#bear in mind i know nothing about photo editing or whatever and i am surviving off ibis paint and magma.

[bugsinshoes]

BOOK OF BILL SPOLIERS UNDER THE CUT

fiddauthor nation i have (tried) to fix your photo.

i actually love them it hurts

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Dear reader,

I must caution you about this next chapter. This is the chapter where we continue to explore creepy undertones pertaining to Olaf as a character. If you are not comfortable with reading about predatory behavior, comments ranging from vague to slightly explicit (on the topic of these predatory behaviors), a young girl being restrained, a young girl being threatened, physical violence against a minor, threats to a minor, or vague to slightly specific comments about pedophilia, a creepy fuck stroking a young girl's hair, cheek, and leg... I would suggest skipping specific parts of this chapter. Since this time around it's spread around the VIOLET half of the chapter (although a few vague hints could be found in Klaus and Sunny's section).

Please read with caution. If anything becomes too triggering or makes you too uncomfortable I am happy to summarize in vague details (when going over certain parts) so you are still able to follow the story. Please if you can't read this chapter in its entirely, I will be more than happy to explain the events of the chapter in a less descriptive way.

_______________________________________________________________ Friendly Reminder:

I, Susan, the author of Misery Loves Company also wants to make it abundantly clear that THE TOPICS/TRIGGERS IN THIS CHAPTER are things I frown upon entirely. I do NOT condone pedophilia at all, whatsoever. And I believe it is NOW in my fic that I will say this: if you ship the disgusting vile mess of a 'ship' that is Violaf...I would prefer if you stop interacting with my page, my story, and any of my works. Just because I put it in my story does not mean I condone it. I am using it as a element to explain why this sort of shit is WRONG.

If we are being abundantly honest, it is these segments that I have the hardest time writing and editing. It is a long, hard process and it never gets easier. No matter how vague the comment Olaf or even Esme make is, it is never easy. It makes my blood boil, my skin crawl and my stomach churn.

I don't feel right saying 'enjoy' because this is a tough pill to swallow.

So read with caution. Let me know if you feel I went too far or if you just want to comment like normal. I am not perfect. I am open to criticism. I just needed to make sure all my readers understand where I stand on the topic of Count Olaf's creepy ass infatuation to Violet.

Read with caution. Love the support you guys have given this fic.

-Susan.

____________________________________________________

                                           Chapter Fifty:

                           The One With Violet's Close Call

Klaus and Sunny paced around the small medical closet that they were currently hiding in. They had decided to be paranoid and barricade the door on their end so no one would enter their hideout. Before doing so, Klaus opened the door just a bit so he can peek around the hall and locate the security cameras. He feared that Olaf would catch them simply because he could be watching them on security cameras. After they blocked themselves in, Sunny explained to Klaus that she planned to watch the bottom of the door and she’ll notify him if she sees anyone’s shadows.

Klaus and Sunny were worrying about being recognized by anyone because of the ridiculous lies that had been written about Violet and Klaus in The Daily Punctilio, so the two Baudelaires knew that whatever they planned to do in order to save Violet they had to make sure they were undetected by not only the hospital personnel and patients but by Olaf, Esme, and the troupe who were undoubtedly lurking around the hospital in their ridiculous doctor costumes searching for the two younger orphans.

As the children paced around in silence, both siblings’ minds were racing. “We’ve got to rescue Violet and get out of this hostile hospital,” Klaus said aloud. He was talking more so to himself than Sunny, but Sunny replied anyway.

“But how?” she asked. Klaus sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Both siblings were trying their hardest to concentrate on their situation at hand. Both trying to ignore the fear that was lingering with them. Both were also focused on what Jacques Snicket had said.

Klaus ran his hand through his hair anxiously as he thought about the Snicket file that resided in his pocket next to his sister’s father’s wallet.

There’s a survivor.

Their trouble is over.

They were going to be okay.

They just had to find their mother.

Klaus sighed. He felt a bit bad when his mind focused on the possibility of his mother being the survivor, it was nothing against his father. Truth be told if his father was the survivor, he’d be equally as happy. He just...desperately wanted his mother.

He didn’t understand if there was a survivor, why weren’t they searching for their kids? He knew that his parents would be fighting tooth and nail to reunite themselves with their children. His mother and father were two kind, attentive, supportive, and loving parents. He gave a small smile as he imagined being reunited with his mother again, being able to feel her arms around him in a big bear hug as he feels her warmth and feels safe. His smile widened as he imagined his mother kicking Olaf and Esme’s ass for everything that they had put the kids through.

Sunny paced around the small room, walking in a different pattern than Klaus. She glanced around at all the supplies that were in the room, every so often glancing at the door to make sure that no one was trying to get in the room that she and her brother were hiding in. She took the small yellow ribbon out of her hair as she carefully twisted her hair into it, tying it out of her face. What would Violet do? She asked herself as she tapped her finger on her chin as she thought hard. She glanced over at her brother, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. She took the opportunity to open Violet’s locket again, she wasn’t entirely sure what this would do, but she felt like she needed to see one of her parents’ faces especially after the bombshell that Jacques Snicket had given the children during his briefing of the Snicket file.

She looked at the picture of her mother holding baby Violet and smiled. She missed her mother entirely but as she stared at the picture in her older sister’s locket, Sunny couldn’t help but frown when she thought about her father. Staring at the picture of her mother holding a baby girl in her arms reminded Sunny so much about how their mother used to hold her and sing to her whenever she was fussy. How her mother would clap enthusiastically when Sunny used a new word. She sighed as she ran her finger over the picture of her mother. All these memories made Sunny miss her mother, but they somehow made her miss her father more. She didn’t get to see any pictures of her father as often as she would prefer. The kids had two pictures of their parents stuffed away in Klaus’ pockets along with other documents and important scraps of paper the two younger orphans had been collecting ever since their unfortunate events had begun. So when Sunny gazed down at the photos in her sister’s locket, she wondered where in her world her father could be. Was he looking for them? Was it difficult for him to locate his children because they kept moving? She remembered spending afternoons with her father, who would be entertaining her with his poetry recitals. Sometimes he’d put on a show for Sunny, act out a silly poem or if he was reciting a serious think piece, he would analyze the poem with Sunny and even though she didn’t entirely understand what her father was saying all the time, she was happy. She never understood why Klaus would groan outwardly when their father would run up behind him and somehow still lift him up, ready to recite another poem of John Godfrey Saxe. She found it both entertaining and informational. She frowned when she realized that her actively thinking her father was the survivor meant that she wasn’t rooting for her mother. Like her brother, Sunny had nothing against their mother. She would be equally as happy if it were Beatrice who had survived the fire. But Sunny couldn’t shake the fun image of her father randomly showing up and kicking Olaf and Esme’s asses after putting the kids through all of this bullshit. Sunny smirked wickedly to herself when she thought about what her father might do to Olaf when she told him about what Olaf did to Klaus.

Dada…?

Mommy?

Where are you? Your babies need you.

As both siblings thought about the survivor of the fire and wondered where in the world the survivor could be, their faces turned sour simultaneously when, like clockwork, they both thought the same exact thing.

What if Lemony was the survivor?

Both siblings were blissfully unaware that they were thinking the same thing as Sunny bit her lip nervously and Klaus sighed miserably. Both too lost in thought to ask the other what was wrong.

What if Lemony was the survivor? As the two Baudelaire orphans thought about it...it made sense, didn’t it? For the survivor to be Lemony? The file was called the Snicket File, although Klaus had reasons to believe that it could have been named that simply because the star of the film was Jacques Snicket and Sunny could have guessed that maybe the makers of the film deliberately wanted to name it that just to cause this level of confusion. But again as the two orphans thought about it...their worries began to skyrocket. Jacques was Lemony’s brother, it would make sense that he’d investigate his brother’s death rather than their parents. But that wasn’t what was gnawing at the fragile minds of Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire. What was gnawing viciously at their minds was one question.

What would happen to them if Lemony was the survivor?

Obviously, if Lemony was the survivor, this meant he would be reunited with his daughter. Both siblings sighed at the same time as they came to this realization. It was the first time that the table had turned and it was the Baudelaires feeling excluded rather than Violet. Both didn’t know what would happen to them if he were the survivor. Lemony had no obligation to Klaus or Sunny. He was not their birth father and he had not raised them.

Would he go through the trouble to adopt us? Sunny pondered.

He wouldn’t leave us to fend for ourselves? Klaus wondered.

Truth was the kids just weren’t sure. Although they had met Lemony Snicket on a few occasions, they didn’t get the pleasure in actually getting to know him, seeing that every time they had seen him, he was in disguise just as Olaf was and the situation was always too tense and dangerous where there was rarely ever a moment in time where the kids could have had a decent conversation with the man who was desperately trying to help them. Klaus remembered the brief conversation he had with Lemony back when the kids lived with Josephine and Lemony was disguised as Steve Barkin, how he mentioned having a daughter and tried to convince Klaus that he was a good big brother. But other than that, Klaus didn’t know much about him.

The Baudelaires could easily assume that Lemony would be a decent human being, as he was before he had died and he would adopt the children either officially or unofficially depending on what he sought as best with his complicated circumstances. But he didn’t have any obligation to the Baudelaire children. As much as they hoped that he would take them with him and Violet, he could just as easily take Violet and abandon the two Baudelaires. The children wouldn’t be surprised, by this point in their sad story, they were used to it.

Now they both knew that if either one of their parents was the survivor that they would take in Violet immediately. No questions asked whatsoever. But they were able to come up with that conclusion very easily because they knew their parents. They knew their parents wouldn’t hesitate to gain a relationship with their estranged daughter. Violet was Beatrice’s biological daughter and had fate not intervened, she would have been raised by Bertrand, which would have made their father her father as well. They knew their father would not hesitate to have another child even if that child was not his biologically, that’s how great of a man Bertrand Baudelaire was. The two siblings also knew that if their mother had the chance to simply lay her eyes on the powerhouse force that her eldest daughter was, she would recognize Violet immediately as her child and would rush up and grab Violet and probably never let her go as she sobbed and apologized for things out of their mother’s control. Because they both knew that their mother was a decent and amazing woman.

Both siblings imagined for a second, how life would have been like had Violet never been separated from their mother and father. Klaus could imagine all the siblings' arguments and bonding moments that he and Violet would have had had she been around. He imagined how holidays would have been and how normal days would have been. Would he and Violet be closer? Would they have grown to hate each other? He pondered to himself. He slowly smiled, he had a feeling that being raised alongside Violet would have simply made him idolize her more as a big sister. He could see his younger self rushing into her room when he was scared of the loud thunderstorms outside instead of his mother and father’s room. He could see her building them a small little fort where they could pretend that the storm couldn’t get to them because Violet had built the shelter with the full purpose of making it stormproof even if the fort was made out of the most basic of materials like blankets and pillows. He could see her wanting her to sit with him during his first optometrist appointment instead of his father. He could see her beating up schoolyard bullies for him and just doing all the things big sisters do. But as he thought about it...he didn’t give the negative aspects even a thought. He knew big sisters were supposed to relentlessly tease and annoy. He knew that they were the only ones allowed to pick on their younger siblings. He knew growing up with Violet could have been different when it came to the family dynamics. He would never have had all of his parents' undivided attention, he would have had to fight Violet for it and he had a feeling he would have lost that battle a lot. He knew that if Violet had been raised alongside him that he probably would have been compared to her a lot because that’s what parents do. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t have minded if life turned out like that.

Sunny, on the other hand, thought about how if Violet had been raised alongside her and Klaus that Violet would have been there the day that she came home from the hospital. She would have probably been like Klaus, teaching her how to talk, read, and walk. She wondered what else Violet would have tried to teach her. Sunny smiled as she imagined how family game nights would have gone with Violet’s addition. How chaotic that would have been with the five of them duking it out over Uno or Monopoly. Sunny had a feeling if Violet had been there from the start, that she would have been able to see the treehouse that she and Klaus shared more often. Klaus wasn’t entirely fond of it because it was getting too old and he felt as though it was dangerous to be in there but she knew that Violet would have made it a special project to fix it up for Sunny.

But as the children thought about this alternate timeline, they both felt bad for taking Lemony out of the picture and it brought them back to their worries that if it was so easy for them to do to him...how easy would it have been to do for him? And as they went back to pondering about whether or not Lemony would help them if he was the survivor, the children felt a mixture of emotions.

Cause with Lemony, Klaus and Sunny wouldn’t be able to entirely blame him if he were to take Violet and leave. Hell, they wouldn’t blame Violet for giving up on them and leaving with her father if she wanted to. The Baudelaires both feared that Lemony and possibly even Violet would finally see the two orphans as far too much trouble. Which as they further thought about it, it made perfect sense as to why the kids could be described as ‘too much trouble’.

No matter what Violet tried to tell them, the siblings knew that they were the reason Lemony was dead. They were the reason that Violet got sucked into this misfortune. Even if Lemony was the one who had decided to come out of hiding with the hopes of helping them survive Count Olaf. They cost him his life and if he turned out to be alive and would rather stay clear of the danger magnets that they have been proven to be. They couldn’t...and wouldn’t fault him.  They were also the reason that his brother was now dead. And there was no mistaking that on Sunny’s part.

Sunny knew Jacques was dead, she was forced to witness it with her own two eyes. Sleeping at night was difficult these days for young Sunny Baudelaire, although whenever she was able to cuddle up with one or both of her siblings, she felt safe enough that she could sleep and she found that when she was in the warm embrace of one of her older siblings it was as if a barrier is put around her and the harmful images of Olaf murdering Jacques couldn’t enter her head and torment her.

