#I solidly lost my mind for a week and then woke as if from a dream

[secondbeatsongs]

iCarly Meta, Part 5: Socko, Nominative Determinism, and How I Spend My Free Time

so, you may remember that I've made four separate iCarly posts before, because I am just way too into this dorky, ridiculous children's show.

well, over a year ago, I wrote this fifth one. and after some introspection, some really deep self-evaluation about what I want and where I'm going in life, I've decided that it's time to share it with the world at large

so...let's talk about Socko's family!

to catch you up: Socko is Spencer's best friend, who designs all of the fun socks that Spencer wears! he's first mentioned in s01e07 (iScream on Halloween), though some of his socks are shown as early as s01e02 (iWant More Viewers).

(technical note: production-wise, s01e09 is listed before s01e07, and I think that was intended to be Socko's introduction, and it would make sense, considering how Spencer describes him in that ep. but I can't prove this, and so we move on.)

while Socko is mentioned consistently throughout the show, he's never fully shown on screen. but, he does technically appear in an episode, because you can see part of his arm in s04e11-s04e13 (iParty with Victorious) when he hands Spencer the keys to his van.

Spencer and Socko have known each other since at least 1999 (as mentioned in s02e12, iRocked the Vote) when Spencer would have been 17 or 18. and despite Socko almost never being shown, it's clear that he spends a lot of time with Spencer, and that they're close. if Spencer needs something, Socko is always willing to call in a favor from one of his family members.

and boy, does Socko have a lot of very interesting family members.

let's go over some of them real quick:

Bernie is a welder, Otto is a used car salesman, Tyler designs neckties, Taylor is a tailor, Rob is a thief, Arty is an artist, Isaac is an optometrist, and Ryder is a motorcycle enthusiast.

are we noticing a pattern here?

every single one of these is an aptronym – a personal name that is aptly or peculiarly suited to its owner. and since all of these people are in some way related, this is fascinating to me.

it seems like Socko's family is really into nominative determinism – the idea that people tend to gravitate towards areas of work that fit their names. whether or not this is true of people in real life is unclear, but in the universe of iCarly, this is something that Socko's family is all about.

when did it start, I wonder? who was the first in the family to have a job or hobby that related directly to their name? and who continued that pattern? because someone named Bernard going by "Bernie" and taking up welding is one thing, but an entire family of people going into fields that have to do with their names is unsettling.

is this on purpose, now? do the parents in Socko's family choose names for their children based on what they want them to be? is there an expectation that each child will have to choose a profession based on what their parents name them?

I think there is. and I think it's fucked up.

imagine growing up knowing that your name would control your future career options. that no matter how you felt about your name, choosing a career or hobby that matched it is what would make your parents happy. that at least some portion of your parents' love is tied to the idea that you will be what they named you.

and depending on the name, the kids aren't always left with a lot of options! someone named Bernie could be a welder, a woodburning artist, a firefighter, etc...but for Taylor, there's really only one path to take.

what if a kid is trans? I just have to wonder, would they be judged more for not identifying with their assigned sex at birth, or for changing their name?

and one of Socko's cousins is named Mary. think about that with me for a second – Mary.

imagine that the only dream your parents have for you is that you get married. and not just fall in love! no, you were given this name because their express purpose, their biggest hope for you is that you get legally married.

what if Mary had been gay? what if she grew up with fear in her heart, knowing that the only thing her parents had ever wanted from her wasn't possible, was actually illegal, because of who she was?

or what if she had been aro, or ace, or just otherwise not interested in relationships? or what if she was interested in relationships, but not the serious, legal commitment of marriage?

my hope here (my one fragile hope) is that Rob, Mary, and Josh are siblings, and that their parents were trying to escape this part of the family legacy. maybe they named their kids Robert, Marian, and Joshua, and tried to steer clear of any obvious career choices – but then their sons started going by "Josh" and "Rob" and causing trouble, and "Mary" started talking about her upcoming wedding, and they knew that they would never be free of the family curse.

'cause it's gotta be a curse, right? I feel like at this point, it has to be.

but hey, worry not! because I think there are some loopholes.

Penny, for example, had a lot of choices – she could have minted coins, or built fences, or designed ball-point pens, or been a cashier (etc, etc). but she didn't do any of those things! she started a t-shirt company, and made shirts with fun phrases on them like "church pants" and "parole baby" and "chest words" (all shirts I would wear for real).

her job didn't have anything to do with her name – but she still followed the family pattern. she named her t-shirt company "Penny-Tees", and sewed a single penny into each of her shirts. instead of finding a name-based occupation, she made her own.

I really think it's brilliant – she got to do what she wanted, and her parents couldn't complain, because it still suited her name! and if this pattern is curse-based, she found a way around it by following it to the letter (but not exactly the spirit), and because of this, she got to make her own choices.

and speaking of jobs that may or may not suit one's name: let's talk about Socko.

early in the show when we're introduced to him, we know three things about him:

he knows where to find huge pumpkins

he sells Spencer all of his wacky socks

his name is Socko

but, thinking about that third point…is it?

like, is his name actually Socko?

let's look at Socko's family tree for a moment:

(ID in alt text)

(yes, I made this. it took over two days. I skimmed through many episodes, looked through a large amount of the old iCarly website on the Wayback Machine, and as far as I know, this is canon accurate.)

(shhh, this was absolutely a valuable use of my time. don't worry about it.)

look at his family. look at the names.

almost all of them are, well…normal names. names that could belong to any acquaintance, friend, or relative in your own everyday life.

the only real exceptions here are Freight Dog, Boomer, and Dr. Paxil – but if we're being real? "Freight Dog" is almost definitely a nickname, "Paxil" isn't that strange-sounding of a surname, and I have actually seen people named "Boomer".

so that just leaves…Socko.

"Socko" is not a people name. it sounds mean, but I don't know how else to word that – it's just not a name for a human person.

it would be a great name for a cat or a dog (especially if they had paws that were a different color from their body – man, that'd be so cute!), but it is not a name that many parents would willingly give to a human child. especially when all of the other siblings in the family have relatively normal names.

my theory, my hottest take: I don't think "Socko" is his legal name.

think about it: Socko and every single one of his siblings went into the fashion industry. even accounting for the fact that they probably wanted Penny to have a different career, would Socko's parents really want all three of their other children going into the same industry, especially one as tumultuous and challenging as fashion design?

I think not. I think they gave Socko a different name, one that they believed would lead him down a completely distinct career path. and then, like Penny, Socko found his own true calling – but instead of changing his occupation to match his name? he changed his name to match his occupation.

it is my belief that Socko's birth name…the name his parents gave him…

(drumroll please)

…was "Socrates".

now hold on, just stay with me here. because I swear that this does make sense, really!

so, back at the beginning of this post I mentioned nominative determinism, but that term wasn't actually used until 1994. before then, it was called "onomastic determinism" or "die verpflichtung des namens" ("the obligation of the name"), but it wasn't really…a thing? it wasn't something that people really studied, and when they did, nobody could seem to come to a solid conclusion about whether or not your name does actually influence your career choice.

I think that in some way, Socko's parents wanted an answer. they wanted an explanation as to why their family tree reads like a joke book. and by naming their kid "Socrates", they were sending that question out into the world, hoping for a response.

because there were really two options here – either Socko would grow up to be a philosopher, someone who could search for meaning in the pattern of family job-finding, or he wouldn't. and if he didn't, if he threw off the shackles of his name and did something else entirely, then that in itself would be an answer.

and sure, maybe his parents should have thought about how "Socrates" might be abbreviated. maybe they should have considered that he could grow up to design socks. but hindsight is 20/20, and I don't know if that's something any parent would expect of their child, so I won't hold that against them.

I will however, judge them for naming two of their kids "Taylor" and "Tyler" – like, my god. can you imagine how often people got them mixed up? it's inhumane.

even worse if they were twins! though actually, that would make some kind of twisted sense – to give twins names that not only match, but that would lead them to careers in the same industry. maybe they wanted them to go into business together? hoo boy.

anyway, sorry, I've gone off-topic. back to Socko – or should I say, Socrates.

"Socrates" is a pretty fun name. two parts of it are σῶς (sôs, “safe and sound”) and κράτος (krátos, “power”), which is an interesting name meaning for a dude who was executed for corrupting the youth.

(I'm talking about the philosopher here – as far as I know, Socko from iCarly was not executed for corrupting the youth. at least, not yet.)

and if we keep thinking about Socrates (the philosopher), I think there's another reason that this name fits: we know fuck-all about Socrates.

sure, he's well-known – lots of people know about his ideas, and the Socratic method – but…he never actually wrote anything. everything we think we know about him, we learned from somebody else.

all of Socrates' interests, his skills, his beliefs? they were all things we learned from Plato, Xenophon, or (I guess) Aristophanes. we have no idea what the dude was actually like, outside of that.

just like we have no idea what Socko is like, outside of what Spencer says.

Socrates is a vital figure in the history of western philosophy, but all of the things we know about him are altered by the opinions of other people, filtered through the lenses of their perception.

and Socko is a vital character in the show iCarly, but all of the things we know about him – his hobbies, his opinions, his wants – are things we've heard second-hand from Spencer.

(you're laughing. Spencer Shay is a stand-in for Plato, and you're laughing.)

so in a very fun way, Socko (Socrates) did live up to his name…by being unknown to us, the audience.

us, watching this TV show the way chained prisoners watch shadows dance on the wall of a cave.

continuing down this rabbit hole…does this mean that one of the iCarly crew is Aristotle?

no…perhaps that's taking it too far.

(it'd be Gibby)

final notes:

I haven't seen all of the iCarly reboot yet (I'm on episode 3! I have mixed feelings, but I think one of the writers ships the thing that I ship, so that's fun), so if it mentions something about Socko lore, I unfortunately do not know about it.

fun fact: the ancient Greeks did often have names that were meant to have sway on their lives! for example: Hedistē ("most delightful"), Demotimos ("honored among the people"), Hippodamas ("horse-tamer"), Nikomachē ("victorious in battle").

additional fun fact: I asked one of the mods of the iCarly wiki, and they said I could put the family tree I made on the page for Socko's Family! :D

look! it's my thing! the thing that I made! how cool is that?!

(I'll be real; I am way too proud of this)

yes, two of Socko's family members have inaptronyms instead of aptronyms: Harry (bald) and Jean (allergic to denim). but in my mind, they still count – the names are still weirdly suited to their specific lives.

since I'm pretty sure "Freight Dog" is a nickname, I also took a crack at what I think his legal name might be. my theory? "Aaron".

(get it? Aaron? because he's in the air? okay, I'll see myself out.)

anyway, my new hobby is coming up with more family members for Socko to have. descend with me into the deepest reaches of The Headcanon Zone, and behold:

Lisa: She's a landlord (she leases apartments). Socko hates her.

Barry: A big ol' bear of a man. Or he could work for Gund or Build-a-Bear or something. That could be fun!

Mike: Audio technician

Amy: Sharpshooter

Summer: Camp counselor

Tony: Orthopedist. (toe-knee)

Marty: Owns and operates a supermarket

and because it's fun, my friend @wonderbound joined in and came up with these super great ones:

Drew: Illustrator

Cody: Programmer or hacker

Pete: Bryologist (he studies moss!)

Norm: He's just a guy

Flo: Plumber – or maybe, an expert in fluid dynamics

Hattie: Milliner (she makes hats)

Howl: Werewolf (or perhaps, the owner of a moving castle 👀)

Will: Estate planning attorney (he writes wills)

anyway, I think that's about it. thanks for coming with me on this adventure! I hope it was as much of a rollercoaster to read as it was to write, because yeah, it was a weird one over here.

I mean, it started out normal? but then the next thing I knew, I had gotten invested, made nine edits to the iCarly wiki, and designed that whole family tree. so I think maybe I went a little overboard with this one. xD

tune in next time, for…I dunno. I think my brain needs a break after that. but, eventually I would love to write more meta! just…maybe not all for iCarly? I have some things to say about Gravity Falls that I think are gonna blow your minds.

(not really; I just think it's great)

#icarly #icarly meta #socko #spencer shay #id in alt text #back on my bullshit etc etc #this is probably one of the best things I've ever written #I solidly lost my mind for a week and then woke as if from a dream #thinking...hey. maybe...I'm onto something here? #like maybe I connected the dots. I connected them #xD #but yeah. it took a while and a lot of thinking #but I did decide to put this on tumblr and not just on patreon #I think I'm okay with it now #tbh. the reason that I kept it only on patreon to begin with #was because there was going to be some weird overlap with a fic I wrote #one I never finished or published. a long time ago #but I decided...to not finish that fic #at least not now #so there's no risk of you finding my ao3 because of this post #and there won't be for a while. maybe not ever #that's what I was worried about #I try to keep my main fandom life separate from this blog #that's just how I like it to be #but now I think I can relax about that for a bit #and let you enjoy this post

[kiss-inthekitchen]

breathe with me | loki laufeyson

summary: Loki helps you through your anxiety

wc: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of anxiety, it's generally pretty mild though

a/n: this is just self indulgent fluff i wrote to cope. reader is of unspecified gender (pretty sure i didn't specify anywhere but if u notice me mess up let me know!), idiots who don't know they like each other, loki being soft

-

It had been a shit week.

Truthfully, it had been a shit few months, but this week everything seemed to be coming down on you at once. Anxiety had been weighing heavy on your mind, following you everywhere you went, giving you nightmares nearly every night. You were relatively new to living in the Avengers compound and you’d been struggling to fit in with the established dynamic of the group, so you didn’t feel like you could confide in anyone. You’d just been trying and failing to soothe your anxiety on your own.

