? Lol

At this point you might as well see how far you can milk this. Also, apparently he knows where you live?

...yes. I have a private jet. I'll text you the info. We're going to have fun little girl😈

Well damn.

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

You send the entire conversation to Lisa in three screenshots. She calls you at 4:37 while she knows you're still in the car and you spend the entire drive home screaming together as best friends do.

"I can't believe him! A private jet? Oh my god girl, you better bring home some stacks!"

"I know! Like, what the fuuuuuuuuuck! Lisa, Lisa, oh my god, Lis, what the hell should I pack?! Oh no, oh shit, I don't have any sexy pajamas!" Your high is coming crashing down. Its Tuesday, so you have two whole days to figure this out.

Her laughter is so loud it makes your speakers crackle. "After what you told me from that first night it sounds like you better pack a case of lube and an ice pack!" She dissolves into hysterics.

Well, she's not wrong. "Dude! I was so sore, I couldn't walk for days. This shit is BYOIP: Bring Your Own Ice Pack!" Lisa shrieks while you howl with laughter.

"Okay, okay. Meet me at Macaroni Grill and we'll formulate a strategic plan of attack over carbs. We have to go to the Frederick's of Hollywood outlet." Lisa is already crafting a plan.

"See, this is why you're my BFF!" You proclaim before you whip across three lanes of traffic to change course.

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

You take way more clothing than you could possibly need for a weekend but better safe than sorry. The private jet looks like it came straight out of a music video, you're afraid to even think about how much this costs. Hell, he even paid to have your car valet parked in the only locked and guarded parking garage at this tiny regional airport. There are all kinds of snacks and drinks on the plane, there's even a tiny galley and what looks like a daybed. Noted for later.

The driver who picks you up at the airstrip in New York is Bastian and he is pleasantly surprised that you talk to him. You're pleasantly surprised at how nice Escalades are on the inside. The last time you were in this vehicle you were a little, ahem, distracted.

Diego is extraordinarily pleased to see you wearing the Ugg boots he gave you. The man is all growly innuendo and (mostly) gentlemanly manners, the contrasts are mind-meltingly hot. The weekend passes in a blur of a good time; orgasms, a stroll through some really expensive stores, more orgasms, two clubs on Saturday night, another set of orgasms (Did I really let him finger me in a VIP booth??), your first time trying weed, a sleepy orgasm in a jacuzzi tub (Wet Diego, so gorgeous), the best brunch of your life, another first by having orgasms while on top of a man, and, just before you leave on Sunday evening, a very nice Brahmin purse that you gawked at in one of the stores on Saturday.

