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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Halo

Summary: y/n feels guilty for missing harry

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, mentions of vomiting and nausea, mentions of implied smut

Word Count: 7648 words

A/N: @devilinbetweenthesheet-s : don’t cheat and don’t do drugs, kids.

inspired by one of my anons. some parts are real and some parts aren’t :)

Tarnish (1) . Halo (2) . Reign (3) .

Reign Taglist

___

When the relationship ended, Y/N imagined being bed-ridden. A lack of motivation to do anything casual such as standing. Watching the television seemed to be a task that required all of her energy and full-attention to be able to understand the subtitles on the screen. Her friends would knock continuously on her door to be met with no response because she was asleep or Y/N couldn’t be bothered with pitiful conversation asking her if she was okay. She would be too tempted to ask how Harry was doing when she could easily pull out her phone and search his name in a few quick taps. These used to be easy; as easy as breathing and loving Harry was easier than loving herself.

How was he doing? Y/N hoped that Harry was regretting his actions. She was yearning for the vibration of her phone to restart her heart like an AED stuck to her chest, sending her pulses to remember that they were not what they used to be. Or maybe the snippy ringtone Y/N had set specifically for him and only him would ring through the air as she wallowed in a burrito blanket. Frankly too emotionally worn out to even move an inch as she watched her phone face down on the bedside table of her new apartment.

Life doesn’t wait until Y/N is capable of being back on her feet before thundering down with the foundations of living. Five days into the breakup did she realize that the money she had saved up would be spent faster than she can replace it if she stayed any longer at the hotel near the heart of downtown. It was a spur of the moment decision to ‘treat herself’; she thought she deserved it after being called names and thrown aside like a used toy. And on the fifth day, she was on the lookout for places to live in as she adjusted to her new life without Harry.

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely dependent on him. She had a well-paying job; just not as good as his. And she could afford a nice apartment, just not as nice as his mansion. Nor did it have the same toasty feeling that enveloped her when she walked through the doors. Y/N told herself that she would give it a few months; that maybe it was just the change in setting that misplaced every bone in her body because everything she did felt off. Deep down, Y/N knew that things weren’t the same without him. She could either live a life reminiscing how she--they--used to do things or she could change and adapt to this ball thrown at her.

The decision was in her hands, yet she hesitated with every gambling thought crossing her mind. On one hand, she was used to a routine. It was a routine that never got boring to her, solely because Harry found a way to make things interesting; refreshing. On the other, Y/N would be in a never-ending comparison of how much she missed him or pat her shoulders because she was able to compromise the old parts of her that existed when Harry was around and to integrate it with a new version that was wary of anybody getting close to her.

The challenge was not easy when the media got hold of the news. It seemed as if everywhere Y/N went---mixed reactions and judgement attacked her with doe eyes offering the best of luck or disgusted snickers telling that she deserved it and that they--Camille and Harry--were perfect for each other. But when Y/N quite literally was carrying a piece of him and her inside her stomach did she step up to what she had to become to raise her baby.

It seemed like yesterday when Y/N stared at her reflection in the en-suite bathroom of Harry’s home, pinching at a subtle layer of fat that she was sure wasn’t there a few days ago. Bloated cheeks that added a fullness to her face were substituted as the result of a bright smile plastered on her face because she Harry had pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before she left for work that day. The sudden aversion to fragrant foods she absolutely adored flew right over her head and excused as a bad batch.

And the most painful memory was the day Harry and Y/N’s relationship ended. The beginning of something new, something beautiful was right under their noses. Y/N wondered what could have happened if she didn’t find the letter. When the symptoms of pregnancy became more obvious each day; would Harry notice the change in her physique? The crinkle of her nose when met with a sandwich containing pickles that she used to love?

Y/N couldn’t help but envision holding the stick with a tiny ‘+’ pixelated by dark colours. Sitting on the closed toilet seat as she contemplated delivering the news to him in the early hours of the morning after she was awoken by a flush of morning sickness. Y/N daydreamed about watching his sleeping face smooth out of any lines as he dreamed peacefully and wondered if this was still a part of what he wanted with her. Maybe she would jostle him gently, rousing him with a poke as she kneeled on his side of the bed, flailing the pregnancy test between her fingers until he blinked the sleep out of his waterline. Harry would present her a doozy smile before realizing what she held--to which he would sit up faster than he had ever done, gazing at her with a pleading stare. For Y/N to confirm that yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they were going to have a baby and yes, Harry was going to be a father. A little family in the works.

But that daydream was reeled in like a fishing hook in grave waters as reality grounded her. She was apparently two months into her pregnancy when Y/N had mistaken the sickness as an inevitable reaction to finding out his infidelity. Hearing him say the term of endearment as if he had not used it with another person made Y/N want to grab him by the shoulders to hold a steady contact, jostling him until answers spilled out of his mouth. Answers that Y/N deemed justifiable but was there ever a good excuse for cheating? She wanted to strip him out of the apologies filling his mouth and get straight to the question of why he had done it. But even then, Y/N knew that there was no way she was going to be satisfied with his answers. It was just a matter of her accepting that the idea of ‘what could have been’ would live inside her head because she was the only one that knew about the life inside of her.

Harry had not made an effort to speak to her besides arranging the dates to pick up her things. She had to wear large clothes to hide her growing belly because Y/N wasn’t sure if she even had the right to tell him something so personal anymore. It fit well with the narrative that she was a depressed homebody that craved the touch of his fingertips on her skin, the taste of his lips on her tongue and the weight of his arms around her. Albeit that he was the father, Harry had obviously moved on way before they ended; a little over a year ago now to be precise.

Y/N was almost one-hundred percent sure that Harry had blocked her number. Scratch that, she was certain if the way her messages failed to send were anything to go by. She could handle seeing the handle of ‘read’ on the bottom of a message because at least she’d know that Harry did read it and that he was aware. But watching the encircled, crimson exclamation point appear was just another reminder that he planned to erase four years from his life to start anew.

____

So what if at four months, Y/N was attending another doctor’s appointment by herself, trying to amount to as little attention as possible? Well, today was the day that she was going to find out the baby’s gender. Her bump was definitely noticeable now and extremely uncomfortable especially sitting on a plastic, grey chair in the waiting room. The device in her hand felt like stone perceiving the icon of blaring red that indicated yet another failed message to the contact previously named ‘My Love’, now to just ‘Harry’.

Y/N: I’m finding out the gender of our baby today

Y/N: I’m hoping for a girl but either way, I just want the baby to be healthy.

“Y/N? Dr. O’Sullivan is ready to see you,” The nurse clad in scrubs walked out with a clipboard gripped in her hands.

Y/N stood up, pausing to retrieve her items. She took a breath before entering the room, catching sight of the doctor in his stereotypical white coat focused on the computer screen that showed her information.

“You know what to do. Good luck today,” The nurse mused, handing her a folded hospital gown to change into as she pointed towards the direction of the room with a little nook to change privately. After struggling a bit with pulling off her top, Y/N tied the strings of the hospital gown.

“Hi, Y/N. How are you today?” He asked, standing up to gather the items he would need. Y/N made herself comfortable on the small bed, the white paper crinkling as her weight shifted.

She sighed deeply, “I’m alright. Really excited, actually,” A grin appeared on her face with just how close she was to find out the gender of the baby, “How about you?”

“Good as always,”

Connor O’Sullivan was the name of the doctor. They met when Y/N was in search of the top-tier family doctor’s around the city and instantly had a connection. He had a trustworthy aura that Y/N deemed acceptable to guide her to a healthy pregnancy. A friendship had definitely blossomed around the doctor-patient boundary but they stayed within their limits. Inside jokes existed but it had never crossed the line. And sure, touches to the shoulder happened once in a while but nothing had escalated further.

Y/N’s baby bump was exposed to the cool room. She shivered when a gloved hand applied the gel on her taut skin. Stretch marks were littering the sides of her tummy. It was itchy and uncomfortable. However, it was tolerable especially after applying a combination of creams and oil to soothe the ache. It was also another reminder that she really was about to become a mother.

“Cold?” Connor teased with an easy smile. Y/N rolled her eyes upwards in response, “You’re the doctor here,”

He chuckled, directing her attention to the small screen beside them. The static fizz of black and white slowly morphing to a more discernible image as he attached the device to her skin, finding the perfect angle to produce a clear picture. The first time Y/N saw her little baby; it was the size of a lemon. The next couple of visits showed progression in their growth; tiny baby feet, stubby legs, and sprouting fingers could be seen on the ultrasound.

They looked more and more like a proper baby now--like the ones one would see in the clinics and Y/N really couldn’t believe that she was about to find out their gender. Y/N couldn’t tell just by inspecting the picture because of her lack of expertise.

“You’re having a. . .” Connor began, edging his voice at the last word. He wiggled his brows as Y/N’s eyes widened.

She balled her fists, “Oh, hell. Just spit it out, C,”

“A girl. You’re having a little girl,” He peered up at the patient, watching tears fill the brim of her waterline as she gasped, palming her slightly open mouth.

“A-a girl?” Y/N craned her head to look at the square image, blurrier because of the tears but beautiful nonetheless. “I can’t believe I’m having a girl,”

The doctor wiped the gel off of her tummy with a cloth, switching off the machine as he waited for another reaction out of her. Y/N tossed her legs to the side, putting on her slip-on vans to fully-comprehend the news. “I’m having a baby girl,”

Connor nodded, releasing an ‘oomph’ at a sudden pressure around his middle. Y/N wrapped her arms around him, feeling the tube of his stethoscope dangling against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, happy tears streaming out. He returned the gesture with soft rubs on her lower back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so emotional,” Y/N pulled away with a huff, using her fingertips to rub the wetness towards her temple. “I’m so happy but I just wished that he was--,” She cut herself off, pursing her lips as an image of Harry carrying their baby appeared in her head.

“I understand, Y/N.” Connor mirrored her distraught expression as he really did feel sorry for Y/N. However, he couldn’t explain the extra twinge in his heart at seeing her frown over a lost love. “You’re doing great on your own,”

She sighed for possibly the tenth time that day, “We both wanted to name her Halo if it’s a girl or Arlo if it’s a boy. It reminds me of what an angel she will be,”

“Wait until she gets older,” Connor joked to lighten the mood, receiving a glimmer from Y/N. “What d’ya say you get changed and I’ll print out this ultrasound, sounds good? A few more months then we can meet baby Halo,”

Halo.

___

Harry’s relationship with Camille was a dream. It was everything he imagined, maybe even better. The first time they dabbled on getting together was four years ago, before Y/N was even around in his life. There could be so many things right about a relationship and it could still be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the right place, the right time, or they simply had too many disagreements and flaws that both parties were unwilling to work it to make them--work.

Usually, the third time would be a charm but Harry felt that he and Camille didn’t need a third time. As he said, the past couple of months felt like a dream. He could close his eyes and still feel the soft skin of the woman he loves grazing his fingertips. He couldn’t help but transpire into a new chapter of their love; one where it wasn’t just them tumbling in the sheets. When the squeals in the kitchen while making breakfast were paired with pleads for whipped cream on their pancakes; a child.

Harry was old enough to know what he wanted--at least, he thought he was--and a family was in his books. He finally found a partner who had the same mindset in their future; Camille. At first, he was absolutely sure that Y/N could not be erased from; but her name wasn't set in stone and once he found someone better--no way in hell was he going to let that be a missed opportunity.

Camile sighed softly, laying on Harry's bare chest as he pulled the sheets over their clammy bodies. Their orgasms settled in their veins, the rush and panting breaths calming down with each blink of an eye.

With her finger swirling patterns on his skin, Harry stared at the ceiling in hesitant contemplation, “Babe, have you ever thought of getting off the pill?” She paused.

“Uh, sure, but then we would have to use a condom?” Her voice raised at the end in curiosity.

Harry released an awkward chuckle, gently swivelling her body off of him so he could sit up. Reaching over, his fingers found the flip of the light switch that turned the bedside lamp on. He smiled at her appearance, mirroring his stance as she sat on the bed, a sheet clung around her body.

He shook his head, “No, no. No condoms, no pills and, y’know. . .”

The confusion was evident on Camille’s features, “I don’t exactly understand what you’re trying to say, H--,’

“‘M asking if y’wanna try for a baby, love.’

Silence overtook the room. Harry held his breath in his throat, seemingly trying to swallow down the lump that had formed because of her lack of response. She cleared her throat.

“A baby?” Harry nodded with excitement despite the flat tone whipping past her lips. “I--don’t know how to say this, Harry. I’ve never wanted kids.”

His face fell, the words lingering around his head like a flock of birds. The dizzying epiphany rattled his head clear of any other thoughts besides the fact that there was a hole in his book; burnt and toasted with sparks inkling his skin.

“W-why not?” His palms fell flat on the silky sheets, fisting the fabric to keep him settled. “A mini you and a mini-me running around the house. Won’t that be fun, baby? Don’t you want that?”

It almost hurt Camille to see the grin plastered on his face, hopeful eyes practically begging her to change her mind. But she couldn’t.

“Harry, that part will be fun. What won’t be fun is getting huge, morning sickness, weird cravings, hormonal imbalance, the aftermath of labour, the sleepless nights, the puke, the changing diapers, the back pain, the headaches, the fights when they’re older and so much more” Her accent rippled with each explanation rejecting the idea.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms subconsciously to shield himself, “But it’ll be worth it,”

“It won’t be,” Camille scooted closer to him, situating herself on her knees so that she could look into his eyes clearly. “Look, I made up my mind ages ago and I thought you felt the same since you haven’t settled down yet”

“I was jus’ lookin’ for the right person,” His head dipped down, dropping his gaze their intertwined hands. “It’s gonna’ be okay, Cam. We can make it work. We’ll have our own family. We’ll be okay,”

She shook her head in refusal, “It will be okay for you, H.” Harry could feel her hands itching to slip past his. He held her tighter. He didn’t want to lose her. “You can get back to work immediately. I’m a model and it takes time to lose weight. Even when I do--I won’t look the same. It’ll take me months, if not years to even resemble my present body.

“I don’t care how your body looks. You’re still gonna’ look amazing. You think I won’t love you after birthing our little baby?” With brows pressed together, he pouted his lip in curiosity as she rolled her eyes.

Camille sighed exasperatedly, “I don’t want children, Harry. The sooner you understand that the better. It’s MY body. I’ll be carrying the kid around for 9 months. No thank you.” She stood up, stumbling slightly as the sheets tangled around her feet.

He followed suit. His height towered over her as she crouched down to collect the pieces of clothing strewn around haphazardly in a rush to have each other. “But it’ll be MY baby, Cam. OUR baby, don’t you want that?”

Fingernails dug into the skin of her palm, holding her clothes as she spoke, “I don’t, Harry. Why can’t you just accept that?”

In the heat of the moment, Harry couldn’t help but quell the ache in his chest with a memory he thought he had thrown away, “Because Y/N and I planned to have a family. A-and I thought you and I could have one too,”

Camille huffed, keeping her distance. She walked to the bathroom, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fucking cheated on her then,”

___

His fight with Camille left the both of them on edge, barely able to handle the thick tension surrounding the house. Even though she took refuge in the bedroom and Harry wandered to the kitchen to cool off; it was impossible for them to stay in one place without having another argument.

Harry didn’t mean to let the memory slip past his lip. He hated it when he found himself comparing his past relationships to his current one. He felt that there was no need to do so, especially when the point of all of it was to start anew. Harry guessed that his desire to have a family was too powerful to keep his thoughts in check. The ache bubbling in his chest rose to a boil with each rejection that Camille answered with.

It wasn’t like he didn’t respect her decision. He really did. But Harry didn’t know if he was going to be happy being with her without progressing into something more through the years. What he was asking from her is just as difficult as what she was asking from him. Camille didn’t want to have children and Harry didn’t want to not have kids. There was no room for compromise if they both, mutually, wanted to respect each other's' decisions’ to the absolute fullest. However, the chances of him living a content life were zero to none.

And that was how Harry ended up at a bar, alone, at nine o’clock in the evening. They were invited by his friend, Kora, to a birthday celebration. Harry was reaching the limit of his threshold having to fake a smile and a chuckle while saying, “Camille’s feelin’ a bit sick tonight. ‘S just me,”

The thing with this celebration was that Kora was initially Y/N’s friend. He and Kora had become close friends while he was with Y/N and he guessed that that was the reason why he was invited. Although, it made him wonder why one of Y/N’s best friends invited him when she was aware of what happened between them. Surely, there was no way that Kora would invite Y/N, Harry, and Camille to the same crowded space, would she?

The sudden nervousness swirling at the pit of his stomach came with a quick neck as Harry scanned each premise of the bar. It was difficult considering the dim lighting and endless amounts of heads moving against each other. He hoped to see Y/N; just to see how she was doing! But he also felt like puking the alcohol he consumed because--as much as he wanted to admit it or not--he missed her.

After a half-hour of being vigilant, Harry willed himself to relax by the counter. Leaning one elbow on the wood as he spoke to another person regarding his upcoming album.

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s goin’. ‘M really excited for it cause’ I’ve got a lot of inspiration for some reason,” Harry answered with unyielding precision.

“We both know where that came fro--Oh hi! Sorry, H. Gotta check in on, Johnny,”

He rolled his eyes under closed lids, sipping on his drink, eyeing Kora when he heard a quip of Y/N’s name. Harry inconspicuously moved closer to her, making sure that he didn’t catch her attention.

“You’re not here,” Kora yelled with a whine to her tone. Her drunk self was still coherent enough to embark on the bartender to make another drink for her. However, Harry guessed that her senses were obscured with the way she yelled through the phone despite it being held to her ear and the function tapped to ‘speaker’.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you, Kora,” Y/N’s gentle chuckle rumbled through the speaker, making Harry smile. It was the first time he heard it in a while. He sometimes wondered if he had the right to feel relieved when Harry was the one that blocked her number in the first place.

“It’s my birthday! Why aren’t you here drinking with us?” Kora quietly thanked the bartender.

Harry’s curiosity spiked; why wasn’t Y/N here tonight?

“It’s because I’m pregnant, silly. Can’t really do that when I’ve got a bubba in my tummy,” Both women giggled, Kora, making a sound of acknowledgement, “Ohhh right!”

He really wished that he would have stuck by long enough to hear more of their conversation but Kora’s boyfriend was approaching her and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything if he was honest.

She moved on fast, Harry thought. He was definitely sounding like an entitled jerk. Hear him out though; Harry was happy with Camille. Yes, he had been cheating on Y/N for a whole year and yes, she had to find out through a letter but Y/N was pregnant.

Did she really move on that quickly?

___

Despite the guilt gnawing at her for missing her best friend Kora’s birthday, Y/N was also looking forward to getting some sleep. It was a couple of hours after their phone call together when the nauseating tightening of Y/N’s chest woke again and had been for the past three days.

It was a horrible feeling that spread from the confines of her stomach. The bile rising up from her throat that left a burning feeling from the acids that escaped her mouth as she quickly threw the covers away from her legs, running towards the direction of her bathroom where she emptied the remnants of her stomach from last night’s craving of pickles and hot Cheetos. Her chest heaved with exertion as she draped her arms over the white porcelain of the disinfected toilet, hunching over as her stomach seemingly pumped away toxins.

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, visibly shuddering as she pointed a finger to flush the toilet. She had a feeling that she won’t be getting any more sleep despite the time being three o’clock in the morning. Halo was insistent on staying up past normal bedtime hours. Y/N sighed, walking lethargically towards the dresser to retrieve her phone before heading to the living room nearby.

Y/N: You up, doc?

The blue loading bar swooped to the right as Y/N sent a message to Connor. She was at the peak of her pregnancy and her due date was occurring within a few weeks. A lot had changed since the day she found out the gender of her baby. Between the emotional trauma of having been broken up with--the hard-hitting fact was that Y/N was pushed into a direction of pregnancy that wasn’t exactly her ideal path. She pretty much preferred the dream-like sequence of having Harry accompanying her to her ultrasounds.

Just as Y/N was about to delve into another imaginary scenario of Harry sending her cute baby onesies that he would absolutely need to purchase for their little one, the humming of her phone pulled her from drowning in pathetic wishes and desires.

Connor: What’s up, Y/N?

She jutted her lips as she typed out a response. Contemplating whether or not to send the message as Y/N’s thumb hovered over the arrow, she paused to wonder why she was feeling so guilty in texting another man months and antecedent her break up with Harry. He was happy with someone else, yet Y/N felt as if her feet were planted in a puddle of sticky glue; unable to move on from the life she built in her head. Although it hurt to admit that Harry only existed in her memories now, reminiscing the spoken words they have discussed was another stab to her already bruised heart.

Y/N: Halo’s keeping me up again..

Connor: Want me to come over?

To keep you company

The reply was instantaneous and she could not deny the flutter of her heart beating subtly despite the extremities it had endured. And Y/N couldn’t help but notice the jitter of her baby bump morphing a plump bulge where Halo had kicked it as if it was a stamp of approval of the man coming over.

It wasn’t the first time that Connor drove to her place at the brink of dawn to keep her company in case the sickness became too much for Y/N to handle. The first time was simply a desperate action because she was rattled by the sudden spike in dizziness and incoherence of her sickness that Y/N wasn’t confident in herself to handle it alone. Times after that were more for his comfort when Connor said that he would ‘rather be safe than sorry’ while he rubbed his palm up and down her back.

Minutes later, a knock on her door sounded, forcing Y/N to haul her plump body to the comfort of the sofa, pausing the rerun of a television show. She waddled towards the entrance, the fit of her pyjama waistband snuggly wrapping around her mid-belly. A stretch of skin exposed between her bottoms and her tank top.

“Hi, thank you for coming,” Y/N greeted shyly, widening the door to let Connor in as he chuckled, toeing off his shoes by the closet door.

He waved her off, “It’s no problem, really,” Connor assisted her back to her couch, aiding her by letting his hands stabilize in the air in case anything happened.

The moment their bottoms hit the cushions did Y/N realize the gravity of the guilt spiralling in her chest. Connor laughed softly, his back resting on the couch with his right arm resting on the top, fingertips barely brushing over her shoulder. He reached over the coffee table to obtain the bowl of freshly popped popcorn, picking one to munch on but not before looking over at Y/N.

“Want some?”

She snapped out of her daze, cheeks heating profusely at being caught blatantly staring at how Connor fit naturally into her home both physically and metaphorically. He couldn’t have appeared at a better time when Y/N not only needed medical assistance and a support group by her side. However, she asked herself if he could be anything more than a friend. She shook her head ‘no’.

“No thanks. I’m quite full,” Y/N pressed a palm to her belly when a kick halted her breath. ‘Okay maybe a little,” She rolled her eyes, scolding Halo. “She’s a hungry one,”

“I’m gonna pop some more popcorn, kay? Be right back,”

Y/N heaved a sigh, watching Connor’s retrieving figure. Her admiration was cut off by the ringing of her phone.

___

Harry wasn’t so sober when he opened the door to his car. He wasn’t in his right mind either when he unblocked Y/N’s number and tapped on her name, switching the screen as it rang. He threw his head back against the headrest, biting his lip when the dial tone rang and rang.

“Hello?”

Harry’s breath hitched, losing his voice momentarily before his slowed brain caught up to move his tongue.

“Y/N? It’s Harry,” He spoke quietly, “Don’t hang up. Hear me out,” His ears stretched to pick up the click of a dropped call but he didn’t hear any.

“Heard from Kora that y’were pregnant, yeah? And I was wondering, whose is it?” The venom in his voice dripped. His drunken stupor rendered him unable to grasp reality.

“I’m not answering that,” Y/N’s tone was firm and direct. Harry could imagine her pursing her lips inwards.

“Why not? Scared that y’gonna have to admit that everything you put on was an act? How can y’move on so fast and give me shit about it?” The parking lot was filled with cars yet Harry could see that he was the only one currently occupying one. If there was a better metaphor of feeling alone in a crowded place; then he would love to hear it.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Harry? You cheated on me! You slept with another woman while we were together. You loved another woman while we were together. For an entire year, you lied to me and deceived me,”

“Jus’. . .answer the question,” He pinched his nose bridge, a headache pounding from the bottom of his skull.