So today, when you woke to an empty Avengers compound, your feelings of being alone in the world physically manifesting in front of you, it was no wonder you couldn’t hold it together anymore.

You were pacing around the common room since you had too much anxious energy to sit still, too lost in thought to sense that someone had entered the room.

“Darling? Is everything alright?” Loki asked, making you jump.

“Oh! Loki, I didn’t realize you were home, I- I thought everyone had left.” Recovering from the initial shock of being interrupted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you at his presence.

You realized you still hadn’t answered his question. You weren’t really sure how to. “I’m fine. It- it’s just- stupid, you dont need to-”

He silenced you with a look you’d become all too familiar with. “If it’s bothering you, love, it’s not stupid.”

You could’ve almost cried hearing him say that. You’d always liked Loki, and you knew that- at least compared to the others in the compound- he liked you, too. He didn’t fit in with the others either, so it made sense that the two of you had instantly gravitated toward one another. Through all the difficulty you’d had in the compound, the good moments had almost exclusively been in his company.

He walked over to the couch and sat down, gesturing for you to follow. You hovered near the arm of the couch, unsure, as he waited for you to tell him what was wrong.

You were hesitant to tell him about your anxiety. Things were good with the two of you, you didn’t want to show him this side of your personality- the side that was difficult, irrational- and risk being rejected by him.

If you were honest with yourself, you liked him in a way that was more than friendly. Sometimes you thought he might feel the same, with all the sweet nicknames and the fact that he was touchier with you than anyone else. But maybe that’s just how Loki acted when he was comfortable with someone. It’s not like he had any close friendships with the other Avengers that you could compare it to.

You really did want his help, though. But you hated the idea of being a burden on the only person in the compound that you were actually friends with. “I can handle it myself, if you want. I don’t want you to feel like you need to help me.”

“You don’t need to handle it by yourself, dove,” he said in a tone that, while soft and comforting, left no room for argument.

Well, shit. If you didn’t feel like crying before, you definitely did now. You sat down next to him on the couch cushion and he took one of your hands in his, tracing circles into the back of it with his thumb.

“Okay,” you said, and he squeezed your hand a bit to encourage you. You spoke your next words quickly, keeping your gaze on your joined hands.

“I- I’ve just been feeling so anxious lately, I don’t feel like I really fit in here- with the others, and I know you and I are different but I was scared to tell you because I didn’t know how you’d react, and then I woke up this morning and the tower was so quiet and empty and I felt so alone-”

“Darling,” he breathed out as your voice broke. “I understand your fears, but of course you can tell me. I lived most of my life feeling alone, I completely understand.”

You just nodded in response, feeling somewhat foolish for getting so caught up in your thoughts. Of course Loki understood. He had a difficult side too.

“I don’t want you to question whether you can come to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you assured him, your lips quirking up into a small smile. You looked up at him to find that he was smiling back at you.

“That’s what I like to see,” he said as he reached out, gently touching your cheek before he let his hand fall back down.

You felt your face heat up under his gaze. For just a second his expression changed into one you couldn’t quite read, and then it was gone.

“Now, can you do something for me?” He asked, his voice maintaining that soothing tone you could never get enough of.

“Sure,” you replied, curious what he was going to ask you.

“I want you to take a deep breath for me. We’ll do it together, yeah?” He released your hand, and before you could even register your disappointment, he held both his arms out for you. You curled yourself into him without hesitation, resting your legs over his and leaning your head against his chest. He felt your deep inhale. “There you go, love. Breathe with me.”

With your body pressed against his, it was easy to fall into his steady rhythm. His presence beside you and the soothing track of his thumb against your skin calmed you down much quicker than you could’ve done alone.

“Thank you, Lo,” you said into his shirt.

You felt his soft smile against the top of your head. “Anytime, love. I mean that. I’ll be here, as long as you’ll have me.”

“You’ll be here a while, then,” you chuckled. He squeezed you tighter against him in response.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a beat before he spoke up again. “You should rest now, darling. I’m going to take us to your room, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled against his shirt as the room shifted around you, Loki transporting the two of you to your bed. You disentangled yourself from him as he lifted the comforter back for you. “Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you, slipping under the covers beside you and pulling you back into his body. You felt safe in his embrace, a rare moment for you both. With his chest pressed solidly against your back and one arm snug around your waist, you found yourself drifting off within minutes.

You slept better than you had in weeks. When you woke later on, Loki was still beside you.

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #edit: i realized loki doesn’t actually have teleportation powers in the movies but he does in the comics so!!!!!! #it’s fine #loki odinson #loki oneshot #loki #my fics

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness – nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.

#cliché tropes and prompts #source: bucky-plums-barnes #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #mild angst #apocaverse #wow this got just a lil heavier than i though it'd get near the end but #hey it's the apocaverse what do you expect lol #one day they'll both start crying man i can feel it #or maybe it's already happened?? idk #anyway #deloresssss

[rainingpouringetc]

so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go

ch 4 - sing me a song, tell me your thoughts / i could listen to you all night long (pt 2)

read on ao3

The next morning was quite pleasant for Ariadne. She woke to find Grace already in the dining room—unusual for the girl who usually preferred to flit about like a ghost. They had stayed up until midnight the previous night exchanging stories of their childhoods. Ariadne had missed thinking of India. She had told Alastair about it at his request, and at hers he’d spoken of Persia. This had been different from that, though. This had been less about the place itself and more the family she’d left behind. Grace had left family, too—or had family leave her. The feeling was familiar; it pooled in Ariadne’s gut when she was left alone with the thoughts. Having someone to pick them apart with helped.

The girls ate breakfast together, chatting aimlessly about the weather and the food and anything else they could think of. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgestock were, graciously, away for the week. There was some business they were tending to somewhere else in the country. Ariadne had long since stopped trying to make sense of her father’s trips.

They stumbled awkwardly into a brief discussion of the day’s plans, finding that neither of them had any designs beyond breakfast.

“Well,” Ariadne said carefully, “would you perhaps like to train with me today, then? I could use a partner.”

Grace seemed taken aback. “Oh! Well, sure, I suppose. I must admit,” she said sheepishly, looking down at her plate, “I have very little in the way of training. I’m not sure I could be of much help to you.”

Ariadne brightened immediately. “Of course you can! I could teach you, if you like. I always thought the best way to practice something you already know is by teaching it to somebody else.”

“I agree,” Grace said with a smile.

They agreed to meet in the drawing room after changing into gear. Grace was surprisingly quick to go up the stairs, though she never lost that elegant smoothness in her stride. Ariadne lingered a moment in the dining room, her heart thumping painfully.

There were many thoughts going through her head, bumping into each other and leaving little space for much else. She barely knew Grace, and here she was offering to train her. Their friendship—if it could be called that—was moving awfully fast. Though, things had moved rather fast with Alastair as well. Perhaps they were all so starved for friendship that they were wiling to try to bond with anyone who showed the barest speck of interest.

That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

Ariadne sighed and wished Alastair was there. He was better at this than she was, though one may not think it. If Alastair liked someone, or thought he did at least, he could keep a conversation going well enough. Ariadne had always struggled with small talk—it seemed so frivolous and unnecessary. She hoped Grace would feel the same.

When she and Alastair had first started testing their friendship, Ariadne had relied heavily on him to guide the conversation. He’d wanted to know about Anna, and she’d told him—then he’d told her about Charles before she could figure out if she was supposed to ask. He’d also mentioned Thomas vaguely, though how exactly he felt for the man hadn’t come out until much later.

Ariadne smiled fondly at the memories as she ascended the stairs and looked for her gear. Alastair was, surprisingly, a bit of a mess when it came to Thomas Lightwood. Usually so calm and collected, he stumbled over his words when he tried to explain what it was like falling for someone who hated him so thoroughly. It’s not as though it could ever work, anyway, Alastair had said with false casualness. I doubt Thomas is even interested in men.

Only one way to find out, she’d teased. It had earned her a pillow in the face, but it had certainly been worth it.

As she carefully slipped into her gear, she wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps this was what having a sibling was like. She and Alastair got on so well, it was almost a shock whenever she remembered they hadn’t really known each other all that well until a month ago.

A knock startled the memories from her grasp. She finished buckling all that need buckling and opened the door to find a sheepish Grace still in her morning dress. “I’m sorry to bother,” she said before Ariadne could so much as draw breath, “it’s just I’ve realized I don’t actually have any gear.”

Ariadne frowned. It had been quite a few minutes since Grace had disappeared upstairs—what had she been doing all this time?

Seeming to read the question on her face, Grace glanced at her hands and said, “I’d have said something sooner, it’s just… I’m sorry. I didn’t not want you to think less of me as a Shadowhunter.”

Most people did, Ariadne was coming to realize. 

She smiled as gently as she could and held open her door, gesturing for Grace to follow as she strode to the closet. “I’m sure I have some old gear that will fit you.” Grace was a few inches shorter than her, but sure enough, there was some gear she’d outgrown when she was fourteen at the very back. Ariadne pulled it out and handed it to Grace. “Do you need any help with it?” she asked.

Grace shook her head quickly. “No. Thank you for offering. I have worn it before, I simply have none of my own.”

“Well, now you do,” Ariadne said, indicating the gear in Grace’s hands.

Grace smiled, and it made her look much prettier, Ariadne thought. This was quite a feat, seeing as how she was already quite gorgeous. It was as though it thawed something in Grace’s features, making her seem warm and kind. Ariadne decided to make it a priority to make Grace smile more.

After Grace changed, they headed outside. Ariadne was increasingly excited about the prospect of training Grace.

She figured they could start with fighting stances, then move on to hand-to-hand, then staffs. 

Grace was surprisingly competent about stances and hand-to-hand for what little experience she’d claimed to have. They were able to move on from instruction quickly enough and begin sparring. Neither of them could quite get the advantage, Ariadne because she was holding back to spare Grace’s feelings, and Grace because she simply had no real experience. 

Eventually, Ariadne managed to hook her foot behind Grace’s knee and pull, causing her to fall flat on her back. Unfortunately, this put Grace in the prime position to grab Ariadne’s legs and bring her down as well. They collapsed on top of each other in a fit of giggles. 

“Truce?” Grace gasped, struggling to keep her composure as she struggled to a sitting position. She extended her hand.

Ariadne eyed it from where she was propped up on her elbows, then grasped it and shook solidly. “Truce.”

They giggled again, helped each other stand, and began brushing themselves off. There was a fair amount of dirt and grass stains on Grace’s gear; Ariadne made a mental note to help her clean it off later. 

“Pardon me, Miss Bridgestock,” came a soft, motherly voice from the house door. Ariadne turned to find their maid, Mrs. Webster, watching them with a smile. Her dark hair was streaked with gray—Ariadne wondered when that had happened. She could’ve sworn it hadn’t been that way earlier this year. “I don’t mean to interrupt, miss, but there’s a young man by the name Mr. Carstairs here to see you. He’s waiting in the drawing room whenever you finish.”

“Oh.” It was all she could say. She turned to find Grace’s face had gone cold again. “Do you mind wrapping up for the day?”

Grace looked at her with steely eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll be upstairs.”

“Oh. All right. Er—let me know if you need anything, then.” Before she had even finished speaking, Grace was turning on her heel and pushing past Mrs. Webster.

Confused and greatly disheartened by the sudden loss of all the progress she’d made with Grace, Ariadne followed the maid inside and began walking toward the drawing room. She was stopped by a hand gripping her shoulder and spun around sharply to find Mrs. Webster staring at her with what could only be described as horror. “Miss Bridgestock, you are not truly going to entertain company in your fighting gear, are you?”

Ariadne blinked at her and let out a laugh. “It’s just Alastair, Mrs. Webster.”

“Ohhh, just Alastair, is it?” Mrs. Webster’s next look was far too knowing for Ariadne’s liking.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said lightly. “He’s a friend. He probably just wants to talk for a bit, he won’t mind if I’m not dressed properly.”

“Your parents would mind,” Mrs. Webster replies meaningfully. “Especially after that whole ordeal with Mr. Fairchild and Miss Blackthorn—please, dear.” She gripped Ariadne’s arm. “For my peace of mind.”

It was a fair argument. Ariadne still had some semblance of a reputation to maintain. Figuring she might as well humor the old woman, Ariadne let out a sigh and headed toward the stairs. It took her several annoyingly long minutes to change out of her gear and find a suitable dress, and by the time she finished, she’d almost forgotten about Grace.

That was, until she stepped out of her room and found Grace glaring at her by the staircase, dressed in a dazzling display of lilac and silver. “I wish to speak to Alastair with you,” she said simply, then turned so fast her hair splayed out behind her and descended the stairs soundlessly as ever.

Ariadne followed, swallowing heavily and wondering what she was getting herself into. 

Alastair was standing already when they entered the room, examining the various paintings they had hanging on the walls. There was a jacket on the couch, which was odd—it wasn’t one that looked like it belonged to Alastair. He turned and, upon seeing Ariadne, did that thing where he very nearly smiled—his face relaxed and the corners of his mouth, rather than pointing down at an alarming angle, evened out into a straight line.

Then he caught sight of Grace, and his jaw tensed again. “Good morning Ariadne, Miss Blackthorn,” he nodded politely. His eyes lingered on Grace for a moment before he shot a displeased look at Ariadne. She shrugged, eyes wide, and gestured to the settee.

Alastair sat on the end farthest from the armchair Grace was occupying, gathering the strange jacket into his arms, leaving Ariadne to sigh irritatedly and sit in the middle of them to mediate. 

“How are you this morning, Alastair?” Ariadne asked blandly.

