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someonewhowannadielol · 5 years ago

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My name is JK (Alien!Jungkook! x Human!Reader)

PART TWO (SEQUEL TO ‘MY NAME IS 01001010 01001011′)

CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE

LINK TO MASTERLIST

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff, Jungkook being a cutie, ok the real warning tags are Daddy kink, birthday sex, innocent reader being trained (???), lots of hicks and marking, cunt slapping, oral sex, uhh and jk being a competitive baby.

Genre: Fluff, Smut, if you squint and look closely, a little bit of humour.

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

It had been a week since Jungkook had, ahem, dicked you down. And it has been the best week of your life so far – he showed you things you had never seen before, the most beautiful scenes that your eyes feasted upon. You both had gone to the Neon Valley, it was a vast blue-purple lake that lit up at night due to the minerals on the sand bed below, and the lilies residing there would dance every night.

They fluttered, swung and swayed – and simultaneously, Jungkook and you too, had danced – he took you in his arms and as you both slow danced to the humming of the diva-crackers, you couldn’t help but look at his gorgeous face, adorned with a smile that you’d never replace for anything in this universe. You could feel yourself falling for him, he twirled you with ease, and as you stumbled back into his arms, he lost his balance trying to save you from falling and splash!

You both had ended up in the hot water, and despite the current situation, you both had burst into boisterous laughter which echoed across the plain field around. In the shining moonlight, Jungkook’s face was more lit up than the neon water they were in, his long hair sprawled across his forehead, as he pushed it back with his left hand, while holding your waist with his right arm.

Jungkook looked at you with such intensity, you didn’t really know how to react. both of you knew you wanted more than just cuddles on your couch that was too small for Jungkook, more than grocery shop romances, and trekking on the artificial mountain, and more than watching movies together,, more than cuddling under the tree at the main park, more than making fun of each other, you wanted each other so much more badly.

“Kiss me,” Jungkook whispered, his face getting dangerously close.

“I’m scared,” Of course you were, but you didn’t move away from me.

“Of what?” Jungkook’s eyebrows bunched up like they always do when he’s confused.

“Of falling. Of drowning,” you answered as you looked into his eyes, how could someone not fall for him?

“Well, I’m already drowning, so don’t be scared, silly,” Jungkook’s eyes formed from his usual doe eyes to half-moon crescents and, you were no longer afraid to fall.

Because he was there, he will always be there, right beside you.

Fuck. You couldn’t help but curse as you saw the red spot on your lavender sheets, they were my favorite sheets. You had really bad mood swings when you were on your period, and you were basically uncontrollable. You saw Jungkook’s figure on the left side of the bed, sleeping peacefully, his chest heaving up and down as he breathes consistently.

“Baby,” you whined, as you almost pushed him off the bed. There was no way that you were going to the pharmacy to get the goods, so he was your only choice possible.

He stumbled as he got up, sleep still swimming in his eyes, as his hands went up to rub them, trying to get rid of the slumber that had taken over him.

“Yes, princess?” he asked in his hoarse voice – which turned you on (especially a lot now, since your uterus was sad, lonely and angry). His eyes travelled to the blood on the sheets, and it would be an understatement to say that he had a heart attack.

He immediately engulfed you in his arms, “Are you hurt anywhere?” he said, unable to breathe, because fuck, if anything ever happened to you, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

The worry in his eyes was making you feel guilty; did he even know what was happening?

“Jungkook, chill,” you laughed a little before directing him to the side of the bed, telling him to sit.

“Humans – well, only females – have to go through a period of time where they bleed. From down there,” you explain, and watch him go into a slight state of shock.

The poor baby just woke up 2 minutes ago, so this was probably hard to digest.

“You… you’re bleeding… and you don’t go to the hospital?”

“Does it hurt?” he asks in the timidest voice ever, careful not to offend you. He remembers once he asked you about body hair and since it was your biggest insecurity (cue Middle School flashbacks when you were the only girl with a slight unibrow and mustache), you couldn’t help but lash out on him.

“Yeah, it hurts a lot in my tummy,” you said on your way to the bathroom, “I need my supplies though, could you get them for me?”

Half an hour later, Jungkook returned with five bags of chocolates, chips and snacks – enough to feed a small village. The entire week, he kept studying you (you swear you saw him looking at you and writing notes in his small notebook, like a detective. Sigh) and your mood swings and tendency to eat the weirdest food combinations – he couldn’t help but gag when he saw you dip a whole cucumber in peanut butter.

“Kookie, cuddle with me,” during the day you would make grabby hands at him, and get him to massage your back, but at night you’d be the complete opposite – wanting to sleep as far away from him as possible. He also noted that you were more sensitive to jokes during the week, so he kept them at a minimum, and his praises at a maximum.

“Baby, you know, you look so cute in my arms,” he cooed, as he kissed your cheek while cuddling. He didn’t miss the blush that crept on your cheeks either.

Also, despite all the bleeding, you were ready to jump his bones anytime. He hasn’t had this much sex with anyone in one week. Not that he minded it.

You were more than ecstatic when you saw your favourite-est food in the world stocked in the human section of the grocery store. Spicy Hot Korean Ramen! You still remember when eating this used to be a challenge, back on Earth.

As you stacked the basket with half the stock, Jungkook couldn’t help but look at the ingredients – what was it that made you love them so much?

He was well, more than shocked to see all the different kinds of spices that humans could barely tolerate, chili flakes, red pepper oil, habanero flavored seasoning… he couldn’t let you eat this!

“Baby, this is too spicy for you, maybe we should buy this,” he pointed to the boring chicken and cheese flavored ramen. No! You were going to buy the spicy one and that’s finalized. Of course, Jungkook looked at you, and couldn’t argue. He doesn’t think he could argue with you even if he tried to.

Back at the apartment, Jungkook bit his tongue, trying not to say “I told you so,” as you fought your tears while eating the horrendous noodles. You were positive you could never feel your numb tongue as you chugged down the glass of strawberry milk that Jungkook handed you.

As expected, Jungkook was prepared for the stomach ache you experienced throughout the night, and gave you medicine to recover.

Before sleeping, you heard him sigh before saying, “I told you so,”

Jungkook had noticed you a lot, ever since you moved in with him. You didn’t have much belongings anyways, because you were only allowed to carry 100 pounds of baggage on the space craft, so you only carried the essentials. (Yes, you brought an oven. Yes, it was 77 pounds heavy. No regrets.)

While getting accustomed to his cozy, but huge apartment, you couldn’t help but trip over furniture. At first, it was his coffee table in the kitchen, next to the refrigerator. Every time you would get something to eat, your pinky would hit the leg of the table, causing you to splutter nonsense and then cry about it.

His bed was also higher than you expected it to be, so every day, for an entire month, after waking up you would underestimate the height – and always, always fall down from it.

He was extremely shocked by your ability to ignore pain, and to continue suffering every day because of the same cause at the same place. It’s okay, because now he’d hold you as you stepped out of the bed, and moved the coffee table to the other side of the kitchen.

He also noticed that humans don’t always have a thought out sleep schedule, they did as they pleased. Last night, you were pretty much half asleep at 4 AM, as you tried to finish the last episode of the new Netflix series.

“You were so sleepy, yet you continued to watch it without even understanding what’s happening?” he asked as soon as you woke up, to which you shrugged.

Again, next week, you forced yourself to get up at 5AM in the morning, so you could go for a jog. After all, you were thinking of getting more fit, all you did was lay on the couch. But as you headed in the bathroom for a shower after the run, he couldn’t help but think that humans are weird.

The first time Jungkook heard you crunch your bones, he was so scared, you almost though he would faint. He threw his game controller on the floor, as he ran towards you – thinking you had dislocated a limb, or something.

“Kookie, I was j-just stretching,” you could barely make out the words, trying to hold in your laughter as he tried to make sure you were okay.

With a sigh, he ran his hand through his fluffy – much longer – hair now, as he headed back to continue his game, “Baby, you’re so weird,”

“But you still love me?” you asked as you joined him on the couch, laying your head on his lap.

“I will always love you. Even if your bones crack,”

Bonus: When you got up at night for a midnight snack, you were surprised to see that Kookie wasn’t in bed with you. You later found him in his office, studying about how a human’s joint makes loud popping or cracking sounds because of the gas gathered there. He was finally content to ensure that you were safe.

Of course, you smothered him in hugs and kisses, because he always looked out for you. Always.

After a few weeks of being in Corellia, you had started to well… miss Earth. It was natural to do so; you’d lived your entire life there.

“I miss the sunsets, they were so pretty,” you spoke as you showed him a polaroid of you and your sister with the sunset behind you both. You pointed towards the one sun you had, and the purple, pink and orange hues of the clouds.

In an attempt to make you happy, Jungkook gave you a chocolate, they always made you happier, and he’d read somewhere something about chemicals in it making humans happier. But he was surprised to see you dancing (terribly) to a pop song, that seemed a little annoying, but he could deal with it.

The song had seemed to lighten your mood a lot, as you danced along with him happily, and as you looked at him, you felt happier. His long, wavy hair bounced as he danced with you. His eyes were smiling, and it was so pure that you laughed along. You were happy finally.

Until two weeks later, when you came across a photo of you and your high school class, trekking up a mountain on your senior trip to the north. Jungkook saw you sad again, missing Earth and your loved ones. Some were dead, some didn’t make it here, and some lived on the hotter side of the planet.

He put up the same pop song again, and cuddled with you on the couch. For the first time ever, you really felt grateful to God for something. You felt grateful that you were alive, and that you had Jungkook along with you. He looked how he looked every day, wearing a casual white t-shirt and grey baggy sweatpants. You adjusted yourself on his lap, and looked at him, and looked into his brown eyes. As you traced his face with your finger, he laughed, “Princess, do you feel better?”

You smile at the word of endearment, kissing his cheek, “You make me realize the difference between a house and a home. A house is a place, made with bricks and concrete, and materialistic items. But a home, is so much different. A home is where you feel belonged, a home is a place where you get that feeling of love. You make me finally realize how Earth was more of a house for me, but here, in your arms, I finally feel like I’m at home,”

You never thought Jungkook would be an overprotective boyfriend. Or a way too over protective boyfriend. During sex, he would go crazy on your body – sometimes treat you like a china doll, fragile and easily breakable, and sometimes it would be rough and harsh, not that you minded it.

His apartment was well, more suited for Jubal people because the ceilings, the bed, and of course, the kitchen cabinets were all bigger in height and size in comparison to your apartments back on Earth. Often, without thinking Jungkook would put food on the top most cabinets, and you often either felt too embarrassed, or too stubborn to ask for his help.

Which resulted in you – dangerously – climbing on the shelf to grab your precious food. This was a routine now, so you didn’t exactly pay attention to your limbs – just letting your muscle memory do the work for you. Right foot on the counter, and then you push your left knee as well, until you’ve made yourself stable on the counter top. Then, you stand up, holding the cabinet handle. Today was the same, but Jungkook had recently scrubbed clean the shelves, so they were more slippery than usual, and there was a fleeting moment when you thought you were about to fall (which would, by the way, give you the nastiest head injury), and before you realized it, Jungkook had looped his arm around your waist.

You were still shocked – chips in hand – when he settled you on his lap, almost like a child.

“Princess, what were you thinking?” he says as he lets you turn around, so you straddling his lap.

“I just wanted some chips, Kook,” you say with an amused grin. He was obviously distressed, as he sighed while running his hands through his hair, like he would when he was frustrated.

“Baby, you have to tell me if you need something from there, okay? What if you had hurt yourself?” his voice seemed to get louder with every words, and just like that, your amused grin was replaced with a pout, as you lowered your head.

You didn’t mean to make him angry like that.

Looking at you, he knew he couldn’t ever stay mad at you. It was physically impossible for him. He hugged you, and your head rested on his cheat, feeling his fast heartbeat morphed into a more, stable and steady beat, “I’m just always worried for you. Even if everything is wrong, it’s alright, you’re the only good thing in my life,”

It had been ages since you had gone to a festival, and there was going to be a carnival-like festival in Corellia soon. You didn’t think Jungkook would be that interested, so you were quite surprised to see him… so excited about it.

“It comes twice in a year, you have to come! I’ve heard they’ve made it more human themed this year, so you feel welcomed, but we’ll have our traditional rides too!” he spoke with a gleam in his eyes, as you both got ready.

Jungkook of course, made sure you were wearing at least five layers of clothes, two pairs of gloved, and three pairs of socks. It was night time, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of you looking like a walking marshmallow.

“Baby, you look so cute!” he exclaimed, holding your hand. The dead town looked really alive tonight, as the red, yellow, purple and other multicolored lights lit the place up, to make it feel even more alive. You were really shocked at the amount of people present, but that’s what made it even more fun.

The first thing had to be food, you got two plates of fries, because, well, is it even possible or human to share food? And that too, fries? No way.

Jungkook had recently discovered ketchup, and now he would dip everything in it before eating. Ramen, dipped in ketchup. Chips, dipped in ketchup. Bread, dipped in ketchup. And now, you saw him cover every single chip in ketchup before eating it. While you thought this was disgusting, you were still amused by his new found love for it.

You both scared a giant cup of strawberry milkshake, that looked like it was out of a romcom, cotton candy pink color, with whipped cream on top. And naturally, the cherry. Your noses touched, as you both drank at the same time, and you couldn’t help but want to live in the moment forever.

You both had spent the night, either enjoying rides that were too scary, and hazardous to experience but at the same time too fun to miss out on, or competition with each other to the next level. You knew Jungkook had always been a competitive little shit, whether it was about who would cook better and faster, or about who loved the other one more, he was always in a competition. This was no exception either, as you both we immersed in a car racing game, where you were well, obviously losing.

You had never really been the best at arcade games, and this car games was extremely frustrating, because the goddamn seat was too big and your legs could barely reach the pedals on the bottom while holding onto the steering wheel simultaneously. He laughed as you struggled to multitask, and at one point you didn’t realise you were going the wrong way until you heard Jungkook laughing so hard, he was struggling to breath. Three tries later, Jungkook had had his fair share of victories as he put you in his lap, and told you to focus on the steering only. He’d handle the pedals part. Together, you guys had broken the fastest record of the day and of course, he had to congratulate you. And the congratulations came in a form of a heated kiss – which wasn’t liked by the Jubals waiting in line to play the game.

Later, you both had way too much fun beating others in basketball as you paired up, and beat a Jubal power couple. Then came the bumper cars. The same Jubal power couple had hit your and Jungkook’s car so hard that you almost flew across the set-up, if it wasn’t for the seatbelt, and Jungkook’s arm around the waist. It was safe to say that Kook took his revenge by hitting their car repeatedly, as he shoved them into a corner. You kissed your over protective boyfriend on the cheek, he was just so fricking cute.

You both ate more food than you could handle, and as you were walking, Jungkook bought a donut and tried to feed you.

“No! No, Kook, I swear!” you tried to get away from him, but he held your waist as he pushed the donut in your mouth, smearing it over your cheek in the process.

“Kook!” you exclaimed, as he kissed you, and licked away any leftover icing.

You couldn’t help but blush when he smirked, “Sweet.”

At the end of it all, you pushed Kook into a small photo booth that sat on the other end of the carnival.

“Please? Come on!” you tried to show him your puppy eyes, and turned your lips into a pout.

“But baby, I don’t look good in photos!” he whined as you inserted the money to take a four portrait photo.

“Please? Just this once? For me?” you pouted again, and pushed him in with you, and you tried to drag his arms.

“You can’t give me the puppy dog face! You know I can’t say no to that!” he whined, adjusting you in his lap.

“Just pose, Kookie,” you said as you closed the red curtain on the side. In the first one, your arms were around his neck as you laughed and looked in the camera, and he looked at you, pouting. The second one, you both looked at each other and smiled, his hands in your hair. The third had been him grabbing your face, squishing you cheeks and bringing you closer (but because of the movement – it was also blurred, at which you were disappointed, but Kook assured you it looked good), and lastly, in the fourth one, you were kissing passionately, while Jungkook smiled in the kiss.

You both climb the small hill, where people are buying and lighting their lanterns in an orderly manner. You both buy one, and you end up writing “JK X Y/N” on it with red paint, and before Jungkook lights it, he adds a red heart, and “4EVER,” underneath which looks so cheesy, that it makes you laugh.

He looks at you, and kisses your forehead. Around 10:30, everyone lets go of their lanterns, and you both also let go of yours, letting it fly in the sky, as Jungkook cups your cheeks and pushes your hair back, before kissing you, sweet and slow.

The night had come to an end as all the Jubals were leaving too. You didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it was definitely i-can’t-walk-o’ clock, as Jungkook gave you a piggy back ride without any questions when he saw you stumbled into others. In one hand you held the teddy bear he had won from the water gun thingy, and in the other you held a cotton candy like sweet – but it wasn’t exactly cotton candy. It was blue and purple, and shined because of the crystallized sugar on it.

The last thing you remember was resting your face where his shoulder and neck met and mumbling, “This was the best day of my life,”

If someone had told you that you’d have a cook off with an alien in two months’ time, you would’ve laughed in their face. But. Here you were. Trying to cook the best alfredo pasta he would ever taste in his life.

You tried to glance on his cooking station multiple times, only to be pushed back, “Baby! It’s supposed to be a surprise!”

Jungkook really seemed to be absorbed in the cooking process, and you were starting to feel deprived of his love and adoration that he would usually shower at you when he was not working in his office.

30 minutes later, he brought you his favourite dish, the one that his mother used to cook for him when he was younger. It was orange red-ish coloured deep fried small cutlets, that smelled… amazing. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it tasted like, it was salty, but in a different way. And so, so, yummy. You were a little insecure when Jungkook took a bite of your pasta, and showed no emotion.