Yet again, Diego corners you by the elevator and attempts to climb down your throat before you're allowed to leave. You have no complaints.

~~~~~~~~~~

The very next Monday you get an extremely sweet text very early in the morning thanking you for coming (all puns intended). Wednesday brings a cookie bouquet to your front door with a note stating that you don't seem like a flowers kind of girl. Incredibly early on Saturday morning is another text, he sounds like he might be a little drunk, confessing that he wants to do it again.

You forward the message to Lisa with your own addition:

Look, all I'm saying is I'm gonna take this top shelf dick and all the gifts that come with it for as long as he wants to give it to me

It only progresses from there.

#damnit diego #maurice compte #murder panther #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #rough me up then dick me down #zash writes

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kayr0ss · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home

[LWA, Diakko, domestic, family, baby?, cute happy shit]

Akko and Diana are still settling into this new life, routine, and responsibility. But coming home to this...? It was the best thing that ever happened to them.

—–

Diana clicked at the button of her retractable pen, eyes moving rapidly from left to right and back again. She paused, humming softly to herself while she appraised yet another essay on how ‘the advent of big data and analytics is a turning point in the synthesis of magic and artificial intelligence technology. She scribbled her remarks on the paper’s margin:

‘Revise – provide suggested guidelines and security measures for magic-infused data-driven machinery.’

Now, it may come as a surprise to many, but Diana never really considered herself a traditionalist. In fact, her on-going tenure at Luna Nova’s higher-education learning center is heavily decorated with progressive and future-minded research and perspectives. This idea, however, simply sounded a little too much like… Croix—and she wasn’t going to pretend that kept her at ease. But Diana also believed that very few people fall far beyond redemption, and Prof. Croix’s appointment as the Head of the Magical Engineering Ethics Board was the perfect example of redemption if there ever was one.

‘As we’ve learned historically, aggressive technological progress should be done under the guiding hand of ethics and humanitarian agenda,” she jotted down. She spared a quick glance to the office clock her before diving back down into the paper.

05:17:PM

Still early, she thought to herself, I could probably finish this stack before going home and—

“Quarter-past-five!” she suddenly exclaimed, forgetting that her former working hours of until well-past-eight were no longer applicable. Recent events had turned her entire world… upside-down.

“Grading will have to wait until tomorrow,” she hurriedly—but meticulously, of course—tidied the papers into her drawer; the pile on the left for marked papers, and unmarked papers on the right. Her keys jingled while she put her belongings back into her handbag, and the hurried clacking of her heels signaled the other professors of her early retreat back home.

Diana Cavendish rarely rolled her eyes, but by Jennifer the traffic was horrendous on the north-bound lane. Which she wouldn’t even be on, had she not forgotten the towels she was supposed to buy earlier in-between lectures. Akko reminded her thrice that morning (each time answered with an obedient, “yes, dear.”) Diana was once again reminded that one of the most surprising—and amusing—things she discovered since her marriage to the brunette witch was that between the two of them, Akko was ‘wife-zilla’.

06:13:PM

And there was extra-emphasis on the ‘zilla’ part lately. Traffic be damned, she was going to get those towels.

“Eep!”

The sharp whistling of a boiling kettle startled Akko out of the sports magazine she was so deeply engrossed it. Shit shit shit—she clumsily shut the glossy pages closed, darting towards the kitchen and—kami-sama, why did Diana think it was a good idea to have doors everywhere? “Stupid door,” she groaned, anxious to silence the whistling lest it disturb their special guest.

She lunged towards the stove, snapping the burner knob closed. “I could have done that with magic,” she flicked herself on the forehead, old habits from a magic-less childhood kicking in during the oddest moments. She blinked, scanning the kitchen counter for a small box before realizing that she left it back at the living room. “I’m almost as bad at this as I was at transmutation spells!”

About five minutes later, she was jogging back towards the dining area balancing a warmed tumbler in one hand, and several plastic utensils in another. She narrowly avoided tripping over the carpet (“Fuck!”), and was unfortunate enough to hit her shin across the low coffee-table, warranting an impressive parade of crisp, native-to-Japan curses. Thank Kami-sama it was Friday, she thought with relief. Diana would be taking over evening household duties by Monday and she damn well needed a break; even if a break meant more hours working.

She tipped the warmed tumbler over and let a few drops of its content spatter at the back of her hand.

06:37:PM

It was still too warm but should be just fine by dinner time.

[Capitalism is a predator, but I’m nearly home.]

Diana hit ‘send’, letting her wife know that she was around 2 blocks away while waiting for the last stoplight to turn green.

[As long as u got the towels lol. Tnx, luv u :-*]

Diana smiled at Akko’s reply, turning her attention away from her phone screen when she saw the soft glow shift from red to green. Yes, she had the towels—and maybe a full set of Reuven-Eilhart designer night pajamas. Or three.

She also brought home new ‘friends’—she saw that the store had recently released a set of ‘We There Bears’ themed products. Diana remembered Akko raving about them; they were apparently quite the in-thing as of late. She was immediately drawn to the pure-white polar bear with an interestingly unreadable expression. “That un’s ‘Nice Bear’,” the clerk supplied. “But if y’gonna get ‘im, you gotta get the whole gang else he’d be lonely.”

And so she did—because if Diana ever did anything she never did it half-way done. Frizzly Bear and Fanda sat snugly beside him in the backseat.

The blonde witch pulled up into their driveway, sorting out her belongings before stepping out to unload her shopping bags from the back. She opened the door and couldn’t help but laugh at herself.

“What has become of me,” she smiled, wondering how to bring three bears and several frilly-looking things into their house without painting herself as silly.

06:53:PM

Warm, yellow light flooded through the dining room curtains, and the familiar sound of their car alerted Akko to Diana’s arrival.

“She’s actually home on time,” she remarked to a little fellow seated at the end of their dining table, pulling on an exaggerated expression of being impressed. But Diana’s arrival always makes her smile, so she walks towards the front door so she can giver he wife a hand and—

She paused, taking a strong sniff of something which was coming out of the kitchen.

“Oh, no.”

The pizza! There was pizza burning in the oven! She bolted back towards the kitchen for some damage control, relieved to find that the pizza was only beginning to blacken at the crusts—easily salvageable.

“Mou, Diana’s gonna give me an earful,” she whined in defeat. She could hear the sound of their door unlocking, followed by footsteps through their dining area and the rustle of shopping bags being unloaded.

To her surprise, Diana had no drop of sternness in her voice. “I’ve missed you,” she cooed.

Akko broke into a grin, turning to face Diana. “Missed you to—”

She bit back her words, fascinated at the sight of her wife, looking weary from a long day, cradling their beloved Sara with all the fascination in the world. Their daughter giggled up to her mother, hands reaching for her face, prodding at Diana’s nose (which scrunched up adorably) and pulling at her platinum curls before squealing in delight.

“I may have missed you, as well.” Diana teased, tossing a smile to Akko’s direction.

“That’s hardly fair!” Akko tried to pout, walking towards the two people she loved most in the world.

Diana nuzzled against Sara’s forehead, running her fingers softly over the thin patch of light-brown hair beginning to grow longer. Sara perked up immediately when Akko came into her field of vision.

“I think she likes me better,” Akko whispered before kissing Diana’s shoulder. She wrapped an arm around the pair and tickled at Sara’s nose.

“Not a chance.” Diana leaned her head against Akko’s, watching as Sara grabbed onto Akko’s finger with a chubby little hand.

“Did you buy her another hundred sets of pajamas?” Akko raised an eyebrow.

“Only three,” Diana tried to hide her defensiveness. “And... several room accessories?”

Akko laughed, “pretty soon we’re going to run out of space in her room. This little lady has got you wrapped around her finger!”

There was no use denying it, so Diana simply rolled her eyes.

“Come here,” Akko smiled. “Welcome home.” She moved up to her tiptoes, and Diana turned her head to meet the brunette half-way for a small kiss. She appreciated the way Akko’s embraced tightened around her torso and warmed her chest; the way it made her family feel so... whole.

Akko pulled back, but Diana chased after her to steal another quick kiss, amused at the way Akko would still blush whenever she did that.

“So,” Diana gave her wife a look, “burnt pizza for dinner?”

“Mou, Sara! Your mother is such a bully!”

A/N: Woohoo finally churned another one out! I’m feeling a bit sick, and it’s early in the morning, so hopefully there aren’t that many typos/errors. Anyway I’m doing fine, hope you all are too! I’ve been re-reading Appointments over and over so I can get a feel of the writing style and flow I used to have for it and finally finish the next chapter. I do feel out of touch from how I was back in 2018; so I really need to do a lot of fanfic reading. You guys have any suggestions?

ALSO - meet Sara! Her name means vivid blossoms; it’s Japanese but also western-sounding so win-win for both moms. A homage to ‘Botany’, with the flowers and everything. She was originally meant to be Leia, because I’m a big Star Wars fan, but hey! I saw Sara and instantly thought it was the best fit. Hope you enjoyed. :) [Also, I’ve noticed I tend to switch between past / present tense a lot and I’ll be working to actively fix that moving forward!]

#Diakko #Dianakko #Diana x Akko #diana cavendish #atsuko kagari #kagari atsuko #Akko Kagari #Akko #LWA #Little Witch Academia #Fanfic #Yuri #Femmeslash #Fluff #Family #cute #wholesome #family fic

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nothingunrealistic · 4 years

Note

wait omg if you did 50 w kleinsen for the angst/fluff prompts i’d sob

50. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

The rumors that sweep the school via lunch lines and study halls always seem to center on the boys’ bathroom in the basement. Two kids got suspended for being caught making out in a stall — or for doing more than that, though no one ever agreed what, or named names. An AP student, a junior, did something in there that required a security guard to be called and the administration to send out a school-wide letter about someone being found “in great distress.” A new teacher walked in once by mistake and demanded to know why students were in the staff bathroom. (He didn’t last long.)

Evan wonders now if he’ll spark the next such rumor. Hey, did you hear about that kid who had a nervous breakdown in the basement bathroom over Driver’s Ed? I heard he got, like, three different diseases from sitting on the floor for too long. And someone would respond, are you sure it was because of Driver’s Ed? I heard it was just because he realized how pathetic he was.

That’s not really fair to the floor, which is cold but looks clean enough. “Pathetic” is right on, though, because what else would you call someone who’s so scared by the thought of driving a car that he runs off and hides in a bathroom before driving practice, especially after his mom paid hundreds of dollars for him to learn? Millions of people drive every day and most of them don’t die or get hurt. Teenagers drive every day — hell, even fourteen-year-olds drive in some states, and they’re fine, and Evan is sixteen, so why can’t he just do this?

The bathroom door swings open and clangs against the wall, bursting Evan’s thought bubble, and footsteps approach as it shuts again. Evan leans down to look under the stall door — oh. He knows those blue Adidases.

“Evan,” Jared says. “I know you’re in here. And if you’re not, you’re making me sound like an idiot, which I’m not into.”

Evan stays silent. Maybe if he doesn’t speak, Jared will decide Evan’s not here and leave.

“Guess I’m an idiot, then.” More footsteps, and jaunty whistling. “Huh, this stall is locked shut without anyone in it, that’s so weird.” The blue Adidases grow larger in the gap between stall door and tile floor. “Better crawl under and unlock it. Some custodian will be grateful.”

Jean-clad knees land on the floor, followed by bare hands, and Jared’s face appears under the door, mouth open in a picture-perfect O of surprise. “Evan! Wow, bro, I had no clue you were here!”

“Please shut up and go away,” Evan says, curling into a tighter ball.

“I would, but unfortunately I’m now responsible for dragging you to our driving session. Preferably not kicking and screaming.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Hold on one moment.” Jared crawls under the door just like he’d promised. He squats on the floor a few feet from Evan and swivels his neck and wrists, which all make horrible cracking noises. “Ow. Okay, what is it you can’t do?”

“I can’t…” Evan presses the balls of his hands against his closed eyes. “I can’t just get in a car and drive. I know I can’t.”

“Uh, yeah. If you could do it already, you wouldn’t be taking a class.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Jared has a way of picking apart anything Evan says that doesn’t make perfect sense, and he has to choose his words carefully to ever get his point across. “I think about getting in a car and driving, and adjusting mirrors, and using turn signals, and following speed limits and changing lanes, and all these different rules for what you do at a stop sign or, or at a traffic light, and how you drive when there’s people in front of you or behind you or all around you, and even if you remember how to do all those things most of the time, you might kill someone if you forget one time, and I think about it more, and I just…” The stall feels smaller and more stifling than ever. “I feel like, like I can’t hold onto anything, like I can’t even breathe, and how am I supposed to drive like that —”

“Okay, let’s focus on the breathing part,” Jared cuts in, “because you’re not doing great on that front right now. Deep inhales.”

Evan breathes in as best as he can, and tries to hold it for a few seconds, but the air gets away from him, stuttering out in jagged bursts. It gets easier as he keeps going, but not much.

“Those teen movies are total bullshit, you know.” Jared sits down and flicks away some crumpled toilet paper. “Showing high schoolers driving themselves and their ten closest friends to the mall like it’s nothing. Piloting a multi-ton machine is scary, everyone’s nervous about learning.”

“Oh, really? I don’t see anyone else freaking out in here.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not happening,” Jared mutters. “I mean it. Even I… I’m not the most confident person in the world about this. I get it, really.”

“No, you don’t.” Of course Jared isn’t taking him seriously, even when he’s helping, why would he? “You don’t get it, you’re fine, nothing’s wrong with you, you don’t understand what it’s like.”

“You think there’s something wrong with you?” Jared says quietly.

Evan shrugs, looking away. “Isn’t it obvious?”

No response to that. Evan hears Jared getting to his feet, then the lock sliding and the stall door swinging open.

“I’m washing my hands,” Jared announces, “because this floor is gross.”

“It’s not that bad,” Evan says, though the running water surely drowns him out.

“And once I’m done, it’s time to go drive.” Something clicks repeatedly. “Jesus, why do these things never have soap in them? Anyway, you have about thirty seconds.”

“Great.” It’s not nearly enough, but Evan will take every second Jared can give him.

#inbox #kkamikazed #dear evan hansen #jared kleinman #evan hansen #kleinsen #sometimes i write #:)))))

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

The Fast and the Furious: Spectral Drift || Morgan, Nell, & Constance

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @nelllraiser @constancecunningham @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Just gals being pals.

CONTAINS: car theft, drowning

For once, Nell was gaining a moment of mediocrity in her otherwise far too lively existence. Not that she minded the chaos. Parts of her thrived on it, but she’d been learning as of late that not all chaos was good, and a spot of normality was welcome in an otherwise unforgiving world. She and Morgan had gathered at Coffee Plus, taking advantage of the quiet day to do a bit of catching up between one another. Leaning forward to take a hearty bite of her chocolate muffin, Nell finished chewing and swallowed before finishing the story she’d launched into. “I’m just saying- maybe if he couldn’t handle the whole sandwich, he shouldn’t have stuck his fingers in the hanyo.” Her tone was bright with a laugh as she remembered the ridiculous expression that had been on the man’s face. Ready to launch into another joke about the poor guy’s predicament, she stopped mid-sentence— realization dawning over her as movement caught the corner of her eye. “Morgan...isn’t that...your car?” Pointing towards the vehicle in question, Nell stood to get a better look. Sure enough, she recognized the license plate that was ever so slowly inching away from the curb, the back of a mysterious head seeming to fumble with the controls. “Someone’s taking your car!”

Morgan was relieved that Nell wasn’t so bothered by her Constance drama as Blanche had been. She missed her young friends and whatever good she was able to imagine she did for them by being around. They certainly did plenty enough for her. Nell, especially, never backed down from a fight or a favor if it seemed right to her, and she could brighten any day with stories from her daily whirlwind adventures. Even though Morgan couldn’t really enjoy anything at the cafe, she didn’t feel ill at ease slurping at her seltzer water with Nell across the table. Listening to the latest turn, Morgan couldn’t help but snort. “You know not everyone is in your league, right, Nell?” She asked. “A lotta guys who call themselves brave would pee their pants getting up to some of the stuff you do. Although, gotta say, even I’m not woman enough to go anywhere near that ‘hanyo’ stuff, even for money.”

She had another question on her lips when Nell’s face changed. “M-my what?” She couldn’t have heard that right. But she followed Nell’s finger and— “That fucking bitch,” she hissed, tearing her bag off the chair. “I gotta go, I’m sorry, Nell, you might wanna run.” She stumbled outside in disbelief. “You’ve got three seconds to get out of my fucking car!” She cried.

Constance jumped, startled at the fury in the woman’s face. She was still getting used to being seen by any old soul, and not just her fellow damned and dead. She could still get out. Apologize for the mischief. This crime was small, impulsive, childish. She had only been wondering at the miraculous contraptions since they had first frightened her months ago. And seeing Morgan, this other Agnes, slide in and out of hers with more pride than any girl she’d seen give to a bicycle. It hadn’t even been locked. How grateful could this woman be for it if she didn’t think to have it locked? Thus, Constance’s resolve solidified. “I think you’re wrong!” She called. Her foot tested one of the pedals and a delicious roar came out of the engine. “I only need three to get away with it.” She moved the lever next to her and pushed the pedal again. The automobile shot backwards, crunching into something behind her. Constance fixed the lever again and she was flying forward, into the road like a comet. “Try and stop me, Bachman!” She cried.

Immediately electing to ignore Morgan’s recommendation of running, Nell’s head whipped around in search of something that might help, an idea that could get Morgan’s car back, and possibly give Constance some hell at the same time. It came to her in the form of a bright and shiny sedan someone was just pulling up in, putting their own vehicle into park alongside the curb. They didn’t have a chance to take the keys out of the ignition before Nell was on them. “Can I borrow this?!” she yelled at the startled driver who was frozen in shock. His confused voice matched the hopeless alarm on his face.

“Wha-? No! It’s my car! Who the hell are you?” Without answering, Nell wrenched open the driver side door, grabbing the shirt of the poor man to firmly remove him from his seat, and deposit him on the asphalt. “Sorry!” Nell quickly apologized, another idea quickly coming to her. “Uh- official police business! Detective Vural thanks you for your service and so does White Crest!” It’d only taken her a quick second to Summon the fake badge she’d magically made when she’d pretended to be police to Regan and shove it into the face of the driver. As Constance and Morgan’s car rocketed down the street, Nell quickly put her ‘borrowed’ car into gear, also ignoring the fact that she didn’t have a license, and had mostly driven tractors. “Morgan!” she called out, rolling the car to her friend. “Morgan, get in! We’ll catch her!”