“Fine. Thank you.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Ariadne was about to comment on the weather—really, she should not have been allowed to ever attempt anything resembling small talk—when Alastair glanced and Grace, then back at her, and said, “Pardon me if this is out of line, but I had been hoping to discuss something privately with you, Ariadne. If this is a bad time, I can come by in the afternoon.”

He made to stand, but before he could, Grace interrupted, “Are you doing anything today, Mr. Carstairs?”

He looked stunned, the lowered himself back onto the couch. “Well, that’s actually what I wished to discuss with Ariadne. I did not want to be rude in excluding anyone from the conversation.”

Ariadne nearly winced at his tone. It was clear he had not wanted to include Grace in whatever he had planned.

“Just tell me,” she whispered. When Alastair glanced over her shoulder at Grace, she said, “It’s fine.”

Alastair sighed through nose and held up the jacket. “I ran into Christopher Lightwood last night.” A dozen questions raced through Ariadne’s head—where? when? why?—but before she could voice any of them, he was saying, “It’s a long story for another time, but I ended up with this—” he shook the jacket “—and I don’t know what to do.”

“The jacket is Christopher’s?” Ariadne questioned first.

“Thomas’s,” he corrected quietly.

Ariadne sucked in a breath and nodded in understanding. That would explain it, then.

“You should return it, then,” Grace said slowly. Alastair’s eyes slid over to hers blankly. “I could help, if you wish,” she continued, sitting up straighter. “Be a distraction. The Merry Thieves are far more cross with me than they are with you, I suspect.”

Ariadne looked between the two, waiting. After a few seconds, Alastair’s face softened again, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Miss Blackthorn.”

“Please, Mr. Carstairs, call me Grace.”

Alastair narrowed his eyes even as he smiled. “Well. Then you must call me Alastair.”

Grace smiled fully, then, the warm smile from early that morning. Ariadne understood suddenly why the coldness had crept back when Mrs. Webster had announced Alastair’s arrival. She hadn’t wanted to be shut out by their friendship. The best solution, clearly, was to bring her into it, then.

“When do we leave?” Ariadne asked with an air of adventure, standing with her hands on her hips and looking between the two.

Alastair shrugged. “Now?”

They looked at Grace, who nodded, grinning. “Now.”

*hides* i’m sorry this took so long lol. pls tell me ur thoughts on mrs webster :) (more christopher to come i promise)

tagging @ohcoolnice @stxr-thxif @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @eugeniaslongsword @clockworknights @writeforjordelia @axoloteca @ninacarstairss @lifewouldbebetteronmars lmk if i forgot you or if you’d like to be added or if you want to be removed, i’m so disorganized at this point lol

#tlh #the last hours #tlh fanfic #ariadne bridgestock #kamala joshi #grace blackthorn #alastair carstairs #artie tries to write #shayf fic #this is unedited be nice to me

[downywrites]

if you're willing, i have a prompt i'd like to see you write maybe, if you want!

bench trio focused fic, with lee!tommy and ler!tubbo and ranboo! tommy's just feeling a mixture of bored and sad, and he keeps getting lost in his thoughts, which never turns out well. so he goes to tubbo and ranboo to hang out with them, which they're fine with. but they suggest like, doing something simple, and while tommy would usually be fine with that, it gives him too much time to think.

so he starts harassing tubbo and ranboo, trying to get them to distract him without saying that At All. and one (or both) of them gets fed up with tommy and tickles him a Little Bit to get him to stop. and tommy realizes that like... while he's being tickled, he's not Thinking! and it's always been comforting and nice and everything but he really just wants to stop thinking and lose himself to tickling.

so he keeps provoking, trying to get what he wants. but his friends keep stopping just as he starts to reach the point without thinking, and it's infuriating to tommy. so after they back off like the fifth time, tommy groans loudly, like. visibly frustrated. maybe crying a little. and tubbo and ranboo are worried, because they didn't think they went too far, but he's upset, but they thought he liked gentle tickles, but --

and tommy just forces himself to explain. poorly, because he can't say the t-word, and doesn't want to actually fully ask for it, but he's like "i don't want to think! i don't want to be thinking!!" and tubbo and ranboo are like ;-; and agree to just annihilate him. like "oh, tommy, don't worry... we'll tickle you until you forget your own name~" and decimate him. and tommy just loses himself to the tickly haze and teasing and eventually after a while he taps out, and they cuddle and he feels safe and head foggy and it's. soft.

fhsjjd that's a lot and i'm very sorry, but i am just. feeling so much. these guys make me so soft i am... yes.... fjsjjf your writing is so good thank u for my life!! ~🍄

I simplified this prompt quite a bit, haha. Bird tried their best. Hope you like it. (Bird is very tired. If this doesn’t make sense, please blame the monster energy.)

Bench trio focused fic- tommy is sad-bored and wants a distraction ft clueless!beeduo

Tick. Tock. The sound of Tommy’s clock pierced the silence of his house. The noise of the old redstone contraption chafed at his already waning sanity, making the boy growl lowly under his breath. The soft screeching of the rusty mechanical parts made him feel as if his entire body was on edge, tense like a bowstring pulled taut before a duel. He sighed in frustration, throwing his bedcovers to the side and pulling himself out of the warm bedsheets. He snatched a torch from the outside of his house and walked outside, wobbling a little on his feet from the speed at which he moved. He yawned loudly, searching for his two closest friends through his bleary eyes.

“Tubbo? Ranboo? I’m bored, come on!” He grumbled to himself, walking slowly on the wooden walkways as to not make his head swim anymore. His mind filled with traitorous thoughts again, unintentional consequences of being a big man like him. ‘They’ve probably left you. Tubbo loves Ranboo more than you. They are platonically married. You are an outsider. Outsider. Outsider. Outsider…’ He shook his head, dirty blonde locks flopping from side to side and sticking to his face a little as he did so. ‘I can’t think like this. They like me a lot, I know it! They’re probably working on the mansion-’ ‘Yeah, working on the mansion. Without you. Can’t you see it, Tommy? They’re doing it without you. You’re worthless to them. Worthless.’ “Shut up, shut up!” He clutched at his head. His fingers dug deep into his hair, scraping roughly at his scalp. “Shut the fuck up!”

He sunk to one knee, struggling to ignore the whispers and hisses of ‘liar’ and ‘traitor’ in a familiar, mocking voice. He focused on the sound of the birds chirping in the background. The birdsong sounded lyrical, beautiful. Like the sound of his discs. The discs….Did he remember what they sounded like? What did they sound like? The gap in memory made his head hurt even more. ‘I need to find out what they sound like again, I want to know. I need to get to Big T. He knows.’ He put his hands on the ground, wincing at the feeling of small splinters digging into the palms of his hands. He pushed. He felt the air on his back as he got up, shaky on his feet again.

Swears filled the air as he forced his body to move faster than he normally would on a lazy Sunday. His legs ached. Everything ached. Why did it ache again? He didn’t know. He wanted Tubbo. The feelings of melancholy boredom spread to the whole of the server. The bees buzzed quietly, lazing about on the branches of the trees. The plants swayed as if molasses had covered their leaves, dripping smoothly down onto the dirt and made patterns as the cold winds blew them around. The autumn sky, gold and rose and yellow from the rays of the sun that beamed directly overhead, seemed to be an endless canvas that Tommy could not reach, could not touch with his small, battered hands. He exhaled shakily as he ran, footsteps thudding solidly as old, weather shoes made contact with the wood. He ran through fields and flora, looking for familiar ram horns, for familiar black and white skin with the glimmer of a tarnished crown.

Time went by, and he slowed back down to a jog, searching as well as he could through the dense forests he wandered into. “Tubbo? Big T?” He called through his quiet wheezing. “Where are you guys?” The forest did not answer. The trees closed in on him. He curled up on the floor, pulling his bandana over his eyes a little. The fabric became damp. Soft grass hugged him slightly, clinging on to his damp skin as he shivered. He whimpered, curling in on himself more as a chilling wind howled by his face through the trees. “Ranboo….Tubbo..anyone?” His voice was nothing but a whisper now, barely audible through the rustling of the trees. Trembling violently, he cried softly.

“Tommy? Tommy!”

And there was light. He shot upright, gasping for breath. His hair stayed plastered to his face, mussed up and stringy from sweat. He looked through the tangle to see a familiar concerned face. “Tubbo.” “Big T, you were shaking all around! It was so scary! Are you okay?” He nodded, sighing in relief. He pushed his hair aside, sky blue eyes piercingly bright for someone who just woke up. “What happened?” Tubbo tapped his hoof on the ground nervously. He looked at the floor sheepishly, muttering a little under his breath. A moment passed. “Well, you see...we- um…” The glint of a crown caught Tommy’s eye at the doorway.

“We found you passed out in one of the dark oak forests. We weren’t sure what you were doing, but we didn’t think it was safe to leave you out there.” His breath caught. His voice squeaked a little when he spoke. “O-oh.” Much to his comfort, Ranboo said nothing, deciding to arrange some of the books on the shelf. Tommy scanned the room a little, taking in his surroundings a little more. The room looked empty, for the most parts. Things were scattered throughout the area, save for the bed underneath him, which seemed to be..seemed..to..be… “Is this your guys’s bed?!?”

Tubbo and Ranboo burst into raucous laughter. Tubbo sank to the floor, hiccuping slightly and wagging his little tail a mile a minute. Ranboo held it together a little better, hiding his chuckles behind a half-gloved hand. “Pff..yeah. Want to help me organize these books? We need some help putting them in order. And after this, we may need some help furnishing the place.” Tommy nodded. After all, he did end up intruding on them. It would be rude not to return the favor. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, slipping on his shoes haphazardly in a bid to follow him out the door. He hopped on one foot, cursing, as one of the shoes slipped off, obviously requiring some form of lace tying. Ranboo snorted quietly at the boy’s struggle, tails whisking elegantly in his wake. He stepped carefully down the stairs, avoiding the rougher parts of the unpolished stones and wood. He traced the railings with his hand, claws scraping lightly over the waxy coating. As he turned to look at the carvings and smooth wood, Tommy saw a glint of gold on his pitch-colored horn.

A feeling of slight jealousy twinged gently in his chest. He sneered internally at it, batting at it like a younger sibling. ‘Tubbo had his reasons to marry him. It’s not my business.’ His inner voice said otherwise. It whispered hauntingly into his ear. ‘But it is! Tubbo’s your best friend, is he not? Why did he marry someone else other than you? Did he really like you in the first place? Or was it the discs all-’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘No.’ Ranboo paid him no heed. He was busy, after all. So very busy, cleaning up dust carefully from the corners of the bookshelves further below him. He swiped off a speck of dust off his clothing quickly. “You coming or what?” Tommy nodded, hoping that he saw from their perspective down below. He ran down the stairs quickly, cursing a little when he missed a step or two as he went down. Ranboo watched in amusement, tails sweeping the floor as he waited. All the while, Dream’s voice hissed in his ears. ‘Worthless. Liar. He’s not worth it. Kill him.’

Thankfully for Tommy, he was used to phantoms whispering in his ears. Blatantly ignoring the annoying noise, he glared daggers at the tuxedo-covered back in front of him. ‘How do I get rid of this annoying fuck?’ Ranboo failed to notice his heated gaze. “Help us with these books, will you? Tubbo has been arguing with me about the placement for weeks now.” He kneeled down, coaxing his friend to sit down next to him in the pile of scattered books. Tommy’s mind whirled as he sorted them into differing piles. Tubbo and Ranboo’s voices faded in and out. The only voice he could hear the whole time was Dream. And Dream’s voice said things he really didn’t want to hear. He growled lowly under his breath, hoping that his inner voice would shut itself off.

Tubbo bleated in surprise at the small noise. “Big man, you okay? You haven’t been saying anything.” He poked at his side tentatively with a single finger. He yelped, bolt blue eyes widening in shock at the sudden contact. Tubbo grinned, mischief glimmering deep in his eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, pulling his fingers close to himself and forming claws with them. “Oh, Tommy~ I think we could make a little more noise together if I messed with you a wee bit..” Ranboo looked at his platonic husband, then back at the blond-haired boy. “What are we-” And there was the click of recognition. Tommy could recognize that lightbulb moment anywhere. “Oh.” His ears drooped a little, some sort of enderman thing Tommy failed to remember how to translate. He flicked his gaze towards his eyes for the smallest of moments, before looking back down sheepishly. “I-uh, sorry, Ranboo.” The words felt foreign in his mouth. His apology tasted like sawdust, like the breath of a life once forgotten.

He turned away, starting to push himself up. “I’ll see myself out.” A hand grabbed at his shoulder, dulled claws digging in slightly and revealing its owner. “You’re feeling bad.” With a crane of his neck, he saw red-green eyes boring into his soul. “We’re going to help with it, alright?” Ranboo’s voice softened with his grip, waiting for the other’s response. His eyelids fluttered shut without his volition, letting him bask in the blessed darkness for a moment. “If you can.” He was gently brought back down to the ground. He felt himself get draped over someone’s lap, someone gently carding their hands through his hair.

As they did, the strap of Dream’s mask wrapped around his throat. It tightened slowly, stealing his breath, his words. His voice grew near, rough and harsh and tasting like rocks in his mouth when he takes a tumble. He choked on air a little. “Please.” Soft, quiet voices wrapped around him. “Can we start, Toms?” A nod. What else can he say? The pain of speaking was too much. Dream’s wheeze filled his thoughts. He was sinking, sinking...the gentle tracing of a shape on his tummy snapped him back to reality. He opened his eyes blearily, giggling softly. “Hehey…”

“Yes, Toms?” And there he was. Tubbo traced the shape on his tum again, ear twitching as his laughter shifted in intensity and pitch. “Does this make it feel better? I know the voices aren’t making this any easier for you.” He scribbled his fingers over his stomach with the care of a nurse, avoiding the myriad axe scars left from battles with a tyrant he could never win against, not without the rest of the server on his side. “It’s okay, Tommy. Let it out.” He giggled freely, hands coming up to the goat hybrid’s wrists before he could stop them. The young president let them be, choosing to move to his sides and spider his fingers gently over the sensitive skin there.

