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justtellher · 7 months

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give me peace (in a lifetime of war)

Pops up onto your feed and tosses out a Good Omens fic that just wouldn't leave me alone about the aftermath of that S2 ending. Will be looking to update weekly as much as possible, and I promise you this has a happy ending. You can read below or over here on Ao3. And please come cry, squeal, and flail with me until Season 3 comes out.

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Prologue: what never belonged to angels (never belonged to men)

It starts again as it will end, with a garden. Not the Garden this time–just a perfectly ordinary garden, only really worthy of mention because of its location or the events about to take place within it. Fate, it seemed, had a rather fond attachment to locating major and pivotal plotlines within architected greenspace. They felt it added a certain gravitas to their events.

Tonight, a man stands nervously at the edge of one such space, tan fingers twisting the edge of a dusty robe between them, and draws a shaky breath.

He could do this. He could do this to keep him safe. It was the right thing to do was it not?

Movement across the garden catches his eye, and he traces the fine features of his friend as he comes into view near the pergola, a circle of followers surrounding him filled with easy smiles and gentle laughter as they meet.

Yet one of them will betray him, one of them will send him to his end for the good of them all, and he cannot stand by and let that happen.

Not when it will mean never seeing him again, not when his friend so desperately wants to live and yet resigns himself to this fate. A martyr of his own happiness for the saving of everyone.

He forces his steps through the garden path, skidding slightly on the loose pebbles and soft dirt. Identify him, they said, simply a signal of acknowledgement and they could whisk him away to safety. No more heavenly obligations or marks of death.

The world may damn him for it, but he’s willing to burn if it means making him smile again. For seeing him light and carefree and alive instead of a stone pious effigy.

He meets familiar sandals on the path before him and pauses, looking up into the warmth of his friend’s gaze. Around him the others chatter and laugh, unaware of the slippage of time that allowed him to so quickly arrive here at this moment, this pivot that will redefine everything.

Soft lips smile at him as they have always done. Before he can lose his nerve he leans close and turns his head in a greeting they only ever acted out privately before, a benediction he now makes public, and presses his lips to a high boned cheek.

“Peace be with you,” he murmurs, and feels a small intake of breath from the man next to him. He wishes he knew how to interpret the sound. He pulls back to meet the dark brown eyes he’s lost himself to time and time again, but finds he can’t determine what to make of the swirl of emotions he sees in them.

Has he saved them or condemned them?

Tomorrow, he will know this moment for its loss. For they will call him traitor and years from now will write him into a villain’s story for 30 pieces of silver that he will find in his lodgings. A bargain he never agreed to make, yet cannot disprove, leading to a hangman’s noose he will knot himself gladly. His name an epitaph for betrayal forever more.

Today, he will know it as love and a prayer that he can change the fate of a god.

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Chapter 1: though i know my heart would break (put me back in it)

At first, he plans to drive off and sleep for a good century or two: ignore the world until he finds a way of dealing with the ache that’s growing between his ribs, the tightness filling his chest that’s making him feel like any second he’ll discorporate from the sheer agony of it all.

Until he figures out how to exist without him.

Foolish really, a small voice chides him, and not likely since you haven’t figured it out in the last 6000 years or more. Crowley misses the turn to his flat, but the Bentley makes no move to course correct, and instead he keeps on driving. There’s no point to being in London anyway, really. Not if Aziraphale isn’t there.

The road unfolds before him and the Bentley guides them out of London, across the M25, and north. At some point the radio switches back on and soft classical violin swells through the car; he doesn’t have the heart to turn it off. Afterall, she seems to miss him too.

His face feels wet and his eyes are puffy, and he rubs furiously at both as the late afternoon sky gives way to dim evening light and a familiar town begins to take shape around him.

“No, no, NO. Absolutely not,” he mutters firmly, pulling the steering wheel so that the car is forced to a stop next along the Holyrood park roadside. “Bloody sentimental machine.”

He swings himself out of the Bentley with a sigh and looks around aimlessly, the crisp Edinburgh air filling his senses and reminding him with sharp pang of the top hats, graveyards, and the too- much-laudanum spins of the last time he was in this area of the world.

Grumbling, he throws himself into walking briskly up the hill for want of any other option–willing the mild ache in his thighs as he climbs to distract him, burn soft lips and words of forgiveness from his memory.

He reaches the summit just as the first stars are beginning to show across the darkening sky and drops his body heavily onto some of the flat stones that comprise Arthur’s Seat. An irony he muses, since Arthur very much never made it here–too busy sowing good deeds in the damp wilds of Wessex to bother much with the Scots.

Is that you under there Crawly?

Nothing lasts forever.

His eyes burn again, and he blinks toward the heavens, trying to lose himself amongst the stars that pepper the black blue sky. Stupid angel, how could he not see the pointlessness of the Metatron’s offer, the futile effort of trying to change heaven? His throat burns and he swallows against the lump rising in it. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? He doesn’t know how much of this he can take honestly.

“Aaah,” a shrill shout cuts through the night somewhere over his left shoulder, and Crowley whips around, momentarily considering that perhaps Aziraphale might have been right about the spookiness of places, when he makes out the distinct shape of a woman sliding in the slightly muddy hillside near the summit.

“Blast it, why is this stuff so slippery?” The petite figure pushes herself back upright with a small huff and wipes her hands against the khaki of her trench coat before her eyes fix on Crowley’s with a start,

“Oh hello, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else would be up here at this time.” She hefts a small rucksack against her back with a shrug, and he notices the tripod telescope jutting from the top zipper. “I’m something of an amateur astronomer, you see. It’s supposed to be a great night for viewing Orion.”

Did you go to Alpha Centauri?

Nah…I lost my best friend.

Nope, none of that. On impulse, he waves a hand behind him and steps aside to reveal his own telescope, miracled (and thankfully undamaged by Shax) from his flat with only a small wobble at the intrusion. Well what else did he have to do now? And for Someone’s sake he needed the distraction.

“Wouldn’t you know? Same could be said of me.” He offers what he hopes is a friendly smile. The woman’s eyes search his face, lingering on his dark glasses, before she gives a returning grin.

“Oh wonderful, it would be so nice to have a partner.”

He nearly lets out an unexpected sob at the wording and tamps it back down, easing himself back onto the rocks with a strangled sigh as the woman sets up her things and settles down next to him. He busies himself with focusing the scope on finding the nebula he knows is hiding in Orion’s sword.

They sit side by side silently for a while, gentle clicks of telescopes adjusting and focusing, and Crowley loses himself slightly in the method of it. He hasn’t looked at the stars in ages–didn’t realize how much he’d missed it.

“They really are spectacular, you know?” Her soft voice pulls him back from his eyepiece to find the woman leaning back on her hands, head tilted up to take in the vibrant Milky Way band that has appeared.

“Yeah,” he agrees, mirroring her pose. Curiosity seeps into him and he can’t control the impulse to ask, “Do you have a favorite?”

She pauses, lips twisting to the side in thought before smiling, “The Carina Nebula.”

It’s easy to grin back at her, pride temporarily easing the ache beneath his chest, “Ah an excellent one if I do say so myself.” He tilts his head back toward the sky, eyes seeking out the rough patch of stars where he feels it live, a trait of his that never quite burned away. “Bit hard to find that one though without something like the Hubble looking.”

Her laugh sounds like a bell in the empty hillside, “I know! You’d think whoever made this place might have had better sense to put it a bit more in the middle of the show. It’s infuriating! You can’t even see most of the universe from here.”

“Yes! Exactly what I’ve been saying!” He stares at her in amazement, feels his face hurt slightly from the force of his smile.

She gives him an impish grin that scrunches her nose before her eyes shift downward with a melancholic sigh.

“You know, until recently I barely looked at the stars,” she pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on the delicate hands placed upon her kneecaps. “I only thought of them as background decoration really.” A sigh. “I’ve been doing that everywhere in my life it seems, not looking, not listening. Too wrapped up in my own plans and successes to actually stop and pay attention to how any of it was going.”

“Ah,” he struggles to find words to assist this shift in tone. Neither of them had ever been great at human emotion, but Aziraphale had definitely been better at comfort. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, half a statement, half a question.

She waves a hand at him with a kind dismissive gesture. “Oh no, it’s okay. I’m trying to own it.” She raises her eyes again to lights twinkling above them, “Took a setback you might say to make me stop and look around, but I am…trying now. For whatever good it might do.”

“Well I’m certainly no expert on trying,” he gives a sardonic chuckle, “seems like all I do is try and fail.” He raises his hand to count off his fingers, “Tried to change things with a few questions, got fired. Spent a few years going my own way trying to do good where I can, ended up homeless and almost killed. Tried to tell my partner how I feel, and instead here I am alone on a Scottish hillside.”

A hand reaches out to pat his shoulder before pulling back, “Better to have tried and failed than to ignore it all, or so I’m learning. It’s so much easier to see the path you’ve built when you at least look up every so often and take an active part with those shaping it,” she gives a heavy sigh, “before you wake up and don’t even know how you got to where you are.”

She trails off, turning her face back up to the sky and for a few minutes they sit in a morose silence. Crowley traces the curve of the Big Dipper, recites the older names for the constellation that have been lost to time in his mind, and tries to imagine ever feeling satisfied with having tried. Wishes instead maybe he’d just ignored everything from the beginning.

Sure as hell would hurt less than this.

“Your partner, you think he’ll come around?” her voice quietly snaps him back to Earth. The dim starlight catches with a shimmer on her short blonde hair, and his unhelpful mind supplies a barrage of comparisons to the softer, paler curls he’s actively trying not to think about missing.

“I…” he hangs his head, clears his throat thickly. He wants to say it’s over, that the angel made his choice, and there is no coming back. That there is no us. After all, it’s never felt so final before. But hope flickers silently in his chest, a timid sensation that he can never quite get to die when it comes to Aziraphale, 6000 years of stubborn push and pull between them that has always somehow circled around to being just enough outside of either side to be their own.

He sighs, and looks back up to find warm, brown eyes fixed on him, “...I dunno, actually”

She shoots him a half smile, “You have faith still then”

“Ha,” he chuckles wryly, and she’s right he does; an existence full of doubts and yet he never could quite shake the habit of belief from his veins, “what d'ya know, I guess I do.”

A sad look flickers across her features even as she smiles fully, gone in a moment as she glances down at her watch and gives a small gasp,

“Oh my, I seem to have lost track of myself and am now terribly late it would seem. Funny thing, time.” She mutters the last part to herself mostly as she gathers her things together and makes to stand.

He nods along politely, feeling slightly bereft at the prospect of being alone with his own thoughts once again. She was warm in a motherly way he didn’t know he missed. Which strikes him as a silly thought really seeing as how demons didn’t have mothers. Well technically, they didn’t have mothers who acknowledged them.

All the same though wasn’t it?

Shaking himself mentally, Crowley makes to stand alongside her smaller frame, handing over her telescope as he goes. She sends him a small smile of thanks before continuing, “It really was lovely to run into you here…er…”

“Ah, Anthony,” he fills in for her, “Anthony Crowley.”

There it is again, the flash of sadness in her features that he can’t place. Maybe she’d lost someone with his name. Humans were always losing someone and rediscovering their grief in strange places he’d noticed.

“Anthony,” she repeats his name with a warm roll of vowels that erases the lines of sorrow from her features, “that’s a lovely name.”

“Thanks…um…”

“Edith,” she supplies with a grin and an extension of her hand, “you can call me Edith.”

He returns her smile with a crooked one of his own, “Well, thank you Edith.”

Grasping her warm hand in his, he can’t resist the impish urge to give an exaggerated shake and earns himself a laugh from his compatriot before she pulls her hand from his. Still grinning, she hoists the rucksack back onto her shoulder and begins to head back down the small slope, before turning back around with a small clang of jostled instruments,

“Oh, and Anthony?” He whips his gaze up from the ground he’d worrying with the heel of his boot,

“Hmm?” He opts for nonchalance, instead of the desperate eagerness he feels at being granted even a minute more reprieve from being left alone with the mess of thoughts he feels bubbling just beneath the surface of his consciousness.

She holds his gaze firmly, “I hope they prove worthy of it. Your faith.”

The lump returns to his throat and his eyes burn behind the dark frames of his glasses; he nods slowly, and she gives him one last small smile before returning to her steady descent and moving out of sight.

He stands unmoving in the resulting silence, before realizing he’s actually dropped quietly to the ground as he takes note of the grassy rock that’s suddenly beneath his fingertips. His vision blurs beyond discerning, and he feels the first few traitorous tears roll down his cheeks as he loses the battle against the hollow knot in his chest.

“Me too,” he whispers, a soft prayer into the night air.

And then for the first time that day he gives in and allows himself to truly cry.

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assaily · 1 year

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The way I draft and write my stories means that I often have to let go of a piece of writing that I’m rather proud of, simply because that’s just not how the events are going to play out.

Sometimes sharing them helps me say goodbye. Here’s a sneak peak/blooper for Howling chapter 4. :)

CW for the fact that Howling is an M-rated torture fic and there’s some intense isolation in this bit. I’m also blind to my own spoilers at this point so keep in mind that this is a draft and everything in it is subject to change.

I can’t believe they just left you here to rot.

Five tried to ignore her when she was like this, bitter and unhelpful, but it seemed to be her favorite mood these days. He counted four drainings before the ache in his stitches turned into an itch and two more after that before his free-floating rib fused back with the rest of his ribcage.

He’d tried to prod it gently back into place but his fevers were intense and long lasting and left him laid out and unable to move for long stretches of uncounted time. The rib protruded beneath the skin from the rest, ugly and destined to be tender forever, but at least it had fused. He wasn’t willing to undo all his body’s valiant effort, so he left it to heal out of place. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to have his ribcage straightened out, so he stuck it on the list of things to deal with when he got out of here.

You shouldn’t be here in the first place, she whispered from her half of the room– always the half he didn’t occupy, always a few steps away and never any closer. She always said stuff like that when he decided some things would be fixed later, like the tube, like his rib, like the way it felt like his insides were rotting everytime he thought of his siblings.

He’d fix it later. Always later. Now was for escaping, even when there was very little escaping to be done. Mostly just waiting. Waiting, waiting for something to change, for security to ease, for an opportunity to present itself.

Waiting and festering and rotting.

You should be angry.

He scratched marks into the wooden table under the tv, a mark for every draining because he was starting to lose track.

“Delores,” he groaned at her. “I’ve just woken up, can we talk about something else?” He didn’t want to talk about his siblings, he didn’t really want to think about them. Not when they were all he could dream about.

What else is there to talk about?

He scratched seven marks into the table, wearing down his nail quickly against the laminate. They were barely visible but he could still see them, something to mark the passage of time besides just the way his body continued to function and heal and exist.

And really, there wasn’t anything else to talk about.

“I just don’t want to talk about them.”

The first few days sure, but time was stretching and the infection was starting to stink. Five didn’t want to touch it when it only spun him in circles and made him feel worse. He’d rather just not think about them at all.

Fine, she said, quiet and angry and painfully, achingly sad. “Lose yourself in the static waiting for something to happen.”

So he did.

He’d put eleven marks into the table before something changed. It started like a usual encounter, the porter and his faceless body guard entered together, the porter pushing the machine in with him while the faceless stalked over to Five.

Five had learned very early on that it was best to wait until the faceless stopped moving, to not move when it was and to keep his motions slow and deliberate and docile. It didn’t touch him if he went where it or the porter indicated, so Five waited until it stood over him before he carefully picked himself out of the chair and moved over to the bed. The faceless walked with him, step for step like a looming shadow, a reminder that a wrong move would be punished before Five would have a chance to think.

He laid on the bed, limbs loose and pliant as the porter tightened the nylon cuffs around his wrists and ankles and tightened the straps down. It still stirred anxiety in his stomach, despite his compliance and the learned experience that aside from the pain inherent in the machine, the porter himself did little to hurt him otherwise.

Five was no stranger to suffering, or the suffering of waiting.

The porter removed his bandage. Five closed his eyes for a second and then shot his head up and snapped them open when the porter’s hands prodded at the line of the tube.

He hadn’t seen the scarring himself yet, the way his skin had twisted up and puckered, stretched to splitting twice and still forced to cover the lump beneath. The skin was still pink and raw and the nerve endings burned beneath the touch. The sight of himself stole his breath, dropping nausea into his throat like a stone.

The faceless loomed over him, a hand smothered his face from his eyes up, pushing him into the hard pillow beneath his head. The porter’s fingers prodded at the tender skin on his stomach, and Five fought to keep his breath even. He felt too exposed, nearly expecting to be torn open all over again, but the porter finished his examination quickly after that. Five felt him move away, wanting to shake the hand off his face but knowing better. He listened, blind and held down, as the porter manipulated the machine and inserted the tube into the port implanted above his hip.

The bandage was not replaced when the porter came back to unhook him. Later, when they returned to feed him, they brought him a few pills rolling around in the bottom of a little white cup. The fever was raging through him by then, but Five still had the wits to pose the question.

“How come?” He’d asked when the porter handed him the little cup, truly the king of articulation. The porter still caught his meaning, thankfully. Five wasn’t sure he was capable of properly phrasing things when his brain felt like it was being cooked in an oven.

“You have been very cooperative lately,” the porter said, his hand reaching out to pet through his hair gently. Five froze beneath the touch, heart pounding for some reason, his skin prickling with raised hairs. They hadn’t touched him like that before, but Five knew it was a trap, even half out the door with the fever.

He turned his head slowly toward the porter as he withdrew his hand again. Five couldn’t feel his own expression, paralyzed into an unblinking stare by the buzzing numbness eating at the space beneath his skin. He swallowed thickly and spoke in a voice that didn’t belong to him. “This is a reward?”

“Yes,” the porter said. “But if you do not want them, I will take them.” He reached to take the cup but Five flinched back from him. The movement was too fast, too jerky, the faceless grabbing his shoulders with his iron hands.

“Hold on,” the porter said. “It’s alright, he’s just delirious.” Then down to Five, he said almost gently, “Take your medicine, child.”

The grip on him released and Five did what he was told, more confused now then he’d been in a while. The porter hadn’t been kind to him like this before, it was odd.

Later, when he woke and found himself considering it– better to consider the oddness of his prison than the rot in his bones, he chalked it up to a fever dream. Pathetically and desperately seeking comfort in his captors. There was a name for that, he’d read about it somewhere a few lifetimes ago but he’d never understood the allure until now.

It’s not pathetic to be touch-starved, darling.

He supposed it wasn’t, not when it was a fact of his life, as inevitable as the sun rising and setting. He remembered when he’d been young the first time, when he’d first read about touch-starvation and the suffering he was already enduring. Being alone was the worst punishment known to man. He remembered laying there in his makeshift shelter, a fire crackling merrily beside him and a mannequin staring at him with eyes that refused to come to life, his own hands resting on his face like his mother’s used to.

He used to think he didn’t need his mother, as unreal and plastic as she was. But he missed the way she used to stroke his face when he was sad, gentle hands carding through his hair and kissing small promises of artificial love into his forehead. He missed her softness, her warmth, the way she opened her arms and folded safety around him when he came to her in need.

She was gone and so was her softness, the fake skin schlepped off to reveal the cold wire frame. The Grace he met a few weeks ago didn’t know him and didn’t care for him. She was run-down and obsolete and unloved unlike their own Grace. The Sparrows had left her in the basement to fall apart and he wished he’d done her the mercy of ending her existence. He found no comfort in knowing she was just as forgotten and alone as he was.

The porter didn't touch him like that again, and Five let it slip from his mind. There wasn't much to do, and with the medicine for his fever breaking it faster, he spent more time awake to feel that boredom.

He ruminated on math, talked to Delores when she wasn't being bitter and angry, and generally tried not to let himself think about his siblings. Getting lost in memories about them had once been a mainstay during long winter storms, but as Five put fifteen and then twenty marks into the table, he found comfort only in staring into the static out the window and forcing his mind to be blank.

It was restful in a way, and without the passage of time ticking away inside of him, he felt unmoored from reality most days. He clung to the numbness it provided, the boredom rotting his mind like the hurt in his bones.

I'm not sure I can ever forgive them, she said one day, something about her tone tickling at something deep in Five. Sullen and sorrowful, like it was something she deeply regretted before ever making the decision.

"Shut up," he whispered, feeling and unfeeling a horrible agony carving at the rot inside him. "Shut up."

We can't forgive them for this, can we?

He stood, his hip knocking into the table and bruising red hot in a pain that made him curse at it and himself. He turned toward the bed, where her ghost seemed to linger, pointing a finger at her inexistence. "Shut up!" He shouted, like a wounded animal screeching suddenly in the silence. "Stop talking about them! Stop trying to make me angry! Stop trying to make me blame them!"

“But you do blame them!”

He screamed at her, incoherent and wordless and writhing in pain. He tore at his hair and slapped at his chest and howled until his voice broke and his throat bled. And when he finished, crumpled on the ground sobbing like a child, she didn’t say a thing.

She didn’t speak of them again.

Not unless he brought them up first.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” he said to her, sometime after the 30th mark on the table. He’d just woken up, a dream still playing like a movie beneath his eyelids every time he closed them. He wondered if it was a memory, as he did about a lot of dreams. It had been so disjointed and dark, all he knew was that Luther was there and that his hands were so quiet and gentle around him. It felt real, had all the things he usually forgot to dream about, like how Luther was warm and how he had smelled when Five’s face rested against his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” she asked. She knew, of course, she could practically read his mind, but she wanted him to keep talking because it had been a few days since he’d used his voice.

“What if… They made a mistake. Leaving me here.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that it was a mistake,” she said gently.

He waved a hand at her. “You know what I mean.” Something fluttered in his chest, light and airy and hard to hold onto.

“What are you hoping for?” she asked, knowing what he was feeling even if he couldn’t recognize it anymore.

“Maybe… they’ll come back.”

She was quiet, they both were, letting it settle between them. Hope, or a fantasy, Five wasn’t sure he was ready to make it real yet, to give it any kind of belief or validation beyond the passing thought. Luther had been so tender in his dream, so kind and forgiving and Five missed them too much for it to hurt this badly. It was like an infection and he needed to cut it out but it was so deep in the core of him, he was starting to fear it was him dying from the inside out.

“You shouldn’t rely on that as an escape plan,” she said finally.

“I wasn’t.” The feeling guttered hollow in his chest. The contradiction would tear him apart. He missed them, dearly and desperately, and he was starting to hate them.

He didn’t let himself hope. He knew better, knew that hope was dangerous, knew that it was fragile and finite and he was better off without it as a crutch for when it inevitably deserted him.

His room was small, but he’d done this sort of thing before. Routine got him through the apocalypse, and it would get him through this, too. He woke after every draining and subsequent fever like it was a new day, marking the table with his nail before heading to the bathroom to wash himself in the sink.

It was odd for him to get to focus on little discomforts but it was all he had, so he made a point of washing the sweat from his hair everyday to keep it from getting itchy. He washed his clothes and hung them to dry on the bed’s footrail every few days to keep the rest of him from getting itchy, too. He watched his bruises and cuts heal, watched the scarring on his stomach become more and more a part of him as the days slipped by, forced to behold the consequences of his actions until it stopped making him sick and dizzy.

Some days he did nothing else but pace until his next meal came, and then he would pace again. Other days he felt too heavy to move, sitting in the chair beneath the window, staring into it without an ounce of focus.

“I don’t think they would have left if they had known.” His voice surprised him with how rough it was getting.

“You’ve said that a hundred times already. Saying it again won’t make it any truer.”

He didn’t look away from the static. “It is true.” It didn’t sound very convincing. “They made a mistake.”

She was quiet for so long that Five figured she’d decided to keep whatever she had to say to herself. He could feel it, as numb as he was, and he knew it wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “They made a mistake,” she finally agreed.

“They just didn’t know.”

“Five,” she said gently. “Darling, they knew.” And they left him here, anyway.

“No, they just didn’t understand,” he snapped. “Lila was manipulating them and they didn’t know I was trying to save them. They wouldn’t have… They would have… They would have let me come home if they knew.” If they knew what he’d done for them, what he had survived, how hard he’d fought and how much pain he was in. They wouldn’t have been so cruel, to be the ones who snatched it all away from him, if they had known.

She didn’t argue with him, she didn’t want to set him off. Today was a day when he was too heavy to move and there wasn’t much comfort for the way his insides itched with rot and restlessness. She let him have his fantasy, let him rest in the lies he wanted to tell himself, lost in the static to escape the boredom and grief eating him alive.