“How dare you speak to me this way? You have no right calling me up out of nowhere,” Y/N lowered the volume of her voice, “and asking all these ridiculous questions,”

“S’not ridiculous,”

She gave a smile to Connor who entered the room with a bowl of delicious smelling popcorn. Y/N clutched the phone to her chest. Connor situated his body beside her with a glimmering smile, his mouth twitching as he eyed her bump, “Can I talk to her?” A gentle question breezed past his lips, moving closer when Y/N gave him approval.

The man kneeled down on the floor, leaning his head downwards to speak to Halo, “Hey little one, y’gotta be nice to momma, okay?” His fingers waved when her feet kicked out. Connor looked up to Y/N with a proud smile, “Did you see that? She responded!”

___

Harry felt his heart clench as a new voice filled the speakers. His neurons were fried with each thought firing endlessly, “Who’s that?

“Don’t call me again,”

The dial tone rung in his ears, echoing in the quiet space of his Range Rover.

___

Pressing the power button for a few seconds, the device turned black and was left on the arm of the couch. The excitement in Connor’s voice brought a dreamy smile to Y/N’s face, chewing on some popcorn. The beating of her heart seemed to double at the sight of him being so thrilled with her baby.

“We can’t wait to see you. I bet you’re gorgeous,” Connor dropped his volume to a whisper to prevent Y/N from hearing, ‘’Like your mom,”

Y/N’s relaxed and comfortable state of mind mindlessly worked her hands to thread the hair on top of Connor’s head. Just like she used to do to Harry. Her expression dimmed at the thought, painting a faint simper when Connor looked at her in surprise before shrugging it off, continuing to talk to her bump. She shivered when a warm pair of lips attached to the skin of her stomach. Gentle pressure planting a kiss as Connor said his goodbyes to baby Halo.

“She’s a smart one, that much I can tell,” He confirmed, moulding his body to the lingering shape he had left behind in his previous position. And Y/N was flustered to say that she might have scooched a little closer to his body, snuggling her head at the junction of his shoulder.

“Can I?” She asked, doe eyes raising a question that would allow them to cross the boundary they had limited themselves to. He nodded reflexively as if he was awaiting this moment. Connor took the initiative to pull Y/N closer to him, subconsciously kissing the top of her head. The scent of the woman’s shampoo wafting through his nose and invading his senses in a sweet smell that he would gladly immerse himself to.

It was the most pleasant feeling for Y/N to completely let go of her former worries about starting anew when Connor was as cozy as a heater. He made Y/N feel safe and secure with his body shielding her and his actions hinting at a subdued attraction he hadn’t fully shown to her.

And Connor was proud of himself for not quite literally freaking out when Y/N smothered her face to his chest as time passed and the sun rays filtered through the blinds as she fell asleep. Her words mumbled in a jumbled mess about how she wished that morning sickness wasn’t called morning sickness.

It wasn’t totally accurate, she complained. She thought that it was a misleading name; catfishing perhaps. He had chuckled in response, tracing his fingers up and down her arm and feeling goosebumps rise on her skin.

The orange hue of the bright star painting the sky lighter and lighter until the pitch-black sight morphed into a mixture of shades that could only be described as beautifully grandiose--just like Y/N’s sleeping face when the sun casts a shadow to highlight her nose, scrunching with the slight graze of the back of Connor’s finger rubbing the tip. Or the way the luminescence caressed the apples of her cheeks where her lashes rested, mouth puffing breaths of air as she allowed herself to be vulnerable for the first time in months.

___

A heavy feeling had settled into Harry's chest after Y/N hung up the phone. The new voice he had heard had unmistakably been a man's. Who was he? Was Y/N having that man's baby?

Before he could help it, Harry was seething. He saw red, and if he were in a children's movie there would be steam coming out of his ears right about now. How dare she move on so fast? How could she have a baby with another man so soon? But when he thought about it; Harry couldn't even recall how long it had been since they'd broken up. It made him feel somewhat guilty. He hadn't meant to forget her. It had just happened.

His guilt soon manifested into frustration-- her being pregnant was a constant reminder that she had moved on with another man. Insecurity clawed at his insides- did he really mean that little to her? 'You cheated on her', his conscience pricked, but he brushed away the thought. He hated being reminded of his infidelity to his fiancée.

His defence mechanism kicked in like clockwork, using aggression to shield his insecurities. He opened his messages app and clicked her contact, typing drunkenly.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*'

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet youu did'

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck u'

He smiled smugly at his phone screen, satisfied with what he had sent her. He shut his phone off, and started his car, ready to drive back home. He knew he was being irresponsible, but between his current girlfriend not wanting a child and his ex being pregnant with one; he couldn't bring himself to care. He drove himself home, only to find a terribly worried Camille waiting for him to arrive.

He glanced at the huge clock on the wall behind her. 1:32 am. He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past her to their bedroom. In his drunken gait, he knocked over a metal tray. The loud 'clang' made him hiss and clutch his temples, a headache pounding in his skull.

Camille sighed and made her way over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and muttering a "come here, H" Despite his sour mood, he found himself craving affection. What he wouldn't admit was that he didn't crave Camille's affection in particular. He just wanted to be held and feel safe in someone's arms. Anyone's arms. But despite himself, he mumbled, "m'sorry I left like tha'. Should'nt 've spoken to ya that way,"

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "It's okay, Harry, you're back home now. C'mon, let's get you changed and then let's sleep."

He bobbed his head up and down, willingly letting her drag him up the stairs to their shared bedroom, "Love ya,” Camille helped him out of his trousers.

She smiled softly, "Love you too, mon Cheri,” He giggled drunkenly at the showcase of her accent.

___

Harry woke up with a pounding headache, whining as his alarm rang at eight am in the morning. He opened his eyes to see that Camille wasn't in bed with him. His lips fell into a pout because of waking up alone.

There was a note on the bedside table.

'got called in for an emergency meeting for the show next week. be home by 5pm. love you!'

He sighed and reached for the glass of water she had left him. His brows furrowed when he didn't see Ibuprofen next to the water. Y/N left him ibuprofen beside the glass of water. Always. Harry snapped himself out of his daze, reprimanding himself for even thinking about her. Why is he thinking about her?

After a hot shower, Harry made his way downstairs to make himself breakfast. 'Eggs and toast', he thought. Placing 2 eggs in water and setting it on the stove before loading the toaster. He looked mindlessly through the drinks in the fridge, settling on 'Organic Orange Juice'. Y/N had introduced him to this particular brand after he had complained that all the others had too much sugar to be 'healthy'.

___

"This has no added sugar, H," she mentioned, "They sweeten it with honey."

___

Harry groaned, snapping himself out of the daydream, ashamed for thinking about his ex. Again.

He placed his breakfast on a plate and poured himself a glass of juice, sitting at the dining table alone. He chewed slowly with a mouthful as he unlocked his phone, beginning to go through his notifications.

Camille sent him a text. It was a selfie of her at her meeting, smiling and holding up a peace sign. He mirrored the expression, sending a text back

Harry: "stop being so cute"

He clicked the ‘back’ icon.

The second he does, his heart positively skips a beat. Not in a good way, either. Y/N's contact was just below Camille's, suddenly remembering the nasty things he had texted her the previous night.

"Fuck," He whispered under his breath, opening her contact. 'Read' was plastered under the messages he had sent. Y/N had seen them.

Connor had left a few hours later because he had morning rounds at the clinic the next day. Y/N had bid him goodbye with a shy kiss to the corner of his mouth,

“Thanks for coming, C,"

He smiled and pulled her into an embrace "Anytime, angel," into her hair. A warmth spread through her chest--one that she hadn’t felt in a long while.

After Connor drove off (with a final wave from his car window, of course), Y/N walked back in to settle on her couch again. Halo kicked a few times as she sat down, making Y/N squirm and giggle.

"Hi, you little goose! What's got you all excited, hm?" She rubbed over the area where Y/N felt the kick. As if, in response to her mother's voice, baby Halo kicked out again, right where Y/N's palm was. "Are you trying to high-five me, precious girl?"

Y/N cooed at her swelling tummy, a huge smile plastered across her face. "Or are ya just excited about Connor coming over to spend time with us? Got a good feeling about him, have you?"

She feels a gentle kick, it was almost as if the baby in her tummy wanted to say 'yes'. Y/N hummed softly, caressing her tummy, "Me too, angel. I've got a good feeling about him, too."

A few minutes later, Y/N reboots her phone her previously switched off phone so that she could see if Connor had texted her. He had.

C: Thanks for letting me spend time with you and Halo tonight. I loved it. I have a bit of time off on Sunday, do you want to get Pizza?'

Her eyes gleamed, but she hesitated for just a second. Connor had texted her. But so had Harry. He had sent her five messages, and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to see what he had to say.

She wanted to make sure before texting Connor back. Y/N was not sure what she was expecting or hoping for, but what she saw was certainly not it.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*',

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet you did

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck you'

She felt tears stinging her eyes, cursing at the pregnancy hormones that have gotten her feeling this emotional about drunk texts from her ex. Her body ignited with fury quicker than she realized she could. Y/N doesn't hesitate to click the 'block' button to his contact.

She didn't need a man like him around her or her baby. Or her potential boyfriend.

Y/N: 'Hiya!,'

'it was great having you over, and I'd love to hang out! Down for pizza anytime. Halo loves it too :P'

The reply was instantaneous

C: 'Great!'

'See you Sunday, then! What are your favourite toppings?"

Y/N smiled brightly, finding his curiosity incredibly endearing. She typed back a response, gleaming with joy at the fact that she finally had someone she could rely on.

___

"Fuck. fuck fuck fuck," Harry repeated, clicking the call button to Y/N's contact. He needed to apologize. Desperately. He needed her to know that he didn't mean any of those things; he was just drunk. Not that that was an excuse.

'The number you are trying to reach is not in service', an automated voice said.

Harry groaned in frustration, opening her message contact, typing out;

Harry: "I'm so sorry, I don't know what had gotten into me. I was drunk. I'm very sorry, Y/N xx H."

He took a bite out of his toast before looking back at his screen to see if she had read the message yet. He almost wished he hadn't. Harry’s heart plummeted. His chest constricted as tears stung at the back of his eyes. Throwing up the meal he just scarfed sounded like an option right now.

A flaming red exclamation mark met his startled glance, and his chest heaved as he read,

'Not delivered,'

___

As usual, let us know what you thought!

Reign aka pt3 is already up on Patreon (link in bio!)

Reign will be uploaded on Tumblr on Monday, August 31. ___

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 4 years

Text

no body, no crime - allison argent x reader

(gif source)

Summary: When y/n disappears after confronting her husband about his affair, Allison takes matters into her own hands. Based on “no body, no crime (feat. HAIM)” by taylor swift [x]. You can find the mood board for this fic here

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: cursing, infidelity, implied kidnapping, implied murder, murder, alleged murder, alleged/implied death of reader, reader is married to a man with a j name 🤢

a/n: hi everyone! it’s been a hot minute since i posted a new fic & this is why. i’ve been working on this since late december of 2020, so this is the longest i’ve ever spent on a stand-alone work. i’ll include more gory details about the writing process at the end if you’re interested :)

dedicated to: elle (@demxters) for all of her help and ideas! this fic literally wouldn’t have gotten finished without her, send her some love <3

this is also dedicated to caoimhe (@free-pool-trash) for not murdering me after i gave her a preview several weeks ago and then just ✨stopped writing✨

master list

Este's a friend of mine

We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

“Hey!” Allison greeted cheerily as she met y/n at their usual table tucked in the corner of their favorite restaurant. y/n returned the brunette’s smile as she stood up to hug her friend, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Allison saw through y/n’s facade and furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as concern spread across her features.

“I think Justin is having an affair,” y/n admitted. The statement dropped like a bomb between the two women, causing Allison to nearly spew the wine in her mouth all over the table. She coughed a few times and drank some water to clear her throat before she composed herself enough to ask questions.

“What happened? Did you see something?” Allison asked hesitantly. Her mind was still reeling from the mere concept of y/n’s husband cheating on her. Sure, Justin had never been Allison’s favorite guy, but it was normal for girls to think that no guy would ever be good enough for their best friend. Right?

Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity

She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth"

"That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

y/n explained what had been going on over the past few weeks. Justin had been acting distant, which wasn’t too abnormal, but when he started coming home from work much later than his shifts ended and disappearing at odd hours of the night, y/n got concerned. The day that she had planned to approach him about everything and ask if anything was wrong, she got a call from her bank while driving home from work.

“Hi Mrs. y/l/n, this is Kathy from the bank. I’m calling to inform you that there have been a few large cash withdrawals from your joint account recently under your husband’s name, as well as a pretty expensive purchase yesterday at the jeweler,” the rest of Kathy’s words sounded muffled to y/n. It was nowhere near her birthday, Valentine’s day, or their anniversary, so y/n didn’t know what he could possibly be spending all their money on.

The next incident came a few days later when both y/n and Justin were home. y/n’s husband was in the shower and his phone buzzed with a new text message alert. Typically, y/n was never the type to snoop on her husband’s phone, but she figured she should check in case it was a work message. At least that’s how she justified it in her head. Justin had saved the sender’s number under the contact name “Spam Risk.” It was clever, y/n had to give him credit for that at least. Upon further inspection, y/n quickly realized that those texts weren’t sent from a telemarketer bot.

6:24 p.m. I can’t wait to see you tonight, baby - Spam Risk

6:25 p.m. Don’t keep me waiting too long ;) - Spam Risk

y/n thought the messages were strange, but the picture that followed the messages was definitely what threw y/n for a loop. There, on her husband’s text message thread, was a racy photo of a woman’s body that definitely wasn’t hers. y/n was quite literally stunned to silence as she dropped the phone back down onto the dresser. For the rest of the night, y/n was numb and quiet, not that Justin noticed. Then, like clockwork, he left the house at 11 p.m. with no explanation of where he was going or when he would be back.

By the end of y/n’s story, Allison’s mouth was open so wide she was sure her jaw would hit the table.

“What are you going to do?” Allison whispered, still in shock. y/n grimaced before clearing her throat and speaking her next words with finality.

No, there ain't no doubt

I think I'm gonna call him out

Este wasn't there

Tuesday night at Olive Garden at her job or anywhere

“Hi, there should be a reservation for two under Allison Argent or y/n y/l/n for tonight,” Allison greeted warmly as she approached the hostess stand at their go-to girl’s night restaurant.

“Right this way, ma’am,” the hostess said with a smile as she grabbed two menus and led her towards their usual table. Two menus. That must mean that y/n wasn’t there yet? Allison thought it was strange, y/n almost always was the first of the two to arrive. Allison brushed off the thought as she thanked the hostess and sat down. She had intended to look over the menu, but the strangeness of it all wouldn’t leave her mind. y/n was late. She was never late. Allison pulled out her phone to text her best friend, and it then occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from y/n since last week. Allison had been away on a “work” trip with her dad for the past six days and had just gotten back into town. After 30 minutes of sitting at the table alone, half a dozen unanswered text messages, and even more calls sent straight to voicemail, Allison dropped a few bills on the table and left.

As Allison pulled out of the parking lot, she turned on the radio in a futile attempt to drown out some of her racing thoughts. Between songs the radio host took to the mic to make an announcement.

“Hello Beacon Hills, we now interrupt your regularly scheduled listening with an urgent message from the Sheriff's department. Speaking now is Sheriff Noah Stilinski,” the host trailed off before there was a brief crackle as the audio transitioned to the Sheriff’s press briefing. Allison turned up the volume as the Sheriff’s voice carried across the radio.

“Thank you all for attending and tuning in. It is with great displeasure and a heavy heart that I inform you all that y/n y/l/n has been reported missing. Shortly after 8 a.m. this morning, we were informed by her husband that she didn’t show up for work yesterday morning and also didn’t come home last night,” Sheriff Stilinski continued speaking but it all began to sound like white noise to Allison. It took everything she had in her to focus on not veering off the road so that she could head to the Sheriff’s station and speak to Stilinski in person.

Conveniently, her route took her right past y/n and Justin’s house. Allison didn’t know what to expect as she sped by their house, but the fact that Justin’s normally filthy truck had been cleaned and waxed definitely caught her eye. The truck and driveway were soon out of sight due to the speed she was driving at, but at first glance, it looked as though his tires and grill had been replaced.

He reports his missing wife

And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires

About a week had passed since y/n had been reported missing. Allison wasn’t sure how many search parties had been held, but they all resulted in the same thing: nothing. There wasn’t a single trace of her best friend, in fact, everything in Beacon Hills looked completely unchanged and normal. Allison’s focus and appetite seemed to have left with her other half, try as she might to desperately hold onto them. Her marksmanship had even been affected, something that hadn’t happened since high school.

Allison started driving around town during her free time. She wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, she mostly did it to try to clear her mind, though most times she was unsuccessful. She’d been mindlessly taking right and left turns and before she realized where she was, she passed y/n’s house.

Allison hadn’t planned to slow down as she passed the house, it was a mindless act if anything. Seeing a moving truck backed up to the house while Justin and some unfamiliar blonde woman were unloading boxes ensured that her decision to park her car where it couldn’t be seen and spy on the pair wasn’t mindless. Despite her gut telling her not to, Allison decided to give Justin the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed a roommate now since y/n couldn’t pay her share of the rent? Allison tried her best to keep all of her judgments and suspicions at bay as she watched the otherwise uneventful event unfold while biting her fingernails.

A few boxes later, Justin pulled the blonde in by her waist and kissed her with a fervor that would make most people blush. Allison’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she sat there in shock with her mouth wide open. It took a while, mostly because the kiss lasted for an obnoxious amount of time, but Allison finally regained control of her body. It was like her brain had to go through a hard reset before she was able to face the reality of the situation.

y/n was right. Justin was cheating on her. Not only that, but Justin had cheated on y/n, spent less than a week grieving her disappearance, then allowed this to happen.

And his mistress moved in

Sleeps in Este's bed and everything

Allison found out that Justin Smith’s mistress’s name was Rebecca Baker. She was a few years younger than y/n and she worked at the same company as Justin. It didn’t take long for Allison to hack into both of their iCloud accounts. A few hours of scrolling later she was really regretting her decision, especially when she got to Justin’s messages to Rebecca about y/n.

2:47 a.m. What about your wife? - Spam Risk

2:47 a.m. What about her? - Justin

2:48 a.m. Are you going to leave her or kick her out or something? - Spam Risk

2:48 a.m. It’s been taken care of. - Justin

2:48 a.m. Taken care of? Justin, what does that mean? - Spam Risk

2:49 a.m. Justin??? - Spam Risk

Each new message ensured that bits of Allison’s fingernails had been gnawed off while her left hand fidgeted anxiously in front of her mouth. Allison decided that those messages were probably the most incriminating thing she’d find digitally, but the time and date stamps caught her eye. The texts were sent early Monday morning, the day that y/n allegedly left home and then didn’t show up for work or return home.

A chill spread from deep within Allison’s bones up to the surface of her skin, making goosebumps appear. Allison didn’t know what exactly, but she knew something terrible had happened to y/n and Justin had something to do with it. She shut her laptop a little harder than necessary as a resolved look spread across her face.

No, there ain't no doubt

Somebody's gotta catch him out

Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen

Allison regularly accessed her personal armory, whether it was to prepare for a job or pack for a trip to the shooting range, but it had been a while since a powerful and unforgiving feeling hung over her shoulders. Allison carefully ran her fingers over her custom silver arrowheads as she considered her options. Her father’s words from one of her adolescent archery lessons rung in her head.

“The type of bow and arrows you use doesn’t matter. As long as you use them right, you’ll be able to make any shot. Don’t get hung up on the technicalities.”

Not too long after, her bag was stocked with her essentials: a bow, her trusted black leather archery glove, as well as a handful of arrows, though these ones lacked the silver heads she typically reserved for more exotic expeditions.

The rare dark clouds in the California sky at sunset were reflected in Allison’s cold eyes. The drive to her target’s house was familiar, the turns she made were almost instinctual. Normally these roads reminded her of her coffee dates with y/n and nights they spent talking for hours until sunlight crept through the windows. Now, her mind was blank and her heart was devoid of all emotion.

Even though Allison had disabled her car’s GPS earlier, she parked her car about a mile away from his house. When she was done, there wouldn’t be any evidence that could be traced back to her. She memorized his schedule; at 5:00 p.m. his shift ended and recently he’d been getting home by 5:20. His girlfriend got home sometime between 5:30 and 5:45, but she would leave for her pilates class around 6:30 and wouldn’t get home until 7:45. Allison had just over an hour window to get the job done, but it wouldn’t take that long. If everything went according to plan, she’d be off the property within a few minutes of taking the shot.

When she arrived her target had just come home from work and was alone in the house. She waited patiently, hidden by the trees that the property backed up to. She watched as he moved around through the open curtains and then as his girlfriend entered the house and kissed him with a passion that made Allison’s stomach churn. She watched as they ate dinner together, as her target’s girlfriend got ready for her gym class, and watched as she got in her car and drove away. When Allison checked her watch it was only 6:25 p.m., she had far more time than she needed.

The plan was simple, really. Under the cover of darkness, she’d flip the breakers, effectively cutting the power. When her target came out to investigate, she’d let him fumble around in the darkness for a while. He’d always been a paranoid individual, so it wouldn’t take much to get him on edge. A rustle in the bushes here, a small snapped tree branch there, and then something that would get his attention. Allison wanted his eyes to be on her when she took the shot.

Allison’s target was watching TV so he knew immediately when the power went out, plus the fact that the once illuminated house was suddenly bathed in darkness. The high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat almost made Allison laugh. She had to keep quiet though, at least for now. As expected, the dopey man scurried around to the side of the house where the breakers were located in no time. The batteries in the flashlight he held were on their last leg, that much was evident in the way the light beam flickered every few seconds.

Just as he opened the door to the circuit breaker panel, Allison moved. A rustle here. The sound practically echoed in the silence of the night, causing the man to whip around and shine his flashlight directly at the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It’s just the wind, he reasoned before getting back to work. After a few switches had been flipped - none of them for the outdoor lights - he heard another noise. This one was much louder than the last, a small snapped tree branch there. Again, the flashlight’s flickering light beam uncovered nothing, but it was enough to make all of the hairs on the back of Allison’s target’s neck stand up straight. He hastily flipped the rest of the breakers and the outdoor lights finally came on.

When yellow light from the backyard fixtures flooded the area, both Allison and her target were revealed. Allison stood a considerable distance away from the man, but she was close enough to see the blood drain from his face and his Adam's apple bob. When his eyes darted to the bow hung by her side, realization dawned on his face. He began to turn away with the intention of running, but Allison’s voice held him frozen in place.

“Don’t move,” she ordered quietly without any aggression behind her tone. Her face wasn’t threatening, she just looked calm and focused. Allison’s smooth features and peaceful expression was what scared the man the most.

“I- I’m sorry- I didn’t-” he stammered out, his arms and legs beginning to tremble.

“Shh,” Allison chastised as she raised her bow, loading it with an arrow. Her fingers moved with precision, her muscles knew this routine well.

“Please don’t- no, you can’t, you can’t do this!” the man pleaded. He wasn’t above begging on his knees, but Allison wasn’t about to give him the chance. Her gaze was sharply focused on her target, the view of her tightly grasped bow in her peripheral vision.

“Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

When Allison’s fingers let go of the bowstring the arrow flew smoothly through the air. The only sounds heard were the arrowhead piercing skin and the man wordlessly falling to the ground. The arrow went straight through his heart. Maybe Allison’s shot landed right where she intended. Maybe there was a metaphor in there. Allison checked her wristwatch, the numbers 6:45 shining back at her. An entire hour to spare.

Time to take out the trash.