Tommy bucked softly, trying his best not to dislodge his hands. The feeling helped keep him grounded, just barely. He felt like he was floating, but at least this time he wasn’t floating away. He hung there, frozen in time. The voice had stopped, but he still felt its presence. It sat patiently, waiting for him to fill the holes in his heart with his inventory of memories, tnt in hand. He tensed up, feeling even more helpless than before. Tubbo slowed down, confused. “Do you not want-” “I want- I-I need- “ He stumbled over his words like a child. Frustrated, he tried again. His tongue felt heavy, as if he had swallowed cotton. “I need rougher. Not thinking. Please.” His grip tightened on Tubbo’s wrists. He could feel his friend’s heartbeat, a solid, stable drumming like the march of a thousand men. It sang, like a burbling brook. ‘What do I want?’ His mind felt..wrong. “Please.”

Tubbo complied. “Rougher. Alright. Ranboo?” The enderman vwooped quietly. “Yes?”

“Pin his arms. We need him to be immobilized, he’s a bit of a kicker.” Tommy flushed a little at the statement, mouth opening to retort. Tubbo took the moment to dig into his sides, earning a strangled bark of laughter from his throat. “eHAHA! Tuhubbo!” The hybrid merely flicked his ear at his friend’s words. “Yeah, big man? What do you want, hmm?” Ranboo grabbed at his wrists, pinning them together with one smooth grab. His face burned quietly from the way his claws scratched at his palms unintentionally as he shifted his grip. He turned his head away from the duo, giggles bubbling up from his chest at the embarrassing position. “You ready, Tommlee?”

“Shut the fuHUHUCK UHUP! TUHUHUBBS!” Tubbo wasted no time, pinning him down to the floor with his weight and scribbling his nails over his lower ribs. “Isn’t his tickle laugh so cute, Ranni? It’s so mellow when he’s giggling, but it’s so rough when we’re wrecking his shit!” Ranboo snorted over the din, flicking one of his tails ever so slightly over one of his sides in a low-effort attempt to help his husband. “I mean, that seems pretty normal to me. Imagine having a gentle laugh when you’re being absolutely destroyed.” His deadpan voice hid the faintest trace of a smile in its depths.

Looking at the squirming boy in his hands, he put both of his arms in one hand, using the other to claw at his underarm. Much to his surprise, Tommy squealed loudly, shaking his head vigorously at the sensation. “RAHAHANBOHOO!” He bucked wildly, trying his best to escape the almost torturous feeling in his hollows. Tubbo moved from his lower ribs to his upper ribs, poking and prodding each one to find, as he called it, the ‘scream-button’. Ranboo, emboldened by the blonde’s reaction, rubbed his claws gently over his friend’s neck and ears. He swiped his tail over his exposed tummy and hips, making Tommy squeak through his laughter. “Guhuhuhuhuys- EEE! TUHUBBO, NOHAHAHA!”

Tubbo’s tail wagged happily behind him, shaggy and obviously ungroomed from his incessant cleaning duties in the household. “Found it!” He prodded a spot right beside Tommy’s second and third ribs, scratching lightly at the spot right where the rib bone met the sternum. Tommy all but shrieked in Ranboo’s grasp. The enderman folded back his ears as much as he could, grateful that endermen have the ability to muffle the screams of their own kind (and in turn, other rather loud things that go EEEE in the night).

“So, Tommy, you still hearing them voices?” The blonde shook his head. “NohoHO?!? WAHAHAIT, NAHAHA!” “Tickle tickle! Man, Tommy, you look so cute when you laugh!” His laughter echoed through the mansion, filling each corner and crevice with unbounded joy. Finally, Tommy could take it no longer. He tapped on his arm 3 times, making Tubbo and Ranboo freeze.

Ranboo released his hands as quickly as he could, apologizing when Tommy rubbed at his wrists to get rid of the slight burning sensation deep in the muscles. Sitting up slowly, the blonde panted, smile painted almost permanently on his face. His eyes, dazed but somehow still sharp enough to recognize his two best friend’s equally wide smiles, wandered over the couple’s kneeling forms. Tubbo moved closer to his side, bonking his shoulder playfully with his horns. “So, how’s the voices?”

Tommy looked back at him in blurry-eyed confusion. He tilted his head slightly, matted locks succumbing to gravity ever so slightly. “What voices?” Ranboo chuckled lowly on his other side. “That’s my man.” He slung an arm around his shoulder, purring softly. They sat there in comfortable silence. The sound of wind chimes outside and the gentle crackle of the fireplaces all over the place made the blonde’s eyes close by themselves. He sighed, a noise of contentment in a field of green and blue and yellow and red. “I hope I never wake up from this dream.” And he smiled just a little more when he heard a familiar voice answer, “Me too, Big T.”

“Me too.”

#downywrites #dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #my writing #lee!tommyinnit #ler!ranboo #ler!tubbo #sfw tickling

[jaskierswolf]

This was based on an idea by @amadcat570 which I have totally deleted. Basically, Ice-skating, monsters, hurt comfort, love-confessions. Around 1.6k. Geraskier feat Ciri.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, drowning, angst, injury, but no death.

On AO3.

____________________

Jaskier was having the best time. He’d finally been invited to the elusive witcher’ keep in the Blue Mountains. Ciri, Geralt’s child surprise, had done wonders for his friend. Geralt was actually starting to open up to him. He’d spent decades of slowly chipping away at Geralt’s walls and worming his way into the witcher’s life, and the young princess had managed it in a matter of days. If Jaskier had doubted Destiny before then he certainly wouldn’t any longer. It had also been Ciri’s influence on Geralt that had forced the two estranged friends to reunite. Ciri had been devastated to learn that Geralt was no longer travelling with the famous bard, Jaskier, and practically begged Geralt to go and find him.

Jaskier had been in the middle of teaching a class when the door had flung open to reveal a very soggy Geralt of Rivia, dripping mud all over the floor. Ciri’s head had popped out from behind Geralt. Her long ashen hair had been hidden under a hat but Jaskier had recognised the emerald green eyes of Pavetta immediately. Jaskier had dismissed his class and the three of them had spent the next few hours awkwardly catching up in the classroom. Geralt’s apology had seemed genuine enough and Ciri was an utter delight so Jaskier agreed to join his ex-former friend once more.

Geralt was warmer with Ciri around and by the gods was that doing funny things to his heart. Geralt’s cruel words on the mountain had shattered the spell the witcher held over him. His puppy love crush on his best friend and melted away after weeks of sobbing every night in his rooms at Oxenfurt. Time apart had helped him to see his time with Geralt in a new light. The rose-tinted glasses faded away and his ballads became grittier and less like a fairytale, but now being around Geralt again he could see why he had loved him so irrevocably and for so long. There was a vulnerability in the witcher that he desperately tried to hide, a yearning for acceptance and love but the fear of being known. The duality of it tickled Jaskier’s curiosity and he so desperately wanted to know more, even after all these years of following Geralt.

He wanted to know Geralt’s warmth. He wanted that daft fond smile and fucking hell he wanted to love him, even after everything.

“Jaskier!” Ciri flew towards him in a blur. She’d been training with the witchers and it showed. She’d already been a fierce young princess before the training had commenced but she’d taken to the witchers’ workouts like a duck to water. Jaskier tried to balance it out with lessons in art and poetry but the princess would rather have a sword in hand than his lute. “Jaskier, Geralt is taking me to the frozen lake to go ice-skating! You have to come!”

Jaskier laughed and set aside the book he’d been reading. He tried to stay inside the warmth of the keep but he was a travelling bard, and his natural wanderlust was starting to itch under his skin. He hadn’t been ice-skating since he was child at Lettenhove. It would be fun. Maybe he could even convince Geralt to join them on the ice, he could pretend it was a sort of date?

Nah. That would be pathetic. He was above that.

“Ice-skating you say?”

Ciri nodded with a mischievous grin dancing on her lips. “It’s taken days of nagging but I finally wore him down.”

“Well then, come on! Let’s get our coats and gloves. Sadly, we’re only human, young witcher girl. We need to wrap up warm.” ________________________

If Jaskier had thought Ciri was a blur before, it was nothing compared to her skating. She streaked across the ice like lightning. It was as if she were some kind of mythical ice spirit. Her turquoise cloak flew out behind her and her long blonde hair whipped around her face as sharp blades cut into the ice. Geralt was watching from the shore, squatting under a tree with the hilt of his steel sword resting under his chin. Jaskier was a little unsteady on his feet. The ice was slipperier than he remembered and he was out of practice.

“Come on, bard!” Ciri giggled as she skated circles around him. He hissed and stumbled, almost falling on his arse for the third time.

“Leave him alone, Ciri,” Geralt called from the shore.

Jaskier winked at the witcher as he steadied himself. “I knew you cared!”

Geralt just rolled his eyes and shook his head but Jaskier knew his friend was secretly smiling under all his grumbling.

Ciri began to show off, jumping high in the air and spinning like a tornado. It was incredible. The rhymes and melodies about the Ice Princess were already forming in his mind. His fingers flexed as he itched for a quill or his lute. He would need to go back to the shore with Geralt. He needed to write this down before the idea faded away.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you bring my notebook in that bag of yours?”

Geralt sighed and pulled out Jaskier’s small leather-bound book where he scrawled most of his composing. Jaskier grinned and started to stumble back to solid ground when the ice cracked and he heard Ciri’s scream.

“Shit!” Geralt grabbed his silver sword and began running across the ice.

Jaskier spun round to see a kikimora crawling across the ice towards Ciri. It’s long spindly legs were scratching and sliding all over the ice. Ciri screamed again and Jaskier was thrown backwards. He landed hard against the ice and it cracked underneath him.

“Bollocks!” He tried to grip the ice but his gloves were soaked through and his legs fell into the icy water. “Geralt!”

“Jaskier!”

The ice was freezing and he couldn’t breathe. His fingers slipped on the ice and he fell underneath the surface. The water burned his lungs as he gasped. Fuck it was so cold. He could still hear Ciri’s screaming even through the water. He tried to swim upwards but there was a sudden pain in his head. The water around him turned red and he saw the dark black leg of the kikimora falling through the ice. He tried to call for Geralt as his vision began to spin. Water filled his lungs and he was so cold.

He was so cold…

Cold…

_________

He couldn’t be dead. Jaskier knew that much. Death could not hold so much pain. His head felt like he’d been drinking solidly for a week whilst being hit repeated in the temple with one of Geralt’s swords. His throat was burning and his chest felt tight. He gasped a shaky breath of air and winced as he opened his eyes.

“Jaskier?”

“G’ralt?”

“It’s me. I’m here.”

Jaskier blinked a couple of times. Even the dim torches of Kaer Morhen were painfully bright. He was wrapped up in what appeared to be every fur in the keep and…. was this Geralt’s bedroom?

He struggled to sit up and Geralt gently pushed him back down. “Oi,” he grumbled hoarsely.

“Rest, Jaskier.”

“How’s your bard?” Another voice asked. Jaskier couldn’t work out whether it was Lambert or Eskel. His head was ringing too loudly.

“Ciri?” Her screams, that was the last thing he remembered. They had been so loud. She must have been dying. “Where’s Ciri?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Yen now, but she didn’t get knocked out by a kikimora and almost drown, Jask. I… I thought I’d lost you. I should have been closer. I should have kept you safe.”

Jaskier was surprised by the pain in Geralt’s voice. This was the same man who had tossed him aside like a dirty rag, and now it seemed as if that was the last thing the witcher wanted. Jaskier was also suddenly aware that someone was holding his hand. He coughed as the burning in his throat tickled him and he squeezed Geralt’s hand.

“I’m alive,” he tried to reassure the witcher.

“Barely.”

Jaskier licked his lips and looked up at Geralt. His head ached behind his eyes and the room was still too bright but he needed to see Geralt. He need Geralt to see him.

“I’m alive because you saved me, and not just today, my dear. You have saved me in so many ways and so many times.”

Geralt growled and shook his head. “You were only ever in trouble because of me. You were hurt… because of me.”

Jaskier frowned and closed his eyes with a sigh. They were talking about the dragon hunt now. He could feel it in his bones. “You were trying to protect me.”

Geralt laughed bitterly. “I couldn’t even managed to do that right.”

Jaskier gripped Geralt’s hand tightly. “No, but I forgave you. It’s time you forgave yourself, my dear,” He coughed again as he felt sleep try to pull him back under. “Be here, when I wake up?”

Geralt hummed. “Yeah.”

“I love you,” Jaskier mumbled almost incoherently as the darkness took him once more.

He didn’t hear Geralt’s reply. He didn’t hear the words he’d been longing to hear since he was eighteen. Geralt knew this and he would repeat them again once Jaskier woke up, and again and again and again until the bard slowly began to believe him. For now, Geralt settled for placing a kiss on Jaskier’s brow. His heart was beating too fast in his chest for any witcher but he was a witcher in love and for once in his life he would allow himself to enjoy that feeling.

“I love you too, Jask.”

#the witcher #geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #ciri #winter prompt #christmas prompt #mind the warnings #wolfie's witcher writing

[matovilka]

"Shapes In The Ice" - old Planescape stuff

I wrote this Planescape fluff for old D&D forums I frequented in early 2000s, and found the file as I was cleaning my disk. Do what you will with this.

