#i understand getting impatient after being transferred and stuck on the phone a long time but to immediately lose your shit is vile

[bioaccumulation]

My parents are both so rude to customer service people especially over the phone its insane and im extremely healthy in comparison

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 01 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

Next part (02) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Deceit

Life has a weird way of turning things around. Of putting people in the most unlikely scenarios, and leaving them on their own to try and figure out what to do next.

Keanu's mind has been restless since the moment he saw the bleeding, unconscious girl inside that wreck of a car, four days ago.

It was on the side of the empty road, and he was just about to drive pass it when something made him stop. Whoever caused it was gone, and there were no words to describe the sting on his chest when he saw her. The next moments happened in such a blur that he still has a hard time trying to put everything together. He remembers carefully lifting the girl's body off the wheel. He remembers checking her heartbeats, so faint and weak. And he surely remembers calling an ambulance and staying there, hoping, praying she wouldn't be just a corpse when they got there.

He couldn't quite see the extension of the damage since he was too scared to move her around. The girl wouldn't wake up, it didn't matter how many times he called, and as time passed, minutes passing by impossibly slow, he felt his heart sinking. Over and over again, he placed two fingers on her neck, just to make sure she was still alive. Her breathing was shallow and fast, and Keanu couldn't even notice in his agitation. There was way too much blood coming from a wound on her forehead, and more staining her light blue blouse. He couldn't believe he'd watch her die, right there before his eyes.

A wave of relief washed over him when the ambulance came, and he watched, helplessly, as they put her on the stretcher, pushing it to the back of the ambulance. A man had spoken to him, he's not sure what, but his legs carried him to the ambulance with her, and there, seated between two paramedics, he looked at the girl, once again praying she'd survive the ride.

She did. She was strong, the doctors said, and had successfully recovered from the two surgeries she had to go through. There was a lot of internal bleeding, they said, and now, the girl was in a coma. And nobody could tell how long it'd take for her to wake up.

But that was four days ago. Today, still at the hospital, Keanu tries to focus on whatever the council of doctors are saying. He had paid for everything, and he wouldn't have anything less than the best health care for the girl. (Y/N), he had found out. A beautiful name, that he thought suited the girl perfectly. Seated on the head of the table, Doctor Wright speaks of her condition, but Keanu's mind has drifted away a while ago.

“Mr. Reeves?” The woman, Alice Harris, gets his attention. She's the psychologist involved. The only reason why she's here is that there was damage on (Y/N)'s brain. There's a sixty percent chance that her memories were affected. They don't know how much yet, but they'll be ready to deal with whatever happens when she finally opens her eyes again. If she ever does. But Keanu won't give this possibility any thoughts. “Are you willing to do this?”

“Do what?” He didn't want to come out as not being interested in this. He was. But he can't pretend he knows what he would be agreeing with.

“Mr. Reeves, I know you're also affected by this. We all can see it. But we need you to have your mind clear.” The surgeon speaks, his hands cupped together, lying above (Y/N)'s papers. “If not, we'll place her under our care until we can contact her mother-in-law.”

“Mother-in-law?” How much of the conversation did Keanu lose?

“Let me.” Dr. Wright says. “Mr. Reeves, we have made some research on our patient's life. (Y/N) had just moved here, and unfortunately, she lost her husband only two weeks ago in a work-related accident.” This time, Keanu pays attention, his eyes focused on the man. “The only other person she has here is a friend named Laura Thompson, and her mother-in-law lives in Argentina, Lucia Davis. A few friends from her hometown, but nobody else. Nobody here who can help her through... Her condition.”

“There's still a chance she'll remember, right? Forty percent.” Keanu could only imagine what it'd be like. He'd never wished that on anyone, waking up one day with nothing inside. No record of who you were before. And he didn't want this for her. Not after what she's been through. “If she's alright then–”

“It wasn't about this condition I was talking about.” He cuts off, sighing and exchanging a glance with the neurologist. “Mr. Reeves, (Y/N) is three weeks pregnant.”

There's a sudden buzz on Keanu's ears, as his brain tries to process what he just heard. He's quick to make the math though. Three weeks pregnant, lost her husband two weeks ago... She was just starting to plan everything, probably just about to break the news to him or the family, and then, he died. That was probably the reason for her accident. Driving fast, tears clouding her sight, wondering what she'd do now, all alone, with a kid on the way. “Everything you need me to do, I will. I'll pay for anything she needs, it doesn't matter how much.” The words flow out, almost a living thing.

“Dr. Harris raises a hand to stop Dr. Wright, who was just about to say something. “Mr. Reeves, as we already said, we fear that our patient will have some kind of memory loss if she wakes up. And people on her position are always scared, and the feeling of being lost may drive them into self-destructive behaviors.” The woman speaks slow, and Keanu sighs. He's suddenly angry, wanting people to just spit everything out so he can understand what's going on and decide what to do with it. Bouncing his leg under the table, he nods, urging her to continue. “In that scenario, knowing about a pregnancy can make things take a bad turn, and even put the unborn child in danger.”

“What will you have me do?” He bursts out, impatiently. “If you need another specialist, or transfer her to some other hospital, do it.”

“What we need is far more complicated than that.” She continues. “A little unusual, but I believe it will work.” She takes a deep breath, fixing her glasses. “Mr. Reeves, we need you to introduce yourself as being (Y/N)'s husband.”

“What?” He inquires, unable to believe his ears.

“If she wakes up–”

“When.” Keanu is quick to correct her, his voice letting it show how anxious he is.

“When, forgive me.” Dr. Harris mutters. “It will be better if she has someone close. And a husband, since she's with child, will certainly give her peace of mind until... Until she remembers. If she remembers and if she does have a memory loss in the first place.”

Keanu looks down at his hands, resting on the wooden table before him. He should say no. This is way too much, too much of a crazy idea to follow up. But these are the best doctors money could pay for, and he did say he'd do anything that could help her. But he'd never thought this would be what she needed. There was no other option to him, that much was obvious, even if he didn't want to admit it right way. “Alright then.” He agrees, nodding.

“Good. We'll contact her friend and mother-in-law to let them know about this.” Dr. Wright says, getting up. “I'll need you to attend some meetings, Mr. Reeves, there will be some things we'll need to discuss.”

“Sure.” As if he hasn't been coming to the hospital every day to visit the girl.

The days start passing a little faster now, as Keanu meets up with the psychologist to make things ready in case she wakes up. They said there's no need to rush, that it may take several weeks, months even... But Keanu won't share their skepticism. He believes she's coming back soon, so he'll have everything in place for the biggest lie he'd ever tell. He has the excuses in place, the backstory, everything. He even has the fake ring already, and he never felt so bad as he did when buying it. But still, he carries it in his pocket every time he goes visit her, hoping she'll wake up.

Two weeks have passed, and today, as usual, Keanu looks through the open blinders, his eyes set on her sleeping figure. (Y/N) looks so peaceful in his eyes, as if she's simply sleeping. He can't help but admire her beauty, even in a simple hospital gown, with her hair a little messy, she looks pretty. His eyes drift a little, all the way to her stomach. It's still flat, but he knows there's life in there, growing. A life that will need their mother. “C'mon, (Y/N). Wake up.” Keanu mutters, his voice barely a whisper.

After a few more minutes, he leaves, walking slowly through the hospital, all the way to his car in the underground parking lot. On the drives seat, he looks at the wheel, the door still open, and he thinks. About everything at the same time. The wrecked car, the blood, the girl, the pregnancy, the lie... It all comes flooding his mind as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He's so drowned in his head that he almost doesn't hear the phone ring. But when he does, Keanu easily finds it in his pocket, not even looking at the screen before picking up. “Hello.” He mutters, ready to dismiss whoever it is. He needs to go home, to sleep, to put his mind in place.

“Mr. Reeves. She's awake.”

You still can't put things together. The woman has been talking you through it since yesterday morning when you crawled back into consciousness. She told you everything. How you ended up here, to begin with, but it doesn't matter how hard you try, you can't remember it. In fact, you can't remember anything. When you began to freak out yesterday, a nurse came and gave you something that now forced you to calm down. So you just lie there, staring at Dr. Harris as she tries to help you. But she's failing because your mind is completely empty. The tears keep rolling down, one after the other, and it doesn't matter how much you dry them, more come soon after.

How is it even possible? How can someone lose everything they were? Everything they had? Shaking your head no, you close your eyes shut, not wanting to listen anymore. Her questions remain unanswered because you just don't know the answer them. The only reason you know your name and age is because she told you. But all the rest... It's a mystery. It's gone.

“I can't.” You mutter, running a hand through your forehead. “I can't remember. You're not helping.” Crying again, you bite back a sob. “Please, just... Don't I have anyone? Parents? Friends? Anyone... I...” You can't be alone in the world. There has to be someone, a familiar face who will bring something back.

“You're parents passed away when you were young, sweetie.” She says, and another sob erupts from your mouth. “But you have a husband.”

You're not sure how you feel about it, with too many conflicted sentiments flooding your heart. But you do feel... Relieved? You're not alone. There's someone who could help you through, who knows you. “I-is he here?” You stutter. “Can I see him?”

“Sure.” She stands up from the armchair she positioned next to your bed. “I'll call him.”

Nodding, your eyes are on her back as she leaves. Using the bed's remote control, you move it up until you're in a seating position. The minutes go by and you're still alone. The blinders are closed, so you can only see shadows passing by. Maybe he got tired of waiting. Maybe he–.

“(Y/N).” The strong, deep voice calling your name gets your attention, and your eyes find the man standing some feet away from the bed. He's... Gorgeous. Tall, with long dark hair, which falls on his face, hiding his eyes a little. His beard gives him an atmosphere of mystery but makes him even more handsome.

Is that him? Are you really married to this man? “Are you...” The words fail you, and your voice fades.

“I'm Keanu Reeves. Your husband.”

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VI]

Word count:  4,675

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

______________________________________________

“Renfield,” Count Dracula called. “Wake up.”

The man stirred in his bed, a string of drool escaping his mouth as he changed positions. Count Dracula looked around the room impatiently. When he first came to talk to Renfield, the man had been placed in a padded cell. It seemed now that he had been behaving nicely enough to be transferred to an ordinary room with a bed, a desk and a fenced window. Dracula sat down at the end of the bed and grabbed the man’s ankle. 

“Master!” Renfield shot up awake at once, folding himself up until he was hugging his knees. He laughed nervously, eyes darting around the room. “I-I didn’t call Y/N, I promise you. She came to see me, she did, yes, it was her. Please--”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Renfield drew his eyebrows up and released his own legs. The striped pyjama he had on was too short for him, making him look more like an overgrown child in the Count’s eyes.

“It--it isn’t?” he stammered. 

“I need your opinion on something.”

“Well, of course,” Renfield said, a cheery smile sprouting in his face. “How can I be of service, master?”

Dracula patted the man’s shin the same way someone would do to a dog. 

“Y/N…” he trailed off as the image of her sucking on her own finger popped in his mind. He blinked, trying to clear it off, and stood up. “She…”

A deep frown settled in his face as he paced around the room. 

“She what, sir?” 

Dracula shut his eyes, leaning his head back in concentration.

“She mystifies me,” he spoke in a low voice, more to himself.

“Well--” Renfield started, chuckling nervously again. “How could she possibly mystify you, master? You’ve drank her blood. There are no secrets--”

“Ah, but there are. There must be,” Count Dracula ran his hands through his hair, his mind remained fixated on her face close to his as she teased him endlessly. “She has a power of her own but I haven’t been able to identify what it is yet. She can incite me.”

“Yes,” Renfield drew out slowly. “Y/N has a way of getting into people’s heads.”

Dracula rushed forward, leveling his face with Renfield’s and making the man cringe from him.

“How?” he demanded. “How does she do it?”

“I d-didn’t mean l-literally, master. She knows how to twist words, that’s all I meant.”

“Oh,” he moved away and started pacing again. “It’s more than that, though… Tonight at the museum--”

“Which museum? V&A?”

“Her favourite,” Dracula nodded impatiently. No wonder Renfield would know about her fascination with that particular museum. “The rapture on her face when she walked in,” he smiled, “I thought I had her.”

“She turned the tables on you, didn’t she?” the knowing tone in Renfield’s voice grabbed the Count’s attention. 

“For more than a few seconds, yes,” he exhaled a breath he had no need to hold. “Made me chase her through the museum and fully took control of the situation. I only realised what she’d done after she left.”

“She’s seducing you, master, in your own game of cat and mouse.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Renfield,” Dracula snapped. “I am in control, always, but she bewitched me. She must have.”

He wasn't sure if she was Samson or Delilah anymore.

“Earlier today she came to visit me and asked me about how vampire legends might apply to you,” Renfield shook his head and rose his hands to add to the veracity of his words. “I revealed nothing, my lord.”

Dracula narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips down.. 

“Did she, now?”

Renfield nodded solemnly. 

The Count rolled his head on his shoulders. Who was she? What was she to affect him like that? The memories in her blood told nothing of that. He knew she was too headstrong to propose a deal of that nature to him. Now he was finally understanding where her intentions lied. Delilah, indeed.

“Thank you, Renfield. You’ve been quite helpful. I must go pay her a visit.”

  ______________________________________________

Her shower turned off moments after he arrived at her house. It distracted Count Dracula from Lucy’s text message, begging him for another bite. Lucy was addicted enough now that she didn’t care that he had drank from her only a few days ago. While tilting her head back and sinking his teeth in her certainly appealed to the bloodthirsty monster in him, he was curiously more interested in watching Y/N. 

Dracula clicked a button on the mobile’s side and the screen turned off. He slid the device on one of his coat’s deep pockets, feeling the outline of the book Y/N had lent him earlier that night. He retrieved it to look at the bright colours on the cover depicting a giant squid wrapped around a submarine. The memories on her blood weren’t needed for him to know that she loved this book. The pages were yellowed and a bit tattered, much like the cover’s edges, and it smelled like her, albeit one from long long ago. She must have read it dozens of times and yet he couldn’t find anything definitive about the book’s story in her blood. All he could gather were the character’s names, nothing more.

The bathroom’s door opened, deviating his attention from the book. He couldn’t see into her bedroom from where he was sat. Dracula stood up, balancing himself easily on the roof’s edge from the neighbouring house and made his way to a spot where he could get a better view. Beneath him, squared neatly between her house and Diana’s stood the back yard. It was spacious enough to contain a fountain, an old fashioned metal swing and a small vegetable garden. He stopped walking as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and he knelt on his ankles as to not draw attention. 

Blood rushed hot through her veins, the sound of it nearly as erotic as her seminude body. Teeth elongated inside his mouth, their sharp edges poking at his lips and forcing him to part his mouth. She drew thin curtains, allowing only her silhouette to be seen. Book still in hand, Dracula lept down to the garden to keep her in his sight, landing soundlessly on the grass. 

He waited. 

“Look at me,” he said in the dead of night.

He wanted her to see the red of his gaze. Watch the terror on her face as she realised that the game was over and that she couldn’t beat him. With every drop of her blood, he would make her his.

Glass shattered to his left and Dracula swung his head to see a woman standing in the doorway. He cursed his impulses silently. It wasn’t often that he let himself get so carried away that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. A cat slipped between the woman’s legs, hopping over the puddle of water and shards, and made a run for the hedges at the back of the property. Wind swept the woman’s silver and pepper away from her face, her hand frozen in front of her body as if she was still holding the glass. 

“Hello, Diana.”

______________________________________________

I woke up with the sound of water. A quick look at the time on my phone made me hop out of bed instantly.

“Shit, I’m late!”

No more dates with a vampire midweek. 