But Klaus didn’t need to witness Jacques’ murder to know he’s dead. He saw Jacques’ dead body being rowed out. Both children shuddered as they thought about the fact that Olaf had killed possibly two men in his wicked pursuit of them and now he had their fourteen-year-old sister in his clutches.

Both felt sharp pangs of guilt as a wave of sick, cruel realization poured over them when they realized that they were the reason why Violet was kidnapped and whatever Olaf was doing to her was on them. Klaus felt this pang of guilt harder than Sunny had because he knew what Olaf’s sick intentions with Violet were and he didn’t act fast enough to convince her splitting up was the worst thing the trio could have done. He hadn’t fought her hard enough to exit the mail chute and he allowed Esme and Olaf to take one of his sisters.

Klaus felt a few sharp pings of worry hit him as he thought about his doubts. The longer it took for him to come up with a plan, the more time the kids had to get caught and even if that didn’t happen it was more time that Olaf had Violet in his clutches. Klaus knew that he couldn’t let him and Sunny get caught because he refused to make Violet’s sacrifice fruitless. He also couldn’t let them get caught for obvious reasons. He knew Olaf wasn’t going to leave the hospital without all three kids. So he and Sunny merely had to avoid getting caught in their attempt to rescue Violet.

Klaus watched as Sunny did another routine check of the door. She watched for a few moments just to be extra cautious. He gave a small smile as he watched her walk-in tiny circles, tying her own hair. Klaus had a special sense of pride as he thought about how much Sunny had grown since that day on the beach when their lives first changed for the worst. Sunny was out of her infancy and was in the beginning stages of her toddlerhood and she was surely showing it. She was walking on her own and even talking in sentences for the most part, completely able to articulate her thoughts. Even going through everything she had been through, Klaus could see Sunny growing up into a chaotic mix of both of her parents. She had the best qualities of both Beatrice and Bertrand. Hell, Sunny had her moments where she reminded Klaus so much of Violet, like right now, as Sunny paced around silently, untying and retying her hair with her small yellow ribbon. The thing that surprised him the most about Sunny was that even after failing her so many times, she still believed in him so much. He didn’t understand why though.

Klaus felt tears spring to his face. You are the absolute worst brother in the world. You can’t protect them.

He turned quickly and glanced at Sunny once more. He couldn’t help but think this way. Violet was definitely the better big sibling for Sunny. She was proving it right now by being Olaf’s captive while allowing Klaus and Sunny a chance at an escape. While Klaus was hiding inside a large closet desperately trying to figure out a plan to save Violet. Sunny had definitely surprised him when she had compared him to Violet positively. That’s something he ever really did, always feeling inferior to his older sister especially when it comes to how they both were at being an older sister. ‘You are the best big brother I could ask for’ Sunny had said when she compared him positively to Violet. Then she had told Klaus that she loved in believed in them both.

Klaus’ thoughts shifted just slightly when he also remembered what Sunny now knows. His blood boiled and he felt the desire to punch a wall angrily. How dare Olaf haunt his baby sister with the gory, gruesome details of the pain he had caused her older brother after he had desperately tried to save her back when they were still in that bastard’s ‘care’. Olaf had absolutely no right and Klaus knew he only did that to try to scare Sunny and that made him even angrier. He hated the fact that Sunny now felt guilty about it even though he did not have a single reason to blame Sunny.

Klaus turned to Sunny, sighing, finally breaking the silence.

“We have to rescue Violet before it’s too late,” he explained to Sunny.

“But we don’t know where she is,” Sunny countered, although she nodded her head in agreement.

“ Violet must be somewhere in this hospital. Otherwise, Olaf and Esme would have left by now. He and Esme are probably hoping to capture us to,”

“Then we have to find her,” Sunny replied turning to her brother. “But how?”

Klaus sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Olaf is watching us through the fucking security cameras and the rest of the hospital might recognize us from the bullshit Daily Punctilio.”

Both children looked at one another depressingly. They both wondered just how long Violet had had that photo of them hidden away in secret in her locket that now rested on Sunny’s chest. They both knew that they needed to act soon because they both did not like the idea of Violet being in Olaf’s clutches. Before either one can further the conversation they could hear an approaching crowd of cheerful singers.

Klaus and Sunny looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. “Hide within crowd?” Sunny suggested as Klaus picked her up quickly.

“Better than nothing.” Klaus agreed. “We’ll just have to be extra careful today,”

Sunny nodded emphatically, a word which here means ‘as if she thought being extra careful was a good plan,’ and Klaus nodded emphatically back as he quickly unbarricaded the door, listening for the crowd to be right outside the door before exiting the room. Both Baudelaire children felt less and less emphatic about what they were doing as they waited by the door. Ever since that terrible day at the beach, when Mr. Poe brought them news of the fire, both Baudelaire orphans had been extra careful all of the time. They had been extra careful when they lived with Count Olaf, and Sunny had still ended up dangling from a cage outside Olaf’s tower room. They had been extra careful when they’d worked at Lucky Smells Lumbermill, and Klaus had still ended up hypnotized by Dr. Orwell. And now the Baudelaires had been as careful as they could possibly be, but the hospital had turned out to be as hostile an environment as anywhere the two children had ever lived. And as their hearts were beating faster and faster, they heard their opportunity to exit the small room and hide within the cheerful VFD.

“ We are Volunteers  and we’re cheerful all day long! If someone said that we were sad, that person would be wrong. Tra-la-la Fiddle-dee-dee Hope you get well soon. Ho-ho-ho,” the members of VFD sang as Klaus hurriedly opened the door and forced him and his baby sister into the direct middle of the crowd.

“Could we have some balloons?” Klaus asked.

“Of course, brother!” Brandon said patting Klaus’ shoulder. He handed Sunny two balloons and gave the children a confused look. “Where’s the older sister, brother?” he asked confused.

Klaus and Sunny looked at one another. “She’s under the weather,” Sunny explained quickly.

“I’m sorry to hear that!” Brandon said cheerfully as he tied a balloon gently to Sunny’s wrist. “Give her this heart-shaped balloon! And to get well soon!” he said smiling. “Ooh, that rhymed. We should add that to the song somehow.” he addressed the other members who were all smiling and ready to partake in the singing again.

Sunny maneuvered the balloons to cover both her face and her brother’s face as Klaus carried her trying his best to sing along to the song so that the volunteers would allow him and Sunny to stay in the group. The song and the singing were too cheerful and annoying for Klaus to truly enjoy this plan. But what better place to hide than among people who believed that no news was good news, which means they don’t read the newspaper.

To the children’s relief, the volunteers paid no attention as Klaus and Sunny glanced around desperately looking for any signs of their big sister or Olaf and his group. As they followed the group from room to room, both Baudelaires concluded that this might be the best way for them to search the hospital. Maybe Olaf had disguised their sister as a patient since he was disguised as a doctor.

The children went into several rooms, watching as the Volunteers Fighting Disease ignored real ways to help the hospital’s patients and they cheerfully sang their song oblivious to exactly how useful or helpful they were being. They saw a man with both legs in casts and a woman with both arms in bandages. They watched a member tie a balloon to the woman’s cast because she wouldn’t be able to hold it.  They watched as the group ignored the patients’ request of a glass of water and for their nurse to be called so they could receive their pain killers. Klaus and Sunny wanted to help these people but they were too afraid of whether or not the patients had read The Daily Punctilio so as the VFD members ignored their requests, the Baudelaires regretfully did, too.

“If we visit each and every room of this hospital,” Klaus whispered to Sunny as the group exited the room to go to a different room. “We’re sure to find Violet,”

“Agreed. Although seeing sick people makes me sad,” Sunny replied.

“Same here, Sunshine.”

The next room contained a man that reminded them of Mr. Poe because he had a severe, nasty cough. As they watched the volunteers sing their song and hand the man a balloon, the children believed that a good humidifier would be more effective way to fight this disease than a cheerful attitude and the two were tempted to run and find a humidifier for this sick man, but they knew Violet was in much more danger than a man with a cough and again, they couldn’t risk being recognized.

On and on the volunteers marched, and Klaus and Sunny marched with them, but with every ho ho ho and he he he their hearts sank lower and lower. The two Baudelaires followed the members of VFD up and down the staircases of the hospital, and although they saw a great number of confusing maps, intercom speakers, security cameras which they made sure to avoid looking directly into, and sick people, they did not catch a glimpse of their sister. As they entered each room, nowhere, in any of the rooms that the volunteers marched into, was Violet Snicket, who Klaus and Sunny feared, was suffering more than any other patient.

“We’ve been wandering all morning, and we’re no closer to saving our sister,” Klaus whispered to Sunny, but Sunny didn’t reply. As Klaus marched with the volunteers up another flight of stairs as he carried Sunny, Sunny had focused on something that kept her eye.

“Shh,” Sunny whispered back.

“Why?” Klaus asked in a whisper.

“Bald fucker,” Sunny whispered, pointing as stealthily as she could ahead of them. Someone coming down the stairs, he was several steps above the kids and he looked to be running down the stairs in a hurry. “And Hook-Man.”

“What do we do?” Klaus whispered worriedly, realizing that if the bald man and the Hook-Handed Man were descending down the stairs, that they would have a good viewpoint advantage on the kids.

“Kiss the balloon,” Sunny whispered back as she shoved one balloon in Klaus’ face. He shifted Sunny so that he can hold the balloon in his face while she used one of the balloons to hide her face and the third one, that Brandon had intended for Violet to cover the top of her head. She hoped that if the bald man were to look over at the Volunteers Fighting Disease he would just see the top of Klaus’ head and assume he was one person rather than two, carrying three balloons.

The children’s hearts were beating fast in their chests as they continued marching in the middle of the group of volunteers.

__________________________________________________________

Violet opened her eyes and groaned in pain. Her head was throbbing from Esme slamming it into the hospital wall. She glanced around the room to find that she had been once again tied down to the gurney. She felt tape once again around her mouth. She tried desperately to kick her feet but to her surprise, Olaf and Esme must have tied her ankles to the damn gurney, too.

Nonetheless, Violet struggled as hard as she could trying to make some kind of noise in a desperate attempt to get someone to rescue her. She didn’t have much time to struggle, though because the door to the room began to open. Her heart dropped.

“I’m just saying, Boss. Your name could use a little work,” The Hook-Handed Man explained.

“What do you mean? It’s fucking brilliant,” Olaf growled, rolling his eyes.

The Hook-Handed Man looked at him incredulously, “Really?” he asked. “Dr. Medical-School?”

“Like you could’ve come up with anything better,” Olaf muttered annoyed.

“You could’ve said literally anything else. Like...House...or Howser?”

Olaf growled again. “Watch the door,” he ordered his henchman as he turned towards Violet.

Violet’s heart sank further as she watched the Hook-Handed Man’s facial expression change almost immediately. “B-but don’t you need my hooks…to tear her to shreds?” the man asked meekly. Violet gave both men an intense glare.

“Just wait outside the door,” Olaf hissed as he watched his henchman turn around unhappily and walked outside the door. Violet glanced down at the bottom of the door to make sure that the man hadn’t entirely left, thankfully for her, she could see the shadows that his feet made as he stood in front of the door, guarding it against anyone who would try to enter.

Olaf walked menacingly towards Violet. He glared down at Violet. Violet glared back at him with daggers. She refused to show him fear or weakness so she was hoping that she looked more intimidating than she felt seeing as though Olaf most definitely had the upper hand.

Olaf reached down, grabbed the edge of the tape and pulled it off Violet’s mouth as quickly and painfully as he can. “You fucking bitch!” she hissed.

“Comfy?” he asked her, smirking at the helpless girl.

“Fuck off,” Violet hissed, still glaring at him. “Klaus and Sunny will find me.”

Olaf merely shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they will...maybe they won’t. I mean I’m counting on it. Can’t let those brats live after causing me so much trouble.”

“You fucker,”

“But you see, if I were Klaus...I’d do the sensible thing and leave this hospital with that bucktoothed brat,”

“Well, it’s a good thing Klaus isn’t a damn thing like you, then.”

“Well, what do you expect to happen, Violet?” Olaf asked as he began to pet her hair. Violet moved her head vigorously, trying to move away from his touch. “I mean...if I had the option to save my real sister or some desperate little girl who just wants to belong...I’d save my sister.”

Violet’s glare intensified. “I am their real sister, you fucking piece of shit.” she hissed as he smiled down at her. The way that he was looking at her, made the pit of fear in her stomach grow.

Olaf rolled his eyes as he grabbed the edge of the gurney harshly. Causing Violet to flinch. He smiled at her reaction. She responded just how he wanted her to. “You know, Violet, it doesn’t have to end this way…” he muses slowly walking around the gurney. Violet tried her hardest to keep her eyes glued on him, to make sure she could see him at every second. But as he circled her like a shark circling its prey, she was feeling dizzy. “I see the way you roll your eyes at the mere mention of VFD.”

Violet shifted her gaze to where he had stopped moving. He was standing behind her head, she glanced up at him, still glaring but behind her eyes, she knew that fear was starting to show. She had no idea what he had planned. “I may hate VFD. But I despise you!” she hisses.