Shapes In The Ice

It's been a year since his mentor was lost in Gehenna, and young Arvandor was on his second expedition without his mentor. Last time, he was in Gray Waste, and in Gehenna, looking for his teacher. He didn't find him. Whatever happened to him, there was no trail left to follow, and no spell however powerful it was, could locate him. Arvandor lost all hope three months ago, while escaping a party of 'loth soldiers on the slopes of Mungoth.

This time, he was chasing one of those mythic shapes in the ice, deep in the cold Cania. He always thought Hell was hot, justifying the term "hot as Hell". And now he saw he was going to have to pay off some debts, as the "Hell has frozen over". Life couldn't be more miserable at this point. Well, it could, seeing how greedy local officials were. Luckily, the contract was pretty solid, with very few loopholes they could use.

Their camp was on a large glacier, far from Mephistar and the Pit, constantly protected from the penetrating cold by magic. Very expensive magic. Arvandor was getting more and more frustrated by every day that was spent on this freezing place, so deep in Hell that they were almost at the bottom. Expenses for protection from cold, supplies, permissions from and kickbacks to various devil clerks, lords, guards... it was all taking a toll on his budget, and unless they managed to drill into that glacier soon, and extract that shape, they would all have to pack, and leave until they managed to get more funding (and all of the permits) again. He almost wished he was back in the Wastes; at least he didn't care about much there.

After almost two months of digging through the hardest ice, so old it was not possible to reliably date it, they were only dozens of feet from the first shape - a winged humanoid. It seemed there were two more shapes in there, one more that was most probably winged, also, and another that was only a large blot. At the current rate, in two, maybe three days, they would be able to extract the first fossil.

Arvandor was at the dig site almost all the time, and he ordered the diggers to work around the clock, with three of his assistants constantly monitoring their progress, and making sure that they wouldn't destroy anything. With every minute passing, he was getting more excited, and more nervous. He couldn't wait till they dug it out.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, a block of ice, with first shape, was ready to be carried out of the tunnel. It seemed to encase a very tall humanoid, with feathery wings. It seemed to be frozen in the middle of combat, one hand gripping a large sword, and another pointing in what could be interpreted as arcane gesture. The block was carried to the camp, into one of the buildings erected from solid ice blocks, reinforced with more magic. Additional guards were put up, not the local devils, but modrons specially contracted out from Mechanus. Arvandor hoped that they would live up to their reputation of keeping their contracts true.

For the first day, Arvandor and scientists brought from their headquarters in Elysium were working on measuring, quantifying, sketching, and recording all that could be recorded. On the next day, they started to thaw out the creature, real, real slow. In the meantime, diggers were making their way to the second form. They would need to dig for three, or more, days until they reached it. And the form beyond it would be reached in a week, unless there were, powers forbid, problems.

On the third day, almost all of the ice was melted around from the first form. Most, but not all - some of it was preserved magically, and already sent to headquarters for further tests. The sword was already put aside, a magnificent large greatsword, obviously magical. A composite longbow was also found, but its string was broken, and there were no arrows to be found. Both weapons were put in special cases, preserved in stasis until they were transported to a better equipped laboratory.

Upon even a superficial examination, it was confirmed - it was a solar. It was a suspicion for the last few days, but it could not be confirmed while it was under ice. And now, it was plainly evident - golden skin, and pearly white wings. Everyone was excited, for it was a mystery what an angel was doing so deep in Hell, and more mysteriously - why was it frozen, being known that solars were immune to cold. The solar's flesh was hard as a rock, and terribly cold.

With use of magic, slow thawing of the frozen solar was started, while Arvandor went to supervise the final cuts around the second form. From all visible clues, it was evident that it was a devil, and most likely a pit fiend. This started to form an image in his mind - an ancient battle of good and evil, happening aeons before men walked the planes. Within hours, the devil was freed, and the block was carried to another building, to be processed similarly to the solar. But, now, as there were a fiend and a solar, Arvandor decided to erect even more magical barriers for protection. Around each building was set a circle preventing any evil aligned creature from entering or leaving, which was almost assuredly an insult to any devil that will come to check on them, and a circle that will prevent any good aligned creature from leaving or entering, which will make it harder for them to work on the fossils. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

At the time when solar was defrosted all the way, and his flesh was soft, fiend was also freed from ice, and there was yet another problem - it's aura of fear kicked in. More expenses on the magic part were needed. But this meant that the fiend might still be alive, only frozen. And more good news was coming from the dig site - the third shape was almost ready to be transported to the camp. But there was no clue as to what it was.

In the morning when they brought the third block into the camp (and some workers were left back to see if there were some more items to be found), solar opened its eyes. Which scared Arvandor's assistant into developing a grey streak of hair on his temple.

At first, solar was disoriented, confused, and very aggressive, until it realized that it was not in combat any more. Then it passed out again, and stayed unconscious for the next twelve hours. Pit fiend was still solidly frozen, but he was not as cold any more. He was warming up.

In the morning, solar woke up, and asked about his location, and general information. It couldn't tell with certainty how old it was, but from his tales, and events it told about, it was obviously from when multiverse was still young. From what it could be understood (it spoke an ancient language that even magic had trouble translating), Cania was not even part of Hell back then. During all the time, it constantly complained how cold it was, even though there was a roaring fire, and almost unbearable heat filled the room.

Then... it remembered the combat it was in, and freaked out completely. Those that never saw an angel in a murderous rage are blessed. It probably hasn't regained all of its strength, for it hasn't managed to break out of the building. They had to use specially prepared items to put the solar into stasis for time being, until they could at least put up some force fields that would hold it in.

The noise, for it was heard across the entire area of the camp, probably woke up the fiend, but they were prepared for him. Force walls and binding circles were in place, and fiend soon realized that there was no point. It shivered constantly, and asked for more heat. It asked for more even after they set a permanently enchanted firewall inside his prison. Eons of cold don't get out of bones easily.

Fiend constantly asked about its location and what happened to the enemy. Translation magic was also needed, and it didn't work very well, either. At first, Arvandor thought it was asking about the solar, but even with faulty translations, there was something wrong about that. And another thing was that it was a completely new type of devils. Or, a completely different old type would be more accurate.

It took an entire day until they calmed down the solar, another one until they managed to get it to answer more questions. From what it could be gotten out, solar didn't like the fiend much, but it wasn't its enemy. The third creature was. That presented a problem. The third creature was defrosted, and extensive studies were made on it. It seemed to be dead, and completely alien - a formless blob, with a strong psionic and magical residue field on it. The biggest problem was how to prevent it from spilling out of the container it was in, and how to cut it - it was resilient to all forms of blades, even magical ones.

From combined stories of fiend and angel, it seems that they were chasing the thing for a long time, across many planes - or layers, cause multiverse was a bit different there - before catching it up on Cania, which was a lush tropic paradise back then, and in what could be considered upper planes. The battle itself seemed to last for years, with fiend and angel trying many tactics and strategies, and always failing - until the angel and devil made a pact, and used their abilities to make wishes. They decided that if they can't kill it, they will capture it in ice for an eternity.

But fate has a mean streak, and combined wish was seriously perverted and deformed. What started as a block of ice large enough to encase the thing soon started to grow uncontrollably and encased fiend and angel into the prison made for a thing. Getting the details took all day, and it was promising to upset a lot of historians.

It is not known what happened during the following night, but angel, fiend, and creature, all disappeared in a titanic battle that left most of the camp vaporized, and only a dozen people alive. Modrons on guard of the creature's building were found melted, almost a mile away, but the force fields in which the creature was kept, and anti-magic field inside were untouched. In other buildings, there was nothing left, save for solar's sword and bow, which were polished to a perfect shine, with no marking visible, and no magic left.

Arvandor retreated from the public, and never went to the field again. There are rumors that he is in a home for the befuddled, somewhere deep in Elysium, locked away for his own good.

Last thing his companions heard him say was "... hunger incarnate... devourer of worlds... save us all... mercy on us...", and then he screamed himself unconscious.

#roleplaying #rpg #planescape #dungeons & dragons #dungeons&dragons #dungeons and dragons #d&d

[stuffthatbard]

Can't help but send this to everyone with the egglaying/oviposition/eggpreg kink listed in their kink list... Easter themed stories for everyone!! Maybe it's a creature, Easter Hare/Sprigon/Springtime goddess maybe it's easter eggs, maybe it's a fertility ritual gone wrong/right!! So much fun springtime/fertility/creature lore out there, go wild and feel inspired!

Hope you don’t mind that I combined these two--they were both so good! Although sadly I didn’t manage to work in CBT. Next time! (Also, to the 3 months-old prompts still sitting in my inbox, very sorry for the delay! Those will definitely be my next priority.)

read on ao3, or below:

--

Geralt woke with the first breaths of spring, shaking the cold out of his bones and shedding the winter that had settled over his forest for the long months. He had much to do in preparation for the months to come—an entire world to bring back to life.

It was easy enough to coax the lands back into blooming, and it was a task he always enjoyed, convincing the flowers to blossom and the trees to bud. He wove among the trees, feet treading lightly on the soft grass springing up.

And then he heard it—someone singing, the spring breeze carrying the melody to him from afar. The singer’s voice was beautiful—clear, joyful, reaching soaring highs. And an idea came to Geralt.

He knew he would soon need to bring new life to the world, the beginnings of cramps in his abdomen already making themselves known. His eggs wouldn’t be ready for another few weeks, which was perfect—it gave him time to prepare, time to plan how he would snag the singer to be his mate, to bear his young and to renew the forest.

Geralt laid his trap in advance—a trail of treats leading from the village to just outside his warren, sure to pique the curiosity of the young bard, if not the appetite. And then, hiding in the bushes, belly heavy with eggs, he waited for his soon-to-be-victim to appear.

It didn’t take long. Jaskier—as Geralt had learned his name was—had taken to walking the forest paths in the evenings, sighing over the beauty of the forest or the beauty of a lover or any other thing that caught his poet’s attention. And sure enough, when he saw the first treat Geralt had laid out, he picked it up, and the next, and the next, until he found himself in front of Geralt’s warren.

“That’s odd. Who would--?”

He was cut off as Geralt leapt, bursting from the bushes to snag Jaskier around the waist. The bard yelped, too surprised to even fight back—in a short moment Geralt had navigated the twisting hallways of his warren (an impossible maze to anyone but him) and deposited Jaskier solidly on the pile of furs that made up his nest.

Jaskier stammered for a moment, lost for words as his brain processed the quick turn of events, until he finally gathered his wits. “Now see here!” he started, and then he finally took in the creature before him.

Geralt stood, bare as Mother Nature had birthed him, stomach gravid with new life. His rabbit ears swiveled under Jaskier’s inspection, his nose twitching as he waited for Jaskier to speak.

“What—who are you?”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier paled at the name—he had only just realized he was in the presence of a god, apparently. “What—what will you do with me?” he whispered, fingering nervously at the hem of his shirt. Geralt kneeled down next to him, pulling away his hands and pinning them to his side, just as he pinned him with a stare.

“You’ll bring new life to the forest.”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered downwards and back up again just as quickly. “I think there’s been a mistake, I can’t—I’m not a woman,” he said bluntly, trying to tug his hands out of Geralt’s grasp. Geralt held firm.

“You’ll bear my eggs just fine.” Saying that, he released Jaskier’s wrists so that he could begin to divest the bard of his clothing, but he wasn’t expecting the sudden resistance he was met with.

“What—no,” Jaskier protested, batting his hands away and drawing his knees up to his chest. Geralt admired how it rounded his arse—which he would soon be sinking into. “I—I mean, please, o God of Spring, I urge you to reconsider,” he begged.

“I’ve considered it enough,” Geralt answered, “and decided. You’re perfect for me. Young, full of life and song. You’ll make a wonderful mate.” Then, hoping to calm the bard’s racing heart, he leaned forward and kissed him, gentle lips trying to put him at ease.

It didn’t work—Jaskier went even stiffer, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, let me go. Don’t do this.”

Geralt grew angry. It was an honor to be chosen by a god—who did this young upstart think he was, turning down such a generous offer? But he knew of a way to ensure Jaskier’s compliance. “What do you think happens if the God of Fertility is unable to complete his ritual?” he bit out.

Jaskier didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you. The forest will stagnate, devoid of new life, and your village will starve,” Geralt said bluntly. “If that’s what you want…”

Jaskier bit his lip, reddening it. “No,” he finally sniffed, all the fight fleeing him at once.

“Then let me breed you,” Geralt rumbled, and leaned in for another kiss, testing Jaskier’s resistance. He was met with none, although he wasn’t met with enthusiasm either. That was fine—Geralt didn’t need a willing host.

He pushed Jaskier backwards until he was lying on his back, and made quick work of his clothes. Jaskier stared resolutely at the ceiling the entire time, face creased in distress, but he didn’t struggle. Soon he too was bare, and Geralt wasted no time in hiking up his legs, exposing his tight hole.

“Wait,” Jaskier interrupted, a new fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to—please don’t fuck me dry.”

Geralt growled. He didn’t want to waste any more time—the eggs were growing heavier by the minute, his body anticipating his coming laying. But he supposed lubricant would make it more pleasurable at least, and the boy wouldn’t run the risk of tearing.

He dropped Jaskier’s legs and went to fetch a vial of oil, confident inn the knowledge that Jaskier wouldn’t—and couldn’t—flee. He returned shortly, and Jaskier was still where he’d left him, shivering a bit in the cool springtime air.