I peeked behind the curtains to check on the weather and to determine what should I wear for the day. Dark and heavy clouds covered the sky which meant I would have to whip out some boots for the storm on the way. A shape on the garden attracted my attention. Diana was standing in the middle of it, staring into nothing as she held a garden hose. A patch of earth beneath my window was soaked with water, like she had been watering that spot for more than a few minutes. I knocked on the window to get her attention but she didn’t react to it. I furrowed my eyebrows. There was no reason for her to water the garden when there was a storm coming. She hardly ever used that hose.

“Di?” I called after opening my window.

She blinked several times and looked up with a weak smile.

“Morning, Y/N.”

“Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’m not feeling very well today so I called in sick.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked and she shook her head. “Right. You might consider changing spots or we’re going get a swimming pool there.”

“Oh.” She looked at the wet spot she had been watering and redirected the stream of water to another side of the garden. “I got distracted.”

Satisfied now that I had managed to shake her out of her stupor, I closed my window and hurried to get ready. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed that the bite mark on my neck had a yellow tonality on the skin surrounding the punctures, which were nothing more than scabs now. The only bruising left was from Renfield and it remained a steady shade of purple and blue. I wrapped a wool scarf around my neck to spare people, and myself, from the view. 

A quick look at my phone informed me that it was 7:35am as I flew down the stairs, carrying a pair of boots and a purse. I sat down at the last step of the stairs, fitting each boot on my feet with disregard for the welfare of my toes. Losing a toe would be better than hearing Judge Llewellyn scolding me again for being late. My phone started ringing as I grabbed my briefcase. Cursing under my breath, I opened the front door, trying to balance my purse, briefcase and keys as I answered the phone and stuck it between my cheek and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Roger from St Thomas’ Hospital. Can I find a Y/N L/N in this number?”

“This is she,” I replied, stepping out to the street. 

“I’m calling concerning Francis Renfield. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

I stopped trying to lock my door and shut my eyes, making a silent prayer.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead? No, miss,” he paused and I took a breath. “I’m calling on his behalf. He’s requested for some of his own books. He mentioned that you might be able to get them for him.”

Once I finished locking my door, I hurried down the steps, almost running to the nearby main road.

“Yes, of course. I have a key for his flat. I can-”

“Good. So here’s the list he gave me. Faust by hm huh… Got?--”

“Goethe,” I said impatiently. “I don’t have a pen right now to take note. Take a photo of the list and send it to me. I’ll drop by with the books around 6pm. Thanks, Robert.”

I shook my briefcase wildly to get the attention of a cab on the other side of the road. He braked instantly.

“It’s Roger.”

“Yeah, sorry. Bye!”

______________________________________________

As I went up the lift in St Thomas Hospital, heading for the psych ward, I realised I had successfully gone an entire day without giving Count Dracula much thought. Well. Almost. Now that I had that consideration in mind all I could do was wonder what he had planned for our next date. The prospect of controlling my impulses while near him wasn’t appealing, or dealing with his unbearable charm. Knowing he had no regard for my life didn’t help either. But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious about what he had in store next. 

I closed my hands in fists. It didn’t matter if Renfield wanted to serve him or not. Dracula had taken away his free will and I wouldn’t simply accept that fact and carry on with my life. That had to be more important than my interest in the Count. 

“Do you need help with that?” 

I blinked, suddenly realising that the lift had stopped at my destination. I looked at the woman holding the door open for me and then to the cardboard box brimming with books at my feet.

“If it’s no bother. It isn’t exactly light,” I said.

She nodded once. I pushed the box forward with my feet so we could both take hold of each side. As she reached down, a hospital band slid to her wrist. I frowned as I took note of how pale the woman looked.

“Wait, no,” I began, making the woman look at me. “I shouldn’t bother you with this. You are not-”

“What? Healthy? In the best condition? Doesn’t matter as long as I have strength in this body,” she shot back matter-of-factly. When she smiled I noticed her teeth were slightly bucked. “Being polite won’t stop me from dying. Lead the way.”

She stared at me. 

“Okay,” I conceded, trying to unfurrow my brows. 

We carried the box out of the lift until we reached the nurse’s station beneath a plaque announcing that we were at St Thomas’ psychward. I signaled for us to stop at the station and we put the box down. The hospital band on her wrist had shifted angles and I was able to clearly make out a name as we stood up.

“Van Helsing?” I questioned, unable to conceal my bewilderment.

She glanced at the hospital band and then back at me.

“It’s a Dutch surname,” she explained with a small eye roll as if she was used to that question.

A bandage on the side of her neck drew my attention. What were the odds?

“As in Agatha Van Helsing?” I tried.

“As in Zoe Van Helsing,” she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that name?”

“I think we might have a friend in common,” I murmured. I fumbled at my scarf, pretending to adjust it so I could grant her a small look on my neck. Risky, but it was the best option for me.

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. Her gaze lingered on my neck after I covered it and I smiled triumphantly. She knew.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” she finally said.

“Me neither,” I replied. She smiled back at me, though hesitantly. “Do you have time for a chat?”

She nodded. 

“Let’s do this on my car.”

“Yeah, give me a second.”

I found a post-it inside my purse and scribbled quickly “Deliver to Francis Renfield, patient in the psychward. From Y/N L/N. ” I stuck it to the cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray, the book standing on top of one of the piles, and then gestured for Zoe that we could go. 

I could barely breathe as we took the lift down to the car lot. After analysing Zoe, I wasn’t sure she breathed either. Finding someone else that I could talk to wasn’t the solace I was looking for but it was better than nothing. Taking by Zoe’s words she wasn’t any fonder of Count Dracula than I was. 

We were met with heavy rain once outside the hospital. To our right stood a car lot. Zoe pointed at the largest car in the lot, a black Land Rover parked a few feet from the main entrance. Lowering our heads as a feeble attempt to shield ourselves from the rain, we ran for it. The car beeped twice once we got close to it. I flung open the passenger’s door and threw myself in, followed closely by Zoe on the driver’s side. We closed the doors in unison. Sticking the key in the car’s dashboard, she clicked some buttons next to the steering wheel and hot air started coming from the air system. I ran my hands down my hair, trying to get most of the water out. 

“Count Dracula bit you,” she said simply. I looked at the bandage on her neck. “And me. Although from what I saw from your scar, he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“No, he wasn’t. Was he trying to kill you ?”

Zoe turned her body on her seat as she plucked up a corner of the bandage and then threw her brown hair back to offer me a better view. The skin around it was as purple as the strangulation mark beneath my jaw. While the outline of teeth was as clear as day on my neck, her wound was a serrated gash with stitches over it that tried to mend it back. 

“Jesus…” I winced. 

“Yes, well. I suppose he treats his future brides to be much better than he treats his victims.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. It really isn’t that far of a leap and and by the expression on your face, I’d say I’m right.”

“What’s your connection to Agatha?”

“Distant relative. How do you know about her?”

“He told me.”

“Told you? God, you really must be special,” she said and then frowned. “Did he tell you she was a nun?”

“He killed a nun?” I shook my head and waved a hand to dismiss my last words. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Should expect worse from him, frankly.”

“Yes, you should. I would bet he hasn’t told you every little thing about him. He might not show you his worst side, I think.”

“I’m fairly acquainted with it. It’s why I’m here at the hospital. Dracula made a friend of mine his servant,” I grumbled as I ran a finger on the sore line on my neck. “Renfield didn’t take too kindly-”

“Renfield? The lawyer?”

 I blinked.

“Yes. How-” I stopped, piecing it together. It was a leap, much like Zoe had put it, but all things considered, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. “You work for that Foundation, don’t you? The Jonathan Harker Foundation. That’s the only explanation for you knowing both Count Dracula and Renfield. Frank got Dracula out of there. Don’t be so shocked,” I imitated, smiling. “I work with Renfield and sometimes I assist him with his clients. I lucked out.”

“Some luck,” she rose her eyebrows. 

“What stopped him from killing you? Don’t get me wrong but I highly doubt he would just let you go if you had him trapped.”

“I’ve got cancer working on my favour. His appetite doesn’t include that.”

Her skin’s sickly pale shade and her comment at the lift suddenly made sense. Cancer was working against her but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I wish his appetite didn’t include me,” I scoffed. “But I can’t escape him.”

She shook her head. 

“Not if he’s interested in you. I think the only reason he didn’t murder each and all of us at the Jonathan Harker Foundation is because we weren’t intriguing enough for him,” she paused, creasing her brow. “I don’t want to be invasive but would you mind giving me a few samples?”

“Samples?”

“I’m a doctor. Vampirism is a field that I’m fairly new to and my only test subject is uncooperative. Cancer corrupted most of the scientific evidence on my blood,” she spoke fast, like she was afraid I would leave. “You’re my patient zero.”

I watched her carefully, waiting for a sign; one that told me that she was manipulating me, or waiting for my intuition to tell me something was off, or perhaps for my bond to Count Dracula to finally interfere on his behalf. There was none. Now that I knew who and what she did, I realised how dangerous it was to be sitting in a car with her. Count Dracula had escaped the grasps of the Foundation but not without legal aide, which probably meant Zoe Van Helsing had serious resources to imprison Count Dracula. With a start I realised that she could be my way out of that damned deal I had proposed.

“He’ll definitely kill me if he finds out,” I said with a sigh. “What do you need?”

Zoe grinned, a glint appearing on her tired eyes.

“Blood samples and some tissue from where Dracula bit you, a small piece of scab should do,” she said as she reached in the backseat and pulled an aluminum briefcase. Setting it in her lap, she opened it, casting me a quick glance. “Take off your coat.”

“Oh, we’re doing it now, right.”

I removed my scarf and coat. She made me rest my right elbow on the support pad between us before tying a rubber band above the elbow ditch. Once satisfied, she stuck a needle on me before I could look away, making me emit a small yelp.

“Don’t like having your blood taken?” she chuckled. 

“Not like this,” I responded.

Zoe shot me a look and I grimaced. 

“You liked it when he bit you?” she asked, concentrating now on the vial filling with my blood.

“Can we change the subject?”

“It can help with my research.”

“Are you being serious or just prying?” the question was packed with an anger I hadn’t expected.

“Both,” she shrugged. She changed the full vial for an empty one. When the new one started filling, she stared at me. “Well?”

“Yes. It felt good. More than good, actually. A close second to sex,” I measured how much between my thumb and forefinger on my free hand. Catching the frown and wide eyes in Zoe’s face, I shook my head vigorously. “Not with him. That’s never happening.”

The memory of his body over mine made me shift on my seat. I swallowed dryly.

“Really?”

“Never.”

“I’m not judging you, it’s just that you don’t seem to be so sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m just the doctor,” while her expression was dead serious, the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Did it hurt at first?” I nodded. “And then it felt good?” Another nod. “I’ll test for dopamine and endorphins, as well. Those are our own bodies happy drugs. He might have some in his saliva in order to make it feel pleasurable.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might just be magic?” I asked as she changed vials again.

“Magic? Please. Some things pertaining Count Dracula might be magic but consuming blood is not one of them. Much like some snakes have venom to make it easier to eat their prey, I believe he might have an equivalent to that.”

“Well, did it work on you?”

“What?”

“Did you feel euphoric when he bit you?”

“No. I was terrified,” she replied. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shook her head. “Because it worked on you and not on me doesn’t mean it’s magic. Maybe he has some way of controlling the effect his bite has on people. We’re done with the blood samples. Now for the neck.”

She pulled the needle out and put a cotton pad over the tiny hole on my arm. She rose a vial, a marker pen in hand to write on the label. 

“Y/N L/N,” I provided before she asked. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she chuckled, scribbling my name on all three vials. Next, she grabbed a pair of tweezers and a smaller vial. “Pull your hair back.”

I obeyed and tipped my head for her. There was a bit of pressure on the wound and then a tiny pinch followed by a burning sensation, making me yelp again.

“God, you’re dramatic,” she muttered. 

I snuck a glance at her and caught her smirk.

“Only a little,” I said, returning to my normal posture as she placed a small piece of skin inside the vial. “What kind of cancer is it?”

“Pancreatic. Death sentence, really. Not many people survive it.”

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know. It’s stage four. I decided against getting chemo the moment I got the diagnosis because I know it’s basically useless in this case. I’m relying solely on palliative care here at St Thomas Hospital,” she shrugged as she organised all the vials inside the briefcase. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re being great help. How many times has he bit you?”

“Only this once. And not enough to turn me, he says. He would’ve done it again, I think, if I had let him.”

“Let him? ”

I smirked at her disbelief.

“Yes, long story but basically I made him a deal where he’ll only bite me or turn me if I allow him.”

She blinked, mouth slightly agape.

“Why would you do that?”

“When I made that deal I thought I was being clever for bargaining when I was actually just bluffing. I won’t be able to stall for much longer, that much I know. I don’t want to be like him,” my voice trembled and I cleared my throat. “I have dates with him set for the future - don’t ask. If I find a way to distract him, have him at the right place at the right time…” I scrutinized her face with every word, “would you be willing to capture him again?”

She stared at me.

“It might get us both killed.”

“I know.”

She closed the briefcase with a definitive sound.

“I’ll do it but, we’ll need time to plan. I spent over 3 months planning how to get him out of the sea without casualties and we still had plenty of them. I’ll handle that part. He has weaknesses, such as the sun, religious items and diseased blood. Try to find something else to our advantage,” she straightened, raising her chin. “You might have to let him bite you.”

“Thought you would suggest that,” I muttered. “He would probably trust me more. But the minute I let him do it, he’ll know about us plotting against him. He can do this thing when he drinks someone’s blood-”

“I forgot about that. Hell.”

“I’ll keep leading him on until we figure it out,” I assured her with way more confidence than I felt. “What’s so interesting about vampirism to you, anyway?”

Zoe placed the briefcase on the backseat again before answering me.

“How does someone’s body not change in over five centuries? Dracula cut his wrist to let me collect his blood and the wound closed itself right before my eyes. It’s isn’t just magic, Y/N. There is a science to it, there must be.”

I stared at her.

“Five centuries without any disease,” I added as I put on my coat again. “That’s it, isn’t it, Zoe? You think his blood holds the answer to your cure.”

Her frown was deep.

“The Foundation isn’t about me. Curing diseases is one its goals, yes, and I won’t lie to you and say I don’t wish I could be rid of this thing eating me away. But it’s not just it. The world would change if we could isolate all the aspects in his blood-” she shook her head. “I can’t tell you more than that.” She pulled out a mobile phone from her jeans’ back pocket. “Give me your number."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Zoe was reticent enough about the Foundation to make me suspicious. A clandestine operation, Renfield had said. But did I really care? 

“Fine,” I said and recited my number. “Calls only.”

“Agreed, less evidence this way,” she put her mobile back on her pocket. “I’ll call you over the next few days so we can set up a meeting. I’ll need more samples so I can follow up on your case’s progression.”

“Sure,” I said, wrapping my scarf around my neck. “I hope this works.”

She nodded, her fringe swaying to the sides as she did so.

“Me, too. Oh, make sure you take a shower and put your clothes on the washer when you get home. He’ll be able to smell me on you if you don’t.”

I grabbed my things and rolled my eyes. 

“‘Bloodhound’ certainly applies well to him, doesn’t it?” I said.

Zoe was still chuckling when I hopped out of the car and ran from the rain.

 .

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @girlonfireice​ @dreamer2381​ @rheabalaur​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ 

I am so sorry if I forgot to anyone... please let me know if I did

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

notch | i

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: unrequited!AU, college!AU, f2f!AU

Warnings: language, mentions of mature content

A/N: i’m back i’m stressed i like writing. i wrote this a while ago, will probably turn it into a series if i ever get around to finishing it. 

01 | 02 | 03

Synopsis: early morning calls. picking him up from some stranger’s house after a few bad decisions. the torment of loving someone who was incapable of loving you back. those two small words create such a large chasm between the two of you. but hey, what were best friends for? 