“I’m flattered,” he says as he caresses her cheek. She shudders under his touch. She whimpers softly, violently trying to move her arms and legs, to break her restraints but as Olaf watches her struggle, his smirk widens and her heart sinks further into her chest which Violet didn’t know it was possible. “But you don’t mean that…”

“Oh, believe me, I do!”

Olaf smirk widened. “You know...it’s not just VFD that is to blame for what you’re going through…”

“I know it’s…” Violet began before Olaf interrupted her.

“Your dear father...may he rest in ashes.” Olaf snarled leaning closer to Violet’s ear. Causing the girl to shrink to the farther side of the gurney as much as her restraints would allow.

“ Fuck you!” she screeches as she continues to struggle more.

“And...Beatrice…” Olaf added, he watched as Violet’s face turned from one of unbridled anger to pure sadness. ‘You know…” he began, his voice becoming gentler but not in a comforting way. His voice became patronizing and belittling, but softer in volume. He walked over to the side of the gurney once more, kneeling down so that he no longer towered Violet but he was nearly face to face with her which made her move her head as far away from him as she could. “Beatrice hurt me, too. You’re not the only person that she hurt.”

Violet couldn’t believe her ears, was Olaf truly trying to pin her misfortune on her birth mother. Was he trying desperately to shift the blame from himself and VFD to her parents? She continued to glare at him as he sighed. He caressed Violet’s cheek again.

“Since you’re such a pretty girl…” he explained. “I’m willing to give you a chance to join me, Violet.” He watched as her expression changed to one that he couldn’t read. He couldn’t tell if she was considering it or was entirely shocked by his mere suggestion. “Together...we could destroy VFD once and for all. All you’d have to do is two simple things... for me.”

Violet’s stomach churned uncomfortably as she grimaced. She didn’t know what he meant by that last part but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. She looked up at Olaf, her glare still present but her fear was coming through so it wasn’t as intense as it had been. Olaf took that as a sign of her already considering his offer before even hearing what she’d have to do.

Olaf continued to caress her cheek as he spoke, Violet tried her damnedest to move her face from his touch but he, unfortunately, had the advantage. “Would it be so awful?” he asked. She looked at him with a face full of confusion and discomfort. “Would it be so awful to spend the rest of your life...with me? In my troupe...at my side...at my beck and call? I’ve seen your inventions, you could be very useful to my troupe, unlike those pesky Baudelaires.” He leaned in close to her. “Think about it, my pet,” he whispered into her ear as he stroked her cheek. Her skin felt like it was crawling and her blood was boiling but she was beginning to feel paralyzed under his cruel touch. “We could burn down this organization together!”

“...keep...talking…” she replied meekly, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. But at this point, she’d do almost anything to help her siblings escape from Olaf’s treachery.

“When you’re of age, you give me your fortune,” He began. “You see, once I have your fortune...I wouldn’t dispose of you like I would that irritating bookworm and biting brat.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he was still more interested in her stupid fucking money than what she had been expecting for him to say. Although the second part of that statement was one that she didn’t really like. She would rather an option where Olaf didn’t dispose of Klaus and Sunny. But when Violet weighed her options on the financial part of his offer, there was barely any hesitation. It was just money. Who the fuck cares? She thought. The only thing I care about right now is my siblings.  But as she opened her mouth to respond, she remembered he had said there were two things he needed her to do for him. Fear came crashing in once more as she began to expect the worst.

“And...what else?”

“You help me lure those bratty Baudelaires so I can destroy them.” He replied smiling wickedly at her.

Still surprised by his answer, since that was not where she believed he was going with this conversation. She took the time to weigh her options. She took into account everything that Olaf had said up to this point. Since the day that Violet had the absolute misfortune of meeting this vile and terrible man.

Finally, Violet smiled and in the most enthusiastic voice she could muster up she said, “Of course, I’ll join you!”

Olaf smiled at this. He placed his hand under her chin, turning her face to make her face him. “Pretty and smart,” Violet responded with another rough shudder as she tried to move her chin from his grasp. But he held her firmly. “Now...all you have to do is tell me where those brats are hiding.”

Violet nodded and he let go of her chin. “Of course, I’ll tell you where they’re hiding!” Violet replies using the same over-the-top voice. “Now, when you capture them you can’t tell them that I told you.”

“Of course. Of course.” He replied, a Grinch-like smile appearing across his face. This was too easy. He thought. She did her best to motion for him to come closer so that she could whisper her siblings' location in his ear. His smile somehow got wider and far creepier as he began to move closer to her.

“Now listen carefully,” Violet replied as Olaf could no longer contain his excitement. He was soon going to have all three orphans to torture and do whatever the fuck he wanted to and what made this even better is that Violet was going to sell out her siblings and hand them to him on a silver platter.

As he got closer to her face, Violet gave the vile man, a quick, sarcastic smile as she spits directly in his face. “ Snickets take care of their own!” she screamed in his ear as loud as she could.

Olaf growled, a loud, inhumane growl as he slapped her across the face with as much strength as he could muster. “ You little bitch!” he screamed as her head shot to the side harshly. One cheek feeling the wrath of Olaf’s anger and the other feeling the pressure of being slammed against the side of the gurney. Tears began to fall from her eyes as she winced in pain. She could feel her right cheek was on fire. Olaf wiped her saliva from his face as he grabbed Violet’s face in his hand and roughly pushed her cheeks in, applying pressure to her jaw. She groaned in pain.

“Stop…” she whimpers.

“Snickets may take care of their own...but Baudelaires are known for betraying and abandoning their own…” he said, applying even more pressure to her face. She tried to pull her head from his grasp. “And I have this feeling that the bookworm is just like his mother in that respect.”

Violet tried to spit at him again. “ Fuck you! You motherfucker!”

Olaf growled once more as he slapped her again, with the same level of strength as before even if this time she was unsuccessful when she tried to spit in his face. She started to cry. She bit her lip to suppress her sobs but the effort was almost pointless when her eyes began to water. Her cheek was definitely on fire now and she was beginning to feel her fear of her situation take over. She watched as Olaf turned and walked over to a small sink that was in the room. He picked up a tray full of medical tools and began to examine the tools.

“Out of curiosity,” Olaf asked, back turned towards a vulnerable and terrified Violet. “Has the bookworm shown you what I’m capable of?”

“You mean how you cut him, you fucking bastard!” she hissed. “Sunny told me.”

Olaf chuckled at that, as he lifted a rather scary looking knife as he examined it thoroughly. Still not even looking at her. “You see, I could do the same thing to you, my darling,” he turned to her as he carried the tray and the scary knife with him back towards her. He placed the tray of tools on top of her. “But...you’re way too pretty for that,” he explains petting her hair once more.

“I’m not your darling, you sick fuck.” she hisses through the tears, fear, and pain. “Klaus and Sunny are going to find me. We’ve outsmarted you every fucking time. We will do it again.”

Olaf grinned as he waved the big, sharp knife around, stroking his finger carefully across it, smiling wickedly at it. “I don’t think you will outsmart me...no, not this time.” he hisses menacingly as he glared down at the helpless girl. Violet glared back at him, her fear being suppressed once more as she continually reminded herself why she had to survive this. “Have you ever hunted, Violet?”

“Of course not,” she spat back.

“Well…” he said as he put down the large knife on the tray. “If you had, you’d be familiar with a particular experience. There’s a particular moment, at the end of a long hunt, ” he explained coldly as he picked up a rather scary drill. Violet, being only fourteen and never going to med-school wasn’t completely certain what this device in Olaf’s hand was but if she had to guess it was probably to drill small holes in the skull to help neurosurgeons perform their operations. As he spoke, he used a tone that sent several chills down her spine causing her to shift uncomfortably and breathe heavily. “When you have the animal cornered. And the animal looks into your eyes... deep into them, to see if there’s any mercy in there.” She looked at the device with uncertainty and fear as Olaf turned it on. The man looked from her to the drill, smiling as he imagined using it on one of the children. “And when it sees that there is not…” he turned the drill off and smiled at it happily. “... it gives up...it gives it life to you. ”

He smiled wickedly at her as he placed the drill back on the tray that still laid on top of her. She could no longer help it, she was trembling as he spoke. He stroked her now severely bruised cheek as she felt tears springing in her eyes. “Well, I have you cornered, Violet, and I have no mercy .”

Tears began to fall from Violet’s eyes as her fear took over. Is this how Klaus feels like? She wondered as she tried her best to hold it in. But this was all too much. His tone, his words, his touch. She couldn’t take it anymore.

He smiled viciously as he wiped a tear from her bruised cheek. “Don’t cry…” he cooed. “Sooner or later the Baudelaires will fall into my trap and when they do…”

Violet’s tear-filled eyes glared at the villain as he mentioned her siblings again. She shook her head defiantly, unable to speak because she was using most of her energy trying to hold back her tears. He gripped the railing to the gurney harshly as he knelt closer to her menacingly. He got in her face as close as he could get, even after she had shrunk herself down as far as her head would sink into the single pillow that held her head up. She grimaced and winced at how extremely uncomfortable she felt with Olaf that close to her face. She wanted to spit in his face again but the intense heat she could still feel from her right cheek convinced her otherwise. Instead, she stared back at Olaf with a face full of mainly fear with a splash of anger and defiance. “And when they do…” he reiterated getting even closer to her face. Violet held her breath as he spoke due to how close he was to her. She could smell his rancid breath. She tried to turn her head so she didn’t have to look at him but he caught her throat with his hand and applied pressure to keep her head in place. “I won’t be satisfied with just your fortunes. This time, I will obliterate you and the entire Baudelaire line in the cruelest ways imaginable…” he hissed into her ear as he held her down. Her breathing became rapid and her fear spiked entirely. “Now won’t that be fun?!” he asked her in a patronizing tone as he gave her an open-mouthed grin, showing off his disgustingly dirty teeth.

Violet’s breathing became heavy as she gasped for air the moment he lifted his face even an inch away from hers. By the look on Olaf’s face, Violet knew that he knew that he was terrifying her.

“...l-leave them alone!” she cried struggling as Olaf removed his hand from her throat. “You have me!” she reasoned, her voice thick with fear. “I can get you both fortunes! Just leave Klaus and Sunny alone!”

He snickered. “I do have you…” he said smiling. “And what a treat that is,”

Violet trembled and began to struggle when she felt Olaf’s hand on her lower leg. She shifted uncomfortably. He grins at her, again, his hand trailing up to her knee agonizingly slow. Violet jerked her leg again. Fear creeping slowly into her eyes, paralyzing her to her core. She felt frozen as she felt his hand stroke her knee. Her heart was beating rapidly as she started screaming for help as Olaf clapped his hand over her mouth. She desperately tried to bite his hand as she tried to break free from her restraints. She looked around the room desperately, her eyes locking on the door. She prayed that someone, anyone, would walk in here soon and stop him before he was to do anything too heinous. He seemed to revel in her fear, probably because he rarely got to see it.

Olaf smirked again when he could see her face full of fear as she unknowingly was looking at him trying to look into his eyes for an ounce of mercy or humanity just as he described in his little speech that was designed to scare her. His smirk widened when he remembered the same look on Klaus’ face back when he first traumatized the young orphan.

He kept his hand at her knee, which was a small relief to Violet but she knew it was not because he had any mercy or humanity, it was merely because he was getting a kick out of her trembling in fear that he wanted to prolong it for as long as he could to further torment the poor girl. And why wouldn’t he? He believed he had all the time in the world. He had his favorite little orphan captured and in his clutches unable to escape or save herself and he severely doubted that Klaus was going to attempt another rescue mission after his first one had ended in his own pain, misery, and blood being spilled. Olaf believed that even if Klaus was brave enough to try to rescue Violet, he would fail miserably and then he would have all three children in his clutches. His to torture in any way that he seemed fit.

He glanced up at the terrified Violet, who looked from him to his hand attentively. Only staring at one or the other for a few seconds before shifting her eyes. She closed her eyes and pushed her head against the gurney as if she were ready to give in. She sighed heavily and as she did, Olaf and even Violet, herself, could hear the tremble in her voice. “...don’t...please don’t hurt them…” she cried, tears once again flowing.

He once again reveled and rejoiced in her misery and fear as he used his free hand to wipe her tears from her eyes again. “Didn’t we talk about crying?” he asked in a tone that was softer than his threats but was far scarier. “ Pretty little orphans shouldn’t cry…”

She jerked her head once more. She felt sick to her stomach with each second that passed by. She stared at the door, pleading within her mind for someone to barge in and stop him before he went too far.

“I mean...I could just keep you...and let them live,” he mused. She groaned depressingly simply because of the way he said it. It didn’t sound like he was contemplating her idea, it sounded like he was planning to use it against her. “But...you’d have to do something for me first,” he explained as he began to lift his grip from her knee. Violet shuddered violently, understanding fully well what he had been implying.

Violet’s eyes widened. “Stop fucking touching me! ” she cried through her sobs, desperately pulling at her wrists and ankles. She needed the restraints to loosen but unfortunately for her, it didn’t seem to be happening.

Olaf smirked down at her as he lifted the large knife. Violet couldn’t tell if the knife was, yet another, scare tactic or if this was really what he was going to do. Merely cut her up. She didn’t know exactly how to feel about that. She stared at the large knife, her breathing becomes rapid.

 No. She told herself as she felt herself shake. He wouldn’t do that to you. He said it himself. You’re too pretty for that.

She involuntarily gagged at her thoughts. On second thought, I’d prefer if he cut me like he did Klaus.  