“Just don’t forget that I still love you,” she said softly. He smiled at her, in her general direction because she wasn’t really there, and he wasn’t really loved.

He was getting close to fifty marks when something finally changed again. The faceless stopped shadowing him so hard, standing by the entry door instead of looming over him. Still a threat, still there to beat Five senseless the second he did anything remotely untoward, but the space almost let Five breathe again.

The porter started letting him eat at the table, too, though all of his drainings were still to be done on the bed in the nylon straps. Five marked it as an improvement nonetheless, some little crumb of agency gifted back to him.

Five finished his porridge and handed the bowl back to the porter, quietly wondering if he could see the forty-eight faint lines marked into the table and if he cared at all, when Five was jarred from his thoughts by a gentle hand petting through his hair. He jolted and froze, torn between flinching away and stilling to not give the impression of hostility. Mostly, he found himself too stunned to react, slowly turning his head to look up at his warden as he pet him like some poor wretched dog in need of love.

“I have some good news for you,” he said brightly, his smile the same banal thing Five always got, but somehow it felt almost reassuring. “As long as your next session goes well, you will no longer be confined to your room.”

Five couldn’t help the way his face wanted to echo the expression, pulling at the edges of his mouth as something light fluttered in his chest. Finally, some good news indeed.

#i wanted to share it before it got lost in a scrap file never to be seen again #i really love it but events aren't going this way after all #i hope you all get a little enjoyment out of it :)))#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua fic #tua fanfic #fanfic #my fics #tear time #scraps and bloopers #i might actually need to find a beta for this fic

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okiekp13 · 2 years

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Ecstasy -3

To say you were living with your head in the clouds would be pretty accurate. Since the deal with JK your magic was on a completely different level, no more were you blowing up your couldron, potions were finally turning out as they should and on top of that your magic was stable not shaky or weak. Finally you felt like a full witch. Did you go blabbing your mouth about it to any witches you knew? Yea no; that would be far too much attention put on you and that was the last thing you needed or wanted. Granted its been rumored that if you are part of a coven and link together in a magic circle it helps to stablize magic among all within the coven, but a functioning coven wasn’t very common anymore. Most witches were solo and would only occasionally work with other witches when needed.

The connection with your spirit guides was stronger as well. Before their voices were faint and you had to really focus to understand what they were saying; now it felt like they were talking right in your ear sometimes loud and clear. One said spirit guide being a very sassy little ol’ soul from the 1930’s named Evelynn who preferred to go by Evie and appeared to be in her 20’s. Although her sass was usually pretty comical she could be abrasive at times making you want to refer to her as Evilynn. Sitting with your herbal tea you used to relax; you sat in your garden watching the breeze brush against your plants, fragrances of flowers lingering in the air.

“You know darling…this demon you are tied too.” Evie started as she sat by you drinking her own (ghostly) tea. “Do you think he has any friends?”

Snorting to yourself you entertained the idea of her trying to flirt with a demon like JK. Would that even work? Kind of hard if you don’t have any substance no?

“Seeing as how I don’t know him yet I can’t say.” You smirk.

“Oh the way he appeared like a dark horse out of that portal…it would make any sensible woman shiver in delight.” Evie giggled.

“Oh my god you are terrible. Explain to me why you literally ghosted me right then I thought I was going to die.”

“I can’t babysit you all the time my dear you have to grow up sometime and solve your own problems. I won’t be around forever I mean when I get bored I might just crossover then what will you do?”

“Psssh what ever you just wanted to be a creeper didn’t you?” You accused

“Well he was quite the sight I must say, perhaps I was just too focused on such a fine creature I forgot my purpose at the moment. I have been dead for some time you know but I still have wants and desires. I most certainly wouldn’t mind tangling up with a man like him anyway.”

You couldn’t help it you died laughing, ribs aching, abs burning & wiping tears from your eyes. Evie laughed to herself as well; collecting yourself you enjoyed her company as the sun set making her appearance more clear around her silhouette.

“Now be honest dear…this contract you are tied to. When does it begin when it comes to payment? It has been nearly two weeks already has it not since JK was here? Surely you will have to pay up soon.”

“I don’t know. It all happened so fast we didn’t set a schedule or really talk about how things were going to go. But he did say he would start off slow so maybe he’s just bidding his time so as to not frighten me? I don’t know.”

“Well speak of the devil! I don’t think you will have to worry about that very long.” Evie gasped.

Following her line of sight out to your garden you see a billow of smoke appear with a very sinful JK walking out of it with his hair slicked back, ears adorned in silver hoops, the piercings in his eyebrow and lip glinting in the remaining sunsetting light, honeyed skin glowing in the rays. He was dressed more modernly this time, a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows displaying more of his sleeve tattoo, black fitted jeans that greatly show cased his thick thighs and small waist. Completed with black leather shoes. Evie disappeared into thin air leaving you alone to deal with this demon on your own. Taking a sip of your tea for courage you get up to meet him halfway in the garden, a smile playing on his lips as you approach.

“Hello little witch.” He greets.

“JK. It’s been awhile. What brings you out tonight?” You ask cautiously.

“I have been a bit neglectful haven’t I. After our first meeting it took some…thinking to figure out the best way to approach our trade. More importantly I would like to know how you have been effected?”

“My magic? Beyond expectation…I have never felt this comfortable before. I have been practicing my magic with no issues and certainly better than I had anticipated. Is there something wrong?”

“Oh definitely not. I was directed by an elder that perhaps the trade is offset between us; I wanted to fix that but apparently you are effected just as much as I have been. Would you mind if we went inside?”

Nodding your agreement you lead him into your home; butterflies erupting in your stomach feeing his presence behind you. With your eyes flitting around your home you catalog everything that is left out or cluttered on the counter; thankful your home is presentable you offer if he would like a drink. Settling on a tumbler of whiskey for him and a glass of wine for you; you join him in your living room a decent distance away from him on the sofa. Taking in the vision before you; each movement is being memorized, the act of sipping his whiskey and releasing a content sigh does something to you. You can feel a tug of attraction; the pull of chemistry just being near him. Sipping your wine you try to clear your head. His dark eyes catch yours; there is a silent pause for a moment.

“The contract we made is a powerful one. Not something I have experienced before…which is saying something. Perhaps planning out the approach to begin our trade is in order. Do you agree?” His voice had a sultry edge to it which was making your mind foggy.

“How would you suggest we start?”

“Why not start by simply touching? See where it goes.”

Jk sets down his glass; taking yours from your hands to place next to his. Lightly grasping your wrist to draw you closer to him. Flush againt his side he releases your wrist to caress your cheek; you can’t help but lean into it, his skin warm and inviting. Leaning closer to you his lips tease at your ear.

“You like this feeling don’t you? Your trembling.”

Shivers roll down your spine, you can hear the smirk in his voice. He doesn’t back away as you expect instead he uses his hand on your cheek to trap your chin and tilt your head so he can have access to your neck. A light touch to just under your ear has goosebumps running along your skin, he kisses your neck delicately…following his own path down the column of your throat, to the junction of your neck and shoulder only to lightly nip you there. Your body cannot help but respond pressing further still against him, a gasp leaving your lips.

Jungkook is fighting a growing fire within; the pull to touch, devour, seduce & ruin you is building at an alarming rate. He had intended to be a bit more cautious; not a very easy thing for a demon his misceviousness got the better of him. The taste of your skin already had his senses reeling, your soft skin like silk in his hands and the moment you let a gasp escape your lips is when he lost control. Releasing your chin he leans forward only to grab your hips and pull you on to his lap where he could lock you in his arms against his chest.

“J-JK!” is all you could manage.

The devilish smirk on his face with his dark eyes had your core tensing; feeling him under you was magical in its own right. His thick powerful thighs supporting you like you were made of air; his heat radiating sturdy chest thumping under your fingertips. He was eager; that you could atleast gather. You should be surprised right? Sitting on the lap of a stranger? But where is that fear? Where is the uncomfortable feeling of being near this stranger? It wasn’t there if anything you felt the need to touch, the need to taste, the need to savor the being under your hands. Was this the appeal of an incubus? Thats right Incubi have powers of seduction or control over their phermones? Who cares that can a problem to solve later. Grabbing his shirt you unbutton it down to just above his jeans, your hands splay across his chest feeling the honey colored skin yourself, digging your nails in slightly as instinct tells you too, a rich deep groan radiates from his chest. Its addicting you need to hear it again. Locking eyes with him you watch as he holds your couch hostage; one hand still on your hip as you venture a hand up to his jaw, tracing it back until your fingers can lace into his hair and pull his head back. Seeing his throat bared; his eyes watching you in anticipation made you feel so powerful you could feel it in the air.

“Go on little witch.” Jk encourages.

Sure you wanted to get primal and bite his neck, the urge was pretty prevalent but instead you wanted to taste him. Sitting up on your knees you lean above him to bring his lips to yours…it was like falling into the abyss of the sun. Power surged through you both making all the light bulbs shatter in your home, a shock wave emanates from you sending furniture across the room. Your mind was out in the galaxy you were in such a euphoric state; Jk shook under your body, the one hand holding your couch shredding through the fabric, the hand on your hip in a death grip to keep himself grounded. Pulling back for air you can see he is struggling to regain his composure, chest heaving for breath, eyes heavily lidded, eyebrows pinched as he tries to focus on you.

“What was that?” You ask just as breathless.

“E-Euphoria.”

“Do you feel that everytime?” You question.

“No. That is…the first time.”

“Do you want to stop?” You ask concerned his features hadn’t relaxed yet.

“I just need a moment. That was unexpected…I’m trying to process it.”

“Then…touch me.”

Bringing one of his hands up to your cheek you lean into it watching him come down from his high. Which was good; it allowed him to ground himself…he didn’t know how to explain how he felt. The level of euphoria he consumed could feed him for decades; he could feel the magic in the air and as much as he hated how his body was reacting like this was his first meal, feeling you on his lap and touching his skin was torturous in the best way. He was really playing with fire; if he kept going surely he would go insane with an euphoria overdose…should he stop here? No there is more to explore.

“I’m fine…thank you.” He smiles boyishly.

“What happened there?”

“Lets just say I took on more than I could chew…figuratively.”

A playful smirk played on your lips; you could tell he wasn’t done the dangerous feeling seeping back into his voice, his body. It was exciting feeling his muscles move under you, stuck in his gaze like prey, troubling your lip as you waited for his next move. Only slightly roughly since you seemed to like it that way did Jk pull you against his chest, taking your lips with his and trapping you in a chaotic spiral of lust & need. Losing your grip on what was happening you did know you needed him, grinding against him to translate so. He growled through his chest, bucking his hips against yours making you mewl. Breaking from his grip only for a moment to catch your breath.

“Not here…room.” You vaguely motion passed the sofa.

Jungkook takes control of your legs around his waist; hoisting you up with little to no effort, walking through your house in search of your room, your nails digging into his back as his pheromones reak havoc on your senses. Finding your room he all but fell with you onto the bed caging you to the mattress.

“Last chance little witch…if we go on I cannot promise control. If we stop here I will respect your decision. What will it be?” Seriousness dripped from his voice that commanded your attention.

Focusing on him in a moment of clarity you give your consent with intention, this was what you wanted to do. Satisfied with your answer; Jk took pleasure in using his brute strength to rip the clothes away from your body like paper. The pure power only building the fire in your core that already threatened to become a whirlwind of primal lust any moment. Jk growled at your body before him served up on the bed just like he had imagined only better, your neediness making your body dance before him searching for release. His hunger to consume and ruin you returned in full force. A snap of his fingers and his clothes disappear before your eyes, leaving you in awe with the sight of his honeyed skin unrestricted down to the hardness you had felt while on his lap. A moan leaves your lips; he was not average at all you nearly worried if he would even fit inside you, yet the temptation to find out won that argument.

Falling on his knees; Jk crawls up your body until he reaches your core, grabbing your legs only to toss them over his shoulders, locking gazes with you as he sinks down to your core to swipe his tongue from your core to clit enjoying the squeal of want that soared out of your mouth. You had figured he would be skilled he is an incubus after all but even that didn’t prepare you for it. Languid swipes of his tongue teased, while his thumbs spread you open for him to devour. Sucking on your clit until you nearly lost your mind only to pull away and tease your core with his tongue that was suspiciously long. Your fingers had long ago tangled in his hair unsure weather to pull him closer or push him away, his groans only sent vibrations up your spine pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of orgasm. Your toes were curling before you could fathom the momentum of what was to come, screaming his name you came undone on his tongue and he seemed only too eager to devour it.

Feeling like you were floating on air you watch as Jk sits up wiping his lips with the back of his hand in triumph. You were no fool and could tell he was getting cocky. But who cares when you saw him swipe his fingers through your folds to collect some of your essence to use on his length as he gripped it, stroking it to prepare further for his main course. With butterflies rocketing in your stomach you got ready for what he would want; expecting him to have you move to a certain position or something you were surprised when he instead grabbed one leg to balance on his shoulder. Positioning your other leg to the side while he fit inbetween them.

“Now that I have you tight as hell lets go.” He smirks.

He lines up and sinks into you; the stretch around his girth nearly painful but it felt so good, you could feel the ridge around his head sink farther and farther inside you as his length thickened further once you reached the base. He was so far up against your cervix you were surprised he didn’t sink into that too if there was room. The growl that fell from his lips as he bottomed out made you clench so hard on him it neary knocked the breath out of him. Unable to stay still you play with your breasts to get some kind of stimulation going.

“JK…Move” you plead.

That seemed to motivate the demon; he pulls back his hips and snaps them against you impaling you on his length in the most delicious sense. The feeling of him ramming against the confines of your core had you seeing stars, calling his name and babbling nonsense. You just wanted more and then some using your free leg to push his ass to go deeper, harder until you were starting to see white bursts. Jk was on a high he had never felt before; the power of your walls squeezing down on him making him nearly explode he wanted to feel that with you…feel you fall apart on his dick, screaming his name, he wanted to fill you up to the brim just destroy you on the inside marking you as his. He wanted it so badly he immediately used his thumb to rub your clit in cirlcles enticing a delicious scream of his name from you, pumping into you harder and faster until he could feel your walls start to twitch and your body shudder as you got closer. He lost it when he saw your back bow off the mattress crushing him with your walls a groan of your name falling from his lips as a tidal wave of euphoria crashed over him drowning him in darkness. Who knows how long he was there time was meaningless in this abyss of euphoria, it was only when the soft thumping heartbeat caught his attention did he return to reality.

Opening his eyes he was laying on your chest confused on how he got there. Trying to move; his limbs felt numb. Never had he felt like this, it was concerning yet you seemed fine and didn’t mind his weight atop you. Your fingers were combing through his hair, it felt nice, comforting even so he continued to lay there until feeling would return to his limbs.

“What happened?” He croaks.

“You blacked out.” a slight chuckle mixes in with your statement.

“Well that’s not very impressive for a demon.” He groans.

You laugh lightly as you adjust the pillow better under your head. Amused at a demon being embarrassed from passing out from an orgasm…an orgasm you gave him by the way. You were expecting to feel awkward after sleeping with this demon yet you were comfortable in your skin, perhaps it was from his pheromones still in your system. Feeling his weight on you felt calming and comfortable. Jk finally regained enough feeling in his body to roll off yours on to his back to stare at the ceiling fan which was giving off a slight breeze.

“I think I almost died.” Jk deadpans.

“What?” You burst in laughter.

“The overload of euphoria…I was so lost in my headspace that I was sure I was going to go insane.” He confesses.

“Is that possible?” You grow concerned.

“In humans yes absolutely. In demons? Theoretically its possible. I have never been that far before to find out. But it was worth it…im stuffed.” Jk explains rubbing his stomach.

Again you laugh; shaking your head you roll to the edge of the bed and with wobbly legs that made you feel like bambi you venture to your bathroom to clean up. Stepping under the hot water to wash away your activities you relaxed into the stream. Once you were starting to shampoo did you feel his warm body behind you; the touch of a loofah caressing your skin washing away the filth yet stirring up another fire inside you. The strong chest that pressed against your back as he helped to clean your body from head to toe. Nipping the shell of your ear you feel Jk push you forward against the shower wall.

“I need dessert.” He demands.

Using his foot to widen your stance he pulls your hips back to him only so he could line up and push up into you again. The friction making both of you hiss; his approach this time was softer, slower but just as deep as before. Building the fire between you both slowly until you were clawing at the tile on the wall asking, begging for release. The pleading in your voice the last straw needed for Jk to ram into you harshly running toward that edge to fall over in euphoria again. You can feel the coil within you getting tighter and tighter until you scream.

“There! Right there! JUNGKOOOK!”

All Jk could do was release a roar that rumbled the walls around you as he came undone. Spent yet again he leans against the wall with you ragged breath passing by you ear. The cool tile the only thing keeping you grounded as you come down from your high.

“You are going to be the death of me,” Jk confesses.

#incubsjk #masterlist

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dane-ffxiv · 2 years

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Prompt #30: Sojourn

(note: contains spoilers from 6.0: Endwalker MSQ)

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Days after the battle that took place among the stars, Dane's body still ached. Cuts and bruises on the surface only began to fade, but she still struggled to stay upright at times. All because that man had to find her at the edge of the universe. For once, she let her ego get in the way and fought him to the death. At least he felt content with the outcome as he slipped away. It only left Dane with heavy guilt.

She stood on the deck of the airship, clinging to the railing to keep herself upright. Peace was upon them, but still she thought of those final moments. The aches of her injuries only reminded her more.

"Everythin' alrigh'?"

Joseni stood at her side, grabbing her waist to lean into him. She looked up at him with a nod, but couldn't bring herself to smile.

"...Tired. Tying up loose ends in Mor Dhona took longer than expected. I'm sure you felt the same, especially since you had to wait around for me."

"Nah, doesn' bother m'. Never has." He said with a smile, focusing his gaze on her hair flowing in the wind. He couldn't help but reach for a strand to place it behind her horn.

"Pfff, I'm glad. But now you have me all to yourself. Speaking of, am I allowed to know where we're headed?"

"Nope. I's jus' somewhere far away where we can b' alone fer a while. A long while. Enough t' convince y' t' get bonded."

She looked down at the ring on her left hand. A promise they had both made to one another, and hers weighed heavier. He was eager, but she had a condition– returning to this star after saving it. She wanted to be his wife forever or not at all. Having the ceremony with uncertainty wouldn't bring happiness to either of them.

"...You don't have to convince me. I already gave you my answer." She wrapped her arms around his neck, offering a weak smile through the pain. But it was still a genuine one.

"Alrigh', lass. Can't take i' back now. But le's wait until yer all better. I don't wan' t' see y' wobblin' down the aisle in pain." She started to laugh, cut off by a groan. That damned pain in her ribs crept up on her. But it only made his comment funnier.

"...Deal."

#ffxivwrite2022

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theladyismyshepard · 3 years

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Oh wow you guys, almost 600 followers? I am confusion, but I appreciate all of you more than you’ll ever know! You guys are what keeps me inspired and going and to show my gratitude, I’m here to (hopefully) give you everything you’ve all been asking for

Well This is Still Awkward

Part 1

You were still frozen to your seat, unable to comprehend, much less control your legs. Denial was a son of a bitch and surely if you sat completely still and stared blankly into nothing, your girlfriends would come walking through and embrace you as if nothing happened... right?

You couldn’t hide away in denial forever, not when you could hear Daniela wailing from behind the thick door of Alcina’s office. Not when you could hear Cassandra’s voice raising, only to be silenced by an even louder one. Not when you could hear Bela pleading with her mother not to do this... they were losing the argument. You couldn’t help but to start trembling in your chair at the prospect of being stolen.

Lady Dimitrescu had said that she would return to fill you in on what was to happen now and that almost sounded like a threat to you despite her assurances that no harm would befall you. If this woman could hurt her daughters like this... How could she possibly care what you had thought or felt about the issue? You swallowed, unsure if you were up to every demand the Lady might have for you, and you had the distinct feeling that any objections from you would only make your life harder.

The door to her study opened with a groan, and you stiffened when the Lady herself ducked through the doorway, already finished with dealing with her daughters. You practically felt like a deer caught in the headlights when she straightened and her gaze settled on you, and the fond smile did nothing to calm your racing heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to look at your chest as a result, and you gulped as you watched them darken.

“I am terribly sorry if I kept you waiting for too long, my dear.” said the Lady, and if you looked closer, you could see the exhaustion that showed just how truly tiresome her daughters’ arguments had been.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue yet again, but something flickered across her eyes that had common sense screaming at you to snap it closed and ignore the way your teeth clacked together. The satisfied smile on her face showed she approved of your quick learning, and you couldn’t help but to frown, already understanding the difference in your relationship with the Lady and the relationship you had with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. She didn’t bother returning to her desk, instead choosing to tower over your seated form.

“Are you hungry, dear?” asked the Lady, her eyes surprisingly kind as she looked down on you, and that was worse... it had you diverting your gaze.

“Cassandra fed me,” You replied almost petulantly, and if she caught your attitude, she chose to ignore it.

“Oh that is even better, that means we can get straight to it,” said the Lady, unaffected by your tone. “Follow me, please.”

“Yes, my Lady,” You said monotonously, denial and bargaining giving way to just straight numbness.

You moved to stand, your head already ducked down, but a hand was quick to grab your shoulder. It wasn’t a violent grip, but the firmness of it told you to hold still and give your attention, and when you did, you could see the pinch between her brow as she frowned at you.

“Please, call me Alcina,” she insisted rather earnestly, and it had some sort of tension resolving inside of you. “You may call me so anytime you choose.”

“Thank you, Alcina,” You said, her name drawling off your tongue for the second time as you were quick to remember your manners.

“Now,” said Alcina, clapping her hands in what you could call a “chop chop” fashion. “Shall we continue with the day?”

“Yes, Alcina,” You nodded, and her smile brightened and it had your rigid shoulders marginally relaxing.

“Right this way then, dear,” guided Alcina, her hand returning to your shoulder, but gentler this time as she ushered you forward and out of the office.

As you passed through the threshold, the paralyzing thought struck you that you would run into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela at some point, and you honestly couldn’t decide if you wanted it to happen sooner or later. Everything had happened so fast it was hard to believe that just that morning, you were waking up with Daniela pressed against your body. Less than an hour ago, you were eating and throwing playful banter at Cassandra before she was going to take you into town! Why did this feel like goodbye?

You felt your breath hitch as apprehension gnawed in between your rib cage, leaving you breathless and unable to focus on reality around you let alone formulate words. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were having a heart attack. But the way your stomach felt too large to be contained in your small frame and the way dots littered your vision, and the way you needed to get the hell out of here, you knew you were possibly headed towards a full blown panic attack.

“Where are we going?” You could barely hear yourself you were diving so far into your own head.

There must have been a tremble in your voice, or maybe it was the way it sounded so disconnected from you, but Alcina turned her concerned gaze on you and the hand on your shoulder cupped your cheek. You two had come to a stop right in the middle of the hallway, and you still felt too exposed. While you ached for your girlfriends, you couldn’t possibly look at them as you gave into their mother’s whim.

“I am just taking you to my quarters, do you think you can make it there?” pressed Alcina, watching you like a hawk, and you swallowed and nodded quickly, determined to shake off the panic that was intricately weaving itself inside of your chest, captivating every inch.

“Lead the way,” You said, giving a nervous laugh to mask the fact that your organs were so seized with anxiety that it had you nauseous.

“Are you alright?” Alcina couldn’t help but to question, and you nodded (her hand slipping from your cheek) giving her a rather halfhearted smile.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, just ready to hear my duties,” You insisted almost desperately, unwilling to speak lest tears fill your eyes at the mere mention of the root of your problem.

And yet again her brows furrowed as concern shone in her eyes as well as a little exasperation. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear that she was on the verge of pouting, but she refrained as she brought her hand to your shoulder. You refused to acknowledge the way your muscles relaxed underneath the small, deliberate circles she began drawing there. Instead, you focused on the crick that was about to form in your neck if you were to continue staring up.

“I would hope that with time, you don’t see this as a duty.” implored Alcina, and all you could do was finally turn away to look at your feet, but you gave a single nod. “I meant it when I said I see something special in you.”

There it was again, an insinuation of something special... It was beyond you what she had meant by it, but you found whatever “it” was to be a nuisance seeing as it got you into this mess. You weren’t even sure what your new relationship with the Lady was exactly, so you supposed it would be in your favor to just smile and nod along rather than argue. It certainly didn’t do her own daughters any good. But there was just one question that refused to be held back behind your teeth. So you craned your neck one more time and let it free.