Morgan screeched with outrage. “My girlfriend bought me that Subaru!” She started pelting the car with whatever she had on hand. Her drinking straw, crumpled up receipts, post it notes, half used packs of Trident, pens, embroidery needles, her planner. They all bounced off the red car and fell pathetically into the road as Constance reversed right into a light pole, switched gear, and drove straight into traffic.

Morgan followed her as far as the stoplight, screaming wordlessly until the car behind her honked. “Hey, lady! Don’t make us late too!”

Morgan stumbled back into the parking lot, just in time to see Nell wielding a police badge as she dove into a random suburbanite sedan. “D-detect--yeah! Detective Stryder thanks you for your service too! Call the station with my name if you have any questions!” She didn’t slide so much as topple into the shotgun seat, junk still spilling from her bag. “And thank you!” She called behind her. They sped off in the direction Constance had gone, fast enough for Morgan to feel plastered to her seat before she could even buckle up. “I uh--didn’t know you had a lot of getaway experience, Nell,” she said, laughing breathlessly.

Broken glass and confused drivers littered the road ahead of them. Skid marks striped the road. Up ahead, the faintest streak of banged up red zig zagged through the lanes before jumping the curb and tearing into the town common.

A snarky chuckle fell from Nell as the familiar name of Marley Stryder was thrown into the mix. “I didn’t know you knew Marley,” she said as casually as a person could while beginning to give chase to a car that had been hijacked by a ghost who could have belonged in Downton Abbey for all Nell was concerned. As for getaway experience… “Oh, I don’t! Unless you count racing games and tractors!” she answered brightly, the rush of piloting a car that was careening down the street in a chase already causing delicious adrenaline to pump through her veins. It’d been a long while since she’d gotten to enjoy a high like this without also fearing for her life. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to drive a getaway car! Or be in a car chase! I just didn’t think I’d get to since I don’t have my license or whatever.” The witch dropped the news as if it were the most inconsequential fact one could say at a time like this, accelerating all the while. A light turned red. Nell didn’t hesitate as she blew through the intersection. Thankfully, Constance had run the same light, clearing the way for Nell to pass through safely. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her!” In a jerky movement, Nell followed the ghost onto the grass of the common.

“We’re acquainted,” Morgan said, wincing at the memory. It clearly wasn’t in any way that could be considered ‘good.’ “Wait, what do you mean you--oh my fuck, Nell, no!” Morgan yanked the wheel, swerving the car away from a tree, bouncing painfully back onto the street. She could see her red Subaru swerving down towards the docks in the distance, the bumper just barely hanging on and sending a fireworks show worth of sparks down the street. “She can’t get much farther like this,” she hissed between her teeth. Morgan let go of the wheel and reached into her bag for her salt pistol.

This wasn’t really the ideal time for Nell to question Morgan further about her and Marley’s relationship, even if her need to be nosy was in full force and trying to get her to ask anyway. Later, she told herself before punching her foot to the gas once more. “Hey!” she objected as Morgan jerked the wheel. “I wasn’t gonna hit it! Talk about a backseat driver,” Nell grumbled. But the disgruntled mood was quickly past her. How could she stay upset when she was zooming along in a car chase? A grin split over her lips as she took the time to roll her window down, laughing as the wind whipped her hair with the sudden gust of air. “What is that?” Nell asked, not entirely sure what kind of gun the strange thing in Morgan’s hands was. However, she did know that if Morgan was going to get any kind of decent shot, they needed to be closer. Yet again, Nell stomped on the gas, laying the pedal flat against the floor of the car. Finally, she managed to catch up to Morgan’s car, the front bumper of Nell’s ‘borrowed’ car kissing against the back of Morgan’s Subaru. The nudge was more than enough to knock the Subaru’s bumper loose. “Ha!” Nell exclaimed as the piece of plastic clattered beneath them before remembering that it was Morgan’s car she’d just tapped. “Ah- I mean- oops?”

Morgan cried out to see her poor bumper. Her fingers stretched out helplessly to the windshield. “S-subaru…” she whispered. That did it. Morgan cranked down the windshield, because of course it still had a fucking crank, and leaned out, pistol raised. Three short pops burst through the air. Three brusts of smoke. The salt rounds exploded against the Subaru. One landed in the spiderweb break in a window, melting on contact.

Constance’s joy was short lived. These monstrosities were no relief, no freedom. The beastly thing seemed to have a mind of its own! Then the windows began to cave in, dripping with salt. “No, no, no, no…” She whimpered. She tried moving the lever, but this only made the car jerk and fit. Panicked, she rammed her foot to the pedal. The automobile screamed as if she’d cursed it and spun out of her control. Constance shifted, ready to drift out like it was no matter of all, but no, her solid form was now her prison. The automobile crashed onto the docks. Wood shattered everywhere in its wake. Finally, it came to a stop, and Morgan Beck, the last of the Bachmans, was right behind her. Constance picked her way out of the debris and stumbled into the car’s path, her body clenched and unyielding. Let her do her worst, cruel coward that she was. To ruin even one of her ill-gotten treasures was worth the trouble this had cost.

As Morgan hung out the window of the car, Nell reached for her own door handle— ready to launch herself into whatever showdown it was that Constance was hoping to have here. What she was going to do she wasn’t all that sure yet. But Nell had to do something. If she didn’t, who knew if there would be another Maxine sooner rather than later? But as her hand reached for the plastic of the handle, she heard a click of the locks, and in a single second the witch found herself momentarily trapped in the car by some no good ghost mischief. If only it had stayed mischievous rather than lethal. Before Nell could so much as search for the unlocking mechanism, a weightlessness overtook her. She was...flying? No, the entire car was flying. Straight over the side of the dock as Constance wielded her power once more, sending the borrowed vehicle right into the hungry fingers of the waiting waves of the ocean. Morgan was gone from the window before Nell could make sense of what was happening, probably thrown adrift by the sheer force of the launch. And then...an icy coldness as water began to pour in through the open window, the car sinking steadily below the surface of the water while Nell remained trapped inside. She jerked uselessly at the handle as more saltwater began to fill the cab of the car, it not taking long to rise to her knees. It seemed whatever Constance had used to keep the doors shut wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Constance, don’t.

The voice wasn’t in Constance’s ears, but it shook through her strange body as she tried to stop the car. Locking it was no matter to her, but the rest, becoming an immovable object to its unstoppable force. If she were her full self, it would already be in the air. If she were herself, she could have gotten hands around Morgan and snapped her to pieces. She could have thrown her across the room, smashed her up and down and gathered the dust of her bones for--

Constance, don’t.

It was the girl’s voice. Blanche Harlow. And in remembering her warning, Constance stepped back from her rage. But the car was already trembling in her grip. There was someone besides Morgan inside. Another girl, as frightened as the school children had been, maybe more. She could see Constance. She knew exactly what was happening to her, and perhaps even why. Constance let go, it was too much, all of this was too much, she didn’t want to be cruel to innocents, but she couldn’t let Morgan cower behind her friends all the time either! Constance’s self-control was like that of a child and the car didn’t come gently down to rest. It soared into the water and crashed through its depth, hard enough to disrupt the waves. Constance watched it sink, helpless to move, to think. “Help!” She screamed at last. “Someone help! There was a crash, did you see a crash? The automobile just-- there’s more than one person inside there! Help!” She sprinted up the docks, arms waving like mad. “Help me, please!”

Even Morgan’s zombie nerves felt her body hit the water. She plummeted downwards, muscles burning as she wriggled to slow herself down. The ocean was veiled in salt and murk before her eyes, but she could just make out the outline of the subaru in the distance. She opened her mouth once to call, only realizing how stupid that was when water rushed into her mouth. Fuck. She had to get to her. She was not losing another person to this spoiled brat of a witch. I’m coming, Nell. I’ll make this right.

As the water got higher, and only the murky depths of the ocean could be seen out her driver’s side window, Nell screwed her eyes shut for a long moment— trying to assess, to find her way out. She hadn’t come all this fucking way to die via being tossed into the ocean by a god damned ghost. The sound of rushing water, and the coldness of it rising to chest height was enough to push Nell into action, and in a quick moment she’d drawn one of her hidden daggers, slamming the butt of it against a backseat window. It did what it was meant to, shattering the glass and allowing more water to fill the car. The witch couldn’t remember where she’d heard it, but somewhere along the way she’d gotten it into her brain that letting the car fill with water would make it easier to open the door and make her escape. A quick spell made easy work of the locks, and the whole handle flew off of the side of the door as the dire need of the situation had given her a little too much juice when it came to casting. Whatever. It would work. She’d been submerged enough to float towards the roof of the car at this point, and now all there was left to do was wait. Wait for the car to finish filling. Wait for the perfect moment to take her last breath and make a break for it. Finally, the moment came— and she took a shuddering and deep last breath of precious air as the car became entirely filled.