Oh no, you had tasted it and it felt pretty normal, juts how you’d make it on Earth. Was he allergic to something in it?

“Baby, what did you put in this?” he asked, but he didn’t seem to stop eating it. He didn’t speak anything until, well, he finished the dish.

“Can you make that for me every day?”

It had been over six months, since you and Jungkook had been seeing each other. Naturally, as a couple you both did fight – mostly over stupid stuff, like which restaurant to go to, or disagreements on what to buy etc. But you both would always sort it out, no matter what it was, he was always by your side.

It was his birthday, and Jubals never really celebrated their birthday – “Why would you celebrate this? I’m just one more year near death,” he said as you told him about ‘Earth Traditions’.

Albeit to whatever he said, you made yourself busy when he went out to meet the gang. You’d met them a couple of times before, being much closer to Taehyung because he never really questioned whatever you did, and just went along with it. You had enjoyed Jimin and Jin’s company as well (mostly because they cooked for you, not gonna lie).

As you hung up the balloons that said, “Happy Birthday!” individually, you had started to well, decorate yourself as well.

You knew how Jungkook always looked at you as if you were the most pure creature in this universe, his innocent little baby, so you decided to dress the part. Dressed in white panties, with a small bow on them, you adjusted your pink tinted, bra that came along with it. It left little to the imagination, as it was see-through, but there were small bows on each nipple, making you look like a present. You’d never really been the one to dress up in stockings as well, but here you were, tweaking your garter, as the pink shaded white see-through material latched on your legs as a second skin. Now, you waited patiently.

He finally came, around half past seven, and looked better than ever. You’d worn your silk robe that you would usually wear around, so he wouldn’t suspect anything. He looked so happy, his eyes crunched up into its usual crescent shape as he laughed while blowing the candles and eating your home-made cake. He had always loved your baking, so when you made his favourite Oreo cake, he was really, really happy. You’d made him a teddy bear – you were bad at sewing, but hey! A for effort.

“Kook, there’s a present in your bedroom too,” you said as you took his left hand and guided him in the bedroom. You had given him several gifts already, so why were you giving him another one?

“Baby, you didn’t have t-“ he stopped as soon as you dropped your robe in front of him, letting him take in the sight of you, clad in your lingerie that he had only imagined in his wildest fantasies.

The light hearted aura around him seemed to vanish, as a darker shade took over his eyes. Without speaking anything, he carried you bridal style, to the bed and laid you down softly on it.

“Gonna let me taint you, angel?” he asked, and at the sight of him, you couldn’t help but moan and nod.

“Use your words, baby,” he said as he let his fingers roam on your figure, and lit a fire in your core, making you overwhelmed.

“Yes, Daddy, please make love to me,” you whine, but he tsks on your choice of words.

“Angel, my princess,” he says as he leaves a trail of wet kisses from your neck to you collarbone, sucking on it, “I’m not going to love to you today, I’m going to fuck you, baby”

You gasp as he circles around the bow on your nipple, before ripping the thin material completely, letting the cool air hit your vulnerable skin.

As Jungkook just keeps looking at you, his long hair shadowing in front of his eyes, you can’t help but feel needy, “Daddy, please, touch me,” you whine, trying to get ahold of his hand.

He gently brings his mouth down, sucking on the little tip of your nipple, as his tongue works magic around it, and you’re already starting to get wet.

“It’s u-unfair that you’re all d-dressed up,” you moan, as you try to take off his white t-shirt. He chuckles as he takes off his shirt, letting you look at his god-like body. You were speechless when you first saw him, and you still are every time you both have sex.

His lean body, is just perfect in every way, and the way the moonlight hits his face, giving his face the shadows that come along with the highlights, you were dumbstruck at how breathtaking he was.

While Jungkook loved to mark you, mark your body, make you his, today was harsher, much more aggressive as he bit your chest, making you cry out in pleasure. He painted your body in hues of purple and bright pink, using his tongue to make each bruise feel better. As soon as he reached the hem of your underwear, he stopped, and that resulting in a whine from you.

“It’s my birthday, and you said I deserve anything on this day. So, princess,” he said, unbuckling his belt, and you swallow hard before he lets his cock free, ”let me fuck those beautiful tits,”

He pushes himself into your mouth without any warning, letting you groan and whimper as you produce enough saliva to make him sopping wet, “Good baby,” he whispers as he lets his dick between your tits.

You smiled, as you held your breasts together, and he slides his hardening member between them, “fuck baby, you’re so soft, so pretty for Daddy,” he murmurs obscene praises as you whimper in pleasure from the friction between your breasts.

He places his cock between them, and first experiments with his movements, and as time passes, he becomes faster, and messier. You both didn’t mind the mess, as his pre-cum lands on your chest, collarbone and nipples, and you can only whine in pleasure while letting him use your body.

His movements go from steady and fast to uncoordinated and stuttering, as he pulls out and pants, letting him catch his breath.

“Fuck, baby, they felt like heaven, but there’s something else, way better,” he grins as pulls himself down on your body, and looks as you underwear, directly. It makes you whimper, when you feel his hot breath through the thin material. He laps his tongue on it, and it feels so good, but not good enough, and you wish he would just take it off.

“Daddy, please, take it off,” you whine and he pulls your legs further apart and digs his face between them.

He smirks and looks at you, already fucked out as a blush stays on your cheeks. Angelic.

“Keep the stockings on, okay, sweetheart?” he says as his finger traced down your leg, as you shiver under his touch.

He comes up to you and cups your face, pressing a kiss against your cheek – and it felt so chaste in comparison to what you both had just done.

And before you could realize, he slips his fingers under the hem of your panties, and shreds them into pieces.

“What do you want from Daddy?” he stops in front of your clit, spreading your lips, waiting for your answer. He knew you were shy, too shy to speak vulgar words, but you were just so needy right now.

“Daddy, I need your tongue,” you speak, and let his tongue sit flat on your bud, it gave enough stimulation, but at the same time not enough, and you just needed more. You couldn’t help but buckle your hips into his face, and that resulted in his getting up and looking at you, making eye contact.

“You’re being ungrateful now, huh?” he says as he smacks the bud hard, where seconds ago he let his tongue rest. It’s painful, but at the same time, it just feels so, so good. He smacks it two more times before letting his teeth sink in your inner thigh, as you let lewd noises escape your mouth, as he further marks your thighs, and you knew, for sure that they would last a long time.

After a lifetime of teasing, he lets his tongue slurp the cum that escaped your pussy, as he went to town on it, eating you out as if he’s been starving for years. You let your moans escape as he slips his tongue inside you, and lets his nose rub against your clit. You were so close, just about to fall off the edge as he pulls himself away, and you whimper, grabbing the sheets as if your life depended on them.

“Your cunt is always, always so pretty and tasty for Daddy,” he smacks between your thighs again, making you gasp, “always ready for Daddy,”

His ruffled, brown hair shines in the dark of the room, the moonlight being the only source of light, illuminating his face.

He lets his dick enter you, gently, until you reach your limit and instead of waiting like he always does, he rams back into you again, letting you adjust with his steady movements, as you grab his hand and hold it. He always holds your hand when he’s being rough, to let you know that he can stop anytime. (but u is a hoe)

He slides out until only his tip is inside you, and lets himself into you all at once, fast and reckless. Wild. It isn’t long before your walls clench around him, “Daddy, I-I’m so close,” you say as your rub you clit, slowly with a continual movement.

You orgasm starts first, hot and sticky liquid, dripping down you thigh, staining your perfect stockings, and soon Jungkook follows, as his head buries in your neck, and he groans before letting himself loose.

“Happy Birthday, Kookie,” you whisper before letting him take you to the tub, where you both well, fuck again.

LINK TO MASTERLIST

A/N: It’s always so fun to write alien!jk, and I hoped you guys liked it. Also, a huge thank you to @bisoo-ausucre for supporting me so much!

Could you please help me decide what to write first? Frat boy!jk OR titanic!au with Jimin as Jack?

As always, requests are open, and so is my inbox. See you next time!

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mommymooze · 3 years ago

Text

Dreaming of a Different Day

Reader, Fe3h Characters, Modern AU

Blood, gore, fighting, dead bodies, homework, sweating

7986 words

Working night shift at a gas station isn’t the most glorious job, but it helps pay the bills while you are trying to complete your degree at college. Determined to graduate without getting buried under an insurmountable amount of student debt, you work two jobs, sometimes three, even if it means taking 10 years to get a 4 year degree. Scoring a job in building maintenance for the college certainly helps with getting reduced fees on classes and books. Between two current jobs and classes or study time, there isn’t much time to sleep. Sometimes you volunteer your body as a lab rat for some of the studies done at the university, if you can work them in to your hectic schedule. This time they want to study your brain while you sleep. Getting paid to sleep? Sign me up!

Filling your 32oz. thermal bucket with coffee, you head out to catch a bus to campus. You have about an hour to study before you make it to the appointment at the psychology building.

An alarm sounds on your phone, time to pack up to make it to your appointment on time. Stashing your laptop and books into your backpack you head up the stairs to the third floor. Opening the door, you see a sleepy looking green haired student gathering forms together and stapling them into packets, placing them into manila folders.

“I’m here for the 8:00am appointment.” You announce.

He hands you a folder and a pen, telling you to fill out the paperwork and return them to him when complete.

You fill out the forms completely and honestly. Your sleep schedule is hell, you sleep when you can, mostly during daylight hours. You don’t recall any of your dreams or nightmares. No drinking or drugs. No sense in lying on these forms, they’ll find out if you’re trying to say something to please them or force yourself into their study group. Forms complete, you place them on the front desk as the young man nods.

Returning to your table you pull out your laptop and begin working on homework. You notice someone is standing in front of you.

A tall young woman with short blonde hair smiles at you, asking you to follow her. You grab your things, she leads you to a small room with a bed and several different machines, some on tables, some freestanding.

She tells you to change into a hospital gown, tie in the front because they need to attach some wires for monitoring. Most of the wires are attached to your head. She tells you the liquid they use to have it stick to your head is easily washed out of your hair. Once you are fully wired, she leaves and comes back with the fluffiest, warmest blanket you have ever felt and wraps it around you leading you to the bed. She asks if you want a sleep mask to block out the light and you do. The hum of the machines, the darkness and the fluffy warm blanket are enough to get you to fall asleep quite quickly.

A soft alarm goes off and you hear the voice of the green haired man asking you what you remember. You stay still, thinking. You recall walking down a corridor, speaking with other people. They are dressed differently. Maybe wearing a school uniform? You were carrying a book headed to…you can’t remember. It is strange, why suddenly have a dream here of all places? Taking the mask from your eyes you look to see him writing. He finishes his notes and leaves muttering a soft “Thank you.”

The wires are removed, you are told to change back into your regular clothes. They will message you if you will be chosen for further study. Handing you an envelope full of cash you head out the door, just in time to make it to your class.

Classes done for the day. You are mopping the floors of the student housing building 3. Yet another party to clean up after. Sure, you could notify the RA’s and make the other students do it, but they would make more mess and take too long. It is easier to simply clean it up yourself. Giving the floor a final mop, you shriek as someone steps behind you and taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry we made so much mess for you.” A handsome male with dark hair, darker skin and brilliant green eyes smiles at you.

“No prob. No mess, no job, right?” You answer. They always show up when the work is about done.

“Can I interest you in some cake? We have some left.” He gestures with his hand open towards you.

“Nope. Smelled it too long cleaning it from floor vents.” You keep swiping the mop back and forth, then dunking it in your soapy bucket, squeezing it out and slapping it back on the floor.

Claude attempts to introduce himself. “Claude Riegan, Senior, Political Science.”

You answer in a monotone voice, “I am the janitor.“

“Hah.” He forces a laugh. “I’ve seen you in the halls here and there. You’re a student as well.”

You shrug, going to the closet to dump out your bucket. “Gotta run. Bldg 2 calls.”

He smiles and waves, you sort of wave back.

Work complete you head back to the smaller than an efficiency apartment you rent. Hotplate, and microwave for cooking, it has a half bath so you wash in a plastic tub. One small room for everything, no closets. Everything you own is in labeled tubs. No windows, but there is a door that locks.

You work on homework until your brain is fried. Collapsing on your bed you set an alarm, plug in your phone and laptop and sleep for a few hours before you have to get up for work tonight at the gas station.

Making it to class 5 minutes early you haul your bucket of coffee with a straw in it to your seat. Did you see that Claude guy in the halls? He likes yellow shirts. Both times you saw him in that color.

Today you listen to the lecture while looking around the room. Most of the time you take notes but you know this particular subject well. There’s a guy with light green hair and glasses to the right. Why does he look familiar? Have you seen him in a class before? You recognize the emo guy in front with a brown haired girl always huddled together. Oh no. The horrendous heartbreaker is here. Who doesn’t know about him? How many messes of his have you cleaned up because he’s dumped a girl and she resorted to violence and damaged school property? At least 100. You had no idea he was in your class. You lift up a book to block his direct view of your face. Perhaps you can remain nonexistent to him.

The professor ends the lesson. You note the work to be turned in, due date, assigned reading. Just as you’re about to finish tossing everything into your bag, you get a text. The psych guys want you for another sleep study. You tell them you can daytime sleep Tues or Thurs or Fri til 5. Great. They take all 3.

Cool. You may actually have some free cash for a few weeks. Maybe you can splurge on new shoes.

Monday night at the gas station is quiet. They usually are. Coffee keeps you coherent enough to make correct change and clean things properly. You have enough time to get home, clean up and hit the psy lab by 6am. They are to wake you 2 so you can make your class in plenty of time.

Mercie is the girl that wires you up to the machines. She hands you the sleep mask and fluffy blanket. It doesn’t take you long to go to sleep having come off your caffeine high a couple hours ago.

The alarm goes off and you bolt upright to a seated position in the bed, gasping for breath.

“Tell me quickly.” The green haired man encourages you to speak.

“I was fighting for my life. There was a battle. It was primitive. There were swords and long spears and huge axes with blades bigger than your head. A woman had fire coming from her fingers killing a man. I could smell his flesh burning. I stabbed bad people with my spear. I had to help my friends. We were fighting…um…a gang? thieves? They were hurting people nearby. My friend was hit by a spear and I killed the guy that hit him. Then I was…touching my friend’s stab wound. Light came from my fingers and I watched the hole in his side close up.” You sat there, staring at your hands. They were your hands but no longer covered in blood. You were grimacing as hard as you were in the dream, concentrating on your hands. But they did not glow.

“What else? What about the land?” His disinterested voice demands more.

“It was in a wild undeveloped area. No buildings. Just trees and rocks and bushes. We were fighting our way up a hill. Some of us going up one side, some going the other. I could hear them fighting on the other side of the hill. We were going to meet at the top. I couldn’t wait to see the leader, I kept looking for her blue hair. I knew she was the best fighter ever and would do everything to keep us safe.”

“Anything else?” His last follow up question.

“It’s faded a lot now. So much blood everywhere. The smells, they were awful. Metal banging on metal was so loud.”

He stands and stretches. “Thank you.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

You get dressed and grab your stuff heading for your afternoon class. Why are you suddenly dreaming? You don’t remember dreaming much before since you were a kid. This was a nightmare. You didn’t drink anything. You had slept over 7 hours, that’s the longest you’ve slept in…months? If the nightmares keep up, you’re not sure this is worth the extra cash.

After class you head home. You don’t feel as exhausted as you normally do, so you work ahead on a class or two. Most of the time homework can be done while you’re at the gas station counter.

Class in the morning is boring. Only a few more weeks to suffer before you get a break. Heading home you lay in your bed. You want to sleep. You really, really do. But now you’re afraid if you close your eyes, will the dreams continue? You grab your accounting book and start reading. You wake up with your alarm going off so you can get ready to head to work tonight. You do not dream, not even a about spreadsheets.

Work is uneventful. Mostly the same people coming in to buy the same things. Taking deliveries of different foods and replacing the purchased items on the shelves. Completing homework as time allows. Finally, it is time to clock out as the next shift comes in to deal with the daytime crowd.

You hit the bus, get to your room, swap out what you don’t need with what you do, toss your backpack on and head out to the Psych lab. You’re wired up and under the blanket. You feel a bit anxious about sleeping, however it is totally dark and the humming of the machines soon overtakes your thoughts and you fall asleep.

You awaken to hear the same guy as before asking you to talk.

Not opening your eyes you go through what happened.” There was a battle but not a real battle. Everyone is fighting but you aren’t really trying to kill each other. The weapons are fake. The magic is real but not seriously real. It reminds me of watching football practice. Each team wore their colors and are trying to beat up the others. The yellow team wins and everyone goes to a party. The blue haired leader lady said I had done a great job. She asks me to have tea and wants to talk about joining her house. Is she leading a fraternity? I woke up as I was helping clean up the mess after the party.”

“Tell me where this happened.” He asks.

“Well, the battle was on a big open field. There was a hill that someone could pull a lever and fire stuff at others. Scattered clumps of trees here and there, where some people would hide. It was a long walk to get to the field there. When walking I spoke with a grayish haired guy that would talk about stories he read about knights and do gooders. Oh, and on a big hill were three people with bright green hair. A man, woman and a younger shorter girl. They were watching. But they did not go to the party after. The party was in the dining area back at the school.”

You’re dressed, your hair feels sticky, so you put on a baseball cap with the university logo on it and head to your janitorial job. Mind numbing floor sweeping, mopping, and emptying trashcans fills your night. You are glad you had a good sleep at the psych lab, because it’s a short night tonight after getting off at 3am and having a class again at 8am the next day, you make it, like any other college student.

Grabbing something awful to eat after class, you head back to the third floor in the psych building for the last sleep of this week.