I got the text early in the morning. Early like 03:27 in the morning. Rolling over in bed, I glared angrily at the unwelcome brightness of my phone screen. A scoff left my lips when I read the text; of course the morning before school started would be another one of those mornings with Jungkook. 

“That dumb fuck…” I grumbled while rubbing the remaining sleep out of my eyes and rolled out of bed. I groaned, stretching my hands high over my head to stretch out the tired, stiff joints that inhabited my body. Sighing, I stumbled into a pair of pajama shorts and clumsily pulled one of Jungkook’s oversized crewnecks over my head. 

There were worse things that could happen, I mused unhappily to myself. He could be driving home intoxicated. He could have gotten in a car crash. He could be beaten up by the side of a road, half dead and bleeding out. However, the sour, disappointed lull between heartbeats reminded me that no, nothing was worse than being stuck in the friendzone, picking him up in the early morning after each of his overnight rendezvous with an assortment of the worst girls. 

Slinging my hair up into a ponytail, I slid my feet into my favorite pair of old vans, grabbed my keys and slipped back into the quite literal cold, harsh reality. I plugged the location Jungkook sent me into my phone and twisted the key in the ignition. The steady vibration of the car’s engine brought me back to the present and further permeated the bitter irritation coursing through my body. Humming along with the sad love songs stuck in my head, I studied the glaring facade of the lonely stoplights surrounding me. The deep indigo of the clouds floating above me only darkened my mood. 

Love was quite the burden, I thought to myself. There was just something so… vexatious when loving someone that had no capacity of loving you back. But what was I to do when in reality, I had no control over my best friend’s romantic - or lack thereof - life. 

A familiar dialing tone broke through my reverie and drew my attention back to my cellular device. Loved dearly and something of a sepia-d memory, Jungkook’s caller ID popped onto my dimly lit screen. Withholding the sigh waiting to pass my lips, I watched at the phone ring a couple more times before pressing ‘accept’. 

"Jungkook," I mumbled through the phone. "Which apartment are you coming out of? I'm stopped outside of the complex."

“I’ve never heard a sweeter sound,” he chuckled lowly ignoring my actual question. The shuffle of clothing through the speaker only encouraged the bile building in the back of my throat and I was again reminded of why I was here in the first place. 

The frown etched itself deeper into my face as I responded. “The hum of my loud 2009 Chevy Aveo engine and the sleep deprived, deeply irritated voice of your best friend here to pick you up at 3 in the morning after your 3rd one night stand in the past two weeks? I find that hard to believe, dumbass. Especially after what apparently just happened in there.” Irritation oozed from my words and I made no move to shield it. 

“Aww come on, Y/N,” Jungkook hummed, relief flooding me when the sound of a door opening and closing played through the phone. “It’s not like I was planning on this happening again…”

All that left my lips was a disbelieving scoff. Glancing up at the apartment complex, I spotted a familiar figure descending the stairs on the third floor. 

“Y/N,” Jungkook spoke, louder this time so to combat the whisper of the autumn wind. “I’m hanging up now, I see your car.”

With that the call ended and I watched as my best friend’s figure neared the car. A simple black zip - up hoodie zipped up halfway hung loosely about his frame left a sliver of his toned torso out for admiration and the disheveled hair peeking out from under the hood softened my frown slightly. White washed denim joggers sat low on his hips and hugged his body in all the right ways. Balled in his left hand was a bundle of white and black cotton. His shirt and boxers no doubt. 

Reaching across the vacant passenger seat, I unlocked the door as he approached and the impish grin that graced his innocent face had me rolling my eyes. It was too ironic to be coincidental, that such a soft face could hide such a broken, lost fuckboy.

“Hey Y/N.” His post-sex voice sounded tired and fucked out beyond belief and for a brief moment, I pitied the poor, clueless girl that would wake up alone in the morning.  

“Hey kiddo,” I simpered, playful smile hiding the concern and irritation washing about in the pit of my stomach as he climbed into the passenger seat. “You sound tired as fuck.”

“Hmm... Probably more so than you.” He shot me a look I couldn’t decipher and tossed his shirt and boxers in the back. “I don’t think I’ll ever go from the gym to a party again.” 

I hummed in acknowledgement, focus more on the well-being of my best friend than the road. He sighed deeply, sliding his hood off and leaned his head against the window. Waves of exhaustion rolled off his body. A song popped into my mind and I spoke suddenly. 

“Jungkook,” I murmured, the falling moon and darkness of the sky reminding me of how late it was. The weight of his gaze on me transferred to my phone when I tossed it into his lap. “Open spotify, yeah?” 

“Okay… it’s opened.” 

Lyrics sat impatiently on my tongue before I had even told him what to type. 

“Search niki. N - I - K - I. Then just hit shuffle play.”

The silence that hung between us while he spelled out the artist’s name was not one begging to be filled and we sat in companionable silence. Finally at a stoplight, I paused to glance over my best friend. His bottom lip remained stuck between his teeth. Though tired, his deep brown eyes focused in on the screen of my phone. A vermillion glow washed over the two of us, kissing his exposed collarbones and hiding the flush dusting my cheeks. 

The light turned green and we were off as the bittersweet verses of ‘Warpaint’ slid out of the car speakers as an aesthetic white noise. I watched quietly as Jungkook’s eyelids fought to stay open before finally sliding closed, a melancholic feeling settling over my heart. The faux smile I had present fell back into a frown and I released the heavy exhale I had withheld for so long. 

Ever since high school, he had been jumping from girl to girl the numbers quickly racking up from two to three to five to six girlfriends a year. I watched from the sidelines, always there as a shoulder to cry on, a shield from other girls, a wall flower he’d leave alone for a couple months while he fucked around. For years I had fought the feelings off every time they surface, knowing I was nothing more than a friend, around only for him to come back to when the hidden emotions he refused to show got the best of him. 

Shooting a sideways glance over at Jungkook, I let my eyes travel briefly over his tired body. The breath entered and exited his lips slowly, steadily, almost in sync with the beat of my heart. I began to take a right at the intersection onto the street that led to his apartment when he reached out suddenly and stopped me. His warm, calloused hand closed over my cold, sweater paws and effectively halted the car. My gaze shot up to his.

“No- wait,” he groaned, blinking blearly and pushing himself back into a sitting position. “Can… Can I stay over tonight?” 

Still stopped in the middle of the intersection, I gazed at his deflated figure… ‘No’ would have been the right answer in a situation like this. No. You can’t stay over. No. You can’t encourage the feelings I do have for you. No. You don’t understand what staying over is going to do for my heart.

Immediately the ‘yes’ slithered through my lips before my mind processed the weight of the situation. After all, he did have a dresser of stuff over at my apartment and the guest room was hardly ever occupied. 

“Sure.” 

A grateful smile graced his lips and he retracted his hand from mine. 

“Thank you, __...” he mumbled. “God, you know you’d make the best girlfriend in the world, right?” 

The offhand comment threw a poison tipped dagger straight through my heart and the breath I had been trying to take caught in my throat before he resituated himself against the car door and added, 

“I guess that makes me lucky you’re my best friend.” 

Deep, devious, and devilish, the darkness concealed the hurt masked in my eyes and Jungkook shot me a playful smile, ignorant to the fact the smile I offered back did not reach my eyes.

series m.list

>>

[hyunsracha]

bloom — lee felix

word count: 2.1k

summary: hanahaki au | “a flower bloomed in your chest every time you saw that smile.”

The day Felix Lee transferred into your biology class, you didn’t think much of it.

The teacher asked him to introduce himself, and after the blonde said his name, he blessed the class with a small, shy smile. You felt a pounding in your chest, but looking at the other students in the class, you assumed that you weren’t the only one.

Felix took his seat in the back corner of the room, and a bunch of eyes followed him. You looked away, not wanting to be part of something that was probably making the new kid uncomfortable. You could still feel that pounding, but you chose to ignore it.

Things only started happening a few weeks later. After all the Felix hype died down, your biology teacher assigned a partner project. You sighed, knowing that you were probably going to have to work with someone you didn’t really like, as none of your friends were in that class.

Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one partnerless. That same blonde boy sat in the back corner of the room, nervously twirling his pencil around in his hands. You sighed. How could you approach him without seeming like one of his fangirls?

“Hey,” you started, sitting down in the empty desk in front of his.

“Hey. Do you not have a partner either?” His eyes were looking right above your head, just slightly avoiding your eyes.

“No,”

“Wanna be partners?”

You nodded as a smile formed on your face. His eyes snapped down to meet yours, and you felt like you were flying. A smile appeared on his lips, one that mimicked yours. That same pounding returned to your chest. You figured it would just be a crush, like that one time Hwang Hyunjin bumped into you in the cafeteria, and you couldn’t get your mind off of him for a week.

Becoming friends with Felix Lee was the second easiest thing you’ve ever done. He was an absolute angel, greeting you with an arm around your shoulder and giving dramatic, fake tear-filled goodbyes when he left your side. He was funny, and kind, and smart.

“Do you think bees have feelings?” He asked you one night. It was almost 4 AM, and he was lying on a mattress on your living room floor.

“What-”

“No, just hear me out! Like, do they get joy from making honey? Or do they get sad when they use their stinger…”

“Felix, go to bed.”

“No. I want to stay here...in this moment...with you…” And he was out.

Falling in love with Felix Lee was definitely the easiest thing you’ve ever done. Your mind was set to overdrive. You were a massive overthinker. To you, everything could have a double meaning. That arm around your shoulder was no longer friendly; he was trying to show other people that you were his. Those dramatic goodbyes were his way of jokingly showing you that he was sad to leave you.

It started happening in late April; 7 months of knowing Felix. You were walking home together, the same way you always did. He would walk you to your house, then turn around and walk to the bus stop that would take him home. It was starting to warm up, and you were grateful that you decided to wear short sleeves that day. Every time your arm bumped his, your skin nearly burst into flames.

He walked you right up to your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he pretended to tear up, covering his mouth with his fist. You giggled, shoving him away from you.

“Get out of here, you loser!”

“I’ll see you soon, my darling, I promise!” You could see his smile peeking out through his fingers, that all too familiar pounding feeling almost knocking you backwards.

A flower bloomed in your chest every time you saw that smile.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, unlocking your front door and stepping inside. You closed the door, leaning back on it. Your heart was beating out of control and your head was spinning. Everything was dizzy, and you kind of felt like you were gonna throw-

Rose petals.

What? You never ate any rose petals, so why were they suddenly on the ground? And why was your mouth ajar, a burning sensation in your throat? You started to cry, overwhelmed by confusion and fear. You sat on the couch, curling yourself into a ball. You stayed like that into your mother came home.

“Y/N? I’m home- oh.”

You glanced over. Her eyes were locked on the petals that were still on the floor, then they slowly trailed over to your tear-stained face.

“Oh, baby-” Sitting down next to you, your mother slid her hand over your back. A comforting gesture, but it only made you cry harder. After a few minutes of silence, she opened her mouth a bit.

“Felix?”

“W-What-”

“The petals…,” She explained. Apparently, you had developed a disease in which you would throw up flowers because the one you loved didn’t love you back. Hearing that explanation made your heart snap. Felix didn’t love you. Not like that, at least.

At this thought, you felt the burn in your throat again. You ran to the sink, coughing up rose. Tears stung at your eyes again, and it was hard to keep your balance.

So this was your life now. Puking every time you thought of that stupid blonde with his stupid perfect smile and his stupid laugh and-

More roses.

Deciding to distance yourself from Felix Lee was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You knew it wouldn’t make you happy, but seeing him all the time made you throw up more.

It started with just ignoring his texts. Which was hard to do, as whenever you didn’t see him in person, you were texting him. The first day you did this, you could practically feel your heart being crushed. When he asked you about it the next day, you told him that you fell asleep early, and then you walked away, letting yourself get lost in the crowd of students making their way to class. You could see his kicked puppy expression in your head, and quickly excused yourself to the bathroom.

It got harder as the days went on. The pounding in your chest being replaced with an aching loneliness. But it was better this way, you told yourself, less petals this way.

Being separated from you was the hardest thing Felix Lee has ever done. His best friend, his partner in crime, his one and only. Why were you ignoring him? Were you annoyed by him? Bored? He just couldn’t wrap his head around it. You were his first friend at this new, scary school, and he cherished you deeply. He always told you that he would be by your side forever, and he always loved the blush that would appear on your cheeks as you agreed. So what happened?

It only took a week for him to get fed up. He showed up at your house on Saturday night. Your mother opened the door, her eyes lighting up once she saw him. She always liked Felix, he was always sweet and she saw how happy he made you. But then she remembered. She sighed, stepping outside and shutting the door.

“Felix, sweetie, now’s not a good time.”

“Why not? Y/N has hardly spoken to me all week, and they’re ignoring my texts and they don’t wait for me after school and- and I just miss them.”

“I know, honey, I know you miss your best friend.” There was a slight bitterness to her tone at the words ‘best friend’, but Felix just didn’t understand.

“Do you like roses?” Your mother spoke again.

“..Yeah. They’re my favorite flowers.”

“Ah. Have a good night, Felix.” And then she went back inside.

Realizing that he was in love with you was the second easiest thing Felix Lee has ever done. He was laying in his bed with all the lights off, scrolling through his folder dedicated to you. It was normal for people to have folders of just their best friend, right? He clicked on a video, feeling his heart rate increase at seeing your smiling face.

The video was from a few months prior. He was at your house, like he usually was, and you were baking cupcakes. Felix’s hand shot out from behind the camera and scooped up some batter, his laughter shaking the camera as you pouted at him, “Felix! Stop eating all the batter!”

Soon he found himself stuck in you, and he couldn’t pull himself away from his phone. Video after video, his heart continued to race, and he had the widest smile on his face. It’s not like this was new to him. Felix always felt this way around you. That’s how you were supposed to feel around your best friend, right? Like you were on top of the world, like you could do anything because you had them by your side. Like the world would stop if you felt their lips on yours-

Wait. That wasn’t very...friendly. He thought about that often, but he never considered it more than friendly. That night, Felix took time to actually reflect on his feelings. It didn’t take him that long, really. He just thought about dating someone that wasn’t you, and let the distaste in his heart tell him the truth.

He loved you. And not just as his best friend.

The day you stopped puking up rose petals was the best day of your life. You didn’t really notice anything in the morning, as you never really thought about Felix in the mornings, as you were too tired. But once you were wide awake, your mind wandered to its favorite topic. You gripped the small trash can you kept in your room, waiting to see the red, but the petals never came. You were confused, but glad that you weren’t suffering anymore- for now, at least.

By the time the sun went down, you were more than confused. You asked your mother, and in return she asked you if you still loved Felix.

Of course you did. They say, “distance makes the heart grow fonder” for a reason, don’t they?

A small smile appeared on your mother’s lips, and there was a small glimmer of hope in her eyes, “Maybe we won’t have to get that surgery after all.”

Right. The surgery. You didn’t want it. You’d rather choke on your own blood and die than stop loving the blonde that you’ve come to adore. It was sad, but true.

There was an impatient knock on the door. You opened it, coming face to face with the boy you adored.

“Y/N.” He breathed out, one of his hands pressed against the doorframe.

“Felix…” You didn’t know what to say. Do you let him in? Kick him out? Did he hate you now? What if he was just here to say that he never wanted to see you again would you die from the amount of petals that would definitely come from-

Loving you was the easiest thing Felix Lee had ever done. He would never be filled with more life than he was when he kissed you for the first time. He would never feel more joy than he did when he heard your little gasp and felt your hand come up to rest on his cheek. He would never see anything more beautiful than the deep blush covering your entire face as you pulled away, stuttering for an explanation.

“I love you.” His voice was lower than normal. It sent shockwaves through your body, with enough force to push you backwards.