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Rather than look offended or angered by your question, Alcina adopted a thoughtful expression as she dove deep into her own head to pick the right answer. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously and you couldn’t help but to be thrown by how human it had made her look. Her eyes met yours and you found that you couldn’t take the intensity behind them.

“I want you to love me,” Alcina whispered oh so courageously, and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let your head hang.

I already love three Dimitrescus.

You were smart enough to keep that to yourself, and you turned towards the direction of her room, showing your willingness to comply still, and while it wasn’t quite a display of affection or approval of her words, it wasn’t the outright rejection that swelled and expanded in your chest, ready to burst forth, but too afraid to take shape. So you decided to continue on day by day, step by step, minute by minute. Who knew how things were to play out.

You took a single step forward before turning back over your shoulder to give Alcina a look as if to say “Are you coming?”, and you felt warm when she wore a fond smile in return, directed solely at you. She straightened her posture, determined to put the moment behind you as she continued on as if she didn’t just say what she said, and you were all too willing to let her.

Her hand was glued to your shoulder the entire rest of the way to her bedroom, and only dropped it to open up the door and guide you through before ducking low to allow herself entrance. It was warm, the hearth in full blaze as you stepped deeper into her room. The door closed behind Alcina with a small click, and it had the knots of anxiety returning to your gut. You knew she claimed to have wanted your heart, but that also entailed your body, and it had your frame wracked with tremors.

“Please, you may take a seat,” insisted Alcina, and you automatically plopped down into the large chair with your back facing the fireplace.

“Yes, my-”

Alcina clicked her tongue, and you quickly bit yours, catching your reflexive mistake. Your face burned.

“I did not mean it as a demand, and from this moment forward, nothing is meant as such unless I say otherwise.” said Alcina, taking a seat in the chair opposite of you.

“Then what are my duties?” You questioned, your brow furrowing at having it that easy. “Surely there is more that I am meant to do for you around here.”

“There is nothing that I necessarily need from you as far as house duties are concerned seeing as I have maids for that purpose.” said Alcina, pursing her lips, and a streak of boldness had you daring.

“Then what makes me yours?”

The way her eyes flashed dangerously had you paralyzed in your seat, and it didn’t help when she slowly raised herself up from her own chair, and without even taking a step forward, she bent over, both of her hands landing on either side of you, gripping tightly at the arms of the chair. She was so close that you could smell the overwhelming scent of smoke coupled with the hint of perfume that attempted to make itself known. At that proximity, you could see every line on her face, from the ones surrounding her smirk, to the ones crinkling at the edges of her eyes... and that didn’t even include the stretch marks that threatened to disappear below the plunging neckline of her dress.

“That would be this, darling.” drawled Alcina, and before you could protest, her face was buried into the crook of your neck.

And then she bit down hard. It was so piercing that it drew enough blood to dribble down your throat, but it was obvious that you didn’t have to concern yourself with the cleanup, not when there was a wet tongue that went hand in hand with the teeth buried into your flesh. Your eyes hurt from how wide they had grown, and your mouth was open in a silent scream. One of her hands had come up to grasp the whole opposite side of your neck, locking in you and any sound you thought to make. Your hands flew up to push at Alcina’s shoulders, yet she didn’t budge, too focused on her mission... of what? Marking you? Showing how interested she was in power play? Was this possibly even for her daughters?

You eventually gave up on your weak attempts at deflecting her, and your hands fell limply into your lap, and she hummed her approval into your neck before she withdrew enough to flatten her tongue against your neck and giving a single long, slow lick, and she granted you the sight of her leaning back and savoring the taste of your blood on her mouth. You felt dizzy.

“My, my,” whispered Alcina, going as far as to lick her lips clean. “You are the delicacy that I always imagined you to be.”

How long have you thought about this?

You didn’t have to look into a mirror to know that your throat was bruised. From the dull throbbing, you practically felt marked. And there was Alcina’s endgame it seemed, and it left you with a sickness in your stomach as you thought of the looks that would surely cross Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes when they caught sight of the claim. You were betraying them, and right before their faces with their own mother no less! How could you possibly get yourself out of this family affair?

“Did you have any more questions?” drawled Alcina, finally sitting back into her own chair, and her smirk was setting you on edge. “I am always happy to answer appropriately.”

I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the patience.

You simply smiled albeit tightly, and asked, “What happens now?”

She was leaned all the way back into her chair, her elbows resting on the arms before she was hooking her fingers together, her index fingers gently tapping almost thoughtfully. Her eyes remained on you, they always did, and they almost always seemed predatory, like she was several steps ahead of you and you didn’t even realize it. What possibly had you so different that you were capable of captivating an entire family of cannibalistic women? Finally, her mouth opened to speak.

“You are by all means, mine, and the only demand that I have for you is that you know this fact.” said Alcina, and you knew to take her very seriously.

“I can assure you, that is something I can’t forget.” You promised almost sarcastically, but you knew to tame the sharpness of your tongue, lest it get you into trouble. “But what do you want me to physically do for you?”

The sudden touch of wickedness to her grin had you blanching at the way her mind went with it, and it was you who threw it out there no less. The ache was returning to your stomach, and you sincerely hoped that your face wasn’t expressing everything your mouth was wanting to. If she was picking up on your hesitance, then she made no indication of it other than smoothing out her smirk and lifting her chin.

“There will be time for physicality later, my dear,” she swore, and you shivered beneath her gaze. “But for now, I want to know everything about you.”

“You want to... talk? About me?” You were suddenly full to the brim and bubbling over with questions it seemed.

Alcina’s eyes softened as she detected the incredulity in your tone at the mere thought of having a full blown discussion surrounding you of all things. If she picked it apart any deeper, she’d sense the insecurity underlining your voice as well, but that was for a different time you supposed. You weren’t even sure if you could string together a conversation long enough to last more than a couple minutes if it consisted of nothing but yourself. The Dimitrescus were the ones with insinuations of something “special” or something “more”, not you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think so.

“Yes,” started Alcina softly, her lips barely moving. “I want you to share what makes you... well, you,”

“What if there’s nothing to say?” You finally choked out, your brow pinching with worry. “What if you all find out that I’m not really as interesting as you think.”

With how quick you hung your head to hide your eyes, you missed her frown in response. But you did manage to catch her hand reaching to curl around your own, and you decided to relish in the surprising comfort it gave you rather than fight it. But once a hint of the thought flickered across your mind, it wasn’t long before you were comparing the way her hand enveloped yours rather than linking and fitting like a puzzle piece that was meant to be connected.

Like Bela’s.

Like Cassandra’s.

Like Daniela’s.

Your eyes squeezed tightly shut, but just as a single tear betrayed you by spilling from your eyelid and dripping down your cheek, the hand not holding yours cupped your chin and tilted your head up until all of your emotion was on display for her.

“You could never bore me, if that is what you are afraid of,” assured Alcina, looking you squarely in the eye to convey as much meaning as she could, and you couldn’t help the warmth flooding your chest.

“Well, this place has been such a big part of me that I can hardly remember who I used to be before.” You said rather meekly, ashamed that you couldn’t separate yourself from anything Dimitrescu anymore.

“Oh, my love, we have all the time in the world to help you remember.” Alcina cooed, now cupping both of your cheeks and you could’ve sworn you saw a glint of affection swirling in her eyes.

If your lower lip trembled, she made no comment of it as her eyes flickered to your mouth before glancing to the side and pulling away altogether. Her back was straightened once again and her hands were in her lap as she regarded you with a look you couldn’t decipher. Your only option was to sit and wait until she gave you some insight into what was playing through her mind. Fortunately, it didn’t take all evening.

“You miss my daughters.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement of fact that she couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Very much so,” you pressed almost desperately, and you couldn’t understand the ache surrounding your heart when her shoulders slumped. “I was very happy with the three of them.”

“They are endearing girls, I love them equally for all of their charming behaviors.” Alcina agreed, and the smile that curled the corners of her mouth so easily had you knowing that her admittance wasn’t even begrudging. “I can see why you fell for the three of them.”

You could hear the drawl on the one word and knew exactly for what she was getting at, and you blushed a deep scarlet. Maybe it did seem weird from the outside looking in, but the relationship you had with her daughters gave you a relief that was astronomical. You had never known peace nor acceptance as you did basking in their light, and you were afraid it was flickering out.

“I love them,” You forced out, voice tight enough to get stuck in your throat. The mark pulsed when you swallowed.

You knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to say, and you couldn’t afford to pick apart and figure out the way your heart seized once hurt clouded her expression because of you. Instead, you chose to focus on how hurt her daughters had been, weeping in the hall for your relationship. You needed to see them.

“As they love you, I have been informed,” muttered Alcina, almost petulantly as she recalled her previous argument with her daughters. “They were capable of seeing something more to you than the other livestock that supports our winery as well.”

Everything about the Dimitrescus puzzled you, and it always left you scratching your head when you attempted to figure out what was so captivating about you, when it was clearly every single one of them that were so special. The power hidden beneath their skin and coursing through their veins was something to behold, and when they transformed into hoards of insects before you, you couldn’t resist catching onto the few not quick enough to get away, and the exceptional part was that you could distinguish who the insect was a part of.

You knew everything about Bela and how weighed down her shoulders were from taking on the world for her family. You understood Cassandra and her unwillingness to admit that she required a special kind of attention that she secretly felt neglected of. You basked in and guarded the comfort that came with Daniela’s almost childlike naivety. Your love for every one of them was obvious.

“In the end, someone is going to get hurt,” You deduced, pointing out the obvious. No matter how the story ended, love was going to hurt one, if not all of the Dimitrescus.

“If you are to take just one thing from this, do know that life is always here to test us if nothing else.” Alcina noted dryly as she reached for something on her side table before she hoisted herself from her chair.

She was putting some distance between the two of you and it was something you were grateful for. The clicking of her heels indicated where she was headed to, and you were aware of her presence with sense of sound alone. You didn’t have to glance over to know that she was hovering in front of the fireplace, her glassy eyes barely absorbing the dancing flames. The sharp, distinct clink of her lighter flicking open caught your attention before it snapped close with a clunk, and you sat rigidly in your seat, hands clasped tightly in your lap as Alcina audibly exhaled a puff of smoke. You waited patiently, but her following silence pushed you to wrack your brain for what you thought she might be waiting to hear.

“Does heartbreak feel worse when you have forever to hurt?” You whispered, wanting insight into Alcina, but also extremely timid to take the one step that was too far.

You finally craned your neck to glance over your shoulder and towards the hearth where she stood. The muscles in her back were so rigid they were stuck in knots that you could practically see from where you sat. Smoke billowed in the air before Alcina with every exhale, and that was the only sign that she was breathing at all, and you couldn’t help the guilt that began gnawing on the bones in your chest. You came into the castle and wrecked the family from within, and all you had to do was be yourself. You were getting so wrapped up in your own mind that you had to quickly zero back in on Alcina’s response before it missed you entirely.

“Forever is a long time to dwell, and contrary to belief, time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.” sighed Alcina, her shoulders finally slumping forward beneath the weight she was carrying. “No matter how hard you push heartache to the back of your mind...”

“You have all the time in the world to circle back to it,” You finished for her, your eyes falling to the floor as you felt too unworthy to even glance in her direction. “I’m so-”

“There is nothing that your consolation nor your pity can do for me.” Alcina spat, and your teeth snapped shut with an audible clack as you bit back anything else that you thought to say. “Actions have always spoke louder than words, my dear, now what have you got to show me.”

You know what she’s wanting from you, she’s already said it, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced, no matter if death was the only other option. As Alcina had basically just said, you could play the part of her lovesick puppy with words of false promise all day, but when the night fell along with your reservations, it wouldn’t be love that laced your touch. However, that didn’t stop your heart from yearning for this woman’s happiness. She deserved to feel the wholehearted acceptance of pure love, but was that really your job to take care of?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You promised, your brows creasing with concern as you tried to convey how earnest you were with your eyes alone.

And how funny the situation was now, how the tables have turned... Now, here you sat with the ability to destroy the nearly invincible woman before you, and you could do it with mere words alone in a way that a sword, gun, or dagger never could. You felt sick at the power, and what were you to do? Alcina had made it perfectly clear to you as well as her daughters where she stood on stealing you away — your hand subconsciously rubbed the mark on your throat — but here you were to watch the aftermath as time helped realization to dawn on her. The extent of her feelings were true and legitimate, but she also showed a callousness that cut her daughters deep, and you think she was questioning if it was all worth it. Your mind drifted back to something she had said.

Time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.

It would hurt Alcina to live the rest of your lifetime watching you spend it happily with her daughters, just as much as it would hurt Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to lose you to their mother. It was hard to wrap your mind around; it was nearly laughable it was that ridiculous, but it was your life now, and it didn’t exactly feel like it was in your hands.

“Then don’t,” said Alcina, and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was an order or if it was a plea, but it added the pressure all the same.

“Will you ever let me see them again?” You asked, almost legitimately afraid that she would hide you away from her daughters forever.

“You would still be in the castle, would you not?” countered Alcina, arching a brow as she gracefully returned to her seat, placing her tobacco pipe back onto the side table.

“What do I do?”

When Bela cries to me... When Cassandra persuades me... When Daniela begs me... When I want to give in...

“You listen to me,” said Alcina simply, emphasizing her nonchalance with a shrug. “When you feel like it’s all becoming too much, just listen to me when I say I love you.”

But does love give you possession?

Alcina was walking the fine line between love and obsession, and it was all you could do to keep her swayed from the “obsession” side of the scale. You found that you only liked it when Daniela showed her obsession over you, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to juggle two sanity-impaired Dimitrescus. Daniela.

You cleared your throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the lump that formed there, and you briefly wondered if it was your entire argument that was stuck, choking you and itself down. Alcina had an answer for every one of your questions, and while it was a bit irksome, you also felt the fight leaving your body and leaving you slumped. Reality was finally sinking in that you weren't going to be able to talk your way out of the situation now, and you cursed the false hope that had bloomed in your chest. Now it was just prickling your lungs like thorns and it was difficult to breathe past.

"I wish you were happy... with me." Alcina faltered, sighing heavily, and the sound alone was like a punch to the gut. "And I think you could be with time."

But I want to be happy now. And I was.

"Where are your daughters?" You croaked, emotion finally getting the best of you, and if you were cracked anymore, you were surely to break into pieces.

"Wherever they want to be," Alcina answered rather aloofly, and while your brain was aware enough to detect the icy tone underlying, you also found that you were shutting down and not caring about actions and consequences.

"I need to see them, right now," You pleaded, and something told you to protest against her already opening mouth. "Please!"

The desperation came off of you in waves, and maybe it did smell kind of pathetic, but sometimes happiness comes from saying, "fuck it", and from the widening of Alcina's eyes, you could deduce that no mere mortal has had the courage to say it before you. And you almost wished to take it right back, to eat up the words and keep them as your burden when the hurt was so evident and clear in the Lady's eyes at your urgent demeanor. What cut you even deeper was when you caught the exact moment the pain masked itself with anger, and you suddenly understood her that much more.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to give, you've seen as much when she interacted with her daughters. She would give the moon and wouldn't hesitate to give the stars as well if that wasn't enough. She gave her time and her patience to the Dimitrescu winery that supported the castle and their status, and you knew it wasn't for her benefit alone. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela had become Alcina's drive, and it was possible that she had grown exhausted of giving up everything she had to them once it came to giving up her heart.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to take as well. She took opportunities for what they were, and she was crafty at taking what she wanted, but she also unfortunately took a lot of shit. She accepted it with a tight smile from Mother Miranda and every time, the smile felt too wrong to be marring her face. She took the "family" dynamic between the four houses with a grain of salt, though that wasn't to say she was above petulance when she was hidden alone in her bedroom with her notebook. All in all, she was a woman of give and take, and somehow, you had wiggled your way like a parasite through her hard exterior, and she was now a woman allowing herself to put her own happiness first. You could respect that in itself. But now you’re ruining it.

“They really are very special girls,” repeated Alcina, her fingers tapping orderly on the arm of her chair as her eyes narrowed. “I understand how hard it must be to stop loving them.”

“And I won’t!” You clapped back without too much thought to the volume of your voice. “We had plans today! And tomorrow! And after that! This hurts me!”

Alcina’s face was stoic as she refused to emotionally acknowledge your words. She was eyeing you like she was questioning what her next approach should be, and she wasn’t willing to share until she had the upper hand. But you also suspected that she needed time to compose herself once more before she could try to reply. Alcina was more complex than some could fathom or even handle, and you almost wished she had gotten to you first, but you couldn’t deny that your heart was pulling in three different directions already and you loved it. But you also couldn’t deny the impulsive urge to hold and comfort the woman before you who was breaking silently inside.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!” You exclaimed louder than you’ve ever been, all energy gone, released into a single sob.

Your shoulders slumped and your head hung as tears filled your eyes before spilling over down your cheeks. The weight was finally overwhelming, and you were crumbling beneath the pressure pushing you down. There was no thought to anything aside from Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and Alcina crying for you and lost love, and it left your chest so achey that it scared you. Was there really a gaping hole there or did it just feel that way? You were drowning in your own sorrows so much that you didn’t notice three different insects squeezing beneath the crack under the door, nor did you notice Alcina place a comforting hand on your knee. Only when you felt small legs crawling in your palm, up your neck (over Alcina’s mark) and into your hair did you reflexively jerk.

You knew not to swat at them however from experience with their insects, and you were able to discern that Bela was sending you comfort in your palm as she did when she held your hand. The insect on your neck was Cassandra and you knew that because she always buried her face into your neck when either of you needed comfort. Daniela was nestled in your hair seeing as she always loved running her fingers through it. Each offered their love in their own ways, and that’s what you loved about your relationship with all of them.

“Their care and protective instincts over you is astounding,” mused Alcina, watching the three insects latching onto you. “They have never... loved anyone this way.”

You smiled warmly down at Bela sitting still in your hand before you allowed yourself to hear the melancholy in Alcina’s voice and glance into her eyes. She looked absolutely pained, and your heart broke that you put that expression there. The walls she surrounded herself with only allowed her to grow attached to her daughters, and you want to throw up at the thought that she fell for you and you threw it right back in her face. You were so unworthy to even be in her castle let alone her presence.

“Neither have you,” you whispered, too drained to speak any louder now, but also afraid that if you did, the statement would be even more loaded than it was.

“And what to do about that, hm?” countered Alcina, putting the ball back into your court, and finding enjoyment in the way you squirmed.

Cassandra’s insect bit into your neck, just over the bite mark that was already there. She would always enjoy showing her dominance over you, and you were sure she had something to prove to her mother at the moment. Of all the sisters, Cassandra would be the most stubborn one to crack, so you didn’t know why you expected her to grant you to her mother so easily. Your fingers twitched as you held back the urge to scratch the little insect away from your flesh.

And Bela was there, circling your fingers in an attempt at possible affection. She was the sister you went to when you needed comfort and good old fashioned sympathy. She seemed like she always understood your pain, and she was good with words of love and consolation. The way her hand squeezes yours to convey her support had you missing it when it was gone.

And naturally Daniela refused to be pushed to the side and she was back to running through your hair, tickling your scalp, and while it was less enjoyable in her insect form, it was Daniela, and you would never refuse anything she asked of you. And most of the time, all she wanted was to be enveloped in all things you. So really, who were you to deny the both of you the comfort she was trying to give with making her presence known to you.

You couldn’t imagine your life without the dynamic you and the sisters had gotten comfortable with. There was plenty of trial and error to get to the security of where you were, but you wouldn’t have changed anything about it... just like you were having trouble letting it change now. So what were you doing entertaining Alcina? Better yet, what were you going to do now that you had her hooked?

“You deserve someone who loves you fully and completely... You don’t deserve to always be paranoid about your lover pining over your daughters.” You said gently, your eyes thoroughly sorry and pleading. “I don’t think I can love you the way that I want to see you be loved, not with Bela, Cass, and Dani always being there to think about.”

Something in Alcina’s eyes flickered when you spoke, and while you were deathly afraid of what her response would be, it didn’t prepare you for when she suddenly moved, quick as a flash, and one of her hands were on your shoulder and the other was tangling in your hair. You were too startled to recognize that her fingers brushed Daniela’s insect from your hair. A gasp barely had time to escape your lips before Alcina was capturing it with her own. Your eyes widened as you felt the force behind the kiss, the desperation, the love, but you also felt the fear locked within that she refused to let out, lest she come across as weak, but here it was, everything presented to you, and you had to close your eyes from your mind in a whirlwind. From the mixture of hard pressure and soft lips, it had you frozen with her hands on you, not accepting but not pushing away; entirely unsure.

Alcina’s door slammed open and while your nerves screamed at you to jump away from sensory overload, her grip tightened around you to keep you in place long enough for the new occupants of the room to get a clear view. And the familiar growl, gasp, and cry had you ill as you were finally released far enough to turn away and look into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes. Cassandra looked angry, but you could see the pain she was trying to mask. Bela looked betrayed and a little sick, and was unwilling to look at her mother, her eyes unswayed from you. Daniela had tears in her eyes as she looked between you and her mother, her eyes darting to your mouth, and then her chin wobbled when she saw her mother’s lipstick smeared across your lips. You opened your mouth, and after a moment of opening and closing it like a floundering fish and still failing to come up with anything appropriate to say to ease the tension, you sighed, eyes shut tightly as you refused to even look at the problems happening before you.

“Well... this is awkward,”

——

I’ll decide to end it there because I love to torture. I think I might be inspired to slowly add more to this over time

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8

253 notes · View notes

emilythefern · 3 years

Text

Dear Neil.

A collection of notes to Neil, From Todd.

Dear Neil,

The more I think about us, the more I understand. I guess that’s the way young love is, you don’t know what you had until you realise too late that it was something special.

Dear Neil,

Sometimes I wonder what it had would have been like if that night went differently. If your father truly hadn’t been able to make it to the Henley Hall production.

Dear Neil,

I wonder if you’d like the man I’ve become. I hope you would. But I guess I’ll never really know the answer to that question, because you died before your life could even start. I’ve learnt how to say that now, by the way. Took a decade but I can verbalise it now, can accept that you’re gone.

Dear Neil,

Maybe not fully though. Because if I had accepted it fully, would I still write letters to a dead man? Probably a question for my psychiatrist.

Dear Neil,

I read the most wonderful book the other day. I made a mental note to tell you about it, then realised. Yeah. I guess I’m not over it.

Dear Neil,

I miss you. I miss you so much my ribs ache. The regret of all the things I didn’t say is infecting me like mould. Sometimes I can’t catch my breath and it’s like I’m dead too. If I was dead I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain. But that’s not what you would have wanted.

Dear Neil,

Even though you’ve been gone for so long, it still feels like I will never love another. Am I broken, Neil? Did you take a peice of my heart with you to the grave?

Dear Neil,

I quit my job teaching at the school Neil. I’m still not quite sure why I did, but it was all so much. I don’t regret it, but I feel like someone else made the desicion.

Dear Neil,

I thought I saw you at the bus stop Neil. I saw you and it was you but then it wasn’t. Am I going crazy?

Dear Neil,

It’s been a while since I wrote to you. I don’t know why I chose now. Was it to give you closure? Or to tell myself I was giving you closure? Things have been good. I still think about you a lot. But I can live with the pain. I think I’ll miss you forever. But I don’t think you’ll haunt my dreams like a vicious spirit, or haunt my thoughts. I’ll miss you, but in a way that warms my bones instead of chilling them.

It’s a pain I’ll die with, but it won’t kill me.

-Truly Yours, forever,

Todd Anderson

tags: @exilesblack @make-ur-lives-extraordinary @deadpoetsbythelakes @inahallucination @aaronhoetchner

#dead poets society #anderperry #neil perry #todd anderson #dead poets #neil and todd #todd and neil #dps fanfiction

66 notes · View notes

soft--dragon · 3 years

Text

Tree House Bros

Based on the headcannons some lovely people on discord and I discussed at an ungodly hour and I wanted to write something because the ideas we thought of were too adorable not to :D Jam and Anakin, this one’s for you guys ✊✊✊ Let’s goooooooo

Word Count: 1,964

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Charlie wouldn't be ashamed to admit that he has grown closer to Tommy. The boy was the human embodiment of sunshine, putting up a facade of brashness but really being soft underneath. He loved physical affection from his friends, something Charlie had been ecstatic about finding out. Hugs, hair ruffles, cuddles, Tommy was always willing to accept them. Charlie also discovered that praise would make the boy glow happily, so he took it upon himself to make sure he complimented the boy whenever he interacted with him.