You wake up completely and totally freaked out. What a nightmare. Walking forever in the rain until you are soaked through, your skin all cold and wrinkly, and now you go into the creepy tower with the rest of the Blue Lions. You’re on the blue team. An older woman is the teacher, you wish you had the blue haired lady, she was so awesome.

Everyone creeps around and around going up higher in the tower while bad guys are firing arrows and popping out of hidden spaces. You remember using magic. You concentrated and this circle with marks on it appeared in your vision and next thing you know you shot lightning out of your fingers at a monster. A horrifying monster. It used to be a mean ugly guy but he changed and got big and evil looking, like a T-rex heavy on the claws and teeth. Everyone is fighting for their lives.

The worse part is one of them was his brother and had to get something back for his family. There was so much blood. Everyone was freaked out, especially the guy that killed his brother. It was horrible. By the time you finished talking to Linny, you were shaking and holding yourself. He just kept saying it was only a dream and told you that you would be fine.

You head to classes trying to best to concentrate.

Normally the job of polishing floors is nice. The machine does all of the work, you just change out the heads to clean then polish. The hallways here lead to rooms that have been reset for a large Art show presenting the student’s works. Many of the students are in your way, hauling in stands and setting up displays of their work. You keep looking down, studying the polishing machine. You can’t look at most of the artwork it, reminds you of the monsters you’ve dreamed of, or swords, or there is blood everywhere. What happened to fields of flowers? Paint a bowl of fruit or something bland.

You clock out at 3 am, head back to your room and crash burying yourself under a ton of blankets. One class today then you don’t have to be back to the university until 6pm. You need to hide in your bed. You are mentally exhausted. You need to sleep, so you down some cold medicine and it knocks you out.

Sleep is not kind. You aren’t in the lab, you are in the safety of your own bed. The dreams, okay, nightmares continue. Some girl is missing. Everyone is trying to find her. The Blue Lions leave to find some item and fight monsters, when you come back they found her, some other gal that was missing, and a creepy skeleton looking guy on a horse fought them in the basement. Ugh. You remember that head someone had on a stand in the art class, with the red glowing eyes. At least before you woke up you remember having tea with the blue haired professor and you agreed to join her group. She also gives you nice flowers for your birthday. You wake up just after tea was over.

You’ve never dreamed before. What the hell. You aren’t getting paid to dream at home. You don’t want this. What can of worms have they opened on you? You want your regular dreamless close your eyes, sleep, open them and go again. Not running miles and chasing horrible things and stabbing stuff and getting hurt and bleeding.

After class this morning the library is your destination today. Gotta get some references and info for a class. You stop by a quicky mart on the way. Need coffee. You’re not one of those fancy coffee kids, just creamer and go. You could care less what mountain they grew the coffee on as long as it is caffeine and keeping you awake.

Filling your cup with the elixir of consciousness, you see a girl with purple hair having problems with the whipped cream function of the expensive coffee and creamer dispenser.

You walk up to her. “Hey Bernie, want me to help?”

“Sure.” The girl says still punching buttons.

You fiddle with the machine knowing how temperamental they can be and get plenty of whip cream on top of her coffee.

She looks at me to say thank you, drops her books and screams. “Who are you? I don’t even know you!”

You shove a lid on her cup and put it in her hands. “Take your coffee.” Picking up her books, you stuff them in her arms. You head for the checkout. Your brain is confused too. You don’t know her, but she’s in the dreams and it’s her, Bernadetta.

Heading to the library you pull out your laptop and begin working on a project for class. You keep your head down, concentrate you keep telling yourself, but pieces of the dreams creep up on you every time you try to focus. Writing a few sentences, you click on an arrow on your laptop screen. You remember Bernie shooting arrows and she’s an amazing archer along with Ignatz. They love to paint. You wonder what it would look like if they did something together.

Concentrate. Fingers on the keyboard. The page is filling with text, the project is coming along. You need to find another book for reference. Signing into the library website you search for its location. You find the book and take it back to your seat. Flipping through it you find the section you want. Inside there is a postit note:

“Don’t bother with this. It’s wrong. See…” It lists a book you passed on, thinking this would be better. Perhaps the mysterious postit writer has been through this class and is saving everyone else from the same headaches. Nice. You get up and trade out books. This one does have exactly what you are looking for and your project speeds forward. You flip through the book once you’re finished with its contents and surprise! Another postit. “Bonus: Check out…”

You are enraptured, of course you go to find the next book. It is even better than the last one. The section related to your task has a note. “BTW, don’t quote that last book, Prof hates it. Do this instead. The curious get the rewards!” OMG. This is the greatest stuff. But the game is over, no more notes, you even check behind the last one. It did keep you entertained and focused though, a great help or you may have never finished this.

Saving everything and backing it up onto the cloud you have enough time to toss your stuff into the employee lockers and get your janitorial getup on. Baseball cap and earbuds in, it’s time for 8 hours of cleaning up after everyone else.

Building 3 is the party hub of the campus. At least they cleaned up some of the party decor, floor vents contain no cake, but they still leave a mess. You have to wash down the walls.

About 1:30am a dark haired guy with a ponytail comes in all frazzled asking if I’ve seen a red headed guy passed out somewhere. Nope. We both check the balcony and there he is out on a plastic chair. It is heartbreaker Sylvain.

You ask for help picking him up to get him to a standing position. You tell his buddy to hold him still. Throwing your right shoulder into his crotch you grab his left arm and throw it over your opposite shoulder. Sylvain is now up over your shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

His buddy gets the door and elevator for you. When the door opens there is a wheelchair close by and you dump Sylvain into it.

“How’d you know how to do that?” His friend asks.

“I’ve carried him before.” You answer as you help wheel Sylvain to the car. You help pour him into the front seat and reach over the seatbelt to his friend.

“Good luck. He’s your problem now.” You mutter as you turn around and head back to work.

At least this time he wasn’t bleeding you think. Wait. You’ve carried Sylvain before, during a fight. To get him to safety. That was Felix who came to get him. When you carried him, you were in leather gear and had more muscles. It reminds you of highschool wrestling. You did that for a few years. It felt so right doing that, but this college doesn’t have women’s wrestling, so you left it behind. It was how you got the job in janitorial because you are a female that can lift and move heavy weights, doing it the right way and not getting hurt.

Finishing your shift it is early Sunday morning. You go home, sleep, and dream.

You’re playing chess with Hubert. You’re beating him and he is pissed. He threatens you with cheating, distracting him, etc. You laugh at him. He’s always threatening someone or something.

Byleth comes in and ends the game. You head to a war meeting with the rest of the Black Eagles Strike force. Now that Byleth has returned Edelgard wants to recapture the great bridge at Myrddin.

After the meeting you head out to the training area for magic users. Warming up with a few Thunder spells, you work through Thoron then Bolting. The magic flowing through you feels amazing, you are one with the forces of nature.

You can feel the cold flowing from your fingertips as you cast blizzard at a target. Casting Fimbulvetr you watch as a solid ice grows around and surrounds the target.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, you then cast sagittae, the arrows breaking chunks of ice off of the target. Agnea’s Arrow finally strikes the ice, causing bright flames releasing steam into the area. The ice and target are obliterated.

You feel a good exhaustion come over you. Practice complete, you head to your quarters to complete additional research for some spells you have been working on.

The next moment you are on the bridge, fighting Alliance fighters and a few former classmates. Byleth has you stationed further away from the students, your goal is to take out a number of heavily armored ground troops and clear the way to Judith, leader of the enemy forces. Your fingers spark with electricity as your favorite spells are prepared. You remind yourself to keep your jubilant shrieks to yourself, in the last battle Hubert chastised you for frightening Bernadetta.

You wake up in your bed. This time you are not revulsed by the fighting. It felt thrilling. That scares you more than when you were upset and afraid. Things are so different in this dream. Byleth is a woman. But you’ve seen them before as a man. You know Edelgard was your enemy before, but this time you practically worship the ground she walks on. You remembered the singular focus you had in the dream. Nothing to distract you from your goal. You would forgo sleep, train well into the night.

Why were you playing chess with Hubert? Oh. He had tricked you, saying that chess is training of the mind to think more strategically. You thought he was trying to keep you out of the training grounds for a while. He’s always playing mother hen over everyone, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Sitting up in your bed you shake your head. That was not part of the dream. It felt more like a memory. Are these dreams making you delusional now? You would like to get off this mental merry-go-round.

The next two weeks are filled with working nights, classes or sleeping during the day. Your bank account is getting fat. Your brain is not doing so well. Things from your dreams hit you during the day. Stopping at the cafeteria of the college, you look down at your tray of obviously poor choices. Mercedes voice is in your ear, suggesting that you eat more vegetables. You swear you can hear Manuela tell you to put the pie back on the shelf and get brussels sprouts, dark greens are much healthier for you.

You wear hoodies to class now that the weather is getting a bit colder. Tying the hood around your face to block your peripheral vision helps you concentrate on where you are going. Otherwise you feel like you recognize so many people.

Yesterday, while in the cafeteria you ate your oatmeal with extra raisins and apples, less sugar, thank you Marianne, when you heard a male voice over the rest of the throng. You knew it was Ferdinand. He was being boastful and incredibly proud of his stance on the subject, as a noble should be. It had to be him. Gulping down your food you grab your carton of 2% milk and head out the door to take the long way around to class.

Being a lab rat for the psy group seems to be getting easier. It is like you slip into an alternate universe in the past. Everyone there has the right names and faces, while here in the future, most of them don’t know themselves as you do.

Linny gets lazy about writing down everything. He simply records everything on a laptop and someone else can transcribe it. He sits in his chair, folds his arms and drifts off to sleep to the sound of your voice telling of your dreams.

It is getting harder to keep your accounts of what happens in the dreams simple. You know everyone’s names, the weapons, the enemies, the spells. You feel the need to translate them into something that relates to modern equivalents. You are also trying to be careful about revealing just how deep you are into these…are they just dreams? Memories? Recollections?

Finishing your recitation of the dream, Linhardt is asleep again. Linny!! It’s Linny now. You poke him in the ribs where you know he is ticklish, he quickly wakes and demands that you stop. You ask him to unhook the wires so you can head out. Taking your envelope, you head out to the ATM, deposit the cash then get ready for work.

Noting the amount of posters on the walls for the party in Student housing building 3, Claude is going to have a huge mess for you to clean up. Finishing work on the admin building you head over to whatever disaster awaits you after the party.

The common area and meeting room used for the event are not the worst you have seen. They even bagged up most of their trash. Hauling in a huge plastic dumpster on wheels, you load up the bags to make room to maneuver. Wiping down the tables and chairs you stack and move them to make mopping easier.

“Hey, hope things are better this time, Janitor.” Claude announces as he walks into the room.

“It’s nice. Thanks.” You mumble, surprised that he is here.

“I know we left a huge mess before, so I put Hilda in charge of cleanup.” He has that smirky grin on his face. It’s funny how some things never change. He’s still handsome too.

“I bet she was pissed that you’re making her work.” You say without thinking.

“She was.” Claude nods. “You know her?”

“I..uh..know some people in common.” You answer, wiping a table harder. Claude has always been intensely curious and you are now on his radar. Great.

“You look familiar. I can’t recall where I know you from.” Claude’s voice trails off as he puts his hand to his chin and thinks.

“I have pretty common looks. One head, two eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep. Same as most students.”

Claude sits cross-legged on one of the not too dirty tables, making himself at home. He is staring at you, his chin resting on his fist.

You finish the tables and chairs, except for the table that is occupied and sweep the largest chunks from the floor.

“Please tell me you are not majoring in sanitation or building maintenance.” Claude finally speaks.

“I thought you fell asleep.” You shake the broom onto the building pile of crumbs and debris. You answer him, “No.”

“Too simply dressed to be arts. Rocket scientist?” Claude asks, raising an eyebrow. “You hang out in the science and mathematics buildings.”

“Allergic to RP-1.” You answer, sweeping the crud into a dustpan and heading to the janitorial closet for a mop and bucket. As you emerge with your tools, Claude is in the hallway waiting for you.

“Thank you for an engrossing and in depth conversation.” He yawns and stretches his arms. “Next time don’t talk my ear off.”

Giving a happy sigh of relief you finish cleaning and reassembling the room into its standard configuration. Finishing for the night you grab a shower and head home for a nap and a homework filled day.

Sunday night at the gas station starts off with the normal routine. Delivery trucks unloading overpriced snacks, little old ladies holding up the line while they dig out exact change from their purse, kids dumping sodas on the floor. Past midnight the customers are few and far between. The door sounds and you look up from your bookwork. Some guy with messy red hair starts to come in, turns around and yells at whoever is in the car parked outside in the handicapped spot.

He turns around and faces you. First, you see the gun in his hands. Second, you look at his face and see Miklan.

“Hands up, Bitch. Listen or you are fucking dead.” He snarls, waving the gun.

You put your hands in the air alongside your head. A gunshot rings out, you hear the bullet hit the wall behind you, just over your head.

Miklan snickers, “Yup, loaded. Open the fucking cash register then get back.” He orders.

You open the till then push your back into the cigarettes displayed behind you. He climbs on the counter, reaching in the drawer, looking to grab the cash, but still pointing the gun at you. You keep your hands up, moving them in familiar positions as you softly mouth the words.

An incredibly bright flash of light goes off in front of you combined with a near deafening boom. Miklan’s body flies in the air, landing on his back on the floor. The entire store goes dark. The car outside flashes its lights, then backs up, crashing into a gas pump and speeds off.

You grab your cell phone out of your bag, thrilled when the screen lights up. Calling 911, they say they are on the way. In minutes police, a fire truck and ambulance arrive. They let you grab your belongings and take you outside away from the building under a nearby streetlight. You see camera flashes coming from the building as the ambulance hauls a stretcher inside. An officer speaks with you for a while, telling you to relax and saying a lot of nothing. They frequently ask if you are okay. Your voice shakes and you are visibly trembling from the experience.

After almost an hour they make you lock up the building (minus one Miklan) and take you to the station for questioning. You call your employer while riding in the car. They will handle the store, they are happy you are alive. Take off the rest of the week with full pay.

At the police station you tell them what happened. He came in, shot the gun, you opened the drawer and while he was taking the money something electrical must have happened because there was an electric flash and the whole building went dark. You try to describe the car that was parked outside. You never got a look at the driver.

The police thank you for your cooperation, giving you a cup of coffee, a Danish, and a ride home. You head up the stairs to your apartment and unlock the door. Turning on the light you notice an unmarked envelope on the floor. Nervously you open it. Inside is a slip of paper that says:

“We need to talk. -B.”

You fall onto your bed. You know the handwriting. Its them. Byleth is here, now. There is nothing else on the paper. No phone number. You have no idea what to do next. The only thing you can think of doing is wait. Since it is 3am, you may as well try to sleep. For seeing a dead body for the first time in this life, you are more relaxed about it than you feel you should be.

You wake up to your phone announcing a text message. You sit up and see you have 3 unread messages from an unknown number. You take a deep breath.

[8:00] Hey

[8:05] Wake up

[8:07] Wakey, wakey

I’m up. [8:07]

[8:08] Blue Prius outside, get in and take a ride

Every alarm in your head is going off telling you that this is a bad idea.

Give me a couple minutes to get ready. [8:08]

Stepping outside there is the Prius. As you arrive you open the door to see a huge man hunched over the wheel. He is so large part of him is in your seat. You close the door as you wonder how he got into the car in the first place. You move his elbow away to put on your seatbelt.

“Heya pal.” He says.

“Balthus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” He smirks and hits the gas so hard you fly back in your seat.

He takes you downtown. You are glued to the seast, white knuckled, hanging on to the door handle as he drives like a maniac. You can’t say anything because your heart is in your throat. He suddenly stops in front of a large, unmarked brick building with a 16 above the door.

“Go on ahead, it’s going to take me a while to get out of here. Elevator is through the doors, fourth floor.” Balthus grunts as he opens the door and begins to unfold himself to get out of the tiny car.

As you step up to the door you hear it unlock. Going inside there is no doorman, no security, simply a hallway that leads to the elevator. Punching the up button, you wait. Checking your phone there are no new texts. The doors open and you go inside, hitting the 4thfloor button. You are shaking with excitement, nervousness, dread and who knows what else. As the doors open, they reveal an elegant and very tasteful office setting. Behind a high counter you can’t recognize the person sitting there until they stand up and smile widely at you, holding out his hand.

“Hi. Just call me Gavin. I’m sure you know me as-“

“Gatekeeper!” You gasp and laugh, shaking his hand warmly.

He hits a button on the desk and a voice on the intercom responds, “Okay.”

The door on the other side of the room clicks and opens.

“You can head on in now.” Gavin gestures to the slightly open door.

You walk to the other side of the reception desk and the door is open to a richly wood paneled hallway. The door on the other end of this hall opens as you approach. You pull the door the rest of the way open, stepping in to see Byleth sitting in a large comfortable office chair and Yuri partially seated on the top of the desk on the opposite side.

“Welcome to the fold.” Yuri holds his arms out wide.

You rush over to give him a huge hug, like you would any dear friend. Because he was? Is? You’re not sure, but you hug him anyway.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Byleth folds his hands on his desk and looks at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t get a hug?” You ask, holding your arms out.

Byleth stands and steps around the desk and hugs you, then looks down at you. “I apologize. I am not certain what you know and what you remember.”

“A lot. This is going to take a while.” You answer. “Can we drop the formal setting and sit somewhere comfy? With you behind the desk it’s like we’re back in school.”

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Yuri offers. “Cream only, right?”

“Yup.” You chime as Byleth leads you to an overstuffed corner couch in front of large windows that offer a great view of the city. You take a seat at one end and take your coffee, placing it on the end table next to you. Yuri and Byleth sit beside each other on the other end.

“So you two are together this time?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Yuri smiles as he takes Byleth’s hand in his own.

“Awesome. My favorite.” You nod.