“But- my petals- you can’t love me because of my petals-”

“What? No, Y/N. I don’t know what your petals are, and I don’t know why you’ve been ignoring me, but what I do know is that I love you. And I have for a long time, I just never noticed before. But you know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?” He chuckled a bit, and your chest was filled with that same pounding feeling.

But no urge to throw up.

No petals.

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than you ever had before.

You were cured, because he loved you, and you loved him.

Bonus: the stupid fuck got u roses for ur anniversary and thought that it was a good idea bc of what u had gone through. u had replied with “no u idiot. i dont want to remember throwing up literal flowers every day bc u were stupid and oblivious” while putting them in a pretty vase <3

[toyboy-molloy]

If the prompt list is for promoting then: Are you fucking insane?! (Sherlolly please!) If not just ignore me XD nevertheless thank you! :)

thanks for the prompt, I hope you like it ♥♥

Molly fiddled with the hem of her ‘businessskirt’, glancing up at the door in front of her leading to Mike’s office. She’dbeen invited to attend a meeting regarding the opportunity to study and teachpathology to eager students, which meant transferring to another location forthe better part of half a year, somewhere up in Scotland, she’d heard. Mollyhad accepted immediately, deciding to worry about telling her friends later.Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary and Greg would be accepting and supportive, of that shewas certain. She’d Skype Rosie and send her gifts and her mother could takeToby. That just left Sherlock…

The thought alone of telling himgave her a headache; she could already hear his excuses, how he needed her atBart’s because none of the other pathologists were as lenient with body parts.Tough. He’d just have to cope. Molly quickly glanced at her watch, nervousexcitement beginning to ripple through her stomach. That was when her phonebuzzed.

URGENT. BAKER STREET. NOW

Molly blinked at her phone, wonderingfor the briefest moment if she should just drop everything and run to221B.After all, the last time this happened, several police helicopters hadfollowed Greg only to find out the consulting dick was stuck with his best manspeech. Just as she’d decided to ignore it, another message came through.

PLEASE. I NEED YOU MOLLY

“Ah, Doctor Hooper,” Mike appearedat his door, then, flanked by a member of the Hospital board. He looked asnervous as she felt as he adjusted his tie and smiled forcefully, “we’re readywhen you are.”

Molly swallowed – she hated lettingMike down but if anyone could understand her situation it would be herkind-hearted boss. “Err, thank you, but there’s been a change of plan. I’mterribly sorry to put you out, sir,” she addressed the chairman and smiledapologetically, “something has come up and I must leave. Thank you for theopportunity-“

“I’m sure we can reschedule,” Mikecut in, waving off her concerns with a light-hearted chuckle; the chairman didn’tlook at all happy at this but didn’t say anything more. From the way he keptchecking his watch, Molly could tell he didn’t want to be there anymore thanMike did, “I hope it’s not too serious. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Molly didn’t stick around for anearful from the chairman and instead set off for a cab, shrugging on her jacketas she walked. She managed to hail a cab on her second attempt and gave the directionsfor Baker Street; she tapped her fingers against the window frame impatiently,repeatedly checking her phone for new messages, causing several concerned looksfrom the driver. By the time they’d pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, Mollyhad driven herself almost mad with thoughts of what could be going on inside.She handed over the money and hurtled out of the cab without waiting for herchange; she found the door open and her heart leapt to her mouth as she steppedthrough. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so she hurried upstairs,consequences be damned, and threw open the door.

He wasn’t injured.

Or dying.

Or high off his tits.

Oh, no. The great consultingdetective and certified git, Sherlock Holmes, was sitting in front of his TVdramatically wielding a toy steering wheel (from the Wii console, sherecognised) and throwing his body left and right every now and then; it lookedas though he hadn’t moved for hours, maybe even days. Cups of coffee litteredthe coffee table and plates of half-eaten sandwiches covered the floor. He was wearinghis traditional -day off- clothes: dressing gown, old t-shirt and pyjamabottoms. He didn’t seem to notice her at first, instead swearing franticallywhen a blue shell struck his vehicle.

Of all the possibilities and hellishscenarios Molly considered on the way over, finding the Sherlock Holmesengrossed in an energetic game of Mario Kart was not one of them. Suddenly,Molly felt furious.

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?”

“Molly,” he said without looking ather, too busy focusing on his game, “glad you made it. There’s a sparecontroller-“

With her hands on her hips, Mollydeliberately stepped in his way, “please tell me you did not summon me here toplay a stupid game, Sherlock Holmes!”

“Of course not,” he replieddistractedly, craning his neck to see past her, “you weren’t busy, were you?”

Molly hesitated, “no, of course not.”

She could tell he was looking overher appearance out of the corner of her eye, lingering on her pencil skirt and loose-fittingtop. She felt a smug satisfaction when she heard him swear under his breath ashis racer struck the wall as a result of his staring. Moments later, the raceended with the detective placing third much to his annoyance. Peering at thescreen, Molly could see why and she couldn’t help but smile; Rosie’s initialsdominated the leader board until the very bottom where WSH was visible.

“Something funny, Molly?”

“No,” she said, hiding her smirkbehind her hand; it never took very long for him to somehow make her forget shewas pissed at him. Didn’t help that she was still stupidly in love with him,really. Still, his eagerness to best his six-year-old niece was rather amusing.She cleared her throat in an attempt to stop her laughter, “just…something Iheard at work, that’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizingher, “you think you’re better than me.”

“Well, come on, it’s not hard. If asix-year-old can do it…” she said, a hint of a challenge in her tone; theireyes met and lingered. After what felt like hours, Sherlock nodded.

“Fancy a game?”

“No, I…just came to check on you,”Molly shook her head quickly, reality catching up to her. She was mad at him,wasn’t she? She set about gathering the coffee cups and plates, “I mean, Ithought you were dying you sod!”

“It was the most effective way ofgetting you here,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, shrugging casually as heset up a new two-player game, “just one game. Mary and Rosie are coming tocollect it later,” he glanced at her, watching her place the dirty items in thesink, “unless that was all talk.”

“Oh, no. I’ll happily kick your arseany day of the week,” Molly declared, returning to his side and whipping offher jacket. She sat herself beside him and took up the spare controller,nudging him playfully, “I have to warn you, though. I’m the reigning championin my family. My niece got me into it, too.”

He smiled, “we’ll see about that,Molly.”

An hour and six games later, Sherlockrendered completely speechless by the six times over champion Molly Hooper. Toher credit, she’d kept her gloating to a minimum, although she’d made a show ofadding her name to the leader board, just above his pitiful effort, the lettersMEH mocking him. He blamed her for his lack of concentration, her armconstantly brushing his, her hand landing on his knee whenever either of themused a power-up, and generally being around her. Sherlock ruffled his hair,beyond annoyed at the ridiculous game, figuratively and literally. Mollyreturned from the kitchen with two coffees, placing one in front of him on thecoffee table.

“Feeling better?”

“I still think you cheated!” Hemurmured, sipping his coffee. Molly rolled her eyes.

“How did I cheat?”

“I never got that star thing once.”

“I’m not having this argument again,”Molly protested, remembering the time she’d received a string of invinciblestars, on Rainbow Road no less, whilst he’d been reduced to repeatedly tumblingover the side, cursing as he did. That had been quite amusing. Molly replacedher cup on the table, “this is why no one wants to play games with you.”

He said nothing, preferring to hughis knees as he sulked. After only a few minutes, Molly couldn’t take itanymore and shoved the steering wheel at him, “come on. One more game.”

“No.” Dear Lord, he was actuallypouting. Molly gritted her teeth.

“Choose your bloody character.”

Sighing, he settled for Toad, asusual – ‘…small stature is ideal, makes him light and agile, more aerodynamic,statistically speaking…’ – whilst she picked Yoshi simply because he was herfavourite. Halfway through the race, a race Molly was determined to lose, shepeered out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock; he was really cute when he wasconcentrating, his tongue peeking out from between his lips and his handsrunning through his hair in frustration.

“I was going for a meeting…for achance to leave for six months.”

He shook his head, “nope, it’s notgoing to work. I’m in the zone.”

“I’m not trying to put you off,”Molly giggled, her race abandoned as she wrung her hands, “I was offered a placein a teaching hospital over in Scotland. They said it could be anything betweensix months and a year.”

It took a while for Molly to noticehis character had also stopped moving, “when do you leave?”

“I don’t. I got your texts before I wentin.”

“I’ll fix it…whatever it takes, I’lldo something.”

Molly turned to stare at him inshock, “you’d…do that for me?”

“Of course, it was my fault it wasruined in the first place. As long as you promise to come back, I’ll-“

She grabbed his face and kissed himhard, silencing any further thought from his sweet lips. Sherlock cupped theback of neck tenderly, holding her in their embrace as Molly’s hands landed onhis chest. They only broke away when an excited scream ripped through 221B.

“Mummy! They’re kissing! I told you,I told you!”

Sherlock and Molly exchanged shysmiles as Rosie clamoured between them, eager to get her own hugs in. Meanwhile,Mary stood in the doorway frantically texting her husband; hopefully, she’d be planninga wedding within the next year.

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 15

You can read Chapter 15 on Ao3 Here

Check out my Patreon and join the squad! Early releases, character info, sneak peeks, and a chance to support an artist! ;)

Chapter 15: Mesmeric Revelation

           That night, long after he heard the clattering of dinner plates and laughter, long after he heard music and chatter, and far long after he heard doors closing, showers running, and feet mumbling, Will Graham left his room. It had been locked, but the gum did its job and kept the bolt from setting. A mere fiddling with the ink cartridge of his pen did the rest of the job, and the lock turned with a muted, triumphant click.

            His feet padded along the soft carpet that muffled his steps, and the solidly built stairs didn’t betray him. He paused before the front door, staring. Every muscle in him begged him to go to it, begged him to throw the locks and make a break for it until he could find a road and a good Samaritan to help him.

           He didn’t, though.

           Just how many stalked the trees surrounding the house? Just how many cameras were on every angle he could take to escape? He thought of Matthew knowing the moment he’d tried to run, and he rocked back on his heels, away from the door.

           Instead, he made his way down another hall and headed towards the security room.

           He didn’t expect it to be empty. No matter how many slept, Dr. Lecter was no fool. Sure enough, poking his head in, he saw Francis beside one of the monitors. His back was to Will, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the antenna of a satellite phone that cut into the shadows of the room, nor did it stop him from seeing the map lit dimly by a few desk lamps and the monitor’s glow.

           “You got the voicemail? Good. He’s getting desperate.”

           A pause as Dolarhyde listened to the speaker.

           “The man whose phone was bugged got transferred. I’ve got another guy, but he’s not there yet. Dr. Lecter needs you to find out exactly what they know so far, that we can plan the next step.”

           Another pause, and Will swallowed, a dry click in his throat.

           “You don’t need to know how many dead. You’ll see soon enough.”

           He hung up and set the phone off to the side, beside the monitor. There was a pause, a long and dreadful silence as Dolarhyde stared down at the monitor. The lamplight gave his bones a sharp edge, his mouth a cruel twist. The hollows of his cheeks were pronounced, the curve of his shoulder elegant.

           Truth be told, he looked like a dragon.

           Will slipped down the hall and hunkered down in a corner of it, melding himself into the shadows. From his pocket, he produced a hairclip, nothing more than one of the things he’d found in one of the many bedrooms. Decidedly, and with a fair amount of careful aim, he tossed it at the door. It smacked the wood, fell with a quiet and plaintive thump.

           It took less than two seconds.

           Dolarhyde was at the door, his sharp gaze peering into the dark. The light behind him gave him an ethereal glow as he turned his head one way, then another. Even hidden as Will was, he still felt too exposed, far too noticeable as Dolarhyde took one step, then another out of the door his nose to the air like he could smell Will if he tried hard enough.

           After a pained, loud heartbeat, Dolarhyde turned away from Will and headed down the hall to investigate.

           The moment he was gone, Will rushed into the room.

           The satellite phone was first, although he paused long enough by the computer to glance at it.

Thirty-Two Dead in Will Graham Killing Spree:

The Faces of Will Graham: Dozens Dead in Lecter Slayings

Where is Will Graham?

           News updates. Links to articles. Dolarhyde was watching the media as much as he was trying to watch the FBI. If time hadn’t been a rapid pulse bulging right beneath his eye, Will would have stopped to read them, glean over the first one in particular –thirty-two dead? Will Graham Killing Spree?

           Another time; some time when Dolarhyde wasn’t hunting through the house to see who lurked outside of his door at 3:30 in the morning.

           The back door was quickly unlocked, and he was rushing down the steps before he had time to really consider his actions, before he could wonder just what was going to happen when he was caught.

           Fingers fumbled over a phone number he’d come to memorize over the years, a failsafe to him in times of need or duress. He hadn’t had occasion to use it in six years, normal as things had seemed, but he used it now, running across the back lawn to the safety of the shadows of trees. The air was cold, wet. Cicadas screamed for their lives.

           He didn’t answer the first two times, and Will let out a hiss of impatient air as he dialed it again. If he’d risked his live, if he’d risked his fucking life just for the bastard to ignore his call…

           “Crawford here,” Jack said tiredly.

           Relief seared him, a pleasant burn that made his legs give, and Will pressed his back to the tree, a sob managing to rip past his lips.

           “Jack…Jesus, you finally picked up.” Will let out a sharp, aggravated breath of air as he hunched down, cradling the phone close to his face like the lifeline that it was. “Jack…it’s Will.”

-

           “Cold as shit out here,” Duncan commented.

           Earl swirled his spit around in his mouth before he spat it on the ground before them. Their rocking chairs creaked out of time, and the autumn breeze sent the wind chimes to clacking and smacking together in a horrendous cacophony. Late evening, and the crickets yowled.

           “Hate them wind chimes,” Earl muttered. “Debbie likes them.”

           Duncan grunted. “Debbie likes being a pain in my ass.”

           “Yeah,” Earl said with a snort.

           “Yeah.”

           They stared out at the road, the distant sound of semi-trucks roaring by on the interstate their only companion. It was quiet in Telefar County, peaceful. Sunsets were mighty nice.

           Cold as shit, though.

           “She gonna make us come out here every time we chew?” Duncan asked.

           “Says she wants her house ‘to be a fuckin’ home’.”

           “I’ll show her a fuckin’ home. God damned forty-five fuckin’ degrees out here.”

           “She’ll slap you with the barrel of that shotgun in there, that’s what she’ll do,” Earl replied. “Did it to her brother just the other night, came home drunk and shouting.”

           “No shit?”

           “Slapped him with the barrel of that sum’bitch, tossed him outside to sleep out here.”

           “All ‘cause she found those church folks,” Duncan muttered. “God damn pastor coming around every other weekday. ‘Askin me, when I’m gonna get my ass to the pews? Bein’ a veteran an’ all, when’s my ass gonna warm a pew?” He sent a decisive wad of spit out onto the dirt; a complimentary response to a ridiculous notion as a Sunday morning sermon. “I serve my God’n my country, ‘n I figure I find God in more holier places than a church. Get my spir’tual en-light-ment from the forest, see.”

           Earl hummed in agreement. “More’n one way to skin a cat. More’n one way to love a God.”

           “Got damn eight AM service, wantin’ me to slap my ass on a cold pew,” Duncan continued. When he got on a roll, it was hard to deter him. “Cold as shit pew.”

           “Better them church folks than those god damn psychos running up and down the east coast,” Earl said. He watched his old dog, Mutt, lazily crawl out from under the house in order to plop himself properly at his master’s feet. He nudged him with his boot, rubbed the dog’s side with the heel of it. His tongue lolled as his tail whapped against the wood.

           “Saw that,” Duncan said with a sneer. “Bunch of crazies with their panties in a damn knot, stealin’ them doctors and killing cops.”

           Earl spat on the ground. “God damn cop killers.”