She looked at the knife fearfully when he set it on her leg, applying slight pressure to it. She froze under his touch, too afraid to continue to struggle because she didn’t want to cut herself. “Oh, Violet.. .I will touch whatever I want. ”

Violet shuddered at both the tone that he used to say that and the double meaning she knew that the statement had. He stroked the knife against her knee with one hand as he lifted his other hand, keeping it above her thigh. Violet had a feeling she knew now why Olaf had wanted her in the hospital gown. As his hand hovered over her thigh, she pulled at her wrists violently ignoring the sharp pain that was affecting her wrists.

“ No,” she cried. She glanced at the door, practically begging with her eyes for the Hook-Handed Man or anyone else to open the door now! As Violet continued to struggle against her restraints, she decided that she’d rather not see what was to happen next. She closed her eyes tight as the door swung open.

“Boss! Boss! Come quick!” The Hook-Handed Man cried urgently.

Olaf groaned loudly as he dropped the large knife on the tray filled with medical tools that still laid on top of Violet. “Can’t you see that I’m busy with my pet?” he asked stroking Violet’s hair.

Violet whimpered and tried to move her head as she watched the henchman slightly shudder.

“This better be important!” Olaf hissed, turning his body and attention towards his henchman, glaring at him. Violet took this opportunity to lift up her head and quickly scan the tray of tools looking for something sharp to cut her restraints. She glanced around at all the big tools knowing full well that she couldn’t take one of those because she needed to be conspicuous. Her eyes locked on a scalpel that was laying at the edge of the tray. She quickly glanced up at Olaf, who was still distracted by his henchman and she quietly reached for the scalpel. She looked up at the henchman to see if he was watching her, but he seemed to be focused on something else. She carefully took the scalpel from the tray and cautiously hid it under her body.

“We just found the other brats!” The Hook-Handed Man reported.

“What?!” Olaf cried excitedly, his eyes widening and shining with pure happiness.

Violet’s eyes widened for an entirely different reason. “ NO!” she screamed. Her struggling became a bit harsher as she groaned and winced from the pain that was going through her wrists. “ Please!”

“The others are in pursuit right now,” he explained. “But we need your help catching them, sir.”

Olaf groaned. “Where’s Esme?” he asked. “She caught this pretty little thing for me...why can’t she catch the other two?”

“She’s busy doing her own thing,” the henchman replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Must I do everything myself?” he asks as he glares at his henchman.

Olaf growls knowing damn well that that meant Esme was more focused on getting her damn sugar bowl than getting him the remaining two orphans. That would explain why she hadn’t followed him into Violet’s room. Olaf turned from his henchperson back to Violet. He placed a cold hand on her bruised cheek. “Maybe our fun should wait until I have those pesky Baudelaires.” he hissed as he caressed her cheek. She shudders under his touch, he could hear her whimpers.

“ Please! Leave them alone!” Violet pleads, choking on her tears. “ They’re all I have!”  She began to harshly pull at her restraints careful not to move too much where the scalpel could be seen or where she’d accidentally bump it off her gurney. She grunted and groaned in pain as she twisted her wrists and ankles this way and that.

Olaf smirked widens as he watches her. He takes the tray from where it laid on top of her and placed it back on the counter that was far from where her gurney was parked.

He turned to her and viciously hissed, “Oh, Violet. You have nothing.” he lifted up the big knife as he examined it again. He turned to his henchman. “Do you think this is sharper than your hooks?”

The man shrugged in response. “Actually, the duller the weapon the better. The more pressure that needs to be applied." Olaf muttered to himself loud enough for Violet to hear. “Hmmmm...maybe we can use this drill on the little baby,” he said lifting up the drill and turning it on once more. "What do you think, pet?"

This time the sound it produced made Violet’s ears and heart ache. She didn’t care imagining it being used on her but to be used on Sunny...she couldn’t bear it.

“ Please! You have me! You don’t need to harm them anymore!”

He walks back to her as he glances down at her. “Don’t worry, pet, I’ll allow you to see them one last time. ” The words hit Violet to her core as her heart was beating too fast. She tried to look into Olaf’s viciously shiny eyes for mercy but he was right, there was absolutely none especially when it came to her siblings. “I mean, how else could you witness their demise?”

“ Olaf! Please! No!” She cries. Her tone a mix of anger and desperation.

Olaf pats her on the head. “A fake doctor’s work is never done.” he shrugged his shoulders as he began to walk out. “Oh, and I wouldn’t bother screaming...in a hospital...screams are perfectly normal. Am I right?” He gestured around as if to tell Violet that no one had come to her rescue and the only reason he was leaving her right now was to go catch her siblings. “It seems like your self-sacrifice was for nothing. You just made them easier targets to catch.”

“ You listen to me you piece of fucking dog shit! Don’t you dare touch Klaus or Sunny!” Violet cried desperately. Her anger taking the forefront of her mindset. “ When I get out of these restraints, I will make you pay for everything you’ve done to them! And everything you try to do to them!”

He laughed at Violet’s threats as he walked back towards the door to follow his henchman, he stopped at the tray and lifted the big, sharp knife once more. “On second thought, this will be perfect for subduing those brats. They’ll both be shaking to their cores at the mere sight of this and then we’ll snatch them,” he explained cruelly to Violet. “Let’s go, Hooky.”

“ No...no...you can’t! Please!” She struggled violently. Her desperation and anger were fighting for the forefront of her mind. “ If you harm them...I will fucking kill you! You hear me! I will end you so quickly if you even dare touch even a hair on either one of their heads!”

Olaf put his hand up in the air and waved at Violet tauntingly. “ I’m so scared.” He mocked as he began to laugh maniacally. “ Don’t worry, my pretty little pet, I’ll be right back.”

Before she could respond, he closed the door behind him and his henchman.

“ No!” she shrieked. “ You don’t need them! You have me!”

But she didn’t get a response...not a single response. Her fear had her paralyzed. She had just had a really close call with Olaf and now the only reason she was relatively safer than she was just mere moments ago was that Olaf had left to chase after her siblings, who have apparently been spotted in the hospital. Violet knew she had to get to her siblings before Olaf and his troupe could. So as she reached her fingers to the scalpel that she had stolen from Olaf, she maneuvered the tool at the perfect angle and with her right hand, she began to desperately cut at her restraints. Glancing at the door, looking for anyone’s approaching shadows. She only hoped that everyone in Olaf’s troupe was focused on literally chasing down Klaus and Sunny only because she knew that if everyone was focused on them that means no one was paying her any attention whatsoever and that’s exactly the kind of distraction she needed to escape from Olaf’s clutches.

As she cut through her first restraint, Violet knew she had to find Klaus and Sunny before Olaf could.

[enniewritesathing]

Stuff where I talk about things

or the spoiler post, or some clarifications because there’s no dialogue/text with this with a dash of behind the scenes

under a cut because... well, I like to talk

Were!John leaping into the air like that?? funniest thing I’ve done, hands down. I was struggling thinking ‘okay, so how is this guy gonna die’ and the gremlin was like ‘well... maybe off the top rope shit?’

that’s what i named that whole sequence

I didn’t show that guy’s head being caved in or even the aftermath of it. I did pose it but it looked... weird. Granted, his head got smashed in but stll.

There was a good second of silence after the guy handling the anesthesia asked a series of questions.

“Hey, if a werewolf dies, it’s said they turn back human. So, why hasn’t [John] turned back yet?” [Famous last words]

You may ask how come no one figured that out? Would have the monitor picked up on any heartbeat? Or the screen at the head of the surgical table for any motion? The lead was too far away from the screen and also the bracelets that were on John’s wrists were taken off. 

that and were!John did play dead. Like his cover should have been blown when his eyes were closed.

I had to go find and get screens from various ECG readings and I gotta tell ya, I have learned a lot! I wanted to find some that had more readings (BP/Respiratory Rate/etc) but nothing I could use, low quality... and I couldn’t make them myself. Oh well. That would’ve been neat, I think.

That was the first ‘meeting’ between John and were!John. 

Also, I have to say, I didn’t think the difference between them would be that stark? John looks really young when he doesn’t have any body hair on him??

The shot of were!John daring the cop to shoot him is another good shot that I love. You know he called this man a “p*ssy”.

Were!John knew that the gun wasn’t going to shoot on the basis that he counted the bullets that were fired. It sounded different when lead researcher shot and killed the cop.

I really did feel bad when some parts called for John to be crying. No less than, what 4 times? I’m terrible! My boy D:

Posing 5 rigs and then setting them up? What a fucking nightmare. 0/10 what was I THINKING

The sequence that ended with were!John holding the heart of a seriously dead man... the beginning of it, he tried shifting the blame to the lead researcher, but were!John smelled the medicine used on him. That he was told to. Sure, but the counterpoint is that he could have refused to. The fact that he did it twice and then have the audacity to get all high and mighty about it when it was thought that were!John died. Just as complicit as everyone else in the room.

I’m glad this heart cc was made because the other one would have looked goofy looking. 

I had the idea of him taking a bite of it and looking very deranged and, y’know be Like That... but then I thought, he wouldn’t waste food much less a heart as they are extremely tasty when fresh. 

The pic of him in the dark? Probably the scariest shot of anything.

Would have he tried and killed the remaining person? Nah. For one, they weren’t a threat (despite the fact that Actual Security was with them, pointing shotguns in his face no less). Two, were!John was asked if he was done. And he was. He was exhausted. All of his anger was gone. And three, he sensed that he didn’t want to bring any more harm to were!John, treating him with actual kindness.

“You’ve made quite the mess. You must be tired, Johnathan. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

okay, back to the first ‘meeting’. were!John is mostly “hey, what the fuck is going on, why are we dying here??” and John... explains the situation and were!John is upset because he knows what’s up. 

They argue in how to stop the situation, or rather John is arguing with were!John to not kill whoever’s behind them dying. 

“If I don’t put a stop to this, then you will die. We will die.” The point is driven by the fact that John dies about twice during their meeting, and the last part of it he’s really weakened. This is when he cries because of the sheer pain that he’s going through. He doesn’t want to kill, but if it makes the pain stop, then...

This is the part that were!John tells John: “It won’t be you doing it.” It’s a very important distinction. “This isn’t your burden to carry.”

I would also say that this story tells it from were!John’s perspective and give his side of it. He is far more complex than what was said about him in the first place. He is... what’s the word I’m looking for, gentle? towards his human side. 

The plan was essentially, “the next time you die, let me jump in and handle business, but whatever you do, just stay put, don’t listen to any voices, don’t follow no one, etc.”

When were!John took over, the room turned black. When he gave John back control, the half he stood on was black, and John’s side was white. When were!John left, the room was back to white. I thought it would be a cool idea for ~subtle symbolism~.

Meanwhile, back at the surgery, it’s obvious that when John wasn’t turning back (forcibly), there were some arguments.

Basically, “eh, if he dies, we can bring him back and try again nbd, we’ve got ALL night and he’s been shown to be alright after. We’re going to reverse this.”

Funny how that worked out.

for real though, posing 5 rigs? setting them up? keeping track of who’s who?? 0/10.

And on another note, this story would not have been possible without all of the CC involved. It is a grocery list of things that I’ve been waiting on for a while, no matter how niche it was, but I’m glad someone made it and decided to share it. 

The time for were!John to do his business? ‘bout 10 minutes.

Oh!! I forgot about!! Using TOOL!! It’s a pain in the ass! I don’t know my angles! And I didn’t know what axis was what! That probably took me longer than I needed to! But stuff got flipped like I wanted it to or else the environment would’ve looked real goofy.

I think that’s it... for now... 

My favorite shots?! 

the mentioned were!John jumping off the top rope

The smile

The look of pure terror when the guy with the undercut realized that John wasn’t dead after all

Actually just all the looks of terror. I put extra thought into that.

that single shot of were!John crying before vindication. 

John on the floor looking shocked at seeing were!John.

were!John holding John as he (essentially) died and the taking over!!

how exhausted and done were!John looked as he stood up

what’s ya’lls favorite shot/sequence? :>

I’m not gonna lie, when I made the pose of John arching his back and popped in-game, I thought... okay that’s a little extra, but we’ll keep it.

when I was making poses for that part, I had an outfit that had tears (apartment!John is the other John and... what I’m saying is, it’s hard to keep track of two in one spot) and I left it in as a goof but then I was like “YO THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING”

i mentioned in a earlier post that John is an angry crier. and guess what??

he cries because he is angry. he is wrathful. 

And also the person who survived here was Brian’s contact in the story. Brian threatened to kill him/finish what were!John started if he came near John in any capacity. I mean... look at him. Dude’s a shrimp.

TIL there’s a photo upload limit and I busted it twice so, I guess if I have something as big as this, I better update as I go along.

This story and making it is probably the most ambitious thing I’ve done so far on this blog and I am glad I am done.

I may be missing something here but that’s what I’ve got on my mind.

EDIT: Okay, few more things.

Were!John knowing that John will most not likely remember any of this because of some amnesia side effects from the medicines and all of that.

But not really. John gets nightmares/night terrors from all of this. He tells what he remembers to Brian in the main story. It’s incomplete but he still knows. Hearing this prompts Brian to tell John to talk to his were self. They gloss over it in the story, but I would say that were!John tells him what exactly at some point.

And another thing, in the majority of this story, were!John’s sclera is black. What does this mean?