“Just how much do you remember?” Yuri asks, tilting his head.

“I remember fighting alongside each of the houses. If I was not in the house when Byleth led them, they recruited me. Byleth was a male once, a female twice. Three times altogether.” You begin, then frown. “Strange. None of them are like the history books.

Yuri and Byleth look at each other for what seemed like a long time. Yuri bends over and hits a button on the telephone on the table.

“Gavin, order lunch to be brought in and make reservations for dinner. Cancel any remaining appointments for today. Thanks”

“Okay. Start from the beginning. Let’s say Blue Lions. What is your first memory with them?”

“I was staying at an inn, Remire Village. I just made it to the dining area and was stuffing my face full of food when Jeralt comes in all pissed off because these kids show up and they’re in trouble.” You begin. They let you keep talking. Yuri tents his fingers at times, mostly sits back sipping his coffee.

Byleth is spellbound as you begin. He stares into your face like he is reliving your memories with you. Well, they did live them with you. They were your best friend.

You tell them of the battle with Miklan, finding Flayn, Remire, the fall of Jeralt, the defeat of Solon, the battle of Garreg Mach, the five years of being without Byleth, reuniting for the Millennium festival, Dimitri’s madness, the battle at the bridge and Dedue’s return, the nightmare that was Gronder, Merceus and Enbarr.

You then go silent. You look at Yuri and Byleth. You grimace for a moment.

“BylethmarriedDimitri.” You cough into your hand. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Byleth sits back on the couch. “Fascinating.”

“You never told me that-“ Yuri begins to say until Byleth gives him a look that obviously says now is not the time for this.

A beep sounds from the telephone.

“Time for lunch.” Byleth says as he stands up.

You leave through a different door and are led to a dining room. The food smells delicious.

Over lunch you begin your questioning. “Okay, so was this all real? I know you merged with Sothis and everything, convenient to leave that out of the history books, but this actually happened? It’s not just dreams. I began to remember while dreaming, then it moved on to remembering while I was awake. The memories flooded my brain like a tidal wave.”

“Yes. It was real. It did happen. Several times.” Byleth answers you without hesitation.

“You kept reliving that part of your life over and over until you arrived at the best solution? That is fucking amazing. Hawking would've loved it.” You shake your head in near disbelief. “You were the archbishop, but the church isn’t around any more. I guess you just let that go away on its own. What are you doing now?”

Yuri comments about how well the meat is spiced and that they should order this dish again. You interpret this as new subject time.

“There was no mention of dragons or Agarthans in the history books. Did that happen?” You ask quietly.

Byleth nods, “Yes. It did. It was a fantastic combined effort to take them down. We agreed it was best left unwritten.”

The food is quite delicious. You try to think of more pleasant things to talk or ask about, your head spinning with this revelation before you.

“Who else remembers?”

“Just you.” Yuri answers.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Your jaw drops nearly to the table.

“Only you.” Byleth nods.

“Is anyone else supposed to remember?” You’re happy about these two, but you also hoped to speak to a few others. Reminisce about old times? Something like that.

Yuri explains, “Well, in the past we tried a few times, reincarnation is a thing actually. Most of you appear close to the same time. We had tried different ways of bringing through their memories. The problem was that when some remembered they mentally crashed. Now with counseling and medications being as advanced as they are we thought we would try again.”

“So then I volunteer to be a lab rat and something clicked…” Your voice drifts off as you recall the early dreams. .

Yuri continues, “When we read the reports of your dreams we were very excited. What we weren’t’ prepared for is how quickly it awoke the memories in you. We had no idea how you would respond.”

“You are a secretive creature, keeping mostly to yourself.” Byleth nods.

“We’ve been spying on you here and there.” Yuri grins. “You are so damn boring. Anyway, hiring you at the university made it easier to eavesdrop on your conversations.”

“What about the gas station incident.” You have a puzzled look on your face.

“That was all you.” Byleth shakes his head. “We had no idea that you could retain so much knowledge that you could actually cast spells. Crests have pretty much faded from existence. There are probably a few flickers here and there but nothing manifesting.”

You head back to the comfy couch, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “So what now?”

“Well you can go on with your best life. You can work with us. What do you want to do?” Byleth shrugs. “We want to give your soul some closure. Maybe to be able to move on? Not like some creepy ghost or anything.”

Yuri winks, “Hey what about your love life? Do you remember much about it?”

You scrunch your face remembering what a mess it was. “Yes, I do. Ugh. I fell for Claude but had no chance because of supersexy female Byleth. I chased after Felix who was a good friend, but he was in love with Sylvain for forever. Then omg, can’t believe I am saying this, Hubert, and well, he was all over Ferdinand.”

They both look at you with a slight frown.

“I don’t know what order Byleth went through the different houses. I never remembered from one experience to the next. Now that I remember them all, I can certainly see what I didn’t before. A whole lot of ‘love is blind’ going on. Wanting something so much you can’t see the signs blocking your way.”

“How about now?” Yuri has that sly look about him. What a gossip.

“Working two jobs trying to pay for college and not be buried in debt, I have not dated. Ever.” You shrug. “It isn’t fair to someone else, we would have almost no time together. I work nights 7 days a week then school and homework. There is no time to breathe or eat, much less look for love.”

“Well, Byleth is unavailable.” Yuri moves a bit closer to him to assert his ownership. “You know Claude is quite curious about you, ‘Janitor’.” He taunts.

You roll your eyes. “What part of my life don’t you spy on?”

The three of you talk about fond memories, precious victories, even recalling a few of the tragic events.

“So you’ve poked a hole in my brain and all of my memories are out. What would you like to see me do? Wow. I feel like I just dropped a card into the Advice Box.” You laugh.

Byleth, who loved to answer these, sits up. “You should finish your degree and get your Masters.”

“Masters?” You groan, “I am dying right now, you want more? Degree, Masters, required internships and I’m already behind not being able to take things on full boat. I’ll be graduating when I’m 40.”

“Well, there’s a scholarship you may be interested in.” Yuri has his sneaky sneak face on. “You qualify of course. Pays for your schooling, housing, and monthly stipend. Funded by the Eisner foundation. Very private lot they are. More of a don’t call us, we’ll call you kind of group.”

You fall back onto the couch in shock. “W-why are you doing this?” trying to choke back tears.

“The usual.” He drawls. “Finally being able to catch up with old friends. Thank them for everything they’ve done. We would not be here without you. Hoping maybe you want to hang out with us. Maybe awaken a few others?”

“This is all beyond belief.” You shake your head. “If you asked me six months ago that I would be here with you two, talking over past lives. Wow. Do Seteth and Flayn come and visit?”

“They’re around.” Yuri gestures just vaguely enough to let you know yes, but that is not readily available information at this time.

“You are not planning on forming a vigilante superhero group or something weird like that are you?” You frown.

Yuri pouts. “You don’t want to be Lightning Lady or the silver bolt?”

“No.” you answer resolutely. “Masks freak me out these days. You should’ve seen some of the stuff in the art show. Made the Death Knight look like a fairy princess.”

Byleth stands. “We deserve a great dinner, care to join us at Dedue’s?”

“He’s here? Cooking? You bet!” You realize this is the beginning of something amazing.

#fe3h #feth #fire emblem three houses #fe3 x reader #m!byleth #Yuri Leclerc #fe3h fanfic #fe3h fanfiction

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huangsilks · 5 years ago

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let your walls down for me (z.cl)

summary: worries about university, SATs, and moving away weighed heavily like a burden on your shoulders. one thing you knew for sure, though, was that your friendship with him wouldn’t falter, and you found solace in that.

pairing: bestfriend!chenle x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

a/n: hhHHH this is my first actual fic and i’m not v satisfied djsjdjjfjd but i enjoyed writing it and that’s the thing that matters!! if anyone is reading this rn and wants to be friends: hi! i’m cam! i wanna make more friends 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻

“you look like actual shit.” bestfriend!chenle snickers at you, a cheeky grin adorning his features as he pays close attention to the messy side bangs that fell into your face and uniform tie that was thrown on lopsidedly. you roll your eyes as he meets you on the sidewalk in front of your house, the same sidewalk you two had met each morning since second grade. chenle reaches out his hand and brushes your fallen locks behind your ears, chuckling at your irritated expression as you swat his hand away.

“well maybe if someone didn’t keep me up all night playing pubg, i would’ve woken up to my alarm.” you playfully side-eye him, knowing full well that your disheveled state was upon his insistence. flashbacks rang in your head from the night prior, a full seven hours of your life spent gaming that you’d never get back. considering you two would be uni students in just the next year, your sleep schedule was horrendous.

“we need to get more sleep than we do. you know that sleep deprivation is bad for adolescent brain development?” you nag.

“okay, okay. mom.” chenle disregards your light scolding, draping his arm over your shoulders nonchalantly. chenle was naturally a touchy person, even when you guys were little, so you were used to everything at this point— the hand-holding, the back-hugging, the general invasion of space when it came to him. admittedly, you weren’t the biggest fan of skinship, but zhong chenle was always an exception. he did it so often that people thought you two dated (not that you minded).

“your brain is so underdeveloped because you never sleep.” you tease, and he immediately feigns an overdramatic look of hurt, pushing you away from him. you beamed at his comical response. his orange locks radiated in the early morning light, and the up-turned corners of his lips stretch into a shit-eating grin.

“say that to me the next time you ask for calculus help, dipshit.” he mocks, and you stand on your tip-toes to ruffle up his hair, messing up the tangerine coloured locks (although he managed to still look good).

chenle sticks his tongue out at you, putting his arm back on your shoulder the way it was before. you were all smiles at his affectionate nature. a comfortable ambience fell over the two of you, as you basked in the undisturbed sunrise and yielded to the peaceful routine of walking to school.

“so have you asked bora to be your prom date, yet?” you inquired your best friend. jang bora was a good friend of yours both since elementary.

“it’s only the first day of senior year, it’s too early to ask her. what about you? find anyone you’d wanna go with?”

“no, not really. maybe i’ll just go alone.” you complained, scratching the back of your head. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but nobody in particular really caught your eye.

“c’mon, don’t be like that. i know so many guys who would love to be your date, y/n.” chenle leaned in a little closer to whisper in your ears, “and i heard a rumour that park jisung wants to ask you.” he teases you with his gummy grin, a sparkle in his eye meant only for you.

“i don’t think so, chenle.” you shake off his mischievous laughter, holding back a smile of your own. “i think he’s more interested in you than me.” you add subconsciously.

“hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can be my date if bora rejects me. deal?”

“wow, chenle, i just love being your second choice.” you sardonically joke.

it was early autumn, and the typically mediocre scenery of your neighborhood seemed almost picturesque today. the muted orange hues of the fallen leaves perfectly complimented chenle’s bright ginger hair, a byproduct of some mindless bet he lost during summer. you swore that orange hair would look revolting on anyone; but he was zhong chenle, and zhong chenle looked good in everything. you still recalled the self-satisfied cackles chenle made at your widened eyes, because what the hell, chenle? how do you look that good with orange hair?

morning walks with chenle were always a safe haven for you two. all pressures to be considered ‘popular’ or ‘cool’ were reserved for the rest of the day, with other schoolmates and friends, but never with eachother. you liked starting your days off with him, opting to simply enjoy eachother’s presence rather than bombarding eachother with too much talk and mental stimulation at such an early hour. it was in these moments that you two could be at peace with yourselves.

you sigh in contentment at the foreign breeze, recognizing the first sign of autumn. to you, the messy escapades of summer— driving around in chenle’s car during the ungodliest of hours, blasting 80s rock music with the windows down so that the wind would seep into your hair— these events seemed so distant and long-gone. an image of two teenagers huddled haphazardly under a thick blanket, a twitch streamer on the laptop being the only source of light, chewing on shitty leftover pizza as you two struggled to stay awake—these were memories of a hazy dream you’d try so hard to remember. recollections of sandy flip-flops, overly competitive volleyball games, and cloud-watching at the beach, with chenle’s orange head in your lap as he dreamt lazily, airpods in his ears and sunscreen on his nose. these all were snapshots frozen in time. a time that felt lightyears away from the present, a time you’d try so hard to hold onto.

because now, it was the first day of senior year, and everything would be changing. the hustle and bustle of ap classes, sports games, student council, part-time jobs, and the pretense of a social life always kept both you and chenle on your feet. nothing would ever be the same in a few months, as the never-ending questions about university would loom over everyone, the topics of scholarships and SATs and moving away constantly being thrown around. it was all so overwhelming, so burdensome. one thing you knew for sure, though, was that your friendship with chenle wouldn’t falter, and you found solace in that alone.

you were zhong chenle’s best friend since second grade — he was intelligent, charismatic, well-rounded, and widely popular towards the entirety of the school. he assumed the role of student council treasurer, the soccer team’s infamous right midfielder, and subject to much talk amongst the females in your highschool. but with you, he was just zhong chenle, the sweet boy who moved in two doors down from you when you were 9. there was no facade your eyes couldn’t see past.

“hey, y/n?” chenle begins, and you glance up at him next to you, peering through your eyelashes. “can i ask you, like, a serious question?” you nod at your best friend, caught off gaurd by the sudden question.

“does the future ever scare you?” he ponders nervously. you pause in your steps, thinking of the right words to say. chenle looks at his feet, avoiding your eye contact.

“well, whether we like it or not, the future is going to happen, right? and i don’t think there’s any point in fearing the inevitable. the best we can do is try adjust to the changes and enjoy the ride.” you admit, honestly. and if you were anyone else, chenle might’ve laughed at the cheesy answer, might’ve made a joke about how you made everything too serious and tried to lighten the situation. but it was you, and he could trust you with anything.

“but y/n. everything is going to change in a few months. there’s final exams, graduation, and prom. but after that, it’s all just a jumble of ambiguous what-ifs. nothing is assured anymore. i never told you this, but i might have to move away for my soccer scholarship. i’ve never lived away from home and i don’t... i don’t think i can handle it. it’s too much all at once.”

his sudden rant of emotion was laced with anxiety and stress. you instinctively take his larger hand into yours, feeling how shaky and clammy they had become. you knew it took a lot out of him to finally admit those words to you.

“i know how you feel, chenle. but you’re strong. you’ve handled everything life has thrown at you, every single time. you can handle this, too.”

“but— but what if i never come back? the thought of losing everything and everyone scares me, so much.... i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

his anxious words drifted into the autumn wind, ringing through your mind like a mantra. zhong chenle constantly tried so hard to be perceived as perfect and flawless to the whole world, that sometimes it was shocking when he let his walls come down to you. you don’t respond at first, not sure what to say to his vulnerable confession; so you don’t respond immediately, and instead, you took his face into your hands and stared him in the eyes, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin. you hold out your arms and wrap them around his taller frame, saying nothing for a few moments. you two were silent during this intimate time. when you pulled back, his surprised eyes were filled with tears.

“i know you, zhong chenle. you will get through this. and plus, i’ll never leave your side. it’s always going to be you and me, ok? wherever you go.” you assure him, beaming optimistically. and you meant every word.

he blinked away the tears and laughed, “thank you, y/n, for being my best friend. thank you for staying with me all these years... i love you.” his words left you taken aback. in all your years of friendship, chenle never told you he loved you. you wiped his tears away with your sleeve and laughed at his sad expression.

“awww, i love you too, you dummy. you know that right? now stop crying, you look like a baby.”

chenle snakes his arms around your waist and pinches your sides, sending a tickle jolting up your body. you slap his forearm as he chortles jubilantly in response.

“ow! nevermind, i take it back. i totally hate you.” you mock.

(you love him. very, very much).

he holds your hand all the way to school, and you know that wherever life brought you two in the following months, despite the anxious discussions on university and scholarships and moving away, zhong chenle would always be yours.

#nct drabbles #nct writing #nct writers #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream fluff #nct dream chenle #zhong chenle #nct chenle #nct chenle fluff #nct fluff #nct fanfiction #nct chenle fanfiction #nct dream imagines #nct dream blurbs #nct blurbs #nct drram drabbles #nct imagines

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nikanndros · 6 years ago

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the high-school fake dating au part 2

Part 1|

The receptionist gives Laurent two painkillers and makes him go to second period, which is Drama class. Drama class should legally be a safe haven for any queer/questioning kids, but unfortunately it’s more for students who think it’ll be a bludge class. Laurent dawdles a little on the way there - he’d rather be late to class than thrown to the mercy of his classmates until the teacher shows up.

“Laurent,” Miss Braddock says, when he walks in. “You’re late.”

Everyone is sitting on a circle on the floor - because drama classrooms don’t need tables and chairs apparently - and Laurent sees their heads all swivel to look at him. Giggling and whispering and nudging all breaks out.

Laurent tries not to react at all to them. “I didn’t wear a watch today,” Laurent tells her.

Miss Braddock’s not a total idiot, so she seems to figure out that there’s something going on here that she doesn’t know about, and she gestures for Laurent to find a spot in the circle.

Laurent chooses the space between Lykaios - who is too shy to say anything even if she does hate Laurent now - and the teacher. He very purposely doesn’t look at Aimeric, sitting across the circle from him.

The start of class is fine, they’re just reading a scene from The Tempest, except then the teacher decides on a group activity.

“Excuse me, miss,” Chauvin says. “I’m uncomfortable with being in a group with Laurent. I don’t want him to hit on me.”

Chauvin’s in the same football team as Damen. Laurent wonders how he’d react if he thought Laurent were dating Damen. He’s been trying to get an in with the team captain for an age.

“Um, excuse me?” Miss Braddock says. She’s a small town teacher - this is probably way above her pay grade.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lykaois suddenly speaks up, with a surprising amount of fierceness. “Laurent’s with me.” It’s possibly the most amount of words that she’s ever said in this class - other than their first lesson in grade 11 when she’d mumbled that her goal for the class was to become braver.