           “Death penalty for cop killers is what I’m saying,” Duncan pressed. “That’s all I’m sayin’, they won’t stop killing if they think they’ll just get a slap on the wrist. They’ll just keep killin’ cops, and I heard that doctor was a nice fellow; testified on account of his finding one of those agents and all. Saved his life since he got stuck with a knife.”

           Earl was stopped from sharing his own opinion on the fate of cop killers when a car pulled up in their yard and eased to a stop. It was a fancy sort of thing, black with chrome accents and tinted windows. The man that climbed out of it looked the real city sort; slicked back hair, leather dress shoes, and a blazer of all the god damn things.

           “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted.

           Earl and Duncan shared a look. Duncan spat on the ground, and Earl rocked in his rocking chair.

           “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” the man pressed.

           “Cold as shit,” Duncan grunted. “Forty-five fuckin’ degrees.”

           “It is chilly.”

           Silence. The car idled, and Earl wondered what sort of year it was. 2015? 2017? His cousin had a really nice Subaru, 2015 with a decent paint job.

           Duncan didn’t have such curiosities. “You lost there, boy?”

           “I am a bit turned around, yes,” the man said with an awkward laugh. “Would you mind giving me directions?”

           “You ain’t from around here, are yeh,” Earl noted.

           “No, sir, I’m not.”

           “What’s a boy like you doing out here? Where you headed?”

           “It’s a bit personal –I hope you understand.”

           Duncan and Earl exchanged looks, and Duncan snickered. Earl absently spit another wad out into the yard.

           “Oh, I understand just fine,” Duncan assured him.

           Silence once more. The man shifted, unsure of himself. Mutt huffed a breath and lifted his head, only now just recognizing a stranger in the yard. He peered up at Earl, as if silently questioning if he should do something about it.

           “Oh, you see it now, do you, Mutt?” Earl grunted. He nudged the dog affectionately and swirled the chew around in his mouth. Tasted like ass, but he’d eat his leg rather than give it up.

           “Really, gentlemen, if I could just-”

           “We don’t take kindly to strangers just hustlin’ along and getting right in our business, see?” Duncan said. He stood up and adjusted his pants, hitching them up at his hips. “So you just get along now and go buy one of them maps at a gas station like all the other folks do when they get lost down here.”

           “Damn Yankees,” Earl muttered in agreement.

           The man was dumbfounded, and he looked between the two of them with the same kind of expression Debbie had when she went to throw a cup away and splashed chew all over her arm. She hadn’t realized it was his chewing cup ‘till that moment, but god almighty he’d never heard the end of it. Now, he was stuck outside in the cold-as-shit weather when he wanted a chew.

The stranger’s eyes bugged for a moment, and he let out a laugh, incredulous as all get out.

           “You’re serious.”

           “As serious as sin, boy,” Earl said. “Got all them crazies runnin’ around our state, fuckin’ things up and makin’ us get some bad publicity. Last thing we need’s a Yankee boy comin’ down here, huntin’ and gettin’ lost and comin’ after our women.”

           “I’m here on business, it’s simply that-”

           “Telefar County business is our business, see,” Duncan interjected. “And since you’re inclined to your secrets, we’ll be inclined to ours. Secrets like directions, see?”

           Silence again.

           Earl squinted a bit at him, and when the stranger didn’t immediately move to leave, he stood up and went shoulder to shoulder with Duncan, giving him his most impressive stare down. It was a damn good one, all things considered. Farm work and ranch work had left him leathered, sun-beaten and wrinkled. Debbie still liked him, though, when she’d had one shot too many. She said he was a pretty as a newborn babe.

           Now that all those bible thumpers got her roped into weekly church, she didn’t drink no more. Probably didn’t think he was a pretty newborn babe, neither. God damn bible thumpers.

           “I’ll…be going, then,” the man said. He inched back towards his car.

           “That’s the best idea I’ve heard today, Earl.”

           “A damn fine idea, Duncan.”

           They stayed standing until the man peeled out from the yard, fast enough that it kicked rocks.

           They were just sitting down once more when another car pulled up, far less fancy and with a great deal more sputtering and general noise-making.

           “God damn, we’re popular tonight,” Duncan grunted.

           Earl fished about for another wad of chew, then tucked it into his lip. “Damn popular.”

           It wasn’t another Yankee –if it was, they were a decent sort. A pretty lady with wild red hair and the most darling baby blue eyes Earl had ever seen made her way over. She’d turned the car off and tucked the keys into her jacket pocket. Sensible shoes and a camo coat, like she knew how the hell to dress for the elements. Earl liked her infinitely better.

           “I’m sorry to bother you,” she began. The closer she got, Earl was able to see red-rimmed eyes and a trembling mouth.

           “You okay, sweetheart?” Duncan asked.

           “No, I’m…I’m not at all. I’m in desperate need of help, you see.” She fiddled with a handkerchief in hand, and she stifled a sob as her knees tried to buckle on her. At the sight of tears, that did it. Earl was down the steps and leading her up them before he could think of a reason why not to. She was seated in his rocking chair, and after several prompts to Earl, a sweet tea from the fridge was produced.

           “Now, now take it easy, little lady, what’s wrong? Someone get you bad? In some trouble?” Duncan asked. The woman fiddled with the glass and took a sip, casting them a grateful glance. Tears rimmed her eyes, although she fought to keep them back. A strong type.

           “I’m…trying to find my husband, you see,” she said. “I think he’s run off with another woman.”

           “What a got-damn, worthless-”

           “Duncan,” Earl chastised. It wasn’t right to cuss near a lady.

           “Sorry, miss, I just…if he’s left you, why are you going after him?” Duncan scratched his neck where the beginnings of a beard were growing. “Why you want him when, no offenses out here, but he clearly ain’t wantin’ you?”

           She looked up from her glass, and there was fire in her eyes. “So I can beat the sense into him, then out of him, that’s why,” she snarled.

           Earl decided he liked this gal. A sensitive sort that didn’t take shit from no one.

           “Well, we don’t get a lot of people out around here.”

           “I’ve been following him, and I think he passed this way. If I showed you a photo, could you confirm it?”

           “If we’ve seen him, we’ll tell you,” Earl promised.

           And damn, when she pulled out her phone and showed them a picture of that guy they’d just been shooing off their property, it just made Earl’s heart swell a bit. He looked over her head at Duncan, and Duncan looked back.

           “Yeah, sweetheart,” Duncan said with a grin, “yeah, we seen him.”

-

           “Have you ever thought about killing someone, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

           He sometimes loved asking questions like that, mostly because of how Dr. Lecter took his time answering. He always gave Will’s question consideration due their seriousness. No matter how odd, off-the-wall, or obscene, he took his time answering. On nights when Will woke up with remnants of his night terrors clinging to his eyes, he needed to know that someone else out there felt that way, too.

           “We all have,” he said after a moment. “Although, I’d suppose you’ve given it a lot of thought lately?”

           “I keep dreaming of killing people,” Will murmured. “I keep…dreaming that I have this…insatiable hunger. That no matter how much I kill, I will always want more.”

           “Have you given your father a lot of thought lately?”

           Will nodded, standing up to pace. He often paced in Lecter’s office, and he liked to think of himself as remarkably familiar with the whorls and dips of his wooden floor. Sometimes the words got stuck, but Dr. Lecter seemed to hear them all the same.

           “Is there some form of aggression to your dreams? In the manner in which you take a life?”

           “My heartbeat feels calm…steady. It doesn’t race until I wake and think back on what I saw.”

           Will paused beside the ladder that led up to a wraparound second story, and he dragged his fingers along the grips of a step. In each groove of the wood, he imagined blood flowing like obscene rivulets, staining everything in its wake. He imagined what his hands had felt like, choking the life from the faceless victim in his nightmares, and he slumped against the ladder, rubbing his eyes to erase the remnants that felt like something much akin to a real memory.

           “In your dreams, death is a release. You’ve honed in on your talents, so much so that your heart no longer betrays adrenaline and gives way to mistakes.”

           “Do you have dreams like that?” Will asked, looking up. Poised in his chair as he was, Dr. Lecter tilted his head slightly to the side.

           “Are you seeking the feeling of normalization through familiarity?”

           “I’m wondering if I should check myself into a psychiatric ward,” Will retorted sharply.

           Dr. Lecter stood, and he crossed the distance between them at a leisurely pace. Will tracked his movements, hands lowering to his sides, and when Dr. Lecter dipped down to meet his eyes, he cringed back into the ladder, the closeness stifling and mildly off-putting.

           Dr. Lecter didn’t move back to give him space. He remained close, crowding him as he tilted his head one way, then the other; His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed down. That close, Will could smell his cologne that blended nicely with his aftershave, and he gulped a breath of it down before his shoulders relaxed slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Silence sat muffled around them, and just outside of the window, the screech of a weed-whacker grated.

           “Apart from your general aversion to eyes, I see no glazed expression or feverish stare,” Dr. Lecter noted lightly. “Your pulse is strong in your neck, and your knees aren’t weak. You aren’t running a temperature that I can see, and you haven’t mentioned lapses of time.”

           “Wh-Why?” Will asked. Dr. Lecter didn’t step back to give him air. Will gulped down another mouthful of his cologne, and his eyes flickered up to meet a mildly amused gaze. After a shaky exhale, he looked away.

           “You wondered if you should check yourself into a psychiatric ward,” he murmured. That close, Will could track the beat of his pulse at his throat. He stared at it, the even timing of it having a mildly calming effect on his nerves. “You give no indications of a split personality, nor any illness that would cause loss of memory or lapses in time.”

           “I haven’t lost time.”

           “Have you woken in any location other than your bed?”

           “…No?”

           Hannibal smiled briefly, a faint flash of canines. “Then you’re fine, Will. Dreams reflect some aspect of ourselves, but all that this tells me is that you’re particularly stressed, and it’s manifesting in your dreams. You’ve thought often of your father recently, and the only form of control over death one can have is if they are the one to cause it, therefore; it seems to me that your fantasies of a calm, stillness to your killing is that this is the only thing your mind feels that it can control. Life, with all of inability to be predicted, is made safe and normalized with your ability to still your heart when taking a life. Better to take than to have taken.”

           Will looked up to his eyes once more, and he nodded curtly, once. Relief was a slow trickle, but it was warm, and Dr. Lecter’s answering smile as he finally backed away and let Will breathe stayed sweet in the back of his throat.

           “…That’s a relief,” he said after a beat, straightening. The ladder shifted behind him, and he pushed away from it to continue his previous pacing. “I don’t know how I’d fare in court.”

           “If it turned out that you’d killed someone?”

           “Yeah. I don’t know the statistics for a solid defense in regards to someone claiming an alternate personality, but I’d assume that the jury wouldn’t buy that so easily.”

           Hannibal laughed, a warm and low sound. “You know the statistics for soulmates in court, though.”

           Will let out a derisive snort.

           “You scoff at it?”

           “Someone…claiming that because of their soulmate, they were driven to violence is about the shittiest excuse I can think of,” Will explained. “Soulmates aren’t the end-all. They may prompt, they may entice, and they may twist your thoughts and chemicals up a bit, but you don’t lose your mind. To say that a soulmate was the cause of any actions done by a person would be like saying that they’d put a gun to your head.”

           “You’d be especially critical of a person with a half-connection, then,” Hannibal observed.

           “There is no chemical compulsion at that point. The justice system is especially skewed in regards to soulmates, but I don’t buy it. At all.”

           ‘Woe be to the fool that stands before you in trial.”

           Will sat down across from him once more, and the smile given was crooked at best. “I’m no judge…nor am I the jury or the executioner. If I’m lucky, I’ll never even have to walk into a court room so long as I live.”

A wonderful thanks to all of my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @frostyleegraham @sylarana @frostylicker Duhaunt6 and Superlurk!

[kookieseyes]

I hate you │5

summary:  The fuckboy can’t help it but get protective when you’re in danger member: Jeon Jungkook x reader genre: fluff, romance, angst word count: 2.5k warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook badboy!Jungkook I hate you Masterlist │ 1 │ 2 │ 3 │ 4 │ 5 │ 6 │ 7 │ (ongoing)

A/N: For some reason, “I hate you 2″ doesn’t show up anywhere as if the post doesn’t exist, even the link doesn’t work on my phone. Do you guys have any idea why? please message me if you do. P.S I have the next part planned out, but it’s gonna take awhile, so please don’t expect it to be posted tomorrow. I’ll post it somewhere this week though. 

You have successfully ignored his presence the whole day. Meeting him, looking him in the eyes would once again remind you how much you actually hated him. He didn’t seem to mind ignored by you either, but then after the class ended he approached you in the hallway. “Hey” -he greeted you as if nothing had happened yesterday. What else did you expect? an apology? from someone like him?

“Your turn”- you said with as indifferent and uninterested tone as you could. You would never show him that he had any kind of effect on you. You took the diary out of your bag and threw it at him, just like he had done to you the day before. 

“I know you have every right to be mad at me but let me explain”-his words were barely audible, clearly not used to explaining his actions to others and feeling ashamed because of it.

“I’m not angry at you and you don’t owe me any kind of explanation, it’s none of my business, remember?”

“It’s not like that, I.. uh just hear me out”-he reached out his hand to touch your arm but stopped in the middle. To hide what he intended to do he took his hand back and placed it on the back of his neck. 

“It’s fine, Jungkook, really, just fill out the diary and give it back tomorrow”-you said brushing off his action just a few seconds ago and stepped away from him. But something stopped you from moving, his hand finally found your arm, having an excuse to stop you from turning away.

“When I say run, you run okay? please trust me, I’ll tell you everything”-he said leaning towards you. You thought he was joking but as you looked at his concerned face with furrowed eyebrows and panicked eyes looking in distance behind you, you knew something serious was going on. You were about to turn around to see what or who he was looking at but he whispered “Run” in your ear and dragged you as he started running with your hand in his. You were out of breath, running towards nowhere it seemed. You had no other choice but to follow him. Suddenly he made a sharp turn and hid behind the huge vending machine, but before doing so he looked behind to make sure the others following him took the other turn. He trapped you between his body and the wall, hiding you completely.

“Are you out of your mind? who are the guys following you? Why did you take me with you? What is going on?-you were still struggling to catch your breath while asking him questions “Shh..not now, they might hear you”-he actually seemed scared, something you had never seen before. “Why can’t you tell me, I deserve to know what …”-You didn’t get to finish the sentence because without a warning he closed the remaining distance between you and attached his lips to yours. You tried fighting him off, tugging at his shirt, but he took your free hand into his along with the other one he’d been holding since he started running and gave you a reassuring squeeze. You didn’t expect his lips to be that gentle, tasting of mint and regret for not having kissed them earlier. The kiss was sweet and short, not lasting more than a few seconds, but it was enough to leave you speechless and dumbfounded. You forgot about the rage, loathe and hate you felt towards him in the morning. This couldn’t have been happening, he wasn’t supposed to make you forget what he really was that easily.

“Sorry about that, but we need to go”-you shook your head as if you told him he didn’t have to be sorry about something you enjoyed. It was hard to admit it to yourself, but it was the truth, even if the kiss was meant for making you stop talking, you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach 

You both ran towards his car, your hand still in his for some reason. He hastily buckled you up and hit the gas pedal. You were still in shock after everything that happened, the chase, the kiss, god, the kiss. Your phone started buzzing and as soon as you picked up you heard Ava’s shaky voice: ”Y/N, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, I’m with Jungkook, are you okay?-she sounded so worried and confused.

“Oh, thank god, she’s okay,”-she said as if she was trying to tell someone else about you.

“Who are you talking to?”-you were almost sure he was talking to Jimin, they were almost inseparable lately. “Jimin, he just came in here and told me they were after Jungkook and you, and I just didn’t know, I was so scared…”

“Who were after me, what are you trying to say?”-now, this was getting more puzzling than it already was. What did she know? It seemed like the guys following you before were somehow connected to something Ava was worried about.