I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene

The job didn’t take long at all and it was definitely one of Allison’s least challenging ones, but it still felt nice to take a hot shower and sit in front of her fireplace with a cup of tea. The fire served a dual purpose; the crackles of the burning wood soothed her like a lullaby while the flames licked around and destroyed her bloody clothes from earlier. All of her equipment had been cleaned and put away, positioned exactly as it had been before. Everything was the same, nothing changed or out of place. There was just one less heartbeat in the world that night.

Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me

On the second day of the trial, Rebecca Baker’s lawyers were throwing whatever they could against the wall to see if something would stick. That morning they began to argue that Allison Argent might’ve abducted and murdered Justin Smith in retaliation for y/n’s disappearance. It was all speculation at best, but the theory unfortunately made sense to the jury. Before things could get too far, the prosecution called its first witness of the day to the stand.

“Mrs. Martin, where were you on the night of Mr. Smith’s suspected disappearance?” the prosecution lawyer questioned calmly.

“I was with Allison at my house. We were having a girls night in, you can check my security cameras,” Lydia answered confidently. Lydia still had a pocketful of favors from her MIT days, so when the jurors were shown the clips from Lydia’s home security cameras, they saw exactly what they would’ve expected based on Lydia’s testimony.

Truth be told, Lydia didn’t know anything about what happened that night; including Allison’s whereabouts and any details related to Justin’s alleged demise. All she knew was that Allison called and asked for a simple favor - an alibi for just a few hours. Lydia didn’t ask questions and Allison didn’t give answers.

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

On the third day of the trial, Rebecca Baker took the stand. Her lawyers tried to help her as best they could, but the prosecution was ruthless. All of the evidence was circumstantial at best - all parties, including the judge and jurors, knew that - but it was enough to make everyone reconsider the spotless image the defense had tried to create for Ms. Baker.

“Ms. Baker, is it true that you knowingly engaged in a romantic relationship while Justin Smith was married to and living with his wife?” another one of the prosecution’s attorneys began.

“Yes,” Rebecca replied meekly. Allison internally scoffed from her seat in the gallery. She found irony in the fact that Rebecca didn’t find any humility or shame in sleeping with another woman’s husband until she was under oath.

“Is it also true that within approximately a week of Mrs. y/l/n’s disappearance, you moved into Mr. Smith and Mrs. y/l/n’s house?”

“That is correct,” Rebecca said as she began to wring her hands together anxiously. The judge tapped his wrist watch and shot a stern look towards the prosecutor. The man nodded in response and continued to his final points.

“I’ll wrap up my questions for you, Ms. Baker. Can you confirm that shortly after moving in with Mr. Smith, multiple legal and financial arrangements and adjustments were made? And these new arrangements make you the sole beneficiary of Mr. Smith’s life issuance policy, assets, and investments?”

By the end of the prosecution’s final question, every jury member and spectator sat up straighter and waited to hear Rebecca’s response with bated breath. The blonde ball of nerves sighed defeatedly before turning to face the attorney directly as she answered his question.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“No further questions, your honor.” As the lead prosecutor returned to the plaintiff’s table, Rebecca’s attorney stood up to address the judge.

“Your honor, the defense would like to request a brief recess,” the defense attorney nearly pleaded. Though his poker face was much better than his client’s, it was clear that he was getting nervous.

“We’ll reconvene in 15 minutes,” the judge ordered with a stern glare cast towards Rebecca.

They think she did it but they just can't prove it

It soon became clear to Rebecca that the recess her legal team requested was nothing more than a “kiss your dignity goodbye” meeting. If she hadn’t been queasy before the recess was called, she definitely was upon re-entering the courtroom.

The rest of the trial seemed to move in slow motion for Rebecca. A few more witnesses were called to the stand, more lackluster evidence was presented, both sides made their closing arguments, and the jury left to discuss the verdict. After what felt like an eternity, the jury returned with an official decision.

Silence settled over the room as a single juror stood to address the court.

“The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 1 of murder in the first degree based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 2 of kidnapping based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant guilty on count 3 of insurance fraud based on…”

The rest of the jurors’ statement sounded like white noise to Rebecca. She was just barely coherent enough to hear the judge deliver her punishment a few minutes later. $50,000 fine and 200 hours of community service.

Allison stuck around to the bitter end of the trial to hear the verdict in person. In all honesty, Allison didn’t want Rebecca to go to jail. It wouldn’t be right for her to serve time for a crime she didn’t commit, but Allison did find satisfaction in the fact that Rebecca would soon be picking up garbage in a fluorescent orange vest.

After the majority of the spectators had vacated the courtroom gallery, Allison leisurely gathered her things. Justice had been served to Justin, she personally made sure of that, and now justice had been served to Rebecca. The blonde and brunette women briefly locked eye contact as Allison made her way towards the exit.

“You did this,” Rebecca whispered to Allison. Suddenly, it was like a flip switched within her. One moment she was numb, yet calm and collected, and the next moment she was screaming (literal) bloody murder and had to be held back by her lawyers.

“YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED JUSTIN, YOU BITCH!” Rebecca cried, though her words fell on deaf ears. Allison exited the courtroom with her head held high as the courtroom deputy and defense lawyers did their best to calm the hysterical woman.

She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it

A week later the court case was still on Allison’s mind but the emotional scars had begun to scab. Healing was never a straight or smooth path, Allison had learned that the hard way over the years, but this was a start.

y/n’s landlord had been generous enough to allow Allison to gather y/n’s things before he cleaned out the house for new renters. As Allison walked through the home she once considered to be an extension of her own, she felt her throat dry out and tighten up. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she was wiping salty tears off of the picture frames she’d carefully picked up. Each photo unlocked a new memory, some even elicited a chuckle out of Allison amidst her tears.

A photo from y/n’s wedding day stood out among all the rest as Allison’s eyes jumped from frame to frame. It was a candid shot Lydia had taken while they were in y/n’s dressing room before the ceremony. y/n looked as beautiful as ever in her flowy white gown and Allison’s mulberry maid of honor dress complemented it well. As Allison put the final touches on y/n’s hair and makeup, y/n fastened the clasp of a custom necklace behind Allison’s neck. On a thin, medium-length chain hung an arrowhead from the first time Allison had ever tried to teach y/n how to shoot a bow and arrow. y/n failed miserably, but it was a cherished memory for both girls. Since that day, Allison had only taken the necklace off a handful of times.

Allison smiled bittersweetly at the memory and wiped a fresh tear off of the decorative frame before pulling her necklace out from underneath her shirt. She pressed a gentle kiss to the cool silver arrowhead and then to the photo frame, right above y/n’s styled hair.

A feeling that Allison couldn’t quite explain flowed through her body just then; it was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck underwater or seeing the gentle rays of the sun for the first time after a hurricane, it felt like freedom. Allison felt almost as if y/n was right there next to her, with her head resting on Allison's shoulder and wrapping her arms around the brunette’s torso. In that moment, Allison somehow wordlessly knew with every fiber in her being that y/n was finally at peace.

No, no body, no crime

I wasn't letting up until the day he died

a/n: AHHHH DID YOU LIKE IT? it was kind of a wild ride from start to finish and i definitely shed a few tears while i was writing it. please lmk what you think!

okay, now onto the writing process from hell: i started drafting ideas for the fic on dec. 21 or 22 of 2020, after i put together a mood board. i had written more than half of the fic when i decided i hated it and scrapped the whole thing on xmas eve (~3000 words 🤡). after that i was kinda in a rut and couldn’t decide how i wanted to end the fic so i ended up writing and deleting ~2500 words over the past month and a half. @demxters is an absolute GODDESS and helped me come up with the ending, so i am eternally grateful to her for that. if any of this seems a lil strange it’s probably because i finished writing it at 4:45 a.m. after working on it for 3ish hours straight. have a great day lovelies!

join my tag list!

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thebadbatch · 3 years

Text

The Bad Batch: Soft Universe

Chapter 6 - Medic.

A large amount of time and rest had passed throughout the ship along with a large conversation that was hosted by the brothers about Omega's apparent force abilities. They had all simultaneously agreed to try and test this out whilst Tech tinkered with AZI in the back during the early hours of the morning.

"Any luck?" Crosshair spoke, staring at Tech who had laid himself against the floor who was currently fiddling with several wires that fell from the droid Omega adored so much.

"Some." He mumbled in response, "I'll be able to access hidden records with a little more time but to fully awaken him I'm going to need weeks." Wrecker soon turned toward the conversation, a little worried about what they may find in her hidden records. He knew they had no choice and Omega was fine with it but still - he wasn't looking forward to finding out how they experimented on her.

"Will you be getting that info today?" He asked, Crosshair turning to him with a sigh. Truth be told, they were all worried. Tech grinned as an excited 'aha!' left his lips, standing in the process.

"Yes." He confirmed as a blue hologram filled with various loads of writing and numbers appeared before them. "Hunter, Echo - You're going to want to see this." The other two brothers approached, all simultaneously crowding over the droid. Tech browsed through muttering the words under his breath.

"What's it talking about?" Wrecker exclaimed, a little Impatient but almost too afraid to ask. Tech typed a little something before turning to face his brothers.

"She is force - sensitive and they know it worked." Tech took a breath in, "They lied to her and said it didn't work because the force became too powerful with her - they were afraid and kept testing on her. The misery she kept going through kept her from connecting with the force as she had to have a relaxed state of mind and they never allowed that to happen. However, now she's with us the force has finally been re-connecting with her and what happened yesterday was it finally making itself known to her." His rant finally ended as her brothers shared various shocked and even confused ones.

"She's a jedi?" Echo questioned, rubbing his head. Nothing was ever Simple for this small family but they wouldn't have it any other way.

"No." Tech scrolled through the text a little more, "The force didn't come to her naturally, she brought it to herself - well Kamino did. This results in her just being a force user, not a jedi." They all just remained in Silence whilst Echo re-lived all of the moments he spent along jedi.

"Won't she need appropriate training?" His question made Hunter sigh a little.

"None of us are exactly qualified to train her with the force." He drew a sharp breath inward as he ran his finger tips through his strands of longer hair. "Blasters are no Problem, but the force?" He just shook his head as Wrecker piped up.

"Does she even need training?" Tech growled in anger as the screen ALI was displaying suddenly sparked and cut out rather drastically, flinching a little at the light.

"Damn droids." Grabbing his data pad he hummed as he typed a little more, rapidly tapping at the screen with a sigh, grateful that he backed up the medical records onto his datapad prior to it working. "Omega will need to be provided with some sort of training to control it, otherwise she may fall toward what they refer to as the 'dark side of the force.' This means she may end up with the Empire if fuelled by anger."

"The Empire?" Hunter snarled at Tech, "How could you even suggest that she would betray us like that?"

"You thought I did." Crosshair interjected with a glare, his arms crossed whilst chewing against his toothpick.

"That's because you did." Hunter Snapped back, pushing against his chest. Echo soon pulled Hunter away from him, Signalling for Wrecker to Stand between them.

"There currently Isn't anything to worry about, from my research she's very clearly Strong with the light side of the 'Force', which is our side." Echo noticed the sigh of relief with a mumbled apology for Crosshair who just nodded in response.

"Hunter?" Omega's voice appeared behind them which featured a light gown. "Is everything okay?" The constant hum of the Havoc Marauder could be heard as the hushed shouts and bundles of Spoken Information had been hushed. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah kid!" He smiled toward her, "We're just talking about your enhanced skill."

"You are?" All of that Sleepiness left her voice as she rushed over to her brothers who couldn't help but Smile at their little force wielder. "What about it?"

"We're beginning to discuss your training regiment." Tech Spoke, adjusting his goggles a little. "Your new abilities need to continue to be Controlled as you're their wielder." She stood in thought for a moment before gazing back up toward him.

"Who's gonna train me?" The members of the batch exchanged Various gazes toward one another, unsure who it would be. "And how am I supposed to train? A blaster wouldn't work would it?" Crosshair just smirked at her enthusiasm for weapons, she definitely got that from him.

"Echo would train you as he's been with more force-sensitive People then we have and you'd train with your mind, not just your blaster." She pouted a little before Crosshair rolled his eyes, blasters would always be better to him.

"With my mind?" She was confused but very optimistic regardless. All of this felt new to her as any previous training within Nala Se's lab remained repressed in her mind, locked away and definitely not being released any time soon. " How am I supposed to do that?" Echo just chuckled at her, ruffling her hair through her moment of confusion and wonder.

"Don't worry, kid." Echo remembered what the basics were through overhearing and learning about their abilities from others. He knew that She'd be able to expand her skillset alone without any further training after he helped her nail the basics. "You'll do great and I'll teach you as much as I can alright?" Echo's words alone brought a smile to her face before the ship's control panel began to beep, Tech rushing over to approve the signal with Cid shortly appearing on a hologram.

"Cid?" Wrecker asked as they all made their way around the message. "Fancy meeting you here!" Everybody heard her sigh before seriousness coated her voice.

"Listen up, I know you can't come back to Ord Mantell for a while because of the kid and that's alright- but I have a mission for you all if you're willing to accept." Everybody's eyes soon turned toward Hunter, they knew he was the one who picked if we were to accept a mission or not.

"What've you got?" He replied curiosity leaking out of his voice, moving closer toward the hologram with his arms still folded against him.

"I need you guys to go to Geonosis to grab a droid and take it into your care for a while until you can return it to me at Ord Mantell." Ci'd smiled before waving a box of credits toward them all. "And this will all be yours - don't worry I'll keep it Safe."

"A droid?" Tech hummed, "What's it doing at Geonosis?" she sighed, snarling her voice a little, shaking her head.

"Shut your mouth goggles, I thought I told you not to ask any questions? Just go and get the droid and then you'll get your credits. I'll send you all the information." With that, the hologram disappeared and they were left in rather confused silence.

"Why did she send us on a mission to just collect a droid?" Echo asked, pretty annoyed.

"I'm not sure, but it seemed worth the credits offered." Hunter replied, running his fingers through his hair. "We're desperate so at least it's simple enough." A beep echoed throughout the attack shuttle, Techs datapad lit up at the information received.

"Okay I have the coordinates, shall we get this over with?" He mumbled, tapping away and examining the map. "This will truly be thrilling." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he requested everybody to take their assigned seats with Hunter next to him.

"Alright, let's go then." He hummed, rapidly typing in the hyperspace coordinates before the stars became blurred - one of Omega's favourite things to see. The universe was fascinating to her and it always would be. Being trapped on Kamino in a small lab, she never had the luxury of exploring the universe around her until now with her brothers - any mission to her was a welcome one.

"So what's the plan?" Omega asked, gazing toward Hunter who always controlled that aspect.

"We're going to go into the cave system quickly and quietly. Tech I want you to focus on the map and keep us guided. Wrecker, you need to keep our path clear. Echo and Crosshair I want you to stick with me in case we get any unwelcome visitors." His plan was light and cleared the simple mission they were believed to be going on, knowingly arriving soon.

"But what's my job?" She asked, worried she'd have to stay back on the ship again.

"You?" Hunter smiled, "You're our Medic."

#Omega #Medic #the bad batch #Tbb #Fanfiction #Tech #Crosshair #Wrecker #Echo #Hunter #Clone force 99

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

hi hi!! can i request some fluff or comfort possibly?? my dog passed yesterday and i could use some distraction but im quickly burnung through ao3 😥

I am so sorry to hear about your dog, Nonnie. While there isn’t a lot I can do to fill this newfound void in your heart, I can offer up a bit of silly fluff to distract you.

“Come to Lettenhove with me.” The words were so out of the blue, Geralt had to wonder just what Jaskier was truly asking because so often the words his bard spoke were not quite the ones he meant. “Just think, a few days of rest, we have the most wonderful tub even you could fit in.”

“Why do you need to go there?” Not that Geralt was against the idea but he wanted to know the truth, not be lulled in with fancy words only to have so ‘surprise’ sprung upon him.

After a moment, Jaskier pouted. “I want to swap out my clothes.”

Which was fair enough really. Jaskier did take great pride in his appearance, liked keeping up with trends and detested looking road worn like some common bardling. He had standards and he made sure he lived up to them.

“Fine.” Geralt had learned which battles to pick. No doubt there’d be a contract or two along the way and he’d scout some out in Lettenhove too. The Path was the Path, no matter where it took them.

Lettenhove was quite pleasant, all things considered. Which was nice because it wasn’t the kind of area Geralt often frequented. But not so good because there were no contracts and they had to rely solely on Jaskier’s skills to gain shelter and food. At least the closer they got to Lettenhove, the nice people seemed to be to Jaskier and, rather than scorn Geralt, they were more inclined to pretend he just wasn’t there. Which suited Geralt just fine.

They were walking up to a stately home, Jaskier chattering away, pointing out windows and telling what he thought were great stories about hanging out of them to not get caught stealing from the kitchen again. Thankfully, he was interrupted. Less fortunately, it was a squeal of “Jaskier!” and someone barrelled into him, only to be picked up and spun around.

“Geralt!” Jaskier beckoned him. “Come meet my sister.”

Never before had someone curtsied for Geralt in quite such a genuine manner. He nodded back in reply and watched as Jaskier and his sister started talking, trying to draw him in but accepting his silent nature. Maybe it was a sibling thing to not be fearful of witchers.

They ended up inside the house where more and more people greeted Jaskier and were courteous to Geralt. Definitely a family thing. That idea was cemented in Geralt’s mind when Jaskier’s parents made an appearance. They were obviously delighted their son was back and it was nice to see.

“You must be Geralt. Julek’s witcher.” Hearing those words from Jaskier’s mother’s mouth had Geralt’s mind going blank which was taken as an invitation to keep talking. “He talks so much about you, it’s so nice to have you visit. Would you like a room to call your own while you stay? Or we can move a larger bed into Julek’s room if you prefer to share.”

“Mother!” Jaskier looked scandalised.

“What? It’s not like your childhood bed could take the strain of the two of you making love on it.”

Titters went up and one of Jaskier’s siblings ruffled his hair as they jeered.

“It’s okay, we’ll have a room made up and the bed changed. Then you can decide how you’re most comfortable.” It was said like it was the most obvious thing on earth.

“And you must join us for dinner this evening.” Jaskier’s father was in on the act it seemed. “We normally don’t stand to formality but it’s been years that we’ve heard stories about you, it feels like we already know you through the letters and stories. Would be nice to actually spend some time in your company.”

Nobody had ever wanted to spend time in a witcher’s company before. Geralt stared at the peculiar family gathered around Jaskier and him and could only wonder what poison had been dropped in their food that they all survived but were a bit funny as a result of.

Dinner was as chaotic an affair as Geralt had feared. There was no seating plan, no hierarchy. Everyone wanted to crowd around him and Jaskier, keen to share embarrassing childhood stories and listen to tales of their travels. It was one of the most exhausting social engagements Geralt had ever had. He slept well that night, in a large bed that had been put in a room for him. With Jaskier in his arms because “I’m not defiling my childhood bedroom, I just can’t”. He didn’t seem to have a problem with doing that to the guest bedroom though.

They spent three days in Lettenhove during which Geralt learned that Jaskier had a tendency to steal things from his siblings like a magpie. Though he was also claiming it was payback for all the jump scares they unleashed on him. They said it was to see what high notes he could hit. Geralt knew exactly what high notes could be pulled from Jaskier and scaring him was not the way to go about it.

“Get him a parrot,” he said as he walked past a huddle of giggling idiots. Geralt didn’t expect his words to be heeded.

The screech which rang through the home the next morning was one that trailed off into such ranges only witchers and dogs could hear it. It made Geralt’s eyes water in pain and he grumbled that they were at breakfast so it was too early.

“But Geralt! Look!”

Where Jaskier normally sat was a basket. In it was a parrot with a bow around its neck. Someone clapped Geralt on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the tip.”

No amount of arguing could convince Jaskier to leave the parrot behind. It was colourful, nibbled happily on Jaskier’s ear for attention and squawked when he sang.

“If your horse is called Roach,” Jaskier had mused, “the I suppose we can call this parrot Pike.”

“No.”

“Salmon?”

Geralt gave him a stern look.

“Bass? Tuna? Guppy.”

The last got a snort and Jaskier beamed. “Guppy it is. Thanks love.”

When they got back on the road, Jaskier with a new set of clothes, a parrot on his shoulder and coin purses sneakily topped up, Geralt couldn’t help but turn back and wave at the strange family that made him feel more welcome than anyone ever before. Maybe he would direct his brothers through here too, see what reception they got.

Come winter, Lambert didn’t return to Kaer Morhen. He did send a letter though.

Thanks for the tip. This is so much better. Suck it, up in the cold halls. Come here next year. Lambert Pankratz, adopted son of the Count of Lettenhove

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier's family #the witcher #tldr: jaskier has a very welcoming family

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arcticfox007 · 4 years

Text

Angel Wings

Destiel December Challenge 2020

Continuation of Days 2-5 - check it out on AO3

Day 6: Angel

Dean would be gone for hours if he stuck to the plan Sam had been helping him with. Sam felt that, just maybe, things would go exactly has he hoped they would go. Dean seemed genuinely committed to treating Castiel better. Personally, Sam chalked it up to passing on Mom’s conversation with Cas’, Dean seemed to have taken the idea that Cas felt he didn’t belong here to heart.

Since they got back from the not-Yeti case Dean had been waking up to make Cas coffee, he’d convinced Cas that baking pies was an essential Christmas tradition which resulted in the two of them spending hours watching cooking shows together in an attempt to make the perfect pie, and Dean had even spent time helping Cas order a Christmas gift for Claire online. Just last night Dean had made apple cider for everyone and had been sitting awfully close to Cas while they watched Patrick Stewart in “A Christmas Carol” under the premise of sharing a blanket. Sam had spent the night wishing they would just kiss already because the sexual tension in the bunker was ridiculous, but he had honestly never seen Dean happier. Cas seemed confused but pleased by the change in Dean’s behavior and as a result had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his own Christmas plans.

However, with only 5 days left until Christmas, Sam had managed to kick Dean out of the bunker so he could focus on helping Cas with his spell. Dean had a lot of shopping to do anyway, and the stores were sure to be crowded enough to keep him out for hours. The streets were pretty snowy as well, and Dean couldn’t drive as fast as he normally would in the Impala because of it. Sam went looking for Cas in the library.

“Hey Cas, Dean will be gone for hours, do we have everything to try out this spell of yours?” Cas didn’t look up from the papers he was pouring over.

“I believe so. It should expand on my ability to astrally project my wings, but I’m uncertain it will actually result in physical manifestation perceivable to humans.”

“Okay, so obviously angels have wings, and you can project a shadow type image. You also said they can be used protectively to an extent – don’t they need to have some amount of physical presence in this plane for that to be possible?” Sam really did want to help Cas, but he was also geeking out a bit. How often did someone get the chance to learn this much about angels?

“Yes. Aspects of angel wings can retain physicality in certain circumstances as well. For example, a feather removed from our wings with purpose can retain enough of a, hm, echo of our grace to retain physicality. The purpose of this spell follows a similar principle. The difficulty is in maintaining it for a period of time without draining my grace too badly. It’s also strange because my wings are already altered when I’m in a vessel to be proportionate to the human body. They are only a reflection of my true form, so I’m attempting to alter and alteration.” Sam thought about that for a moment.

“Okay, so you’re saying whatever manifests, if anything, will be at least two steps away from your true form. Will that make them safe to see?” Cas nodded. “Okay. So, if this is mostly about you redirecting your grace, what is the spell for?”

“Two spells. One will make it easier for me to redirect my grace through my wings. When they were damaged by Metatron it became more difficult to make use of them. The second is specifically for Dean to give him temporary access to the astral plane, if he focuses on it. Gifted humans can do this anyway, and his temporary abilities will only work if I can meet him halfway.”

“Okay, so you said the second spell is one you already knew would work. You want to try the first one and see if it works?”

“Yes. Thank you for your assistance Sam.” Sam smiled at Cas brightly and got to work. Since they had already spent a day gathering ingredients, they just had to combine them and cast the spell. Sam did the actual spell work as Cas sat in a chair and tolerated the cold gunk being used to paint sigils on his back. Sam chanted in Enochian and for a moment it seemed like nothing had happened. Then there was a flash of blue light on Cas’ back and the sigils disappeared.