Laurent blinks.

Chauvin makes a face. “You should be worried he’ll try to steal your boyfriend.”

“Nikandros isn’t my type,” Laurent says, dryly.

“Okay, enough,” Miss Braddock says. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. You have ten minutes to figure out your short performances and then we’re showing them. Go.”

Lykaios turns to Laurent. She’s so shy she can’t even make eye-contact, despite knowing him since preschool. “Do you want to be Prospero or Ariel?” she whispers.

“Thank you,” Laurent says, quietly. “You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”

Lykaios half smiles. “It’s not like I got in a fight for you like Damen did,” she replies.

“What?”

Lykaios does look at him at that. “Everyone was talking about it during first period?”

“I skipped. What happened?”

Lykaios shifts, uncomfortable at having Laurent’s full attention. She looks down again. “Govart was saying things about you while we were waiting for Mr Mulligan. Damen told him to-- stop, and Govart got mad and punched him.”

The way she hesitates on stop leads Laurent to believe Damen actually said something along the lines of ‘fuck off’. “Oh,” Laurent says. “That’s…”

“That’s time,” Miss Braddock announces.

Lykaios shoots Laurent a panicked look.

“It’s okay,” Laurent replies. “You play Ariel and say nothing; we can pretend it’s symbolic about his living in captivity or something.”

She nods, gratefully. Well, at least not everyone hates him.

The third class of the day is French. That class is almost entirely non-eventful, mostly because they haven’t covered french translations for hate speech in class yet so there isn’t much anyone can say. At one point, one of the boys in class raises his hand.

“Sir, how do you say ‘homo’ in French?”

People titter all around him.

“J'aime des hommes,” Laurent replies, loudly. He doesn’t look behind him at the boy who spoke.

It takes a while for the teacher to calm the class down after that. Laurent doesn’t feel a lot of sympathy for him at all.

Two different people shoulder barge Laurent when he’s on his way to the cafeteria. Students from different grades that have never paid him any attention before whisper and point in the hallways. This is bullshit. It’s not even like it’s interesting gossip. Laurent’s gay, so fucking what. They might all live in a small town, but it’s not like they haven’t heard of gay people before. It’s not like he’s a fucking Yeti or something.

There’s too many people in line at the canteen looking at him for Laurent to want to risk buying food. He doesn’t need someone accidentally tipping their sprite on him or something. At the start of the day, Laurent’s biggest concern had been that he was going to sit by himself at lunch now that Vannes and Jord have graduated. Now, he has to be worried about people throwing food at him, or trying to beat him up, or swearing at him. And he can’t even buy something to eat.

Fuck this, Laurent thinks, looking around the cafeteria at all the people stealing glances at him. Then he spots a pair of broad shoulders, and a red jersey. Damen. Laurent's heart picks up a beat. He’d been mad at first, over Damen’s patronising offer, but now he has to admit that he’s tempted.

Laurent is strong, he knows he’s strong, but that doesn’t mean that he should have to tolerate all of this bullshit on his own. It doesn’t mean he has to let the assholes have an easy target. Laurent hitches his backpack onto his shoulder and beelines for the table where Damen is.

Damen has his back to Laurent, but there’s a space open next to him. Across from him sits Lykaios, Nikandros, and Aktis. Pallas is sleeping with his head on the table, further down from Damen. Infuriatingly, Chauvin is standing at the end of the table, trying to get Damen’s attention.

Laurent doesn’t have time to think, he gets to the table and steps one leg over the bench, straddling it, facing Damen. Laurent can feel just about everyone in the area watching him; he ignores them. Damen looks away from Chauvin, and surprise is clear on his features when he sees Laurent.

Oh, God. What if it was a joke, or Damen wasn’t being serious, or he just didn’t think Laurent would actually take him up on the offer? Laurent is sitting way too close, intimately close. Damen is going to reject him and everyone is going to see and then things will be about a million times worse.

Damen gets over his surprise and smiles. “Well hey there,” he says. The smile even reaches his eyes. They’re the deep kind of brown that one could spend days looking into. “I was worried you might stand me up.”

Laurent doesn’t even need to force his relieved smile. “Lucky for you, I found an opening in my schedule,” he replies.

He can see Chauvin reel back in shock out of the corner of his eye.

“Lucky me,” Damen agrees. His voice is as rich a honey.

“Hey Laurent,” Nikandros says, in an awkwardly cheerful voice. They’ve literally never had a conversation before. God only knows what Lykaios sees in the guy.

“Uh, what the fuck,” Chauvin says.

“Is that mac and cheese?” Laurent asks, looking at one of the many food items unpacked in front of Damen. It probably takes a lot to feed all of those ridiculous muscles.

“My mum made it,” Damen answers. Laurent remembers Damen unashamedly kissing his mother goodbye before he got his licence and when used to drop him off at school. The girls in their year used to swoon about it. “Do you want some?”

Damen holds his fork out towards Laurent, an offering. Laurent looks at it, and then he thinks of all of the people who are watching right now. All of the students who have been having all of these awful feelings about Laurent for who he is. There’s a bit of spiteful satisfaction in the idea of making them watch this - watch the school hero, Damianos Akielos, with him. How confused this must make them.

Laurent leans forward, practically into Damen’s lap, and wraps his lips around the fork. Damen is looking, a little wide eyed. “It’s good,” Laurent says, after he’s swallowed.

“Are you a homo now too, Akielos?” Chauvin spits. Akielos, he’s already been demoted from a first name basis.

Damen hands Laurent the fork. He’s smiling serenely. “Hold this for me, babe.”

Then he turns to face Chauvin and, still smiling, slowly rises out of his seat. Damen somehow has the ability to have the personality of a golden retriever, but the intimidation factor of a lion. Chauvin steps back.

“Damen, remember our rule,” Nikandros hisses.

“What did you say?” Damen asks, pleasantly.

“Akielos!” comes the voice of Mr Murphy, the chem teacher. “Do you want detention? Sit down.”

“Are we not allowed to stand up now?” Nikandros asks.

Mr Murphy scowls. “Not with the intention of menacing other students.”

“He’s six foot five,” Laurent scoffs. “He can’t help it if some people are intimidated by size.”

“Don’t talk back at me, young man,” Mr Murphy says. Which is super insulting, because he definitely knows Laurent’s name.

Damen holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I was just stretching, sir,” he says, sitting down. And then he looks directly at Chauvin. “My boyfriend likes me limber after all.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikandros murmurs, dropping his head onto Lykaios’ shoulder. Lykaios is smiling, amused.

Chauvin throws his hands up in exasperation, “I am not playing on the same football team as a -” and then he says a horrendous homophobic slur and storms off.

There’s a moment of silence.

Laurent looks at Mr Murphy. “Really?” he says. “You’re going to tell Damen off for standing up, but Chauvin gets away with that?”

“Eat your lunch,” Mr Murphy says. “I’ll deal with my students myself, thank you de Vere.” Then he walks away too.

“What the fuck was that?” Nikandros hisses. “That was blatant discrimination. He clearly has no intention of punishing Chauvin.”

“Have the teachers not been helping you at all?” Damen asks Laurent, looking concerned. He offers Laurent half of his sandwich, which Laurent accepts in a state of shock.

“Of course not,” he says. “They’ve mostly just been telling everyone to shut up and giving me pitying looks.”

“Miss Braddock was being nice,” Lykaios offers.

Laurent shakes his head. “She was being purposefully ignorant. She knew exactly what was going on by the end of class and she didn’t even try to do anything about it.” He takes a bite of the sandwich.

“This school is in fucking shambles,” Nikandros says, taking out his phone. “I’m going to see how we should go about complaining about this.”

Lykaios nods and peers at his phone while he types away.

“What’s the rule Nikandros was talking about earlier? When you stood up at Chauvin.” Laurent asks.

Damen looks a little sheepish. “I got into too many fights last year,” he says. “If I start another one, I’ll probably get suspended.”

“So let them throw the first punch,” Laurent suggests. “That way you didn’t start it.”

Damen laughs, and then tilts his head towards Laurent. “So we’re doing this, then?” he asks, quietly.

“Well, you did call me your boyfriend earlier,” Laurent says back, “and strongly imply that we’re having sex, so I guess we are.”

#captive prince #writing #homophobia cw #bullying cw #okay if im writing this then were all agreeing that its set in a vague country #with a semi american teen movie semi australian schooling system #i tried with the french and arsaces-of-akielos helped so its her fault if its wrong #also josselin gave me the idea for the cafeteria scene bit

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suziechism · 5 years ago

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If you have not yet heard it, this is my current single, Socio out now on all platforms. This is a really exciting track for me, as it is a change of pace from the rock music I have been writing/performing for the last 8 years, and is one of my first production projects. Although it skews pop, I was inspired by hip hop from the 80s and 90s when selecting synth and guitar tones (both performed by me,) and was obsessing over the simple, yet thoughtful percussion in old Snoop Dogg and Dre songs. I had full creative control over this sucker, as it was recorded mostly in my home in Nashville (back ground vocals and percussion added at my next-but-previous home in East LA a few months later.) The song is a series of mishaps gone right, from the horrendous topic of a Sociopath itself, to the fact that my shoulder had recently become dislocated when I wrote it leaving me unable to write on my usual instrument. In fact, I had one arm in a sling most of the time then, and could not work at all; I borrowed a friends old Juno out of boredom. His Juno had keys that did not work, which decided the progression of chords. I was incredibly blessed to have Chuck Bartels of the Sturgill Simpson band come in to play bass on the track, and it took him about ten minutes total. -He is a super funky Detroit cat, and I paid him in tacos for the session. The engineer on this song, Paul Cossette, did not particularly like concept of sound I was going for, but was supportive in connecting the dots for my wild ideas, including our attempt to rope in Frank Romano on guitar. -Frank currently plays for Rob Thomas, but was ideal for this song because he played the ever-iconic intro riff on P. Diddy’s “I Need a Girl Pt. 2″ I was SO pumped, but he was ultimately unable to be a part of the project, and I took over the responsibility of guitar. The whistle sound was the first time I recorded my new Behringer D, a Model D clone that is accessible in price. The song was mixed by F. Reid Shippen (Robot Lemon) and mastered by Dan Bacigalupi at Infrasonic Sound. The song has been marked “explicit” on Spotify, although the lyric in question says “take me home and fun me, make me think I’m lucky.”

This is an interesting write for me, because it is lyrically very matter-of-fact, rather than my usual hemorrhaging of emotion. I was very detached from the subject, likely due to the trauma involved in having been manipulated by someone with sociopathic behavior. The song really tells the story, but does not even begin to touch the layers of intricate, impressive, detailed deception (and ueventually harassment) that was involved in dating a sociopath. -The term “web of lies” COULD NOT BE more accurate. In retrospect, dismissing the millions (not an exaggerated estimate) of red flags that lined the road I was too-far down was a direct correlation to my lack of self-respect/love, but it was in no way my fault. I loved this man as much as I was capable of loving another human at that time in my life, and thought loving him despite his transgressions was a sign of love itself. In fact, he seemed to have a knack for finding women who doubted themselves; victims by definition, absolutely. He told me many times “I love that you are hot and you don't know it!” Later I realized that is what he is looking for, people who don’t see in themselves what other people perhaps do. I dated him for 5 of the 8 years that I lived in Nashville, and can count 11 people off the top of my head that reached out to me during that time to inform me that they were also dating my boyfriend. I found out later I was not the main squeeze, as he had been with someone from his home town since high school or shortly after. I was convinced that we lived together; he came and went 3-4/7 (sometimes more) days a week, sighting out of town rehearsals/shows and late night radio gigs as explanation for the remaining time we were apart. He was on another lease at an apartment, and had set up an extended-stay rate at a motel he used frequently as well. Because most of the women who contacted me were from WILDLY opposite walks of life than the world of music he and I had in common, or they were too young for the story to even be comprehendible for me, he talked his way out of any and everything. It wasn't until I faced him in a court room and saw the knee-jerk, untrue pathological responses in real time that I understood just how good this manipulator was. He was protecting his empire of bullshit.

Every morning he would crouch on the ground near the side of the bed and watch me sleep a while before kissing me goodbye, and would tell me I am his favorite girl; I didn't realize what he meant. What an asshole. I can’t remember quite how he phrased it, which is an incredible sign of healing, but the last-straw girl showed me a screenshot of their conversation in which he used this cutesy inside joke of ours to greet her. He was caught. Does he get sociopath bonus points for using the love I taught him on other people, or did he forget which girl receives which script? My long-term band Moseley had recently disbanded (lol get it?) and I had rehearsals for my FIRST show for my new band that day. I circled the house like a fishing bobber in an old cartoon, the tunnel closing in on my vision but my legs increasing in speed, pacing. When my bassist arrived, I had no words and was shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t have to tell him (but of course I did,) he just knew; everybody knew. -those damned snake eyes gave him away to everyone but me, where I just saw pain. The culprit was conveniently tucked away at a camp ground performing at Forecastle Festival with his band. I didn't think there was any chance I would get through my first performance with SUP, but it is the only technically perfect show I have ever played, to date. A scorned bitch is her most radiant.

I made it abundantly clear that I was not to be contacted, but Jabroni found a different phone to call from every day. EVERY day. He left voicemails to the tune of “call me back when you’re done whoring around East Nashville, you dumb cunt,” and “you’re so fucking stupid, if you believe this child over me,” “you’re so stupid no one will marry you,” he flooded my emails and texts messages. Occasionally I would write back some poetic, winded essay about the minutes within the hours within the days within the months that this had been going on and draining me of my everything, hoping it would make the man feel something for once and that he would stop the torture. He did not hear me. He sat outside my house regularly, where I could not stay unless I knew his band was on the road, for months and months. My dog sitter saw him looking in my windows. He left notes on my door. He threatened to disrupt me at work, so I found a new job immediately. There were trinkets (like drum keys, -he is a drummer) that I would find, strategically so that I knew he had been there. There were burner phones purchased, and bands being paid in radio time to do his dirty work for him. I was not the only woman being treated this way. Ultimately, this person damn-near rewired my brain to think up was down, and he most definitely ruined the next relationship I attempted. He loved to let me know he knew where I had eaten that day, or who I had been with. I used to have a recurring dream that I would sit down to eat in my kitchen, and that my foot would kick human flesh under the table, where he was hiding in the fetal position silently. I got bangs for the first time in twenty years as camouflage.

My temporary restraining order ended when he, in court, told the judge that I had been calling him and begging him to come over, that I wanted to get back together. That restraining order would have prevented this post, and this song, from existing. I remember watching the judge browse lunch menus on her computer while I gave my testimony, about forty minutes before she shamed me for my “dishonesty” and wasting the court’s time. He told all of Nashville he took me to court for blackmailing him. I don't think about him hardly ever, his memory replaced by someone capable of having my best interest at heart, -a concept so foreign to me that I thrash like a caged animal when presented with it. I thought of him while reading the Ryan Adams expose (his hero in all things, oddly enough,) THE SIMILARITIES ARE UNCANNY. I thought of him recently as I booked a trip to visit Nashville, when it flashed across my mind like a news ticker that HE STILL LIVES THERE! and that I did not want him to know the dates I would be traveling, or that I was coming at all!, for fear he could look up the flight schedules from LA-->BNA and it would all begin again. This is not normal, and this is not okay.

I wrote this song for the other women affected by this man or anyone like him, in retribution for the millions of times I am sure he denied my existence. I EXISTED. WE HAPPENED. HE CANNOT TALK HIS WAY OUT OF WHAT I LIVED THROUGH; I WAS THERE. One of my favorite lyrics I have ever written is in this song: “I kept hoping you would trust my love, enough to tell the truth if just for once.” One sentence to explain it all. As more truths have been uncovered, it is a bit bizarre how many of my songs predicted details that I had no way of knowing at the time; the female intuition is an earthly superpower that cannot be paralleled and should be trusted at all costs. How someone treats you is not a reflection of YOUR ability to love, and as big as you can dream, I hope you dream of love and never stop chasing your dreams.

#suziechism socio sociopath narcissist sociopathic harassment domesticabuse dishonest liar pop music production songwriter

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ordinarytalk · 6 years ago

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A realization, I suppose

So.

One of the jobs I applied for called me back and wants to schedule an interview.

And suddenly this is all very real.

The job was one of the jobs I wasn’t really expecting to hear back from, only applied to out of desperation because nobody was getting back to me and I was no longer sure what I was even qualified for or capable of. It’s an environmental specialist (essentially a health inspector) for Saint Mary’s County, Maryland.

And...now I’m not sure if I want it. I’m not sure? I mean, the job itself would be worlds better than my current job. It wouldn’t be fun, it wouldn’t be fulfilling, but at this point in my life I’ve gone past thinking my job will ever be fulfilling or enjoyable at all. But I would be using my education. I would be able to move around instead of being tethered to a desk for 12 hours a day. I could go outside.

I applied because it had the word “environmental” in the job title, and it was for all of Maryland, not just a particular county. I was thinking more of the areas of the state closer to Pennsylvania and Delaware. Closer to my friends.

Saint Mary’s county is two hours away from Washington DC. Four hours away from my friends. Five and a half hours away from my sister in Connecticut. Eight hours from my sister in Boston.

It’s by the ocean. I love the ocean. I always dreamed about living by the ocean, growing up by a frigid, polluted lake in Wisconsin. The ocean was an impossible, imaginary place, like Narnia, or the moon, or New York. It didn’t really exist. And then I grew up and it did. And I loved it.

There isn’t much else there. No big cities. Ticky-tacky summer homes for rich people. Strip malls. An IHOP. It’s more than I had growing up. It’s less than I have now.

The job doesn’t pay well, which is to say, it pays about as much as I make now. $36,557.00 - $57,808.00/year. I mean, it’s decent. Solidly middle-class. You can live on it. You can’t buy a house on it. You can’t save that much on it, with my $57,000 remaining in student loans.