“Jungkook didn’t tell you?-she was surprised, to say the least, asking you in the high pitch.. “Tell me what?

“Just come to my place, both of you, and we can explain”

“Explain what? Ava!”-but it was too late, she’d  already hung up on you. “What did she say?”-Jungkook asked impatiently when he saw you staring at the phone as its screen went black

“She told us to go to her place and she and jimin will explain everything, but why does it seem like everyone knows what’s going on except for me, I hate not knowing”-you pouted and brought your legs up on the seat to hug them. He couldn’t help himself but chuckle at your actions.

“Did I say something funny?”-you asked as you raised your still hidden face from your legs just enough to look at him.

“No, you’re cute when you pout”-said Jungkook as he averted his eyes from the road towards you.

“You’ll be cuter when you get both of us killed, eyes on the road!”-you shouted at him and hid your face farther into your knees to hide your own smile appearing in the corner of your lips. It was ironic, how mad you were but how safe you felt with him around at the same time.

The four of you were sitting on the floor, it seemed like a yoga session.

“Is anybody going to start?”-you asked, already annoyed by how no one dared to speak up.

“Jungkook, do you mind?”-Ava motioned to him

“Okay. Y/N, you know Taehyung right? The one who had a party you went to?-You nodded your head and he took it as a sign to go on. ”He messed around with the wrong people and ended up owing them money. Yesterday they came to our University to get Taehyung, but he didn’t have any money. So, I, jimin and couple other guys ended up in a fight” “Is that why your head was bleeding?”-you said and looked at the barely visible band-aid, covered by his hazel hair. “Yes, and that’s when you come into a story. When you approached me, we were telling them that we’d get money by today and Taehyung would tell his father and somehow pay his debt.

“Why do I feel that didn’t happen”-you said annoyed.

“Exactly, so they came back today to get us again”-said Jungkook “But I don’t understand why did you have to drag me along?”-the story still didn’t make any sense to you

“You can be so thick-headed sometimes”-sighed Ava heavily-”they blackmailed Jungkook that they would find you if they didn’t get what they wanted and trust me, nothing good would happen to you!”

“How can you blackmail him with me? That doesn’t make any sense”-why you of all people, you were literally nothing to him.

“Well, they saw you coming to talk to him and how overprotective he got, quickly getting you out of there, you should’ve seen his face when they mentioned you once he came back”-jimin spoke up slight hint of teasing in his voice and immediately looked at Jungkook who was now looking back at him, ready to cut his throat any time. You completely missed what was happening, not feeling the tense atmosphere, still experiencing the aftershock. A sudden phone call woke you up from thoughts. “What’s up, Taehyung?”-asked Jimin-”Really?.... I know, yeah… they were after Y/N.. She’s with us.. Thank god, those fuckers...Okay, see ya”

“What did he say?”All of you questioned him instantly “Guys, good news, it seems like Tae told his father about the money yesterday, he got super mad and scolded him, I’m not surprised, but he immediately made the transfer to Taehyung’s bank account. But with the luck he has, the transfer was late and the other guys thought he was ditching them. That explains why they had to come to the University the second time. Now that they got what they wanted, I don’t think there’s anything to be afraid of anymore” You sighed and loosened your posture, not realizing you were tensed up all throughout the phone call. After the eventful day, It was time for you to go home. Jungkook offered you and jimin a ride, but then Ava said he’d spend the night. You rolled your eyes at how lovey-dovey they seemed and in return she stuck her tongue out. Jungkook dropped you off in front of your house. The car ride was so silent, but comforting after clearing all the misunderstandings. “See you on Monday?”-he asked when you opened the car door

“Yeah, see you!” “Wait, I, uh, I’m sorry for, you know, yesterday, I just didn’t want them to think we were close and then hurt you because of me” “I know, Jungkook, don’t worry. I’m sorry for not picking up your calls either” “Hell yeah, you should be”-he said changing the mood, reminding you who he really was, but this time his tone was playful.

“You couldn't stand being nice to me for long, could you?”-you chuckled and shook your head.

“Nope”-he said and smiled a genuine smile, lighting up his features, making him look younger and carefree. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go now”-you closed the door behind you, but his car didn’t move, not until you disappeared into the living room of your house.

It was way past midnight you got startled when you looked down on your phone to see Jungkook calling you.

“Hey, what up?”, you said with a sleepy tone

“Y/N I think you gave me the wrong diary”

“What do you mean the wrong diary?”

“I mean, it’s not what we’ve been working on”

“Are you sure? Have you tried turning it upside down?”

“Haha funny, but I don’t think you’re in a position to be laughing now”

“Why not?-you asked confused

“I always feel like I’m a laboratory rat, following the rules my parents set up for me and just in case I decide to go against them, they somehow manage to make my life a living hell” does it sound familiar?“ Your body started trembling, fear of being judged spread through your whole body as fast as a poison. How could you have mixed up your real diary with the one you were creating with him?

“Did you… Um…  read all of it?-you spoke with incoherent words, fear noticeable in you barely audible voice. “Of course not, what kind of twisted person do you think I am?”-he seemed insulted, but you still had to make sure. You didn’t want to talk to him, you’ve never talked about your personal problems with people

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”

“Y/N, did I just hear you curse?”-he said as if he was an elementary teacher scolding you for cursing

“Yes”

“Listen, Y/N”

“Go ahead, you can make fun of me all you want, better today than ever”

“No one's making fun of you, chill” “Isn’t that why you called?” “What? No! I just wanted to apologize”-you were hearing a lot of apologies from him lately. “Apologise? For what?”

“I didn’t know about your parents when I made fun of you for having a perfect life, and then you got upset and now I know why, that’s it”-he said, saying the sentence in one exhale. “Oh”-that’s all you managed to say after hearing his words.He seemed sincere and you simply didn’t know how to react to his words. You were still embarrassed, you didn’t let anyone see your family problems, other than Ava. Now Jungkook knew too and you couldn’t help yourself but feel exposed.

“Are you doing anything?”-he asked after not hearing you say anything else in response

“It’s one in the morning, what do you think?”

“Okay, good. I know you might feel vulnerable because I read something so personal about you, so it’s only fair if you know something about me too, right?

“So that we can equally blackmail each other afterwards?”-you laughed at his suggestion

“That’s one of the reasons. Are you listening? I won’t say it twice”

“I’m all ears”

“Okay, how should I put this into words? this is hard: I keep a list of every girl I sleep with and rate their performance on a scale of one to ten”

“Are you serious?” you burst into laughter and realized how ridiculous he was being-”you don’t really do that, do you?” “No, but it would be funny if I did”-He was trying to cheer you up and not make you feel bad for your mistake, you appreciated him for trying-”But in all seriousness, you’re not the only one whose parents are not perfect. I mean, I haven’t seen my parents in ten years”

“You haven’t?”-you were truly surprised

“They went to work in the U.S and left me and my sister here” “It must have been hard for you growing up”-you said genuinely feeling sorry for him

“Not really, After my sister got married, I had a whole apartment to myself, if you know what I mean”

“You have to mention sex in every single sentence you say, don’t you?” “Well, technically I didn’t use the word “sex” I just referred to it”-that smartass you thought. “Touché”

“That’s my line”-he said and you realized how relaxed you’d become because of him.

The sun was about to rise when you both hung up and went to sleep, neither of you dared to say goodnight first, in fear of something changing when you met in person after your all-night conversation. But you knew that something definitely changed, for the good.

[stunudo]

There is one quality which one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.

Napoleon Hill

That Got Away: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Part 11

Inspired by: Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away”

Pearl Jam’s “Last Kiss”

Featuring: Spencer Reid x Reader   Setting: Season 4   Rating: Teen

A/N: Hang on! Warning: 3500+ words xoxo Stu

Warnings: Bodily functions, violence

I do not own any of the characters, quotes, images or lyrics.

Part 1   Part 9   Part 10

Michelle was laughing now, a laugh that made you think about drowned puppies and debased children. You gave in and dry heaved into the corner you had peed in a few hours ago. Captivity was not as pretty as they made it look like on television. She tapped her heeled toe in annoyance.

“I am helping her because I finally get to do this, Y/N!” Michelle kicked your chest with all her strength. The back of your head crashed into the brick wall seconds before your shoulders, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision wavered, then you were weightless once more. Through the blackness your ears became clouded and you drifted away from the smells on the cold floor.

Penelope Garcia was ransacking public records like it was a sale on Pop! Figures. She was digging through building plans and notation of purchases on the buildings connected to the hotel and convention center. Her fingers flew and her brain pushed on.

“Greetings my League of Heroes!” Her voice called over speaker phone. “So it turns out that Y/N’s father wasn’t the source of all their wealth. It was from the family of the late wife, her mom. Once she died the businesses and money were run without the family involvement, directly. Apparently our unsub number 1, “Auntie Miriam” was on the board of directors for one of the companies, ‘Prokopios Costa Holdings.’”

“Alright Baby Girl, coming back from behind! How does that give us motive?” Derek pushed the skilled analyst.

“It means, that when Dr. Y/L/N, the first one, died,” Garcia took a pause for effect.”

“Y/N Y/L/N became the majority share holder.” Hotch concluded.

“That’s why you’re the boss, boss!” Garcia agreed.

“So why kill Dr. Y/L/N in the first place?” Spencer asked confused, a nearly disgusted look on his face.

“Maybe she didn’t know until Y/N showed up and spoke with the lawyers?” Rossi mused.

“Uh, guys?” Garcia’s fingers were still flying. “Costa Holdings owns the hotel and the connected storage facility.”

“Of course they do.” Hotch acknowledged. “Good work Garcia.”

We were out on a date in my daddy’s car We hadn’t driven very far There in the road, up straight ahead A car was stalled, the engine was dead

The drive to San Francisco was tedious, causing you to swear often and without direction. Your hands cramped with the amount of tension they had supported through clenched fists. California freeways were perfect avenues for your heartbroken rage to pour out. Driving through up the 280 and branching onto the 1 put you on track to reach Auntie Miriam’s by dinner time.

You had never driven the hills of the city before, your dad always insisted on driving when you had visited for the holidays. The trolley’s added to the anxiety of driving through an unfamiliar street system. You silently wished your dad was behind the wheel, then refuted the wish because your father was a banal dictator.

There was a girl running sprints back and forth between your aunt’s driveway and the neighbor’s. She wore Umbro shorts and a sports bra as if she was in a Gatorade commercial. Her sweaty skin was sinuous, mild offense at her athletic body registered internally. You had enough experience with jocks and scholarship athletes at school to groan at the sight of one in their natural habitat.

You pulled into Miriam’s driveway, honking your arrival because you felt like pissing someone off. Spreading the misery around. You sighed and climbed from the VW, time to face the nunnery.

Miriam’s conditions resonated through Spencer’s mind. No weapons, no tricks and no wires. He could do that, in fact he would do that. While Hotch, Rossi, Morgan and Prentiss were coordinating with Garcia, Detective Change and local SWAT. JJ led Spencer to the hallway she had crawled into the hour before.

“Spence, you know this is going to end badly.” JJ gripped his bicep forcefully. “Whenever we split up one of us gets kidnapped.” Her melancholy laugh a poor attempt to break the apprehension they both were feeling. Spencer looked into the concerned face of his colleague and friend. His lips twitched while he wrestled with how to explain the real reasons he had to save Y/N. How this whole nightmare was his fault and it went back farther than Saturday morning at 1 o’clock when Dr. Y/L/N was murdered.

“I think we’re even now,” Spencer teased, the light not reaching his eyes like it normally would. “JJ, get some rest, I’ve got voluntary confinement to get to anyways.” He wrapped her smaller form in a slight hug as he slid past her into the miserable closet. JJ watched his lean body climb down into the darkness. She shoved the stone hatch back into place, securing it beneath its camouflaging mat once more.

The even spacing of the ladder rungs allowed Spencer to focus on counting. His steps, his breaths, his heart beats. His hip felt lighter from removing his holster. He measured time in his journey to understanding why Y/N had been the target of Miriam and Michelle’s unchecked rage. Revenge for petty unrequited love had past the usual time frame for serial stalkers. Power and money for Miriam were more probable motivators. Though he doubted them, as killing her brother was an illogical way to begin the lengthy legal processes of property transfer.

His seething anger at the damage and fear inflicted upon Y/N was buried.  Instead he mentally measured the length of the slope in the small hallway. Spencer’s long legs had walked 207 feet at an incline of roughly 9 degrees. Upon reaching the knob-less door, Spencer noted his surroundings. The walls had fresh paint on them, the fumes lingered. The wooden door had not window nor sight glass. The security camera mounted on the wall showed no signs of power until it whirred to life after he knocked to the old rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut, Two bits.”

I couldn’t stop, so I swerved to the right I’ll never forget the sound that night The screamin’ tires, the bustin’ glass

It was the sixth day of your banishment to your aunt’s Parkside home. You were dusting her second office from the daily list of chores she left for you. Michelle was over because you weren’t sure how to get rid of her, like a reoccurring nightmare or pimple. She was relentless and continually made her presence known.

The week had started off fine. Auntie Miriam had meetings and usual adult weekday work stuff. Unfortunately she was under the impression that your stay was a punishment, so she confiscated your keys. Which was slightly confining, but you could handle it. You had only had the car to yourself for the past year, anyway. When Michelle started hanging around, she was a friendly distraction. You had nothing in common with her besides age and gender; absolutely nothing. You were just so lonely that you made nice.

She asked about school (Ancient Greek was not something worth studying, as if physical therapy was for everyone?) and what you did for fun (listening to rockabilly music and reading were for old people). Eventually your love life came up and you gave in and told her about Spencer. It was hard to talk about him because you were still angry and raw. You may have focused on the romantic stuff, just to impress her. You did not ask nearly as many questions about her life, you only realized after your short stay in San Francisco ended.

It was on that sixth day, the tipping point was reached. She wore her dark hair in a high pony tail and just nosed into ever object left out. “When do you think you’ll be done with the list today?” Her impatient voice asked as she sifted through a stash of paperclips. You had no idea, the lists were becoming more specific and time consuming the longer you were there.

“Probably not until I need to start dinner. Why?” You watched Michelle, her restless body pacing. “Were you planning on me being out of jail today?” You laughed forcibly. Michelle’s arms flopped down in frustration. She huffed.

“Why did you have to get in trouble to visit?” She was really pushing your manners with her accusation. “I mean, we could have had the whole summer and now I just have to watch you clean.”

“One, I didn’t get in trouble. Two, you don’t have to watch me do anything, Michelle.” Your voice was rising now. “I mean, who just hangs out in their neighbor’s house watching their family do chores. Get a clue. I am stuck here for another week and a half: then sayonara !”

Michelle’s gasp told you that you had gone too far, but you didn’t care. She wasn’t anyone important to you. If you were being honest, it felt oddly satisfying to get that off of your chest. She stormed out of the room letting the bird fly at you. When she was presumably out of the house, you went to turn up the radio.

As JJ returned to the conference room and temporary BAU headquarters, the team was strapping on their vests. Rossi and Hotch were conversing with Detective Chang, who was holding blueprints. Morgan caught JJ’s eye, his defined eyebrows umbrellas of questions. She shrugged her shoulders, the lingering feeling of failing Spence twice in one day floating in the back of her mind. Derek felt her dismay, he crossed the room to grab her in a quick hug.

“He’s going to be fine, JJ,” Derek soothed. “That kid is not going to let anything happen down there. Neither are we.” Her blue eyes looked into his dark ones, nodding. The tears gathering in their corners were quickly brushed aside.

“Hotch?” JJ turned. “Mind if I sit at the security station? I am in no shape to go with you guys, but I want to make sure you are covered up here.” Hotch eyed his young agent warily, he nodded, giving permission solemnly.