Nell fumbled it. Half of her final breath became water where there should have been air, and suddenly a reflexive cough was wracking her. In all of two seconds...her air was spent, and she hadn’t even gotten out of the car yet. It didn’t matter. That was what she told herself. It didn’t matter because dying wasn’t an option. Kicking open the door, it felt like time moved in slow motion as she finally came out from the car. She raised her eyes towards the light filtering above her to find that the sun seemed impossibly far away. Shit. Shit shit shit. Had she really sunk that far so quickly? Should she have tried her chances with getting out of the car earlier? It didn’t matter now. Swimming had never been a problem for her, but the surface seemed impossibly far. Nevertheless, she kicked her legs, making a desperate attempt to live. It wasn’t long before her lungs were screaming for air, begging her to take that breath of seawater that would begin the sealing of her fate and death. Just a little closer. Just a little more. But the little more wasn’t enough. It felt like every gallon of the ocean was pressing on Nell— her eyes, her ears, any crevasse it could manage to find. Dizziness began to take its hold, and Nell vaguely wondered how it was even possible to be dizzy underwater, the inane thought crossing her mind as spots began to appear in her vision. She wasn’t going to drown. She refused to drown. Barely aware of it, sheer will seemed to propel and jet her higher, and whether it was her legs or her magic, she wasn’t able to say.

Morgan was no expert swimmer, but she had determination and stamina on her side. She tore through the water, muscles aching. The pull of the ocean was not her friend this time. It weighed down her arms, making her slower. Salt and floating debris flung into her eyes. Morgan continued to swim. She could see her now, a limp ragdoll figure in the blue.

No. Not today. Not one more fucking person is dying because of Constance.

Morgan grabbed her around the waist and propelled them to the surface.

“There they are!”

“Look!”

“Someone toss ‘em a rope!”

“Grab on, honey! Don’t let go!”

Morgan’s eyes were blurry with seawater, but she made out the shadow of a life preserver flying towards her. Morgan dragged her and Nell towards it, trying not to focus on how much distance there was between them and the shore, the ruin of her Subaru, the weight of Nell’s motionless body in her arms. “We--” she called, her throat choked with salt. “We need-- CPR! She--” Morgan gagged on more seawater. Nothing was moving fast enough. Not her legs, not the human chain forming on the docks, not the clouds gathering over the blinding sun. Morgan kicked in the water to help move them along, but it felt like she was still being pulled down, squeezed until she broke and gave up.

When they reached the surface, Morgan remembered to give a few dramatic coughs and wheezes while a woman she recognized from Amity Row felt for Nell’s pulse. “How did you… did you see? What happened?” Morgan asked.

The crowd looked uneasily at each other. “Just the end,” one of them admitted. “Wouldn’t have seen it at all except for that weird little girl.”

They began to describe her in bits and pieces, red hair, funny dress, maybe a cosplayer, but Morgan had already heard too much. She didn’t care what Constance had or hadn’t done for them, what kind of crowd she wanted to draw for her latest maneuver. If she was still gawking by the time Morgan was through here, she’d take her new solid body and pound it into dough. “Out of my way!” She snapped. “She just needs CPR! Fuck, it’s not rocket science!” She started pumping on Nell’s chest, blocking out the rest of the world. She’d taken this training enough times to remember; she could get this right. “Come on, Nell…” She whispered. “I can’t let her get you too. Come on…” She breathed into her mouth. “We’ve got this, Nell. We got this… we got this…”

#wr nell #wr chatzy #wr nell chatzy #wr constance #wr constance chatzy #wr group chatzy #wickedswriting

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emily-charles · 3 years

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Jumper

[WP] Drinking and driving can be a dangerous idea, leaving you with no memory of what you were doing, but every eyewitness of the crash you were just in has the same story: your car suddenly teleported across three lanes of traffic in an instant, and you can't prove one way or another what happened. Griffin Davies hadn't been sure of what happened, but waking up in the drunk tank only to be interrogated by the cops had been the worst six hours of his life. They'd come at him right away, as soon as he was awake and coherent enough to tell them what happened. Only he had very little to tell them. He was hungover as hell, and he had started the party early with his roommates. They had insisted that drinking at 10AM on your 21st birthday didn't make you an alcoholic, it made you a pirate. He had laughed at that, and so… They took their first shots together. He'd been slow to start, mostly because who the hell drinks in the morning? However, it had picked up by the mid-afternoon. As more people filed into the house that he shared with two close friends, Aaron and Matt, the party had picked up immensely. He remembered going to the washroom, going out for a smoke, and then… Nothing. Apparently, at some point, he'd decided he was starving. He had eaten snacks throughout the day. Random food in bowls that tons of other people had devoured, but he wanted something real. So, a quick run to the local McDick's wouldn't be a problem, right? Matt had tried to hide his keys, but he'd found them in the freezer. Walking out the door without anyone even noticing, according to Aaron. And off he'd gone. And the crash… Nothing. Still, nothing. He hadn't killed anyone, thank fuck. If Aaron and Matt hadn't come to talk to him, he wouldn't have even known about Matt hiding his keys. Or that he'd complained of being hungry. Matt insisted that he told him they were ordering a ton of pizza, but apparently that wasn't what he'd wanted. The cops had asked him questions over and over again. And he'd responded the same way every time. He'd managed to get several bottles of water from them while being interrogated at least. He desperately needed to rehydrate, and the water fountain/toilet in the cell was disgusting. It was uncleaned, with gum and loogies, he was even sure someone had pissed in it. Eventually out of exhaustion, and the hangover from hell, he'd asked to be taken back to his cell, and that he clearly needed a lawyer. It didn't matter though… He was going to fucking prison. He knew it, the cops knew it, Matt and Aaron knew it. Everyone knew it. That was… Until the cops came back with traffic camera footage, that they were unwilling to show him. And then, when they'd pulled him from his cell again, they started asking strange questions. "How'd you do it?" "The witnesses saw it. Nine different people." "How is that possible?" "You need to tell us right now, Griffin." "How did you do it?" But there was no alluding to what they were talking about. He kept repeating himself, over and over, but no one was listening anymore. They were sitting up close and personal by the time the door to the interrogation room was opened again. A black man with a well-tailored grey suit stood in the doorway. He looked at the cops, almost in disdain. With the blue eyes of a husky dog. Clear, crisp, and focused. One of the cops, Agent something-or-other, stood abruptly and glowered at the man in the doorway. "What the fuck, you blind? The lights on. The room is in use, man," the beefy man growled out. The unnamed black man flashed a badge at the man, and raised a brow without an ounce of interest in what the cop was saying. Griffin can't see what the badge says, but he sees the cop bristle. "Our fucking collar, man," he snaps at the mysterious stranger. "Not anymore. Get the fuck out. Close the door behind you, and disconnect the cameras, or you'll have no job, no life, no pension, and be spending time in Guantanamo. Away from that lovely wife of yours, what's her name again? Oh yes, Cathy. Do you understand me, Agent Meisner?" The black man's voice is cool, and calm. He doesn't seem to have a single interest in the cops. His sharp blue eyes are focused intently on Griffin. The intensity is unnerving. "Fuck," Agent Meisner cusses, and continues to curse as he exits. His counterpart follows quickly after him at a clipped pace. The door closes behind them, and the man pulls one of the chairs from their up-close and personal position and gives Griffin some distance. He sits down silently, before glancing up at the ceiling. "Turn the fucking camera off. Do you think I can't tell you're watching right now, Agent Meisner? This is your very last warning. And I am not a forgiving man," the unnamed man says looking directly into a spot in the ceiling. Griffin looks up and sees nothing. There is no camera that he can see. The man is sitting near him, but in no way invading his space. He seems to be waiting for something. The fuck? "The fuck, indeed, Mr. Davies," the man says to him with a small smile. "The camera is off now. We are alone together. May I call you Griffin?" Griffin's heart palpitates, and he nods ever so slightly. "Well, Griffin, my name is Ezekiel. If you'd like, you can call me Z. Many people do. I'd like to ask you a few questions." Would it matter if I actually answered aloud or not? Griffin can't help but think. Ezekiel smiles in an almost pitying manner, and clears his throat. "Probably not, Griffin. But I'd rather we discuss it vocally, so that we can interact in a way you are used to, and more comfortable with," he offers, keeping his voice and facial expression soft. "You see, Mr. Davies, I'm sorry, Griffin, we have footage from a traffic camera showing you jumping across three lanes of traffic." "I don't remember any of it," he says, his brow furrowing. "Are you my lawyer?" Ezekiel chuckles at this, and shakes his head ever so gently. He raises his eyes to Griffin once more, and those blue eyes seem to twinkle ever so slightly in their amusement. "I'm glad you're entertained, Ezekiel, but my life in a prison cell is waiting—" "I am not your lawyer, Griffin. And, there are many people who drive drunk who don't even serve time. Especially as a first indictment, and you didn't kill anyone," Ezekiel says, with a still amused smile on his face. "Sure, you're going to lose your license, but I'm sure we can work with that. I already know you don't drink often, and you've never driven drunk before. And you're right around the age of juvenile powers showing." "I'm sorry, what?" Griffin is even more confused than ever. "I'd like to show you something," Ezekiel says, simply. He opens his briefcase, and inside is a laptop and several papers for things that he can't make out. Ezekiel opens the laptop, and it's already set to where it needs to be. He simply turns it to Griffin, and presses the spacebar. The traffic cam footage begins to play. The footage of his car about to go through a red light appears and he leans back miserably. Bracing himself for the impact of whomever