“Well, something happened. How do you feel Cas?” Cas started to shake and make pained noises. “Crap! Cas, are you okay?” Sam crouched down in front of his friend, not sure what to do. Cas held his hand out indicating that he needed a moment so Sam waited anxiously while the angel curled over his stomach breathing heavily. Slowly, Cas seemed to breath more normally until he finally sat up.

“I’m fine Sam. I believe it worked, my grace flowing through my wings unencumbered after so long was – painful. I have adjusted though.” Cas took a deep breath and Sam helped him stand. “I guess there’s nothing left but to try and see how much I can manifest them.” Cas looked around the library skeptically.

“What’s wrong, Cas?”

“This may not be the best location to experiment, my wings are rather large.”

“Okay, let’s try the roof. We’re in the middle of nowhere so it’s unlikely anyone will see you.” Cas agreed and proceeded to walk outside, still shirtless. Sam almost said something about it being cold and still snowing on and off, but then remembered it wouldn’t bother the angel anyway. Sam grabbed his coat and hat and followed Cas outside.

“Cas,” Sam started as they worked their way up to the roof, “Why did you want Dean to be able to see your wings as a Christmas present?” Cas glanced over his shoulder as he continued to walk in front of Sam.

“I guess… it’s about showing Dean something of my true self. Giving him a part of myself so he knows how much I value him.” Cas seemed to want to say something else but stopped short. Sam honestly thought the whole thing was stupid romantic, and while his brother wasn’t big into talking about feelings, he doubted even Dean could fail to react emotionally to Cas’ present.

“I’m sure he will appreciate it Cas. You make him better, you know. He’s cares for himself more when you’re here, I don’t worry about him as much.” They had made it to the roof and Cas turned around to look at Sam with a solemn expression.

“Thank you for telling me that Sam. I am happy for anything I can do for Dean, and you.” Cas was silent for a moment, gazing off into the distance, but he then seemed to recall where he was. With a small shake of his head, he returned to the task at hand. “Well, I suppose we should see how much the spell helped.” Sam stood back and watched Castiel close his eyes in concentration. He seemed to be struggling with something and then Sam felt a rush of energy sweep past him. He saw two massive shadowy wings unfurl behind the angel. They were gaps where Sam thought there should be feathers, but they were still extremely impressive.

“Wow, Cas. I can see them – well the projection at least.” Castiel curled his wings in front of him to examine them. He seemed mildly surprised by something. “Is there something wrong Cas?”

“No. Actually, they seem to be fuller. Allowing my grace to flow more easily into them seems to be healing them, that must be why they are painful.”

“That’s good, right? I thought angel wings couldn’t heal after Metatron expelled everyone though, would this spell work for other angels?” Cas shook his head.

“My wings weren’t damaged by the expulsion; they were harmed by Metatron using up part of my grace. I just hadn’t thought about why they hadn’t healed before. Even then, it’s doubtful the damage can be repaired enough to allow me to fly again, my grace is still less than it was and the power of Heaven is greatly diminished.” Regardless of Cas’ words Sam could tell his friend was pleased to see his wings in better shape.

“I’m happy for you Cas.” The angel took a few more moments to look over his shadowy wings before getting back to the business at hand.

“You said you only see the projection of my wings? Do you mind if I try something?”

“Go ahead.” Sam saw one of the giant wings sweep out and then back. Sam got a dusting of snow and a wave of chilly wind in his face. “Agh, cold!” Sam rubbed frantically at his face trying to get rid of the icy droplets.

“Sorry Sam. It appears that they do have some degree of physicality. Hopefully that will be enough for Dean to be able to touch them with the addition of the other spell.” Cas tipped one side of his mouth up in a half smile, obviously pleased that his idea was working out so far. Cas noticed Sam shivering. “We can go inside now, thank you for your help Sam.”

“You’re welcome but yeah, let’s get inside.”

***

By the time Dean arrived home that afternoon Sam had gone out on a grocery run. Dean found Cas scrolling through the news online after he had hidden the shopping bags in his room.

“Anything new?” Cas looked up at Dean as if the sun had come out after a storm. For a moment Dean just stared back, stunned more than usual by the angel’s fathomless blue eyes. He realized Cas was talking, but he hadn’t actually heard a word he said.

“Dean?”

“Sorry Cas, what was that?”

“I was just saying there isn’t anything new on the Lucifer front. No new cases either.”

“Okay. Do you want to do something then? Try another pie recipe? We still have peaches.” Cas’ smile widened. Now that Dean thought about it, he hadn’t ever seen Cas smile as much as he had been recently. Dean smiled back, happy that maybe his plan was working and Cas was beginning to feel more like he belonged here with them. With him, a small voice in the back of Dean’s mind insisted.

“Can we try the flat pie one we saw yesterday?”, Cas asked. Dean snorted.

“That’s not pie, more like a tart.” Cas rolled his eyes.

“Dean. They said it was peach pie.” Well, Dean wasn’t going to deny that the ingredients were similar, and if it made Cas happy, he was willing to call the sheet pan dessert pie. Dean threw up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay! Let’s go make not-pie, c’mon.” Dean grabbed Cas’ hand, allowing himself the brief contact with the angel. Dean was suspecting more and more that his feelings for Cas were only growing, but he was doubtful that angels could even fall in love. He’d just have to content himself with the time they spent together. He wanted Cas to be happier here on Earth, to feel like he was supposed to be here. Seeing Cas smile as they worked on slicing peaches together felt like the kind of peace that Dean hadn’t ever had, and had never thought possible.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to give you your Christmas present on Christmas Eve. Just us. I know it’s traditional to exchange gift on the actual day but -” Dean cut Cas off before he could continue.

“Whoa, Cas, it’s fine. I, uh, I’d actually like it to be just us when I give you your gift as well. So maybe Christmas Eve would work better anyway.” Dean carefully avoiding looking at Cas’ face as he could feel a blush creeping up his neck.

“Oh. Yes, that would be… agreeable.” Cas’ voice trailed off into a whisper and Dean risked a glance at the angel’s profile. Cas was also studiously avoiding looking at Dean and seemed to be nervous. Dean started to wonder if maybe, maybe he was wrong about angels. Maybe Cas felt something more for Dean as well. They continued their prep work in silence but the tension slowly dissipated as they fell into a friendly argument about how much butter they really needed (Dean was in favor of more). By the time Sam returned they were happily watching Rudolf, at Cas’ insistence, while waiting for the not-pie to cool off on the stove.

Whatever was going on between them, Dean was looking forward to Christmas Eve.

***

On the astral plane, Cas’ slowly healing wings curled lovingly around Dean. Cas sighed in contentment, wanting nothing more than to stay here with Dean for as long as possible. He was beginning to hope that, just maybe, Dean wanted the same thing.

***

@galaxycastiel, @jellydeans, @my-favourite-hellatus, @nguyenxtrang

#destiel december 2020 #destiel december #destiel fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #castiel #castiel with wings #dean winchester #deancas #sam winchester #christmas fic #spn

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midnightsvns · 4 years

Photo

Now I see daylight — a Twilight fanfic

summary: Edward spent his life so long in a ninety-year midnight. Now, all he sees is daylight. A short story about Nessie’s first prom. “How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.” words: 8,280.

AN: so. i was absolutely wrecked after reading the very sad note on which midnight sun ended. to lick my wounds, i wrote this fic, set 12 years after breaking dawn, on the day of nessie’s prom. 404 plot not found just fluff of edward & bella being happy with their now adult daughter. title/summary inspired by the t.s. song daylight. full text under the cut!

Bella and I walked with hands intertwined in the woods behind our house, on our way to the cottage a few miles away that served as our daughter Renesmee’s “room.” When she turned seven, we decided she deserved a space of her own, a space that was removed from her supernatural family who could hear every move she made even if she had a whole floor of the house to herself. It was not unlike the first cottage the three of us had lived in together, back in Forks, in the first year of Bella and I’s marriage. To me, those days seemed as close as yesterday—in reality, twelve years had passed like the blink of an eye. Our daughter was all grown-up now, about to graduate high school for the first time, and today was her very first prom.

We walked at human pace, enjoying the lights and the sounds of early morning in the forest. Before Bella, I would have hated moving at such a glacial pace, always wanting to reach my destination as fast as possible, never lingering under the sunlight long enough to contemplate the diamond-like sparkling of my marble skin. A constant reminder of my inhumanity. But now I relished having the chance to see my wife in the light of day. I knew that all the poets and philosophers who, for two thousand of years, had tried to define beauty, to describe it, had irrevocably failed—because none of them had been fortunate enough to witness Bella smiling and shining under the golden rays of sunlight. I squeezed her hand and chuckled to myself.

Bella, of course, noticed my jocularity. “What are you thinking about?” she wondered.

“I thought that was my line,” I replied, grinning at her. Bella easily controlled her gift now, raising and lowering her mental shields at will. Except in special moments of communication, her shields were always up. She could maintain shields around other people, too, granting peace for me and privacy for my family. The quiet that resulted inside my head was a balm; I could be thankful for it for a hundred years and it would not be enough.

She sighed, and her eyes were suddenly downcast. “Well, I’m glad one of us is cheerful enough to laugh today.” She stopped walking, let go of my hand, and sought shelter under the shadow of a large evergreen tree. I regretted seeing her move away from the sunshine.

Her mournful tone surprised me. “What’s wrong, love? You’ve been looking forward to Renesmee’s prom for weeks now.” It was all I heard the ladies at the house discussing as of late. Alice, our very own literal visionary, was making all their dresses, works of art that were sure to rival even the most revered of Paris’ haute couture scene. Rosalie was browsing our family’s sizable collection of jewelry—composed of heirlooms from our human lives and the very many anniversary gifts from over the decades—for the perfect sets of accessories that would go with Alice’s creations. Esme was renovating and redecorating the front room, the staircase, and the porch, in preparation for today’s sure-to-be endless photo opportunities.

Bella looked up at me, her golden eyes looking regretful. “I just… can’t help but be a little sad that she’s grown up so fast. She’s only twelve, Edward. I spent more time as a clumsy, awkward human child than I’ve spent as her mother,” Bella said, sighing again. “And now she’s graduating and going off to college for the first time? She’s not an adult! How are we even sure she’s fit to be by herself in the human world already? How is she gonna eat? How will she hunt? What if she needs us, or she gets hurt and Carlisle can’t get to her in time? She can’t just go to a human doctor!” Her voice got more and more agitated with every worry she voiced. “And what if she starts dating? And she doesn’t tell us because we’re not there?! She says she’s not interested in anyone romantically now, boys or otherwise, but it’s her first four years in college! She’s bound to catch the sights of some… some no-good jerk who—”

“Stop, Bella,” I said gently, interrupting her before she could spiral any further. I had to resist the urge to laugh at her tirade. It reminded me of the time I went on a very similar, equally anxious rant. Emmett had thought I was a crazy person, worrying about the myriad things that could wipe the human girl I loved out of existence. This time, though, these worries were much easier for me to assuage than when I was fretting over Bella’s mortality and her uncanny ability to attract danger.

I joined her under the cover of the tree and held her marble face in my hands. “Love, I understand wholly all of your anxieties. They’re mine, too. But we need to put a significant amount of trust and faith in our daughter if we want to stay sane during the next four years,” I said earnestly, cracking a little smile, and then started addressing Bella’s concerns one at a time.

“I’m also sad that it has been just twelve short years, and already, we have to let her go. And as much as we may not like it, she is an adult now. She has been for five years. I know she grew up too fast, but if that is the small sacrifice that makes the miracle of her existence possible, then so be it. And she’s had no problems being around humans since she started high school with us when she was eight. As for her eating habits, well, I am worried about the amount of junk food she’ll consume once she is left unsupervised. And she doesn’t need to hunt as frequently as we do…. Once, maybe twice, a month, she can come back here and any one of us would love to go hunting with her. She is also not so fragile that she would ever need the care of any other doctors than Carlisle, Rosalie, or me. As for her first romantic relationship, well... she’s smart, strong-willed. We have to trust that we have raised her well enough that she’ll be responsible, that she’ll know how to protect her heart, and that she’ll be comfortable enough to turn to us for any questions she might have. You are a good mother, Bella. You raised an amazing young woman.” She looked as though she was about to argue, but she said nothing. She must have lowered her shield because I heard her thoughts instead: We raised an amazing young woman. You, Carlisle, Esme, Rose, Alice, Emmett, and Jasper… Even Charlie, Sue, Jacob, and Seth. It really does take a village. Her smile was wry.

I shook my head and smiled back at her. She was still bad at taking compliments. “We just have to trust Ness, love. As much as I would never want to see her hurt, we have to let her make her own mistakes. To let her take risks. And we have to give her freedom while she still thinks it’s ours to grant. If she thinks she’s not ready for this yet, or becomes overwhelmed in any way, she knows she can come back home at any time. All we can do is be there for her, and as long as she knows she’s not alone in this, that she never has to carry the world on her shoulders because we’re supposed to carry part of it for her… She will be fine.”

I looked straight into my wife’s eyes, still holding her face, hoping I had eased her anxieties a little. She visibly relaxed, then placed her hands over mine.

“You know, I really hate it when you make sense,” Bella stated matter-of-factly, glaring at me and pouting a little. I laughed and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. Then I pulled her close to my side and led us back on the way to Renesmee’s cottage. If, thirteen years ago, anyone—even Alice—had told me that someday I would be trying to soothe Bella after a bout of anxiety instead of the other way around, I would have laughed in their face.

We made it to the cottage in companionable silence, and Bella’s mood seemed cheerier than before, back to being excited for the day’s events. She knocked on the door, calling for Nessie to wake up, but our daughter opened the door in a flash, greeting us with a chipper hello and a wave to indicate that we should let ourselves in.

“Good morning, Ness. You’re up early,” I commented. Not that our daughter was a late sleeper, but she was also not what one would call a morning person.

“I’m very well-rested, thank you,” she said, walking to the couch in the middle of the cottage’s main living area and plopping down onto it.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?” I asked, suspicious. Half-human, half-vampire hybrid though she was, Carlisle’s recommendation was still at least seven hours of sleep a night, and she often ignored it.

“Seven,” she replied too fast. I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, six. Maybe five total…” she grimaced, sheepish now. “I was reading books! And I finished a movie.” I was unhappy to hear it. We really didn’t have an exact number of how many hours of sleep she needed each night, but I was sure five wasn’t enough for anyone, human or otherwise. I shook my head and sat next to her on the couch.

The cottage was a cozy place, with a kitchenette in the main room, one bedroom and a small bathroom down a narrow hallway. The main area was where Nessie spent most of her time, a rectangular room with big windows that let in a generous amount of natural light. The wide wall in front of the couch served as the canvas for a mural of the turquoise sea and white-sand beach at Isle Esme, painted from memory by Bella and Renesmee. The three of us had spent two weeks there a couple of years ago to celebrate Nessie’s birthday and my tenth wedding anniversary with Bella. It was my favorite painting in the world.

On the eastern wall was a bay window, Renesmee’s favorite reading nook, flanked by two tall bookshelves. And in front of the couch was a low coffee table, cluttered with books, stacks of paper, journals, pens, paints and paintbrushes, canvasses, coffee mugs, and a laptop. I sighed. The organized chaos, as Ness often referred to it, reminded me much of her mother’s old room at the Swan residence. Bella started tidying up the table immediately, replacing books onto the shelves and rearranging the mess on the table. I turned my attention to the kitchenette’s dirty dishes and the haphazardly discarded clothes on the couch, shaking my head at the untidiness. She spent her days with us either at school or at the main house, and sometimes even slept there when she felt like it. How could one girl create so much disarray after one night?

“Mom, Dad, stop it, I’ll do that later…” Nessie admonished us halfheartedly, but we were done cleaning up before she finished speaking the sentence.

“Did you already have breakfast, honey?” Bella asked.

Ness nodded and grinned. “I had cereal and two Pop-Tarts.”

Wonderful. Clearly she knew how to make healthy choices. I almost wished for the time before she had outgrown her distaste for human food. At least on a diet of animal blood, we knew she was getting some nutrients.

Bella rolled her eyes, although I knew she wasn’t really annoyed. “Esme will make you eat some fruit at the house. Are you ready to go now? Alice wants to do a final fitting of your dress, just in case she needs to make any changes.”

“It’s too bad Aunt Alice can’t see me in her visions. She could just decide to make any changes and then know which ones are right,” Nessie mused, then shook her head and bounded up from the couch, walking quickly down the hallway and into her bedroom. She came out a second later, hands deftly fastening a necklace on the nape of her neck. It was the necklace Rosalie had given her as a present for her birthday last year, a thin platinum chain and an oval pendant with the family crest on it. We filed out of the cottage, and Bella locked the door behind her.

The three of us walked together, Nessie in the middle. I asked her what books she was reading last night that she had gotten so little sleep. Instead of communicating verbally, she held my hand and showed me.

I started seeing her memories from only a few hours ago, implanted into my mind as seamlessly as though they were my own. I saw her reading all seven books of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series and watching the first film adaptation. I saw how much she’d enjoyed them. Then, I saw her thoughts on the character Aslan, the wise talking lion and savior of Narnia. She admired him, his kindness and wisdom and compassion…. Suddenly, I saw my own face mixed in with images of the lion. She was trying to tell me the lion reminded her of me.

It shocked me. I’d enjoyed the world of Narnia at the time they were published and became widely popular in the 1950s, and even Bella had told me it was one of her favorite book series. As a lonely immortal, I’d always taken comfort in the fact that I had an Aslan-like figure in my life to look up to. My father, Carlisle. It never occurred to me to think that I could ever fill that role for someone else.

I must be doing something right, I marveled to myself. If Renesmee could liken me to someone who reminded me so much of Carlisle, then perhaps fatherhood wasn’t as lost on me as I had so often felt it was. It was like I was walking on a cloud, an invisible weight lifted off my shoulders. I wrapped my arm around Nessie as we walked, trying to let her know how much I appreciated the privilege of her sharing her thoughts with me. And then she surprised us by speaking in a serious tone.

She moved away from under my arm and moved a few paces ahead, turning around so she could face us. She walked backwards as she talked, her footing steady and sure. “Momma, Daddy, I don’t think I’ve thanked either of you yet… for allowing me to go and study on my own. I know you’ve always tried to let me have a normal childhood, to make sure I never missed out on anything. I love living with you guys. I love talking to Grandpa Carlisle about history and art. I love helping Grandma work on houses. I love shopping and appreciating fashion with Aunt Alice and Aunt Rose. I love playing chess with Uncle Jasper and Uncle Emmett. I love our piano lessons, Daddy, and our two-person exclusive book club, Momma. I love going back to Forks on holidays to visit Grandpa Charlie. I love our baseball games. But now I’m ready to experience the world for myself. I know it must be hard to let me go and that you’re scared for me. I’m scared, too….”

If my heart were still alive, it might have grown in size from the joy I felt. Renesmee rarely addressed us this way anymore. It was always Mom and Dad or Edward and Bella, if we were in public. It carried me back to the days when she was still just a little child. A rapidly growing, highly intelligent child, but still our little child. She was always so perceptive; it was as though she’d sensed the essence of the conversation Bella and I had had before we reached the cottage, and this sober declaration was her way of telling us she understood.

“You have nothing to thank us for, sweetheart,” I said quickly, at the same time that Bella hurried to ask Nessie what she was afraid of, concern in her voice.

Our daughter blew out a long breath. “I’m scared of living alone, of being completely responsible for myself. But I’m really excited about it, too, and most of the time the excitement overpowers any doubts I have. I’m certain I wanna do this, and don’t they always say that something isn’t worth doing if you’re not at least a little bit afraid?” she asked, her smile reaching her deep brown eyes.

Bella paused and left my side to grasp our daughter by the shoulders. “All we want, Nessie, all we will ever want, is your happiness. And we want you to find out what that means for you on your own terms. If you decide tomorrow that you’d be happy never going to college at all, none of us will argue with your decision. But I can see how sure you are about going. I can’t promise you that I won’t be worried sick and that I won’t be calling you multiple times a day until you’re very, very annoyed with me… But I know you can take care of yourself now, and I can’t wait to see what you do next, baby.” Bella’s lovely voice sounded assured, no trace of the anxiety she’d confided in me just moments earlier. This was what I meant whenever I told Bella she was a good mother, and seeing her in action never failed to earn my awe.

“Thank you, Momma,” Renesmee said sincerely, circling her arms around Bella, and Bella hugged her back. “And I promise I will never be annoyed by your calls, even if you call a hundred times a day,” she said, grinning. “I won’t ignore yours, either, Daddy.”

This made me and Bella laugh. Of course Nessie would make time to take her crazy parents’ calls. No one was sweeter than our daughter.

Their hug ended, and we kept walking. Suddenly there was a glint of mischief in Renesmee’s eyes, and then she touched my arm and Bella’s to tell us we were being challenged to a race. Before the thought was even fully communicated she had already taken off running to the house. I shook my head and chuckled as we hurried after her. She couldn’t quite run as fast as vampires, but the head start might be enough to guarantee her win.

When we reached the house, my brothers were waiting outside for us to arrive. They both had cameras in hand—Jasper a professional digital SLR and Emmett a Polaroid instant camera. With Bella around, I couldn’t hear their minds, so I raised an eyebrow at the both of them in question. What were they up to now?

“Nessie’s already in the house, you rusty old slowpokes,” Emmett said in greeting, mocking me and Bella. But mostly me. “And to think you used to be the fastest, Edward. What a fall from grace. Let me take a picture of this really embarrassing moment for you real quick.” He positioned the instant camera near my face and pressed a button, and it started whirring as it printed out the picture. He grinned and deposited it into a large red handbag, presumably Rosalie’s, that he had slung over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes at my brother and asked what they were doing with the cameras instead of responding to Emmett’s attempts at vexing me. It was Jasper who answered. “We’re having a photography competition. Whoever contributes the most shots for Esme’s photo albums will win. She’s planning to keep one for us and one to send to Forks for Charlie, so we’ll need a lot of pictures.”

“Yeah, and the winner—who will definitely be me—gets to skip the bake sale that Esme is going to for some hospital fundraiser,” Emmett explained with an arrogant smile. I rolled my eyes again. Of course my brothers had found a way to turn this day into some kind of contest.

“Doesn’t the Polaroid give you a pretty significant disadvantage, Em?” I pointed out, wondering how much film he was lugging around in Rose’s handbag.

“Just because it’ll be more challenging doesn’t mean I can’t still win,” he replied, shrugging. “The pictures I take will be better. Plus, the easy way is overrated, don’t you think?”

Jasper shook his head at Emmett’s smugness, then told me and Bella to pose for a picture. I turned to Bella and she turned to me, and I held both of her hands. I smiled adoringly down at her as she stared back up at me with her deep, amber eyes. We weren’t looking at the cameras, but I heard the workings of the two small devices as my brothers captured the moment.

“Aww, you two are disgusting,” Emmett chuckled as Jasper showed the photograph to all of us on the camera’s tiny screen. “Esme’s going to love that one.” The Polaroid Emmett had taken was still developing, and he shoved it inside the red bag with all the others. Then they went inside to find better subjects for their contest.

Bella and I made our way inside as well. The house was alive with the whole family looking forward to tonight’s events. I heard Alice, Rosalie, and Nessie in Alice’s room, chattering and working away on their gowns. I heard Esme in the kitchen, making breakfast for Renesmee or perhaps practicing some recipes for the upcoming bake sale. I heard Jasper and Emmett running around everyone like a couple of paparazzi, taking pictures left and right. Only Carlisle was absent, hard at work at the hospital, but he’d be back in time to see us all off to prom tonight. Bella kissed my cheek in farewell before joining Nessie with her aunts upstairs.