Rossi patted Derek on the back after the muscular man had holstered his second weapon. Prentiss walked JJ back out into the lobby. She made sure JJ had a seat and could see the monitors that the team had watched her captivity on. “You sure you’re okay watching us? The locals can handle this, JJ. It might be too much right now.”

JJ shook her head, “Emily, I’m fine. I will have Garcia on the line if I need anything. Besides, I will hear everything over the comms either way. Go get Spence and his “lady friend” back.” Her bad joke had both women exchanging awkward grins.

“Never thought I would be hearing that one.” Emily walked back to join the BAU and SWAT, rolling her eyes.

I found the love that I knew I would miss But now she’s gone, even though I hold her tight I lost my love, my life that night

Spencer was trapped in a cliche. There he sat at his kitchen table with crumpled pieces of paper lying in small piles around him. He was attempting to apologize to Y/N for missing her send off. He didn’t feel he could justify his absence. Besides his mother was a person, not an excuse. The words were not forming, thoughts and longings were burying him in guilt. He just missed her.

He decided to start with short, clear, honest sentences. That didn’t work, Spencer began to ramble onto the paper, his abundant thoughts overflowing and clouding his apologies once again. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to remember their last kiss. It was a peck as he leaned back into the VW, his bottom half getting soaked in the downpour. She had grinned at him and he had smiled back without teeth, his eyes dancing in the streetlights.

It wasn’t enough. That shouldn’t be their last kiss, it was a quick goodnight. Not a goodbye. Spencer closed his eyes behind his glasses, shook his head for clarity and began writing his dearest again.

Spencer stepped back to allow the automatic door to open fully before stepping into the next bare, freshly painted hall. He saw the set of desks ahead, just 100 meters to go. Miriam Y/L/N eyed the tall man with quiet amusement; he had barely changed in years. Spencer tucked his hair behind his ear in slight self-consciousness. This woman resembled her late brother with her wide face and imposing presence. But the similarities ended there, Graham’s kind eyes and jovial air were not shared. Her cold stare and disdain kept with the chill of the surrounding brick.

Spencer stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding at his soon-to-be jailer. “Miriam.”

“Dr. Reid, at last!” Miriam stood quickly. “Arms up, young man. I need to check you followed my instructions, for once.”

Suddenly there were strong hands frisking Spencer’s narrow sides. He flinched away, seeing Kurt Hansen, the bellhop, in the flesh. Spencer held back his field training and let the man finish his search. He cleared his throat and calmed his breathing. “Satisfied?” Spencer spat as he glanced between Kurt and Miriam.

“Quite.” Miriam smirked. “Now if you would kindly follow Mr. Hansen, he will show you to your room.”

“Not until I see Y/N.” Spencer crossed his arms in defiance, his head tilting slightly.

“Oh, pish.” Miriam waved at him, “She’s just next door. Let’s all go and see what Michelle and Y/N have gotten into!” Spencer’s eyes popped in surprise, he had not thought she would let him near her niece. Her true target. He followed Kurt as Miriam marched behind them both. The hall was quiet, a small row of doors began, Spencer counted four before a wide metal garage-like door ended the hall.

“After we give you what you want, you’ll just what? Release us?” Spencer asked.

“After I have what I need and am far far away, yes.” Miriam specified. “I swear I will let you and your little minx go.” She nodded to her cohort. Spencer’s instincts were not accepting her vow as trustworthy just yet.

Kurt unlocked the large steal bolt on the first room. The sound reverberated through the small space and rattled Spencer’s bones of hearing. Standing on the other side of the door was Michelle Braxton, with her large hands on her hips. “It’s about time!” She huffed. “Princess over there has been out for five minutes. I thought you forgot about me.” She sounded like a child whining to a spoiling parent for more sweets. Spencer had to hide his instant annoyance.

As Kurt grunted back, “Deal with it, Mickey. We had another guest to attend to.” He held the door wider, baring Spencer to the scene before him. Y/N was laying face down on the damp cement floor, her mouth open and one eye swollen shut. Spencer’s arms flew from his pockets and he rushed to check on her limp body. Kurt and Michelle each grabbed one of his flailing arms, holding him just inside Y/N’s cell.

Miriam cleared her throat behind Spencer, “That’s enough, now let’s get down to business.”

Spencer knew not to argue now, his body walked dejectedly backwards as his eyes remained on the slight movement of Y/N’s torso. She was breathing! Once he was back in the narrow hall, he shook off the strong grips of the suspects. He held his hands up in surrender, following to his own captivity. Miriam was waiting for him in the dank space, almost smiling in anticipation.

“Dr. Reid, as I am sure you have deduced. I need your mind to access my brother’s fortune. I have a series of riddles, puzzles, what-have-yous that Graham designed for you. I also have a set for my impetuous niece. Now I must have both of you complete your parts to get what I deserve.”

Spencer was insulted by the trivial reasoning behind her fratricide. He huffed at her request. “How do you know your errand girl didn’t beat Y/N beyond reasoning? How is she going to complete her part unconsciously? You should let me check on her, ensure she can do what you need her—”

“That’s enough, Dr. Reid.” Miriam interjected. “Y/N will be fine, Michelle knows what she is doing. A brain like Y/N’s tends to prove more resilient than one might hope.” She approached Spencer with a sheet of paper and a simple number 2 pencil. “You may begin.”

The two guards at the door watched Spencer as he stood in the center of the room. Miriam left first, followed by a smirking Michelle and a bored Kurt. The metal lock shuttered into place.

When I woke up, the rain was pourin’ down There were people standing all around Something warm runnin’ in my eyes But somehow I found my baby that night

You arrived on campus just one day before classes started. The VW had handled the trek like a champion, but you were ready to leave her in the student lot for the remainder of the semester. After you had unloaded the last of your boxes, you decided to grab some dinner before the real unpacking was required.

You took your i.d. and keys to check the campus managed mail system on the way to the crowded eating/ studying space. Your box was jammed full. There were notices about x, y and z organizations, a couple of credit card applications and five letters from a certain scrawny guy with ridiculously soft lips. You sighed deeply, ‘Well, at least he’s not dead.’ You thought bitterly. You shoved your haul under your armpit as you headed to the cacophony of the cafeteria.

You quickly skimmed the fliers and advertisements, ripping the debt-magnets in halves. Finally, after your soup had cooled, you opened one of Spencer’s letters. According to the postmarks, they had begun arriving four days after you had left Pasadena. So he was thinking about you while you were gone, but he couldn’t bother to actually send you off. You tried to keep the negative thoughts away, but you were still hurt from his apparent abandonment.

When you shut off your attitude and read his letter, you began to weep. His gentle kindness begged for your forgiveness. Spencer knew facts and figures, but he also knew how to diffuse your temper. His message was simple, yet honest. You didn’t make it to the last paragraph before disregarding your meal tray to return to your room to call him.

“Hey, Sir-sir,” You smiled shyly into your suite phone.

“Y/N? Oh, how are you?” Spencer asked genuinely concerned.

“Better, I got your letters,” You cooed, “I only got through most of the first one before I had to talk to you again. So, it is safe to say you are forgiven.”

“You had every right to be angry,” Spencer admitted. “But know that I would have been there, giving you a more deserving farewell, if I could have. You must know that.”

You nodded your head, holding the lump in your throat as the bittersweet tears began to fall. “I miss you so much, how are we going to do this?”

“Just like this, mon cher.” Spencer’s voice softened at your distress. “As long as we can talk and write, we can do this.”

Spencer read through the riddles on the sheet before him. Why had Graham mentioned Spencer when he devised this seemingly juvenile test?

Why did I divide sin by tan?

Why should the number 288 never be mentioned?  AND

What is the difference between a Ph.D. in mathematics and a large pizza? There were seven blanks at the bottom of the page, with the decimal going into the ten thousandths place. After all of this anger, frustration and happenstance: Spencer was sitting cross legged in a cell chuckling at math puns. The gentle hand of grief constricted his throat as he efficiently finished the problem.

201.0966

Spencer stood, clearing the dust from his trousers. He walked calmly to the camera nestled above the doorway. He held the paper to the screen, awaiting his next assignment.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed Saw you downtown singing the Blues It’s time to face the music I’m no longer your muse

The first months of the fall semester flew by as Spencer dove into the new classes he helped facilitate. That with all the lab time to get through for his doctoral level chemistry courses, he was as busy as ever. He made a point to write to Y/N on Tuesdays over lunch, because it was now such a tradition for them. They also tried to have a consistent phone date on Friday mornings. But Y/N decided it was time she get a campus job, therefore the phone calls were usually brief or just short messages left with her suite-mates.

Spencer’s birthday was approaching and he was counting the hours until he could finally be recognized as an adult. This also meant that he would have to finally decide what he should do for his mother. The paperwork from the lawyers, (Diana’s doctors had recommended to Spencer after her incident over the summer) was hidden in his book bag, in a plain manila folder. He felt as if he were carrying thirty pieces of silver around with him at all times.

When his birthday arrived, his mother was lucid. She sat him down and told him his birth story, again. She was so proud of her brilliant boy and at long last here he was, a man. He didn’t have class or lab until the afternoon, so he stayed home and took turns reading and being read to by his mom. It was guilty conscious more than birthday tradition, but she seemed none the wiser. Spencer slowly relaxed for the day.

Y/N called at eight o’clock that night, just before he had to get his mom her night time medications. She sang a boisterous Happy Birthday having somehow convinced the other girls in her suite to sing along. Spencer blushed at the attention, even over the phone and across state lines. “Well, now you’re legal, Dr. Reid. Maybe I won’t get arrested for seducing you after all.” Y/N joked over the phone. They had never gotten to that level of intimacy, it was just her usual banter.

“It’s a good thing, too. Since my mother is very protective of me.” Spencer teased back. “I do need to get going though, Y/N/N. Talk to you on Friday?”

“Can we scoot it up to 9 am?” She suggested evasively.

“Ugh, I suppose, I don’t need sleep or anything.” Spencer chided, his grin fading as his mother called from her room. “I really should go, goodnight mon cher.”

“Nighters!”

Part 12

@sparkle-dinosaur, @dontshootmespence @reiding-and-writing @speedreiding @reid-my-fortune @sapphire1727 @holagubler @cherry-loves-fanfic @lookingforgalifrey @miss-gleek-freak-geek@criminal-minds-fanfiction @reidbyers @sortaathief @imagicana @milkandcookies528

[heliosfinance]

Oh, My Impatient Generation!

I met a guy yesterday who spent the past ten years of his life – and he’s just 32 years of age – destroying his body with alcohol, excessive food, and a sedentary lifestyle.

“I have resolved to be fit, lean and healthy in the next six months,” he told me with great confidence.

Well, not surprisingly, he got irritated when I told him that it might take a little longer than six months to achieve what he wanted.

His reaction wasn’t much different from a cousin of mine, who recently told me how she wanted to become a life coach and was ready to do whatever it took to get there in one year.

When I asked her, “What if it takes you ten years to get there, instead of one?” she had no answer.

Clearly, she hadn’t considered the possibility that years of learning, experience and skill development could be one of the necessary success ingredients in becoming a good life guru. But she wanted the results without all this work…or by investing the necessary time.

My Impatient Generation Have you noticed how impatient people are these days? Or how unrealistic they are when it comes to the issue of doing what’s required to create lasting positive change?

Of course, I’m myself a part of this impatient generation. But then, I’ve come to understand over a period of time that in these days of instant gratification, there are still some things that simply require consistent effort and commitment over time…maybe, a long time.

Take for instance learning the art of investing for wealth creation.

Over my past 14+ years in this industry, I’ve rarely come across a person who doesn’t want to make a lot of money from stocks. But then, I’ve rarely come across a person who has the patience to spend time and effort in first learning the art of investing before getting down to actually painting his financial future.

Of course, this kind of thinking – of spending time and effort to ‘learn’ investing – is not stimulating enough for most people so they will continue to look for the magical shortcut.

I agree that in the rigidities of modern life, we are trained to be impatient because we’re surrounded by so many instant offerings.

But I firmly believe that we can retrain ourselves to be patient. And believe me, patience is the biggest virtue when it comes to becoming a successful investor.

In fact, not being patient can be a huge source of investing mistakes, as Charlie Munger says…

We don’t feel some compulsion to swing. We’re perfectly willing to wait for something decent to come along. In certain periods, we have a hell of a time finding places to invest our money.

When asked once about whether he was worried about a big drop in the value of Berkshire, Munger said…

Zero. This is the third time Warren and I have seen our holdings in Berkshire Hathway go down, top tick to bottom tick, by 50%. I think it’s in the nature of long term shareholding of the normal vicissitudes, of worldly outcomes, of markets that the long-term holder has his quoted value of his stocks go down by say 50%. In fact you can argue that if you’re not willing to react with equanimity to a market price decline of 50% two or three times a century you’re not fit to be a common shareholder and you deserve the mediocre result you’re going to get compared to the people who do have the temperament, who can be more philosophical about these market fluctuations.

Warren Buffett has also stressed repeatedly on the importance of patience…

The stock market is designed to transfer money from the active to the patient.

Face the Right Direction, and Keep Walking “If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking,” goes a Buddhist proverb.

It captures the essence of how we can train ourselves to be patient, in life and while investing our hard-earned money.

Look at patience like a muscle that grows stronger as we exercise it. So if you want to become a patient investor, it’s important you first practice patience in your daily life.

Here is a small exercise I try to do each time I’m faced with a situation that can easily make me impatient – like when I’m stuck in a traffic jam, or in the check-out queue at a grocery store.

In such situations, I earlier used to provide myself with a distraction like the radio, or a magazine, or my mobile phone.

Now I just go through it, and pay attention as the minutes pass in the jam or in the queue. I take those few empty minutes as an opportunity to think over new ideas for Safal Niveshak or imagine stories for my kids.

You might want to start with just a brief exercise, like the 60 seconds that you have to wait for your lunch to warm in the microwave or the red light at a minor intersection.

Then build it up from there, so that your patience muscle becomes stronger and more enduring.

Investor, Be a Grasshopper It’s true that investing is a sucker’s game in the short term, and there is a far greater chance that you will lose it than win it.

This is precisely the reason why the world’s best investor Warren Buffett’s favourite holding period is ‘forever’.

That’s important because it captures two of Buffett’s key beliefs:

Compounding is powerful, and

What happens in the short term is completely out of your control.

“Buy a business, don’t rent stocks,” Buffett has been advising for years. And then he adds, “An investor should ordinarily hold a small piece of an outstanding business with the same tenacity that an owner would exhibit if he owned all of that business.”

If you seriously want to build wealth from the stock market over the long run, take this advice from Thomas Phelps (author of 100 to 1 in the Stock Market) to your heart – Buy right and hold on.

Or, after having bought a quality business for your portfolio, remember what the former American president Ronald Reagan once said – “Don’t just do something, stand there!”

Phelps concludes the first chapter of his book with this powerful thought from George F. Baker…

To make money in stocks you must have “the vision to see them, the courage to buy them and the patience to hold them.”

Patience is the rarest of the three, but it pays off in the long run.

That’s how fortunes are made in the stock market.