…after getting the phone call today, after panicking a little, after looking up whatever information I could find about Saint Mary’s County, I realized that almost every single one of the major decisions of my adult life were due to desperation, fear, or someone else making the decision for me.

When I graduated college, directionless and suddenly alone, a former teacher got me a job. When I quit in terror after the first day in that hellish basement, my mom decided I was going to study pre-med at UW-Madison, and I went. After being rejected from dozens and dozens of medical programs, desperate and terrified because a childhood of being “the gifted student” hadn’t prepared me for an adulthood of being average, I moved to Philadelphia to take a pre-med program that cost as much as a year of actual med school, spiraling me into debt. I failed it horribly, and spent an entire year in a dissociative fugue that I still barely remember, except for snapshots when I was horrendously sick or suicidal. When friends-of-my-college-friend invited me to live with them after the year, I did, because they told me and no one else was telling me what to do. Terrified again at having no direction, I went deeper into debt to get a Public Health degree that I’ve never used. I lived for years under the poverty line during all this. All my clothes had stains and holes and didn’t fit. No matter how much I washed, everything smelled. I gained fifty pounds in one year, and lost twenty the next. I was so sick, all the time. I had asthma attacks that cracked the cartilage in my ribs with coughing, I had asthma attacks so bad that for weeks I was too terrified to go to sleep, because I was sure I wouldn’t wake up. I worked 15-hour days and didn’t have enough money to buy a new plastic comb when my old one broke. I was so desperate, and I was so scared, and I took the 911 job like a lifeline. Desperation and terror define my adult life.

Except...I’m doing okay now. Sort of. I have a nice apartment, and healthcare, and a pet kitty, and I have so much money that earlier this week I bought an $80 coat just because it looked nice. I’ve paid off a huge chunk of my student loans. I still can’t afford the things I wanted in life: a house, a family, freedom to dye my hair crazy colors or have fun. The part of me that sounds like my parents still tells me I’m wasting my potential. But overall, I’m doing okay.

This new job...is better than the 911 job. It’s worlds better. I hate how angry my job makes me, how panicked, how stressed. I hate the nasty, snappish person it’s made me become. I hate how I have nightmares about being at work all the time. I hate how stupid my job makes me feel, when you’re taking a 911 call on a phone in one ear and then an officer starts speaking in the other ear and you can’t understand either of them, and you’re desperately trying to do three things when another officer gives you a fourth thing and then you try to do that except this person you’re talking to wants a fifth thing and you can’t remember all the things and you can’t do this and you can feel tears starting but you can’t cry because then you’ll be fired and you can’t do any of this and now the officers are angry at you and the person is yelling that you’re useless, and this happens multiple times every single day. And you don’t get to pee.

So I’m desperate for a new job. And I’m terrified I’m going to be stuck at this one forever. And here comes this new job that’s better, but doesn’t pay better, and it’s far away from everyone I know and love. Fuck, it’s away from my babysitting kids. A lot of the jobs I’m applying for are away from them. Something horrible twists up inside whenever I think about not being there for them, I’ve been with them since they were born, those are MY KIDS.

So….here I am. I think...I think I’m going to call the lady back. I think I might do the interview. I think I’ll treat it as practice. I haven’t interviewed almost ever in my life. Jobs, usually bad jobs, have mostly just been shoved into my lap because the hiring person was desperate for warm bodies. There’s another job that seems to be a little interested in me, although they haven’t called me back or anything yet. It’s for a wildlife biologist in Connecticut. 30 minutes from my Connecticut sister, 2 hours from my Boston sister, four hours from my friends. And wildlife biology...that’s something I actually love. A love it a lot.

I’m still terrified. When I think about my job and how long I’ve been there, I get desperate. I don’t think fulfillment through work is a reasonable goal for my adult life. But I also think that making decisions because I’m terrified isn’t something I want to keep doing.

It still would be nice to live by the ocean, though.

#mixed feelings #personal stuff #I feel like I'm in a horrible rut but I'm also terrified when I think about what getting out of it will entail

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willelbyers · 7 years ago

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As The Seasons Change (we do, too)

Summary: Spring turns to summer and Mike falls out of love. Summer turns to autumn and he falls right back in—but it’s with the wrong person. Three years later, autumn turns to winter and he knows that everything is different. Pairings: Will/Mike, past Mike/El Notes: It’s post-season 2, about 4,300 words, with a healthy dose of Will & Max and Mike & El friendship on the side

So this is dedicated to Mishi @biwheelers because she’s amazing and a byeler shipper and so many of my ideas are from conversations with her and I couldn’t be more grateful! (Read her writing, too, because it’s awesome!)

This is posted on Ao3 here as well as written out below the cut. Enjoy!

It’s April. They’re almost in high school now, the two months left of school leading into the summer before freshmen year looming over them, thirteen turning fourteen years old and counting, and Mike knows that everything is different, or at least is going to be different—and not just because of the monsters.

Even now, four months after the Snowball, he remembers the feeling of his stomach flipping and his eyes going wide as El walked through the school’s doors in her new dress. He remembers how electric she made him feel when they kissed. He knows that he loved her, because she’s dazzling and bright and so, so beautiful. It almost burns. And he knows that they’re barely teenagers, and he knows that it’s a little early to experience love, but that doesn’t change that it is what it is.

He visits her in the (new) Hopper family’s hidden cabin once a week, usually accompanied by the others. They hold hands, sometimes, and on the rare occasion they’re left alone, Mike will indulge himself in more of that electricity he finds himself chasing after all the time. Her hair curls as her vocabulary expands, and her wardrobe slowly evolves with the help of their friends into something that’s a mix of what the Chief had been giving her, more of Nancy’s old clothes, and whatever she’d been wearing when she showed up at Will’s doorstep.

El is the wind and smoke and lightning, shifting and changing as she feels like it, and Mike loves her for it. They all do.

But then spring turns to summer and Mike falls out of love.

It happens all at once and he doesn’t understand: he sees Eleven now and he still loves her—because how could he not?—but the burning feeling is gone. There are no more butterflies, no more eyes-wide-open moments. The memory of electricity has dulled—he hasn’t kissed her in a while, and he thinks with a thrill of fear that she must have noticed.

So one day in June, he grabs his bike and pedals into the woods even though it’s four in the afternoon on a Tuesday and not a visiting day. He moves as though he isn’t in control of his own body anymore, and as he knocks on the door he feels another tingle of fear because though the pain isn’t comparable, this is what Will must have felt like when He was here.

El lets him in, confused because she knows no one scheduled this. Mike looks at her, with her hair curling around her ears and one of Max’s sweatshirts layered on top of Nancy’s old pale yellow T-shirt paired with some of Will’s jeans and black combat boots he doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t know how to tell her that he doesn’t think he can kiss her anymore and he doesn’t know why.

So he tries, instead. He leans forward with every intent to meet her mouth, but he just… can’t. He can’t. He turns his head at the last minute and kisses her cheek instead before hugging her. A surge of guilt wells up in his chest and he can’t quite pinpoint why, because it’s not like he’s hurting her by not kissing her.

“I love you,” he says instead, and it doesn’t feel like a lie at all.

Her arms come up to wind around his shoulders, and he feels her mouth turn up into a small smile—the only kind she knows how to make. “Thank you, Mike. I love you, too.”

There’s something in her voice that should give Mike pause, but he ignores it because maybe reality won’t exist if he pretends it isn’t there.

Spring turns to summer, and Mike pretends that he’s still in love.

Summer break rolls right on by, and the high school building looms in the mind of every incoming freshman—including Mike.

So he does what every sane kid would do: he ignores it. He fills the dull spaces between waking and sleeping with friends (and less with family), with day trips to a nearby lake, with visits to the Hopper House, with absolutely anything. It goes by in a flash, his basement blurring in with Will’s room and then the park, every time they watch Max as she skates mixing up with playing with Dustin’s new cat and chasing Lucas’ sister down for stealing their stuff. Mike thinks that maybe next year, he should try to slow down, because summer is gone far too quickly for his liking and it feels like he’s done nothing at all.

That feeling comes to a complete stop, however, one day in September. School has been in session for a few weeks already, and the leaves are turning red and yellow. Mike walks through the forest with Will (and only him) at his side, taking careful steps that crunch on every brown leaf and coordinate with Will’s smaller strides.

They walk in circles for a while before Will takes an abrupt turn. Mike follows him because he’s too trusting, because even though this is the same forest where everything has gone wrong in the past and Will tried to kill him a year ago, Mike would die for him.

And it wasn’t even Will, then, he reminds himself. It’s hard to shake the memory of Will’s shattered eyes and broken screams, the emptiness of a slate wiped clean and the horrendous thrashing and the pure hatred in his face, but Mike knows it wasn’t Will at all.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but as Castle Byers comes into view and they fall back into step with each other, Mike grabs Will’s hand. He’s only fourteen years old, but he knows what love is. He knows that electricity El used to give him, and he knows that Will’s hand gives him that, too.

They settle down inside the fort, Mike so tall that his head brushes the ceiling as they sit. He realizes that Will hasn’t let go of his hand, and he still doesn’t as his right one picks up a sketchbook. He flips it open and Mike watches as each page presents a face—some in deft strokes of black marker on white, some loose sketches in pencil, but most in strange monochromatic color pencil pallets that are almost ethereally beautiful. He sees exactly one self-portrait of Will, in indigo. His lips are tilted down into a frown, but he doesn’t look sad—maybe just focused. Mike notices Max in orange, her face taking up the whole page with hair seemingly spilling off the edges—Will really does seem to be making the effort to help her integrate into the party. Even if Mike still isn’t thrilled about it, he recognizes that she helps Will, and that Lucas likes her, and they all deserve it. Lucas himself is in a pale red, looking challengingly out at the figurative audience with his bandana on. Dustin is in a bright, sunshine yellow, grinning at someone out of the metaphorical frame. There’s El in green, one page with her face just as he knows Will first remembers seeing her—shaved head, Nancy’s dress with the neat collar, determined stare. The page directly opposite has more of El in the same color, but smaller, different angles and hairstyles and outfits, one sketch of her wrist with the tattoo, some full-body silhouettes. Mike supposes that Will probably gets El to model for him a lot—they’ve been spending a lot more time with each other since Jim and Joyce started dating.

There’s one of Mrs. Byers herself in some dark shade of pink, with a bright smile Mike can’t really ever remember seeing on her—and he’s known the woman for ten years, so that says a lot. There’s Jonathan in turquoise, camera raised just up to his shoulder. There’s one of Steve in purple, bat over his shoulder. Nancy makes the cut as well, a gray-blue color tracing her as she looks over her shoulder. Even Chief gets a sketch, though it’s not done—Mike can only make out the vague shape of his hat and face in a mustard yellow before the page turns.

He spots himself, too, on more than one occasion. His face takes up several pages in light shades of blue, soft smile on his face as his hair falls into his eyes no matter the angle or pose, and his stomach swoops because in that moment he understands how Will sees him.

When summer arrived he knew he wasn’t in love anymore, but as autumn storms past he knows that he’s fallen right back in.

Senior year is crazy even within the first month. El is working overtime already, managing the lighting booth for the theater club and taking a job at the local diner as a waitress during the evenings. Lucas is on the football team and Dustin joins band. Max works the afternoon shifts at the skate shop across the street from the diner—she hasn’t lived with her mom or stepdad or stepbrother in over a year, hopping between her friends’ houses; she needs the money.

Will joins in with El, volunteering on weekends to paint the backdrop for the school plays and working as a waiter at the same diner. Will and El do everything together, now, because Joyce Byers is now Joyce Hopper, El has a family after a lifetime without one, and Will finally has the sister he needs and has a mutual understanding with. They finally have all the things they deserve.

Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a job because his parents insist he doesn’t need one.

“You need to focus on your studies, Michael,” his mother tells him when he hesitantly proposes the idea of him finding a job—at the grocer, maybe, or the music store that opened right next door to the skate shop. “College is coming up fast, and you don’t have time to be away from your schoolwork.”

“Besides,” his father says through a mouthful of roast beef. “We have all the money you need. Once you have a degree and a real job, you can support yourself, but until then, just let us handle it.”

And it makes Mike feel bad, because his dad talks like he doesn’t know that Will and El and Max need the money from their apparently “not real jobs”. It makes him feel bad because he sees their name tags, the tiny silver pins that read Will and Jane, the lanyard with the card that said Maxine M. until Max took a sharpie to it, the uniform with Sinclair and the feathered hat with Henderson, and Mike wants to do something. It makes him feel bad because he feels useless all the time, because he might not need to support himself but he wants to. He wants to know that he can do it.

He sulks in his room a lot, alone, turning the pages in his textbooks without reading anything at all, and it just so happens that one Wednesday in November the temperature plummets. That day at half past four, he hears his supercom buzz on his bedside table, and he turns to frown at it. None of them really use it to communicate anymore. But he sets aside his homework to pick it up and listens as Will’s voice floods through, staticky, telling him to come downstairs.

Mike instantly flies out into the hallway, pulling on his jacket over his thick sweater. He thunders past Nancy’s empty room, which is slowly accumulating new layers of dust once again—even just in the two months since she’d gone back to college.

“I’m going out, Mom,” he says, slowing down in the kitchen just enough to get the words out coherently. She says something after him, but he’s already out the door.

“Mike,” Will sighs as the front door closes behind him. He’s wearing a puffy coat that has a distinct “this used to be Jonathan's” look, and there’s a hat pulled over his hair. He has a small bag slung over his shoulder. Mike notices the goosebumps on the back of Will’s exposed neck—the result of cool air interacting with a haircut from junior year that Will has maintained. Before Mike can reply, Will’s arms are wrapped tightly around him. “I’m so glad you were home.”

“Like I would be anywhere else,” he replies, somewhat bitterly. Then he frowns. “I thought you were supposed to be working at the diner with El tonight. It’s Wednesday.”

“Called in sick,” Will mumbles. “Technically not lying.”

The alarms go off in Mike’s head. “Anniversary effect?” he asks, and Will just nods, burying his face into Mike’s shoulder. Static crackles in Mike’s ear, and he suddenly realizes how Will called him on his radio when Will’s own comm is nowhere in sight.

The anniversary effect, Mike knows, is a very real thing. Will really does have PTSD, it’s just that the inter-dimensional visions thrown in make it hard to differentiate what’s what. But it’s November, and it’s finally getting—

“Cold,” Will says, finishing Mike’s thought. “Yeah. That’s what set it off. It’s cold.”

Mike blinks for a moment—he’ll never get used to Will cluing into his thoughts. But the cold has never had the same connotations for any of them since the Mind Flayer, and Mike knows it’s the worst for Will. “Okay. Well… what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?”

“Quarry,” Will answers immediately. “The quarry.” Mike tenses up, because Will’s suggested it before but they've never actually gone through with it, and now he really sounds certain and Mike’s not sure he can do it. “If that’s okay with you,” Will adds, tugging the strap of his bag so Mike can feel it. “I… I can’t draw, not right now, but I brought Jonath—my camera.”

Mike feels Will breathe against him for a moment and eyelashes flutter by his neck, making him shiver. He can’t draw, it always turns into maps and vines and dark versions of what he starts out with. It’s November.

Will deserves this—to make his art, to get a grip on his fears, and if Mike can help then he will. “Yeah. It’s fine. Let’s go.” Then he pauses, because Will and El’s shared car (a gift from Dr. Owens they hadn’t wanted until they realized how practical it was) is nowhere in sight. “Wait. How did you get here? How are we getting there? My parents would never let me take the car.”

Will pulls away, smiling slightly. He picks up a skateboard leaning against the side of Mike’s house—right, of course. Will and Max are really close, now, due to shared trauma and shared interests, and she’s been teaching him to skate. Honestly, he’s not bad. “We both know you’re terrible, though,” Will teases halfheartedly. “And there’s no way we’re skating all the way out there anyway. El needs our car at six, Lucas is at practice and Dustin is in rehearsal so we can’t take theirs, but Max is working late tonight and when I called she said we could borrow hers until half past eleven.”

Mike groans dramatically, and Will laughs softly (and that’s why Mike does it). Max’s car is a really old secondhand one, fixed up with parts cobbled together from the junkyard with help from Dustin, Lucas, and Steve, and it always smells like burnt onion rings. Mike hates it, and everyone knows it—but it drives (even if it doesn’t go much over twenty-five miles per hour). And, anyway, if it’s to help Will, then Mike will do anything.

Will tucks the board under his arm, a silent signal that tells Mike that they’re walking. Mike watches Will carefully, sees how the small smile on his face falls almost instantly after their laughter is done. Without thinking, Mike takes Will’s free hand, ungloved, tangling their fingers. Will’s breath catches for a moment, and Mike pretends not to notice. They walk like that until they get within the vicinity of the shops, and then Will reluctantly drops Mike’s hand and shoves his own into his pocket. Mike pretends that his heart doesn’t also fall.

His watch beeps the hour—five o’clock—as they wave at Max through the window, keeping their heads low so Will’s supervisors at the diner across the street don’t see him skipping out. She grins at them, quickly scurrying to the door and tossing Will her car keys.

“Have fun, boys,” their Zoomer—Rogue, during campaigns, but in their hearts she’ll always be a Zoomer—grins. Mike can’t believe he ever hated her—she’s fiery and funny and she cares, and even if she’s still annoying, well, Mike has been putting up with Dustin for five years and arguing with Lucas for ten (and Holly, jeez, as soon as she started talking she just didn’t stop). Max really is a force of nature, and Mike knows he’s always going to care about her no matter what the end of high school brings.

“Thanks again, Max,” Will says as he twirls the keyring around his finger. His smile is weak, as it always tends to be, but the redhead’s presence seems to loosen him up at least a little bit.