he'd hit. He's clenching his teeth so hard, he's sure he's going to crack his molars. His car seems to disappear, despite other traffic continuing, he shows up three lanes over into oncoming traffic. He watches as his car sideswipes a truck, a minivan, and crashes head-on with a huge Mac truck. The way his small sedan crunches underneath the front of the large eighteen-wheeler is terrifying. His car is on fire in the video. How is he unmarked? No broken bones? Not bleeding to death in a hospital? Burnt to a crisp? Dead? He should be dead from what he sees here on the video. He is wide-eyed and in disbelief. After a moment, he sees himself appear out of nowhere, nearby the wreck. Standing about ten feet away, in between the original cars that he'd hit. People had already dismounted from their wrecked vehicles, and seem confused at his appearance. If he hadn't appeared right in front of their eyes, they would have never known. He doesn't understand and voices his uncertainty. "I don't… understand," Griffin says, confused more than ever. "I don't remember any of that." Ezekiel smiles calmly, and reaches over. Closing the laptop, slowly. "Is this doctored? Photoshopped or video-shopped or… I don't understand…" "It's okay, Griffin, I need you to take a breath," Ezekiel instructs him, as his heart continues to palpitate. Griffin starts to hyperventilate. "I need you to breathe. The video is not doctored. You are what we refer to as a 'Jumper'. It usually happens at a much younger age, but sometimes for those who don't relax or focus enough on the concept, it doesn't happen until much later." Griffin gasps for breath. "I'm…I can't breathe," Griffin looks around the room almost deliriously. Ezekiel reaches out, and places a hand on his shoulder. And immediately calm covers him, like a cool soothing blanket. He feels almost elated. "I'm sorry, I don't usually do that, but these are special circumstances," Ezekiel expresses apologetically, but Griffin is grateful, and fills his lungs with air. "We will need to go soon." "Go?" Griffin asks, confused again. "I'm sorry, Griffin, their kind and our kind, we… don't mix well. You will need to start anew elsewhere, with a new identity, and in a place that you are unknown. We will erase their memories of you, from family, friends, witnesses, and the traffic cam footage. All things. You are a risk to all of those who know you, they could use them as leverage against you," Ezekiel says sadly. "I hate to disrupt your life like this, but people like us… We don't have many options." "People like us?" Griffin queries. He feels like all he's been doing is asking questions. Ezekiel smiles sadly before speaking the one word that will change Griffin's life forever, "Superheroes."

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evolving-kalopsia · 4 years

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Chapter one rough

“Medic 17, you’ve code 3 traffic at 2765 N Locus Ave. 37 year-old male complaining of chest pain and anxiety. No further info.”

Drew looks across the cab of the ambulance at his partner and flashes him a grin. “That’s dinner, Junk.”

“Fucking Albert!” Junk yells, putting the rig in drive as Drew hits the lights and sirens. “He’s not due to call for at least two days. Maybe he’s actually dying, for once. Don’t you still owe dinner from Margaret’s last call?”

“Nope. I got Thai for that one.” Drew says proudly.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Junk responds, slamming the shifter into drive.

The ambulance heads out of the parking lot and Junk hits the lights and sirens. Rush hour just ended, traffic is still a bit heavy. The ambulance weaves it’s way slowly through drivers that seem to have never seen an ambulance in their rear-view mirror before.

“Fucking Albert.” Junk repeats, gesturing at the Toyota in front of them. “And this fucking guy! Don’t stop, shit-head! Move the fuck over!”

The car in front slams on it’s brakes, pulling one of the three textbook panicked driver moves: brake slam, pulling to the left or staying the course, crawling at a slow crawl.

“Asian and female.” Drew says, upping the bet, “and I get dessert, too”

“Just because your Asian female can’t drive doesn’t mean they’re all like that.” Junk says as the car finally figures out that the screaming sirens behind it aren’t going around and pulls off to the right, halfway through the crowded intersection of stopped vehicles.

As the rig kicks forward again, they both look out the passenger window, “what the fuck” expressions already loaded on their faces.

The driver waves apologetically, mouthing sorry over and over as they pass.

The ambulance screams ahead, clear roads for a few more blocks. Ten per over the limit is what they’re allowed per company policy. Apparently Junk missed that page in the handbook.

“Well that was a surprise.” Drew says, looking in the side view mirror.

“Cute little white girls ain’t exempt from bad driving” Junk admonishes.

“Very cute.” Drew corrects him.

Junk looked sideways at Drew. “That’s creepy, old man.”

“It’s only creepy if I say it first.” Drew says, putting on his best creep smile.

Junk gives him a disgusted look and says “No, it’s creepy when you have that look on your face when you say it.”

Drew feigns irritation, “It’s not a look, ok? It’s just my face, I can’t help the way I was born.”

“Exactly. Which is why everything you say is creepy.” Junk turns right onto Farley Ave. Quicker than he should, jerking the wheel back to the left to avoid a dog in the street.

Drew barely glances up from his electronic chart, already halfway finished with it. He and Junk have been partners for seven years, Drew knows that Junk is all-pro behind the wheel. Seven years of fun and blood and guts, life and death. Buffoonery and bullshit. Seven years of betting meals at the beginning of the week, based on which frequent-flyer is going to call first.

“Turn the fucking wheel, geezer!” Junk yells at the Buick ahead, the driver stopping halfway into the right lane.

“Shouldn’t assume they’re old. That’s profiling.” Drew says, chuckling.

“S’ a fucking Buick, man. Ain’t nobody under the age of sixty-five driving no Buick.” Junk says, waving out the window at nobody.

“Profiling.” Drew repeats

“Man, I am really not in the mood to smell Albert’s house today. Not at all.” Junk moans, thinking about what lies ahead;

Morbidly obese, 47 year-old diabetic, asthmatic, congestive heart failure, kidney failure, non-bathing rage-inducing EMS system-abusing Albert fucking Piffle.

As they pull up to Albert’s neighborhood, Junk kills the lights and sirens. The less people in this neighborhood that know an ambulance is sitting unguarded in the street, the better.

“Tonight’s the night. I can feel it” Junk says, pulling up in front of Albert’s trash-strewn lawn. “He ‘gon ride the lightning, we’re working him.”

“You keep saying it, and he keeps living. You’re jinxing us one way or another.” Drew grabs the computer off the dash as he gets out of the rig.

“Lock it, I’m not in the mood to go pawn-hopping on my day off.” Junk pushes his door lock down with his finger, the automatic locks long past working in this death-defying death trap of an ambulance.

They pull the gurney out, loaded with equipment they know they won’t need; Drug box, cardiac monitor, airway bag chock full of things they might use if this were a legitimate call. But it’s just Albert. He probably dropped his can of Spaghetti-O’s under the couch again. Or the TV remote is missing, stuck in a roll of back fat from the last time he managed to get moved from the couch and back under his own power. Or Albert’s just feeling extra bored and lonely. They bring the equipment even though they know they’ll be walking out of Albert’s shithole house, reeking of sweat and cat piss so bad they’ll change uniforms in the street before getting back in the rig.

They bring all that heavy, cumbersome equipment in because it’s got less chance of being ripped off in the house than out in the rig.

And the day they don’t lug all that shit in is the day they find Albert face-down in his own puke. Not so dead they can call it a night right there. They’ll find him just dead enough that they’ll have to actually work him. Roll his 400 lb carcass over and start compressions, cut his filthy clothes off and get him hooked up to the cardiac monitor, try to get at least one I.V. started, as well as call for assistance from another crew or two, just to get his ass on to the gurney in the event they actually get his ruined heart to start pumping blood again.

Junk leading the gurney, he doesn’t ring the bell or knock, doesn’t yell “EMS” into the house like he normally would. This is Albert. Junk just walks in, dragging the gurney with him as Drew pushes it from the rear, the wheels rolling across the stained carpet, a shade of some unnamable color distantly related to brown.

“Al!” Drew yells through his paper mask, donned by both of them automatically before reaching the porch. Not out of fear of catching anything, but from a lack of desire to smell the inside of Albert’s house. The masks barely do anything at all. Just enough to keep them from retching.

“Al!” He repeats, catching Junk’s quick glance back at him. It’s not like Albert to not answer.

Avoiding the piles of boxes and junk, they round the corner to the living room where they always find him; on the filthy couch surrounded by empty soda cans and chip bags and crusty food plates. Laptop opened on the snack tray, usually some Sci-Fi on the one large flat-screen tv, xbox or playstation on the other. He’d always yell “Here guys!” when they’d call for him and it would make them grin, ever since Junk compared him to Sloth from the Goonies.

Junk stops as the room enters his field of view and looks back at Drew with an unamused smirk. Albert is on the couch, Xbox controller in his hands and a brand-new set of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.

Drew stares at him for a moment, a similar smirk on his face.

“Albert!” he yells. It gets Al’s attention and he jumps, risks a glance away from the screen and then he’s back in sniper mode.

“Hey guys.” Albert mutters, focusing on the screen.

Drew walks over as Junk heads back outside, pushing the gurney and cursing the whole way. He pulls the headphones off Albert’s head and sighs loudly.

“What’s the deal, Al?” Drew asks, looming over Albert.

“I kept reading online about how much better it is if you have headphones, you know? Like to hear guys’ footsteps and stuff when they sneak up? So I ordered these, they’re really good, Drew!” Albert says, grinning like a great big man-child with too few teeth and too many comorbidities.

“No, Al,” Drew exhales “why did you call for us? Dispatch said chest pain. I don’t give two shits about your headphones or electronic addiction.”

“Oh yeah sorry. Fucker! Fucking campers.” Albert yells, distracted by Call of Duty again as his character on screen dies.