Charlie once proudly swept the boy up in a bear hug, yelling "LOOK AT THIS CHILD! THIS CHILD IS AMAZING!" All the while Tommy was flushed red but laughing at Charlie's loud claims.

Charlie adored the teenager he'd managed to get so close to lately, to the point where he considered him his little brother. He'd been careful not to outright say that however. Wilbur always got scarily overprotective of Tommy whenever someone dropped the sibling bomb. His was more terrifying than Techno when he was in 'Big Bro Wilbs' mode.

Still, Charlie thought of himself as Tommy's brother figure, alongside the multiple other people Tommy had cluelessly managed to adopt as siblings. And being a brother figure means there are certain rules and requirements you need to meet.

One of which is knowing how to deal with a sad Tommyinnit.

Charlie had started developing what he liked to call a 'Tommy Is Sad' radar and found the boy crying underneath a tree. He'd done what any good brother would and pulled him into a hug, comforted him, then helped him fix the issue that was causing him to be upset. Once that had been cleared up, Charlie had looked at the tree they were sitting under and decided right then and there that this would be the spot for them.

The look on Tommy's face when Charlie revealed the tree house sitting in the oak tree branches would be a forever treasured memory. He'd hugged Charlie tightly, on the brink of tears that he quickly reassured the older they were purely from joy. The treehouse became their official meet up area. Anytime they needed each other for comfort, to vent, or to just hang out, the treehouse was the place to go. It had a massive slime plush that worked a beanbag for them, a large fluffy rug covering the floor and golden lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A chest sat in the corner stuffed with snack foods and drinks, their favorites of course. The treehouse was a treasured place for both of them.

One day, Charlie was talking with Eret, then suddenly went stiff as a rod.

"Charlie?" Eret blinked, "you good?"

"My T.I.S radar is beeping" Charlie said, turning on his heel and scanning the land quickly.

"Your...your what?" Eret asked incredulously.

"My brother needs a hug" Charlie rushed out his explanation, his eye catching a red and white shirt a little ways away. "Bye Eret!"

He bolted straight towards the sight of the bright sleeved clothing, leaving a very confused and slightly amused Eret in his wake. Charlie quickly approached the small cluster of trees where he spotted Tommy, slowing down so he could scan the area carefully. After walking a little further, he finally found the boy. He was curled in a ball underneath one of the tall trees, arms wrapped around his knees tightly and shoulders shaking.

"Tommy?" Charlie crouched in front of the boy, cautiously reaching out to the boy.

The boy flinched at his voice, tightening his grip on himself. "G-Go away Charlie" his voice shook with the broken, scared request. "P-Please I don't want to s-see anyone right now…"

Charlie's heart ached when he heard a choked sob, Tommy hunched in on himself as he tried to muffle himself. Charlie bit his lip, looking down at the teen worriedly. He was clearly distraught,

"Buttercup, can I pick you up?" Charlie asked softly, praying the boy said yes. He desperately wanted to hold his baby brother close and never let go until his tears had disappeared.

Tommy raised his head slightly and Charlie felt his heart drop. Tommy's eyes were red and brimming with tears, his lip dented with bite marks and cheeks streaked with tear stains. He took a shaking breath in then nodded, slowly uncurling from his ball to raise his arms out to Charlie. The man gently looped the boy's arms around his neck and hefted him up. He held Tommy close who instantly pressed his face into Charlie's neck, taking in shallow breaths.

Charlie's worry spiked further and quickly made his way to their treehouse. If anywhere could help the boy calm down it was there.

Charlie was more than grateful they installed a pulley lift as the way to get into the treehouse. He gently set Tommy down on the large slime plush, placing his hand on the boy's head and brushing his thumb over Tommy's hair.

"I'll be right back, gonna get you some water and snacks okay?"

Tommy only nodded, curling in on himself again, sinking into the plush. Charlie dropped down to the chest and took out some cookies and water, quickly returning to his brother. Tommy was trying to dry his tears, only causing them to spread across his already stained face. Charlie dropped down in front of him, taking out a washcloth from his inventory.

"May I?" He asked gently, holding up the cloth.

Tommy studied it for a moment then nodded slowly, lowering his hands from his face, sniffing. Charlie placed his hand underneath Tommy's chin to tilt his head up. With gentleness only a brother could possess for his sibling, he carefully washed the tears from Tommy's face, apologizing softly when Tommy flinched slightly at the coolness of the damp material.

Once Tommy's face was cleaned, Charlie offered him the water and cookies. They sat silently, Charlie keeping some distance between himself and Tommy in case he wanted space. Tommy nibbled on the baked goods, sniffing occasionally.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Charlie asked quietly.

Tommy swallowed his mouthful and flicked his slightly bloodshot eyes over to Charlie.

"Yeah...no...I don't know…" he mumbled, subconsciously making himself smaller. "I don't know why I just broke."

Charlie looked at him sympathetically. "Some things can just pile up sometimes, it's nothing to be ashamed of Buttercup, it happens."

Tommy smiled a little at the nickname but it disappeared as soon as it came. "Yeah it just never usually happens to me."

Charlie watched his brother for a moment then opened his arms, holding them up. "C'mere."

Tommy shuffled into the embrace, clinging to Charlie tightly once he leant against the older. Charlie wrapped the boy into his arms, holding him securely and firm but with the warmth and love Tommy deserved.

"It happens to everyone Buttercup" Charlie reassured quietly. "It doesn't matter if it's common or not, breakdowns tend to sneak up eventually and it's healthy to have a bit of a cry every once and awhile."

Tommy squeezed Charlie to him, nodding into his shoulder. "I don't like it though."

"And that's okay, I'd be a little concerned if you did" Charlie promised, then smiled and put on a Texan accent. "Have to lock ya up in the old prison cell for liking da breakdowns aye mate? Lil bit coo coo in the nogan for that one if ye ask me."

Tommy giggled slightly into Charlie's shoulder making the older internally coo. The boy's giggles were the sweetest things you could hear.

"What's got ya giggling like a hyena Tommy? Was it something I said? Nothin' funny about being thrown in yee ol' cell is there?"

The reply only got Tommy giggling more which in turn made Charlie chuckle.

"Oh no! Seems I got a case of the giggles too! It's an infection! Tommy you're spreading a giggly disease! This is terrible! I must find a cure before it takes over the server!"

He gently spidered his fingers over Tommy's stomach and lower belly, grinning at the muffled squeal Tommy gave.

"I think I've got it Tommy" Charlie began dramatically, "I think the cure is to tickle all the giggles out of you."

Tommy's laughter went higher at Charlie's words. "Nooooohohohoho" he groaned but his light hearted tone peppered with giggles let Charlie know he was okay.

Charlie kept it relaxed and gentle, wanting Tommy to feel comfortable right now. Though he wanted the boy to laugh, he didn't want to exhaust him further by wrecking him. He gently pulled Tommy's back to his chest, hugging him from behind and softly scratching around his lower belly and sides. Tommy melted into the tickles, tipping his head back to rest against Charlie's shoulder as giggles spilled from his lips.

"This okay?" Charlie asked, running his nails over Tommy's stomach.

Tommy's giggles picked up slightly, sinking further into Charlie's chest. "Yeheheah" he murmured, "fehehehels nihihihice."

Charlie felt his heart melt at the boy's words. How could one teenager be so cute??

Charlie massaged his fingers into Tommy's ribs, smiling when he squeaked through his giggles. He pressed into the divots and muscles of his ribcage, chuckling as Tommy squirmed against him.

"Lehehess plehehease" Tommy pressed out between his heightened giggles.

Charlie complied instantly, moving back down to the sides of Tommy's stomach, wiggling his nails gently. Tommy melted into the touch, giggles calming again.

"Thahahanks" he smiled up at Charlie.

Charlie nudged Tommy's head with his cheek. "Of course Buttercup, only gonna do what makes you comfortable."

Tommy flushed slightly and a warm feeling blossomed in his chest at the genuine consideration for his feelings. Instead of answering he pressed his face into the crook of Charlie's neck, trying to hide his red cheeks. Charlie seemed to catch it however and cooed.

"Naww, gotten a bit pink there Buttercup, you are so precious."

Tommy shook his head. "Nohohoho" he groaned, "I'm not."

Charlie chucked, Tommy able to feel it rumbling from how heavily he was leaning on Charlie's chest. "I think everyone on the server would disagree with you on that one Buttercup, but whatever you say."

He took a hand from Tommy's midsection to run it through the mop of curls on Tommy's head. Tommy arched his head up into the touch like a cat, a content hum emitting from his throat as his eyes fluttered closed.

Charlie smiled at the sight. "Sleepy Buttercup?" He asked softly.

"Mmmm" Tommy slurred, cuddling closer to the older. "Sleepy time?"

"Of course, I'll be here when you wake up" Charlie promised.

Tommy smiled softly and nodded. "Okay...night Big C..."

"Sleep well Buttercup."

It was a peaceful silence for a few minutes. Tommy leaned further into Charlie as his breathing evening out. His previous crying episode tiring him out and the gentle tickles easing him into sleep. Charlie kept gently carding his hand through his hair, messing with the blonde curls.

'Suck it Soot' Charlie thought with a fond smile, 'bet you've never seen Tommy like this before.'

Charlie opened his communicator and sent through a photo of Tommy sound asleep against him to Wilbur.

Pollen Boy

*Image file*

Hehehe look at himmmmm

He's so sweet Wil no wonder you adopted him as your little brother

Wiblur Scoot

Stop stealing Tommy Charlie >>:(

Pollen Boy

No <3

Wiblur Scoot

He's meant to be my Tommy

Pollen Boy

Sharing is caring Wil

Wiblur Scoot

He's my little brother

Pollen Boy

I like to think he's our little brother :D

Wiblur Scoot

Don't even think about it

Pollen Boy

Too late

I'm gonna get us matching hoodies

Wiblur Scoot

d o n t u d a r e

Pollen Boy

I'm gonna get him socks too

Wiblur Scoot

CHARLIE NO

#mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #ler!charlie #lee!tommy #tommyinnit #slimecicle #my fanfic #fanfic

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yoonsshadow · 3 years

Text

Strike! - OT7

❥ prompt ; ‘could you please do an ot7 where they all go bowling or to the arcade together? (I also love your eternals series so much!!)’ sent in by @deathbybigsisrory

❥ pairing ; ot7 x fem!reader

❥ genres ; non-idol!au, rom-com, friends-to-[future]-lovers, [they’re not together yet but everyone is very much in love]

❥ themes ; fluff!!

❥ warnings ; none

❥ word count ; 1.7k

❥ note ; Thank you so much for the submission!!! (And also thank you for your sweet words darling xx) I may have strayed a little from the prompt, but I hope you still like it. I haven’t been bowling since I was like 11, so I’m sorry if some details are incorrect. I have never been to an arcade, so I thought this was the safer option. [this isn’t edited]

Somewhere, in the back of your subconscious, is a loud knocking.

It’s a rapid noise, insistent and forceful, but the dream you’re submerged in is far too pleasant to pay it any heed. It will go away eventually.

Except it doesn’t.

As you’re lying in the paradise of a warm coastal beach, mermaids off the coast and dragons in the distant sky, muffled yells are lost in the ambience of crashing waves and mer-song. You are so incredibly comfortable on this beach chair. You think, perhaps, that you’d happily stay here for an eternity.

Eternity does not last very long.

Your idyllic fantasy dissolves the instant hands shake your hunched shoulders, voices now louder in your ear as you are rocked from your sleep. It aches to move, to be moved, but soon you are sitting upright rather than folded over your desk, cheek pressed into papers.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Namjoon’s deep timbre vibrates through you; shocks you into clarity faster than your mind is ready.

“Hmrrfh?” Is your unintelligible response. He seems to understand.

Seokjin is crouched beside you, one hand on the back of your office chair, the other on your knee. “I thought you said that you were finished with your work.” You rub your eyes and yawn as he speaks, quickly taking notice of the other figures in the room. “You were supposed to have a break, remember?”

You hum. “I don’t get paid to take breaks, I get paid to have my work done by the deadline. Which is soon, might I add, so I’ll have to rain-check today. Sorry.”

“Nope.” It’s Yoongi who speaks this time. In the next moment, your office chair is rolled away from the desk and into the group of men who have somehow entered your home. Which reminds you-

“How did you even get in?”

“We found the spare key,” Taehyung says, as if the fact should be obvious.

“Yeah,” Jimin adds, “when you didn’t respond to our knocks and calls we thought you might be dead or something. Ggukie damn near kicked the door down when Namjoon-hyung lifted up the doormat.”

“Terrible hiding spot, Y/N,” Namjoon says. You can tell that he’s trying to sound disappointed, but he looks just a little too endeared.

Moving in front of you, Hoseok flashes you a warm smile. His eyes become crescents, his lips a heart, and your fingers twitch with the want to reach forward and caress his cheek. You don’t.

“There’s no way you’re getting out of today,” he says without a hint of malice. “You need a day to relax, and we haven’t seen our girl in far too long. So, will you be coming willingly, or by force?”

“But-” Your protests are cut off.

“By force it is. Gguk.”

Your vision is suddenly filled by a broad chest as thick arms sweep you from your seat. Gravity has no effect on the young man who now holds you bridal style, nor on the Bambi smile that naturally grows on his face.

“We’re going to have so much fun today,” Jeongguk says, muscles flexing around you as they all begin walking towards your bedroom. You have no doubt that Hoseok and Taehyung already have an outfit planned for you, and you even hear the bath beginning to run.

Your boys never fail to look after you. God, you care for them so much.

[You won’t admit to yourself that you may feel something deeper. Not yet. But one day, perhaps soon, you’ll realise that you don’t have to be afraid of that feeling.]

Retro music swirls around you as your group makes their way towards your assigned lane. Bowling shoes in hand and a competitive spirit growing, a weight seems to melt off of your shoulders.

All thoughts of work, of responsibilities, have simply disappeared.

“How are we going to decide teams?” Namjoon looks around the group, as if calculating a mathematic equation. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Yoongi scoffs. “We’ll be here forever if we do that. Let’s just do Hyungs versus Youngs.”

While Jeongguk, Taehyung and Jimin are cheering at the quick resolution, you lift a brow at the unbothered man. “But what do I call your team then, Yoongi oppa?”

For a moment, he says nothing, merely ducking his head to hide the rosy tint that dusts across his cheeks. Hoseok is the one who steps in to answer, clapping a harsh hand on Yoongi’s back as if to wake him from a trance.

“We can come up with team names!”

Jimin jumps up and down, wide beam blinding you all. “We are team Young and Beautiful!”

“No, we should be Bold and Beautiful! Like that American hand-wash show,” Taehyung suggests, equally as enthusiastic.

Namjoon sighs. “It’s soap opera, Tae.”

“What about Y/N’s Angels?” Jeongguk seems to be thinking hard, ever competitive even in the sport of picking a team name. “Because we are angelic, and Y/N bosses us around.”

That lands him a swift chop to the neck, much to his giggling delight.

“We are the Young, Bold, and Beautiful Angels,” you decide, rolling your eyes. “And what about your team?”

Seokjin does not hesitate to announce: “We are team Kim Seok Jin!”

Yoongi sighs, but doesn’t object, and Hoseok leans his forehead on Namjoon’s shoulder as if he needs the support to keep standing.

“Thank you for consulting the rest of the team about this decision, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon says, deadpan but not upset.

“You should be thankful that I’m allowing you to use my name at all,” Seokjin replies, hands on hips. “It is, after all, a national symbol of good luck.”

“National...?” You mumble.

Jimin groans out a sigh, easily bored and antsy to win. “Can we just play already? We don’t need to have a board meeting every time we make a decision.”

“Let’s go hold some heavy balls!” Jeongguk then grabs your elbow and drags you to the bowling ball racks, uncaring that you’ve only laced one of your shoes on.

“Do you need me to teach you how to bowl?” Jeongguk’s voice in your ear startles you as you stand in front of your lane, ready to go. The pink ball is heavy in your hand when you turn around to glare at him.

“I know how to bowl, Gguk. Now shoo, I need to concentrate.”

“Yes, but do you know how to bowl properly? Like a pro?”

“I am this close to dropping this ball on your toes, don’t test me.”

“Pleeease? C’mon, just this once?”

Damn him and his doe eyes. “Fine. Just once. But you’re going to buy me a plate of nacho fries.”

“Deal.”

You shouldn’t be surprised when he stands behind you and circles his arms around yours, but you do jolt a bit when his hands touch your waist.

“Some people think that it’s the wrist movement that’s most important, but really, it’s the hips. Even if you mess up the bowl, if your hips are at the right angle, you can’t really go wrong.”

“I’m pretty sure wrist movement is actually pretty important.”

The man has the nerve to shush you. “Angle your hips like this,” fingertips press into the soft flesh over your hipbones, “and then take three steps before you let go of the ball. The trick is to start with your non-dominant foot, so that when you bowl, your dominant leg isn’t in the way.”

Sighing, you humour the youngest and stride away from him, following his steps and then releasing the ball from your grip.

It lands a perfect strike.

Jeongguk walks back to the group with a smug smile and a pep in his step, while you simply chuckle at his pride. Meanwhile, the other boys are glaring at him.

“So,” Hoseok says as you wait for your ball to return so that you can have your second go, “are we all going to be allowed to teach you? Or is this favouritism?”

Heaving a deep sigh, you look up to the ceiling as if it, or any higher being, may give you an answer as to why you’ve chosen these seven as your favourite people.

Deep down you know why, but it’s times like these that make you question yourself.

It’s also times like these that make you feel impossibly endeared.

Night has crept up on you by the time the boys drop you back at your apartment, ribs aching from laughter and cheeks sore from smiles. No tension resides in your muscles, in your bones, or even in your mind; you feel as though you are floating, ears brushing against the clouds, with how light you are right now.

“You have to promise that you won’t do any work until tomorrow,” Namjoon says, watching you dig through your bag for your keys.

“After a full night of sleep,” Yoongi adds.

Seokjin then says, “And a nice, big breakfast.”

“And plenty of water!”

“And a comforting shower- Or a bubble bath!”

“And you have to take plenty of breaks.”

“Maybe we can drop by at lunch to make sure you eat-”

“Would it be better if we stayed over tonight?”

“Why don’t you just stay with us? We can help you-”

“Guys.” Your voice is sturdy as it cuts through the overlapping voices of seven worried men, all eyes turned to you as you stand in your open doorway. “I appreciate the concern, truly, but I’m a big girl. What happened yesterday - well, this morning - was a one-off. I assure you that I can take care of myself.”

You’re met with silence that sounds an awful lot like doubt.

“But,” you sigh, “maybe you can come over for lunch?”

Gleeful voices whoop into the night air, and you have to bite back your laughter as you hurriedly hush them, wary of your neighbours.

One by one, you give them a hug and a kiss on the cheek as you exchange farewells, peeling the younger ones off of you as you tell them that yes, I really do have to go inside now.

It’s only when you’ve closed the front door behind you, leaning on the wall beside you, that you come to the full, unafraid realisation.

You are in love with them. And you think they might love you back.

End

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professional-benaddict · 3 years

Note

mafia boss tony x little peter where peter sneaks down into the basement to see his daddy only to find him dealing with a mole in his organisation. tony expects him to be scared but peter just sees it as his daddy being strong and wanting to stay and watch, maybe later have a go at the prisoner

this has been in my drafts fOrever and I finally got in Da Mood ;)) I hope you like it darling!!

Mafia AU, Mafia boss and Daddy Tony, +18 Little Peter, torture, blood, knives, dark

Tony’s dedication to detail is particularly important to him in his field of work. There is a time and place for everything, and things generally go well when they are planned and thought through in advance. And if things do happen to go awry, Tony has the power and strength in his arsenal to make things go his way. It is a privilege he cherishes, and nourishes with dedicated and loyal people around him. Because there is one person whom he cannot control as he wants to. And that is Peter.

Tony found Peter years ago, and in a sense he also found himself. He found another role, a caregiver Daddy role, that he never would have imagined would bring him such joy and sunshine into his shady life in the shadowy undergrounds. The boy is unpredictable, and Tony loves him for it. Although, he might not admit it in the moment.

Peter is usually a helpful member of the gang, even if he mostly lays around showing off skin and eating sour candy like a pillow princess. He lightens the mood for everyone, and even more so when he is in his littlespace. It is just that no one really knows when and for how long Peter will be Little. He might not even know it himself.

Even if Tony and his closest helpers, Steve, Bucky and Stephen are busy, Peter still has two Doberman dogs to entertain him and keep him company. The dogs are two males from the same litter, and named Diablo and Rogue. Tony has trained them himself, and with an iron fist. The dogs are as obedient as they can possibly be. Tony has a sense that the dogs recognise the dynamic between Tony and Peter, since the dogs guard the boy as if he were their own youngling.

With both his meticulous planning and the two dogs keeping Peter occupied, Tony thought that he would have the basement for himself. He might have to specify Steve, Bucky and Stephen’s duties when it comes to keeping Peter in check when he is in littlespace. Because, now the boy is stood at the door to the basement, his head cocked to the side in curiosity at the sight in front of him.

It is a sight from hell, essentially. There is blood and bodily tissues scattered on the concrete floor. Maybe even a tooth or two, or it is just two rocks. In the middle of the room, Tony is stood with a dripping butcher’s knife in his hand. To decorate his hell, he had been carving shapes into his victim’s torso. Not deep enough to bleed out, but not shallow enough to not make a pretty, red picture.

Tony’s victim whines pitifully behind his gag where he is tied to a metal chair. To prevent unwanted escapes, the chair is bolted to the concrete floor. Peter’s eyes flicker from Tony to the bleeding man, but he does not avert his gaze elsewhere in disgust or fear. On both of Peter’s sides, Diablo and Rogue appear. The Dobermans’ ears perk up and they trot over slowly, sniffing the floor, Tony and the still whimpering and crying man.

“What you doing, Daddy?” Peter asks, his tone bright and curious. He pads into the basement on bare feet, cringing a bit at the coldness of the concrete. Tony’s heart aches at the way Peter pouts. “Can I do it too?”

“Baby- Daddy’s busy now. Go be a good boy and wait with Diablo and Rogue, yeah?” Tony suggests, gesturing to the door with the knife still in his hand.

“But, I wanna too!” Peter whines. Both the dogs pick up on Peter’s distress, and they look at Tony with their black eyes pleadingly like they are Peter’s number one advocates. Rogue lets out a quick bark.

“Shush, you beast.” Tony snaps to the dogs, but they do not seem to care. Perhaps they are also regressing along with Peter, because somehow they always fail to listen when the boy is being playful or bratty. “Peter, go upstairs and find Steve or Bucky. They can wait with you.”

“No, thanks.” Peter says, stepping further into the room and approaching the third person with them. The man is about Tony’s age, but he looks nothing like him. Peter can see right through him. “Let me too, Daddy?”

With a soft sigh, Tony flicks the knife in his hold, offering Peter the side with the handle. The boy’s lips twitch upwards into a sick smile, which Tony has never seen before. But, he is not going to complain.

“Look at how I’ve done it, here- Human skin can be a bit tough, but I’ve sharpened the knife. It will cut through like butter. There- yes. Good boy. A little deeper… That’s his rib there. If you want, you can break some of them.”

To Tony’s delight, Peter nods eagerly with child-like innocent. Tony smiles slyly. Perhaps he has underestimated Peter, or misunderstood him completely. At first, Tony thought that Peter was just a pillow princess, and instead, he is the biggest devil in his littlespace.

“Wanna be Daddy’s bad little boy?”

“Yes, Daddy… Can we feed Diablo and Rogue with the bad-bad man?”

“Oh, I like the way you think, baby. I think we should.”

#my prompts #little!peter #daddy!tony #mafia!tony #starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker #tony stark #ask

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1engele · 3 years

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 1. petrichor

You move to a small, rural town, in the middle of nowhere, accompanying your mother. Nockfell, she says. A boy named Larry Johnson introduces you to his friend, Sal Fisher, occasionally dubbed "Sally Face." Your feelings cloud your judgement and you get yourself caught up in what seems will change you and Sal Fisher's life, forever.

[warnings: cursing, smoking]

"the kind of blue that makes you ache."