I didn’t know this CC existed but had I known about it, it would’ve been in the main story where were!John charges towards the bear that was gonna kill/eat Brian.

On that note, his sclera was white when he chased and cornered Brian before he figured out whoops, that’s his mate.

And I probably made that part a plot hole because given how were!John behaves in this story and then go buck wild when he first gets out in this story... I mean, it had been two years. maybe he was that excited and temporarily lost his goddamn mind?? Would he have done something to Brian if he wasn’t his mate? I don’t think so. If Brian wasn’t so scared, he’d do something as drastic and slap him hard enough to knock him out of it.

I guess?? well, plot hole I guess! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 12

** I would’ve posted this days ago, but something was missing when I was editing and it took a while to carve out some time to add it. It’s also been a shit week, but getting this up has helped. It’s longer than they have been lately, so get ready to dig in. I hope you all enjoy. **

When John opens his eyes, he is lying on a soft bed. There are blankets pulled up to his chin and a chilled wet flannel rests over his forehead. He looks around the dimly lit room. It is rather large - two chests of drawers, a padded bench at the foot of the bed that is covered with wrinkled clothes in neat stacks, an antique wardrobe, a door ajar and one that is closed. He can see that the open one is an ensuite and gathers the other is a closet, possibly a walk-in. There is a third door on a sidewall that must lead to the rest of the flat, judging by its placement. Light from outside gleams under its bottom.

A long, tall table on the opposite wall covered with beakers, a microscope, lab equipment and chemicals tells him he is definitely in Sherlock’s room. A small refrigerator in the corner catches his eye and John chuckles to himself. Sherlock must have finally stopped storing body parts in the kitchen fridge. John grows quiet almost immediately. Why did he think that?

John worms his arms out from under the covers and takes the flannel from his head as he sits up. He surveys the room again - looking at paintings, photos and nick-nacks, wondering if any are his or if Sherlock removed everything that would remind him. Perhaps it was too painful to face them every day. His eyes fall on the clothes at the foot of the bed. Three distinct piles consisting of buttondown shirts, jeans and trousers, and jumpers. They must be his because John has never seen Sherlock wear jeans and certainly not a jumper. Sherlock must have taken them out of storage for John’s homecoming, but surely he had more clothing than these three small piles. Or maybe he didn’t. He always wore a doctor’s white lab coat at the surgery anyway. That much, he knew. Why is it still so damn easy to remember his studies and career, but nothing of the man he loves? And while he’s thinking about it, why won’t Sherlock kiss him?

Before he can dwell on that question, John’s gaze is drawn to the door on the sidewall when its knob turns and its catch released. It opens slowly and the man himself pops his head in, curls and all. When he sees John staring at him, he slips inside. He pads across the room in his bare feet and sits on the edge of the bed. His eyes take in every detail of John’s condition, demeanor, thoughts. He sees that John is troubled, but whatever it is takes second place to the issue at hand.

“How?” the word bursts from his flatmate’s lips as it all comes back to him. The mere sight of Sherlock and he can see it all over again and it kills him. He wants to close his eyes and never see it again, but it is still there in the darkness behind his eyelids. John speaks slowly and in a measured tone. “You...you killed yourself. You lied about being a fraud and you jumped. How are you here now? How did you…” John pauses and lets his eyes look around the room suspiciously. “Am I dead too? Is that what all this is?”

“No,” Sherlock’s lips curl ever so slightly and he shakes his head. “No, John, you aren’t dead. Neither of us is.”

“Then how?” John demands.

“You were not wrong before when you said it was fake,” Sherlock sighs. “Or that it was to…”

“To save us,” John interrupts. “Greg, Mrs. Hudson and I. He was going to kill us all if you didn’t.”

“Yes. Do you remember?” he asks hesitantly.

“Not everything. A man, he had gunmen. He was on the roof with you to make sure you did it,” the doctor pauses, studying the detective carefully. “He shot himself and you jumped.”

“It was the only way.”

“You made me watch!” John snaps and Sherlock finally sees the anger he has expected for so long. “You made me. Why? Why would you do that?”

If Sherlock had explained this before even once, doing it now would be annoying. Sherlock detests repeating himself, which Rosie quickly learned. But he has never explained it. John never asked. Not once. He yelled, cursed, shouted, but never once asked for an explanation. Sherlock, why? Why did he do it the way he did it? Why did he keep it a secret for two years? Why didn’t he give John some clue? John simply exploded, got married, and let it go. Sort of. Did he talk to Mary about it? Or Lestrade? Or swallow it up, hide it inside himself? Sherlock always wondered when it would resurface. Until then, there had been only veiled anger. John was so angry when Eurus shot him. Now Sherlock can finally try to explain.

“You had to see it, John,” he begins, watching his flatmate carefully. “You never would have believed if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes. Moriarty was relentless. If anyone he left behind thought you knew something, you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all be dead, without question.”

“And that’s why you didn’t try to contact me or tell me you were okay.”

“Yes,” Sherlock states flatly and then rushes to explain away the hate that must be building in John again. “If he had threatened only you, I...I might have risked it. Only because I know you would’ve wanted me to. You would have accepted the risk. But I couldn’t put Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson in danger. I...I couldn’t. It was already my fault that they...”

He trails off without finishing. John looks angry. His features are hard, but his eyes are soft. Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. For once, he does not know what to make of John’s expression. There are so many questions running through the detective’s mind. So many things he wants to know and doesn’t have the nerve to ask. How much does John know? What does he remember? Does he know how long Sherlock was dead? Does John know what happened while he was away? Does he remember Mary or the wedding or...what does he remember and how can Sherlock even ask?

Sherlock pushes off the bed and falls to his knees, his forearms and elbows still on the bed. His hands clutching at the blankets close to John, but he doesn’t dare touch him. His face is full of desperation and his voice reflects it when he speaks. All of the thoughts and feelings rolling around in his mind are always hidden. Sherlock has always guarded himself carefully, but right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care! He has to explain everything he has kept inside for so long because it can’t happen again. John is so open to him now and he could not bear it if he closed off again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sherlock says urgently, pleading. John looks startled, but Sherlock can’t stop, won’t stop. He cannot stop the flow of words from his mouth. “I didn’t know what else to do. I went through all the possibilities and you survived none of them and I couldn’t lose you. I can’t lose you, John! You are my life, my…”

Sherlock stops himself from saying love. He can’t confess that, not now. It’s too much. He is not sure he can ever reveal it, in spite of John’s unknowing confession at the hospital. Sherlock’s eyes are wide and scared, his fear growing. He clutches the blankets tightly, wishing he was holding John instead. Before he even realizes what he is doing, more words are bursting from his lips like water from a dam.

“I dismantled Moriarty’s network for you. All to save you. Two years, I worked. I was tortured and hunted, even as I hunted them, and I knew I couldn’t stop until they were all dead. There couldn’t be any danger. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t lose you. When I came back, you knew I’d changed, but you never asked what happened to me and I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you would leave and hate me for what I’d done. You were already so angry, so angry,” he stops to take a breath for the first time in what feels like hours. John is shocked. His deep blue eyes are wider than Sherlock has ever seen, his jaw has dropped, and still Sherlock continues. It’s far too much to tell John without negative effects, but Sherlock is barely aware of what he is saying anymore. Like a complete idiot, he babbles on and on. “And then Eurus shot you and it broke me. You died on the table and I...I... But they brought you back...back to me,” Sherlock swallows back tears. “Hoover. I owe her so much. And if it hadn’t been for Watson, I’d have lost my mind. I...I” love you so much.

Sherlock gasps and shuts his mouth. His head snaps up to look at John and he leaps to his feet. He had been so close to saying those last four words instead of thinking them and he will say them if he stays. He has to leave. He has to leave right now.

“Shit,” Sherlock closes his eyes. John looks very concerned when he opens them again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I have to go.”

“What? No.”

“I’ll take the sofa. I don’t sleep much anyway,” he spins on his heel to dart out of the room, but John lunges for him and clamps down on his wrist with a steely grip. Unprepared for the abrupt stop, Sherlock loses his balance and topples over backwards onto the bed, sprawled across John’s legs. Surprised, the detective gasps and looks at him.

“All right?” the doctor asks with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice. “You look a bit...startled.” Sherlock gapes. John seems to be joking. After everything that just spewed from Sherlock’s mouth, how could he possibly be joking? “Sherlock?”

No, no, no. If John asks him to stay he won’t be able to say no.

“No!” Sherlock sits bolt upright. “Yes.”

“Well, which is it?” John laughs outright this time, thoroughly amused to see his flatmate so out of sorts. Sherlock’s eyes shift back to John’s.

“I’m fine. I just...I can’t stay.”

“Sherlock.”

“I’ll keep you up all night,” Sherlock pauses. John isn’t smiling anymore. His fingers tighten around the detective’s wrist.

“I would rather stay awake all night with you.”

“John.”

“Sherlock…”

“Please don’t,” Sherlock shakes his head. His tone is just shy of pleading. “There’s still so much you don’t know.”

“Is there? You’ve just said a mouthful and it’s a lot to process, but I also know everything you’ve done for Rosie,” John tells him, cupping Sherlock’s cheek with his right hand. His left still holds firmly to the man’s wrist. “And I know you packed away all my things, if you think that will upset me. God, it must have been so hard for you.”

Sherlock pulls back a bit, freeing his cheek from John’s light touch, an uneasy look on his face. John fixes a deep blue gaze so full of sincerity on his flatmate, then glances toward the piles of clothing at the end of the bed. Sherlock’s gaze darts to follow and then focuses on John again. He swallows hard, fighting not to thrust his cheek back into John’s hand and lean into the touch.

“Those were your favorites,” he explains, grateful for the change of topic. “None of them will fit you. You’ve lost so much weight, but I thought you might want to see them or try them on anyway. I’ve already discarded the rest. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any photos?”

“Of your old clothes?”

“No, you git,” John laughs, patting the hand he holds in his own. “Of me. What I used to look like.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. They’re all on my mobile.”

“Can I see them?”

“Um...I left it in the kitchen,” Sherlock bites his lip. He is wearing a dark blue dressing gown, his favorite, with pajamas beneath and detests the weight of his mobile in the pockets. “Sorry.”

“No worries. We can look at them tomorrow,” John says quietly. The corners of his mouth turn up and Sherlock nearly swears under his breath, knowing what’s coming. “Please stay.”

“John, I can’t.”

John is still gripping Sherlock’s hand and wrist with both of his own. He squeezes tightly and looks at Sherlock with an intense gaze.

“Sherlock, I know we haven’t slept in a bed together in over five years and it makes perfect sense for you to think I wouldn’t be comfortable doing it now,” he inches closer. “I know I don’t know everything about us, but I’ve spent the last two months learning who you are and I feel like I know you pretty well by now. Please stay with me.”

“Okay,” the word is out before Sherlock is conscious of the fact that he’s speaking. He nearly tries to take it back until he sees the brilliant smile that spreads across John’s face. He can’t help himself. He reaches for John and cups his warm cheek, his palm lightly touching the corner of John’s lips as he leans into the touch. Sherlock swallows hard. “I’ll just get ready. Do you need help changing?”

“I’m fine. You take the loo.”

Sherlock falls against the loo door as soon as he closes it. Heaving a breath, he runs his hands through his curls.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he steps forward to the sink and braces his hands on either side. He is breathing fast and beads of sweat are just beginning to spring from his forehead. The detective raises his eyes to look at his own reflection.

What the hell is he doing? Yes, he loves John. Yes, he would love nothing more than to spend the night with him, to comfort and hold him, kiss him. John knows him. Sherlock has no doubt of that. Despite John’s only knowing him for two months, they are very close. But there is so much John doesn’t know. All the dark things in their past. Eurus, Mary, Magnussen. He doesn’t even remember they worked cases together! Or Moriarty and the pool. Fuck, the pool. That was the night Sherlock knew for certain that he loved John. When he first saw him, he felt confused and then betrayed. The fleeting thought that John was somehow involved with Moriarty and had played Sherlock had torn through his chest. It ripped a painful scar right through the center of his heart, but it was nothing compared to the all-encompassing horror he felt when he saw the semtex strapped to John’s chest.

Ever since that day, Sherlock has known. And he has hidden it. From John. From the world. Damn it, how can he take advantage of John now?

Sherlock slams his hands on the sink, the force sending the hand soap dispenser and plastic cup to the floor. Sherlock stares at his own reflection, his intense grey eyes narrowed in anger. A soft knock at the door and John pushing it open as he says the detective’s name startles him. Sherlock spins to face the pajama-clad doctor standing in the doorway.

“John!” he gasps.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing around the floor for the fallen items. He looks back at Sherlock with concern in his eyes. “I heard a crash. Thought you might have fallen.”

“No,” Sherlock answers hastily. “No, I’m fine. I didn’t...I just...Did you walk here on your own?”

John straightens and blinks at him.

“I can walk on my own, you know. Just not long distances yet.”

“Right, right. So you don’t need any help.”

“No,” John laughs and asks in a playful tone. “Do you?”

Sherlock stares at him. What the hell was that? John Watson cannot be flirting with him. He stumbles forward foolishly.

“No,” he says quickly and then smiles in a feeble attempt to hide his discomfort. “I’m fine. I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” John smiles. “Holler if you need anything.”

Sherlock nods, a timid smile on his lips, and John pulls the door closed again. The detective falls quietly to his knees, his hands covering his mouth. After a moment, he rises and turns to the sink. Splashing cold water on his face, he tries to think before cleaning his teeth and toweling off. He looks in the mirror one last time, steeling himself. Into the breach.