I gravitated towards the piano, as I often did. I scanned the perfect mental repository of all the music I knew, trying out a few bars from different pieces—some my own compositions and some written by better musicians than I—but none of them spoke to me…. Until one did. I sat down and began playing the first notes of “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity” from Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets. It was a piece that sounded abundantly better when played by a full orchestra, but I enjoyed it regardless. My hands glided quickly across the piano keys to produce the quick, jaunty chords of the exposition. Then the development came in ritardando, varying from the cheery main theme to take a strangely calm, nostalgic turn. Although it evoked feelings of nostalgia, it wasn’t sad. Only pensive about a time already past. The piece concluded a tempo, returning to the happy and powerful main theme. I didn’t realize how much the song reflected my mood until I was already finished playing it.

Knowing her thoughts were protected by Bella’s shield, Esme offered me her kind compliments out loud from the kitchen. “That was wonderful, Edward,” she gushed. “I have always been so fond of that piece. Please play some more, darling.” I murmured a thanks, then obliged my mother and started playing her favorite, the very song I had played for Bella the first time I brought her home to meet my family. Even though the memory was tainted by the agony and danger of the events that followed, I still looked back on it with some joy. That was the night Bella became a part of our family.

The day went on that way, calm and peaceful, everyone busy with their respective tasks. Nessie came down to join me once in the afternoon and let me hear a new composition she was working on. It was her best yet, and I told her as much. Bella came downstairs as well, listening to me play and rereading Persuasion by Jane Austen while she sat beside me on the piano bench.

Before long, it was time for us to get dressed and ready for the prom. I quickly changed into my dark brown suit. The color had been my only stipulation, the rest decided by Alice’s keen sense of fashion. Since that overcast Thursday morning—the day that had been my turn to ask questions—my favorite color had never wavered from brown. The chocolate-brown color of Bella’s human eyes was not just preserved fondly in my memories, but alive forever in Nessie, and it was beyond the bounds of possibility for me to separate such a color from the meaning of all my happiness.

After I was dressed, I tried to peek into Alice’s room to see if they were ready to go, but Alice, annoying as ever, blocked my entrance and told me to wait with Esme and Carlisle downstairs. I rolled my eyes but followed her instructions. Arguing with Alice was almost never worth it.

Carlisle was just arriving home from work right as I was coming down the stairs, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Why, you look great, Edward,” he praised, setting his medical bag down on a table in the foyer. I thanked him humbly. He reached up and loosened his tie, likely more out of habit than out of a need to be more comfortable. It struck me as a very fatherly thing to do. Esme came out of the front room, greeting Carlisle with a bright smile and a quick kiss. “You’re home just in time, dear. I think the girls are almost done helping Nessie get ready.”

I snorted. At this rate, we were never going to leave the house in time. “Alice, we’ll be late!” I shouted in the direction of the stairs, knowing she could hear me perfectly.

“No, we won’t!” Alice chimed back confidently. I sighed.

Jasper and Emmett were already in their tuxedos and bounded quickly down the stairs, cameras still in hand. Rosalie was the one who joined us next, looking devastating in a burgundy mermaid dress. Emmett looked like he was about to combust. Jasper smirked at our brother’s dumbstruck expression, snapping a few pictures.

Then it was my turn to be dumbstruck as Bella started down the stairs, moving at full speed to be at my side in an instant. “Alice wouldn’t let me see Ness wearing her dress yet,” she complained, but all my attention was on her at that moment. She looked positively incredible wearing a knee-length, square-necked light azure dress, held up by thin straps with flutter sleeves and inset with a thousand little rhinestones that looked like stars. My wife could have been Selene herself, come down from the moon. I ran my fingers gently through Bella’s long, straight brown locks and pressed my palm to her cheek. And for the nth time in so many years, I was glad for the deal I’d made with Bella on our first wedding anniversary. “You look beautiful, love. Absolutely arresting,” I said honestly.

“I know,” Bella said, beaming up at me, and I laughed happily. This was our deal: whenever I told her the indisputable truth about how beautiful she looked, all she had to say in response was that she knew. In exchange, I was forbidden from spending money on gifts for her for exactly five years, and five years was such a short time for creatures such as we that the zero-gifts rule felt like it was lifted immediately. I circumvented the moratorium, anyway, by getting gifts that were for both Bella and Nessie, or both Bella and Esme…. It may not have been the fairest of contracts, but my intentions were of the purest kind. I leaned down and pulled my beautiful goddess of a wife into a deep kiss, and I felt her wide smile as her arms wrapped around my neck. We only broke away from each other when we heard Alice skipping down the stairs, dressed in a white two-piece cocktail dress that made her look like a mischievous fairy.

“Get ready, everyone!” Alice squealed, clapping her hands in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see your reactions, I know you’ll all just die.”

My sister was right. Renesmee—our only daughter, the greatest joy of our lives—stood at the top of the stairs in a gorgeous, peach pink off-shoulder gown decorated with the same little rhinestones that were on her mother’s dress and delicate leaf-patterned lace appliques, and she was a sight to die for. As she walked slowly down the stairs, one hand on the banister, Emmett and Jasper took pictures fervently, documenting the entire moment. I saw Bella press her hand to her chest, eyes soft and adoring.

“Well, how do I look?” Nessie asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs, a half-smile on her face. Her soft bronze hair fell in long, spiral waves down her shoulders, and on her neck, she still wore the necklace she’d put on this morning. She spun around in a circle, indulging the attention we lavished on her, understanding that today would not have been such a significant event for us if not for her. Esme made me, Bella, and Nessie pose for pictures by the staircase, then on the couch in the front room, and then outside on the porch. After Esme was satisfied with the pictures of the three of us, Jasper and Emmett set up a tripod and took a photo with all nine of us in the front room, our latest family portrait. When the photoshoot was done, we all filed into our vehicles to make our way to school. Bella and Nessie rode with me in the Volvo, and my siblings rode in Rosalie’s M3.

We made it to the high school just in time, and even from the car, I could already hear the booming electronic dance music and the excited prattle of hundreds of human children crowded around in the school gym. I prepared myself for the barrage of human thoughts I would have to hear tonight; the only people Bella would shield here were our family. Although Bella could shield a roomful of people from me easily, I still needed to be on the lookout for any suspicious minds when we were in public like this. The three of us met the rest of my siblings at the doors to the gym and joined the throng of high schoolers, looking like they were having the time of their lives. Little did they know how many lethal supernatural creatures had just descended upon this party. If they knew, maybe they wouldn’t be so happy.

“Are you ready for your first—but definitely not last—prom, Carlie?” Emmett asked my daughter, grinning. Nessie went by her middle name at school to be less conspicuous. At first, Bella was greatly displeased by the necessity of this precaution, but she couldn’t deny the rationale. We stood out more than enough being newcomers in a small town like this one, with our sheer number, our wealth, our beauty, and our semi-frequent ‘family trips’ to avoid the sun.

“Time to dance the night away!” Nessie said, grinning back at her uncle. She bounded away from us to meet a couple of her classmates, two girls who reminded me of Bella’s human friends, not physically, but in their manner and thoughts. Ness didn’t have many friends, and we had started to worry that her only interaction with other living beings was isolated to her family, but she rarely found her human classmates interesting, and when she did, it was because she genuinely had something in common with them.

The girl who was like Jessica, a brown-haired girl named Lindsay, shouted over the loud music at Nessie in greeting. “Oh my God, look how gorgeous you are!” Jesus, she looks like she belongs in some runway show right now. I wonder what designer this dress is by? Probably cost a million bucks…. I kind of hate her. Lindsay’s thoughts were petty and vitriolic, and I resisted the urge to march over there and shield my daughter from the bitter girl. That would have done more harm than good, so I settled for rolling my eyes and whispering in my wife’s ear about the girl’s thoughts. It was gossipy and ungentlemanly, but I had to share the burden of being powerless to protect Nessie from a fake friend.

“Oh, that girl is in my English class,” Bella said, looking unsurprised. “I knew she was mean, but I liked her Shakespeare essays. Nessie thinks she’s smart.” I scoffed and tuned in to the other girl’s thoughts—Annie, a girl with short, pink-dyed hair who made me think of Angela. She greeted Nessie with a hug, and thought, Wow, she looks like a princess. I should ask her to take a selfie with me! My mom will be super bummed if I don’t take a lot of pics tonight…. Annie pulled out a smartphone, and the three girls smiled as the little device flashed and snapped their ‘selfies.’ And then they ran to the dance floor together, jumping and laughing to the music.

I stayed with Bella in a darkened corner, and we watched Renesmee enjoying herself. Occasionally, one of my siblings would pull us away and make us dance to the upbeat music, but neither of us were particularly fond of the DJ’s infernal choices. The DJ, a baby-faced young boy called Drew who had Spanish class with me, exclusively played EDM and bastardized remix versions of classic love songs. By the ninth EDM song in a row, I finally put my proverbial foot down and crashed the DJ booth on stage to bribe him with a fifty dollar bill so he would play a song of my choosing. The boy was astonished and could barely say anything back to me, but as I walked through the crowd to reach Bella again, Johnny Ace’s “Pledging My Love” started blaring through the loudspeakers. I took Bella’s hand as we walked to the middle of the dance floor, and once we were there, I pulled her close to me and led us in a slow, intimate dance.

“This is the most romantic song I know,” Bella whispered, her head resting on my chest as we swayed slowly in a circle.

I chuckled. “Once upon a time, in a very old and decrepit truck, this song came on the radio and provided an apt soundtrack for the most romantic day of my life. Do you still remember that?”

Bella lifted her head from my chest and looked up at me, her eyebrows knitted together playfully. “My God, thirteen years and you’re still hating on the truck? I think you’ve got some issues to sort out there, honey,” she said, her beautiful lips turned up in a smirk. Then her face became more earnest. “But of course I remember. That was one of the best days of my life, too.”

Her amber eyes looked so full of love, so full of sincerity, that I felt like falling to my knees. As a mature vampire, more than a decade after her transformation, she should have no more than a few blurry recollections of her human life. But Bella felt so strongly about me, about the memories we’d made, that she vehemently held on to our past, even as each day, each minute, and each second brought us further away from it. I kissed her, always trying to let her know how precious she was to me. The song was nearly over, and I sighed. I could have stayed there dancing with her forever and never need anything more.

“Smile, please!” I heard Renesmee say, Emmett’s Polaroid camera in her hand. She snapped a photo of us. Then she turned the camera around, sandwiched herself between her mother and I, stuck her tongue out goofily, and pressed the button on the camera to take a picture again. Bella laughed.

“Where did your friends go?” Bella asked. “I was starting to think you guys would never get tired of dancing together.”

“Oh, they went back to their dates,” Nessie said nonchalantly. “So I decided to annoy Uncle Em by taking his camera.” A folky, lullaby-like acoustic song was now playing through the speakers.

“Oh—I love this song so much!” Nessie gasped. “Please dance with me, Dad?” She whispered the last word to keep any humans from hearing.

How could I refuse her? “Of course, sweetheart.”

Bella smiled and took the camera and the Polaroids from Nessie, saying something about finding Emmett and his big red bag. I led my daughter in a slow dance around the crowd, her hands resting on my shoulders.

“You and Mom looked amazing dancing together like that,” Nessie said casually, but by the look on her face, I could feel how serious the conversation was going to be. “I know the story, Dad. I know everything you went through before you could get here. And I am so happy that it worked out for you. Seeing how much you love Momma, how much she loves you… it makes me never wanna settle for anything less than that.”

My brows furrowed. “Is that why you said no to the boys who asked you to be their date tonight? Because you don’t love any of them?”

We kept swaying to the music, and Nessie chuckled. “Kind of. It’s true I said no because I don’t feel a connection to any of them, but also because I didn’t want tonight to be about some stranger hanging out around our family. I wanted it to just be us, so we could be ourselves.”

My heart swelled. Nessie always thought of our family first. That wasn’t her responsibility, and we would’ve been all too happy to pretend to be human and normal for any prom date of her choice, but she thought of us first. She was so like her mother in some ways.

“What did you mean, then? About never settling for anything less?” I asked. Something about the way she’d said it worried me, made me feel as though there were insecurities underneath her positive tone that needed to be addressed.

She took a deep breath. “I just… I realized that real love like I’ve seen with you and Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Em and Aunt Rose, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Alice… it’s rare and it’s wonderful. And I think I would prefer waiting for a love where I could feel everything there is to feel rather than try to force something with anyone I’m not sure about. And I realize I could be waiting forever if I keep waiting for something perfect, but that’s the point, isn’t it? And I can’t imagine how I would ever find something like that. And that’s all right, I think.”

Renesmee’s words were full of conviction, and I started thinking about how, someday, the day would come when we would be dancing just like this—I would be in a tuxedo and she would be in a big white dress—at her wedding, for the father-daughter dance. Like her, I could not imagine yet the person she would marry, but I saw our family there. I saw Charlie desperately trying to ignore how our faces still remained unchanged. I saw Jacob, whom Renesmee considered her best friend, taking a break from managing his own auto repair shop to be there as her best man. It would be the happiest day of her life, just as how my wedding had been one of the happiest days of mine, and it saddened me that she couldn’t see herself finding that happiness one day. But I understood Nessie’s conclusions—or maybe more accurately, her fears—about not finding love. When I was still alone, I’d come to similar conclusions that the kind of happiness I saw in my family was simply not meant for me. Even when I’d found Bella, I always chose the saddest path, never daring to hope that I could have happiness with her forever.

“I admire your position about refusing to settle, Ness, because you deserve only the best. And I was just like you once. Before I found your mother, I never saw the point in pursuing relationships that I knew weren’t going to be meaningful. But you shouldn’t let yourself believe that you won’t find what you’re looking for.” I brushed a stray lock of curly bronze hair behind Nessie’s ear, hoping she could hear the honesty in what I was saying. “You know that for our kind, waiting through decades of being alone before finding who you’re meant for is more common than finding that right away….So please, don’t be so resigned. You are entirely too young to resign yourself to an eternity of being alone. It will work out, somehow,” I finished, echoing Esme’s confident words to Bella long ago when our relationship was at its very beginning.

Renesmee nodded, and I hoped my reassurances had lifted a little of the weight off her shoulders. I didn’t need to have Jasper’s gift for empathy to know that existing in both our world and the human world, not quite belonging in either, was a difficult thing to process. I didn’t know what the future held for my daughter—none of us did—but I looked forward to it with the same optimism my own parents had always had for me.

The acoustic ballad we were dancing to ended softly, and I escorted her away from the dance floor so we could rejoin our family.

“My feet kind of hurt,” Nessie complained as we found Bella sitting beside Rosalie on some folding chairs, but a smile was still bright on her face. She was having such fun tonight.

“Do you want to go home, baby?” Bella asked as Nessie dragged over another chair to sit down between Bella and Rose. Nessie rested her head on Rose’s shoulder, and Rose circled her arm around Nessie in a one-armed hug. “You’ve been dancing all night, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yeah, I think I wanna go home,” Ness said, sounding a little sleepy.

Suddenly, Lindsay and Annie appeared out of the crowd as an upbeat pop song started playing. “Carlie, come dance with us!” one of the human girls said.

Nessie perked up. “Wait, I love this song! Just one last!” she said enthusiastically, heading back to the dance floor with her friends. I shook my head, amazed at her energy. I sat down on the seat that Nessie had just vacated.

“We’re still a go for tomorrow, right, Rose?” I asked Rose discreetly. If the weather was safe enough for us to be out, we were going into the city tomorrow so Rose could help me pick out Nessie’s very first car. She learned how to drive when she was seven but always used the cars that belonged to the rest of the family. Now that she was going to college, she needed a vehicle to be able to get around on her own. Bella was coming with us, too, to be the voice of reason. Apparently, Rose was just as likely as I was to pick a car that Bella would deem—and this was her word—‘overkill.’ Rose only nodded in response, but I saw the corners of her mouth turn up a little.

We all watched as Nessie danced to one last song with her friends, and I could pick her lovely voice out of the babble of other noise as she sang along. “There’s a mountaintop that I’m dreamin’ of…. If you need me, you know where I’ll be!”

“She’ll call us constantly once she’s in college, right?” Bella asked me in an emotional whisper, looking at our daughter jumping up and down and singing with her friends. Since she became a vampire, I rarely thought of my wife as vulnerable anymore, but she looked vulnerable now. If our bodies were still capable of shedding tears, I wondered if she would be crying. Honestly, I realized I wanted to cry as well. Renesmee was ready to create her own life, and she needed us less and less every day. Years ago, I’d thought loving Bella was the greatest accomplishment of my life, the only good thing I would ever do. I’d thought that, after a hundred years of emptiness, loving Bella as thoroughly and as completely as I did was the strongest feeling I would ever experience. But Nessie—she proved those assumptions wrong, time and again. It was an honor to have raised her, and I knew Bella felt the same.

I held Bella’s hand and kissed her temple. “I’m sure she will, love. I’m sure she will.”

After a few moments, the song was over, and Nessie was saying her goodbyes to her friends. When she had made her way back to us, she cried, “My feet are killing me! Please never let me dance all night in heels ever again.”

Bella let out a short laugh. “It’s fine, baby. You can take off your shoes and your dad will carry you to the car.”

“Oh, bless!” she exclaimed. Bella laughed again. Nessie pulled off her heels, which Bella promptly carried for her, and our daughter let me lift her up in my arms. As we walked, Bella wrapped her arm around my waist. I glanced up at the night sky and saw the pale moon untrammeled by the usual gray clouds, bathing the high school parking lot in its ghostly light. It conjured up memories of a similar evening. Another prom night—Bella’s very first. I’d carried her in my arms just like this, and I remembered how desperate I’d been, how important it was for me that she did not miss her prom, in case her future children ever asked about it. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t have an empty story for them because of me. And here we were, thirteen years later, with the miracle of our own child in my arms, Bella’s arm around me. Not even the sweetest of my dreams could compare to the reality we lived in now. I stared at Bella’s face, wondering if her thoughts had taken the same turn mine had. She pressed a hand to her throat, remembering how I’d kissed her there that night. We shared a secret smile.

When we reached the car, Bella opened the door to the backseat, and I sat Ness gently down in the middle, making sure her limbs were in comfortable positions. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered, looking seconds away from succumbing to sleep. Bella got in beside her, and I sat in the driver’s seat to take us back home.

At moments like this, I still struggled to believe how I could have been given so much happiness, so much unadulterated joy that went beyond the ambit of anything I had ever dared to dream of for myself.

It felt like a reward I didn’t deserve. Maybe it was futile, looking for reasons when I knew I would get no answers. But in all my musings, the only conclusion I came to that made any kind of sense was that… it was because of Bella.

Because of Bella and her goodness, that rare kindness I saw only in her—she was why I was allowed all this happiness. And I was just the fool lucky enough to be in the range of her shining sun. Lucky enough to love her and be loved by her.

How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.

I looked back at them again, Nessie now sleeping soundly on Bella’s lap, and Bella absentmindedly twining her fingers through the mess of bronze curls fanned out on the soft fabric of her dress. “She’s dreaming,” Bella whispered. I could see Nessie’s hand on Bella’s arm, inadvertently letting Bella see the pictures she was swimming through in the land of her dreams.

I was sure that no words in any of the languages I knew could ever sufficiently reveal the feelings of peace and contentment that I felt, staring at them, the two halves of my heart, at ease in the backseat.

Bella caught me looking then, her golden eyes piercing through mine in the rearview mirror. She smiled, lowered her shields, and allowed me to hear one thought: I love you.

“I love you, too, Bella,” I whispered. I willed the past and the future that stretched out infinitely before us to give those words weight, seeming too simple and inadequate to convey the depth of what I felt.

No, I didn’t have the words that could tell Bella how grateful I was for her. For Renesmee. For our family. Perhaps I never would…. But that was fine. I had the rest of forever to try and find the words. Forever and forever and forever. I smiled and felt lighter than if my heart were not made of stone, and sped up the car to take us faster towards home.

#writing #twilight fanfiction #kellythepitiablefangirl #thethoughtsofafangirl #edwardsmidnight #magicandmyth #mafitheedwardhoe #← thanks once again to my friends for prereading this and giving me feedback u guys are the bestest #midnight sun still has me very 🥺🥺🥺 and this entire fic was just an exercise in reminding myself that e/b are living their best lives now

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

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Potential Lead (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two - You Might Be Right

Previous Chapter < - > Next Chapter

Summary: After a four am call with Spencer, Lex rushes into the local police station to help him out with the case.

Warnings: Descriptions of graphic violence!!, swearing, mentions of the Tobias Hankel case (season two), and brief mentions of psychotic breaks and mental instability

Word Count: 3433

A/N: Here’s a link to the crime scene diagram that I drew up! (CW: More descriptions of violence, as well as a visual depiction of a map of a crime scene - no actual blood or gore, just red pen and a house floor-plan). On the side I wrote out some further information on cause of death that wasn’t mentioned in the chapter.

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I planned to call Dr. Spencer Reid in the morning to get an update on the case. He said they were speaking with Brian, and I was far too invested in what that scumbag had to say for himself.

What I hadn’t planned for, though, was to receive a call from the very same Dr. Spencer Reid, around four in the morning.

“Lex? Are you up?”

“What the fuck - Dr. Reid? What time is it?”

“Like four or something, I don’t know; listen, I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you might be right.”

“As much as I love to hear that, I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

“Right about Brian, about your sister, the murder, all of it. I think you might be right.”

“Well shit.” I was fully awake now, sitting up in my bed as I’m sure he paced in front of a whiteboard somewhere downtown.

“Can you come in? Like, to the police station.”

“Now? Dr. Reid, you are aware that it’s four in the morning?”

“Lex, please just call me Spencer. And I know, I know and I’m sorry, but you’re our best lead on this so far. You saw what your sister’s marriage did to the both of you, and you know what you’re talking about. Like I said, I think you’re right. But we need to prove it.”

“What does the rest of your team think about this?” As much as I was already dying to jump back into this mystery, I really didn’t want the wrath of the FBI on my ass.

“They’re at the hotel right now, I couldn’t sleep - I’ll explain everything to them in the morning, but right now I need your help.”

“Spencer… why is this so urgent? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We had to let Brian go.”

“What? That douchebag killed someone and you let him leave?”

“We didn’t have any cause to keep him in holding! We have to let people go after 24 hours -”

“I know how the criminal justice system works, Spencer. Do you think there’s a chance he’ll kill again?”

“I - there’s a chance. Based on some stuff we found at the crime scene -”

That was all I needed to hear. If there was a chance this asshole could kill someone else, I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. “Fucking hell - I’m on my way.”

As much as my exhausted body protested, I practically jumped out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt and some jean shorts before grabbing a jacket and gym shoes and heading out to my car. It was pitch black outside, the streets of Tallahassee surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. The hot air hit me the second I left my building, and I internally groaned, speeding up my walk to my car so I could reach the safety of the air conditioning.

I sped out of the parking lot, air conditioning cranked despite the lack of sunlight outside. There was a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should’ve spent more time on this outfit, or put on a bit of makeup, but I pushed it away, filling my head with thoughts of the case instead. Spencer wouldn’t care if I looked a little bedraggled.

Not that I cared what Spencer thought, of course.

The police station was about twenty minutes from my apartment complex, but I got there in fifteen, swinging into the parking lot and shutting off my car before making my way to the front door. I considered knocking, but I wasn’t sure who else was working this late. So I opted to text Spencer instead.

I still had his number from when he called me earlier, and I shot him a quick text to let him know I was here. No less than a minute later, he was at the front door, opening it up to allow me inside.

“Hey - I’m sorry about this, I really shouldn’t have called you so late. Honestly, if you want to go home, I’d understand; I don’t know what I was thinking, there’s no reason to make you -”

“Spencer. You didn’t ‘make me’ do anything. Trust me, if I didn’t want to help, I would’ve told you as much. I’m not one for secrets.”

He smiled a bit, and I offered him a reassuring one back. “Well, I’m still sorry,” He said, “But the case information is all in here. Follow me.”