—

Sticky wood against your skin, the hard pressure of the surface beneath your face. The unrhythmic pulsing of the migraine that pressed at the sides of your skull—like phantom palms, relentlessly squeezing your brain.

You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before squinting as you adjusted to the dimness of the room. The noon sun filtered through the windows and cast its golden warmth over every surface. Its comfort found its way over your face, and you breathed in slowly.

You could see the dust particles floating through the air. The sunshine opened out its rays over the beige carpet. You crawled from the dinner table, laid on the soft floor, and allowed yourself to bathe in the welcoming heat.

Your fingers absentmindedly began to play with the looped fibers beneath you as you stared up at the dull ceiling and thought. Today you and your mother had awoken at an unearthly hour of the morning to start your travels to a town called Nockfell.

You'd arrived hours later. At the moment, your mother, who was named Michelle, was out at her new job—a supervisor position at a bank, or something. She'd also worked at a bank in your old town but was promoted to another location and that was the reason for the move.

You had the apartment to yourself. It wasn't much better than your last flat—equally as unsettling as the last.

Your body jerked and you murmured a frustrated curse as the resoundingly impressive knocking of your door frightened you into an upright position. You scrambled onto your feet, the heated carpet warming your soles.

After you'd approached the door, you turned the doorknob and pulled it open as far as the safety chain would allow. You then settled your weight on your right foot and leaned toward the opening. The cool, dead air of the hallway breezed your face.

A boy, with long brown hair and dark eyes. Seemed to be around your age, and taller than you. He was tanned. You assumed it was genetic, as your mother informed you the weather in Nockfell was almost always droll and depressing.

You had to incline your chin upward an inch to meet the brunette's eyes.

A person stood behind him, with eye-catching blue hair that wisped past their ears and brushed their shoulders. Matching eyes, a bit lighter than their cerulean hair. The only thing about this person that seemed a bit jarring was the mask they wore. They were smaller than the boy beside him, and you were able to look them right in the eyes.

You weren't any type to judge off of appearances, so you didn't spend much time staring.

"Hello," you press a shoulder against the door, awkwardly fidgeting. "I'm- do you.."

Before you can painfully struggle for something to say, the tallest boy resolves your conflict. "Hi," he grins easily. "I'm Larry, and this is Sal. He and I had the idea to swing by and welcome you to Addison's.."

He trails off, noticing your disheveled state and tired eyes. You were conscious enough to recognize his hesitation and quickly rubbed the sleep from your eyes. "Oh. Oh. Sorry- I know I look so bad right now.." You quickly passed a hand through your hair and licked your lips. "I was laying on the floor when you knocked."

Why did you say that? You've made yourself out to be a real weirdo, haven't you, Y/N?

"Larry", glances over at his friend "Sal" amusedly, almost like he knew something you didn't. His eyes then revert to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but his blue-haired friend beats him to it.

"You're going to Nockfell, right? I'd say you're 16, like us.."

Yeah, okay. Any suspicions a person could have about Sal's gender upon just seeing him—you didn't, his build was masculine enough and you'd already watched his Adam's apple bob, and Larry had referred to him with male pronouns prior—would probably cease upon hearing him speak.

After realizing you should speak, and not silently trail your eyes down his body, you replied. "Oh, yeah. I'll start the same day as everybody else. Shouldn't that be tomorrow, or-"

"After that," Sal tentatively cut you off, and you watched him swallow. It was sweet, his resignation. Like he was constantly worried about offending. "The day after that."

You felt as though you were missing something.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, embarrassment washing over your features. You quickly tell them your name, regretting not having said it earlier.

Beneath the tank top, you were wearing, your bra strap slipped further down your shoulder. You felt it slide. Oops, you thought, comprehending the fact that it had been misplaced the entire conversation.

Quickly, you pushed it back up and reached for the doorknob. "Okay, um, see you guys then!" And then basically slammed the door in their faces.

You slapped a palm over your mouth. "Oh my god," you breathed, abashed at yourself. "That was horrible."

They'll probably make fun of how awkward you are at school, you thought. "I wouldn't blame them," you told yourself.

At the time, you didn't realize the importance of that meeting. But, then and again, if it hadn't happened that day it would definitely have later.

The next day you and your mother settled further into the apartment. Your mother was supposed to start work the following day so that meant she had time to properly furnish your apartment. The moving vehicle had arrived a day after you'd arrived in Nockfell, which was "highly inconvenient and unconventional", to quote your mother directly.

Uninterested in watching your mother painstakingly put flower arrangements together, you took it upon yourself to explore the property and familiarize yourself with Addison's Apartments. There wasn't really much of anything besides trees and grass and the view of buildings in the distance. Oh, and the treehouse. Curiosity got the best of you and you made your way towards it.

It had rained in the night. You could smell the scent of water on dry earth and feel it against your hands and face. You tasted mist on your tongue and your sneakers squeaked on the wettish grass. You could practically feel the dampened mud staining the white soles.

You almost slipped climbing up the ladder and into the treehouse. You were glad you weren't being watched because the face of terror you'd just made was really embarrassing.

The structure was actually pretty impressive. If you could live in it, you would. A few posters here and there and a lot of storage for nicknacks and food. A family photo and a stool. A toolbox, some other shit- it was almost as if people hung out in this extremely well-kept treehouse a lot.

Fuck. You didn't expect the damn thing to be lived in. You'd expected the thing to be made in the 70s and extremely old and abandoned. You'd practically just broke into someone's property! You'd burglarized this treehouse!

"I have to get out of here," you murmur, frantically. "Before we get evicted."

That actually wouldn't be too bad, you replied to yourself. Pissing Michelle off would be really funny.

Letting out a breath, you move from the window and pivot around to climb back down the ladder and run like hell. Instead, your ears absorb the sound of creaking and boyish laughter. You have no time to react before the blue-haired boy you'd met the following day is climbing into the treehouse and meeting your eyes.

His laughter ceases and you scramble to explain yourself as his brown-haired friend follows him into the treehouse.

"I am so sorry," you rush. "I thought this thing was abandoned. I had no clue it was yours. I'm really, really sorry. Seriously. I, um- I'll leave, and I swear I've-"

Larry jerks like he was trying to hold back laughter and promptly fails. He sounds like he's going to bust a gut and you feel your face growing hot. Through your heavy embarrassment, you're concerned he's going to fall out of the treehouse from where he sat on the edge of the entrance.

His friend sends his elbow in Larry's ribs. Larry groans in pain.

“I think what Larry was trying to say there was that it's perfectly fine," Sal looks away from Larry and his steady blue eyes meet with yours. "Really. Not a big deal. Right, Larry?"

Larry wheezes promptly.

"See?"

You can't help but giggle. You quiet yourself as quickly as it starts, and hoped he hadn't heard. When you look away from Sal, you miss his softening eyes.

Larry grins at you. "Laughing at my suffering, it seems. I see how it is." He grunts in his effort to get himself up and on his feet. He's on one knee when he speaks again, an elbow resting on his knee. "What the hell is in that lanky ass arm, Sal? Steel?"

"Something like that," Sal replies, the sound of a smile on his tongue. You meet his eyes again. "So," he says your name, slowly. You breathe in but it hitches. "Why'd you move to Nockfell?"

"No reason that's interesting," you state. "My mom was relocated for work." You step back toward your back presses against the wooden wall and relax your shoulders. "And why did you?"

Sal blinked from behind his prosthetic. He doesn't answer your question but instead returns it with his own. "How'd you know I moved?"

"You don't sound like you're from here," You answered. "Where are you from?"

"Jersey." He returned, gazing at you curiously.

"You guys are like old people," Larry has finally got to his feet, brushing off the black denim on his knees with his palms. He rises to his full height and momentarily startles you. Despite his statement, he asks you his own question. "You miss your friends back home?"

You smiled despite everything. "Oh. Haha, no. I didn't really have a best friend or anything like that. I sort of floated. Never really met anybody."

He pauses. "Well, you live in our complex now." Larry runs a hand through his hair and looks down at you. "If you want, we can both be your friends."

Your eyes widen, and a wholesome feeling flutters in your chest. "Oh!" You glance over to Sal. "I- sure! If you'll have me."

Larry flashes his well-kept teeth. "Good! We need some more females within the gang, don't we, Sal?"

Sal looks as though he cringed. "Please don't call them females. And, uh- sure, I guess."

After that, it isn't a few minutes until you all sit down. You pull your legs criss-cross applesauce and plant your elbows in your knees, resting your chin on your hands.

"So," Larry says your name. "Ever smoke before?"

Your eyebrows raise.

"Sweet Jesus," Sal mutters. "Larry, you can't ask her that." Despite himself, he reaches for the cigarettes Larry's just pulled from his pocket.

"I only asked a question. You're a bully."

You look on in amusement. You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the prospect of doing something you've seen be demonized so often. "I haven't," but this is a new start, right? "Are you offering?"

"Oh, sure," Larry leans toward where you're sat directly in front of him. "Do you want to? Just asking. You seriously don't have to."

It was amusing how hard he was trying not to be to peer-pressure you. You still felt an anxious feeling, but that was only natural. The want to do something "rebellious" overpowered your inner unease. "Uh, yeah. I'd like to."

And with that, he resigns to his own cigarette and slowly lays back onto the wooden floor, brown eyes stuck on the ceiling. Smoke cascades from his mouth and floats through the air. The treehouse begins to smell like a bonfire, the earthy scent sticking to the wood.

You move closer to Sal and maneuver yourself onto your knees.

"Alright," he starts, to himself. He grasps your hand—which makes your heart jump, and you can't tell whether or not you're nervous or his touch had just heightened your attention for whatever reason—and places the cigarette in your hand. "Put the smoke between your teeth."

You follow his instructions. Sal's suddenly closer to you, flicking the lighter with the pad of his thumb and birthing a flame. "Okay, stay still." Suddenly, his unoccupied hand is brushing your hair aside and ghosting the side of your neck before sliding back and flattening on your nape. Chills erupt all over your body from being touched so personally by the opposite sex.

Your nerves are all over as he gets even closer, inches the flame to the end of the cigarette, and lights it.

He pulls back. "Alright," Sal watches you intently. "Now take it and inhale."

As you do so, you notice him stand and walk to the side in your peripheral.

Inhaling it into your lungs tastes like oxygen deprivation and extremely burnt steak. Your entire body is shaking and shuddering as your body instinctively attempts to repel whatever you've just sent into it. Suddenly, there's a water bottle in your hands, and the cigarette has been taken away. The cap has been unscrewed prior, thankfully, and you drink the water. It tastes like god's tears and rainbows and angel dust and you gasp in relief.

"Sweet Jesus," you choke out his earlier statement unintentionally. "What the hell was that?" You raise your head, and he's got his head bowed, bottom straps of his prosthetic unbuckled and he's smoking your cigarette from beneath it. Smoke filters from behind the shadows of the nose and eyes of his mask and into the air and slowly dissipates around you both. "And how are you doing it so well?"

"The first time around is absolutely horrible," he replies to you attentively. "It's all burnt and stuff. Drink some more water and you can try again if you want."

You do as he says, and shortly after you're trying again. It's nearly as rough as the first time around but you hold it in for long enough to do what it's supposed to and breathe it back out.

"Oh," You murmur. "Huh."

Larry chuckles at you from his place on the floor. Sal sends him a lighthearted glare before returning his attention to you. "See? It gets better." Empathically, he adds: "I don't want you doing that much this time, though. The nic sick sucks."

You didn't ask what nic sick was but it was safe to assume it was the effect of smoking past your tolerance and ultimately resulting in nausea.

You pass the cigarette back and forth—Sal taking a lot more hits than you, but that wasn't saying very much—until it was useless. Sal placed it beneath his shoe and put it out. He and Larry both dispose of the cigarettes and return to you, matching your position on the floor.

"So, how was it?" Larry asks you, amusedly curious.

You shrug and smile. "Wasn't bad after the first few hits. Couldn't have done it without Sal, actually." You then meet the boy in question's eyes, who meets yours back steadily, But after a moment, he looks to the floor and sharply exhales through his nose, reciprocating your amusement.

Larry's face moves in your peripheral, and you look towards him, but his features are already changed to how they were before you'd looked away from him.

Huh.

By the time you'd all left the treehouse, the sun was falling behind the horizon, and the sky above you was becoming a darker blue.

The two boys walked you to your apartment.

"That was a lot of fun," you expressed warmly as you stood at your door. "Thanks for that."

"We'll see you at school tomorrow," Sal responded, shifting his weight.

"You can walk with us!" Larry grinned. "If you want."

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to it, agreeing on the suggestion, and turning to your door to open it and retreat inside. Before you could, you were stopped.

"Wait," Sal blurts. You turn, gazing at him curiously. The mask shifts on his face. "Make sure your hair doesn't smell like smoke. Mine always does. Shake it out before you go in."

You doubted your mother would even be awake, nonetheless notice your presence, but you appreciated his advice and followed it anyway. You passed your hands through your hair before shaking it for a moment. You flattened it as well as you could afterward and laughed at yourself.

"Think that was good?" You asked, flashing your teeth.

Larry raised his eyebrows, thoroughly humored. "I think so. What do you think, Sal?"

Sal's silent for a moment, like he's forgotten he's there. Just staring at you.

"Sal?'

He blinks, shaken from his reverie. He quickly recovers, as it'd never happened. "Oh. Yeah," he states, moving to turn around and leave. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

With that, Sal's down the hall and making haste toward the elevator.

Larry exchanges a glance with you and laughs, bids you goodbye with a wave, and departs from you by following after his blue-haired friend.

You think nothing of Sal's quick departure, grin as you think of the fun day you'd had, and enter your quiet apartment.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

Journey to the Past

read on ao3

This was meant to be part of my one-shot collection, it turned out to be too long, and now it’s a separate fic. If you enjoy reading even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Michael woke to find he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Before anything, he sat up, checked to see if Alex’s eyes hadn’t fluttered, if he wasn’t finally waking from his coma, but his hand remained perfectly still in Michael’s, the heart monitor echoed steadily into the otherwise empty room and echoing off Max’s bedroom walls.

They would’ve taken him to the hospital, but since the attack that did this to him had been by his father’s rogue Project Shepherd agents, they couldn’t risk leaving him in a room that any enemy could access. At least here, Isobel and Michael could set up forcefields around the grounds. At least here, Max could strike anybody that came too close with lightning and they could blame it on the weather. At least here, Michael could cling to Alex and no one would bother him about it.

Michael wasn’t Alex’s boyfriend, he knew. Alex’s actual boyfriend – or his ex, that is, as of two weeks ago – was back in New York, unaware that the man he’d fallen so deeply and treacherously in love with had fallen victim to his father’s pissed off and ridiculously loyal minions.

Michael followed the bruises on Alex’s jaw and cheeks with his eyes, the cut on his lower lip, visible under the thick respirator. There was a stitched up gash in his forehead, and his knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody from the fight he’d given the attackers. He’d fended most of them off, before Michael had arrived to blow the rest of them into the walls and knock them out, but not before one of them had managed a stray shot in and got Alex in the stomach.

Max had done his best to heal him, but the bullets had been laced with yellow pollen. Jesse Manes’ last attempt to kill his youngest son, apparently, had followed him out the grave.

Michael shut his eyes against the thought, and instinctively gripped Alex’s hand tighter. He didn’t want to think about Project Shepherd and what they’d intended. They’d failed, and that was all that mattered. His grip turned painful on Alex’s hand. They’d failed.

A knock came at the door, but Michael did not look away from Alex’s face. He heard Max’s voice from the end of the room ask, “How’re you holding up?”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” Michael demanded. “You said he’d be awake by now.”

“No,” Max sighed, and closed the door behind him. “I said Kyle hoped he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s been two days.”

“We’re doing everything we can –”

“Well, it’s not enough!” Michael snapped, and the room collapsed back into silence.

“He’ll wake up,” Max promised him. “He will. Just give him some time.”

“I need him,” Michael whispered.

“I know –”

“No,” he growled. “I need him.” He rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “Where’s Is?”

“Outside,” he said. “Why?” When Michael didn’t answer, Max’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Michael, no.”

“I know we said there were risks –”

“Risks?” he scoffed. “I already told you it’s too dangerous to go digging through Alex’s head! Isobel told you it’s dangerous!”

Michael stood. “Valenti said his brain waves are normal, he’s just asleep. If I can find the part of him that doesn’t want to wake up, then – then I get him back.”

“Or you guys screw something up,” Max argued, “and change something that can’t be changed back.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “He won’t wake up, not like this, and I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Michael,” Max tried, purposely calming his voice in that way when he knew Michael was seconds away from blowing up and wanted to ease him back down. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried about him, but if you go into his mind, you could make things worse.”

Michael swallowed. Max was right, he knew Max was right. But he remembered Kyle’s voice when he’d hoped Alex would wake up soon. He had been too quiet, his eyes downcast like he was praying and didn’t want the others to know it was that bad.

He had no idea that when it came to Alex, Michael paid attention. Only when it came to Alex.

“If I do nothing,” he said, “Alex stays asleep.” His fingers curled to fists at his sides at the thought. He looked back at Alex, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly. His unmoving fingers and closed eyes.

Michael sniffed, and decided, “If Alex doesn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, I’m going in to wake him up myself.”

They waited until the next morning, then noon. Michael had been ready to start at dawn, but Kyle had seemed anxious, and Max argued for “Just a couple more hours, Michael, he’s the doctor here!”

Michael had argued that Alex didn’t need a human doctor, and Kyle had argued that Alex was human, so who else was going to treat him?

Michael forgot that sometimes; that Alex wasn’t actually an alien like him, that he didn’t have any superpowers like the others did. He’d just always seemed so strong and intelligent that it slipped Michael’s mind. But Alex was human, and more fragile than Michael allowed himself to believe. He’d been too careless, too willing to ask for Alex’s help fixing this or fixing that without ever considering what he might’ve been doing to him. What it might cost.

Maybe that was why Michael was so eager to go into Alex’s mind already and wake him up. It was time for him to save Alex for a change.

“Just for the record,” Isobel said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You deal with brains all the time,” Michael argued.

“Not like Kyle,” she insisted. “And not memories. It’s like . . . time travelling! If you touch something in the past, you could change the future forever!” She swallowed. “And Alex is . . . he’s too important.”

She didn’t need to say the words for Michael to know what she was thinking. He’s too important to you, she seemed to be telling Michael. If I hurt him, it’ll break you, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Michael took her hand. “You’re gonna do great,” he said resolutely. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

Her brows pinched, unconvinced, but Michael didn’t have any more time for doubt or hesitation. Alex hadn’t woken up in too long, and his nerves were fraying with every passing second.

“Do it,” he said.

Isobel glanced hesitantly at Kyle. Kyle looked to Alex, as if weighing the damage that they could do, but even he must’ve known that Alex being asleep for this long was abnormal, because he looked to Isobel and nodded, clearly unhappy about it.

“Be careful,” Max warned. “For your sakes, and his.”

Isobel’s hand on Michael’s tightened, and she shut her eyes. Michael kept his gaze on Alex for as long as he could. Then he felt a sudden chill shoot throughout his entire body from his hand, and he inhaled sharply. One second he was looking at Alex’s sleeping figure, and the next, the world around him turned to smoke, and he found himself standing in the desert on a bright, sunny day.

He was still holding Isobel’s hand, but nothing looked familiar. There was just desert and gray-steel buildings built high with tall glass windows, clustered like boulders in the sea.

In the distance, he could see uniformed soldiers, marching in formation. Men and women training, sergeants barking orders, laughter from friends somewhere hidden. Where were they?

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking around. He didn’t recognize the area at all.

Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael turned and found they were inches from a doorway that opened to a large, steel room. There was a raised platform at the very opposite end, and several soldiers fighting, sparring, exercising – but Michael couldn’t see any of them.

Isobel gasped. “Michael,” she pointed. “Isn’t that Alex?”

Michael had already spotted him. He was on the platform, fighting another young man. But even before Isobel and Michael approached him, Michael knew this was a much younger Alex. He looked barely eighteen, his hair having lost its spike and was cut short, he was throwing punches and kicks in a way that seemed very unnatural for the man who hardly had to raise a finger to induce fear. And he was losing. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody can see us,” Isobel murmured, looking around at the other soldiers as they passed. “Or hear us.”

Michael’s eyes were on Alex. His heart was hammering, beating painfully against his ribs with every beating Alex took, every time his body fell to the floor. His opponent delivered a roundhouse kick that had Alex on his face again, and Michael snapped. He held a hand up to blast the other fighter back, but his powers wouldn’t work.

“Are you crazy?!” Isobel hissed, slapping his arm. “You can’t change anything, remember?”

“Literally,” Michael spat, hoping Alex’s opponent could feel his glares. “My telekinesis isn’t working.”

Isobel looked around before her eyes focused on another soldier who was doing pushups. Her brows furrowed for barely half a second, then she winced and put a hand to her temple.

Michael tugged on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s taking all of my power for us to just be here,” she sighed. “My other powers won’t work either.” She frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that Alex, beaten and bloody, was slowly pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

“His face is covered in blood,” Isobel shook her head. “He needs to stay down!”

Michael guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Alex so resolved to stay on his feet. His hair was plastered to his temples with blood and sweat, his breaths were quick and short, like his chest ached, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes were filled with a fiery anger. Alex was looking at his opponent like he was every other person who’d ever beat him down and ordered him to stay there. He was screaming, without any words at all, that he wouldn’t.

It didn’t seem to matter to the opponent as he threw hit after hit, hurting Alex again and again, making Michael flinch and burn with rage every time.

When the fight was over, the other soldiers jeering and eager to start their own training match next, Alex’s opponent crouched down beside him and whispered, loud enough for Michael and Isobel to hear, as though they were in Alex’s place themselves –

“Nobody cares who your daddy and brothers are, Manes,” the opponent sneered with disgust. “Your kind will never survive here.”

Michael clenched his jaw. He felt Alex’s anger, his frustration, his grief. He’d often wondered what happened to Alex after he’d enlisted, how a soldier trained and what that did to them, whether it was hurting Alex the same way.

No one offered Alex a hand, no one knew what to make of this lesser Manes. Michael wanted to kill them all for hurting him, for pushing him down. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to see things differently.

With all the charge of that emo kid from high school, Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He spat the blood in his mouth out, and wiped his forearm against his nose. His eyes were dry, his expression unreadable, but that same anger stayed.

More than a few soldiers looked surprised and even impressed, but Alex, already walking away, didn’t notice.

The scene changed.

Before Michael could blink, they were outside again. A cursory look around told them they were behind the building this time, where rocks and stray blades of grass grew out. Alex was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. In the distance, soldiers marched on, but nobody seemed to see Alex as he cried.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.

Michael glanced at Isobel, and saw her eyes were wide and sympathetic. Alex wiped the tears away faster than they could fall. He sniffled, and pulled a picture out of his pocket, hiding it between his eyes and knees, a secret for no one else.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sniffled again, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “I’m trying not to. I’m getting better at it. Not that I think you’d be disappointed that I cried, I just . . . don’t want to cry in front of anybody else. Never again.”

Michael and Isobel each went to a different side of Alex to see whose picture he was talking to, all the while Michael trying not to scrunch up with the uncomfortable thought that Alex had taken enough comfort in someone else that he would sneak a photo of them into base, even back then.

When he saw the picture, he froze. Isobel breathed, “Oh my god . . .,” and Michael had to kneel down next to Alex. It was a picture of them – him and Alex – similar to the picture he had in his airstream. Except this one was taken at a different angle, and they were smiling at each other, taken in the exact moment Alex had noticed Michael watching him play guitar, and the two had laughed, giddy at being so close together and knowing what they knew about their feelings for one another.

Michael tried to breathe, but a lump lodged itself in his throat. Alex had kept a picture of them with him when he’d first gone to the base, and he pulled it out whenever he needed strength and comfort. All this time, he’d thought Alex hadn’t thought twice about him . . .

“I’m scared, Guerin,” Alex confessed to the picture, his grip on the edges tightening. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to be here. I don’t want to be here.” His lower lip trembled. “But that’s why you started to pull away, right? I was too weak to protect you . . .”

“No,” Michael breathed, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t say that, please.”

“That’s why Alex enlisted?” Isobel said. “Because his dad hit you?”