Drew steps between Al and the T.V. and for a second Al looks like he’s going to object, but Drew’s eyebrow raise squashes his momentary outrage.

“I’m sorry, Drew. I had some chest pain, but I think it was just some anxiety. The internet was out for like an hour and I was starting to lose it a little. I forgot to call back. I’m good now, though.” Albert says, simultaneously giving an apologetic look and trying to see around Drew, who shifts his weight and keeps his vision blocked.

“One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all your controllers and leave. I’ll show you some anxiety.” Drew says, making hard eye contact for a moment.

Albert’s eyes go a little wide, unsure how serious the threat is. He fidgets and reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a fresh battery off the charger and starts changing batteries on his controller.

Seriously? That’s not even funny, man. I said sorry.” Albert apologizes almost sincerely, putting his controller down on the arm of the filthy couch.

The voice in Drew’s head is telling him to let it alone, to just get on with his shift. But he can’t. No matter how burnt out he is, he has to try every time. Even just a little “Samantha still your case worker?” he asks, knowing full well that she is.

Albert’s eyes light up at the mention of the pretty girl that comes to his house once every other month to dot the I’s and cross the T’s on his paperwork so his handout money keeps coming in.

“Oh yeah, Sam was here last week. She looked hot.” Albert grins like a lovesick child.

“Sure. Right now,” Drew says “her Grandmother is dying on the kitchen floor, just three blocks away. I could be over there helping, but I’m here babysitting you. Maybe I’ll get out of here and catch that call. Have enough time to save her. Or maybe next time you see Sam, she’s a little less bubbly because she’s mourning the death of her beloved Grammy because it took the next available crew twenty minutes to get to her.”

“Her Grandmother’s dying? Right now?” Albert asks, almost panicked.

“Jesus!” Drew yells. He grabs the controller out of Albert’s hands and gets down low, points at his face.

“Stop abusing the fucking system, Albert. I’m not coming next time, I mean it.” Drew exclaims, holding eye contact before turning away and heading towards the door.

“Come on, man! Give me back that controller! Please? I won’t call again!” Albert pleads.

“If I don’t see you for a month, I’ll bring it back.” Drew yells as the door slams behind him.

“Oh C’mon!” Albert yells to the empty house.

He sits for a moment, wondering if Drew was serious about Sam’s Grandmother. He reaches down next to the couch and grabs another controller, mumbling “Whatever, sucker. You’ll be back.”

Junk’s already changed into a fresh uniform and packed the gear back up, taking a drag off his vape and says “Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him.”

“My name’s not diabetes.” Drew mutters, still irritated as he kicks off his boots and drops trou on the sidewalk, then pulls off his shirt and grabs his backpack from one of the outside compartments, pulls out clean clothes.

Junk takes another pull and offers it to Drew. “Want some? Helps get the smell out of your nose.”

“No” Drew refuses “ But you do look damn sexy sucking that robot dick. I see a future for you in robo-porn. You could be a pioneer.”

“You’re about to become famous, yourself.” Junk replies, motioning up the street. A group of young clowns two doors down have their phones out and are snapping pics of Drew in his skivvies.

Drew looks back at them and waves. “I’d better not see those on Ebay!” he yells, pulling his pants on.

A combination of laughs and catcalls come back, as well as “Chicken legs.”

Drew mocks surprise, turns to Junk. “Do I have chicken legs?”

Junk blows raspberry-scented vapor at him and laughs. “Yep. Chicken from neck to nuts, too. Speaking of, it’s taco time.”

Junk gets in the rig and starts it up, starts to pull away as Drew jogs to catch up and hop in before he gets left in this shitty neighborhood.

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neostar-entertainment · 4 years

Text

Title: Wish Upon a Star

Pairing(s): Ot4!Empyrean

Main Character(s): deoksu/eunjae/lian/yeonjin/sehyun

Warning(s): cursing, drinking, (breaking the law?)

Summary: it’s the night before the promotions for empyrean moon’s promotions begin, and the boys decide to go out and enjoy one more night of no schedules...only for it to start a night of breaking the law, tears, and a promise of friendship.

Notes: This was during ‘Withering Blossoms’ era, so it’s set around November 2019!

“How the fuck do you know how to hotwire a car?”

The Empyrean Moon boys were sitting in their manager’s car, sadly, without their manager and Eunjae in the driver’s seat. Empyrean Moon was set to start promoting their new mini-album, Withering Blossoms, the next day and they were determined to start this promotion period on a high note; a late night drive that’s planned to consist of several fast food runs and just them enjoying themselves.

“Listen!” Eunjae’s soft voice contrasted his large grin as he reversed out of the parking space, “I know how to have some fun, and that’s exactly what we’re going to be doing tonight!”

“We’re going to be hot-wiring cars?”

“No, Yeonjin,” Eunjae sighed, his tiny hands flying across the steering wheel, trying to situate the car in an angle that wouldn’t make driving out of his damn parking lot feel like a hassle. “Having fun!”

“Won’t Mr. Kim get mad if he finds out?”

Deoksu patted Chan’s head, whose eyes were wide as ever the moment he realized what his fellow members had planned for the night. “He’s not going to find out!”

“If he does, we all agreed we’re going to blame Yeonjin for the idea-”

“Wait, what?!”

“Because,” Deoksu let out, a laugh escaping his lips as he noticed the sudden panicked and betrayed look on Yeonjin’s face, “he has a soft spot for you, anyways. Won’t be as bad as saying Eunjae, me, or Chan planned this.”

Yeonjin crossed his arms, an angry pout quickly forming on his face.

“I demand some Mcdonald’s then, since it’s probably going to be my last meal!”

The boys all let out a laugh, Lian reaching forward to grab the aux cord.

“You got it buddy! Now, it’s time for some mood music, my young men-”

“You’re literally the second youngest, Chan.”

“Shh!” Chan’s hand covered Deoksu’s mouth, “You’re bold if you think I want to hear you over Hoody. Eunjae turn it up!’

“Okay!” leaning over to the right slightly, Eunjae’s vision (sadly) diverted from the road to the screen in front of him. To be quite frank, Eunjae didn’t know how the fuck to blast the music loudly, and even though he was ready to play it off, the sound of Deoksu letting out a scream allowed for his attention to be focused back on the road in time for Eunjae to quickly swerve the car. He didn’t know how, but he managed to slightly drift into the other lane, almost hitting oncoming traffic.

“We’re going to die tonight, I knew I should’ve stayed home!”

“I told you guys!” Chan sighed, shoving a few fries into his mouth “We almost died!”

“Okay, to be fair, I didn’t know that Eunjae didn’t have a fucking license!” The boys were currently sitting on a bench in the middle of the park. Their initial plan of driving around, enjoying the scenic night view, came to a halt after Eunjae almost got into several car accidents. They decided to play it safe, and go to a park (which Yeonjin drove them to, because coincidentally Empyrean’s youngest was the only one with a license) and enjoy the food they couldn’t eat due to their fear of dying in the car.

“Deoksu!” Eunjae whined from his spot on Yeonjin’s lap “I didn’t know you needed one! I thought it was a suggestion.”

“That’s not even a valid excuse!”

“Just know, I’m not letting you drive until you pass the driving test in 3 different locations, and even then it’s only going to be when there’s another adult in the car even when you get your license.”

“Guys,” Yeonjin frowned, feeding Eunjae slowly “leave him alone. You know how bad his anxiety is going to get if you draw it out. He made a mistake, he won’t do it again.”

Deoksu rolled his eyes, before stealing a bite from Chan who scowled at him.

To be honest, the numerous near death experiences left the boys without a real knowledge of what time it was currently. A part of it didn’t matter, in a sense, due to the fact that all the boys cared about was that they were together.

When they were trainees, a lot of things were left uncertain. The actual prospect of them debuting was always a shaky dream, with no real stability underneath it. Life after debuting was stressful to imagine, as well. There was the chance that none of the boys would be as successful as planned, and if one thing went wrong, their whole dream would fall apart and they’d be left with nothing.

It was moments like these that allowed for the stresses of being an idol to dissipate, in a way. No, their future wasn’t set in stone; there was a solid chance that the group they are today would be gone in years to come. However, to each boy, the moments of them being together allowed for those worries to subside for a while.

Moments like this allowed them to feel normal. There wasn’t the heavy dark cloud that came with being a celebrity. The dark cloud that poured down on them when a mistake became a focal point for the public to talk about, the dark cloud that grew heavier with each achievement they accomplished, it didn’t matter in moments like this.

Moments where each boy just enjoyed his youth with his best friends by his side. Moments where they simply took the time to just live their lives. Moments where they could breathe freely.

“Do you guys think we’ll be friends forever?” Chan’s gentle voice broke the silence, the boys all slowly turning to one another.

“Yes!” Yeonjin beamed, his smile evident in his voice causing the boys to laugh to themselves.

“No, actually.” Deoksu breathed out, the three boys turning to him with a raised eyebrow “I don’t think we’ll be friends forever-”

“Dude, what the fuck-”

“I think we’re more than that.” cutting off Eunjae, Deoksu raised his eyes to look up to the countless amount of stars above him. “We’re not just friends, guys. We’re a family, of sorts. We’re so much more than just some friends who’ll pick up the phone every few months to talk for 10 minutes to one another before going on with our lives…”

“I agree,” Eunjae let out a tiny mutter, his eyes were the first to be brimmed with tears. “We’ve come a long way, guys. We’ve grown a bond, that I don’t think it can ever be severed. You guys are the first group of people I truly feel safe with, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to let that go.”

“So, let’s enjoy these moments, right?” Chan spoke gently, scooting around to get the boys to be as close as physically possible. “Moments where we’re realizing that we aren’t going to be here forever, but that we’re going to be together forever, y’know? I want us to enjoy each other’s friendships more than just as idols, but as people.”