Geralt would soon warm him up. He poured out some oil and hiked Jaskier’s legs up again, oiled fingers coming to prod at his hole. He was tight, but under Geralt’s constant pressure, soon yielded to the press of two fingers stretching him wide. And Geralt knew he would only stretch further as the night went on.

Jaskier’s lips parted at the first intrusion, brow creasing in not-quite-pain. “Relax,” Geralt murmured. “It’ll feel good, if you let it.”

Geralt worked him with two fingers until he was panting, subtly shifting his hips in search of more. Geralt obliged, slipping in another finger, rewarded with a moan as Jaskier threw his head back. Geralt reached for his cock, intending to bring him to orgasm so that he would relax further, but was surprised when Jaskier gripped his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he growled, and Jaskier released his wrist instantly, eyes widening.

“Please don’t—just get this over with?” he pleaded.

“You need to relax, or else my eggs won’t fit.” Jaskier turned watery eyes to him, but Geralt couldn’t be budged. “I know what you need. Just relax and let me.”

Jaskier shut his eyes, but made no move to further hinder Geralt as he once again reached to stroke Jaskier’s cock to full hardness. It only took a few strokes before he was moaning louder, bucking up into Geralt’s fist, driving himself back down on Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt twisted his wrist just as he prodded at that sensitive spot inside of Jaskier, and Jaskier spilled with a cry. Geralt pumped him through it, only stopping when Jaskier began to shudder from overstimulation and twist away. Geralt’s fingers remained deep inside Jaskier’s hole, keeping him stretched and ready for his cock—which was proudly standing at attention, eager to sink into that warm slickness.

Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head as Geralt breached him for the first time, Geralt himself only barely holding back from sinking all the way in. Fuck, Geralt hadn’t felt something this good in a long time. Even parted around Geralt’s thick cock, and even after orgasm, he was still so tight, hot and contracting sinfully around him.

Geralt sank in slowly, until he was buried to the hilt, Jaskier gurgling underneath him. Geralt could oh-so-faintly see the outline of his cock in the bard’s abdomen, piercing him all the way up past his navel. Geralt pulled out and sank back in again just to watch it bulge, feel the way Jaskier clenched.

“Fuck, gonna breed you so good,” Geralt grunted, his composure leaving him as he began to thrust faster. Jaskier moaned, writhing a little beneath him, his hot, sucking hole fluttering as if trying to draw Geralt deeper. Geralt’s pleasure grew higher and higher, until, with a grunt, he emptied himself into Jaskier, hot cum splashing deep, filling his stomach in preparation for the eggs that were coming.

They weren’t very big, but there were many of them, all clamoring to get out, to be laid inside a warm host. Geralt gripped tighter around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him further down onto his cock as the first few eggs spilled out of him. One, two, ten, bump after bump traveling the length of his cock and being deposited inside Jaskier.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, muscles twitching. “Feels so weird—so much—”

“There’s plenty more to come,” Geralt replied, groaning as another batch made its way out of him. Jaskier made a guttural noise and tried to pull away instinctively, his body screaming at him too much too much too much.

Geralt yanked him ruthlessly back down, and Jaskier screamed, voice cracking as he sobbed. “Please, enough,” he wheezed, and Geralt knew he had to be struggling for air, his lungs unable to fully inflate with how full his stomach was becoming.

He didn’t listen, pinning Jaskier in place despite how he struggled, animal instincts trying to flee, until he gave up all at once, sobbing beginning anew. His lithe body quaked underneath Geralt, each jolt sending a shock of pleasure to his cock, still trapped in that wet heat.

The last egg, one of perhaps a hundred, popped into Jaskier. He lay there shuddering, covered in sweat and his own come, gasping for breath. His eyes were closed, but they flew open as soon as Geralt took his cock in hand again, stroking just to feel how wonderfully tight he clenched around Geralt with every touch.

“Nonono stop,” Jaskier gasped, pushing ineffectually at Geralt’s chest. “Stop, it’s too much—”

Geralt didn’t stop—Jaskier felt too good around him. He grunted, speeding his hand and thrusting into Jaskier, chasing a second orgasm as he forced Jaskier towards his second.

Jaskier came with a cry, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he spasmed around Geralt, and Geralt followed him, spurting his seed into Jaskier once more. His body couldn’t take it, full as he was, and it spilled out around Geralt’s cock, leaking out onto Jaskier’s thighs and onto the furs.

Geralt pulled out, watching hungrily as more come leaked out, though his eggs stayed firmly inside, where they would remain until the time came to birth them.

“You’ll carry my eggs so well,” Geralt praised, picking Jaskier up—careful not to compress his overfull belly—and laying him down on a cleaner pile of furs.

Jaskier didn’t reply, too wrung out to even muster a word. His eyes slipped closed, his body falling into a much-needed rest, so that he didn’t hear Geralt’s next words.

“And next year, you’ll do it all again.”

#stb prompt fill #stb geralt #stb ovi #stb noncon #stb overstim #stb inflation #stb breeding kink #stb fic #stb jaskier #stb geraskier

[impala-dreamer]

Two Weeks Notice - Day Three

~With the world practicing self-isolation, Y/N and Dean break all the rules of social distancing and common decency as they explore an empty bunker and use the time alone to their playful advantage...~

Dean x Reader

1,645 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Role Play. Bondage. Rough. "Monster Fucking". Slight Pregnancy!Kink, Consensual Non-Con. It's all fantasy! Fluff

Two Weeks Notice Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ My Original Works on Amazon

Dean woke with a start. He felt cold, like a spirit had moved through his body, but that was impossible- wasn’t it? He blinked, clearing the dizziness from his mind and looked around the dark room.

It was hard to see anything much, the table below him giving off such a glow that it nearly burned his eyes. The table.

He was laying flat atop the War Room table, arms and legs spread out as far as the edges of the table would allow. In a moment of panic, he tried to move, twisting his arms, then his legs, but he was strapped down, solidly locked with fabric cuffs laiden with velcro on all sides.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm himself, trying in vain to remember the last thing that had happened to him.

He’d been coming home with some groceries- ice cream and chips for Y/N, when suddenly…

Nothing. It all went black after that.

He looked down and realized the cold was not a ghost, but a lack of clothing. He was fully naked and on display for anyone to see and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt embarrassed at first, but then a twitch of excitement flooded his system; he knew it was wrong, knew he was in some sort of danger, but he couldn’t help the heat that rushed down to his cock.

A clink of metal from above drew his eyes to the iron balcony.

“Mr. Winchester, good morning.”

His eyes rose to a shadowed figure looking down upon him. Light from the table washed upwards, highlighting a beautiful face with dark lashes and deep red lips.

He sneered, tugging at his cuffs once more for good measure. “You.”

She smiled like a wolf. “Me. Nice to see that I am remembered. A hero such as yourself has too many things on his mind to be remembering lowly creatures; even ones that he tortured.”

Realizing that he had no way to defend himself other than his mouth, Dean smirked and licked his lips smugly. “Lady, I can’t remember every two-bit witch or flea-ridden wolf or whatever the hell you are that I’ve taken down. I just remember a pretty face when I see one.”

A scowl turned her lips downwards and she turned, high heeled leather boots clicking loudly on the metal as she slowly descended the stairs. She wrapped a hand around the banister and Dean’s eyes were glued to the dark red painted claws afixed to her fingertips.

“Baltimore...2003,” she told him plainly, every word corresponding with a step down, a clank of metal. “You murdered my family one night...took their heads clean off.”

Dean kept his cocky attitude and shrugged. “It happens.”

“Does it?” She rounded the bottom of the staircase and turned to him.

“Sometimes.” He sucked in a heavy breath as she came at him, a vision in a tight, shining leather dress. Her tits were pushed high and bubbling over the deep neckline, her waist cinched painfully into the perfect hourglass shape. She was stunning. She was sexy. She was…

“Wait…” Dean narrowed his eyes as her face came into full view. “Y/N.”

Emerald went dark with realization as she bared her vampiric fangs and dove down, wrapping her claws around his face to hold him still. He gasped as she bit into his throat, his pulse racing to flood her mouth with precious blood.

His eyes rolled as she kissed the spot and stood back up, her nails tracing the defined lines of his collarbone and left shoulder.

“So you do remember me.” She grinned and collected a drop of blood from the corner of her lips with her middle finger. She stared at it for a moment, letting it sparkle in the light before sucking the blood and digit into her mouth.

Panting and dizzy, Dean watched her carefully, calculating his next move. “Yeah, I remember you now. You got away, ran out the back door like a coward while I decimated your entire nest.”

Y/N sneered, baring her fangs as her hand rose to grip his throat, squeezing hard. “My family,” she corrected. “You murdered them. I barely escaped.”

“Thin line between escape and fleeing,” he choked.

Seething, Y/N bent down again and tore at his neck, tongue flickering at his pulse as she pulled on his essence.

Dean’s world began to spin and he tugged at his restraints, hopefully when he heard a bit of velcro give. “Vampires are all cowards,” he went on, using her rage to buy himself some time. “I’ve killed thousands. All the same.”

The more he mocked, the harder she sucked, moving around his throat with her deadly kisses. Her hand left his throat as his breathing quickened, fingers sliding down the deep cuts and curves of his firm torso, lower and lower until Dean hissed in protest.

“What do you want from me?”

Y/N lifted her lips from his throat and smiled down into his beautiful eyes. She wrapped a soft hand around his cock and slowly began to stroke him to life.

“I want what you took from me,” she said simply. “I want a new family.”

Dean scoffed but inside he cringed, fearful to become that thing again. He flashed back to years ago when he’d received the magical blood. He could feel it flowing through him again; the power, the connection, the lust of it all. “No.” He tried his best to push it from his mind, but her hand kept his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me, Mr. Winchester, are you familiar with the idea of a True Pure Blood?” Her fingers pulsed around his cock, thumb gently stroking the swollen head.

His head rolled along with his eyes, unable to focus on an escape any longer. “What? No.”

Y/N set her tongue against the sharpest of her fangs and smiled. “It’s the theory that two virial vampires can produce an offspring of immeasurable power, creating a new, True Pure Blood child that cannot be killed.”

“Anything...can be killed.” Dean’s voice caught in his throat as Y/N massaged his balls. “If you take its head off…”

“But what if it were true? What if it could be done?”

“It can’t.” He was panting, stomach muscles tightening, arms straining. “You can’t. It’s a myth. Just lore.”

“Funny,” she teased, lifting her tight skirt and climbing up onto the table beside him. “I thought your brother was the one with the library in his head.”

“I know stuff,” he spat, turning his face from her kiss as she leaned close.

“I bet you do.” It was sweet, almost romantic, the way her lips grazed his ear. Her breath was hot and shiver-inducing as it blew across his flesh. “You’re smart Dean,” she told him in a sultry whisper as she tossed one leg over his thick waist. He closed his eyes, lost to the feeling. “Handsome, clever…” Her pussy was hot and wet as she rubbed herself against his pelvic bone. “Brave, funny…” His cock twitched against her ass, warm and throbbing. “That’s why I chose you.”

His heart nearly stopped as he realized his error. When he looked up, she was barely an inch away, her lips puckered, her eyes hungry.

He shook his head defiantly. “No.”

Y/N smiled kindly. “You have no choice, Dean. It’s already begun.”

Before he could turn his face, Y/N stuck her tongue against her canine and bit down, drawing a river of fresh vampiric blood into her mouth. She kissed him hard, forcing his lips to part with her tongue and pushing the blood into him. He swallowed without a thought and felt the surge of power overtake him.

As they kissed, exchanging the Blood, Y/N scooted back and sank down onto his cock, filling her pussy as she filled his mouth. Her nails dug into his pecs when she pulled back, sitting up to ride him fast and hard.

Dean gasped, shaking against the hard, glowing table as the Blood worked on his system. Y/N kept him distracted while fangs ripped through his gums, his eyes changing, filling with the power. He writhed below her, limbs tensing, pulling at the straps, his chest heaving as he neared the end.

“Hush now,” she soothed, running a cold hand down his sweaty cheek. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He roared as he came, pain and pleasure mixing into one giant explosion that nearly knocked him out.

Y/N rode on, letting go of him for her own pleasure as she felt him spill into her throbbing cunt. She came soon after, using him like a toy, cackling into the empty War Room as she shuddered with pleasure.

“Rest now,” she said, climbing off of him and adjusting her dress. “You’ll need your strength to go again in a bit.”

Dean reeled. “Again? I…”

“Oh, you will,” she assured him, planting a sweet kiss on his forehead. “We’re gonna keep going until you’ve knocked me up for sure. The True Pure Blood must be born.”

Dean lifted his head as she backed away, face contorting with sudden worry. “Uh… ok, but you’re still on the pill though, right?”

Y/N laughed, nearly doubling over as the facade was broken. “Of course! What the fuck, dude!”

He sighed gratefully and lay back down, laughing at himself. “OK, good. I’m not- that’s not- I mean… yeah… no.”

“Agreed.”

He twisted at the cuffs again and turned back to find her walking from the room. “Hey! You gonna let me go?”

Y/N shrugged and eyed him over her shoulder. “Eh… maybe later. You look sexy like that.”

He watched in arousing horror as she actually walked away, heels clicking down the hallway into the shadows.

“Ah, nuts.”

2020 Forever Tags:

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TWN: 

@rebelemilu​ @pastathighs​ @deans-baby-momma @bobbie3939 @peachyafshawn @spencer-reids-babygirl @akrasiaev @shadowkat-83​ @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @bxbyizzy @chenshemesh1 @pandaxo79 

#dean x reader #series #twn #dean winchester x reader

[rosesgonerogue]

Let the Sunshine In - Chapter 6

Masterlist (because I finally learned to make one)

Five years ago Jason would have said he felt like death. Now Jason would have welcomed death with open arms if he thought Ra’as wouldn’t just track his body down and resurrect him again, even more broken the second time around. 