“It was after Rosa,” Michael croaked, eyes on Alex. “Everything changed, and I . . . I could never tell him what happened. But he – he thought . . . I didn’t know he thought . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex cried, hiding his face with one hand. “I’m trying not to cry, I swear I’m trying. I just miss you so much, Guerin. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home to me, and now I’m here, and I’m more lost than ever.” He exhaled shakily. “All I wanted was a goodbye. I keep thinking about the way I left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Isobel’s own eyes were glassy. “Michael?”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered in response to her silent question. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. It felt like I would never see him again if I did.” He clenched his jaw. He tried to press his forehead to Alex’s temple, to inhale his scent, but he couldn’t feel Alex at all. He could only watch him suffer.

“The last thing I ever said to him before he left was –” he scowled at the bile in his throat “—that I’d be better off if he left. I was just angry, and – and hurt!” he tried. “I didn’t mean it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, pulling her eyes off Alex. “It’s in the past, Michael. That’s what all of this stuff is. Memories. You know Alex now, you know what he thinks of you. He loves you.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what hurts, Is.”

“Then what does?”

“It’s that he loved me this much even back then.”

“Private Manes,” a voice sounded, and Alex gasped just quickly enough for Michael to catch it before he was on his feet, straight as a board.

Michael looked up and found none other than Sergeant Ramos, Alex’s mysterious leader who’d come to Roswell a mere few weeks ago. The man Alex had looked up to and smiled around and trusted. The man who seemed more Alex’s father than Jesse Manes had ever been.

Sergeant Ramos, looking about twelve years younger, raised a brow at Alex’s right hand which was subtly pushing the photo back into its hiding place in his pocket.

He tilted his head at Alex. “You’re the new kid, right? Jesse’s youngest. Alec?”

“Alex Manes, sir,” Alex said loudly, coherently. Like a soldier.

“Alex,” he nodded. “You miss your friend, Alex?”

Alex faltered. “Sir?”

“Your friend,” he nudged his chin at Alex’s pocket. “In the picture.” His eyes were meaningful when he said, “You must’ve been very close.”

Alex swallowed. It was no use trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He’d just come back from his father’s house, he was too used to being afraid. He hadn’t spent a decade learning to hide that fear.

“Is he the reason you’re here?”

Alex raised his chin. “I’m here to be stronger, sir!”

Ramos smiled, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “You seemed plenty strong to me up on that platform, Private.”

Alex frowned. “I was . . . losing, sir.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you were getting back up. No matter what he hit you with.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I don’t like bullies, sir.”

“Did a bully hurt your friend there?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

Alex said nothing, and Michael could see the questions in the furrow of his brow. What would happen to him if a sergeant discovered he was gay? Would he report him to Jesse?

Ramos sighed and looked around. “If you don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “you won’t last long, I can guarantee you that. You know where you are?”

Alex blinked, confused. “The – the US Air Force Base?”

“Are you asking me?”

He straightened. “The US Air Force Base, sir!”

“You ever been in a plane?” he asked. “Ever seen what we see up there?”

Alex hesitated, then shook his head. He quickly caught himself and said, “No, sir!”

Ramos hummed, then patted Alex’s shoulder once, hard enough to make Alex stumble. “All right, follow me! I’m about to show you the few good things about being out in this godforsaken desert.”

Alex followed as he was supposed to, though doubt never left his face. He seemed convinced that there was nothing good about being out here.

Michael and Isobel exchanged a glance before they quickly followed. Michael stayed close to Alex and reached for his hand several times, until they passed right through each other and Alex hardly seemed aware of him.

They went into a hangar with several smaller planes inside, and Alex tensed just for a moment at the sight of them all before he realized Ramos was leading him to a little aircraft at the far right of the room.

“Stay with me, Guerin,” Alex suddenly whispered, his eyes wide and betraying some fear. Michael looked to him, surprised, but realized that Alex was just talking to himself. His hand covered his pocket where his picture of him and Michael was, and with a deep, shaking sigh, he followed Ramos to the plane.

When Alex got close enough, Ramos tossed him a helmet. “Hop in, kid!”

Alex swallowed. He looked like he wanted to stutter an excuse not to, but he gripped his pocket tightly and nodded once, putting on the helmet.

“Oh my god,” Isobel said with a smirk tugging at her lips as realization dawned. “You’re like his good luck charm.”

Michael swallowed, though he definitely didn’t want to smile. When did it stop? When did Alex realize that he wasn’t good luck at all? When had he stopped needing him?

Before Michael and Isobel could say anything else, they both ended up in the backseat of the little aircraft, Ramos and Alex in the front, the plane on a wide stretch of road. Michael didn’t know if this aircraft had initially fit two people in the back, but it was like the memory warped and changed for them to be able to follow.

“We’re tied to Alex,” Isobel told him. Despite the roar of the engine, they heard each other, and the other two passengers, perfectly. “We’ll keep getting tugged along with him.”

Alex gripped the edge of his seat tightly as the plane took off into the air. Michael could hear his gasp, his eyes wanting to close but unwilling to do it in front of his sergeant. They rose high to the clouds, Alex’s knuckles white. Michael wanted more than anything to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but this Alex was on his own. He’d never had Michael there as Michael had had Max and Isobel. It was just him, alone, with nothing but a picture to comfort him.

“Better hold onto somethin’,” Ramos laughed and pulled up high above the clouds.

What they saw knocked the breath out of their lungs. High above a bed of white, the sun shined brightly, turning the sky around it to gold and pink and purple and blue. It looked like the color of their spaceship surrounding them.

The sunlight hit Alex’s wide eyes, and Michael watched him breathing quickly, emotions turning from fear to shock to grief to wonder to amazement to grief and shock again. He could’ve done anything in that moment. He could’ve cried, could’ve screamed. Instead he smiled, a surprised burst of laughter escaping his lips.

He held up his hands and yelled, “WOOOOOOO!” and Ramous laughed harder. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh along, and Michael couldn’t look away from Alex. The bright sunlight had turned his tear-filled eyes to crystal green, and if Ramos noticed his crying, he didn’t say anything. Alex just laughed and ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the sight before him, as if he’d never expected that such a beautiful treasure could be right over his head this whole time.

After they’d come back down, Ramos handed Alex his half of a ham and cheese sandwich. “Every year,” he told him, “I look at new recruits, try to decide if there are any worth keeping an eye out for. This year, that’s you.”

Alex blinked. “Why me?”

“Because a soldier who can start a battle is a dime a dozen,” he said simply. “I need the kind of person who can win them. I think I can make you captain in record’s time.” He raised a brow, and finished his sandwich in one bite. “Would that be something you would want?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “That would outrank my dad – er – Sergeant Manes.”

“Yes,” Sergeant Ramos said slowly, as though he’d just figured out the bully’s name. “It would. He would have to answer to you.”

Alex’s cheeks were red, but his expression fierce and hopeful. “You can really make me captain, sir?”

“If it’s what you want,” he said. “If it’s the kind of person you want to be. But you ‘aint gonna get it getting beaten down the way you do.”

“I’m – I’m trying –”

“Trying is for excuses,” he said. “‘Round here, you do. If you want to outrank your old man, there’s only one way to do it, Manes. I can train you, but the work’s gotta come from you. What do you think?” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to go to be the stronger one?”

The look on Alex’s face said it all. He would become whatever he had to, do whatever needed doing. He had enemies, and he wanted them to burn.

The picture changed. It was like walking through a film, memories too blurred and passing now for Michael and Isobel to cling to.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Isobel, and she shook her head.

“Alex doesn’t clearly remember any of this stuff,” she said, “so we can’t see it any better than he can.”

They saw Alex get older, training harder, running faster, shooting better than anybody else around him. They saw him rise in ranks quickly, uniformed men pinning medals to his chest, congratulating him. Alex laughing with a team of his own, men with muscles larger than Michael’s head, following him like he was their hero.

The memory then stopped, and Michael and Isobel found themselves in a hospital hallway.

Isobel shivered and clung to Michael’s arm. “What is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

Michael looked around, and pointed at a familiar man pacing along the wall, his thumb pressed to his lower lip.

“Gregory?” Isobel blinked. “What’s he doing here?”

A doctor stepped out, and Gregory was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he demanded at once.

The doctor sighed. It sounded sad. Gregory’s face fell, anguish overtaking his expression. “We did all we could,” he said, “but we couldn’t save the leg.”

Isobel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this.”

Michael couldn’t hear anything else she said. He was watching Alex who was sitting up in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. Michael went inside and stood at Alex’s bedside. He did not look at the sheets and what they revealed.

“Private,” he whispered, leaning in as close as he could without touching Alex. “Can you hear me?”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t look down or move. The circles around his eyes were dark. He slowly reached over to the tray beside his bed where a few of his belongings sat in an opened plastic bag, and took something out. It was a picture, his picture of him and Michael, tattered around the edges and stained with specs of blood on the back. He hugged it against his chest as a tear wordlessly rolled down his cheek, though he remained expressionless.

“Alex,” Gregory came in. He looked over Alex’s missing right leg, and swallowed thickly. “Hey,” he brushed his hair back from his face. Alex was either half-asleep or still filled with anesthetic. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Michael knew Alex could, that he remembered this moment perfectly, or he and Isobel would never have been able to see it.

Alex’s lips tugged up in half a sad smile, his brows furrowed as another tear fell down the bridge of his nose. “He’ll think I’m broken now. He’s so beautiful, he’d . . . he’d never love me like this.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been shot. Alex had kept the picture. Alex had thought Michael wouldn’t love him without his leg. Even now, after all these years, he’d kept the photo of them together. Even now, Michael was still his comfort.

The scene changed.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Isobel groaned. “Where are we now? It looks like Alex’s house, doesn’t it?”

It did. It was night, and they were right in Alex’s driveway, the trees lit with fairy lights, and there sat Michael, or a previous version of Michael, on the bed of his truck.

Michael’s heart fell into his stomach. “No,” he breathed. He remembered this.

“Whoa,” Isobel looked between Michael and Memory Michael. “It’s like Inception.”

“No, please, no,” Michael whispered as Alex pulled up. He stepped out and saw Michael shaking his head.

“What?” he asked in that cute way Michael had never admitted to.

“Pick another memory,” Michael told Isobel. “Any other memory!”

“I can’t control where we go!” Isobel said. “Why? What happens here, Michael?”

Michael pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes as Alex’s plea to help him find out more about his mom sounds in his ears. Then Michael’s own cruel words, “I like Maria, okay?”

Isobel’s hand tightened on Michael’s. “Oh.”

Michael was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when the image before them blurred. It didn’t go away, it just faded to darkness.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked Isobel.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed. “It’s Alex,” she said. “He – he stopped paying attention.”

Michael swallowed thickly as the colors ran around him. Then he and Isobel were in Alex’s living room as Alex came in. It was right after Michael had left his house.

Alex sat down on the couch, staring off into the distance. He pulled off his cap, and his arm fell limp to his side. Slowly, Alex let his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, the same numb expression on his face as when he’d woken up to losing his leg. Any pretense of being fine or indifferent to Michael’s confession was gone.

Alex sniffled, then straightened. His eyes were dry. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out that same picture of him and Michael. He stared at it for a long time, but he didn’t say anything.

“He kept it,” Isobel breathed. “All this time, he’s loved you so much.”

“I didn’t –” Michael croaked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

He’d thought Alex didn’t care who he was with. Then he thought to the way Alex’s eyes had fallen time and time again; in his driveway, his backyard, outside Michael’s airstream over and over and over again. Never surprised, just afraid that his suspicions had been right. That he was too broken for Michael to love anymore.

Alex lied down with a deep sigh that sounded frighteningly like resignation, his hand with the picture hanging off the couch. Slowly, his jaw clenched, Alex let the picture flutter out of his fingers and to the floor. He turned over to his other side and closed his eyes. He didn’t pick the picture up again.

“Alex . . .” Michael whispered, but before he could try reaching for Alex, the picture changed again, and he and Isobel were standing next to Alex in front of a short building. Kids played outside and elders swept their front porch.

Isobel leaned her weight against Michael. He put an arm around her waist. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, Michael. We have to find the broken part here, fast.”

Michael looked Alex over. “I think we’re getting there. Wasn’t this what he was wearing the day he was ambushed?”

Isobel straightened, eyes narrowed. She gasped. “Kyle told me Alex had gone to visit his mom that morning! He called on his way to the bunker, and –”

“That’s where they got him,” Michael growled, his hands turned to fists at the thought. “We’re close.”

As if hearing the urgency in their voices, a woman opened the door to greet Alex. She had Alex’s dark eyes, dark hair, and kind smile.

“My baby,” Alex’s mother pulled him in for a hug. Alex hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

His mother quickly noticed and her smile faltered. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, baby, come in. Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

That was how they found themselves minutes later, seated in a small but comfy living room with plush floral couches, Michael and Isobel on each side of Alex as he and his mother nursed hot cups of tea.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s mother said. “Why do you look like that?”

Alex scoffed halfheartedly, “Are you saying I look bad?”

She brushed his hair back from his eyes. “My son is the handsomest in the world.” She brought her hand to his chin and lifted his head. “So why is he so upset?”

“I’m not upset, mom,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m just . . . so tired.” His smile fell away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a sip of his tea and set the mug down. He rubbed his hands together. “When you called last night, I told you everything was fine. I lied, mom.”

She nodded, like this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I know.” She tilted her head, and softly asked, “Is it your breakup? I thought you were okay with that.”

“I was,” Alex shook his head, eyes shut. “I – I am, but I . . .” He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. He huffed a miserable chuckle. “I tried to burn it. I couldn’t.”

She took the picture from him, and Isobel gasped softly. It was the same one Alex had had of him and Michael for all of these years. He’d never gotten rid of it. Michael had never stopped being a comfort to him. Until, apparently, now.

Realization dawned on Alex’s mother’s face. “This boy. What was his name again?”

Alex rubbed his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore. Forrest and I broke up, and he still won’t tell me anything.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you loved each other?”

Alex nodded. “I used to believe that.” He sighed shakily. “Not anymore.” He chuckled sadly, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of – of excuses and being afraid and – and being brave just to find out that it makes no difference. It’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Alex,” Alex’s mother looked horrified at her son’s words. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Alex confessed in a whisper. “He showed me. He told Maria he loved her.”

Isobel’s eyes were wide. “Michael, you what?” she demanded. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I was scared,” he said, his eyes on Alex. “I wanted to hold onto something easy.”

But he didn’t know this was what he’d been doing to Alex. That he was hurting him this badly, all to date someone he’d never actually wanted to date. Michael looked at the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, his tousled hair, and wondered how long it had been since Alex had eaten or slept.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex said. “I’d always hoped that . . . that we’d end up together. But it’s not something he wants anymore. If he ever wanted it at all.” His eyes shut tight. “I can’t keep clinging to bread crumbs, mom, I don’t want to.”

His mom looked concerned, but she took Alex’s hands in both of hers and said steadily, “Alex, what’re you trying to say? You can tell me.”

Alex exhaled shakily, and lifted his gaze to his mother’s. “Mom, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve thought about it since he and Maria first started . . .” he clenched his jaw and looked away, like just the thought of Michael and Maria together pained him. Finally, he said, “I’m leaving Roswell.”

“No,” Michael breathed.

“And I’m not coming back this time.”

“NO!” Michael stood. “Alex, you can’t leave!”

“Michael,” Isobel tried. “He can’t hear you.”

“Alex can’t leave me,” he shook his head. “He can’t.”

“I can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “I can’t pretend he still loves me. It hurts too much.”

Despite Isobel’s protests, Michael leaned over Alex and grabbed his arms. He kept going through him.

“Alex, look at me!” he demanded. “I’m right here, look at me!”

Alex flinched just as Michael’s hands collided with his arms, grabbing onto him. He could feel Alex, and Alex could feel him.

Alex looked startled, his mother’s voice was gone. Everyone’s voices were gone but Michael’s, Isobel’s, and Alex’s. The world around them was turning to black as Alex searched the air in front of him, as if looking for the source of the sound.

“He can hear me,” Michael muttered, eyes wide. “He can – he can hear me!”

Alex’s eyes fell onto Michael’s, and his brows furrowed. “Guerin?”

“This is it,” Isobel stood. “This is the faulty memory! The part where Alex’s brain is screwed up and is keeping him asleep!”

“Isobel?” Alex blinked. He tried to stand with Michael clinging to him. Michael was afraid that if he let go of this memory, Alex would disappear from him for good. “What’re you guys doing here, what is all this?”

They were standing in darkness. Nothingness upon nothingness.

“You were attacked,” Isobel told him, “by Project Shepherd agents.”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days,” Michael said. “We couldn’t get you to wake up, we had to come into your mind, try to wake you from here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alex shook his head. “Attacked? Coma? None of this makes any sense!”

“Remember!” Michael demanded. “Remember! This is just a memory, the real you knows what happened! Remember, Alex!”

Alex looked shocked, doubtful, disbelieving. Then something in his expression slotted together. “I was – I was at the bunker . . . the door was open . . . it all happened so fast.” He blinked, and gasped. “A gunshot. Someone – someone shot me.” He frantically patted down his stomach, looking for the wound, but he wouldn’t find it in a memory. He looked back to Isobel, then Michael. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You have to fight it, Alex,” Isobel urged. She leaned forward on her knees and huffed, like just breathing was getting tiresome for her. “You have to want to wake up.”

“Want to wake up?”

“Yeah,” Michael cupped his jaw. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me,” he breathed. “I miss you, please wake up for me.”

Alex searched his face, then said, “No.”

Michael faltered. “N-No?”

“No,” Alex tried pulling his arms out of Michael’s grasp, but Michael held on. “Guerin, I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? Alex, this is your life we’re talking about –”

“My life?” he laughed. It sounded so sad. “What life, Guerin? The one where the man I love won’t say two nice words to me? The one where my friends don’t think twice about what their decisions might do to me? Where my own brother tried to kill me because I got in his way?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Guerin. No. I’ve been tired for a long time, and I want to rest now.”

Michael gripped his arms harder. “You think I don’t know the real you?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know that you’ve had hope for us even when I didn’t? You think I don’t know that no matter what you say, you’ll believe in us whether you want to or not? We’re cosmic, Alex, this won’t kill us, and you know it won’t. If you don’t wake up, I’ll just come after you again, you know I will.”

Isobel stared, shocked. “Michael . . .”

His grip on Alex turned painfully tight. “I’ve never trusted anything, Alex. I’m not like you, I can’t see the good even when everything just feels bad. But I trust you. If you don’t wake up, I’ll die.” He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And you won’t let me. I believe that.”

His grip loosened.

“What’re you doing?” Alex said, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“I’m trusting you to come back to me,” Michael said, his whole body trembling. “Because you always do.”

“Michael,” Isobel warned, “if you let him go now, we might lose him for good.”

Michael smirked, and a tear fell down Alex’s face. “I’m not letting you go,” Michael told Alex. “I can’t.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried, but Michael was already straightening, bracing himself.

“You’ll come back,” he said, sure of this more than anything else.

Without another word, he let go of Alex, and a sudden wind hit his face. Then he blinked, and he was back in Max’s bedroom. He and Isobel both broke apart and fell to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Kyle gasped somewhere in the distance and helped Isobel up while Max came to Michael’s side.

“You guys have been frozen for hours!” he said, pulling Michael to his feet. “What happened?”

“Michael had Alex,” Isobel said, and looked to her brother. “Why?” she demanded. “Michael, after what he told us –”

“What?” Kyle said, looking between them. “Told you what?”

Michael lumbered out of Max’s hold and took his place at Alex’s bedside again, taking his hand in his. “Come on, Alex,” he begged in a whisper. “Come on. Come back to me.”

“He said . . . he said . . .”

“It doesn’t matter!” Michael snapped, and Isobel fell silent. “He’ll wake up. He will. Come on, baby,” he murmured into Alex’s hand. “Come on.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Michael,” Isobel said quietly. “He’s not going to wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” Michael said at once, his grip on Alex’s hand bruising. “He will.”

“Just give him a minute,” he heard Kyle say. He must’ve been clinging to that hope just as desperately as Michael was.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, Alex. Stay with me.”

A moment. Two. Michael’s eyes burned, and his hands started to tremble. Then he felt it; he felt Alex’s fingers move in his.

He gasped, and waited. Alex moved again.

Kyle pointed at one of the monitors. “Brain activity’s increasing!” he all but yelled. “Alex?”

They looked to Alex, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and a sob escaped Michael’s lips before he pressed them to Alex’s fingers, kissing each one. Kyle gently pulled off the respirator, and he and Michael both helped a confused Alex sit up.

Alex’s brows were furrowed as he took in the room. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Isobel collapsed into tearful giggles, and Max, relieved, patted Alex’s shoulder twice. Kyle ruffled his hair, and Michael moved to sit next to him, hugging him tightly and keeping him close.

“Don’t ever do that to us again, Manes,” Kyle warned him with a trembling smile.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember anything – ow!” He lifted up his short sleeve to reveal red nail marks. Michael’s nail marks from when he’d been gripping him a little too tightly, terrified of losing him.

Alex met Michael’s gaze with furrowed brows, realization quickly dawning. Michael pressed their foreheads together and took a second to breathe Alex in before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s lips in his own.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and then Alex broke away, panting, though they kept their foreheads together.

“Get off him,” Kyle slapped Michael’s shoulder. “He still needs a minute to breathe.”

“No,” Michael said simply, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck, feeling as much of him as he could.

“Oh!” Isobel started. “Alex, what ever happened to that photograph?”

Michael tensed.

“What photograph?” Max asked.

“Alex,” she said, “had this picture of him and Michael when they were seventeen. We saw it in all of his memories.”

“Isobel,” Michael warned through grit teeth. He expected the same out of Alex, to see him embarrassed or shy, but Alex simply blinked like he’d forgotten about the picture.

“That?” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small photograph.

Michael hugged his waist with one hand and took the photo with the other. “I have one just like this.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’ll show it to you,” he promised into his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “I think it might be time for a new one.” He smiled at Michael like he adored him. No, more than adored him. The thought made Michael’s heart flutter and made him cling tighter.

Michael kissed Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

“Um,” Isobel said testily as Max and Kyle looked away with red faces. “Y’all know we’re still here, right?”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw homophobia #tw implied suicide #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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sapphicquill · 3 years

Note

congrats on 100 followers friend <3 may I ask for anything with ler!Fjord bc the way you wrote teasing in your TAZ fic was so good? or lee!Lucretia during the Stolen Century arc being tickled out of her antisocial little shell if you're in a TAZ mood :) -Chock

Whoops. This is what happens when my whole life gets flipped upside down and I have to move cross-country back home out of no where! Sorry for the long wait, I'm finally making headway on these fics. I owe the entirety of this fic to @ticklishnonsense's honey-tongued because that’s the Ultimate Teasey Ler!Fjord fic and to @poesparakeet-fics for the plot because my smol brain could not come up with anything good and she gave me THE GOODS. Hope you enjoy, @chockfullofsecrets!

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Fjord, Caleb Widogast

Wordcount: 2423

After everything they’ve all been through, Fjord thinks he can handle most things. Spitting up salt water in the mornings, nearly getting impaled by strangers on a regular basis, Nott rifling through his shit—while he’d rather not deal with all of that bullshit, he can and that’s the important thing.

But the crushing weight of all the damn pining happening between Caleb and Essek might be the one thing Fjord absolutely cannot handle for any longer.

It had started innocently enough. Hands brushing and secret smiles and eyes briefly meeting before diverting, full of nerves and excitement and swirling butterflies. He’d experienced some of the same with Jester, but the two wizards were starting to get insufferable. It was painfully obvious to anyone in the room that they had a thing for one another, and even if it wasn’t, Fjord had overheard Caleb whining to Jester more than once about the entire situation, so it wasn’t like he was entirely oblivious to his own crush.

But apparently perpetually sad and stuffy wizards are really bad at just admitting what was right in front of their faces. Fjord’s worried that one of them might just explode soon, and that’s the entirely altruistic reasoning that finally inspires him to insert himself into the situation.

Caleb’s problem, Fjord thinks, is one of confidence. He gets too caught up in his own keen mind, tangling everything up in his head and overthinking and overanalyzing and panicking and deconstructing until everything’s just a jumbled mess of knots. He just needs a little push is all. A little something to nudge him past the trouble that is thinking and into acting. And Fjord thinks he knows a fairly good method of encouragement.

Thus, Fjord is currently standing in the doorway of the mansion library, trying not to reveal his presence too early. Caleb is folded over a desk with a pinched expression on his face that Fjord knows by now means he’s reached some sort of roadblock in whatever he was working on. In other words: a perfect time for an interruption.

“Productive afternoon?”