He led me back through the main hallway that Penelope Garcia had walked me down yesterday, but instead of turning right at the fork to go to the interrogation rooms, he went left, leading me to a series of empty conference rooms. One of them had multiple large rolling whiteboards up against the farthest wall, most of which were covered in pictures and writing. That was the room that he walked towards, before he turned and blocked me from getting through the doorway.

“Ok. So, I know that you know your sister is dead. And I know you know she was most likely murdered by her husband. But… you haven’t seen the crime scene. You haven’t seen exactly why we were called in. We don’t just get called in for regular homicides. There has to be a specific behavioral element, something that would make the local police believe they’d have more luck solving the case if they had a profile on the killer.”

I knew a bit about criminal justice, and behavioral science, from a couple classes I took my senior year of college. But I didn’t know much about the BAU, and the dead serious look on Spencer’s face was making me uneasy.

“So what you’re saying is… this isn’t gonna be pretty.”

“In layman’s terms, yes, this isn’t gonna be pretty. So I want to make absolutely sure that you want to help, that you’re ok with seeing stuff like that. That you’re ok with seeing your sister like that.”

Yes, I fucking hated my sister. But I was still hesitant to enter that room. Spencer could tell, because he followed up with.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, if you’d rather not have those images in your head, you can go home right now and forget I ever called you in here. We’ll update you on the results of the case, and you don’t have to be involved. It’s up to you.”

I shook my head. As hesitant as I was, there was no way I could leave now. I was far too invested. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? 100%?”

“Yes, Spencer. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok.” He nodded, turning around and heading into the room, making a beeline for the boards. I followed him, trying to figure out what could possibly be so bad that he would need to give me that kind of warning.

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty tough person. There wasn’t a lot that could phase me, I generally took a ‘go with the flow,’ nonchalant approach to life. But when I saw the crime scene pictures stuck to that board, I felt my face pale.

“Holy… fuck - you really think Brian is capable of this? I mean, he’s a dick, and I can fully believe he’s capable of murder, but… god -”

The pictures in front of me depicted a brutal scene… honestly, I’d never seen anything like it. They centered around one image: my sister, dead, on the kitchen floor. Her body was slumped up against the island, blood pooling around her. The other pictures also showed most of the blood spattered on the lower cabinets across from her body, but it was still pretty much everywhere around her. She appeared to have been stabbed multiple times, and yet, despite all the blood, there wasn’t a single fingerprint, footprint, hair - nothing that could point to the murderer. Nothing that I could see in the pictures, at least. I felt my heart start to pick up as I studied the scene, and I turned away, steadying my breathing and trying to fight back unexpected tears that pricked the corners of my eyes. When I glanced over at Spencer though, he wasn’t even looking at me. He was reading a file in front of him, responding to my question as he read.

“Well, I know that our prevailing theory is that he killed her in a fit of rage. But based on the overkill at the crime scene, I feel like something inside him might’ve snapped when he committed the murder.”

I regained control of my breathing enough to ask, “Like, a psychotic break?”

“Something like that, yeah. Which is why I’m so concerned. With this level of brutality, there’s a high probability that he’s already mentally devolving, and he could potentially go on to target other women who haven’t been able to follow through with their pregnancies.” He put the file down and finally turned to look at me, noticing my expression as I steadied myself on one of the conference table chairs.

“Lex, are you ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s just more gruesome than I expected it to be. I’ll be ok,” I insisted when his face fell, “It just caught me off guard.”

“I know, that’s why I warned you - are you sure you’re alright? Do you want… a hug? Or water, or something? I don’t know -”

I smiled a bit, my heart warming against my will at his concern. But my mind quickly dipped back into a territory that was a familiar distraction, and I smirked.

“As much as I’d love your hands on my body, I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer another time.”

He blushed, and I laughed, taking in a deep breath before returning my attention to the pictures on the board.

“Ok. So, what all do I need to know? Like, what’s going on here? Because from what I can tell, she was stabbed, and this guy - assuming it’s Brian, of course - fucking knows what he’s doing. No fingerprints, footprints, anything?”

“Nothing. The CSI team searched the entire house. The only noteworthy thing that we found were trace amounts of the victim - Sarah, sorry - her blood in the bathroom sink, in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen. But there’s nothing at the crime scene that can directly connect the crime to anyone specific.”

“So how the hell are we going to prove it’s him?”

“Well, we always try to come into every case with no suspects in mind, so that it doesn’t impact our profile at all. Brian was the police’s prime suspect, he has been since the beginning - the husband almost always is, in these scenarios, unless they have a really good alibi - and I think he looks good for it now, but we didn’t know that when writing this.”

He handed me the file he’d been reading, open to a page that was a written account of their original profile.

“This is where I feel like you can help us most; I mean, you met Brian, didn’t you? Like, you attended their wedding, at the very least?”

“I met him a grand total of one time, at the wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding party, but I met him when I was talking to Sarah. He pretty much avoided me the whole time, which in retrospect, should’ve been a red flag, but I guess I didn’t really notice. When I did talk to him though, he was really rude. Like, he’d give me curt, one word answers, and then directly after disengaging from conversation with me, he’d turn around and start whispering to some of his buddies that were in the wedding party - the best man and all that shit - and gestured towards me. I still have no idea what he was saying, honestly.”

“Perfect - I mean, not perfect that he treated you like that, of course, that’s awful, and I’m sorry; I said ‘perfect’ because it means you can confirm that he matches up with the profile behaviorally. My mind kind of jumped ahead -”

“Spence, calm down. I understood what you meant.”

I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck at the accidental nickname, and I saw the same thing happen to him as we both came to an unspoken agreement to ignore it.

“Right. Ok. Um, anyway, would you mind reading over the profile and seeing if you think it sounds like a good description of him? Since you have the most experience with him outside of an interrogation room.”

I agreed, turning my direction to the profile I had in my hands.

The unsub is most likely male, and based on the overkill at the crime scene, most likely someone with a personal connection to the victim. Based on the disorganized nature of the kill, he is probably younger - late teens to early twenties - and has probably never killed before. However, there is a high probability that he is someone with deep rooted anger issues, and that may have caused him some problems in his life before this. He may have a history of issues at work or school from lashing out over small frustrations, and it’s most likely gotten him in trouble throughout his lifetime. Sarah was small, so it wouldn’t be hard to overpower her, but based on the blood spatter patterns, we do know that the unsub is right-handed, and slightly taller than the victim.

I skimmed the rest of the paper - which just contained concluding notes and instructions for local police - before looking back up at Spencer, who was staring at me as I read.

“It definitely sounds like him. I mean, based on what I know about him at least. Like I said, he generally avoided me - though there was this one time when they first started dating, before Sarah cut me off entirely,” The memory came rushing back to me, and I was shocked I hadn’t thought of it sooner, “I had already gone to my room for the night when I heard her return from a date with him. She was crying. I was going to go ask her what was wrong, but my mom beat me to it, seeing as both of my parents were in the living room watching TV when she got back. I heard her telling them that her and Brian had gotten into an argument. I can’t remember what they were arguing about, but the gist of it was that it was something completely ridiculous. And yet, she was crying like he had really hurt her. My parents were consoling her, so I just went back to bed, but honestly it sounds like he could’ve been aggressive, and that’s why she was so upset - I don’t know anything for sure, I only know what I overheard. But it would make sense.”

“But you’re immediately making assumptions to make him fit the profile; that’s exactly why we don’t go into cases with any suspects in mind. It’s an interesting conversation, and I’m happy you remembered it, but we can’t assume he was being aggressive just because your sister was upset.”

“That’s true… so where does that leave us?” I plopped down in one of the chairs, throwing my feet up on the table and laughing when Spencer gave my action the same look of disgust that he did when I put my feet up in the interrogation room.

“Do you think that he fits the profile?” He asked. I nodded.

“The age is a bit off - he’s 27, so it’s more late than early twenties - but everything else fits what I know about him perfectly.”

“Age is the hardest thing to profile, so it would make sense if that’s a little bit off.”

“So you really think he killed Sarah?”

“I mean, all signs point to him - I feel like we at least need to find a way to keep tabs on him. If he is the killer, then he’s devolving. Despite the lack of evidence at the crime scene, the crime itself would still be classified as disorganized, and disorganized crime scenes usually point to the unsub being more unpredictable, unstable. Like I said, I think he might’ve snapped when he killed your sister. Which means that other people could be in danger.”

“Well if people are in danger, then why don’t you tell the police chief or something? We need to get Brian back in here, or at the very least we need to get someone to stay up to date on his location. I don’t know what you guys have jurisdiction to do.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get him back in here without any actual forensic evidence… I’m calling Hotch right now. Give me a second - hey Hotch,” He had his phone up to his ear, and he filled Hotch in on his thoughts about the case. He paused his profiling for a minute to defend why he was still awake and working, but after about five minutes he hung up the call, turning back to me.

“The team’s on their way.”

“And they know I’m here?” I had heard him tell Hotch that I was, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell everyone else.

“Yes; I’m assuming Hotch will fill them in, at least. Your confirmation of the profile is what made him agree to come in - having Brian as a confirmed prime suspect gives us grounds to move forward.”

I nodded my understanding before asking, “When do you think they’ll be here?”

“The hotel they’re staying at is only about five minutes away - we always try to stay in hotels near the police stations in the cities that we’re staying in, that way we’re able to move quickly if we need to. I mean, there was one time where the team stayed directly at the unsub’s house, but that was an… exception.” His face slowly fell as he finished the sentence, almost as if he regretted saying it, but I was too intrigued to wonder why.

“Directly at the unsub’s house? Holy shit - what happened on that case?”

“Well, uh, I actually got kidnapped?” He phrased it like a statement, but the way he said it sounded more like a question. Probably questioning whether or not he should even be telling me this.

“Oh my god, Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“No no it’s fine, it was about two years ago at this point,” He was trying to shut down the conversation, but I’d be lying if I said that finding out that the man in front of me had been kidnapped wasn’t concerning information.

“Two years is not that long… are you ok?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ve gotten counseling… there are still days where I - you know what? My traumatic past isn’t important right now. You - you don’t need to be worrying about me; I’m sorry that I brought it up, I was just talking and not processing what I was saying and -”

“Spence.” He was rambling now, his hands moving quickly as he spoke, anxiety clearly clouding his mind. I grabbed his hands to still them, stopping him from speaking. “It’s ok. I asked what happened, you don’t need to worry about me worrying about you. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, that sounds fucking awful.”

“It was.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he glanced down at my hands holding his, and cleared his throat, a blush coloring his features as he pulled his hands from mine. “It was. But I really am ok now. Trust me.”

“Ok,” I nodded, trying to ignore the way that my heart stung when he practically ripped his hands from mine, “I’m glad.”

He gave me an awkward tight-lipped smile, something I’d noticed him do a lot, and I was about to start another conversation when I heard the conference room door open. Both of our heads snapped in the direction of the sound, and we turned to see the team pouring in through the door.

“Lex Raymond, I assume?” Hotch asked. I rose from my seat, nodding and accepting the handshake he offered me. The rest of the team took seats around the table, and I noticed multiple of them desperately chugging coffee out of disposable paper cups. Someone passed one up to Spencer, who was standing in front of the board still. I took my seat again, and a man sitting near the back of his table leaned back a bit in his chair before addressing Spencer.

“Alright pretty boy, tell us what you got.”

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

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Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Writing journey #4.

15/05/2021 07.22 My break has officially been over for five days, and i have done some writing, but it’s been incredibly inconsistent, so I decided to start this blog post over. Bay Tree has been archived, and though FSB isn’t done, I’ve realised I need to take a step back. It’s why writers leave weeks at a time between drafts--so when they return, they’re in a different mindset, and can improve their work.

For this same reason, I need to take a step back before I finish my outline. My thought process is becoming monotonous, which means I’m losing my excitement. When you start a project, you have the idea in your head as perfect, and when those ‘vibes’ become tangible, it is less exciting. That’s unavoidable. But I just need to take a step back, so when I return, I have fresh ideas, and the plot becomes more exciting to me.

So today, I’m going to start brainstorming a new idea I had, which I don’t have an alias for yet, and I have an idea to essentially bind every project I have together, but not in Grishaverse- or Shadowhunters-style where you need to read ten books just to read the one you want. Just a nod to anyone who does read multiple, like when Aelin falls through worlds and sees Rhys and Feyre for a split second.

So. Let’s brainstorm.

My plan, I think, is to alternate weekly. This week, I’ll work on the new one, next week I’ll do FSB. I could just take this new idea and apply it to FSB, except I just don’t see how that would work. I have different worlds in mind, and this new one is a fantasy where FSB is sci-fi(/fantasy. It’s kinda both).

16/05/2021 07.07 I really wish I was a pantser. Even though I haven’t got to the editing stage, my favourite part of writing is implementing new ideas and making changes, but I’m just not a pantser. I need to know where each part is going. Instead, I have to sit here, brainstorming, for days, to figure everything out.

18/05/2021 07.06 I did a lot of work on the 16th, but I was busy yesterday, and didn’t get any writing done, because, when I was free, I was just reading. So, I’ve decided I’m going to at least write before I leave the house, which gives me about 45 minutes this morning.

23/05/2021 18.30 Based on the fact it has been five days, I think you can tell how good I’ve been about keeping writing. The problem is that I don’t actually have much past a concept for my new project, so I’m trying to figure out how, precisely, I could merge the two projects. FSB is interesting, but doesn’t have a huge amount of depth, which adding the characters from the new project would absolutely do, while the new project is lacking plot, which FSB (at least the first book I’ve planned) does. So, I’m going to start a new Scrivener project, and consider how I can merge the two concepts while implementing both plots.

Is it too much? I have only two main characters in FSB, but five in the newer one, which gives me seven main characters, divided into three groups. And do I want to write a book with so many separate storylines? I know readers (myself included) always end up favouring one storyline over another, getting annoyed when certain POVs come up. I don’t know what to do.

I could keep the new project, but implement FSB? Hold up. New Project (NP) has two protagonists who could undergo a similar development to the protagonists of FSB... I had a plan for the male protagonist of FSB, his arc, which wouldn’t work for NP’s male protagonist, but would work perfectly for its female protagonist...

Tumblr’s glitching. It wouldn’t let me reblog a post earlier, and now it won’t let me save this draft. Please, no.

Okay, so I had to copy what I’d written for today, disconnect and reconnect to the Wi-Fi, then wait for my drafts to load to paste it. Going great!

21.00 So I didn’t get a huge amount done, because I caught up doing ~evening things~, but I at least have a plan going forward, which is an accomplishment

30/05/2021 09.29 I’ve spent the last couple weeks doing everything I can to avoid writing, but i now have an insane amount of free time, so I have no excuse. I want to use this time in a productive way, and, for me, that means writing.

03/06/2021 10.31 I swear to god, I’ve had ‘writing’ on my to-do list every single day, except not doing it is probably my own fault, because it’s been so far down on the list. Also, I’m doing a buddy read, but am also unfortunately descending into a reading slump, so even reading 50 pages takes me about 90 minutes--they’re not even long pages.

I actually went back onto my old Wattpad account earlier, where I found a load of old, unfinished stuff, but none of it was as bad as I thought it would be, and the ideas weren’t bad. I just really have no idea what it is I’m writing right now, and I hate trying to figure it out.

11.30 There are so many Ss in the word ‘assassin’ this is not okay.

This is actually going so well. I have two storylines in my head, a complex cast of characters, and I’m so looking forward to plotting this.

04/06/2021 08.04 Look at me, two days in a row. Anyways, I’m thinking I ought to name these characters ASAP, because it’ll be easier to shape them to their names than it will be to find a name which fits them once they’ve been shaped.

14.41 Here’s what I’m realising: I like to pants plots, but I can’t do that while I’m actually drafting, so I think my plan is actually to bullet point everything that happens, then revise that, then start drafting, so the story is basically set in the first draft.

I’ve actually gone through a lot of stuff--I have workable plot material!

17.16 So, me being me, I’ve semi-outlined (I say semi-, it’s more like a tenth) a trilogy, meaning I have ideas for three books following this storyline, and it... makes sense. It’s the kind of story where I can follow multiple arcs, a few at a time, instead of several overarching ones, or maybe it’s just that I’m letting myself.

07/06/2021 16.44 I don’t have a damn clue what I’ve spent the day doing. I haven’t done anything in a couple days because it was the weekend and I was busy, but I’m back now. The thing is, I haven’t spent the day reading, watching, drawing, or doing anything, really--it’s escaped me. But, at the very least, I’ve relaxed, so who cares?

I’m not applying story structure to the ideas I’m having quite yet--rather, I’m just developing them to see how they bloom on their own, then I’ll fit it in; it just seems like a more natural and effective way to develop.

Yeah, no. It’s too late in the day for this. I have zero motivation.

08/06/2021 09.49 Maybe I’ll accomplish something today; who knows? Certainly not me.

I’m now applying the 3-act structure, but I’m realising I have way too many details worked out for this--switching to more acts.

22.20 Why am I doing this to myself? I wish I could say I’m not entirely sure, but it’s because I can’t sleep, because this project, and my character Lihan, are the only things I can think about, so here I am. I don’t want to be a night writer, but que sera sera (I wish I could type accents on an English keyboard).

23.22 I accomplished more in the last hour on this project than I have in the last four days.

09/06/2021 - 1,115 words 09.29 I really hope I don’t prove today that night-writing is my sweet spot--I don’t want it to be. Can the world just let me have a functional sleep schedule??

Anyways, so, as I’ve mentioned before, I use Scrivener, which enables me to sort which documents are part of the manuscript from the ones that aren’t. I’ve been working outside of the manuscript, but I think I’m going to move them into it--I have a plan I believe will be more effective for my own drafting. I think I very much need the events to be set in stone before I begin writing in actual prose, so how can I do that? Especially when I also enjoy pantsing, but not in prose?

Here’s the plan: I plot out the main events, then bullet point everything in very high detail, similar to what many people call a zero draft, in which they draft a book in short form. I’ll sort the bullet points into chapters (but not scenes, because as I discovered with Bay Tree, I find scene-blocking makes the narrative less natural), leave it alone a while, then revise, so I can have my plot more-or-less set in stone before I work on prose.

As a result, I’m going to shift my plotting into the manuscript section, because it is, essentially, an early draft, and also I want a word count as a progress metre.

13/06/2021 - 1,611 words 8.18 Alas, I have been busy the last few days, but I’m here now.

9.20 The amount of secrets and who-knows-what in this story is genuinely absurd, but I’m sure I’ll clean it up eventually.

14.01 A few days ago, I came across a post about balancing large casts, which is exactly what I have, and the first thing it mentioned was the two-trait rule, in which every character has two traits completely unique to them, to help both reader and writer differentiate. Which I’m now going to implement.

14.42 I have these two characters, and I know exactly what I want their dynamic to be, except I can’t decide who should be which part of it.

I have made my decision. It probably works better now, but it does alter their roles, so I need to fix that.

I literally swapped them round solely because I decided one was taller than the other and thought it would be more interesting if the short one was the sadist. Why do I make my own life so difficult?

14/06/2021 - 1,574 words 11.08 I didn’t make an enormous amount of progress yesterday, but I did make some, and made notes of ideas for relationship arcs last night, so I count that a victory (forced optimism--surprisingly effective). I’m currently just working through bullet-pointing book one, while making notes of events I want in the rest of the series (I’m projecting three books, and telling myself I will finish them). I’m currently fiddling with one of my storylines to see how I can mould it to FSB’s and OH MY GOODNESS I JUST HAD A GREAT IDEA must take notes, one moment pleaseeee.

Okay, so I have four bullet points for relationship arcs and an idea to adjust one of the storylines--I’d say I have six main characters, two of whom are really the protagonists, two of which are my favourites, and the other two are fun, but in need of development. They’re split into a group of four and a pair, and I’m definitely more into the storyline of the four, mostly because the four contains my two favourites, and it’s more developed than that of the pair.

I’ve been keeping a list of things to add: motivations, loose plot threads, plot points I want to include--I really need to re-organise it.

On another note, I am so glad I named the characters as early as I did. I’m debating having two of the characters swap names, but I don’t think I will, because I will absolutely mix them up, and one of them is part of the perfect ship name.

My mouse isn’t working. I changed the batteries, but it’s not working, so now I get the joy of trying to figure out if the batteries I put in are just old or if the mouse no longer works, which would suck.

Yes, I’m going to describe this. Mostly because when I changed the batteries the first time, it took a minute to stop working, and this will waste a minute. So, first set of batteries, which we’ll call set 1, don’t work. I don’t know if it’s both or just one, but if it’s one, I don’t want to throw away both. I take out set 1, I put in set 2. Set 2 works perfectly. So it’s not the mouse. Now I take out battery 2B, and replace it with 1A, so I have 1A and 2A in here. I know 2A works, but I’m not sure about 1A, but the mouse works, so 1A is fine. Let’s replace 1A with 1B.

Yep. 1B is the problem child. 1A works fine, but 1B doesn’t. Lovely. Crisis averted. It would’ve really sucked it I had to get a new mouse. And back to writing!

12.13 I’m bouncing between documents as I organise, which means my word count is actually decreasing, so I feel like I’m making significantly less progress than I am.

I just realised my two protagonists are cousins. I’ve had it in my head that one’s father was the brother of the other’s father, but somehow I didn’t realise that makes them cousins.

I’m about to delete a list because I’ve reformatted it--my word count is currently at 1,958, but is really about to drop.

AND NOW WE’RE AT 1,572. My session word count is -32. Minus thirty-two. I hate it here, but it’s fine, because we’re ~developing~.

15/06/2021 - 2,113 words 09.39 It’s not even technically summer yet, but it’s too hot, and I hate it here. All the windows are open, so everything’s cool, there’s a nice breeze, and lots of light, but the birds are so loud, and I have to keep all the doors closed because the open windows send them swaying and slamming. You know when you close a door when all the windows are open and it slams? Yep. Not into it.

I feel like every day I try a new way to organise my plotting. I’m unsure as to whether that’s helping me or holding me back, because it forces me to review what I have, which usually sparks new ideas, but I’m not convinced I’ll ever get to the end as long as I keep doing this.

21/06/2021 13.40 I spent the latter half of last week with zero motivation, then I was busy at the weekend, but I’m here now. I’ve been trying to make myself write basically all day--I have a plan, and a list of things I’ve come up with the last few days, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I’m not in a good mood, but maybe this will help.

I have, however, just reminded myself that I need to prepare this week’s post, because I sincerely doubt either this or my ongoing Recent reads will be ready for Friday. Actually, if I do quite a bit of writing this week, this post might be, but I’m not willing to bet on it.

And oh, crap, now I just want to write a blog post.

No. No I don’t. I started looking at the list of ideas I had, and now I’m just not feeling it. I’m pretty sure when I open my document for this project I’ll lose all motivation too, but it’s worth a shot.

There’s a specific relationship in an anime I recently watched that I want to pull apart--there’s this ship, and the author of the manga has called the two characters ‘soulmates’. There’s just this huge amount of tension between the two, and I want to re-watch the show because I love it, but also so I can take notes to figure out what was so effective about it.

13.53 I’ve been doing this for 13 minutes, but I do think I need to leave this project/outline alone for a bit, give it an opportunity to ruminate, to evolve. In truth, I may not even come back to it until I’ve re-watched the anime I was talking about so I can tear that ship to pieces.

17.33 So I just learned brainstorming is apparently significantly easier on paper. Hm. I’ve just worked out so damn much, stuff I’ve been struggling with.

18.00 I have successfully tied up so many plot threads, simply by working with pen and paper. This is revolutionary. (I know, not really, but it is for me, someone adamant about working with a keyboard and monitor)

22/06/2021 09.42 Seriously, why did I never try actually working on paper before? Something about holding a pen to paper and scribbling and drawing a mindmap--it just works. I’ve been obstinate about avoiding working on paper because I hate physically writing, yet here we are.