Also, saying that you felt like death usually implied that someone was listening, which definitely was not the case. He felt like a ghost in a number of ways, a specter trapped between heaven and hell, desperate for someone to notice him, confirm that he existed. But the feeling of emptiness, of invisibility was put aside in the name of anger. After all, anger reigned supreme in his mind. 

As each day passed, thoughts of Marinette slowly faded. It couldn't have been more than a week since he’d left her house, but the memories felt years old, a fleeting moment of light that could never have been permanent. It was almost easier that way, so he couldn’t reflect on how badly he’d messed up. 

Not that Jason had any time to reflect. Each day without Marinette meant that the anger was becoming stronger and more frequent. He found himself blacking out for large chunks of time, and when he woke up he would wake up in the Red Hood mask, covered in blood that wasn’t his. 

A part of him didn’t know why he even bothered with the costume - he was already a monster, no one could deny it. Part his reasoning for the costume was simply habit from his days as Robin, but a large part of his motivation was the thought of Marinette stumbling across him in the street. Just imagining the look of horror on her face was enough to shatter what little sense of self he had. 

Maybe Marinette meant more to him than he was willing to admit. 

So, Jason existed, even though he didn’t want to. It only took a week for Paris to start talking about him consistently, so he watched the news, monitored what he did when he wasn’t in control. It seemed that he hadn’t killed anyone yet - or if he had, the Miraculous Cure had brought them back. Apparently he lost consciousness during akuma attacks, and on several occasions he���d simply shot the akuma down, disappearing while Ladybug and Chat Noir dealt with the aftermath. 

In theory the fact that he hadn’t shot anyone should have been some small consolation, but he couldn’t avoid that suspicion that he wasn’t actually helping the French heroes. He’d dealt with enough in Gotham to know when something was playing head games to accomplish their own means, and whatever it was that controlled him during his blackouts wanted something sinister. 

Weeks passed just like that, Jason slowly losing himself day by day to the anger, the destruction he caused. 

The nothingness. 

Disguises, masks, his life was pushed into the shadows. He didn’t even think that he could actually call this living. Jason chuckled to himself, the sound cold and empty. His miraculous second chance at life left him in even worse shape than before Bruce found him, cold and hungry and completely without the will to live. 

Jason didn’t have much hope for the future - really, he had a single hope. When the time came, he hoped that next time he stayed dead. 

***********

She couldn’t understand - Marinette had known Jay for less than twenty-four hours, but the memory of him still haunted her. Did he have a safe place to stay? Was he eating enough? Had he fully succumbed to the influence of the Lazarus Pits yet? 

Shaking herself, she turned her attention back to the issue at hand: Red Hood, the mysterious new vigilante. He had dodged any efforts she or Chat made to follow or talk to him, so they decided to split up and look for him outside of an akuma attack. It was doubtful that it would yield anything, but Marinette knew that if that hideous outfit she’d been forced to make was visible, she would spot it. The jury was still out on whether or not she would destroy it - if the opportunity presented itself, she would be more than tempted. 

Swinging around the city until it was dark seemed like more than enough, though. Pausing on a rooftop, Ladybug spoke into her yo-yo. “I think it’s time to call it quits, Chaton. We both need to get some rest.” 

“Brilliant idea, M’Lady. Don’t worry, we’ll find him soon.” 

“I have no doubt about that, Chaton. After all, I can’t just let him steal my colors like this.” 

Chat Noir let out a surprised bark of laughter. “I don’t know what happened to bring you back to yourself, Bugaboo, but it’s nice to have the old you back.”

“It feels nice to be back, Kitty. Now sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” 

“Oh, you’re trying to steal my lines now? Just you wait, my new jokes are going to be insuf-fur-able.” 

The two bantered a bit before finally saying goodbye. Detransforming, Marinette clambered down the building’s fire escape. It was dusk, so she probably should have gone straight home, but there was a grocery store not too far away, and she needed a few things. 

“Bonjour,” the tired shop owner called upon her entrance. 

“Bonjour!” Marinette replied, mentally making a list of things she needed. She was content to browse the shelves idly, despite the dwindling sunlight. It was a smaller store, and a handful of others milled around as well. 

Marinette was staring down the produce and deciding what she wanted to make the coming week when the shopkeeper yelled, “Stop! Thief!”

Instinctively dropping her basket, Marinette launched herself to the doors of the store where someone was attempting to flee. He got caught up in a crowd on the sidewalk, which gave Marinette more time to catch up to him. 

The closer she got to him, the more she recognized an eerie situation permeating the air. Now with completely different intentions, Marinette pounced, catching Jay’s and in hers. 

She hauled him into an empty alleyway before demanding, “Jay? Are you okay? What’s going on? Why did you leave? Especially if you have to steal!” 

Seeing him like this hurt, definitely more than Marinette could have ever expected it to. His eyes widened when they met hers, full of emotions - pain, fear, and regret swirled in his eyes before that same toxic green clouded them and anger reigned supreme. Snarling like a feral animal, he lunged towards Marinette with hands outstretched.

Marinette had been dreaming of finding Jay again for weeks, but this wasn’t how she’d pictured any of it happening. She dodged instinctively, and her stomach twisted when his jacket fell open just enough to see the familiar bullet proof material he wore underneath. 

So, it seemed she’d found Red Hood after all. 

None of it made sense just yet, but some of the pieces were starting to fall into place. All along it had seemed like Red Hood had been attempting to help in his own, destructive way, but he had never spoken, and his movements were always jerky, uncontrolled, not at all the way that Jay moved ordinarily. As someone alive because of the pits, he was probably drawn to all of the errant Miraculous energy.

It wasn’t fair. Overwhelmed by the injustice of his situation, Marinette’s body took over. She ducked another of his lunges and pivoted on her heel, her other one connecting solidly with his temple. He crumpled on impact, leaving Marinette panting and slightly regretting her hasty action. But her recently unleashed emotions burned within her. 

Screw the Lazarus Pits, screw Jay’s anger, and screw Hawkmoth. Neither of them had asked for any of this - neither of them deserved  any of this.

She went back in to pay for the food she’d dropped and he’d stolen before calling a taxi.

“Marinette, what are you thinking?” Tikki asked, flitting around her head while they waited. 

“I’ve been complacent for too long. I understand why I’ve done what I’ve done, but no more. Hawkmoth, whoever did this to Jay, they better watch out because I’m taking our lives back.” Marinette glanced to the bag she assumed held Red Hood’s helmet. “But only after I burn that awful helmet.”

Tikki couldn’t reply because it was then that the cabbie arrived, but she settled in Marinette’s purse, practically glowing. Finally.

Taglist: 

@cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @theatreandcomicfreak @jardimazul-blog @karategirl119 @thewondersoflebanon @tbehartoo @shizukiryuu @northernbluetongue @moonlightstar64 @naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @saphiraazure2708 @yokizu @jeminiikrystal @chocolatecatstheron @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @zalladane @slytherinsheashire @bran-thecreeper-stark @otaku4312 @emotionalsupportginger @dorkus-minimus @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tired-butterfly @bamagirl513 @pauliestorylover @alenee13 @ladybug-182 @senpaiweird @kalligraphic @jessigurl-design @emeraldpuffguide @veunnotvuen @storyteller-d @g-arya @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @procrastinatingrightnow @sturchling @dast218 @trashystar420 @indecisive-mess-named-me @awesome-starfish-and-tacos @kittycatwowmeow  @zebrabaker @mycupisbroken @jeminiikrystal @miraculous-simmer7 @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @lulutheawkwardess @fusser90 @fsketchart @maribat-is-lifeblood @buticaaba @zotinha456 @purplesundaze @verraa

Note: 

Hey guys, I know it's been forever, sorry about that. I had a wicked case of writer's block, which was compounded by the fact that I only have the loosest of outlines for this fic. Picking what direction I needed to go was harder than I thought it would be. But I'm not giving up on this story, I promise to see it through to the end no matter how long it takes! If you want to be tagged or if I forgot you somehow, just leave a comment in the notes! 

#maribat #jasonette #marinette x jason #let the sunshine in #LtSi

[hazelandglasz]

possible klaine prompt idea? 66 (.) media (.) tumblr (.) com/0a3ac83b2e36cba0c5b2f2a0bc056749/tumblr_o7xrab7RSz1tpg5guo1_1280 (.) png

On AO3

“Bro.”

“And then he, I don’t know, flaunted that guy around the apartment, like we were at the Westminster Dog Show or something, before taking him to the door and kissing him very, very loudly.”

“Bro.”

“And then he returned to the couch and took my bowl of popcorn from my lap and, and—”

“Blaine, bro. Breathe.”

Blaine does breathe, pausing in his retelling of his roommate's latest sexcapade to calm himself.

Next to him, Sam and Artie are exchanging looks Blaine doesn’t even try to translate anymore.

He sighs. “I’m not homophobic, you know that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Sure!” Sam exclaims, clapping Blaine on the back. “You’re, like, the most woke guy I know!”

“Hey!”

“You’re very smart and very open-minded, Artie, but the Chlamydia episode taught us all that you need to work on your wokeness.”

“Touché.”

Sam returns his focus to Blaine, who is slowly rolling himself into a foetal position. “Blainey,” he says softly, “have you considered the possibility that, um, you… you may be the opposite of homophobic?”

“Uh?”

Sam glances at Artie who nods.

What the what?

“Have you ever wondered why you’re still single, even though girls are literally throwing themselves at you?”

“Do you really think right now is a good moment to rub my loneliness in my face?”

“‘S not what I’m doing, bro, you know I would never do something to make you sad.”

Artie clears his throat, holding up a glass of water for Blaine. “What we’re trying to tell you, Blaine, is that, maybe, just maybe, you should, um, think about what you really feel when you see Kurt kissing other guys.”

Blaine glares at him, and then shakes his head. “I don’t—I just… I don’t like to see him kissing those men, they…”

“Yes?”

“They… don’t deserve him.”

“Oh?”

“And why is that?”

Blaine lets himself sit back on his friends’ couch, dropping his head on the back of it, eyes to the ceiling. “Because Kurt—Kurt deserves to be treated with respect and care, not like a piece of meat.”

Artie makes a thoughtful noise before patting Blaine’s knee. “Do you want to be the one treating him with respect and care?” he asks softly.

Blaine sits back like someone poked him in the back. “What?! No! I—I’m not…” he starts protesting, but the words get stuck in his throat. Surprising tears come to his eyes. “I’m not…”

“Hey, hey, Blaine, it’s alright. Whatever you say,” Sam says, glaring at Artie. “Whatever you say, we’re here to support you, bro.”

Blaine lets out a small sob before standing, rushing to get his jacket and out of the apartment. “I—Thank you, guys, I… I need to go. I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

“Blaine—”

The door closes behind him before Sam can finish his sentence.

Blaine doesn’t even remember going down the stairs or how he ended sitting in the dog park near Kurt and his apartment, but that’s where he is, around two hours later, lost in his thoughts about the possible truth ringing in Artie’s words, when a strong hand gently taps his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, roomie?”

And here he is.

Kurt is standing next to Blaine’s bench, a look of concern on his face only downplayed by his half-smile.

“I told you already, we are not getting a puppy in our apartment.”

Blaine lets out a wet laugh before shaking his head. “No, I know, I know. I needed… some space. To think.”

Kurt removes his hand. “Oh. Do you want me to—”

“No.” The word came out louder than Blaine intended. “No,” he repeats, calmer this time. “You don’t need to go.”

Kurt’s smile grows as he sits next to Blaine, crossing his legs and putting his hands around his knee. “Something on your mind?”

Blaine nods, unable to look at Kurt.

“Something I can help you with?”

Would it be easy to just blurt out the whole truth to Kurt?

That Blaine has possibly buried his feelings under a mask so solidly put on that he didn’t realize it was a mask anymore?

That his teenage fear of being beaten up for not conforming to the norm, added to his dad’s repeated affirmation of what a man should be and do, has pushed him into a corner he can’t seem to escape?

But more importantly, that seeing Kurt with all of his different flings, one-night stands, however he wishes to call them, has stirred something deep in Blaine’s whole being, has moved him beyond words, and that he assumed those impulses were born out of anger but they may be something entirely different?

No, Blaine thought. Not so easy.

“Blaine?”

Kurt’s voice disrupts the flow of questions and negative thoughts going around Blaine’s mind. “Are you—is everything alright?” Kurt moves one of his hands to Blaine’s knee, hesitating before lightly patting it. “Want to talk about it with a slice of cheesecake?”

Blaine can feel his eyes tearing up again, but he chuckles anyway. “You and your ‘cake is the cure for everything’ policy.”

Kurt smiles wider. “Never failed me before.”

“Lead the way, then. I’m buying.”

“Won’t fight you on this.”

---

Not a moment later, they’re sitting in a booth at Junior’s, a plate of cheesecake samples in front of them.

Blaine has to admit it, the smooth and sweet pastry does soothe some of his head (and heart) ache.

“Now, do you want to keep on manly brooding about whatever is eating you up or do you want to talk about it?” Kurt asks, before taking a bite of cheesecake, keeping the spoon in his mouth and humming in pleasure.

Blaine’s eyes go to his lips before he realizes it.

“I… don’t manly brood.”

“Right. And I don’t focus on my skincare routine when I am stressed.”

Blaine twists his mouth, shoving a spoonful of devil’s food cheesecake in his mouth to keep it shut.