It’s a testament to how close the group has gotten that Caleb only sort-of flinches at the sudden sound of Fjord’s voice.

“Ah, nein, not really,” the wizard replies as he straightens up. His back makes an ominous cracking noise as he sits up and Fjord winces in sympathy.

“Gods, then maybe it’s time to take a break, hm?”

“Ja, a break…” Caleb trails off, eyes drifting back to the scattered parchment and books on the desk. Fjord resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the utterly predictability of their headstrong wizard.

“Okay, well now I’m making you take a break, Widogast,” he says as he marches swiftly over to Caleb and practically hauls him out of his chair. Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes willingly, letting himself be shuffled over to a nearby sofa.

With a huff, Caleb sits and begins massaging his temples, willing away either a physical ache or a swirling mass of snarled thoughts and ideas. Fjord lowers himself down next to the human and pretends like he isn’t thrilled over what he’s about to do.

A comfortable silence descends then. After a few more vigorous rubs, Caleb leans his head back against the leather of the sofa and closes his eyes and Fjord figures this is the best chance to spring the trap.

Quick as a slash of his falchion, Fjord twists from his spot next to Caleb and pulls him down into a horizontal position before caging the human in from above. He hovers over the now-prone wizard and tries not to feel too smug as Caleb yelps but doesn’t move an inch to try to wiggle away.

“Scheiße, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Fjord says casually as he can. Caleb gives him an exasperated look, complete with raised eyebrow and suspicious frown.

“And this ‘something’ requires you to pin me to a sofa?”

Fjord grins before scooping both of Caleb’s wrists up with one hand and pulling them above his head. Exasperation shifts quickly into a mix of disbelief, fear, and anticipation and Fjord is lucky that around his friends, Caleb wears his emotions very clearly on his face.

“Well,” the warlock starts, “I kind of figured that this particular topic would send you scampering off if I didn’t take some preventative measures.”

A fiery blush colors Caleb’s cheeks and Fjord tries not to laugh.

“And something tells me I thought correctly.”

Caleb makes a noise not unlike one Fjord’s heard from Frumpkin and finally starts to struggle lightly in his grasp, like his body is only now catching up with the rest of him. Fjord lets him, figuring that letting the wizard work himself into a bit of a tizzy will just make his own task easier. Caleb’s terribly predictable. As the human squirms minutely under him, Fjord lets his free hand curve subtly into a claw and hovers it just next to Caleb’s lower ribs.

“Now, see, I also think you might benefit from a little preemptive encouragement, because you’re the most stubborn fucker I’ve ever met when you have to talk about anything personal...”

Fjord trails off when he notices that Caleb’s eyes have locked onto his hand, mostly because he knows that the brilliant mage has connected all of the appropriate dots and will voice a protest in three, two—

“N-nein, Fjord, wait just a moment, there is no need for—”

Fjord slowly flutters his fingers, still poised a hair’s breadth from the stretched expanse of Caleb’s ribs, and Caleb cuts himself off with a hitched laugh-gasp, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate right now,” Fjord says, the edges of his voice tinged with a low growl as he keeps the motion of his fingers going. Caleb doesn’t really do much aside from grow ever so slightly redder in the face.

Without further preamble, Fjord finally moves his hand to meet Caleb’s torso. It’s like the wizard has been hit with a successful Thunderwave—his whole body jolts before tensing up so tightly he trembles. Continuing the fluttering from before, Fjord traces across the space between Caleb’s two lowest ribs and grins when Caleb lets out something between a giggle and a whine.

“Gods, you’re so easy to rile up, you know that?”

Caleb’s giggling picks up at Fjord’s words. He’d have pity on the wizard if it wasn’t so adorable. Still gently teasing at the softness of Caleb’s lower ribs, the half-orc leans forward until his mouth is right next to his victim’s ear.

“You’re just that ticklish, huh?”

Caleb thrashes, throwing his head from side to side so rapidly Fjord would be worried the human would hurt himself if he hadn’t watched this happen numerous times before. For good measure, he lets his fingers drift up Caleb’s ribs and lets out a small laugh himself as the giggles morph into airy, full-blown laughter. Exactly as planned.

“So you and Essek,” Fjord says casually as he straightens back up, pitching his voice a little louder to be heard over Caleb’s bubbly laughter. The wizard definitely seems to register his words if the cut-off gasp and even more desperate wiggles are any indication. Fjord laughs a little to himself at the adorable way Caleb scrunches his nose when the increased movement does little to deter his attack. Taking a little pity, Fjord pushes on, his free fingers swirling tight circles up and down Caleb’s right side.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

Fjord’s not exactly sure humans are supposed to turn that shade of red, but Jester’s got healing spells to spare right now, so he continues.

“And as amusing as it is watching you two dance around each other, it’s getting a bit old.”

“B-bitte, Fjord—!”

Caleb’s own laughter cuts off whatever plea was going to escape next. The wizard flops his head a bit side to side, like if he shakes enough he’ll clear Fjord’s words like trapped water from his ears. It’s downright precious and one hundred percent ineffective.

Adjusting his grip on Caleb’s wrists, Fjord lets his fingers trail up his captive’s ribs in the same slow pace he knows will drive Caleb up the damn wall. It’s a little impressive, actually, how easily this light tickling can take their resident wizard apart. Particularly useful at certain times. He can feel Caleb trembling under him, laughs high and desperate as the light tracing fingertips slowly migrate up to what both Jester and Molly affectionately refer to as his worst “death spots.”

“So, here’s my idea.”

His fingers flutter just below the space where his holsters normally are—fortunate Caleb feels comfortable and safe enough to remove them when at the house—and the wizard groans through his laughter.

“Either you promise that you’ll confess to Essek the next time he’s around, or I’ll just have to keep tickling you forever. How’s that sound?”

“Wh-aaat? Bitte, no, that is e-eehviil!”

“That’s kind of the point, bud,” Fjord replies around another laugh of his own. He floats his fingers up the scant few millimeters to the space between Caleb’s uppermost ribs without prompting and hopes that the wail the human lets out doesn’t worry the rest of the Nein. (It shouldn’t, not with the frequency Caleb makes noises like that.)

“I’m not letting up until you tell me the first words out of your mouth when you see Essek next are ‘Can we talk somewhere privately, Shadowhand?’” Fjord pitches his voice into a terrifically awful imitation of a Zemnian accent that has Caleb laughing, somehow, even harder. Though, on second thought, that might have more to do with the rapid little scribbles he’s got focused on the space above Caleb’s top rib than his attempt at accentwork.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb doesn’t say anything much in response, instead throwing all of his effort into laughing and squirming ineffectively. Fjord keeps a careful ear out for any hint of the safeword Jester had insisted everyone know about and respect upon pain of near-death, but the only thing coming out of Caleb is whimpered begging and a spray of foreign curses. Perfect.

Fjord takes a split second to send a silent apology to Jester, who will no doubt be massively upset she missed out on assisting Fjord with this bit of encouragement, but this was his game right now, dammit, and it was time to go for the kill.

(Would it be worth the inevitable tickling the blue tiefling would dish out later? Most definitely.)

“Alright, well, suit yourself, Widogast.”

With that, Fjord moves the tickling to Caleb’s exposed underarm and focuses the entirety of his attention on making the human melt.

With an impressive amount of core strength, Caleb attempts to jackknife in half to throw Fjord off. Fortunately, their wizard’s tricks are well known by now. Fjord barely budges as he keeps up the spidering under Caleb’s arm, letting his fingers trail just the slightest bit up the underside of Caleb’s bicep before reversing back down to the soft spot just above Caleb’s uppermost rib.

The fight drains out of the mage just as quickly as it revved up, leaving him loose and floppy and lost in the throws of his own cackling. Fjord would feel bad if he didn’t know how much Caleb was enjoying himself. Time to step things up a notch.

“You know how to get me to stop, Caleb. Do you really like the thought of me tickling you like this more than the idea of confessing to a crush you know is damn-well mutual? Really seems like it.”

More wailing, more thrashing, but still, no dice. Maybe a slightly different approach…

“Gods above, you’re just too ticklish for your own good, aren’t you?”

As always, Caleb responds viscerally to the mere word and that, of all things, seems to be the final straw.

“Scheiße, bitte! Habt mitleid! Ohhkay, I pr-promise!”

“You promise what?”

“Oh please, I caa-aan’t—!”

Fjord shifts from light tracing along Caleb’s top ribs to a solid press of his palm, steadying the human as his laughter slowly eases up. After a few gulps of air, Caleb continues.

“I will tell Essek how I truly feel when we next encounter him, I swear to you!”

“You’re absolutely promising me you’ll spill about your deep, undying love for Essek Thelyss the very moment he’s within twenty yards of you?” Fjord taunts, curling his fingers back into a claw at Caleb’s right side. The human tenses and anticipatory giggles start bubbling from him almost instantly.

“Ja, ja, I a-ahh-m!”

“Good!” Fjord says brightly, pulling his hand away from Caleb’s squirming form. He smiles down at Caleb, who looks about ready to protest the large hand still pining his wrists to the sofa, before lowering himself to speak directly into the wizard’s ear.

“And maybe after you two have worked everything out, I’ll have a little chat with Essek myself about how much you like this particular method of torture.”

Caleb looks a bit like he’s swallowed a toad.

“F-fjord, mein Gott, wait—”

“I’m sure Molly and Jester would be more than happy to help me tell him all of the best ways to tickle you senseless, hmm? They’re tieflings, you know how honest they get when tickling comes up. They’ll just gush about how much you love it when we wreck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He isn’t even tickling him anymore, but Caleb is giggling, light and bubbly and tortured, all from Fjord’s teasing alone.

“Hell, maybe we’ll all get you the next time Essek comes by the tower. How’d you like that, him watching you get tickled by every single one of us until you cry and knowing you love every minute of it?”

Caleb’s just babbling in Zemnian through his laughter, eyes squeezed shut and a grin pulling wide at his lips.

“D’you think he’d join in if we asked him to?”

Caleb just keeps laughing. Fjord grins. Mission successful.

#tk fic #tk fic community #tickle fic #critickle role #critickle role fic #cr tk fic #lee caleb #ler fjord #prompt fill #chockfullofsecrets #100 follower prompt celebration #finally filling these bad boys #big thanks to poe for actually motivating me to write this thank yooooou #sapphicquillfics

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suttttton · 3 years

Text

Like Real People Do

Written for Febuwhump, Day 9: Buried Alive

***

“Absolutely not,” Basira says. “You’re not getting yourself killed.”

“I’m really not asking,” Jon replies. His chest aches where his ribs were so recently pulled from him, and the bone feels almost warm in his hands. “I’m not just going to leave him in there.”

“I say let him go,” Daisy cuts in, her voice low and hostile. “One less monster for us to deal with.”

Jon turns his face away. She’s right, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered exactly that point, but… this isn’t an excuse for him to die. He has to come out of the coffin. He has to get Martin out.

Basira ignores Daisy. “Jon, we’ve all lost people. You have to get over it.”

Jon just shakes his head. “I’m not losing him.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Basira finally relents. “Fine. You want to get yourself killed? Go ahead.”

“I’m not going to get myself killed,” Jon says, with much more confidence than he feels.

“No death in that thing,” Daisy says.

“Yes,” Jon says, still not looking at her. “But—this will work. People have found their way out of the Buried before. One person, at least, and the Eye wanted me to read their statement. It—If I leave my rib here, I should be able to find my way back to it.”

“And how will you find Martin?” Basira asks.

“That won’t be a problem,” Jon says. He can’t See him, not in the Coffin, but he can feel him. A deep kind of resigned terror that makes his heart ache.

“How long?” Basira asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says.

Basira glares at him. “You don’t know.”

“No!” Jon says. “I might be in there—a day? Maybe?”

“And if you don’t come out?” Basira says.

“One less monster,” Jon manages with a self-deprecating smile, glancing at Daisy.

“Yeah, well,” Basira says. “Try to make it back.”

“Right,” Jon says. “Right.”

***

It’s easy, finding Martin.

Well, no. Easy isn’t quite the right word. The Coffin is… horrible, dirt brushing against every exposed part of Jon’s skin, walls closing around him, squeezing him until he isn’t quite sure how he’s even moving forward. He can’t breathe, and his throat hurts from inhaling dust.

But he can feel Martin, like a tether, pulling him closer and closer, until finally he’s… there. He’s right there, and Jon is grabbing his hand, and it’s cold but it’s Martin. He’s never been so glad in his life.

“Jon?” Martin says, and his voice breaks Jon’s heart. He sounds exhausted. He sounds… crushed. Nothing Martin should ever, ever sound like.

“Yes,” Jon says, reaching out for more of him. It’s hard. The Coffin would much rather keep them apart.

“No, no,” Martin says. He also grabs for Jon, and manages to pull him a little closer, one hand settling on his arm. “You can’t be here. Why are you here?”

“I came rescue you,” Jon says.

“You came to…“ Martin’s face is already dirt-streaked and tearstained, but Jon hears his throat catch. “Jon, why would you do that? I don’t—I don’t want you to be trapped here too.”

“I—I won’t be,” Jon says. “I can—” his voice stops, as he reaches for his rib, comes up empty. “I—no, this isn’t—” Where is his anchor? He can’t feel anything, except for the endless, endless dirt pressing in on them for all directions. “Martin, I—I can’t—” his breath hitches with something like panic.

Martin pulls Jon to him, through the dirt, and Jon tries to take consolation that he can at least have this—Martin’s arms around him, holding him close in the darkness.

“I’m sorry, Martin,” he says, and his voice breaks. He couldn’t even do this. “I—I thought—”

“It’s alright, Jon,” Martin says, petting a hand through his hair. “It’s alright.”

***

Martin thought he’d gotten past the worst of the pain this place had in store for him. The terror had long since faded to numb, hopeless horror. The loneliness had started to feel… right, somehow. It was almost peaceful. For once, nothing left to worry about.

But now his heart is breaking, and he is barely, barely holding himself together. Because of Jon. Because Jon came for him. It’s such a stupid, Jon thing to do, Martin almost wants to laugh.

He’d so badly wanted Jon to be alright. It was the one thing he still bothered to hope for, in this hopeless place, but he should have known better.

Jon is doomed because of him. Jon is trembling, crying in his arms because he’s trapped here, forever. A lump forms in Martin’s throat. He wants to fix this. He so badly wants to fix this, to assure Jon that everything will be fine. But it won’t be fine. They’re buried, and it’s all Martin’s fault.

The worst part is that Martin is happy. He’s happy that Jon is here. He’d been so certain that he would never, ever see Jon again. Now he’s warm against Martin’s chest, and even while he cries it is so, so sweet to hear his voice.

He shouldn’t be happy.

Jon pulls back from him, just slightly, just enough to say, “I’m glad—Well,” he laughs softly, wetly. “I’m not glad you’re here. But… If I had to be stuck in a hell dimension with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Martin buries his face in Jon’s hair, laughing silently. Laughing too much, probably for how feeble of a joke it was. “Me too, Jon.”

“I love you,” Jon says. Just like that.

And Martin—can’t. It’s too much.

He gets a sudden flash of terror, imagining the dirt softening and flooding around them, into every little crack between them, forcing them apart. He wouldn’t survive that. Wouldn’t survive losing Jon. Wouldn’t survive knowing that Jon was suffering, somewhere, without being able to offer him even a modicum of comfort.

He holds Jon even tighter, trying to relax the heavy knot that’s formed in his throat. It’s difficult to breath, and for once it isn’t because of the dirt surrounding them. “I love you too, Jon. I’ve always—” his voice hitches, and then he’s sobbing, clutching to Jon like a life raft, because that is exactly what he is. The only thing keeping Martin from sinking.

Jon’s hand comes up to his face, and wipes tears and dirt from his cheeks.

***

A day passes, then two more, and Jon doesn’t re-emerge from the Coffin. Basira doesn’t ask Elias for advice, but he tells her anyway. Tapes. Everything always comes back to the tapes.

Part of her agrees with Daisy, that Jon being gone gives them one less monster to deal with. But… if the Institute gets attacked again, Basira would rather have as many monsters as possible on her side. And she likes Martin. He doesn’t deserve to be trapped in the Coffin forever.

***

Martin is dozing when he feels Jon squeeze his hand.

“Martin,” he says. “I—I think—” Jon’s eyes aren’t looking at him, are far away, and in the dim light Martin can see that they are glowing, just faintly. He doesn’t know if he should be worried or hopeful.

Then Jon gasps, and a grin comes over his face. He keeps his tight grip on Martin’s hand, and says, “I know the way. Martin, I know the way out!”

***

They emerge from the Coffin into Jon’s office, and everything is dark. It’s 1:43am, according to the Eye, and the others have long since gone to sleep in the tunnels.

It isn’t silent, though. All around them, the tapes are running.

“That’s… creepy,” Martin says, leaning heavily on Jon’s shoulder.

Jon just nods, too exhausted to speak. The Coffin lid slams behind them, and they both sink to the floor, still holding on to each other.

They just lay there for a long time, listening to the drone of the tapes around them. Then Martin pulls Jon tightly against him and they embrace.

“I love you,” Martin says, his voice thick and muffled in Jon’s hair.

“I love you too,” Jon says, leaning back to look into Martin’s eyes. Jon’s eyes are soft and he smiles as he looks at Martin, so it takes him by surprise when the next thing Jon says is, “You need a shower.”

Martin laughs. “Wow, okay!”

Jon looks away, blushing. “I just—I meant—I thought you’d probably want one, given everything, and, and—You are a bit covered in dirt.”

Martin laughs again. It’s been so long since he’s laughed at anything. “Jon, can I kiss you?” he says, before he can think about it too hard, before his self-consciousness catches up to him and talk him out of it.

“What?” Jon says. “I—Yes?”

So Martin does. Jon tastes like dirt, and Martin can feel the grit between their lips. But it’s still Jon, and Martin can just barely bring himself to pull away.

“I love you,” he says again, because he can say it now. Because he’s too exhausted to not say it as often as he possibly can. “And you need a shower too.”

#tma #tma fanfic #jonmartin #febuwhump #febuwhumpday9 #my fic #this story is actually a scene from the elias groundhog day fic #except that story is entirely elias POV #so it's just him watching JM be disgustingly in love and being annoyed with it #buried alive cw #small spaces cw #eternity cw

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iwritesickfic · 3 years

Text

"i kinda have a crush"

synopsis: Henry has a crush on his roommate's best friend Tom. When he gets sick, he's not sure whether Tom's concern means he feels the same.

Henry doesn't have time for a cold. Especially not now. Finals start next week, and between studying for exams, finishing final projects, and going to class, pretty much all his time is going to be occupied. Today, he woke up with a headache and a sore throat, which he's trying to convince himself is just a product of poor sleep, but deep down he knows is just the beginning of something worse to come.

Now, he's in his room, wrapped in his comforter and highlighting passages in his bio textbook, hearing his roommate Sam and his loud friends watching something equally loud in the living room. It's useless trying to ask them to quiet down - he learned after the sixth or seventh time asking that even though they all seem accommodating, they forget pretty quickly. Normally he'd be able to tune them out, but his steadily worsening headache is making it near impossible.

He gets up and starts pulling on clothes - the walk to the library may be freezing, but at least he'll get some quiet. Leaving his room, he's aware of how pissed off he must look, but he doesn't care enough to feign politeness to Sam and his friends.

He heads to the kitchen and grabs his travel mug - he's going to need coffee if he's going to last at the library. He's just filling it up when he hears a voice behind him.

"Hey! Henry! I didn't know you were home!" It's Tom. He's probably Sam's best friend - at the very least, he's the friend who's over more than anyone else. Henry suppresses a sigh. Tom is the exact kind of guy he doesn't like. Bro-y, athletic, always overly friendly to everyone - it just comes off as phony. It also just so happens that guys like this are always very attractive, and Tom is no exception. He turns around to grab milk from the fridge.

"Hey," he says, trying not to sound as annoyed as he feels.

"If I knew you were here I would've been a little quieter - you have finals coming up too, right?" Tom asks, leaning against the door frame in that way he always does.

"Mmhmm. It's fine. I'm going to the library." Talking to Tom is not helping the throbbing in his head. He starts to add the sugar and milk to his coffee.

"Are you sure? I can ask the guys to quiet down."

"No, it's fine." He snaps the cover onto his coffee and starts toward the door.

"Alright, well have a good day!"

"Thanks, you too." When he closes the front door he sighs, rubbing his eyes. He starts down the stairs. Being around people like that is exhausting on a normal day - Henry's always been quiet. Reserved. With the beginnings of a cold it's almost aggravating.

The frigid air outside makes his throat burn and his eyes water. His nose starts to run too, and he hopes it's just the temperature and not a new symptom. Knowing his luck he's going to be the one annoying person in the library constantly sniffling.

His time at the library is mostly uneventful, apart from going through a pack of travel tissues and getting dirty looks from other students. By the time they're ready to close, he feels significantly worse than he did this morning, but he's finished his biology review and is almost done with a paper for Transformative Design.

The trudge home feels like it takes forever - it's only about a 15 minute walk, but between the cold and feeling like crap it seems neverending. He can hear from the hallway outside the apartment that Sam's friends are still here, which makes him want to tear his hair out.

It's almost midnight when they leave, so it's only about that time he can get to sleep. He has class the next morning at 8, and when he wakes up with his alarm, he knows he's in for a full blown cold. His head still aches, and his sinuses feel sore and swollen. His throat kills too, and he feels shivery, despite the heavy comforter.

He lets himself lie in bed for a while, sniffling and trying to absorb as much warmth as he can from the comforter, before he drags himself up. He immediately pulls on his warmest sweater, even though he's just going to the bathroom. It doesn't help the shivering much, but it's something. He probably looks ridiculous, in just a pair of boxers and his oversized sweater, but he feels so shitty he doesn't really care.

Walking by the couch, he sees Tom asleep, shirtless. His heart flutters - he knew Tom was fit but it was something else to see it. The butterflies are almost annoying. There a million guys on campus, why does he have to get so worked up over this one?

In the shower, he cranks up the heat and lets the steam ease the aching in his sinuses. He's in there for too long, but the thought of having to actually walk to class in the cold makes him reluctant to get out.

He arrives to class a few minutes late - nose still dripping from the cold. Luckily today is just a lecture, but it's a five hour class, and he didn't have time to make any coffee this morning. He brought another little travel pack of tissues, but he's definitely going to have to ration them.

He's still shivering. It's worse after being out in the cold, and even though it should get better over time, nothing changes. He just sits there, achy and shivering and congested and miserable until 10:30, when the professor calls for a 10 minute break. Thank god. He needs coffee. There's a small shop in the building, so he forces himself up and out of his seat - which leads to a few seconds of particularly bad throbbing in his head - and out into the hall.

He almost groans when he sees who's working. Tom. Of course he's been to this little coffee spot a million times and he knows it's where Tom works, but he didn't think he'd have to see him this morning. Part of him is annoyed - he definitely does not have the energy to deal with him at the moment - but another part is a little embarrassed at how awful he must look. Not that he should care what Tom thinks of him, he reminds himself. Regardless, he walks up the counter, half occupied rubbing at his nose with a tissue.

"Hey," he says, and is surprised how congested he sounds. Tom turns, eyes lighting up.

"Hey!" He dims a little when he takes in his full appearance. "You ok?" Henry sniffles.

"Yeah. Fine. Can I get-"

"Large hot coffee, oat milk and sugar, right?" Henry's taken aback.

"Uh, yeah. You know my order?"

"Of course. It's an easy order." He goes about starting to make the drink. "Hope we didn't keep you up last night. I kept telling Sam to shut the fuck up but he doesn't listen to me."

"It's fine. I'm used to it." He sniffles again.

"You sound like you're coming down with something."

"And you sound like my mom." That makes Tom laugh, and again, Henry feels a stirring in his chest. Tom puts the lid on the drink and hands it to him, and Henry tries to hand him the money. Tom shakes his head.

"That's ok - on the house." That draws a little smile out of Henry. Tom smiles back, and for a minute he forgets how shitty he feels. "I hope you feel better."

"Thanks."

He heads back to class and sits down, taking a sip of the coffee. It tastes great, as always when Tom makes it, and the warmth helps to ease the chills at least somewhat. The rest of the lecture is spent half paying attention, and half worrying his sniffling and nose blowing is annoying. When it's finally over, he wants nothing more than to just go home and take a nap, but he has a problem set for calculus due tomorrow that he hasn't even started. So, reluctantly, he makes the trek to the library. He's able to work for most of the day uninterrupted - he's not very hungry, which maybe should be concerning but is convenient nonetheless.