25/06/2021 11.09 I’m really not managing much reading at the moment--since I started reading manga, my attention span has just gone down the drain. I’m currently reading Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater, and I don’t think it helped that I had to stop less than a third of the way in to do a buddy read, but I just don’t have much motivation to read it, though I do so want to. I haven’t been listening much to audiobooks lately either, because when I’d usually listen--when I’m getting dressed, waking up, going to bed etc.--I just want to listen to music, because I also recently fell down the well of k-pop, and the group whose discography I’m getting to know at the moment is BTS. Basic, but they’re the fifth group I’m doing, and they have so many songs. Which would happen after eight years, but still.

I want to read so, so badly, but I just don’t feel like reading Mister Impossible. But I do want to finish it before reading anything else. I think I’ll finish my current audiobook, then if I’m still feeling stagnated in Mister Impossible, I’ll switch to the audiobook of that, then just take a break from reading until I’m ready to actually read.

But this post is for writing, not reading. I did write on the 23rd, but I just didn’t update this post. The 24th I was busy, but my wall is now covered in post-it notes of world-building, characters, gods, plot points, and a whole load of other stuff.

Also, I had an idea for a book title this morning--not for this one, just in general--and when I went to add it to my list, I found a title that would so suit this project. I don’t want to say it, but let’s just say this project will be called ItLotG--or not. That’s a hideous combination of letters. I promise it is actually a good title.

11.52 I’m having another crisis over these two characters. I’m thinking it would make more sense to have L’s betrayal ‘arc’ initiated before the catalyst, or rather have it be the catalyst, except the problem there is that they’re not in the city they need to be in to receive that offer.

UNLESS,,,, what if this point happens just while they’re in the capital.... I’ve got it.

17.16 I’ve been taking notes this whole time of everything I want to happen in books 2 and 3, and I have so much now i think they’ll be so much easier to plot than this one.

The downside of working mostly on paper is that my plans on Scrivener have been refined to one document, which is now only 878 words.

Right now, there’s a glaring hole between the midpoint and the ending, but my climax is one of those where the climax itself is a very small part of a bigger event, so if I figure out what I want to happen in this big event which is essentially the whole of the third act, I should be able to fill in the rest of Act Two with the setup for that.

So I’m leaving it there for both today and this post. In the last month or so, I decided to start over and mash two projects together, which created a whole new storyline I love, and now I’m mostly done with the first outline. I want to treat outlines as more than just preparation for drafts, because I find notes so much easier to edit than actual prose, and I hate writing without a clear idea of where I’m going.

I think I’m going to call these ‘runs’--an outline is a run through, a draft a run through, so I’m nearly done with my first run, and I’m very proud of that, so go, go write the idea you have, drink some water, take a nap if you need one, eat if you haven’t eaten in a few hours, and I’ll be back with another writing update innnnnnn probably august, honestly.

Go write that idea!

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retroateez · 4 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Thirteen

so,,,, hello!!!

firstly i apologise for how long this took me,,, university has been a nightmare and a blessing all in one and my sleep pattern is still getting worse that being said,, here (finally) is chapter thirteen! to those of you who have been waiting eagerly and showing your support, i thank you so much for giving me the motivation to keep this series going, lots of love - hades x

Prophecy Masterlist wc;2825

The next morning, Hongjoong called you, Yeosang and Wooyoung into his office to discuss your temporary residence. He had stood before you, like a teacher lecturing his naughty students and informed you that under no circumstances were any of you to perform magic.

Easy for you, you thought. You didn't even know how to use it.

"Witch hunters will be able to trace you if they detect any magical source coming from the kingdom," The king explained. "If there is rumour of any magic beings within my court, the other kingdoms will pick up on it immediately, and it will result in bloodshed."

The way Hongjoong had looked at the three of you as he instructed you was terrifying. It was bordering on begging, and deeper behind his golden eyes he looked frightened. And you supposed you would be too, if you had to go to war for such a ridiculous reason.

You could barely comprehend the thought of Yeosang and Wooyoung being killed just because they were non-human. It made it worse how they insisted it was okay because they were 'used to it', as if that justified anything.

Still, they complied to the king's request and agreed to not use any magic within the kingdom, especially in the castle and the grounds.

"We've managed to cover up your appearance here yesterday, so you don't need to be concerned about that. However, I am half tempted to charge you for causing emotional damage to my kingsguard. You gave him quite the fright."

You stifled a laugh at hearing the extent of Seonghwa's reaction to your intrusion, the scary kingsguard perhaps being much softer in demeanour than you had initially thought.

After the briefing, Hongjoong had dismissed you to once again talk over the prophecy with Yeosang and Wooyoung.

The astrologer had informed you that they were making steady progress, they had deciphered some of the constellation meanings and were working on how to avoid the outcomes of their predictions.

"It's very easy to avoid a war," Wooyoung had scoffed that morning whilst tying up his boot laces. "We needn't worry about the Ara constellation because we simply just do not engage in a war."

"But what if somebody goes to war with us?" You asked timidly, staring nervously at the floor.

Wooyoung paced over to you and gently raised your chin with the tip of his finger.

"We won't go to war, Iris. Nobody has any reason to go to war with us. Besides, you'd probably be more worried about the Ball than fighting in a battle."

He had ruffled your hair and swiftly left the room, leaving you gazing at the ceiling with a feeling in your chest you couldn't quite understand. Something had changed with you and Wooyoung recently; he'd been standing closer to you than usual, smiling at you more, being kinder than he used to and truthfully you had no idea what to make of it.

You thought that maybe he felt more comfortable in your presence considering you had to share a room with him.

But that didn't excuse the way your heart raced and stomach fluttered whenever he would flash his killer smile at you or whined like a puppy when you refused to share any of the cook's baked treats with him.

Your current course of action was to completely ignore every single one of those feelings. Either that or take a visit to Yunho and get him to perform a medical examination on you, because you were absolutely convinced you were dying slowly from the inside out. Had some kind of magical parasite burrowed into your skin while you slept and had gradually been sucking the life out of you without you noticing? Or maybe some evil witch had snuck into the kitchens, managed to figure out which delicious looking apple you had been eyeing up the previous afternoon, poison it and cackle mysteriously as she watched you take a giant bite of the apple through the window?

Or perhaps you had been reading too many fairytales and storybooks.

That was probably it.

Yet, you couldn't help yourself. Not when Hongjoong's castle had such a beautiful library, full to the brim with all ranges of books. Even though there was such an extensive selection, immediately you were drawn to the wonderfully illustrated tales of woeful princesses stuck in their towers, powerful dragons aiming to conquer worlds and daring wizards yearning for adventure.

You had yet to find a book about an angry king and his weak-hearted kingsguard, but you didn't really need to read a fictional account to experience that.

It wasn't like you had much to do either; the ball was still a few weeks away and you still weren't allowed to help Yeosang and Wooyoung with the prophecy under Hongjoong's guidance. You saw less and less of Mingi as his lute practice was being upped due to the fast-approaching ball. So you spent most of your days holed up in the corner of the typically empty library.

In fact, that was exactly what you planned on spending the whole day doing.

You raced down the intricately decorated hallways of the castle, brushing your fingertips against the crimson velvet sashes that hung from ceiling to floor. Sunlight filtered in gently through the stained-glass windows, leaving rainbow shards on the plush rugs underneath your boots. In time, you're outside the familiar library door, a much cooler shade of oak than the other doors in this hallway, you notice. It's smoother to the touch too, like whoever designed this room centuries ago took special care in it's creation.

Pushing the door open, you enter the library. The scent is slightly dusty, with a lingering smell of untouched parchment and slowly decaying leather. The room itself is huge, bookshelves line the walls from top to bottom, almost encaging you in with towers of tales and stories hidden within leather-bound shells. The wall to your right is bare of shelves, in its space is a large bay window, with a cushioned area for somebody to sit and read. Coincedentally, your favourite place to lounge and waste the day away getting lost in foreign, mystical worlds.

Unfortunately, your seat appears to be occupied.

"Excuse me," you call politely, making your way over to the lounging figure who has their nose buried in a book. "You're sitting in my spot."

His attention snaps to yours lightening fast. So fast that you're shocked he didn't give himself whiplash or any other injury.

His gaze, much like his face and eyes, are narrow. Slender cheekbones and an unimpressed scowl are directed your way and the feeling of regret settles deep in your core.

"Your spot?" He repeats with a scoff. "And who are you to claim this seat?"

He sets his book down onto the soft window-seat, and swings his long legs round so he can stand up. Even from a distance, you can tell he's got a considerable amount of height on him. Everything about him is slim; his nose, jaw, torso. He takes a couple of steps towards you, and you notice he makes little to no sound. Agile, you think. He reminds you of a cat, his attentive gaze unwavering from your puzzled face, the way he moves concise and utterly silent. Unruly, raven black hair swept atop his head and glittering golden eyes evoke memories of the black cats from home. Slinking quietly through the market stalls, stalking mice or keeping an eye out for danger.

"Iris, right?" he asks.

You nod. "Ye-"

"Wrong." He interrupts you before you finish speaking, and he's standing right before you. So close that if you look up you can see every fleck of fire in his eyes.

"W-what? What do you mean?"

"Your name isn't Iris at all, is it?"

How does he know that?

He smirks at you, thinking he's figured out your deepest darkest secret.

"No, it isn't. How did you know? Did Yeosang tell you?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you, because I don't trust you. Hongjoong may have let you and your friends into the castle without batting an eyelid, but I'm not as easily fooled as him."

"I don't know what you think I'm planning," you glare at him, astounded that he's actually accusing you of plotting something. "But you're greatly mistaken."

He remains silent for a few moments as he eyes you up and down, taking in your hand-me-down clothes (a mixture of Wooyoung and Yeosang's) and untidy, unkempt hair.

"When our name is called," he begins to explain. "We have a physical reaction. Our eyes light up, our ears perk up, our head swivels round as we try to identify who is calling for us."

"Your point?" Somehow you find it in you to challenge him, despite the fact his glare is weighing down on you so heavily you think your knees might actually buckle with pressure.

"You do none of these things when your name is called."

"Okay. So you know that Iris isn't my real name. Yeosang knows that too. Now what?"

"I think if you're going to be living in this castle, free of charge, without doing any work to earn your keep, the least you can do is give me your real name."

In any other circumstance, you would've told him to stick it. Probably with a punch, too. But there's something so intimidating about him, something so covertly dangerous that you can't decipher.

"And why should I tell you that when I don't even know your name?" you bite back, and you see the spark of realisation on his face that he is also a complete stranger to you.

"San." he replies simply.

"Haneul." you answer.

"Haneul?" San echoes. "You don't seem like a Haneul."

"People used to call me Hana."

"Hana? Like the number one?"

You nod.

"Yeosang just gave me the name Iris when I met him, by the way." A part of you felt compelled to explain why you were going by a different alias. Not that you owed San anything anyway. After all, he had been incredibly rude to you despite having met literally five minutes ago.

"And you didn't think to correct him?"

"Evidently not."

San rolls his eyes at your curt response, shaking his head a little and pushing his cheek from the inside with his tongue, the same way that Wooyoung does when he gets annoyed with you. You think that they'd probably get on quite well.

"So, do you actually do anything around here?" You throw the questions back in San's direction, feeling quite fed up of being interrogated for one day. "Or do you make a habit of ambushing young women in libraries and demanding their life stories?"

He gives you another unimpressed look before he goes back over to his book at the window-seat.

"I'm the Ateez court jester," he answers you calmly. "I entertain company with jokes, stories, songs, you name it."

"A jester? I thought you wore silly costumes and hats with bells on?"

San scowls at you from across the room. Does he actually know how to smile?

"You read too much." He deadpans. "I'm not a character in a storybook. I'm a person who has a job like everyone else here. I wear ordinary clothes, I don't wear a hat, and I do more than just tell jokes."

San crosses the room with an air of anger, yet he still manages to walk gracefully without making a sound. He places his book back on the shelf, then approaches you at the door.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a ball to prepare material for."

You side-step out of the way, and San slips past you and you listen as the soft pattering of his footsteps gradually fade, and then disappear altogether.

What the f-

"Oh, there you are!"

Wooyoung's lanky frame comes barreling into you, the slight panic laced in his voice making you worry.

"Here I am," you confirm. "What's wrong?"

"Hongjoong wants to see you." He breathes. "About the prophecy."

-----

"I've already told you! I don't know anything more than you do!"

Hongjoong had summoned you into his office, and the atmosphere in the room told you everything you needed to know. You could cut through it with a knife. A strong knife though, as the tension was so thick a regular butter knife wouldn't dent it one little bit. And the way Hongjoong was leaning against his desk with his arms fully stretched out, head hanging down and exhaling out of his nose like a furious cattle ready to charge.

You assumed that perhaps their work wasn't going swimmingly.

"The deadline to solve this is approaching fast, thief. Do you understand that? My people will die if we don't crack this soon."

"What exactly do you want me to do about it?" You angrily retort. "If you've forgotten, you've kept me in the dark for weeks!"

"Because you were of no use." Hongjoong replies simply. He wanders around the side of his desk and meanders his way to stand in front of you, his arms loosely behind his back.

"However, seeing as it was you who intially offered to help with the prophecy, I thought that perhaps reverting to our roots would prove more fruitful." He lowers himself slightly and stares at you directly with his dangerous, poisonous gaze.

His demand renders you silent. You stand frozen in his office, the worried glances of Yeosang and Wooyoung piercing into the back of your skull. You will your mouth to open and scream internally at yourself to speak, to say absolutely anything you can conjure to get out of the situation but nothing comes. Finally, the web of lies you've been spinning since day one is about to unravel itself.

And you can do nothing except for watch.

Is this where you get caught out? After so long? You were beginning to like it here too; the beautiful garden, getting closer to Wooyoung, making friends with Mingi. You had even planned to ask him to teach you how to play the lute. Hell, even making enemies with San was something you were looking forward to. And you hadn't tried the cook's famous apple pie that Mingi raved about. No. No, instead Hongjoong was going to catch out your lies, the stories you had told him and he was going to lock you up in the prison under the castle for the rest of your life. You were going to die, ancient, magicless, friendless, alone, all because you couldn't just tell the damn truth. What were you doi-

"What if it isn't a man?" your tongue expertly blurts out the first thing your racing brain can pluck out of thin air to try and save your back, and you have to stop yourself from squeaking out in shock.

"What do you mean?" Hongjoong asks, with genuine curiousity written across his features.

"Well, the prophecy says Man, doesn't it? But you've been taking it literally. As in, A Man. But what if it means anyone from the human race?"

Hongjoong stands stunned before you for a few seconds, as if he physically cannot comprehend what you have suggested.

"Are you suggesting that a woman will destroy my kingdom?"

"I-, well, no-"

"I think what Iris is trying to say," Yeosang pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against and approaches you and Hongjoong. "Is that we should broaden our horizons a little bit. You know, branch out from searching monstrously powerful men. Look into witches, sirens, even dragons and the like."

"None of those are human, mage." Hongjoong sneers.

Yeosang merely shrugs in response.

"Just a suggestion. Besides, Iris is right. It doesn't state a singular man. The gods haven't always made sense, have they? Perhaps expanding our criteria would be a good thing."

"It could also be somebody disguised as a human," Wooyoung pipes up. "Like a shape-shifter or even a halfling."

"Halfling?" you echo, confused.

"Somebody that is half human and half something else." Yeosang explains. "So a half human half elf would be called a halfling, as would a half human half giant and so on."

"So you really think that we might have something worse than a human on our hands?" Hongjoong asks. He nibbles his bottom lip in a way that makes you concerned for him. It's that moment you remember that he is an exceedingly young king, and that at times he's probably way out of his depth.

He pulls his tawny fur coat tighter over his shoulders and straightens up his posture. It reminds you of a wild fox, and his mannerisms in themselves remind you of a fox cub too. He moves quietly (a running theme of the key figures in this castle, you've noticed), and when he's calm he appears very serene.

You, Wooyoung and Yeosang all nod, and Hongjoong takes that as a sign to proceed.

"Very well. I will have orders out to search and interrogate anyone, and anything that seems suspicious. Let's hope we're right."

Yeah, you exhale. Let's hope I'm right.

#retroateez #medieval au #medieval!ateez #hongjoong #seonghwa #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #yunho #jongho #ateez

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 5 years

Text

We’re All Mad Here | Jurdan College AU

Summary: Tenacious student, Jude Duarte, discovers a dark underworld in the very heart of RGU. It’s all just a game of Russian Roulette. Harmless, as long as you’re the one holding the gun.

Content Warning: Cursing, mild mention of panic attack (to skip, stop reading between the ~~~~~)

Part II | Masterlist | AO3

Part I- Slow Burn

I, Jude Duarte, third year at Royal Greenbriar University and soon-to-be reigning Top Scholar, am in a hurry.

It’s rush hour. The pavement is slick with sleet and packed with important people in fancy suits. They brave sheets of freezing rain that lash down from the angry October skies with an unending canopy of black umbrellas.

I don’t carry my own. Umbrellas aggravate the chaos of mornings in Insmire, and I don’t need to add another to the mix.

Luckily, I am short. Manoeuvring through gaps in elbows and shoulders does not take much effort on my part. It’s the briefcases and patches of ice which make running a bit of a challenge this morning—but then, I have always enjoyed a challenge.

As I tear through the crowded streets of Insmire, I only know one thing: No amount of wind or hail or people can stop me. And if anyone gets bludgeoned with my thirty-pound backpack as I weave through the throng, well, that’s on them.

Cold air slices through me with every heave of my lungs, every pounding thud of my boots on the sidewalk. My legs are sore from yesterday’s fencing practice, but I savour the sweet ache and forge on.

I am used to this rushing, for I am always in a hurry. It sometimes feels like I’ve been in a hurry from my very first breath. As if I’m constantly trying to catch up to something just out of my grasp.

My twin sister, Taryn, and I were born in a hurry.

So excited were we to join the ranks of men, we surprised our mother half to death by wandering into the world nearly four weeks early.

As a result, we spent the next several weeks of our lives as tiny things in incubators—a little sickly and terribly jaundiced. This was how our mother always used to describe it, at least.

Ever since then, I have been invariably late to everything. Mostly, I blame it on the incubators. And the jaundice.

If I’m being honest with myself, though, being always late is a trait I can only attribute to who I am as a person. It is as much a part of me as the tip of my left ring finger is not.

I sometimes wonder if that’s exactly the crux of it; that just like my fingertip, my punctuality has somehow been taken from me, too.

I have heard of twins absorbing their siblings in the womb. I can’t see why personality traits should be any different. Especially since Taryn and I had to spread them so thinly between two of us.

And Taryn is always perfectly on time.

I risk a glance at my watch. A tiny crack runs up the glass. It’s been there for ages, but I am still nettled by the sight of it and the unbidden memory it stirs.

It’s because of this tiny crack that the watch’s face is now fogged up from the inside. I can barely make out the three little golden hands racing each other toward my tardiness.

Seven minutes past eight.

I am really very late. Or, I know I will be, at least.

Technically, if I go straight to the Silhouette Gazette now, I will be right on time for my interview.

But I can’t go straight there. Not when I haven’t had coffee.

Without my fix, I won’t be able to string together even one sentence. Much less make it through an entire interview with enough charisma to snag the internship position I so desperately need. Since I am not very charismatic to begin with, I’ll need all the help I can get.

Everything depends on my getting this internship. If I don’t, there’s no way I’ll maintain my near-perfect GPA, no way I’ll graduate summa cum laude or Valedictorian of my class.

And then I’ll have to go into something boring. Like publishing. A shudder runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold.

I shove between two men wearing long coats and flat caps. They grunt in shock and disapproval. I hardly feel the zing of pain as my shin collides with something hard.

A briefcase flies out of its owner’s grip, crashing onto the pavement a few yards away. I don’t stop to apologise.

“Bitch!” One of the flat caps shouts after me.

Yes, I agree silently, hopping over the felled bag. I am very much that.

If I had the time and breath to tell the men just the same, I would. Instead, I flip them a rude gesture over my shoulder and don’t turn around.

I’m already ten paces away when a dull throbbing starts on my leg. It radiates from where I know there’ll be an unsightly bruise tomorrow. But bruises are a thing for future Jude to handle.

There is no way I will let what happened last year happen again. Second-year was a fluke. A one-time thing.

I will get this internship, take back my rightful title of Top Scholar, and keep it until I graduate—just like my mother did. I absolutely refuse to be beaten out by some preppy moneybags prick.

Or a bit of hail.

Before flying out the door of my flat this morning, I did a quick search on Google Maps, the results of which yielded the quirky little coffee shop I now see in my line of vision.

The White Rabbit sits mercifully in all its three-story glory right across the street from the newspaper’s office building. If luck is on my side, if I hurry, I should have just enough time to grab a cup to-go and make it with a minute or two to spare.

My thoughts are all jumbled as I barrel through the glass doors.

A white-haired barista stands behind the counter at the back of the shop, taking a customer’s order with an unbearable amount of cheer for a Monday morning.

The queue isn’t too bad, maybe three people long. I send up a quick thanks to whatever power of the universe might be in charge of coffee queues.

It smells miraculous in here—freshly ground coffee and something buttered and flakey. Suddenly, I am too warm.

I make a beeline for the back of the queue, shucking off my hat and gloves as I go. I’m unzipping my coat, a difficult task with hands full of knitted things, when a wall of black blurs into my periphery.

I don’t have a second to react before that wall smacks me right in the forehead. And collides everywhere else.

A scalding liquid sloshes down the front of my shirt. I stumble backwards, gasping at the pain.

There is a very loud “Fuck” followed by an equally as loud “Shit!”

I am not sure which curse fell from my lips, but I know it was one of them. All I can feel is this dreadful sting. It spreads like a wildfire across my chest.

Perhaps, I’d cursed both words. The pain certainly warrants it.

“Are you alright, dear?” a dark, silken voice asks. A pair of beringed hands steady me, grasping my shoulders with the barest of touches. As quickly as they appeared, like that they are gone. And then they are handing me a wad of brown paper napkins.

“Here,” the voice says.

I snatch the proffered napkins and look up at my assailant.

Perfect. Just perfect, I think with a scowl. Of course the person who spills their drink down my blouse has to be stupidly attractive.

The man before me is so beautiful it’s almost cruel.

A crown of crow dark curls circles his head, framing his oil slick eyes and sharp cheekbones. His is an unnecessary sort of perfection that sets my teeth grinding.

He’s clad in all black, save for his coat—a beaded brocade of black and crimson silk with quilted red lapels. From the breast pocket, a beaded scarlet brooch in the shape of a dahlia dangles in ostentatious splendour.

There is something familiar about him I can’t quite grasp.

For some inexplicable reason I amount to probable insanity, I cannot stop my gaze from flitting to his mouth.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

His lips look like two full flower petals. I’m plagued by the inane thought that they might feel just as soft. If I can only reach out and—

I shake my head.

Concern creases the man’s brow now. To my horror, I realise I haven’t responded to his question. I’ve just stood here, dripping and sticky, for who knows how long. Staring. Like an idiot.

“I’m fine,” I grit out through barred teeth and my own mortification. I pat at the stain hastily with the wad of napkins. “I’m just great.”

It’s useless, of course.

The stain isn’t coming out, I’m late to my life-altering interview, and to make matters worse, I still haven’t had coffee. Not to mention, my chest burns in a way that makes me tempted to scrap everything in favour of a doctor’s office.

~~~~~

That’s when panic seizes hold.

A strand of pearls tightening around my throat. I am sure it means to strangle me because I cannot breathe.

My heart takes flight, battering my ribcage as if it intends to escape entirely. A trail of sweat trickles down my forehead.

I am going to be late. I am going to have this horrid stain on my shirt. I am going to fail this interview. I am going to fail this year and myself and my family.

There’s something heavy sitting on my lungs. I am both hot and cold, here and not.

Tears prick my eyes. I will them not to spill over, but of course, my body betrays me. I swipe furiously at my cheeks.

Everyone in the coffee shop plus one unfortunately attractive dude must be staring, watching as I teeter on the edge of full-blown hysterics.

“Hey,” Unfortunately Attractive Dude croons, but I don’t see him.

I try to draw even breaths. And fail. And fail again.