“Let’s make a promise to never forget this, yeah? The love between us right now, we should just always remember it and-”

“Guys, it’s a shooting star!” Yeonjin cut off Deoksu, pointing up to the sky “Quick wish for us to stay together forever now, or I’ll wish for endless nightmares for all of you!”

The boys smiled, a few wiping tears that had begun to blind, while all of them truly began wishing upon the star. Maybe there was a chance that it wasn’t in their destiny to remain together, but if it’s one thing they’re sure about it’s that they won’t stop trying to be with one another till the ends of time.

#kumokocnet #fake kpop #fake kpop idol #fake #Idol!AU #idol!oc #male!oc #male!idol #male!kpop #kpop ocs #g: empryean moon #c: deoksu #c: eunjae #c: yeonjin #pls love them #c: chan

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sorenmarie87 · 5 years

Text

Ichigo Ichie

Summary: There’s a secret that you’ve been keeping from your parents.

Square Filled: florist!Misha (AU)

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Misha x Daughter!Reader (Platonic). Misha x Vicki. Mentions of West and Maison. Wren (OMC). Jordan (OF/MC)

Word Count: 1,653

Warning(s): Consensual sex (just talked about). Secrets being kept from Misha and Vicki.

A/N: This was written for @spnaubingo. Also shout out to the lovely @fictionalabyss for betaing this <3

I do not own any of the pictures I used in my aesthetic.

SPN AU Bingo

You were adopted by Misha and Vicki when you were a baby.

During the summer, instead of playing outside like a normal kid, you’d spend time with Misha while he worked at his flower shop. He taught you everything there was to know about flowers. If you weren’t glued to his side while he was working, you were wandering around the shop.

“When you grow up, my little cherry blossom, you can be anything you want.” He would always tell you that before he kissed the crown of your head and you would always smile up at him.

Over the years, Misha’s flower shop expanded. They bought the building next door and turned it into a small cafe and bookshop. That was the reason you wanted to major in business when you went to college.

There was one secret you kept from your parents though. It all started with a graduation party your best friend was throwing.

Drinks were flowing, and music was blaring. You on the other hand, were watching him from across the room. He was in one of your core classes. You always thought he was handsome but you could never work up the courage to talk to him. With encouragement from one of your friends, you finally talked to him and that night, you went home with him. The next morning, you woke up alone, so you slipped on what clothes you could find and got the hell out of there. Little did you know that nine months later, you’d give birth to your one and only son. “Welcome to the world, Wren Collins.”

It had been a long night and all you wanted to do was get some sleep. You picked up your cell and your finger hovered over Misha’s name. What if your parents were disappointed in you for not telling them about Wren? You didn’t regret that night all. “Just call him, Y/N.” You pressed the phone icon beside his name and put the phone up to your ear as it rang and rang. You sighed as it went to voicemail. "Hey dad. I know I've been too busy to visit these last few months and I'm sorry, but I'll be home in a few days. There's something we need to talk about." You hung up and went to check on Wren who was wiggling around in his crib.

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” You called out as you unlocked the front door and smiled down at the little bundle in your arms. “I wonder where everyone is.” You turned on the television and made sure to turn the volume down so that it didn’t wake up Wren from his nap.

You must’ve fallen asleep yourself because you woke up to tiny feet kicking you in the thigh and Wren crying. “Well hello there mister, I see we’re awake now.” You cracked a smile before getting a good whiff of him. “Someone needs a butt change, doesn’t he? His sniffles were all you needed as an answer before pulling your diaper bag closer and taking a seat in front of the couch.

You were in the middle of changing Wren’s diaper when you heard the front slam open and two small bodies practically tackled you onto the floor. “Whoa guys, I’m excited to see you too but you need to be careful. Now where’s mom?”

Maison and West both pointed behind you as Vicki closed the front door. “West, Maison, what do you want for -” You were button up his onesie when Maison took a seat next to you on the floor.

“Is dat your baby, sissy?” You nodded as Maison leaned forward and kissed Wren on the forehead. “Hi baby, I’m Maison. I’m your aunt.”

“Does that make me an uncle? I’m too young to take care of a baby. I can barely take care of myself.” You chuckled as Wren started to fuss.

“Mom, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I’m just surprised, baby.” You stood up with Wren in your arms and your way over to where she was standing. He reached his hand out and wrapped it around Vicki’s pointer finger. “We’ll talk about this later once your father gets home.”

“Okay. Hey mom, you wanna hold him?” She cooed at him as soon as you placed Wren in her arms. It was like the three of you didn’t exist. “What’s his name?”

“Wren.”

“He’s adorable.”

Misha was ecstatic that you were coming home to visit. He practically threw his phone after listening to your message. In the passenger seat of his car, was a bouquet of flowers he put together for you. He was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change.

It’s the honking that takes him out of his thoughts. He presses the gas pedal and the car jolts forward, moving along with traffic. He drives by your favorite restaurant, the one he's always taken you to to celebrate small things like report cards, dance recitals, broken hearts or whenever you visit from college and he chuckles to himself, knowing exactly what you'd order because it's always the same.

He pulls into the right turning lane, when the car next to him honks its horn at him. Misha smiles and rolls his window down.

“Hey, Mr. Collins, you look excited. Is something happening at home?”

“Mr. Collins is my father Jordan, you know that.” He teased. “Y/N’s in town visiting.”

“Is her number still the same?” Jordan lightly blushed as they glanced up at the light. It was still red luckily.

“I’ll tell her to give you a call, okay?” Misha winked before he waved goodbye. The light turned green and he made his way home. He pulled into the driveway and smiled when he saw your car was parked there.

“DADDY’S HOME!!!” Maison and West practically darted out of the room when they heard the front door opening. You heard his chuckling from the next room and smiled before you wiped your palms on your jeans. You were nervous about what was going to happen.

"Daddy! Daddy, I'm an auntie now~” You were happy that Maison was excited. It was West’s comment that made you laugh out loud.

“Wait, if mommy's a grandma, does that make you a grandpa?" All Misha did was smile and nod at West’s comment but he was confused. He wasn’t old enough to be a grandfather. The moment he stepped into the living room and saw Vicki holding a baby, he froze. Misha stood there with a blank expression on his face and you knew something was wrong. His voice was quiet when he motioned to the flowers he was holding in his hands.

“I brought the wrong bouquet.”

“Dad?”

"Have you been here long? Have you eaten yet? Wait, are you breastfeeding? Because if you're breastfeeding you need to eat more, do you want me to cook something? You know what, I'll cook you something-"

“Dad, will you calm the f-” You didn't dare finish your sentence. Not with your two impressionable younger siblings around. "Please calm down. I’ll explain everything once Maison and West go to bed. Also, I promise you’ll get some bonding time with Wren okay? Until then, mom is - going to keep sniffing the top of his head?" Misha gave you a side hug and chuckled as he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Don't you judge me. Those two always smell like dirt, these days. I've missed this." "HEY! I HAD A BATH YESTERDAY.”

You were trying not to laugh at your parents. They were currently arguing over who got to hold Wren after you finished feeding him.

“Dad, will you give me a damn minute before you rip this kid off of my nipple.” Vicki chuckled behind you as she tossed Misha a burp cloth from your diaper bag. He draped it over his shoulder and was waiting patiently.

“Vicki has been hogging him. How’s he supposed to know who his grandpa is?” You shook your head with a smile forming on your face. As soon as Wren was finished eating, you handed him off to Misha. “Y/N/N… why didn’t you tell us about him sooner?”

“I-” You looked away from your parents and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I was scared that you’d be disappointed in me.”

“We could never be disappointed in you.”

“Wren’s father, did he force himself on you?”

“No. Everything was 100% consensual.” You were picking at the skin around your finger when Vicki wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “I had such a crush on him all semester and George invited him to her graduation party so I figured that was my one chance, you know?”

“Ichigo ichie.” Misha muttered to himself with a smile as Wren burped.

“Exactly.”

“See, watching all of those Japanese dramas with your old man paid off.” He bumped your shoulder and you smiled. “There’s nothing you could do that would make us love you any less - but if you ever murder someone, that’s the final straw.”

“Oh please, you’d help her hide the body and then start a mushroom patch over it.”

“Vic, why would you tell her that! I just had the backyard resodded. Now what will she do with the body? You know those two can’t keep a secret.”

“There’s mushrooms growing by the trees, daddy.” Maison was holding a blue narwhal with a moustache and monocle in her hands as she stood in the doorway. “Is there really a body buried in the backyard?”

“Of course there is.” You rolled your eyes as Maison crawled onto Vicki’s lap.

“Can we dig it up?”

“No way.”

You leaned forward so that you were level with Maison’s ear and whisper that the two of you could check it out when your parents were gone. She smiles with a quiet giggle. “West is gonna be so jealous.”

Forever Tags - @lovetusk @coffee-obsessed-writer@justballoonfishthings@mirajanefairytailmage@kazosa@wings-of-a-raven@docharleythegeekqueen@clockworkmorningglory@lefthologramdeer@ellen-reincarnated1967@holyfuckloueh@idreamofplaid@buckyscrystalqueen@ilovetaquitosmmmm@n3rdybird @super-fan-of-all-things@disneymarina@sandlee44@babykalika2001

#spnaubingo #MishaxReader (Platonic)#Misha Collins x Reader #Misha/Reader (Platonic)#Misha Collins/Reader #Reader Insert #RPF AU #Misha x Daughter!Reader

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