By the time he's done, it's already dark out, and the walk home is brutal. The wind is whipping, and his scarf and hat aren't doing much to keep the cold out. His nose is running like a faucet and the cough he developed over the course of the day drags the cold air even further into his lungs. The coughs hurt, like they come from somewhere deep in his chest, and by the time he gets home his throat is destroyed.

When he gets home, he's glad to see Sam isn't making a racket for once. Still, he knows he's in for a restless night anyway. He puts a can of soup on the stove to heat up while he changes into sweatpants and a hoodie. His reflection in the mirror is definitely a sight - he's flushed from the cold, his hair a mess, and his eyes red rimmed.

He knows he should really fit in some more studying before he calls it a night, but after he picks at his soup and does the dishes, he's ready to fall over, so he just curls up in bed, coughing and shivery, and goes to sleep.

He wakes up a few times in the night coughing, and the soreness in his throat makes his eyes water. He's barely able to drag himself out of bed the next morning. His shivers have become more like shakes, and his cough feels like it never stops. He got a decent amount of sleep, but he still feels totally exhausted - even his muscles are sore.

His classes are a blur - he's too preoccupied with feeling awful to focus, and by the time he's done at 6, all he wants to do is go home and sleep until tomorrow morning. But, he knows he has to get at least one assignment done. After tomorrow, he'll have the whole weekend to relax. Not totally, but still.

Just the assignment tonight, classes tomorrow, then he can finally get some rest. The library probably isn't a good choice - his cough is too distracting, and he knows the walk home later will be torture. So instead, he goes back to the apartment. The cold air always exacerbates the cough, so the whole way home he's hacking, his nose running like a faucet. His ribs have started to hurt from all the coughing.

He almost wants to cry when he gets home and hears the sound of Sam and his friends in the living room. Why tonight of all nights? He trudges into his bedroom and changes - he's started to feel warm, which is a relief after feeling so cold all the time, but now it's becoming a both too warm and too cold feeling, so he tugs on his sweater and a fresh pair of boxers.

He starts to work on the physics problem set - there are only three problems total, but each of them usually take an hour at least, and that's when he's not feeling like death. He works for a while, but it's only when he starts to feel lightheaded he realizes he hasn't eaten yet today.

So, he heads into the kitchen and rummages around for a can of chicken noodle. He finds it, but he's too weak and shaky to work the can open right. He tries for a good three minutes before he feels a lump form in his throat.

"Hey, do you want some help with that?" He turns to see Tom standing in the doorway. Self consciously, he sniffles and clears his throat.

"Uh, y-yeah, that would be great." Tom smiles softly and walks over, making quick work of the can. Henry expects him to just go back into the living room, but he grabs the pot from the cabinet and turns on the stove.

"You've got quite a cough there." Henry feels himself blush. They all must be able to hear him from his room.

“Sorry, I-”

“Hey, no, no don’t be sorry. We make enough noise, you’re allowed to be sick.” He pours the soup into the pot and starts to grab spices from the shelf.

“I’m not sick.” Henry isn’t sure why he’s being so defensive, but Tom doesn’t challenge him, just smirks.

“Well whatever it is, it sounds brutal.” He shakes a few of the spices into the soup, stirring slowly.

“I’m ok. Really.” There’s a bit of an awkward silence before someone calls Tom from the other room. He looks a little dismayed, but puts on a smile.

“Feel better, ok?” He rests his arm on Henry’s upper arm, giving him a soft smile, before heading back into the living room. And there’s that fluttering in his chest again.

On his way back to his room, he catches a bit of a conversation.

“I think we should go out.” That’s Tom’s voice.

“Nah dude, it’s freezing.” That’s Sam.

“C’mon, let’s go. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright, whatever.”

Henry smiles to himself. Maybe it’s reaching to think Tom did that specifically for him, but part of him really hopes he did.

The rest of the night is blissfully quiet, apart from his incessant cough. By the time he’s finished with the last problem, it’s midnight, and the world is swimming. He’s never been happier to lie down. But, it’s short lived. Despite being exhausted, his cough and what he suspects is a fever are making it all but impossible to sleep. He drifts in and out of half-sleep, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold. Luckily his class isn’t until the afternoon, but he spends the whole morning much like the night before. When he finally gets up, he feels truly ready to fall over. His headache is horrendous, throbbing and pounding at the slightest provocation. His sinuses are still swollen, along with his poor throat that makes him wince with every swallow. The cough is the same if not a little worse, except now it sends cramping pain through his ribs.

On the walk to class, he just keeps repeating the same idea in his head. Just three hours, then you can rest. The class is truly a blur, but the walk home is too unpleasant to tune out. Once again, the freezing temperature isn’t any help, and forcing his aching body to walk through the snow gets harder with every step.

He turns the corner for the front door of his building, and a wave of relief washes over him. But, he’s confused when he sees someone standing near the buzzer. He’s even more confused when he realizes it’s Tom.

“Hey, uh, Sam isn’t here. He’s gone for the weekend.” He says, embarrassed at how thready and weak his voice sounds. Tom turns, looking confused.

“Why are you out here? It’s freezing.” He says, and Henry isn’t sure whether it’s the fever that’s keeping him from putting the dots together or this just doesn’t make sense.

“Sam isn’t upstairs,” he repeats, and Tom sighs gently.

“I’m not here to see Sam.” It still isn’t clicking. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

“Ok…” He unlocks the door and clumsily shakes the snow off his boots before getting into the elevator. Tom follows, and Henry figures someone else must be in the building that Tom wants to see, but Tom follows him right to the door. Henry sighs and rubs his eyes. “Tom, what do you want?”

For the first time, it looks like Tom might actually be nervous.

“I came to check up on you.” Henry suddenly feels a strange bundle of emotions unfurl in his stomach.

“Oh,” is all he can manage to get out. Tom bites his lip.

“Is that ok?”

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s fine, uh…” He takes a deep breath, but breaks into a fit of coughs before he can speak. He feels a steady hand on his back. After he’s done with the fit the world swims, and there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go inside so you can sit down, ok?” Henry just nods, and after a few moments of struggling to fit the key into the lock, Tom does it for him. Immediately, he strips off his scarf and coat and practically collapses onto the couch, pulling off his boots. He leans back into the cushions, closing his eyes.

“Fuck…” he breathes, and he hears Tom laugh quietly. When he opens his eyes, he sees Tom sitting in front of him on the coffee table, still looking nervous. “Why would you wanna check on me?”

“Well you didn’t seem so good last night, and I wanted to make sure you were ok. Even though you hate my guts,” he says with a smile. He starts to rummage through his backpack, and pulls out a bottle of tylenol and a thermometer, as well as a quart container of soup.

“I don’t hate your guts,” Henry says quietly, and Tom gives him another smile.

“Well that’s good to hear.” He leans forward and starts to move his palm toward his forehead, but hesitates. “Is this ok?” Henry nods, and sighs when he feels the cool palm on his overheated skin. He moves his hand to his cheek. “Jesus, you’re really burning up.”

He lets out another volley of coughs, and Tom rubs his back again. It feels nice, but it doesn’t make the confusion go away. For now though, he’s happy to just be looked after.

“Here.” Tom slips the thermometer under his tongue, brushing some of his hair away from his face. When it beeps, he takes it out. “102. Not so bad.” Henry has a feeling he’s saying that more for his benefit than his own. “You want me to grab you some more comfortable clothes?” Henry just nods, and Tom smiles in return. “Alright.”

He gets up and walks into the bedroom, leaving Henry alone on the couch, finally giving him a moment to process all of this. Why on earth would Tom care about him? They’re not really friends, are they? And Tom was straight, wasn’t he? And even if he wasn’t, there’s no way he’d actually like Henry of all people. And did Henry even like him? Sure, he’s sweet and funny and impossibly hot, but he’s friends with Sam. And he’s on the soccer team. And he’s so outgoing and friendly all the time, wouldn’t that get annoying?

He almost doesn’t notice when Tom gets back.

“Here you go. You want me to go in the kitchen while you change?” He hands him the clothes, and Henry bites his lip.

“If you want to.” Is that a weird answer? Tom smirks.

“I’m fine if you’re fine.”

Henry starts to take off his shirt, but he’s so shaky and uncoordinated, Tom has to help him, which probably killed any romance the situation offered, he thinks. The clean fabric feels nice against his feverish skin. The pants go the same way, and he didn’t realize how uncomfortable he was until now.

“Here, lean your head back,” Tom says, and he does. Tom presses a cool, damp cloth to his forehead, and he sighs softly. “That feels good?” He nods. There’s a few moments of silence while he just relaxes into the feeling. Then, he sits up straight.

“Why are you doing all this?” Tom looks nervous again.

“You’re my...friend. And I care about you,” he says, and Henry feels his heart sink a little.

“Oh. Ok.” He must sound disappointed, because Tom smiles.

“Hoping for a different answer?” Henry shrugs, and Tom rubs his jaw.

“I mean, it’s a little embarrassing but I used to...have a crush on you. But I think you made it kind of clear you weren’t interested.” Henry can’t hide his confusion.

“I made it clear?” He’s genuinely not sure what Tom is talking about. Sure, he’s never out right flirted with him, but he always thought he was straight anyway.

“Just...one word answers to everything, always seeming like you had somewhere else to be - it’s fine. I don’t know why I even brought it up. You want some soup?” Henry just nods, and Tom smiles. “Ok, sounds good.”

He heads into the kitchen, and Henry’s mind runs a mile a minute. There’s no way he’s telling the truth right? But why would he lie? He comes back through the doorway and leans against the frame.

“It’s on the stove, just have to wait a few minutes. You feeling ok?”

“Yeah, uh...I wanna tell you something.” Henry doesn’t know how he can make leaning against a doorframe look so good.

“Shoot.”

“I kinda had a crush on you too. Or...have.” He can feel himself blushing. Tom laughs.

“You have a really funny way of showing it.” He’s beaming, and it makes Henry smile too.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re so annoying,” he says, and Tom walks back over to the coffee table and sits down. Tom’s hand rests on his forehead, then makes its way down to his cheek. It feels so steady. Stable.

“I’m not the one that got themself sick with pneumonia because I wouldn’t miss a class, am I?” Without thinking, Henry wraps his arms around him as tight as he can - which isn’t very tight, but still. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and takes a deep breath. Tom rubs his back gently.

“Thank you, for doing all this,” he whispers, and Tom squeezes him a little bit tighter.

“Anytime.”

#my writing #oc henry #oc tom #two more boys pining for each while one has a cold what's new?

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a-cure-for-writers-block · 4 years

Text

#100 Song Lyric Prompts

No one specifically requested, but I wanted to do this so bad! Here we go...

“Will nature make a man of me yet?”- The Smiths, This Charming Man

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?”- Lynyrd Skynyrd, Free Bird

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her.”- Hozier, Work Song

“I don’t think that we should be alone together, when we’re in a room you get my eyes, you open your mouth I’m hypnotised”- The Neighbourhood, Single

“She looks as if she’s blowing a kiss at me and suddenly the sky is a scissor”- Arctic Monkeys, That’s where you’re wrong

“You think you want to be alone, just wait until you’re crying on the shower floor” “They’ve got a pretty face, but they’ve got a pretty empty head.” “But how the hell do you fall in love, the last time I checked you can’t fall in slow mo”- LANY- The Breakup *There were too many good ones in this song, I couldn’t help myself*

“I know it’s mad, but if I go to hell will you go with me or just leave?” - Panic! At The Disco, Do you know what I'm seeing?

“I don’t know who’s protecting me, but we hit it off”- Drake, Sandra’s Rose

“Do me a favour and break my nose, do me a favour and tell me to go away?”- Arctic monkeys, Do me a favour

“Baby just came back around, said she needs time to explore, said I can’t love her no more”- The Neighbourhood, Baby came home

“Just one mistake, you say you’re not in love no more, but was it really love if you can leave me for something so innocent is this the end?”- LANY, Thick and thin

“You can have Manhattan, I know it’s for the best, I’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep. I’ll tiptoe away so you won’t have to say you heard me leave.” “You can have Manhattan, the one we used to share, the one where we were laughing and drunk on just being there. Hang onto the reverie, could you do that for me?”- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

“You don’t love me, big fucking deal, I’ll never tell you how I feel.” “I'll send my best regards from Hell”- Marina and the Diamonds, Starring Role

“I been writing these songs ‘bout how I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be a monster, but I’ve been here for days, drinking too much now I want you, can’t get you off my brain.”- Henry, Monster, Eng. version

“Change lives, get better, yeah that be the plan” “That’s why you see me winning, yeah, even after I lose”- Jay Park, Ask bout me

“Love is not looking over shoulders, Love is you should trust what I told you” “Love is not struggling to say I love you”- 6LACK, Disconnect

“All these people taking miles when you give them an inch, all these followers but who's gonna follow me until the end?”- Drake, Emotionless

“She’s in the rain, you wanna hurt yourself I’ll stay with you, you wanna make yourself go through that pain, It’s better to be held than holding on,”- The Rose, She’s In The Rain *Absolutely love this one, don’t @ me, I will die for the The Rose**

“Sex by the fire at night”- Bruno Mars, That’s What I Like

“I’ve got the good side of you, sent it out into the blue.”- Troye Sivan, Good Side

“Standing by the window, rain falling, I want to have you full in my embrace and tell you, even when I’m born again and love you, even then, will you be with me?”- KREAM, 선물 Gift *Translated*

“It all passes, Someday, For sure, Certainly”- RM, ft. NELL, everythingoes *Translated*

“Please stay as long as you need, can't promise that things won't be broken, but I swear that I will never leave. Please stay forever with me”- Sleeping With Sirens, Scene One- James Dean & Audrey Hepburn

“When you move, I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“Wake up and smell the coffee, is your cup half full or empty?”- Billie Eilish, come out and play

“Am I a bad person? Or am I just in pain?”- DEAN, Sulli, Rad Museum, Dayfly *Translated*

“Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us, deeply poisoned by the jail of you, I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway”- BTS, Blood Sweat & Tears *Translated*

“When the sun sets and darkness comes, I only remember your warmth, where the stars wrap around us. I’m going there, I’ll be there”- SEVENTEEN, Highlight *Translated*

“I don't ever wanna feel like anything I do ever had a fucking resonance or meant a thing to you.”- Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, I Hate You

“You can’t take this away from me, the way I hit the melody, the waves bring clarity, running through me”- Tom Misch, Del La Soul, It Runs Through Me

“It was a lie when they smiled and said you won’t feel a thing”- My Chemical Romance, Disenchanted

“The fog has lifted and things get clear, all the lies pass by like a reel of film. I hate you”- EXO, 내가 미쳐 (Going Crazy) *Translated*

“I’m sorry- no, I’m not sorry, I’m just getting started and my life’s a party”- DEAN, Eric Bellinger, I’m Not Sorry

“Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”- Paramore, Ain’t It Fun

“Ready or not, we are coming back- yeah, we’re over, we can tell you ‘bout what you need. You can look it up when you’re older”- Evergreen, Cargo Cult

“You, you got so much potential, every moment spent with you I bet was always eventful”- Aminé, Kehlani, Heebiejeebies- Bonus

“Could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive to Queens? 'Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the backseat”- Halsey, Roman Holiday

“Forever isn’t for everyone, is forever for you?”- Arctic Monkeys, Snap Out Of It

“Wish you good luck being lonely, I’mma push red every time you phone me. You vow to be a memory”- Ella Mai, ft. Ty Dolla $ign, She Don’t

“I’ve been dazed and confused from the day I met you, yeah I lost my head and I’d do it again”- Ruel, Dazed & Confused

“I just want you closer, is that alright? Baby let's get closer tonight”- Paolo Nutini, Last request

“You have no idea how pretty you are when you wake from sleep, you have no idea how beautiful you look as you get ready for bed”- Zion.T, No Makeup *Translated*

“I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight, baby, ‘cos I can’t get you off my mind”- Shawn Mendes, Lost In Japan

“She's soothing like the ocean rushing on the sand, she takes care of me, baby, she helps me be a better man. She's so beautiful, sometimes I stop to close my eyes, she's exactly what I need”- Jeremy Passion, Lemonade

“And her lips are like the galaxy's edge and her kiss the colour of a constellation falling into place”- Arctic Monkeys, Arabella

“It's how you look, not how you feel. A city of glass with no heart”- Queens of the Stone Age, If I Had a Tail

“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”- Hozier, Take Me To Church

“Bitter and hardened heart, Oh, aching- waiting for life to start”- Keane, Bend & Break

“When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“She said, ‘Baby, I'm afraid to fall in love, 'cause what if it's not reciprocated?’ I told her, ‘Don't rush girl, don’t you rush, guess it's all a game of patience.’”- Pink Sweat$, Honesty

“Share a casket with you, we’ll be buried alive, me and her playing truth ‘til the day we die.”- Granata Ft. Phoniks, You Dont Need Me

“And hope that I had survived yesterday, and today is jealous of tomorrow.”- Emeli Sandé, Breathing Underwater

“Heaven if you sent us down so we could build a playground for the sinners to play as saints, you'd be so proud of what we've made.” Stephen, Crossfire

“Tell me how do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night? How do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night?”- blackbear, make daddy proud

“If anyone looks perfect, you look perfect next to me.”- Nick Wilson, Obsolete

“When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you were my future), I’ll know (I was your yesterday). When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you protected me), I’ll know (I desired you).”- SEVENTEEN (Wen Junhui & Xu Minghao), My I *Translated*

“I need my sex n’ drugs, I need my money first, bless me with all my sins.”- Abhi The Nomad, Ft. Harrison Sands & Copper King, Sex ‘n Drugs

“Naked and fallin' in love, look here I got you. Safe where there's no one to judge, keep it insightful.”- Keiynan Lonsdale, Preach

“All alone, all we know is haunting me, making it harder to breathe, harder to breathe.”- The Neighbourhood, Leaving Tonight

“Now I see you get off of the subway, haven't seen you in months but it's okay. I'd forgotten but I feel the same, hate that I still wish you were...”- Claud, Wish You Were Gay

“A perfect stranger lying next to me, he's playing God with broken figurines. He keeps calling me his little queen and I believe.”- Jake Wesley Rogers, Little Queen (This song deserves way more recognition, make sure to give it a listen!)

“Hell is so close to Heaven, hell is so close to Heaven. Hold on don't look back, you know we're better- we’re better than that. Lost and thrown away, you know we're better- we’re better than that.”- Sleeping With Sirens, The Strays

“Alone tonight, I’m drawing my dreams across the sky farther than I can imagine- She wants it.”- CIX, Movie Star *Translated*

“Yeah I mixed words and some whiskey on the flight just to make sure I landed on time and I wrote me a song I could sing just in case I forgot everything.”- Marc E. Bassy, Last One I Love

“Don't ask questions you don't wanna know, learned my lesson way too long ago.” “Deadly fever, please don't ever break, be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate”- Billie Eilish, my strange addiction

“And it's worth it, it's divine, I have this some of the time.”- Hozier, Cherry Wine

“And I realize you're mine, Indeed, a fool am I.”- Queens of the Stone Age, No One Knows

“Look in the mirror ‘til I forget everything I know, everything I did was just a way to make the time feel faster.”- Miya Folick, Stock Image

“Do you feel how I feel? Are you numb? Do you tread crystal waters, bound to be stung? Are you scared? If I see you, we're upon, will you dye your hair dark so you're no longer blonde?”- Isaac Dunbar, Cologne

“Tell me; To you I’m bad & hurtful. Because I’ve been busy, you’re hurting. Bad, bad, bad, I’m bad, bad.”- Crush, NAPPA (나빠) *Translated*

“Just for the record, the weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of: A. Indifference or B. disinterest to what the critics say.”- Panic! At The Disco, London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines

“‘Cause you don’t say what you feel, I'm the one driving but you take the wheel. You wanna wait, 'til we're older, I'm the one who started this, but now I just want closure.”- Ieuan, Closure

“Our names carved in the pavement, sealed by what's left of our handprints, now. I told my mom, she'd love to meet you, but it's too bad she won't get the chance to.”- COIN, Malibu 1992

“I'm running outta time to hold you close, running outta time to be your man. I'm just lost in this moment, I've been zoning.”- blackbear, 4u

“Standing on your mama's porch, you told me that you'd wait forever. Oh and when you held my hand, I knew that it was now or never”- Bryan Adams, Summer Of ‘69

“I'll go out, grow my hair too long, sing your least favourite songs at the top of my lungs. I'll go out, kiss all of your friends, make a story and pretend it was me who made this end.”- The Vamps, Hair Too Long

“Getting my mind right, I'll wait 'til the time's right. I'm meaning to tell you why it's hard to sleep at night. There's nothing to fear now, girl, we should be here now. So why don't you hear me out?”- Jeremy Zucker, Ft. blackbear, talk is overrated

“We haven't spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated. Why won't you ever be the first one to break? Even my phone misses your call, by the way.”- Harry Styles, From the Dining Table

“Look overhead at the stars and the ocean, foggy emotions, moments, erosion. This supernova could cause a commotion, my minds of the notion, you'll still be my motive”- Ansel Elgort, Supernova

“I love that new dress you bought, yeah, you sure look nice. Heard you liked that new restaurant, you know, I've been there twice. And the way that you switch up your hair, all of the moments we've shared, strolling the streets back in Rome, oh, how I wish I was there. It ain't fair.”- Ruel, Face To Face

“Welcome to your life, there's no turning back. Even while we sleep we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature.”- Tear For Fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World

“I'm wide awake, not losing any sleep, I picked up every piece and landed on my feet. I'm wide awake, need nothing to complete myself, no.” Katy Perry, Wide Awake

“If you don't realize, all of the things your life can do you will be left behind, swept up by the storm of those you knew.”- Meltycanon, thankful

“I always knew that we'd be by each other's side forever, now our time has come and I'd be satisfied if we died together. Yeah, our climate's fucked, we might as well enjoy the weather, our time is up and I'd be satisfied if we died together.”- Samsa, Anthropocene

“There's still so much to say, I'm faded, broken, pretending you're on the line, wasting my time. Sinking deeper, watching you spend your night, like I'll be fine and I'll be over this.”- NYK, Faded

“I’d rather go to hell, than be in purgatory, cut my hair, gag and bore me, pull this pin, let this world explode.”- My Chemical Romance, Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

“I reached for a shooting star, it burned a hole through my hand Made its way through my heart, had fun in the promised land.”- blink-182, Wishing Well

“Let go of your baggage, but don’t think I don’t understand it’s probably a challenge,”- Isaac Lewis, Fly

“It's been a long night in New York city, it's been a long night in Baton Rouge. I don't remember you looking any better, but then again, I don't remember you.”- John Mayer, Who Says

“They say that love kills, it ain't quite what it seems, don't be shocked when you lost what you called ‘meant to be’.”- StayLoose, Bryce Fox, Sociopath

“When they come for You, I will shield Your name, I will field their questions, I will feel Your pain.”- Kanye West, Ultralight Beam

“Two steps forward, one step back and it won’t be long til my heart attack, yup! And common sense falls second place to the way it feels when you kiss my face, yup!”- The Band CAMINO, 2 / 14

“Leaving empty souls when he avenged, evil spirits flowed, he drank the blood like lemonade.”- Morcheeba, Blood Like Lemonade

“Your smile will become a classic; the brilliance of sunlight, the haziness of the moonlight exist for the sake of promises.”- WayV, Moonwalk

Dear God, I hope you got the letter and I pray you can make it better down here. I don't need a big reduction in the price of beer, but all the people that you made in your image- see them starving on their feet.”- Lawless, Sydney Wayser, Dear God

“Down below, sandy, like the ocean floor, quiet, like I like it; here I'll never be alone.”- slenderbodies, anemone

“I love everything, fire spreading all around my room, my world's so bright, it's hard to breathe but that's alright- hush.”- Sub Urban, Cradles

“I'm telling myself, I'm telling myself, ‘I don't need you anymore’.”- Lia Marie Johnson, Cold Heart Killer

“So I moved to California, but it's just a state of mind, it turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself, that's not a lie. Wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine- it's killing me slowly.” Lana Del Rey, Fuck it I love you

“See, she knows that I love her, but I don't think she'll stay and she knows that I need her, but my love's lost its weight. Spend my days longing for something real, spend my days stuck in the way I feel.”- JOBA, Sad Saturdays

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