He opens the door and steps out into the bedroom. John is sitting on one side of the bed, covers pulled up to his waist and a book in his lap. He smiles at Sherlock, who wonders at John’s ability to push aside everything that just happened and look completely at ease. If only it were that easy. Sherlock bites his lip and walks to the bed.

“Is this okay?”

Sherlock looks at him blankly.

“I don’t know what side you sleep on.”

“Oh. Oh, no, this is fine. I usually end up in the middle anyway.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The detective’s cheeks color. He takes off his dressing gown and climbs under the covers, careful to stay on his side. Resting one hand over the other on his chest, he stares up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes, ready to settle into his mind palace and try to understand the man sitting next to him. They snap open again and dart to John when he feels a hand on his shoulder. The doctor is smiling down at him warmly.

“I’d like to read for a bit,” John’s brows raise. “Will that bother you?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock answers, angling his head for a better view of his flatmate. “I’m going to my mind palace. Someone could scream bloody murder next to me and I wouldn’t notice.”

“God, is that safe?” John’s expression changes to concern in a second.

“Perfectly. I will hear if you were to shout.”

“Just me?”

“Yes. And Watson, of course. You see. Perfectly safe.”

“If you say so,” John replies warily. “What do you do in there? Your mind palace?”

“Research mostly,” Sherlock shrugs. “I look back at everything I know and have seen. I just open a door and walk inside.”

“Oh,” John breathes. It sounds more like a gasp than a word. His face is somewhere between amazement and envy. “I wish it was that easy for me.”

“Have you tried?”

“Mine isn’t really a place I can enter. I can only look in and see the windows. Only a few are broken or cracked. The rest are still dark,” his eyes fall sadly to the book in his lap. Sherlock reaches out to place a warm hand on John’s leg. The doctor looks at him with soft eyes, so much like Rosie’s, but more experienced and knowledgeable. The eyes Sherlock remembers, the ones he has looked into so many times before. The detective’s lips quirk up. “You will remember, John. One day it will all be open to you again.”

“Yes, well, now that you bring it up,” John clears his throat and shifts nervously. Sherlock narrows his eyes. “I was thinking maybe you could help me with that. Tell me small things, nothing big, and see how it goes.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’ve already told you too much.”

“Come on, Sherlock. It’s been two months and I haven’t remembered a thing!”

“Yes, only two months, all of which were spent in hospital. You’ve only just returned home,” Sherlock clips the last word, hearing his own lie. 221B was his home once, but not for over two years at the time he was shot. Sherlock shakes it away and continues. “You need to give yourself some time now that you are in a familiar setting. You saw what happened earlier when you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were all together for the first time.”

John looks unconvinced, but just conflicted enough that Sherlock knows he will acquiesce without further argument. John sighs and leans back on his pillow again.

“Okay,” he sighs. He looks at Sherlock fondly and gestures to his book. “You’re sure it won’t bother you?”

“Positive.”

Sherlock settles himself again, hands resting together on his chest and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the bedroom is filled with light and his alarm clock is beeping. His long arm swings out as if by rote, his fingers silencing it adeptly. Sherlock rubs a hand over his face. He can’t even remember the last time he heard his alarm ring. He always wakes well before it. It is only there as an insurance policy, to make sure he is up in time to have breakfast with Rosie and get her to school. A back-up measure he has never needed to use. Before today.

The detective shakes his head and angles it to look at his chest, absently wondering why the bedclothes feel so heavy. He lets out a yelp of surprise when he finds the golden-grey hair of John’s head resting there. He gapes at the doctor, panic consuming his mind. Shit! Shit! Shit! John must have moved about in his sleep. Sherlock hadn’t even considered the possibility when they climbed into bed the night before. He assumed only he would move and took special pains to stay in the same place all night. He can’t do this! He can’t take advantage of the situation!

“Oh, hello.”

John’s sleepy voice brings all of Sherlock’s thoughts to a screeching halt and the vision that now greets him is nothing less than adorable. And amazing. John has lifted his head from Sherlock’s chest just enough to look up at him and smile. His eyes are still a bit hazy with sleep and his hair is mussed. The cheek that was resting on Sherlock’s chest is pink from the pressure, its skin bearing the imprint of a wrinkle from his pajamas. In short, John looks absolutely perfect and Sherlock sighs blissfully.

“Your alarm went off,” his gorgeous flatmate observes, his voice sounding less sleepy. Sherlock blinks and his mind resumes its normal processes.

“Yes. I must get Watson to school.”

“Ah, of course,” John slides off his chest and rolls onto his own back, looking at Sherlock all the while. “Need any help with breakfast?”

“No. Watson will assist me, but we would love to have you join us,” he replies, scolding himself silently for not keeping the hope from his tone.

“I’d love to,” John smiles just before a knock sounds on the bedroom door, startling them both.

“Papa?” comes Rosie’s uncertain voice. In all the years of her life, her father has never once been in his bedroom when she woke in the morning. “Papa, are you okay?”

“Yes, Watson,” Sherlock sits up quickly, feeling as though she caught them in the act. Stop it. Stop it! “I’m speaking with Daddy. I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you dress and brush your teeth?”

“Right,” she resolves, “I forgot to brush.”

They hear her little steps run down the hall. Sherlock turns his head to look at John and sees a quizzical expression.

“She cleans her teeth before she has breakfast?”

“Oh yes, John,” Sherlock’s tone is most serious, “she vomits if she tries it after.”

“Really?”

Sherlock nods and rises from the bed.

***

When John steps into the kitchen, Sherlock stands at the stove rapidly stirring the scrambled eggs in the skillet on the hob. Rosie sits at the table with butter and jam and a plate full of toast. Neither of them notice him at first.

“Papa?” Rosie stops with a jam-covered knife about to smear onto a piece of buttered toast.

“Hm?”

“Do you think Daddy likes jam?”

“Oh, trust me, Watson. Your daddy loves jam.”

“Daddy!” the girl springs off her chair and wraps her arms around John’s legs.

“Hello, my dear,” he bends down to hug her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes!” she giggles excitedly. “Did you?”

“Yes, I did. Much better than in hospital,” John answers. She grins in approval.

“Do you like jam on your toast?”

“I love jam on my toast.”

The grin broadens as she takes John’s hand in her smaller one and guides him to the table. Sliding a piece of toast buried under globs of jam across to the nearest chair, Rosie drops his hand and nods toward it.

“You can sit here.”

“Thank you,” John says as he sits. “You’re too kind.”

Rosie giggles loudly and sits next to him, taking another piece of jam toast from a plate and shoving it in her mouth. John cannot suppress a laugh. Rosie, jam all around her lips, joins him. Meanwhile, Sherlock finally turns from the stove, skillet full of scrambled eggs in hand.

“Eggs are ready. Watson!” Both Watsons stare at him with wide eyes and guilty looks. He struggles not to chuckle at their identical expressions and carries on scolding. “We do use plates and so does your father. That is why you put them on the table.”

“Sorry, Papa,” she answers somewhat timidly, pushing a plate at John. Sherlock dishes out the eggs, replaces the skillet on the stove, and sits. They all eat rather quickly, especially Rosie and Sherlock who have a time table to keep. John begins to contribute to the conversation less and look down at his plate a bit more as breakfast goes on. Sherlock quizzes Rosie as they eat, but their voices fade away as John becomes lost in his thoughts. He would love to help take Rosie to school, but he isn’t strong enough yet. He will be soon. He will see to that.

“Watson?” Sherlock cocks a brow. The little girl looks at the clock and jumps out of her seat. She skips to the sink and puts her dishes in it. Turning around and running to John, she hugs and kisses him.

“Goodbye, sweetie,” he kisses her cheek. “Have fun, yeah?”

“Okay! Ready, Papa?”

“Get your coat and things on. I’ll be right there.”

“Better hurry,” she calls, already running down the hall toward the door.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Sherlock tells John in a steady tone. “You’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine, Sherlock,” John assures him warmly. The detective nods as he rises and places his own dishes in the sink. He walks back to the table. John looks up at him in surprise when he rests a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Hudson’s number is on your mobile if you need anything,” he tells him.” She is more than willing to help.”

“I know,” John says solemnly. “I’ll ring her if I need to, I promise.”

***

When Sherlock returns, the flat is quiet. He stands near the door, his eyes combing over everything he can see. He takes one step toward the sitting room, but turns to the kitchen instead, the scent of fresh cinnamon tea filling his nostrils. He strides into the room only to find it empty. The pot is on the hob and still warm, made no more than thirty minutes ago. Sherlock leans back where he stands for a better look into the sitting room.

“John?”

No answer. Perhaps he went down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. No, he could never navigate the stairs on his own and capable though she may be, Hudders could never help him all the way down. An uneasy feeling gathers and begins balling itself in Sherlock’s belly. John may have had a flashback to Afghanistan or Magnussen or Mary.

“John?” he calls a little louder.

“In here,” John’s voice sounds from the direction of the bedroom.

Sherlock straightens and walks down the hall, slowing his stride as he enters. He takes a few steps in and comes to a full stop, taken aback by the scene that greets him. Where he feared there would be panic or fear is just...John. John sitting cross-legged on Sherlock’s bed, their bed? Open photo albums are laid out on the soft, duvet all around John, displaying images of Rosie as an infant and six months, nine months and everything in between. She is a year old on other pages, two and three and four. The book in John’s lap is from this year. He gazes at the photographs of her first day of school. His eyes are misty and his left hand is splayed over his chest.

“It’s unbelievable,” he sighs and turns his eyes to Sherlock. “I just can’t believe it. She was so small and...and now she’s such a wonderful, outspoken girl. And you… It’s all down to you.”

John had been gesturing at the albums, but has grown still and his eyes are locked on Sherlock.

“I will never have the words to thank you.”

“It’s the way it was meant to be, John.”

“I’m sorry you had to do it alone.”

“John,” Sherlock strides swiftly to the bed and balances on the edge. John’s hands are fumbling to clear a wider space and Sherlock’s close around them, drawing them near ever so slightly. “I’m fine. I was always fine. It was no imposition. I would have had it no other way, given the circumstances. Every moment was, and still is, a joy,” he pauses to collect himself, and it appears as though John needs to do the same. Breath catching in both their throats, swallowing to rein in their emotions.  “As I said, you were never far from us or from our minds. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you because you were unconscious, but it is. I made sure Rosie knew you, loved you. You are her father, John. You were there for her in every way you could be and she loves you.”

“I know,” John returns in a solemn voice, “and it’s thanks to you. Thank you, Sherlock. You have raised our daughter beautifully.”

Sherlock nearly corrects him, but bites his tongue. Now is not the time to tell him how Rosie really became his daughter, his daughter? His ward. No, his daughter. Rosie is Sherlock’s daughter. And John’s daughter. And John is his...friend? Flatmate? But for how long?

“Just look at her face. Look at how she looks at you,” John is saying, mooning over a photo of Rosie looking up at Sherlock as her tiny fingers touch his chin. She is four months old and nestled in his arms. John glances toward the detective and then fixes him with narrowed eyes. “Sherlock, are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

John studies him carefully, knowingly. He lifts the album from his lap and places it on the bed to his left. He turns himself more toward Sherlock and smiles warmly.

“You said you have photos of me from before?”

“Yes. Yes!” Sherlock scrabbles at his trouser pocket for his mobile and begins searching through the photographs. He swipes about the albums at breakneck speed until he comes upon a photo of himself and John that pierces his heart hard and he just stares. Sherlock bites his lip and his brows furrowing as if in pain. His eyes shine and take on a certain wistful, but sorrowful quality.

“Sherlock?” John shifts closer. “Sherlock, what is it?”

“Ah, well,” he struggles for words, inhaling deeply and clearing his throat before he can carry on, “it’s us. The two of us. Just after a case.”

“Haha. What is that on your head?” John laughs when he sees the deerstalker, but falls silent upon seeing his own image. “God. My god, look at me. I’m...I look… I look healthy.”

“And happy,” Sherlock adds, turning his head to face John. He is very close now. Closer than Sherlock realized. He must have moved when the detective found the photo. If John were to face him, their lips would be mere inches apart.

“Yeah,” John breathes and turns his head.

Millimeters.

God, Sherlock wants to kiss him. His breath is hot on Sherlock’s lips and it is intoxicating. His eyes flutter when he blinks and his mouth goes dry. Gawwwd, how he wants to kiss him. Their eyes are locked, their breath mingles in the air between them, their cheeks tinted pink.

“Sherlock.”

It’s a passionate whisper, a veiled declaration of words unsaid.

“John.”

Sherlock’s lips are parted and his heart beats fast. He tilts his head and inches forward, stretching his neck to close the gap between them.

But he can’t.

He pulls his head back slowly and rolls it back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. When he lowers his eyes again John is farther away, having moved back to give Sherlock the space he so desperately needs. Sherlock shakes his head minutely, hoping John doesn’t see but knowing he does. He sees everything and yet, he knows nothing. Nothing. Their past is a mystery to him and dark, so dark. Just like the panes of glass in John’s mind. To kiss him now, to make his feelings known would be wrong and dishonest. John has no idea of the pain Sherlock has caused him.

“I saw the pot on the stove,” Sherlock says, shifting away from John and glancing at his empty mug on the side table. “Join me for tea?”