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[austin-and-sammo-blog]

Journal Entry -- 13th Month

It has certainly been a strange week. I've been something I'm not. I have been hardly productive, I have spent an enormous amount of time on my phone. Yasmine got back in contact with me finally which has been a massive relief. In fact, for the most part this week has been wonderful. I have felt very much like I'm back at peace with my life with Austin, Mattie, and Yasmine. I helped Matt again this week, and I think I did well and he thanked me, which definitely made me feel good. I made amazing progress in counseling this week, I feel like I'm finally getting answers. We touched on my past socially, and it seems that I have really really based my social progress using means with which I work towards my concrete goals, and it has become apparent that that is simply not the case. We talked about how everywhere I've been I've been met with a social cycle where I leave just as soon as real relationships were coming into being, and then I would leave and they would stay stagnant where they were, only the greatest of those relationships standing the test of time apart. We are going to explore in the coming weeks why I've been blaming myself and allowing this to toll my self confidence. But simply understanding this complex has been an immense relief, I feel like I understand myself more, and thus I can work with myself more. I wanted this to be sympathetic towards myself. Perhaps it will be, but it will do so in a better way. But I cannot write this about myself without acknowledging all the good things I have to be grateful for. I woke up today ready to make it a bad day. I woke up today and focused right on how Austin hadn't replied to the snap I sent last night. I made an overwhelming deal out of it. I waited to see if he would ever reply on his own and then there came a point in time when I realized that wasn't going to happen, and I started to shake with nervousness and anxiety and I confronted him about it and instantly turned on myself because I realized the only bad aspect of that situation was the way I made it out to be. But even so Austin was tremendously understanding of it, he admitted to his mistake and was sorry for it, that I definitely believed. He called me to make sure I was alright. I love him so much. I have a father who kept his word today, giving me the money I needed to purchase my transcripts to add to my transfer applications. I need to be grateful for my mother who sent me money in a Valentine's day card that means I can still get a haircut next week. I have an amazing friend with whom I spend my time with here, Mattie has made SMU more comfortable for me and I would easily be in a terrifying place if she were not here. I'm grateful for my brother, I think we are more alike than anyone else, he is someone who understands and I can go to with things I'm interested in. I'm grateful for God, who has brought these amazing people into my life. I'm grateful because there have been so many mistakes that could have been worse, so many blessings that could've easily passed me by. I'm forever grateful to that Man who has made me who I am and the life I'm surrounded with. Now I can step back and pity myself. Now that I know my life is actually pretty good and that I have amazing people who are there for me. Sometimes I feel quite alone, many times I feel that way here at SMU. When Austin is with people I constantly think, "why don't I have that?" I get impatient with myself because he has already been able to make some amazing friends at ECU. The counselor helped me realize that my experience at Havelock, where I found my best friends within a couple of weeks, has set my expectations far too high for the other places I've gone. Williston and SMU have both been tremendous cases of disillusionment. But it could be worse. I still have people in my life who care about me, all over the country. My social progress was never hindered, it was simply spread out amongst far too many places. That is why I'm transferring, it's high time I settle down and make some real progress. That's what I really want, and I'm in the process. I like to dream of my life at UNC Chapel Hill. A nice college town with the feel of ECU, with the tremendous opportunity of their award winning business school, being close to Austin seeing him every couple of weekends. Getting to spend our anniversaries better like we've hardly had the chance to before. I sometimes think about how Austin and I have flipped sides. His experiences at ECU seem to be a very mirror image of my last year at Williston. It frustrated me because he seems so strong now, and when he doesn't reply I suppose that's a factor in why I feel hurt. It seems to me that he isn't replying very much because his life is better, and I focus so much on it because my situation is not so fortunate. But while that may have been true at one point, and may in part be true now, I certainly have a better situation now. I have my friend Mattie and the friends I'm meeting through her. I have so much in this life and I take it for granted many times, when I know for certain that there were points in my life when I wished for all the things I have now. I have focused quite a bit in my life about things and people I don't have. That is no way to live. I remember my senior year of Williston being one of the best in my life. Why is that though? Because I also distinctly remember many afternoons between classes and sports when I would go back to my room and nap or cry. I remember many nights when I would be up for hours on end, struggling not to sob because I had too much work to get done. I was sad because I didn't have what other people had. I didn't feel like I belonged with the group of friends I was with. I didn't feel like many people at that school liked me, and there was a constant pressure of that. My work was my distraction, my sports kept me sane and sociable. I remember my life at Havelock as some of the best times of my life. I remember all the great times I spent with my friend group and how much fun I had. It seems I had forgotten that New Year's eve when I didn't want to make it to the next year. I forgot all those nights I cried because I didn't have Zachariah. I remember becoming mentally sick over him...doing horrible things that I will not even let myself think of. I remember one day I went back to Apex, thinking that place was so high and mighty, and it reminded me of how I cried myself to sleep night after night and was haunted by the fact that I was gay. It seems like every other period of my life was far better, and that I have somehow gone backwards to this point. In some ways that may be true. I wish I had more friends, a friend group that I can really relate to and hang out with a lot like Austin has. I get so jealous about that, that Austin was able to move schools once and stumble upon a group of friends he literally hangs out with for a good chunk of every single day, and he found those people in a matter of months. I find myself here without many good friends, without many people that seem to want my company. Austin says its the sense of humor that gets people on board. I might agree, it seems the more lighthearted I am the more people wanted to be around me. I think the more lighthearted I was was the time those memories stuck around, to form all those impressions that my past was filled with good times. And yet there is a lesson in this I think. Perhaps all those times I was feeling terrible within those good times, all those times all I could see is what I wanted, how I wasn't hanging out with people and how it seemed I couldn't find people that sought after my company, perhaps those times weren't so bad. Perhaps my situation now isn't so bad either. What if I look back on where I am now in the future and say "what a wonderful time that was." Because really, there is so much good around me. Austin and I are better together than any other point in our relationship. We have transcended cheating, mental illness, being separated for far too long, the frustrations of living together for the first time, and helping each other through our own life struggles. We have been through much and grown beyond it all, I really do find it hard to believe that I have been blessed with such an amazing person. And it amazes me, it frightens me often, how quickly I can lose sight of all of that, quickly judge him as not being good enough to me. Things as simple as he won't reply in a timely fashion, that time when he decided to do laundry instead of be prompt in picking me up. When he doesn't pay attention to me or contribute enough to the conversation over FaceTime. When he forgetfully leaves something on read, probably was intending on replying, but simply forgot. I assume the worst motives with him, trying to find reasons why he would do me wrong. Perhaps that's what I've trained myself to expect from people I love, not ever receiving the attention and love I want because they were straight. Perhaps I expect more from him because I remember distinctly the Austin that texted and snapped all the time. In fact, if I were to say there was one dominant factor in why I didn't struggle through tears everyday at Williston in the spring is because of Austin. Even when he was at school we would text and snap constantly. Where has that gone? They say there's a cupcake stage, and perhaps that is all it was. Even so, he has been really understanding lately, and I have seen a drastic change in how much he's texted and snapped me. Sometime's I'll call him out over Facetime or when he's with his friends by how much he's changed since he went to ECU, but of course I knew he would. When I mention it it makes him uncomfortable, just like it made me uncomfortable when I heard it after going to Williston. People change. I wonder if I have changed him at all. I remember how he used to struggle so much missing me when I would leave in the spring of last year. I remember how much he would mention how I didn't have time for him. That had to hurt, in many ways I've perceived it that I feel the way he did then. That's why I think we've switched places. Sometimes I wonder if this is what I deserved, perhaps I could have treated him better, especially at the end of the summer. An interesting thing I've noticed is what we've talked about. I think when we were first getting to learn each other, we'd talk a lot about ourselves. I was constantly trying to learn more about him, in all honesty I was desperate to fall in love with him like he fell in love with me. But that is a separate point. The point I'm making now is I have found that the vast majority of things I talk about with Mattie include Austin in one way or another. That one counselor that I texted during the end of my winter break smacked me with the question "Who are you without him?" Like I just gawked at my phone for five minutes I had no idea how to even react. I have become so absorbed by Austin since I fell for him. When I was helping Matt this week I blatantly told him that his animosity towards his girlfriend is not a product of love for her, but an obsession with being loved by her because he couldn't love himself. I think I have found it hard to love myself in the past several months. I constantly beat myself up for cheating on Austin. When I went to college I cheated on him more because I wanted to break things off with him because I didn't think I deserved him, I felt so bad after the incident with Lawson. I hated myself for not loving Austin. I hated myself for being frustrated with him. Then when I came to SMU I beat myself up immensely over my failure to make real friends. I took their reactions of ignoration to heart and slowly drew back into myself. I stopped going out and I stopped trying. I gave up and concluded that people here did not like me. At that time Austin and I were on not so good terms still. I was pushing him away and breaking his heart with ideas of taking a break. I was being a complete asshole. When I had heart he cheated on me there too, I was really relieved that I wasn't the only criminal in the relationship anymore, but I also confirmed to myself that I was no longer being a good boyfriend if he was able to do that to me. I remember that weekend, I revealed the other part of myself. The part of myself that wasn't all jokes and laughter and lightheartedness. I exposed my soft side, I exposed how philosophical I was and how driven I was for the future. That was the first time he had ever ignored me. He left me on read and I quickly became desperate for answers, I wanted him so desperately to love this side of myself... When he ignored it it reminded me much of Zachariah when I would get emotional or philosophical, and I quickly became distraught over the idea that I was pushing away Austin with this side of myself. It's strange how just one or two days after that event I realized I had fallen in love with Austin Gibson. I've often wondered if I fell in love with Austin because he played hard to catch, I wonder if I fell for him because it seemed he was not loving me at that time. It reminded me of how I fell in love with Zachariah and Jacob, and how they both did not love me. But I must also remember that I fell in love with those two because they had been kind to me, I fell in love with them because at first they had sought after my company, and made me feel wanted. Austin definitely made me feel that way in our early relationship, very much so actually. And I think that's why I was so into the relationship at the time. All that time I knew I wasn't ready to love him because I was skeptical he was just having a first boy-stage that he would eventually fall out of. But I was enjoying it the whole time because we were in that cupcake stage and he was showing me all the attention I wanted. I remember that time so well because I had someone who treated me the way I wanted to be treated. I felt bad that I didn't always have the time to reply to him constantly, but I honestly felt so good that I had someone that wanted me replying to them that much. When he ignored me that fall break I thought I had lost that. Over the next couple of days we talked on FaceTime for the first time in a good while, we talked it out and that's when I really started learning that he wasn't well versed in helping someone through that kind of thing. But I saw that he did care, that he was genuinely trying, and was working to learn this new side of me. Such the same I was starting to learn the side of him that would be dealing with me. After fall long weekend I started to really focus on how he would not reply so quickly, in fact he really seemed to be replying a lot less than he did before that weekend which had an immense effect on me. Months later I would learn that Austin was driven to continue to cheat on me in those initial months. When I first learned that I would think so much about how he must've been ignoring me in that time to text and snap these other guys. I remember trembling when I first went through his computer, and how much time I spent trying to convince myself I was just making things up...until I saw actual pictures. He had snapped these guys and they snapped him back. I have mental images of Austin sending them the eggplant emoji. I'm glad it went no further than text, at least I pray to God it never did. It hurt so much because I know he was doing that after that fall break weekend. After we admitted our wrongs to each other and forgave each other, after we both promised to communicate more and tell each other if it ever happened again. I wonder if he would've ever confessed had I not found that myself. He wanted to hide it from me because he didn't want to hurt someone who was already paranoid. Yet he was still texting one of those guys over the winter break, someone he shouldn't even know. Someone he should have no contact with, and he was texting him while I was there. He would delete those texts, he deliberately hid it from me. That's what hurt most, he hid it from me. And maybe learning all that did make my paranoia worse. But I know how easy it is to make that mistake. I know how easy it is to be tempted, and to think nothing of it because guys watch porn as it is and it's really no different if everything is just over the phone. Writing this is drawing up some old feelings and I'm not really sure I want to continue with it. If I remember correctly I was trying to get to the bottom of the reason why I'm so quick to judge Austin as not doing enough. I touched on my experience with love before Austin, my low self esteem at the time I fell in love with him, the uncertainty I had of sharing the rest of my personality with him and the fact that he pushed it away at first, the fact that he cheated on me continuously after I stopped making that impression resurrect during winter break. And yet according to him he's "changed." I put that in quotes just like he did, because it's passé. It's passe because its been said so much and upheld so little. But I can see the change. He looks at me with that intense feeling of love again. We get so gushy with our love texts again. He made me this jar of memories which made me melt on the spot. I don't give him enough credit. He texts and snaps back thousands of times more than he did before. When he's not tired he does participate quite a bit in Facetime. He has lost that sense of aversion towards me he carried before I exposed his cheating. It seems before that night I brought it up that he was always skeptical I was being skeptical of him. I don't even know how to describe it but I could literally feel his inner tension over it. We cried for so many nights after I exposed him. I found it very hard to cry when he was crying. I suppose I cried because I couldn't feel he cared. His tears proved other wise. Each day I would stumble upon other concepts of what him cheating on me at that time meant, and I kept breaking my own heart with those revelations over and over again. I suppose the best evidence that I have been seeking out reasons to prove Austin isn't being a good boyfriend is when I went back through his computer and phone and started shaking when I found an old snap stream he simply forgot to block. I saw some texts in there that terrified me, and I found some texts that sounded like he was meeting with someone when it was actually just a classmate. Austin quickly proved to me that what I saw really wasn't cheating. But this stands as the best example that I've been jumping to conclusions. So what is the solution to this bad habit? What is the solution to me not breaking down for two hours in the middle of the day because he accidentally didn't reply to a snap I sent him? I think doing this has actually helped. I think this journal has actually helped. I think what I need to be doing more is seeing the ways he has improved. Such the same goes for my life situation, I need to see all the good that has come into my life, all the ways it has improved. I keep looking for new ways that my life isn't good enough, new ways that Austin isn't being good enough. Neither of those are warranted, I just need to see the good I already have. I keep comparing myself to others, what they have going for them that I don't. But I need to be comparing myself with myself and my past, how much I've grown, how much Austin and I have grown together. There may be things that have gone backwards, that happens. But that is no reason to be afraid.. If they happened before they can happen again. That goes for both the bad and the good. The important thing to do is focus on the good we have, and do positive actions towards making those things better. Positive actions do not include guilt tripping Austin, making him feel inadequate, making him feel like he should be doing more. Positive actions mean being grateful for what Austin has been doing, and having rational, real conversations with him about anything going on right now that can be improved. Spraying him with criticism is not going to do anything but meet resistance because that's human nature. I felt the same way sometimes in the spring. So I need to work with him, not yank him to where I want him to be, but let him know I want him a little more here or a little more there, and to make sure I'm listening when he says the same to me. I suppose it's going to be a process. There is nothing that can really help me instantly be better to him. It's going to take constant pressure from myself to be reasonable with him. To send another random text or snap to him to remind him to reply without calling him out for not replying. To just accept his little habits and accept him for who he is and remind myself that he really does love me and that's why he's stuck around for so long and is so willing to stick around indefinitely. I need to remind myself that he means nothing he does or doesn't do personally, he doesn't even mean anything by most of it. If I were as busy as he I would probably be as forgetful as he is. And that doesn't mean I should beat myself up for not having as much going on as he does either. I need to love him, remember his love, and remember to love myself. I am not in such a bad position, my failure to instantly make friends like Austin is not a reflection of myself as a person, which is something I definitely need to constantly remind myself of. I need to be more patient, and I need to consume my time with things I like to do. I have a business idea I want to execute, I have clubs I'm a part of, I have plenty of school work to keep me busy. And it's okay if I slip up like I did today, I need to remember that it's not the end of the world when I feel bad for a day or two or three. I've made so much progress over the past couple of months and I'm going to keep making progress so long as I keep remembering what I'm fighting for. I'm fighting to be a good friend, a good person to myself, and most importantly a good boyfriend. I love Austin so so much, like honestly the only reason I'm struggling with all of this is because I want to be with him for so long. The only reason I get hyper critical is because I miss him and want to talk to him more and more. Who knows? Maybe life in North Carolina will make it easier. Let this long ass journal be a testament to me trying everything in my power to make things as best as they can be. This has been revealing for myself, I think. I really have found some solace in seeing everything written out, all my feelings and memories of my time with Austin and my time away from Austin. I did this because I want to be a better boyfriend, I did this because I want to be a better person in general. This has offered me much clarity, maybe it will for you too.