~~~~~

I’m barely aware of the hand that guides me to a corner of the coffee shop. It’s darker here. A bit quieter, too. I notice a large bookshelf obscuring the alcove from the main seating area. Away from prying eyes.

“Just relax,” the man says. “It’s going to be okay. Are you hurt?” He looks inclined to place his hand on my shoulder again but thinks better of it when he sees my expression.

I want to punch him in his stupid face. Maybe I should. It’s only fair, given the circumstances.

“Relax?” I scoff, hating the way my voice cracks. “Don’t tell me to relax. I’ve got an interview in ten minutes and I’m fairly certain my would-be boss won’t appreciate my being late. Or this sort of oversharing.”

I make a wild gesture at the stain on my chest, ignoring the slight tremor in my hands. I am acutely aware of the fabric’s transparency there. Today was not the day to wear a bright purple bra.

A moment passes before a smirk slips into place on Unfortunately Attractive Dude’s hateful mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, giving me a once over.

“You sure about that?” he drawls, and now I am positive I’m going to punch him. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you, sunshine, are no longer having a panic attack.”

Indeed, the tightening in my throat has waned. But as keen an observation as it might be, I would first run my hand through with my fencing sabre than admit he is right.

“I wasn’t having a panic attack,” I say too quickly. He produces a smug expression that is just as bewitching as it is infuriating.

He knows what I’ve said is a lie. I know it’s a lie, too. Very deep down. In some dark forgotten place inside me where things that don’t want to be admitted go.

The man grins as if I should be grateful. I am decidedly not.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” I say, taking a step toward him. “But don’t pretend to know me. Because you don’t.”

He lifts a brow—the worst kind of dare. “Don’t I?”

“No,” I say. I hope I come off more menacing than I feel with my tearstained cheeks and conspicuous underthings on display for all the world to see.

“Pity,” he says, still wearing that stupid smile. “You seem delightful.”

My face grows hot. Blood pounds heavy in my ears, and I feel like I’m running anew. I’m so angry I cannot think.

And apparently, I don’t think—because I take another step closer.

The rest of the world slides away. It’s just me and this loathsome beautiful heinous man in a secluded corner of a strange coffee shop.

He towers over me, lithe and angled, face limned in shadow. He’s unflinching and returns my gaze with equal distaste.

My heart skitters wildly, stumbling one beat over the next like it knows it's been spotted by something with sharp claws and jagged teeth.

In the unclosed space between us, a glittery treacherous thing ripples.

I am suddenly very glad for bookshelves.

I should leave. I should go to my interview before I do something I will regret. Before I ruin everything. I should walk away.

Then, I do the opposite of that.

“I’m the farthest thing from delightful,” I tell him, shooting a dagger-filled glare from beneath the hood of my brow. “Which is why I’d strongly advise against getting in my way again. And don’t call me sunshine.”

Something smells familiar; like a forest in winter. Like cedarwood and myrrh. With a jolt, I realise it’s him and dig my nails into the meat of my palm.

He chuckles, raising his hands in defence. “Fine,” he says. “Won’t happen again. But at least come with me. I think I can help.” He juts his chin toward the back of the coffee shop, presumably towards the toilets.

I wrinkle my nose.

This can’t seriously be some kind of come-on. I don’t have time for unsolicited advances right now. I don’t even have time for solicited advances.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit, and he flinches. “First, you give me third-degree burns. What’s next? Chop me up in the alley out back?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “As appealing as that sounds,” he says. “I’m shit with knives.”

“Oh, that’s a comfort.”

“Better with fabric, though.” He gives an unbothered shrug. “I was going to offer to get that out for you.” The man nods, seemingly unfazed, at my chest. Heat rises in my cheeks again.

“You’ve done enough already,” I snap.

Maybe I’ll just wear my winter coat through the whole cursed interview. Even that would be a better solution than this conversation.

I turn on my heel to leave, but the man catches my wrist.

Bad move, I think.

I’m contemplating dragging him out of this alcove by the ear so I can punch him in front of every customer in this coffee shop when, to my surprise, he lets go.

The man rakes a hand through his dark curls, heaving a great sigh.

“Wait. Just...” he starts. “Look, I feel bad enough as is. Let me make it up to you. It’ll take five minutes. You’ll only be a little late to your interview, and you won’t have to deal with a dry cleaner’s bill.”

I snort. I haven’t been able to afford dry cleaning since I stopped living in Madoc’s house two years ago. I will likely have to throw this shirt away if I can’t get the stain out with a good old-fashioned scrubbing.

“I’ll buy you a coffee for your troubles while we wait.”

I consider him for a moment. He seems sincere enough, though attractive people always seem sincere, even when they are truly not.

Now, though, I don’t really have much left in me to care.

I want the stain out of my blouse, a vat of coffee in my system, and a teleportation device that can transport me to the sixth floor of the Silhouette immediately.

If this man is a willing rung in the ladder to get me even two-thirds of those things, I will consider it a blessing.

“Fine,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ll take a large cappuccino. Extra shot of espresso. And a shot of caramel. To go.”

“Wonderful.” The dazzling man smiles his dazzling smile. “Follow me.” And with that, he leads the way out of the alcove, a gleeful bound in his step.

I already regret my decision.

☽☽☽☽☽

Part II

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @velarhysismine @knifewifejude

AN: this was originally sent to me as a request for the prompt “I’m running late to an important interview/meeting and you accidentally spill your hot cocoa all over my outfit” from a winter prompt list. but it spiralled into several chapter outlines and an almost fully-fledged plot so i’m rolling with it.

anyway, thanks so much for reading! hope you enjoyed :) if you’d like to be tagged in future updates for this AU, feel free shoot me an ask/message.

a few disclaimers:

1. i don’t think publishing is boring! i’m technically trying to go into publishing for my career so really just poking fun at myself. but i do think jude would find publishing (or any other office job) incredibly boring.

2. the depiction of jude’s panic attack is provided by yours truly, though i do not claim to speak for everyone who gets them, and am aware that they differ in both manifestation and severity from person to person. this just pertains to my own experience.

3. i was definitely listening to slow burn by kacey musgraves while writing part of this lmao (hence the chapter name).

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biayahlife · 4 years

Text

15 Minutes

Real Moment: I am very unmotivated right now. I was unmotivated yesterday, and I’ll probably be unmotivated tomorrow.

The world has felt like total chaos for the last year, and frankly, 2021 hasn’t felt any better. The pandemic has hit the world harder than anticipated and lasted longer than any of us hoped. Since I had already been working from home, I was thankful to still be employed and figured the only changes I would really have to deal with would be changes to my social life. I counted myself lucky to be living with someone I adore, and we would support local restaurants by ordering in as opposed visiting them personally. Social distance was a pretty easy thing for me to deal with as well since I’d been used to being at home and not having to interact with many people. I already shopped during non-peak hours, and if I wasn’t comfortable going to a store I could probably live without it - anything super necessary could be ordered online or grabbed at curbside. What I wasn’t prepared for was how long this would continue. The longer I spent in isolation, no matter how many creature comforts, was starting to drag on, and the worldwide changes began taking a toll financially. Couple financial difficulties with the prolonged inability to feed my extroverted nature effectively, and I was in a deep slump which resulted in zero motivation.

Now I’m in 2021, and this is the busiest time of the year for me at work. I feel like I have motivation one day and can’t get out of bed the next. It’s really screwing with my brain. Last month, I laid out some goals, and I feel like I made some great progress. That said, that progress was gained in small steps on days where I didn’t feel motivated at all. This isn’t about just “powering through” a slump. That isn’t in line with my intentions for this year. Instead, I decided to figure out how best to utilise the small amounts of motivation I could muster. Here’s how I did it.

When I did feel a sense of motivation, especially early on, I took the time to “dream big.” I wrote down the things I wanted to do if I had all the time and energy in the world. What I found was that a lot of things fell into only two or three pretty broad categories. Then I looked at my lists and my environment and asked myself, “What will make doing anything (no matter how small) on this list manageable?” The answer to that question was what I would choose to do.

For example, I wanted to close out the books for work. It’s a large task that was making me feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needed to be done, and I couldn’t make myself sit down and do it. So I looked at my office and realised that my office was messy and felt disorganised which did not help my ability to get things done. Even if I couldn’t tackle the paperwork right that second, I COULD tackle the mess of papers, supplies, mail, etc that had piled up in my office. I can do 15 minutes of anything, so I set a timer and started. When the timer went off, the task wasn’t done, but I still felt like I could keep going, so I set the timer again. After an hour, my office as well as the space connected to it was tidy and organised. If I had allotted an hour at the beginning, I wouldn’t have started. That felt too big. By giving myself a time frame I could mentally handle, I was able to feel small victories and actually complete the task while I still had motivation to do so. What I found at the end was that having a tidy office and connecting space (my office connects to our library) made me feel less overwhelmed about the work I needed to get done. I could then sit down and actually tackle some of the things on my to do list. Success!!

I acknowledge that I work best when my environment is tidy. After that particular exercise, I made it a point to actually take the time at the end of the day to tidy my workspace. It’s two-fold: I get to create an end of the day ritual where I close the door on my day job and I delineated a space where work occurs. I can’t see past the library doorway and see anything else that needs to be done around the house. Is the kitchen a mess? Absolutely. Is laundry piled up in my bathroom? Yes. I can’t see it though. I had already made a list of things that need to be done, and even though I didn’t have enough spoons to do it right then, at least it was out of my head.

Timers have literally made my progress happen this year. I’ve been doing the same thing whenever I feel overwhelmed. When I walk into a space that makes me feel overwhelmed the first thing I ask myself is “What can I do right now that will make me feel less overwhelmed?” Sometimes the answer is “Walk out of the room,” and that’s okay. I’ll go check on the plants, or play with the puppies, or lay down. I set a timer and figure out if I can get something done on my to-do list. A lot of what runs through my head these days is “I can do 15 minutes of anything.” I’m okay with that. Fifteen minutes isn’t a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but lots of 15-minute intervals can make a lot of things happen. You’d be surprised by how much happens in 15 minutes. It’s a victory and an accomplishment. All those little moments add up.

I still have days where I can’t make myself do much of anything. That’s okay. I give myself grace to be messy and know that there is still tomorrow. So really, I’m unmotivated today. I was unmotivated yesterday, and I’ll probably be unmotivated tomorrow. But I have fifteen minutes and a timer.

What are the things that help you get through your day? How do you handle your moments of motivation?

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frozenprocedural · 4 years

Text

I blame @bepoets for making me write this. This comes from her The West Wing Elsarik crossover. Jenny belongs to @patricia-von-arundel.

Reprimand

Antiseptic scent, everything starched and pressed, and air so dry she felt like she was training in the desert again. Drills in them were bad enough, but an extended stay was worse than tear gas training.

Jenny despised hospitals.

Which made waking up in one all the worse.

Holding the cursing assailant by the ear, Jenny wasn't even aware something had gone wrong until something warm and sticky trickled down her side.

That's when she saw the bloodstain.

.....................

An enormous, bulky cast covered her torso, extending out to encase the entirety of her right arm. When she'd come out of anesthesia, disoriented and incoherent, she'd tried to tear the damned thing off, requiring restraint and sedation until she realized it wasn't coming off. Not easily at any rate.

"How are you doing today, Johanna?" A new nurse- Destin, by the name he scrawled on her whiteboard. She bared her teeth.

"It's. Jenny. Don't they put that in there?" She jerked her chin towards the computer. "I'm fine. When do I leave?"

Destin gave her a wide smile, which only made her irritation grow. "Jenny, then. And it's a bit early to talk about leaving. You just got out of surgery yesterday. The doctor needs to have you monitored more, and you'll need to be seen by PT and OT at the very least before…"

"Then get them in here so I can get the hell out!" Jenny pounded her free fist on the railing, snarling when the movement set off an alarm on the IV pole.

"That is quite enough, Johanna Maria!"

Jenny started, hissing when the movement sent pain jolting down her injured side. Destin actually jumped, knocking the computer station to the side as Aisnley Seaborn strode into the room.

"Mrs. Seaborn, please, tell these people to release me- I'm just fi-"

"Do not finish that word, Johanna, or so help me, I'll make sure Gina puts you on desk duty after you're cleared." She turned to Destin, who watched the entire exchange with wide eyes and stuck out her hand.

"My most sincere apologies, Mr.?"

"Destin Mattias, Ma'am."

"A pleasure, Mr. Mattias. By all means, please finish whatever you need to do."

When Destin finished- faster than any nurse or doctor so far- the snick of Ainsley shutting the door after his departure set Jenny's hairs on end.

There were few things that truly terrified Jenny.

The look Ainsley gave her was one of them.

"I got a call today. A call from your mother, letting me know that her daughter has spent almost the entire time since she woke from her seven-hour surgery to repair a gunshot wound trying to break out of the hospital."

Jenny opened her mouth, but Ainsely held up her hand.

"Oh no. You do not get to speak until I am finished. You see, I found that concept confusing. Anyone who is in surgery for seven hours can't possibly believe they can just walk right out. But, I'm no medical expert, so I decided to consult one. I even had her break things down into terms I could understand."

Ainsley pulled over a chair, setting it down with a definitive thunk. Jenny unconsciously tried to move away, stopped by the cast almost immediately. Ainsley opened a file.

"So let's see what Abbey said, shall we? The medical report states that the bullet entered your right shoulder from behind, struck your shoulder blade, ricocheted up into your collarbone, shattered it, and exited, missing your subclavian artery- it's a rather large one, I was told- by a factor of millimeters."

She pulled out an x-ray, slamming it onto the pull-over table next to Jenny's bed. Ainsley's voice had been steadily rising throughout her speech, and showed no signs of stopping.

"You lost a massive amount of blood, not to mention the muscles in your shoulder resembled pulled pork. I'm told there's a good chance you will suffer either permanent pain or nerve damage as a result. Then, of course, there are the months of physical therapy that you most certainly will be doing if you want even half a chance of returning to active duty."

Ainsley closed the file with a snap, her voice having risen to a near shout.

"And despite all of this- all of which I know your attending doctor explained to you- I come here to find you harassing your nurse, and demanding, of all things, to LEAVE! Do you understand how serious this is!? No, you do not," Ainsley growled when Jenny nodded, "You seem to believe this is some movie where you'll just get up and walk away, some test on how tough you can be. You don't get that there was a good chance you wouldn't have been able to call your mother that night. Just a few more millimeters, and we would be attending your funeral."

Ainsley sank back into her chair, rubbing her forehead.

"Mom… Mom couldn't tell me this herself, could she?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm here. Not the only reason, at any rate. I was there when you were born, Jenny. You took your first steps in my office. I watched you grow into the brilliant, strong, bullheaded woman you are today. When I got that phone call that night…"

For the first time, Ainsley broke eye contact, turning to stare at the wall, and Jenny could see a tear make its way down her cheek. She herself could feel burning in her eyes.

"I had to keep telling myself you'd be alright. That you're too strong and stubborn to… There was a part of me that just kept thinking that night was the last time I'd see you alive."

Silence fell between them, Ainsley watching the wall, and Jenny watching her. She wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out what- 'sorry' didn't seem to be enough.

Sometimes, it seemed Ainsley could read her mind.

"I don't want an apology. I just need you to understand. You are more to me, to all of us, than your job as an agent. No matter what, you have, and always will be, our Jenny." Ainsley looked back to Jenny.

"I understand, Mrs- Aunt Ainsley."

For the first time since she'd stormed in, a smile crept across Ainsley's face. Small and rueful, but a smile nonetheless.

"Good. Now, I have a meeting to get to, but don't you dare think this is the last time you're seeing me. When I get back, you better be listening to your medical team and resting."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ainsley stood and squeezed Jenny's good shoulder. "I'll see you later, then."

As she watched Ainsely leave, Jenny suddenly realized just how exhausted she felt. She pulled the sheets up with a sigh.

Maybe, just maybe, Ainsley had a point about resting.

Before she knew it, Jenny was asleep.

#tww elsarik #jenny #bepoets

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wnterflower-a · 4 years

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so yesterday i posted what my personal werewolf lore was and so today you’re getting my vampire lore . like i stated in my wolf lore , this is open to tweaking and picking and choosing if things don’t match up with your lore . we can make things work between our lores ( :

also like my werewolf lore , i will more than likely add as i go on and more things come to me .

✚ unlike lycanthropy , vampirism is a disease alone . you cannot pass it down .

✚ there is no known information as to how the first vampire originated . the oldest known vampire is from the early 1100s , and he’s become so decrepit and crazy from living such a long life that nobody has ever gotten a straight or same answer . ✚ the only way someone can become a person is if they’re killed with a vampire’s blood in their system . this is usually done by drinking a vampire’s blood but it can’t also be injected , or poured into an open wound . ✚ vampires who sire new vampires often have a connection to their fledglings in the first couple of days . this can influence a fledeling’s habits . for example : a vampire on a binge who sires another vampire during this time will usually result in the fledgling going on a binge as well . ✚ a sire can also feel when a fledgling has been killed and vice versa . however the other passed , the other feels similar effects and pain , though at a muted level . unless they’re older , the moment incapacitates the vampire for at least a day .

✚ vampires are strongest during the full moon and weakest during the new moon .

✚ if a vampire is well-fed during a full moon , their strength . ✚ on the other hand , a vampire during a new moon often has a larger appetite and have less self-restraint when it comes to feeding . during new moons are when turnings are usually at their highest rate .

✚ vampires live in what are called covens .

✚ covens are usually led by one head , though larger covens have been known to have more than one . ✚ covens tend to house together or in the same area ( ie : all in the same apartment complex / neighborhood ) . they feel a pull to the members to stay close by one another in case of any sort of threats . ✚ covens often are very selective and exclusive . siring is something you get permission from your head and if you don’t , older covens are known for kicking the member out . ✚ ‘ lost covens ‘ are covens that are mainly made up of around ten older vampires and abandoned fledglings . they’re considered ‘ modern ‘ covens and sneered at by the older generations .

✚ attributes to vampires include : inhuman strength , senses and grace , supernatural healing abilities , and immortality as well as certain physical appearance changes .

✚ vampires are stronger than werewolves . their strength allows them to jump higher and further . as they age they become stronger . ✚ they’re extremely graceful and are light-footed . their footsteps are silent , and since they don’t actually need to breathe you can’t usually hear them come up behind you . ✚ their sight , smell , hearing and taste are all enhanced ; all stronger for the hunt . their hearing they can kind of control like one would the volume on their headphones and their sight can span up to about a half mile away . they can smell and taste things like , alcohol and drugs in someone’s blood system . ( this often gives a vampire similar side effects and seeked out at times . ) ✚ they’re immortal but can be killed . the easiest way is by staking them , but you can also decapitate them or burn them alive by stranding them in direct sunlight . ✚ a vampire’s eyes are usually a reddish-brown color ( #762700 to #6A2300 for html color reference ) . the younger the vampire the lighter the eye color . ✚ they’re skin is normally a lighter than when they were human but their don’t lose all of their melanin . ✚ their fangs are retractable , but their canines are sharper than the average human beings . ✚ they are very attractive beings . if you weren’t attractive as a human you sure as hell are now . ✚ they give off a natural pheromone that lures humans in unknowingly . to werewolves they just smell like they put too much perfume / cologne on .

✚ even the oldest of vampires cannot walk in direct sunlight .

✚ sunlight burns them , and can cause second to third degree burns . ✚ a vampire can walk in direct sunlight with the help of daylight jewelry . these are often in the form of rings and necklaces , though bracelets , watches and hair pieces have also been seen . the most common stone used is lapis lazuli but moonstone harvest during a full moon also works . ✚ they cannot walk around without their daylight accessories in cloudy or rainy weather . it’s thought that the uv rays are what effect them not necessarily just the sun’s rays .

✚ their bodies only receive nutrients from blood , but they can eat actual food .

✚ while they can eat human food for the sake of looking normal , they will end up throwing it up later on in the day . their bodies cannot digest actual food anymore . ✚ fresh blood is the best option when feeding , though bagged blood and even the blood of the already deceased and animals will work . much like produce though , the fresher the better though .

✚ a majority of vampire ‘ weaknesses ‘ are all fake .

✚ mirrors : vampires can see their reflections in the mirror as can others . ✚ garlic : it doesn’t keep them away but it does smell and they don’t like it . it’s not going to keep them away . ✚ holy water & religious symbols : holy water stings , but does not burn . ingesting it in large amounts will make one sick though . religious symbols burn , but some vampires will grow immune to it if they wear it long enough even then though ✚ invitation : a vampire does not need an invite in order to enter a residence .

✚ vampires can feel pain , though in a very vague sense

✚ major and minor cuts and stabbing ( with anything other than a wooden stake ) feel usually no more like a papercut or a cat scratch ✚ direct sunlight will give second to third degree burns depending on how long one is exposed to it . it feels like a very , very bad sunburn . if exposed for too long though it will kill a vampire .

✚ this are a few ways you can kill a vampire .

✚ it must be to the heart though in order to work . otherwise you’ve got a very irate vampire . any sort of wood will do for the job . ✚ decapitating a vampire will result in death . ✚ prolonged exposure to sunlight . ✚ starvation will eventually kill a vampire , though it is a long , slow , painful process and usually a vampire’s choice of killing another vampire .

✚ they do not have any correlation with bats and honestly don’t know where that thought came from .

✚ they don’t say bleh , bleh , bleh .

✚ vampires are able to have children , but as stated in the first bullet point , the vampire disease does not carry over .

✚ females are not able to have children .

✚ because of this , females are known to turn children as young as three years old . ✚ vampires who are turned so young , and up to age thirteen are often killed off early on because while their minds mature and grow their bodies do not and they often go mad because of it .

✚ many older vampires ( around as young as one hundred depending on self-restraint and work ethic ) are financially well off . this is just due to being able to save for so long .

✚ many vampires know how to play the system such as the stock market and pull out before anything crashes . ✚ many are in new technology . it isn’t uncommon for a vampire to be the founder of a new social media platform or app , especially in this day and age . ✚ some just spent the early days looting .

✚ vampires are able to compulse somebody to do something .

✚ this is normally how vampires get consent to feed on live humans . ✚ this is always a temporary thing . you cannot influence somebody for an extended time into the future and fades the farther you move away from said person . so you can’t tell somebody to do something in the future past an hour ( or up to six hours later if you are particularly skilled in this area ) ✚ while most people have a fuzzy recollection of that happened , most don’t remember it at all . the feeling is similar to being blacked out . ✚ you can warp a memory from the influence but it doesn’t extend past changing your appearance in the case the person remembers . ✚ older vampires can use this on younger vampires as well . in this case it’s usually with younger fledglings who are messengers .

✚ vampires are very territorial .

✚ this differs slightly from werewolves . while werewolves are territory in a land sort of sense , vampires are in a feeding ground sense ??? ✚ basically werewolves don’t like each other on their property at all . sure they have to co-exist in the same area and often cross pack territory lines on a regular basis but it doesn’t necessarily like it . ( take my muse jimin for example . the guy HATES non-pack members stepping foot into his house and if he could avoid walking into another pack’s territory he wold ) . meanwhile , vampires don’t care where you go as long as you don’t feed in their area . ✚ a vampire marks their coven’s feeding ground perimeters by usually leaving a ‘ blood mark ‘ on things such as telephone poles , fences , etc . ✚ a blood mark is exactly what it sounds like . the coven leader uses an open wound to stain the object with their blood . even when washed away or dried , a vampire can smell the blood and usually knows to steer clear . ✚ these marks aren’t permanent though and usually need to be redone every month to month in a half depending on what the weather is like . in the winter they can last up to almost three months . ✚ crossing feeding lines and feeding there commonly results in death . the coven of the vampire who crossed lines doesn’t hold it against the other because it’s viewed as SUPER disrespectful .

#❝ ooc » lore specifics ❞#❝ ooc » vampire lore ❞

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