“Yeah,” John replies. Disappointed, but a small smile on his face in spite of himself. “I’d love to.”

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch @maeliandmyself

[littlesixxwrites]

Love in My Twenties

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini

Summary: Draco and Hermione are stuck in a Ministry lift on New Year’s Eve.

Notes:  I am reading, "Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself" by Charlotte Eriksson. It's a collection of great poetry that in my first week as a twenty-six-year-old I feel on such a level. This work has not been edited and there is one use of the "f" word. Please enjoy.

21

Once the war ended, it became clear there was always going to be Draco Before, and Draco After. He had always been so expressive, so loud and impossible to miss even in the largest crowd. The Mark changed him, the war changed him, and there are moments when I want to get him back.

Before the war, Draco cared. His appearance, his grades, his friends ... He cared about all of it, but I do not think he cares about any of it now. He hasn’t touched a tub of Sleekeazy’s in months. He survived the trial though, and Draco is trying to get back on his feet. As his best friend, I want to help him but don’t know how. How can you look at someone, tell them the whole world hates him and promise in the same breath it will get better? I can’t lie, not to him.

Draco is hardly the first person to ignore me. Not ignore, I suppose, but they only see the parts of me he wants to see. Since I was not tortured, just stood by and watched as my friends were maimed or killed, had their families ripped from them ... Luna calls it invisible pain. She is an artist now, paints some of the most beautiful pictures I have ever seen. I bought one, then another, then another ...

“Blaise?”

“BLAISE!”

I shake myself out of it and look over at Theo.

“You alright, mate?”

Perhaps this is Blaise After.

22

I spoke to Theo last week. He said it had been too long. Months, actually. I wondered how it could have been; it feels like minutes. I don't really know about time. Each month the landlord comes knocking on my door demanding payment so I shove twice as many Galleons into his hands. Seems to work well enough.

“Are you well?”

They all ask. Everyone asks and I don’t know which of them care, if any. None of them care enough to come back to my flat for a pint. A pint of anything: Firewhisky, butterbeer, wine, even milk for Merlin’s sake! They are busy with their own lives. Theo has his wife and twins, Draco is piecing himself back together, and Bastien is whoring his way across Europe seemingly one magical brothel at a time.

I never know how to respond. I know I am not well, but I’m not unwell. Apathetic, perhaps, but that is not the sort of thing I can say aloud to make them feel better. So I shrug and pray they understand I just need something, someone to help me remember what life was like before all this. My mother died and they all thought I was fine, like I hadn’t been hoping for this for a whole decade. But her death made me realize I never had a family. Everyone else looks around at people they have to love and be loved by. Hell, I can’t even find a way to love myself.

So when they ask if I am well, I shrug it off every time. My silence is standard. Every conversation with my friends is the same stilted string of words that feels like I am retracing my footsteps again and again until I have worn down the ground.

23

I looked out my window yesterday and realized I am the Bastien now. Except, instead of travelling to different places, all my men come to me. The past few months I’ve had a string of them, most of which I could not remember. I just want someone to like me, to tell me it’s okay to be the way I am and feel the things I feel. For just a moment, I get to be truly intimate with another person and I am in control of it. For just a moment, someone looks at me and realizes I have not actually blended into the corner.

Luna Lovegood has an aura of contentment. She looks at the world and sees all the good through the bad; I could fall in love with someone like that. Not Luna, obviously, but someone like that. She knocks on my door every Wednesday for lunch, but today is different. She walks in with sandwiches and says,

“You have Wrackspurts all over! Are you well?”

But this question is different from the others because Luna sees and Luna cares. Beneath those hideous glasses and that bright pink robe, she is just a kind person wrapped in a string of crazy. So I tell her what I have been doing to find myself, to get people to see me.

“I have a voice but silence is a choice that has been made for me.”

“Is it?” she asks. Before I can respond she adds, “Because you talk to me. You can talk to someone else, too.”

24

I did, actually. Speak with someone else, I mean. A professional down in Italy who works with people who are as fucked-up as I am. I get to speak about all the bad things that happened in England, but relay them in Italian. It gives me distance, like Blaise Before keeps getting further and further away. My therapist says I get to control who Blaise After becomes as well. I like that.

But I realize now that I cannot go back and change a single moment of my life. Even with the most powerful Time-Turner, I would not make a change. This body, this mind is all my creation, with nothing but will and force and resilience. I have been exhausted, burned, angry, and everything in between. While I may be searching, at least I am looking. At least I hope for better. That’s something, isn’t it?

Today I spoke to Theo. His twins are four now. He saw me and said I look well. I thanked him, told him about my time in Italy and how much he means to me. How much his friendship gets me through. He is not Luna Lovegood, he has a different value. I speak to him about sex, about my mother, and now I can talk about what happened to me. How I was surrounded by so many people, and ended up alone.

25

I feel like I am behind in life. Like I must work to catch up to my friends. All of them have variations of the same photo; arm-in-arm with their love, dressed in nice robes looking into each other’s eyes like they couldn’t imagine life without this.

Bastards.

I hate them for it, and I know I shouldn’t. I know I should be happy for my friends when they end up happy and loved. But all I can think when I see them is how I do not have any of that. Not even the barest hope of it. Theo has Tracey, Bastien somehow landed Padma bloody Patil, and even Draco is working things out with Granger. Hermione Granger. If Draco Malfoy can convince her to give him a second chance, what does it mean that I don’t even know what love feels like?

And it is okay. I will be okay. This is not something I need in my life, I tell myself, over and over and over. A refrain I sing at every get-together where I only reserve one spot and every night spent alone at a bar three blocks down from my flat. But I will be okay.

26

Change has to come, doesn’t it? I constantly think about moving, making a new home in cities I have never been to with people who have no reason to judge me. But I cannot leave my friends, not Theo or Luna and especially Draco. Watching him rebuild his life gives me hope for my own.

Now, I live in the kitchen. In there I can pull together the chaos and the messy parts of my life and turn them into something enjoyable. Boredom? That is kale, celery, plain yogurt. The sweetness of mangoes or the bitterness of dark chocolate, I take anything I cannot control and make it into something else.

Then, once everything is done and I have carefully put each portion onto plates, all that steadiness becomes sadness. Is there anything more lonely than looking at two dinner plates, topped with freshly-cooked food, and realizing you only need one? I stare at the rising steam and realize there is. I don’t cry boxing up that second plate, but I could. I don’t regret my choices when I heat it up again at two in the morning, but perhaps I should.

27

I am tired of useless second plates, so I take one over to my neighbor. My incredibly cute neighbor. He answers the door in trackies and a t-shirt that reads, “West Ham United,” whatever the hell that means. But oh, he smiles at me like he sees me and I melt a little. He looks at the plate of food, looks back up at me, and tells me to come in.

His name is Dean Thomas and we have dinner on Thursdays. He is happy to try any food and in him I find a new friend. He has a boyfriend, Seamus Finnegan, whom I also meet. His smiles are stilted and his fingers tighten painfully around mine in every handshake, because he sees what Dean doesn’t. I like Dean Thomas enough that I would be willing to stay in his life however he wants me there. So I am his friend.

Some things, however, are grey. My fingers linger against the small of his back and he does not pull away. I catch him glancing at my lips or my ass but never mention it. He starts spending Sundays in my flat and looking at me the way I know I look at him.

But I know it cannot be, no matter how badly I wish it was.

28

Dean shows up at my door one evening in October. He is shaking and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Dean walks past me into the foyer, so I close the door and lean against it. He paces for a moment before turning to look at me.

“I left Seamus.”

“Why?”

“Because he asked me to move in and I couldn’t bear the thought.”

My heart is beating faster than I can ever remember as I ask, “Why?”

“Because it would mean leaving you. My heart is here, Blaise, with you and your fancy furniture and your messy kitchen.”

I nod and squeak out, “Okay.”

Then Dean’s hands are on my cheek and he’s kissing me. And he keeps kissing me until I melt into the door at my back. We wake up on the sofa, legs twined together, my smile mirrored on his face. I can feel his heart beat beneath my fingers. Maybe waking up together is the first step in being loved. Maybe. It was just snogging, shirtless snogging, but still ... There is the promise of more together and I want it all.

29

“I love you.”

Dean said it weeks before me. I never understood love so I had to be sure this is what it was. I asked Theo, Draco, Bastien, and I even asked Luna three times. She just smiled and rambled on about paint. But when I say it to him, I am sure. I know that I am loved and that I love him, I trust him, and want to be with him for as long as he will have me. But I am not afraid he will let me go, either. I trust him to keep loving me.

He still smiles at me like the first day I brought him food. I cook for him every day now, of course, and continue experimenting. However, I no longer live in the kitchen. I live in the bedroom, where Dean spends so many nights underneath me. I live in the living area, where I listen to Dean tell me about his day and his goals and whatever is troubling him. I live in the bathroom, where I splash water on my face while working up the courage to ask him to marry me.

He says yes.

It is September now and I am in love. I take Dean’s hand as we stroll along the street and watch leaves fall off branches in the wind. Our fingers are twined together and I cannot get the smile off my face.

Dean asks, “Where are we going?”

I shrug.

“I dunno, Dean. Let’s just keep going.”

[enchantingkittengaditor]

The MCU’s Daughters Prequel: Loser In Me

A/N: This is a Prequel, to my new story The MCU’s Daughter, inspired byBrie Larson’s album Finally Out of PE. Loser In Me was merely the inspiration for this piece and if lyrics are seen it’s probably just me listening to the song about 100 times writing this and editing it.

Summary: Long before she was the MCU’s Daughter. Before they were the Internet’s Daughters. They were just teenage girls trying to fit into a new system, a new country and a new school. Before all the fame and success two teens first became friends and teammates.

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Anxiety, Epilepsy, Violence, Extreme Angst, THE FIRST HALF OF THIS TAKES PLACE IN A THERAPY GROUP. Extreme Fluff in part 2 though to make up for it, after an anxiety attack.

Master List

February 14th, 2016

Tegan

It was that time of the week again, no not the weekend. Therapy day. I’m meant to be looking forward to today. But I don’t. I mean, I sit in a room with 9 other depressed and anxious teens and an overly enthusiastic adult trying way too hard for 2 hours. Where’s the fun in that?

The way I knew it was therapy day was simple my alarm went off, my cat jumped on my face and my sister yelled breakfasts ready from the kitchen downstairs. I’ve gotta get up and out of bed, but why so I could talk about things people think I make up to a bunch of kids around my age. I know I shouldn’t have but I turned my alarm off and tried to go back to sleep grabbing my cat to use as a teddy bear in the process.

“TEGAN!!!” Alex yells again, this time from the other side of my door. I groaned getting up knowing my attempt failed and if I didn’t get up now my sister would enter my room. The one place I had left.

Dragging my brush through my tangled hair to make it look semi-presentable and grabbed a clean shirt from my draw and my leggings from my desk putting them on, not caring that they didn’t look good together. Because I don’t care. I would much rather be in bed or be somebody else because I’m getting really tired of myself. 

I put on some mismatching socks and my teddy bear slipper and running downstairs to join my mother and sister for our traditional heart-shaped pancakes and fruit Sunday breakfast. One of the few things that hadn’t changed in the past 15 months. One thing I could hold onto. One thing that kept the memory alive. I know people behave like I do when a loved one dies but that’s not my story. My story’s worse because I was the one who died. Well not literally but figuratively for sure.

We chatted about meaningless trivial things. Until I noticed the time and said I should go pack my bag for therapy. The bag I had to pack for therapy contained my sketchbook, my writing pad, and my book. The writing pad and sketch pad were to show I was making progress and not just drawing and writing the same old memories. The book was a form of entertainment as my mum always dropped me early and picked me up late at the Library where these sessions were held due to my sister’s tennis lessons.

After the process of packing my bag, I shoved it onto my shoulder, turning to say goodbye to my cat. That was when  I saw the photo frame. The photo frame that contained three of the most important photos in my life. One was of me and my best friend at my 4th birthday party laughing while eating cake on my Dora the Explorer map which for some reason was of Russia, Mongolia and China. One of the others was of me and my two best friends at one of their 7th birthdays with my arm in a sling. The last one was of me, my classmates and our teacher from the last place I lived. I could feel myself begin to cry as the memories began to flood my already drowning mind.

“Tegan, Vamos!” My mother yelled at me from the door so I grabbed my shoes and threw the photo frame down onto my desk careful not to break it.

On the short twenty-minute journey to the library, we laughed trying to sing along to the music on the radio. Or at least I tried. It wasn’t the same. Nothing ever will be. And they don’t seem to care. I know they do but I haven’t seen it.

Once at the library I said goodbye to mum and Alex, walking through the door I was met by the warm embrace of the library air and take a deep breath of the book scented filled air letting it fill up my lungs. This was one of the few places I could feel at home in. But everything good in this world has to be ruined by people, doesn’t it?

“Come in Tegan we were just about to start,” Madison, the human in charge, told me as she walked past me holding a takeaway cup, most likely filled with Irish coffee to help her get through these sessions that I could tell were just as unbearable to her as they were for me.

When It was my turn to share what I did this week I shared the news of becoming ‘friends’ with the new girl at school and everything I’ve done to improve my mental health, although none of it worked. They then asked me questions about the new girl, which lead me to say, “She’s been through similar things to me, well closer than anyone I’ve met outside the people I would call if anything went wrong.”