“No problem,” Max waves it off. “Just be back by—”

“Eleven-thirty,” Mike interrupts, grinning smugly. She knows he’s not really being mean. “We got it, MadMax.”

“Whatever, Bike Wheels,” she retorts, nickname sparking a wicked glint in her eyes before it fades. “Just… you know, come back safe. We all know how this town gets.”

Will makes a little noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and Mike knows it’s because Will really does know how Hawkins gets. He knows because Will has told him that he can sense the town itself, as it lives and breathes.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Yeah. Sure. See you later.” He grabs Will’s elbow as they walk around the corner to the staff parking lot. Will makes a beeline for the driver’s seat, and Mike doesn’t protest like he usually would because it seems like Will could benefit from focused driving. Instead, he just clambers up into the passenger’s seat and rolls down the window before the burnt onion ring smell can get to him. Will turns the key and the car splutters to life, hacking in a way that makes Mike grimace nervously. He takes Will’s hand again and Will doesn’t startle—which is good, since he’s driving. They drive the rest of the way in silence, Will’s left hand on the wheel and Mike’s on his right.

Will slows to a stop as the quarry comes into view just as Mike’s watch beeps the hour once again—six o’clock. Mike lets his thumb brush over Will’s knuckles before he lets go and jumps out. Will does the same, bringing out his camera bag but leaving his skateboard in the backseat.

Mike watches Will for a moment as he looks around, hefting the camera contemplatively as if considering taking a picture. After a moment he lowers it frowning slightly. Mike wants to walk over, to ask what’s wrong, but at this point everything feels wrong so he looks away. He wanders down to the cliff’s edge, staring down into the water for a moment before he sits, legs dangling over the side. He finally hears the sound of the camera clicking before Will walks over to join him.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks as he sits, setting the camera down behind them, warmth pressing into Mike’s side. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong? and Mike loves him for it.

Mike shrugs, eyes fixed on the horizon, light rapidly fading. “You know what happened here.” He remembers, so vividly, the feeling of plummeting past rock toward deadly hard water. He remembers how he hadn’t screamed until he stopped falling. He remembers thinking, this is it. This is how I die. We’ll never find Will. I’ll never see him again.

He remembers watching the firemen pulling Will’s body out of the water, too, the plummeting of his heart and hope. He remembers how hard he had cried that night—only rivaled by the night El disappeared. He remembers how awful this place feels.

Will’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, over his coat, firm and grounding in a way that Mike finds so ironic for the boy who never goes a month without slipping into another dimension. “Yeah. I know.” He’s silent for a moment. Then the hand comes away from Mike’s back and he takes his hand. “That’s why I wanted to come here.”

And Mike already knows. He knows that this is the place that he thought he’d lost Will forever, that this is the place he thought he’d die in. He knows that the stories give Will nightmares—normal ones, not visions, but they’re just as bad. He already knows why Will brought him here, because Will always knows how to take something ugly and turn it into something beautiful.

So Mike squeezes Will’s hand. It’s comfortable, familiar, and something shifts in his chest because everyone around them seems to think that it shouldn’t be. They’ve been like this for at least three years, probably much longer. But there isn’t a clear “like this”, they just… are. It doesn’t make any sense, and the question pops into his head, unbidden: What are we?

He’s not going to ask it; he doesn’t want to burden Will with anything else. It’s not the same as him and El were—it can’t be. And Mike knows that he loves Will, thinks he loves him like that, but Will’s the one who can read minds, not the other way around. And the way Will acts around him, Mike sometimes thinks he feels the same, though he can’t be sure. But Will hears him.

“I don’t know,” he says out loud. His grip tightens on Mike’s hand. “I don’t know what we are.” He looks at Mike, and Mike can see the fear shining in his green eyes. “Do you?”

Mike thinks about lying—but Will would know, anyway, and Mike doesn’t need to lie to him anymore. “No. But we can figure it out.”

“Figure it out,” Will repeats, and suddenly Mike sees it: he recognizes the feeling of his stomach flipping and his eyes going wide when Will grabs his hand. He recognizes how electric Will makes him feel when he just walks nearby. He recognizes that he loves Will, because he’s dazzling and bright and so brilliant. He’s brilliant, and it burns. It burns and burns until the darkness is forced out and the heat settles until it’s a comfortable warmth. And he recognizes that they’re teenagers, that it’s still a little early to experience love, especially for the second time around, but that doesn’t change that it is what it is. This is El all over again but different, because this is a boy, this is Will, and it’s beautiful—he’s beautiful.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “But if it changes anything, I think I love you.”

Will’s eyes still look afraid, but he smiles. I’m not in your head all the time, he tells Mike. I don’t like it. It reminds me of Him. So I wasn’t sure. “It changes a lot of things,” he says out loud. “Because I know I love you.”

Mike’s not sure who initiates it, but then they kiss, legs dangling off the cliff—and isn’t that a great metaphor? Just a little past crazy, but they’re crazy together—as their fingers clutch onto collars and sleeves. Mike’s hands come up to the back of Will’s neck, sliding into his hair, pulling him even closer. Something about this kiss feels different from electric, almost more like pure ozone has settled over his skin, and he’s buzzing with it. He’s warmed to the bone, and he hopes, in a part of his brain not lost in a fog, that Will feels it too. He doesn’t deserve to be cold. Will fumbles with something behind him for a moment before lifting the camera, somehow managing to take a picture without dropping it or pulling away from Mike. And, hell, if Mike doesn’t love him.

I still don’t know what we are, Mike thinks, opening the doors and letting Will into his head. He doesn’t know because he doesn’t know what they can be, what they’re allowed to be. But then Will pulls back an infinitesimal amount, his heavy breath tickling Mike’s lips.

“We can be whatever we want,” he says, barely a whisper. “We don’t need permission. We can do anything we want.”

Mike kisses him again, short and sweet. “Anything,” he echoes, smiling, hand still on Will’s neck and pulling him in again. “I like that.”

They keep on like that for so long that they end up only having two pictures from that night— one of Mike, from behind, sitting on the cliff’s edge as the light fades, and one of them kissing as the stars come out, angle tilted—but it’s enough to know that Mike doesn’t hate the quarry as much as he used to. Like he said, Will has always turned terrible things beautiful.

It’s November, autumn is turning to winter, Mike’s in love, and he knows that everything is different.

I hope everyone enjoyed! Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Find me on Ao3 here (and again, go read Mishi's stuff because it's awesome!)

Thanks for reading, everyone!

~Logan

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #byeler #byler #mileven #mike wheeler #will byers #eleven #max mayfield #jane hopper #el hopper #jane ives #fanfic #fanfiction #long post #biwheelers #logan writes stranger things stuff

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childrenofhypnos · 8 years ago

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Chapter 7: Investigations

It took six hours for the students of Fenhallow to discover the source of the screaming that night, and after that, the screams came again at least once a day with students venturing into woods beyond the sports fields to see the Fox.

Emery no longer jumped when she heard it. The next Wednesday, Joel, sitting opposite her in the window seat of the student council room, startled so badly he almost fell through the window. Lewis actually did fall out of his chair. Kris squeaked. Jacqueline slammed a hand down on the polished surface of the table, rattling her neat array of color-coded pens.

“Hypnos’s sweet left buttcheek, Emery, did you have to bring that thing back here?”

“It was a present for you, Jackie.”

In honesty, it was a pain in Emery’s ass. Half the students thought the Fox was the new best thing on campus, and gave Emery a big smile and thumbs up whenever they saw her. The other half—like Jacqueline—thought it was a destruction of campus atmosphere and a distraction from their studies, and got royally pissed off whenever the happy half of the student body praised her for it.

As far as she could tell, Wes only got the same treatment when he stood near her; when they were together seemed to be the only time anyone remembered that they were partners, and that Emery was no longer going out on missions alone. (“Once!” she snapped. “I went out alone once!”)

The worst part about the Fox, really, was having to remember how badly she’d failed every time she heard it scream.

Since then, their nightly missions had toned down a notch or six. Wes had a bullet list of locations around the Sleeping City exhibiting irregular Dream activity. It had been longer than Emery had feared. Painstakingly, they went through each location, speaking to anyone living nearby who would talk to them. Emery had known it would be a disaster before they began. Most people didn’t know anything. Some pretended they did. Others hurried Emery and Wes away, afraid what the neighbors would think of dreamhunters on the front step. Some didn’t know anything, but held them up with questions like, “I have this dream about my teeth falling out every night—does that mean a pair of dentures is going to manifest and come after me?” to which Emery replied, “No, it means you should see a shrink.”

She didn’t hate talking to people. She just hated talking to people who didn’t know anything.

Wes, on the other hand, had the patience of a saint. He continued talking long after useful information ceased, listened to stories that had nothing to do with nightmares, even helped one woman with a walker bring in her groceries. After a week of watching him, Emery could pinpoint the exact spot in each conversation where she would begin ripping her hair out.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she said after one foray into the suburbs on the west side of the city. “We have a mission. Shouldn’t we be trying to keep on track instead of rescuing kittens from trees?”

“Most of them don’t know what information they’re supposed to give us. I thought maybe, if they’re just telling us stories about their day-to-day life, they might reveal something we can use.”

“And that could take the next thirty years.”

“I never said it was going to be fast.”

School during the day was a reprieve from the new mundanity of the mission, and the hours between classes were a reprieve from the new insufferability of Emery’s classmates. She ate meals with Edgar and sometimes Joel, when their schedules matched up. Joel was always welcome because he didn't talk about class or student council or anything dreamhunter-related; he was perfectly okay listening to Edgar ramble about Westerns and late-night television, and when Edgar had to leave for class, Joel walked across campus with Emery. Sometimes to her next class or back to Kirkland. Sometimes in circles around the grounds until they found a good spot to make out.

She spent her free time in her dorm, in the student council room, or in one of the private study rooms in the library, looking for records of Sandman-related missions of the full-time dreamhunters. She hadn't yet been able to find anything in the records system, though she knew they were there. They'd probably been restricted to the highest access only, and Grandpa Al had finally changed his system password, so she couldn't sneak in under his account anymore. She hadn't even been able to figure out the names of the dreamhunters assigned to the Sandman mission. They would have leads. Anything they already knew would cut this remedial mission in half.

Without anything else to go on, she banked on Wes's idea of the Sandman using sleeping sand. When dreamhunters received nicknames, they weren't usually the most inventive--Marcia was known among the faculty and staff just as “the Amazon”—so it wasn't much of a stretch. Because of the ban on learning about sleeping sand, the library was devoid of information on it, so instead Emery prowled around the campus sleep research center, where they made the sleeping sand used by the clinic.

Lana Lupova, the head of the research center, was the one who found Emery skulking in an empty lab on the third floor, hunting for research notes in the computers there.

"Ah, Miss Ashworth. Can I help you with something?" Lana roved between the lab tables, her ring of keys jangling softly on the right arm of her motorized chair. Emery froze with her fingers over the keyboard, having just input yet another wrong password. Apparently, the research center had changed theirs, as well. Emery turned, lifting herself to sit on the table beside the computer in what she hoped looked like a nonchalant motion.

"Dr. Lupova, just who I was looking for!"

Lana made a noise of faint surprise, smiling, resting her chin on her fist. Emery cleared her throat. Facing off against people like Wes and Marcia, who got flustered or angry at the drop of a hat, was simple. They were always the first to make mistakes. But the few times Emery had ever tried to get information out of Lana, she'd received that cool stare and easy smile, and she'd felt so horrendously stupid and outclassed she'd left without a fight. Lana didn't have to speak; her expression said I am smarter than you, and I know it.

No backing down this time, though. "I've been really curious lately," Emery said, swinging her feet. "What can you tell me about sleeping sand?"

"Now Emery, you know I'm not allowed to do that." Lana came around the side of the desk. The labs were always kept a little cold, and today Lana's heavy shawl was an offensive shade of orange. "Although now you've got me curious about why you're curious. What's this for? An essay? Recreational drug use? Or maybe this remedial mission you've been sent on?"

“Remedial is a bit strong a word--"

"They won't teach it, so you're not writing an essay. And if you're getting into recreational drug use, Emery Ashworth, I'm going to have to have a word with your grandfather, and I don't think you want that. So, then, you're here because of the Sandman."

Emery paused, trying to find any hidden traps. "Yes. I--we--have a theory that he's called the Sandman because he uses sleeping sand."

"They didn't tell you much about him, did they?"

"No."

Lana sighed and adjusted the chopsticks in her neat blond bun. "I tell you this because I want you to be safe. Yes, he is most likely using sleeping sand to do...whatever it is he's doing." Her eyes flicked to the ceiling and back, as if the Sandman was an annoying student rather than a dangerous rogue dreamhunter that had several other dreamhunter teams out searching the city every night. "I'm sure your grandfather already told you this, but if you find him, you do not go near him, you understand? Sleeping sand, even in its smallest doses, is a dangerous substance. He knows how to use it, but there's no telling what type he'll be using, or how he'll react when another dreamhunter shows up to capture him."

"There are different types?"

"Emery."

"Got it, don't go near him."

"I don't like how you just said that."

"You're not that old--did you know him?"

"I know a lot of people," Lana said. "Now get out of here before I tell the dean you're sneaking around my labs. Otherwise I'll get you in here once a week for sleep studies."

"You wouldn't."

Lana smiled, showing her teeth. "Wouldn't what? Screw up your sleep cycle? Keep snooping around in here and find out."

Emery did not find out. She escaped the research center and headed for the Crossing, going over what she’d found. No hard records, but she did know now that there were different types of sleeping sand, and that even Lana was handing out warnings about the Sandman.

Lana had a reputation as the scariest person on campus. Marcia was intense, but there were rumors that Lana had found a way to capture and torture dreams in the labs. If she was warning Emery and Wes, then even she was worried about the Sandman. It wasn’t just Grandpa Al’s overprotectiveness, or Marcia trying to frighten them.

The sooner they found the Sandman, the sooner they could figure out who he was.

Only out of an extreme sense of guilt did she tell Wes what she'd found. It wasn't much, anyway, and it wasn't as if they were racing to solve the mystery of the Sandman's location. She knew if she didn't tell him, he'd find out from someone else that she'd been snooping around campus during the day, and then he'd just have that to use against her, too. If Grandpa Al knew, he'd deny her request for a new partner six ways from Sunday.

Wes didn't seem surprised to hear about it. She found him sitting on the edge of the soccer field before dinner, sweaty, waiting for a turn to get back into the game. The Wilmark Fox screamed in the woods beyond the field right before a group of students burst from the trees full-sprint, howling with laughter.

"We should try the north side," Emery said, after the screaming had stopped. "Up around the warehouses. If he needs a workshop to hide in, those would work the best. I know it's cliched and whatever, but it's probably cliched for a reason. He's not going to hide out in the suburbs."

"Okay." Wes turned back to the game.

"Okay?" She threw up her hands. "How about: 'Thanks, Emery, you didn't have to tell me anything, but I'm glad you did'? Or 'I'm super happy I have you on my side, you have all the good ideas'?"

Wes rolled his shoulder beneath his hand and glanced up at her. "Go away. Please."

The dismissal stung. She hadn’t thought it would, and that made it sting more.

“Whatever. I have homework to do.”

Emery turned to go, and found Ridley Jager stalking toward her from the softball field. Wes’s sister had his same coloring, the same wavy hair, but her eyes were light brown, not black. She was a year younger than them and about as big around as Emery’s pinkie finger; if not for that, seeing her move forward with so much furious intent on her face might have been terrifying.

Ridley stopped two feet away, face red, puffed up and ready to release some sort of reprimand. Emery cocked an eyebrow. She wondered if there was some block in Ridley’s sparkly fairytale nice girl brain that kept harsh words from coming out her mouth.

“What?”

Ridley pressed her lips together.

“Did you have anything to say, or were you just going to glare at me?”

Ridley’s nostrils flared. Her weapons, two identical, wicked hammers that reminded Emery of ice picks, swung as earrings from her ears.

Wes clambered to his feet behind Emery. “Rid, it’s fine, we were talking about the mission. Go back to your game.”

Ridley looked at him, then back at Emery. Finally, she said, “You’re a—a mean person.”

Now both of Emery’s eyebrows rose. “Mean? Well how dare I be—”

“You’re a mean person,” Ridley repeated, gaining confidence, “and you don’t deserve my brother as a partner. He’s so much better than you’ll ever be, and he doesn’t have to walk all over the people beneath him to make himself look good. Maybe he doesn’t have your grades, or parents who beat their Insanity Prime—”

“Ridley.” Wes grabbed her arm. Some of the other students posted on the sidelines of the soccer field were watching them now. “That’s enough. Come on.”

“But she’s…”

“No.”

Ridley relented, and Wes dragged her back to the main campus. Emery, aware of all the eyes on her, refused to also be moved away from the field, and planted herself in the bleachers, pretending to check her phone. When she was sure Wes and Ridley were gone and no one was looking at her anymore, she slid from her seat and fiddled with her Peacemakers on their charm bracelet around her wrist. She had planned to head back to Kirkland, but screaming had started in the woods again, and suddenly hunting a fox sounded like much more fun than dreamforming homework.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> What Has Two Thumbs And A Whole Lot Of Sleeping Sand?)

#children of hypnos #nightmare hunters #francesca zappia #books #ya #yalit #ya books #eliza and her monsters #reading #free

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mybestlifeposts · 6 years ago

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Highway To Happiness Recap!

What was the goal of your 14-day challenge?

The ultimate goal of my 14-day challenge was to find things that bring me joy, find new ways to deal with my stressors, find ways to relax, and try new things. I have felt extremely stagnant in my life lately, and I don’t really know what do do next or how to go about it. I needed this time to reflect on myself, my relationships, and my future.