To which, much to my dismay, Julie told me the cheesiest thing I have ever heard in this cheese-fest of therapy, “Maybe you went through it,” referring to the moves I had endured 13 and 22 months ago, “so you could help someone else survive it.”

“Maybe, or maybe the world is a cruel heartless bitch, who can’t handle that some people were made for more and decides to shoot them down. Like Malala or Martin Luther King Jr or Ringo. The world destroys the souls that only want to do it good and sadly I fall into that pile. I may have had what all of you call the dream life, but it’s a living hell. A combination of amazing until about 5 minutes later when I get shot in the heart over and over and over again until I decide to give up or till the world gives up on me and I don’t know which one is worse. I have never seen myself age past 20. I don’t know why. Even in the before, the before everything went fucking wrong. And it went wrong spectacularly. It always does. My life from the outside might look good but my mind. My mind is slowly trying to kill me. Even on all my meds. My mind is poisoning itself because it always had, from a young age and it will until I’m six feet under and probably after that. If you believe in the afterlife,” I yelled in frustration at Julie and all of her positivity nonsense. She was the eldest person here and the only one of us who doesn’t have to come but she still does, because she thinks of us as her family. In fact, her positivity was so infuriating to me that I got up and walked out of the room towards the bathroom ready to cry my heart out. That’s what I needed. And that’s what I did.

February 15th, 2016

Simone

It was my second Monday at school in New Zealand. And it wasn’t going that well. So far I had walked in on Indy and her boyfriend Lachie kissing, my friend Tegan had been bullied by Scarlet, I had been lectured about Harry Potter by Alexandra, someone in year 6 had been punched, and I had been told off by the principal for not wearing a hat outside. Not a good start to the day especially considering we had just gone out for ‘fitness’ which happens at 11:30 in the morning.

That was when it first happened. The first time I saw Tegan for who she was under all of her layers.

In the middle of our class game of basketball, I noticed her starting to lag behind where she had been. Then she started becoming short of breath, her face started to drain of colour as she stood still in the middle of the court. I looked around the court only to notice that no one else was seeing her break down in the middle of the school.

So, I went over to her.

“Are you OK?” I asked her squatting down so I could look up at her and look her in the eye.

That’s when I noticed how hard she was struggling to breathe. I ran. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me over to Miss G who was reffing the game.

“Tegan can’t breath and I don’t know what else is going on, but I know she can’t easily breath,” I spat out in about 3 seconds flat pointing my index finger over to her almost colourless body standing in the middle of the court. Except she was gone.

“She seems fine Simone, she just went to the bathroom,” Miss G told me in a condescending tone.

“Well then, can I please go to the bathroom?” When she nodded her head in response and faced back to the game I walked back over to where the toilets were.

I raised my fist to the grey stall door and knocked.

“I’m fine. Really, but thanks for checking!” Tegan yelled from the other side sniffling.

“Just come out, please. You really looked like you needed a hug out there and I would love to give you one because I think of you as my friend. So please just come out here and talk. It’s only me.”

“And me. Tegan, I want you to come out here so we can talk. We can all just lean against the door while you tell us what happened so no one else can enter if you want,” Alexandra said as she walked into the bathroom.

“Only if you give this up.”

“What up?” I dared to ask.

“Trying to make me better,” She opened the door to reveal herself, “I’ve been trying for years to fix myself.  I’ve been trying since I was 7 to fix whatever the hell is wrong with me. There is a giant loser who lives within me and currently in control and I am fine with that because it’s better than the giant demon that’s in there. I… I am just a shell of a broken child who will never be able to grow up. I’m so scared for her and her future because everyone is telling me to let her go but I can’t because she’s the me I only let a few people see. She is what is at the centre of all my thousands of walls and there’s a good reason for those walls. I’m broken. Defective. People only want people you fit perfectly with themselves. I don’t. I don’t fit with anyone unless their pieces are broken too and then we can become a beautiful mosaic. But, then again, nobody in this godforsaken country seems to realize you don’t have to put your pieces back in the same places to become whole again. And putting yourself back together exactly the same is hard, especially when you don’t know how the broken pieces fit together because you’ve been broken for too long. I… I was just having a panic attack that’s all. It happens all the time and nobody has ever reacted how you did and it scared me if I’m honest. Nobody ever really cares normally,” by this point we all had our backs to the girls’ toilets on the floor. Me and Alexandra had our arms around Tegan’s shoulder comforting her as she cried/talked to us about whatever was on her mind, “For the longest time all I’ve wanted is to have someone else’s puzzle piece and be compatible with others. All I want to do is order in and stay at how with my TV and guitar, and waste the day, crashing at home, without people. But I can’t because my sister or mum is always with me. I just want to run away from my so-called life. No matter how hard I try I keep losing my head and it keeps happening again and again and I can’t stop it.”

“Have you tried therapy?” Alexandra asks with the best intentions but I could tell by the way Tegan flinched that it was a touchy subject.

“Yeah, I go once a week to a group session for 10-18-year-olds who have dealt with loss. It’s on Sunday at South Library, but I hate it. It does nothing except make me want to punch a bunch of teenage girls in the face,” she responds in a post tear voice, I’ve come to know all too well.

“Well, I’m sure it’s good for you and it’ll get better. All of it,” I said with a smile, “After all, who’s going to show me how to get through moving away from everything they’ve ever known to here? Not Indy or Scarlett or Saskia. They all seem lovely but they don’t know what it’s like and you do. And that makes you special.”

“Ok. But should we head back out there?”

“I’ll go and tell Miss G that both of you are just going to stay in the classroom and I’ll come back and we can find some cat videos to watch together. Ok?” Alexandra said to Tegan’s question.

“That sounds good Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Her nickname,” She smiles to me as we get up and walk into the classroom and sit at the jelly bean table waiting for ‘Bob’ to get back.

Tags: @hollandarling, @wazzupmrstark, @hollandroos, @keepingupwiththeparkers

[neondnp]

my ii m&g experience ♥

(long rambling and pic spam ahead)

arriving + waiting in line

prior to and upon arriving at the venue, i was SO incredibly nervous to the point that it nearly overpowered my excitement. my heart had been racing all week and my stomach was in knots. i’d been anticipating this very day for almost a year and i was absolutely terrified that something would go wrong. i kept having thoughts like, “what if there’s a ton of unexpected traffic backed up for hours and i miss the meet and greet?” “what if there’s something wrong with my ticket??” “what if i forget something important and i’m denied access?” “what if i DIE before i get there!?” luckily, none of my delusional fears from my panicked state of mind came true and most of my anxiety disappeared after i was given my wristband.

meeting and conversing with the lovely new friends i made in line put me at enough ease that my ability to comprehend the intense reality of the situation was beginning to vanish. everything was too dreamlike to feel real. was i really mere minutes away from meeting my idols??

suddenly, everyone started screaming. i looked up and saw phil standing at the rail. i nearly had a damn heart attack!! that’s phil! he literally looks like an angel! i heard dan’s voice from the other corner and turned around to see him right above us! that’s dan!! he glows! o m g !! there they are!! in person! holy s*** that’s actually them!!! whatever they said to us either completely went over my head or was entirely forgotten because i don’t recall any of it. this was the most surreal moment of my life.

shoutout to the girl on twitter who filmed some of this and caught my reaction after they waved and left lmao

i guess this is what my mind being completely blown looks like??!?

my adrenaline was through the roof, but i was too stupefied to feel emotional yet. my throat was drying as the line in front of me gradually got shorter. the lack of air conditioning upstairs didn’t help. i was close enough to talk to marianne (a queen, btw) about what i wanted to give them. i had a letter from a friend and two of my ii themed d&p drawings that i made into magnets. she told me she would keep them and give them to dan and phil after the meet and greet. disappointing, but understandable. i wrote my name on the magnets but they won’t have a clue who i am. oh well. here’s what they look like:

before i knew it, it was my turn to meet them. a friend i met in line agreed to film my meet and greet but was too nervous to do so once we approached our turns. although it sucks to not have footage, i fully understand having anxiety. she’s very sweet and i’d never want to cause her any stress.

the actual meeting and greeting:

before i get into the personal details and talk about my interaction with them, i’ll describe their irl voices and appearances. 

i’d say they sound exactly the same in person. they don’t necessarily look any different from how they do in pictures and videos, just more radiant; especially phil. his hair somehow looks even darker irl and there’s an indescribably beautiful contrast between his black hair, vibrant eyes, and pale skin. it makes him look otherworldly. his features are sharp. dan’s stubble is actually quite prominent, even from a distance. his features are soft. there’s not really much else to say about his appearance; he’s just as gorgeous in the flesh as he is on a screen. they were just as tall as i expected them to be so i wasn’t alarmed by their height. it did, however, feel different to look up at them and see them from a new (significantly lower) angle as opposed to seeing them from an eye-level camera angle. the same can be said about viewing them on stage from a close orchestra seat.

now, onto the good part! i wish i could remember more details, but meeting them was such a blur that i didn’t feel like it even happened at all until the next day (more on that later). most of my dreams are more vivid than this memory is. my brain was majorly lagging from the moment i was far enough ahead in line to be off the stairs, and my entire consciousness seemed to exist in some alternate dimension when i walked toward their direction to be greeted. i remember one or both of them saying, “hiii!” and dan saying “thanks for coming to see us!” i remember phil instantly opening his arms and asking if i wanted a hug. i think i said, “hi! yes i do!” i remember it being so much easier to talk to them than i thought it would be. words came naturally despite having very little awareness of what i was saying and—due to being in such a daze—completely forgetting to say any of the important things i’ve always wanted to tell them. they were both so warm, gentle, and welcoming. i was too out of it to realize this at the time, but looking back, they treated me like i was an old friend of theirs; like i was someone who mattered. that warms my heart. they genuinely care about making us feel comfortable and relaxed.

dan did most of the talking. i don’t remember what either of their hugs felt like, but i do remember dan giving me one of his awkward “dan hugs” lol. dan and i were both wearing striped shirts and he said that we were “totally coordinated with our stripes” which made me WAY happier than it should have, but oh man i was BEAMING. “we are!”

when phil asked if i’d like to have something signed, i took out a print of the two portraits i drew of them. “yes, can you sign my art please?” after handing the print to them, dan said, “oh my god did you draw these??” and i responded with something dumb like, “i did! it took me like my entire life but yeah!!” i really wish i could have seen them react to my drawings, but i didn’t think to look at their faces when i showed them. in fact, i’m not even sure if i made eye contact with them at all. they complimented me on my art but i don’t remember what they said. i'm not 100% certain, but i think dan called it incredible.

dan offered to take the selfie so i handed him my phone and we all got close and smiled for the camera. i noticed from other people’s meet and greet pics that phil had a tendency to lean his head in next to fans, but i’d of course forgotten about this detail. i was so weak later on when i saw how close our faces were in the group photo, w o w !! i asked if we could take individual pictures as well and dan said, “of course!”

this is the part i remember the most clearly. taking individual pictures was almost like hugging them again, only better because i was a little more aware—i was almost able to actually process it this time. looking at them you’d expect to feel nothing but firmness and bones, but they’re both delightfully squishy; especially dan. they’re two tall adorable teddy bears. dan fondly said, “thank you philip” when phil took our picture and it was the cutest thing. after the pictures were taken, i thanked them for about the tenth time. i remember saying “thank you” and “thank you so much” to almost everything they said and did. i probably would have thanked them if they accidentally stepped on my foot or dropped my phone. they told me to enjoy the show and i thanked them once more. i wished them a good show and at some point i think i said, “it was really nice meeting you.” we waved and said our goodbyes to each other.

and then it was over.

wait, it’s over. what the hell just happened?

i literally forgot everything on the spot.

everything happened so rapidly and it ended before i had even begun to take any of it in. i really wish i could have absorbed the moment more. i wish i could have said more. this may sound silly, but none of it felt real. it didn’t initially feel like, “aah i just met dan and phil!!” instead, it felt more like, “...did i really meet dan and phil? wouldn’t i have remembered meeting them if it really happened?” i was so disappointed in myself. how was i that spaced out the whole time? i expected a more emotional experience, but it was all so surreal that i wasn’t even in touch with reality, let alone with my emotions. i didn’t know how to react, so i blanked out into a strange semiconscious state and i hated myself for it. 

i went on to realize that meeting them was indeed a very emotional experience; i just needed to fully recover from my daze for it to hit me. while most of my memory is still a blur, several small details came back to me the following day bit by bit. it was enough for me to look back on and miss. it took me days to recall everything i wrote about above. i did cry. i was emotionally impacted, just not right away. it had to catch up with me. meeting them was absolutely amazing. looking at my pictures and signed artwork elates me. i actually met dan and phil!

even though i didn’t say what i wanted to, i’m grateful that i managed to talk to them at all. i was so sure i’d either stumble over my words or end up speaking in my stupid high-pitched nervous voice. i was also afraid i’d cry in front of them and i didn’t. it went smoothly and i survived. i have a few regrets, but i still loved it. i loved them.

i’d do it again in a heartbeat.

yes i was very extra with the editing but these pics mean a lot to me and i wanted them to look the best they could

what i didn’t get to say: 

@danielhowell @amazingphil thank you for inspiring so much creativity, motivation, and passion within me. you guys are the reason i wanted to start drawing again. you’re the reason why i stopped immediately giving up. you’re the reason i’ve met so many spectacular people and became part of such a diverse and extraordinary community. you guys give me a reason to smile. i love you, thank you for everything ♥ - alexis