What did you learn about yourself on this personal journey?

During this journey, I would say that I discovered new things about myself. I really don’t take much time for myself and this was the time to be able to do so. I live life on the daily in a ‘treat yo self’ way, but that is more just my way of telling myself, “oh I want it, I will get it”. Whether it means excessive shopping, excessive eating, etc. This was the time to be able to reflect on myself and take the time to listen to my body. I learned that I have a lot of regrets from my past that I have to amend with not only myself, but with the people I’ve hurt too. I also have realized that I am about four years behind in forgiving myself and coping with my own emotions that I have let them get the better of me and my relationships. I ruined one really amazing relationship because I was never able to move past the hurt from the one prior. I am slowing moving on in the best way. I also learned that I don’t let myself let go enough. I had always forced myself to grow up so fast because I was the baby in the family and I wanted to live life like my sister, who is 8 years my senior. I grew up too fast and never got to experience life - which is probably one of my biggest regrets - and one of the reasons I am in a very complicated predicament and feeling so stagnant.

I learned that I have to be the main source of my happiness. When I let others be my reason, I am left feeling alone at night. I live to please others, when I need to please myself too. I need to take care of this vessel before opening it to others and letting them drain me.

I also came to a lot of conclusions about myself. I know that I am a mess. The epitome of a hot mess. I am all over the place in my life that I don’t feel like I have the opportunity to get my shit together. But I do. I just need to make the time for myself and not let anyone else get in the way. I need to clean up my act, clean up my room, clean up my diet, clean up my body, and clean OUT my life. I hold on to things because of the possibility of future needs. However, it leaves me feeling trapped and anxious. I have no one to blame but myself, and I am the only one who can fix me.

Tell me about how whatever thing you wanted to tackle. Anxiety, depression, body weight etc.

I wanted to tackle a lot in these 14 days that I wish I had to make it 21 days instead. I know that I can do that on my own, but having the push really helped. I wanted to make myself happier with my own appearance, find ways to better myself mentally and physically, find things I’m interested in that I can do on my own, and learn more about myself. I didn’t get to fit in everything I wanted to do because of the short time, but I know I will work it into my everyday life now.

Identify your biggest stressors?

Starting the semester by biggest stressors were 1) worrying about my future, 2) Relationships, 3) Finances, 4) Physical Well-Being.

I would say these are still major stressors, but over all the shift is more:

1) Cleanliness... 2) Relationships / My Future.... 3) Physical Well-Being

These things are stressing my out to no end. I avoid my room as much as possible to avoid the mess, cleaning out my car really helped, but I still know that everything is a clusterfuck and it stresses me out.

My relationship has been causing my a lot of unwanted stress. From the one person who is supposed to support you and care for you unconditionally, I don’t feel that way. With a 12 year age difference, we are at different stages in our lives and that makes for a hard time coping with things. We see things differently, and it doesn’t help that I grew up too fast and don’t know what I am ready for or capable in the future. He says he doesn’t have much time left to figure out his life, but since I have more time, it is causing me emotional breakdowns when I think about what our futures may look like.

I have struggled with body image issues every since I can remember. In high school I was anorexic and lost a lot of weight. Everyone thought it was puberty, but they didn’t know that I was starving myself. My relationship with food is pretty horrendous. I don’t eat healthy and I carb-load like crazy. I have gained about 60 Lbs in the last 4 years and It makes me sick just looking at myself in the mirror. I want to change my body, and get into a healthy routine where I eat better and exercise. I want to take care of myself and not be disgusted by who and what I see in the mirror every morning.

What is your plan of action towards addressing these stressors?

Cleanliness: This will just take some time. During any free time that I have I need to be at home working through my things. I need to pitch things that have zero use or significance,I need to purge any clothes that I haven’t worn in 2 years, I need to minimal-ize my life. 55 gallon trash bags are my best friend here. I already filled 1.5 but I know that I can manage to get rid of a lot more! I need to purchase bins to help organize things better. If I stay living between 3 different places I need to manage my car, better. Getting bins for the back of my car will be a great start to help getting things organized. I will also look on amazon and the internet for ideas and organizational hacks.

Relationship: This one is hard. It will require hard conversations that I have yet to play in my head. I need to be sure what I am going to say and how I mean to say it. I need to figure my shit out first before I throw it into someone else’s life. I can’t be afraid for things to go wrong. I need to discover my own self worth and not let anyone or anything tell me otherwise. I need to tell myself I deserve better and I make sure that I am being treated as such. It just stems from the fear of losing people who mean the world to me and also not knowing if it is just my past relationships that are preventing me from this happiness.

Physical Well-Being: The 14-day challenge did help me get moving more than I did before. I am actively looking into doing yoga weekly ( I just need to figure out a regular schedule) and looking to start exercising to help lose weight. Even though I don’t eat fast food, I still don’t eat the best and I snack often. I am going to look into preparing more homemade foods with health benefits and even try talking to my sister’s friend who is a nutritionist to get me started. I know that I can eat better and treat my body better, I just need to make the conscious decision to make it happen.

If you can’t change all of the stressors in your life, how are you going to change your views on how to deal with them.

Most of my stressors I know that I can change and work on. At least right now in my life.

What is something in your life that always brings you happiness (e.g., pet, significant other, exercise)?

Sleep is the ultimate thing that brings me happiness that isn’t directly related to someone else, or having to spend money on. But even lately, my thoughts have been making their way into my dreams and making them hell.

#Highwaytohappiness #theend #justthebeginning #herestotherestofmylife #graduation

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sunflowerinthemoonlight · 6 years ago

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I’m back on tumblr because it’s been a month and my cousin has yet to ship me back my journal from NY. I have nowhere else to write.

Just when I think everything in my life has changed, that I am no longer the young girl I used to be... here I am again. I’m in the same spot I always found myself in. Something that I have managed to beautifully forget with age.

My cousin from the opposite side of the world conveniently happened to fly in and be staying only an hour north of me. I was to the moon with the news. I was willing to hop into my car at ten o'clock at night just to drive to see her. We delayed until today to have more time. In the morning she said they were taking it slow and would get back to me in the afternoon. In the afternoon she said they were going to head into another town and would reach out to me then. Now it’s nearly eight pm. I haven’t heard from her in hours. I know people get busy. I have been there myself. At the same time though, I have found myself in this position... almost all the time in the past. I’d sit around, schedule my day for someone, put aside things I needed to do so I could jump when they said jump. As I kid I learned it because I had a good enough group of friends that never took advantage of that. And then they grew up and disappeared and I never could replace them with good people. Instead it was always people like my currently visiting cousin that just kind of strung me along and used me when convenient but then just disappeared most times and expected me to be there when they wanted.

It’s only fucking me up so bad because this feels like some horrendous flashback/deja vu. The reason I never ended up going into a traditional four year college (like I had always dreamed of) after high school is because in the fall of would be freshman year, just after all of my best friends left for the first time, my father woke up one morning and beat the shit out of me, worse than he ever did before. I had no one to run to and the friends parents who I ran to swept it under the rug and told me just to forgive my dad because it was a mistake. I spiraled from that. I became rebellious and that’s when I started to run away. I remember a two week time period in November where I slept amongst the trees by the railroad tracks behind the fire station and would try to keep warm acting like a customer at Wendys or Best Yet. I’d crash on friends couches. When my car wasn’t in the shop I’d sleep in the car. That I would go on to do for years until my parents and I stopped living together. I’m sidetracking. In the midst of spiraling and with the ease of everyone being away at college, I cut all of my friends (that were left) out of my life. At first I was so angry at him, fuck him! And then I was distrustful. Suddenly whoever I was friends with I couldn’t trust their words or their actions, they said one thing but meant another. They were all liars and actually never liked me so I cut them out. Then I became numb. I don’t remember much when I started to go numb. It was like I was asleep for months and months. Almost a year or so. By then I had suppressed the memory of the event entirely. I didn’t even realize anything was wrong until May of would be Sophomore year when I looked over at someone who I considered my soul sister and thought ‘If something were to happen to her, meh. If I lost her, meh. Whatever’ I would say that thought jarred me but I didn’t have that emotional capacity at that time. I knew at one point I loved this woman more than I loved life itself, that I’d give or do anything for her. I realized that I could only think of that feeling at the time and not actually feel it. I went home and dwelled on that. This was at the end of my sophomore year, the time that I dropped out of community college. From there it was like fighting to wake up, like trying to use muscles that have long since atrophied away. It took me another 6 months to a year to become human and feel again on any consistent basis. As I started the healing process I began to reach out and tried recovering any friendship ties I had lost. Almost all were gone for good. The particular ones that became most important to me during that time period were the ones that are just like my cousin. They were the only close friends I had so it was years and years that I was dragged through the dirt while at the same time trying to stand up and become a functional human again. As I was trying to become human again I’d sit around waiting all day, for days for friends to say jump. Everyone else I was close to was gone. They were all I really had left at that time. It was only this last trip home, last month, that I finally severed the last tie with that last toxic friend. Last month is also the time I finally started attending a four year university with a track and an actual plan to graduate with my bachelors in the fall. Where I should have been when all of that started. What was robbed from me when I spiraled. It’s why this with my cousin hurts especially much. It feels like an echo. I should’ve been in my junior year at a college amongst a massive group of my peers my age, making a variety of friends but instead I was fighting to feel again, trying to remember what is like to want or desire anything, trying to recover friendships and spending my days waiting around for the three big ones I did recover to say jump.

I know this won’t make a lick of sense to anyone else but it matters not. If I’m being honest, just like a year after the event with my father and how I suppressed that.... I’ve managed to suppress all of which I’ve laid bare here, for the last few years. I’ve forgotten how far I’ve come and what I went through. I forgot why loneliness hurt me so much. Why being back in college was such a sore topic for me. I forgot the reasons I made the choices I did back then. It’s why I carry such guilt and envy of the college kids I’m amongst now and the friendship opportunities that they have, that I never got to have. I forgot how cold the nights of February were when I slept in my car and how I would try and hide my repeated outfits day after day and sink washed dirty hair. I forgot about all of that. I forgot all about the girl I used to be.

Fuck.

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enzaime-blog · 7 years ago

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Nate’s Soft Tissue Sarcoma Story

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/nates-soft-tissue-sarcoma-story/

Nate’s Soft Tissue Sarcoma Story

Nate’s parents noticed a large lump on their five-year-old son’s left calf during bath time. Their pediatrician ordered tests revealing alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma – a type of tumor that affects muscle tissue – which had already spread to the lymph nodes. Several specialists said that amputation was the only option. The family came to Memorial Sloan Kettering, where Nate underwent intensive treatment to save his leg – and his life.

It all started on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in April 2004. Nate’s parents, Aliza and Ben Goldstein, had taken Nate, his brother, Ryan, and his sister, Abigail, to a nearby empty parking lot, where Abigail was learning how to ride a two-wheel bike. The bicycle lesson was followed by a trip to the ice cream shop, a perfect ending to a seemingly average, ordinary day.

When they returned home later that evening, all the kids went straight to the bathroom to be bathed. During the bath, Aliza noticed a very large lump covering Nate’s entire left calf. Concerned about the suspicious mass, Aliza took Nate to see her cardiologist father, who lived nearby. “I’ll never forget my father’s words,” Aliza says, remembering back to that fateful evening. “He said: ’You need to call your pediatrician immediately.’”

When she telephoned Nate’s pediatrician and described, with her father’s help, the mass on Nate’s leg, the pediatrician asked that they come directly to his house. “Not a good sign,” Aliza recalls thinking. When they arrived at the doctor’s house, after a quick examination of the suspicious lump, the doctor ordered a CT (computed tomography) scan for that same evening.

“Whose Child Has Cancer!?!”

The results of the CT scan showed that the mass was not a cyst, but further testing was required to see if it was malignant, requiring an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) scan to be scheduled. Nate’s pediatrician scheduled the test for the next morning at a cancer center near the Goldstein family’s New Jersey home. When Aliza asked the doctor why Nate had to go to a cancer hospital, the doctor reassured her it was probably not cancer. “Everyone was afraid to say the word,” Aliza notes. Though she, too, was unwilling to admit the possibility, even to herself. “I thought at the time, ’Come on, whose child has cancer!?!’”

After the MRI was completed, the Goldsteins received the call that is every parent’s nightmare: Nate had cancer. “My life was destroyed,” Aliza says simply. “Our life as we knew it before finding the lump was now over.” The MRI was quickly followed by a biopsy. The biopsy showed that Nate had a form of sarcoma known as alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma, which is a type of tumor that affects muscle tissue. To make matters, worse, Nate’s tumor was diagnosed as an advanced, aggressive stage IV, which had already spread to the lymph nodes in his abdomen.

One in Four Chance — Unacceptable

Still in shock from the news, the Goldsteins sought medical opinions from two different medical centers, one in Philadelphia and one in New Jersey. Physicians from both centers recommended amputating Nate’s leg from the pelvis down. “They all said, ’We are going to amputate Nate’s leg. We are going to give him chemotherapy and radiation therapy, and even then he will only have a one-in-four chance of surviving,’” Aliza remembers with dismay. “One doctor went so far as to tell us that it was not too late to spend time with our son.”

At this time, one of Ben’s friends and neighbors, a cardiologist whose medical school roommate had done a fellowship at Memorial Sloan Kettering with Leonard Wexler, intervened. He made the Goldsteins promise that they would see Dr. Wexler, a pediatric oncologist specializing in the treatment of bone and soft-tissue sarcomas, for one final opinion.

They met with Dr. Wexler the following Monday. He informed them that he was conducting a clinical trial for rhabdomyosarcoma, which, unlike the standard three-drug chemotherapy regimen, included seven drugs. After examining Nate and reviewing his records, Dr. Wexler stated that the survival statistics they had been given were unacceptable and that he didn’t think Nate’s leg had to be amputated. “He couldn’t promise to change the survival numbers,” Aliza says, “but he was trying to give these kids a better chance at living with his clinical trial.”

The deciding factor for Aliza and Ben came when Dr. Wexler mentioned the late effects Nate would have as an adult as a result of his treatment. “This was the first time anyone had mentioned a future for Nate past the cancer. Dr. Wexler hadn’t written off my son. He had given us hope.”

The Goldsteins decided to go with Dr. Wexler because, with his experience treating rhabdomyosarcoma, they knew they could trust him with treatment decisions that differed from what the other hospitals were recommending. “As parents, you’re not pediatric oncologists,” Aliza notes. “You’ve known about rhabdomyosarcoma for a week! You have to choose a doctor you can trust. Once you do, you have to trust him.”

Grabbing Fun Whenever and Wherever Possible

During the first week following the diagnosis, Aliza was so upset that she was unable to eat or sleep. “At some point,” explains Aliza, “a voice in your head says, ’Cut it out. You have to get focused. Your son’s life depends on it.’ And that’s just what we did.”

This was the first time anyone had mentioned a future for Nate past the cancer. Dr. Wexler hadn’t written off my son. He had given us hope.

Aliza GoldsteinNate’s Mother

What followed for Nate, starting in May 2004, were 12 rounds of high-dose chemotherapy.

“It was horrendous,” Aliza remembers, likening cancer treatment to a roller coaster ride. “We became very day-focused. If Nate was feeling good one day then we would do something fun that day. Because you don’t know what’s going to happen later that night or the next day. We went from being this very planned type of family to a very in-the-moment type. Any fun we could grab and hold onto to be normal, we did. For example, although we’re Orthodox, when Nate was in the hospital during Christmas, we even celebrated Christmas!”

A Lifetime’s Best News — Remission

In order to kill any remaining tumor cells, Nate received 48 consecutive days of radiation therapy, stretching from August to October 2004. In December, the results from a series of scans showed that some of the tumor cells remained, necessitating the surgical removal of Nate’s left calf muscle. The surgery, performed by pediatric surgeon Michael La Quaglia, was a success, removing the tumor cells and preserving Nate’s leg function.

The Goldstein’s anxiety level was high when they went in for the next round of diagnostic scans in March. “Dr. Wexler, knowing we were nervous wrecks, called us at home in the evening of the day of the scan to tell us Nate’s cancer was in remission,” Aliza says. “It was the best news I had ever received in my life.”

In May 2005, Nate started on maintenance chemotherapy, which he was able to receive at home. And his final day of chemotherapy was completed in October 7, 2005. “On October 8th,” Aliza notes, “we began ’life after cancer.’”

The muscles in Nate’s leg had contracted due to the surgical removal of the calf muscle and the radiation treatments. Michael Stubblefield, a physician in Memorial Sloan Kettering’s Rehabilitation Service, used a technique that involved 12 weeks wearing what is known as a serial cast, which slowly stretched Nate’s leg muscles. The cast was combined with injections of Botox to paralyze his muscles in order to avoid cramping during the stretching process. “Before the procedure, Nate stood on the affected foot’s tip-toe,” Aliza says. “After the procedure and the physical therapy that followed it, he could walk normally again.”

I was fortunate to work at this institution at a moment when I could offer a family and a little boy with a very serious case of cancer a treatment that was not available elsewhere.

When the Goldsteins look back over the past two devastatingly difficult years and the remarkable outcome, they feel blessed. “We feel that it was Dr. Wexler’s insistence on Nate’s quality of life that gave our child a chance at a normal life,” Aliza says. And as proof, she points to an event from this past summer, when Nate broke a board in half with his left leg at karate school. “That was huge,” Aliza says, smiling at the memory. “Dr. Wexler even came to witness it. Our child was supposed to be dead or at the very least not have a leg, and here he was breaking a board with that same leg. It was so remarkable, everybody in the room was crying.”

#chemotherapy #clinical trial for rhabdomyosarcoma #Leonard Wexler #radiation therapy #rhabdomyosarcoma #surgery #treating rhabdomyosarcoma #Cancer

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