“Does this,” Kurt continues, pointing his spoon at Blaine in general, “have anything to do with my date with Brett yesterday?”

“Huh? What? Why—why would it have anything to do with your date?”

Kurt stares intently at Blaine, chin resting on top of his hands, the spoon dandling from his fingers. 

“Do you hate homosexuals, Blaine?”

“What?! No! I’m not—no.”

Kurt’s eyes become steely. “Then why did you glare at Brett the whole time we were having fun yesterday before he left?”

“I—” quick, Blaine, think of something, “I couldn't hear my movie. And I’m not a big fan of PDA in general.”

“Ah.”

“I would have glared at Brett if he was a she, as well.”

“Ah?”

I would glare at anyone getting a chance to kiss you and touch you, really. 

The thought is as surprising as it is true, and Blaine tries to control how his eyes widen as he processes it, but not to avail.

“What?” Kurt’s hand finds his. “Blaine, you look like you just had an epiphany.”

“I, um, kinda did. I just need to, to, to think about what I’m going to do now.”

“O-kay.”

“Can I—I will talk to you about it, I promise, but can I do so later? Please?”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, his touch soft and strong at the same time. How did Blaine miss this in the first place? How Kurt is made of contradictions, that add up to this whole perfection?

Ha. The truth is, he didn’t miss it. Not at all.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

Silly, silly Blaine.

“Of course, Blaine. Now,” Kurt says, unaware of the tremendous shift that just happened in his roommate’s mind, “what do you say we pack the remains of these delicious cheesecakes and go home to watch some terrible reality shows?”

“As long as it’s not one of the Real Housewives,” Blaine says, a shy smile trying to make an appearance on his face, “count me in.”

“Heretic,” Kurt grumbles, knocking their shoulders together when they both come to stand side by side at the cashier. “You terrible heathen.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

Kurt snorts, locking their arms together as they walk back to their apartment. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says in the same tone he always jokes in with Blaine.

Why does it make him blush so suddenly now?

---

It’s time.

He’s going to do it.

Blaine gives himself a pep talk in the bathroom, two days after his “gaypiphany,” to just get out of here, turn off the TV, get Kurt’s attention and tell him…

Tell him what, exactly?

“Hey, Kurt, I know we’re good friends even though you thought I was being homophobic toward your boyfriends, but actually, I am gay, very gay for you specifically, and I wouldn’t mind you kissing men if those men were me. What do you say?”

Blaine facepalms. 

Yeah, like that is going to work well.

“Blaine, you alright in there?”

Shit.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was… washing my hands.”

“Very thoroughly,” Kurt comments, juggling with the remote. “Not a criticism, though. I’m glad I have found one of the few straight men my age who knows something about hygiene.”

Blaine winces and Kurt notices immediately.

“What did I say?”

Blaine sits down, slowly reaching for Kurt’s hand to squeeze it—it’s both to appease Kurt and give himself some strength.

“It’s nothing you said, Kurt,” he says softly, taking a deep breath. “It’s just… I realized something, lately, about—about myself, and also about… us.”

“Oh?” Kurt’s voice is slightly breathless.

Without realizing it, Blaine doesn’t let go of Kurt’s hand. “I have been silencing a part of me,” he starts slowly, “for a long time. To protect myself from getting hurt, I build an impenetrable box around that part and, by doing so, I seem to have locked myself away from a chance of happiness.”

“Blaine, I—”

“Kurt, please, I need—I need to let it out.”

“Of course, dear. Go on.”

“There was a moment, for me, last week, when I said to myself ‘This. This is me’, and it was largely because—because of you. Without me noticing, you moved me, Kurt, you broke the walls I had around my heart, and I… I would like the chance to spend more time with you.”

Kurt turns his hand so they can hold hands, palm to palm. “We already live together,” he murmurs, eyes on their joined hands. 

Blaine scoots closer to Kurt, using his free hand to tentatively cup his cheek.

(He files away the thought that this feels like his hand was made for this.)

“Would you let me kiss you, Kurt?”

Kurt’s eyes fly to Blaine, wide and carrying a myriad of emotions.

Surprise, fear, anticipation. And hope.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and Blaine leans forward, pressing their lips together.

His eyes flutter shut, allowing him to lose himself in the sensation.

Blaine doesn’t have a lot of experience with kissing—he did have a couple of girlfriends in high school, but it never lasted—but this…

Even as delicate and gentle as it is, it carries more passion than Blaine has ever experienced. 

Kurt inhales sharply, before tilting his head and caressing Blaine’s cheek as he licks the bow of Blaine’s lower lip.

Blaine lets out a small sound, at the edge between a moan and a sob, and Kurt uses the opening to caress Blaine’s tongue with his own before pulling away.

“Oh, wow,” Blaine says breathlessly, resting his forehead against Kurt’s. “That, um. Wow. I’m definitely gay.”

Kurt starts laughing silently, pulling Blaine into a hug. “Yes, you ridiculous man. I’d say you’re definitely gay.”

“Would you—will you be my boyfriend?” Blaine asks, moving back to face Kurt.

Kurt’s hand slides from Blaine’s cheek to cup the back of his neck. “I thought we were,” he says in a breath, before pulling Blaine’s lips back to his while pushing Blaine on his back.

Turns out, Blaine really doesn’t mind Kurt kissing men if he is that man.

(And he has zero problem with PDA, as Sam and Artie quickly find out.)

#Anonymous #sometimes i write #klaine au #roommates au #straight blaine #except not so straight is he now #fluff and angst #light angst (like i can do the hard kind anyway)

[lights-up-divine]

Monster in the Night

Hey guys! So just finished with this one, and I am so excited to share it. I’m literally starting school tomorrow so expect this to be my last post for a couple of weeks.

This short story is about 6k words, I know, very long. But I love the premise and the story and I hope you will too. It’s about a newly turned vampire, Kiera, who is trying to survive in the city on her own while holding up her morales.

I braced myself as the butcher threw me out of the shop by the tattered collar of my grimy shirt. I wanted to turn around and deck him, just punch him in his big bearded face, but I knew better than to cause a scene. I couldn’t afford to get banned from another butcher shop. 

I clenched my teeth as my skull collided with the cold pavement. I could feel the slimy residue of the storm the previous night coat my hair and I could smell the moldy scent of mildew. I winced as I got up shaking from the bottom up and trying not to think about the state that my clothes must have been in. I looked at the scratches on my cold grey hands and noticed how badly I was shaking. I cursed as I stumbled into the dark alleyway to collect myself. I sat down on the dryest pile of boxes I could find clutching my backpack to my chest and trying to hold back my tears. Head in hands I felt a migraine coming on. I tried to stifle my pain as I ignored the squeaks of mice and the scattering of roaches. I knew that if I was going to make it to the end of the week if I needed to focus, but hunger was making my mind cloudy. Inhale, exhale, I took a deep breath and tried to focus my churning brain. Right now the only thing that I needed to focus on was how to get more money. Not on my ever-increasing bloodlust, not on my continued homelessness, not on the fact that I had lost everything in my life a few short months ago. The only thing I needed then and there was more blood, and the money I would use to buy it. 

When I finally got up off my butt and started walking it was around noon. Clouds blanketed the entire sky but I knew by the smell of the air and the calls of pigeons that it was about midday. I stalked silently down the busy streets, the people there giving me a wide berth. At the time I wasn’t sure if it was because my clothes were filthy or if they somehow knew that I was a vampire, but I didn’t mind the space all that much. I liked being alone, and being left alone so I encouraged the extra room. I walked down the stairs to the subway platform and smiled before it would have been impossible for me to get a seat, but now things were different. As the subway train pulled into the station I used the people’s repulsion toward me to push my way to the front and board the car fairly easily. As the car pulled out I closed my eyes and relaxed for what seemed like the first time all that week. I was a city native so the loud car blaring, low murmur of people in the streets, and the faint mellow sounds of pigeons cooing in the distance formed a sort of lullaby in my mind and lulled me into sleeplike calm. The train lurched to a stop and I reluctantly opened my eyes. I walked out of the underground and into the world above.

I was staring at a green oasis in the sea of rigid concrete. Union Park was my favorite place to go to escape everything. That was true before and after I was turned, and is still true to this day.I stepped out of the subway station and smiled for the first time all that week. My tattered sneakers carried me through the lush grass and I practically beamed as saw bright leaves dancing through the wind. The only thing that was missing was a bright sun in a blue autumn sky, but I knew that seeing sunlight was far too much to ask for anymore. I walked slowly through the park and embraced the quiet nature of the place. I sat down at a stiff wooden bench and did my best to lay down. I stared at the canopy and tried to think of how I could make money. I didn’t have time to do any odd jobs, and begging would take too long. I sighed and admitted to myself that my speculations were pointless. There was only one sure-fire way for me to make my money fast, and I already knew what it was.

I needed it to get darker before I could set my plan into motion so I gave in to my fatigue and laid my head down on the bench. It took a while for me to finally fall asleep. I tossed and turned trying fruitlessly to find a softer piece of wood for my head to rest on, before I finally gave up and realized that I would never truly be comfortable, not anymore. Defeated, I laid on the bench and tried to pretend that I was back home in my own bed, with the fan on, and my dog Dune resting peacefully by my head.

When I finally woke up it was later in the day and I felt at least somewhat rested. Even though my fatigue had ebbed, as I got up off the bench I heard my joints pop and crack. I sighed as I realized that sleeping on park benches was probably not the best thing for my back. I walked through the park once again and was relieved to see that it was still empty. I got to the public bathroom without any fuss and went into the women’s stall, making sure to lock the door behind me. Thankfully the park was never that popular so the bathroom was just regular dirty instead of a complete mess. Still, I got my change of clothes out my backpack and put them on as quickly as possible. Touching the sink gingerly I turned on the water and washed my face, making sure to rinse any gunk out of my hair as well. Even though I had heard that vampires were more resistant to disease than humans I still didn’t want to spend more time in that bathroom than I needed to. 

I stepped out of the stall and into the park once again. Pulling out my phone I typed in the password quickly and opened the camera app. I raised it above my head and looked into the screen. I didn’t know if it was just the lighting or the angle but my skin looked really gray. My shoulders slumped when I realized that it had something to do with my transformation or the fact that I hadn’t seen sunlight in months, probably a combination of both. Either way, I didn’t open the camera to look at the state of my skin, I opened it to see if my new outfit looked fancy enough. The eggshell white cotton sweater and green skirt combo wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking that I lived in a penthouse, but it did make me look solidly middle class, and that was what I was aiming for. I closed my phone with a smile and picked up my backpack. I walked confidently out of the park, and toward the subway station, the next part of my plan could begin.

As the subway train pulled into the station, I took a deep breath and plastered a serene smile on my face. For this plan to work, I needed to get into character. The moment I walked up the stairs and onto the streets it would be like I was on a stage. Even though I had quit theater a month before my transportation, I still liked to consider myself a good actress. And a good actress always prepares herself before she goes up on stage. I needed to look like I had no care in the world like I was just there to help.  I needed to really feel like I didn’t belong there like this was just a visit, nothing more. I closed my eyes one last time and walked up the stairs into what seemed like a different world entirely.

Instead of the close confines of throngs of people going about their lives, and the busy atmosphere of midtown where I got off seemed broken and desolate. There were cafes with boarded up windows and not a skyscraper in sight. I walked on a sidewalk that was cracked and in desperate need of a repair. I regarded buildings that were mostly old, corroding brick and weathered wood. Even if it was my first time there (and it wasn’t) I would have known that it was a bad part of town. More than the boarded-up windows and the cracked sidewalks what really told was the demeanor of the people. There were three to four people leaning against the walls of what seemed like each ally way, who eyed all of the passersby hungrily. Sitting on the streets were people wearing filthy dollar store clothes, and ratty jackets peeking out of their cheap tents, eyes empty. I walked around the town for a bit, regarding the homeless folk with a special interest. For me to properly act out the scene I couldn’t just choose anybody, I needed to be selective. I found one that looked right, and it didn’t take me long. There were so many people like him that I pretty much had my pick. 

“Excuse me, Sir?” I asked in a high voice as I bent down to talk with the old guy.

He looked up at me with searching brown eyes and sighed a long sad sigh, “What is it, Miss?”

I smiled sweet and fake as I pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill from my backpack and handed to the man, “I want you to have this!”

The old man shook his head and blocked my hand, saying that he couldn’t possibly take it. Externally I frowned, though on the inside I was beaming. Good, I thought, he had refused. From the cut of his hair to the smoldering embers in his brown eyes, I had been able to see right away that he was the proud type. The proud type was exactly what I needed for everything to go smoothly. He had played his part, albeit unknowingly, and now if I just stuck to the script everything would go as planned.

I thrust the twenty dollars into his face and did my best to convince the man to take it,“ It’s alright Sir, you need it more than me. And besides my mom says that giving back is the duty of the more fortunate among us. So please, Sir, take it.”

The man shook his head again, “No can do. It wouldn’t be right for me to take money from a kid, no matter how fortunate you are.”

Internally I groaned at the old man. I had already gotten all that I needed from him, I thought, just take the money already. 

I smiled stiffly as I tried to retain my composure as I pleaded with the man, “No please, Sir! Take it you need it more than me, I would hate to see you suffer!”

“Fine,” the man said as he roughly grabbed the twenty dollars out of my hand, “If you hate seeing me suffer so badly, then I’ll just take it.”

I smiled and took a deep breath as I prepared to say my final line. I needed to really sell the fact that I was fortunate and had money and that required some overacting. 

“Are you sure you don’t need more Sir,” I offered loudly, “I have plenty more to give.”

The old man waved me off and I was almost jumping for joy as I turned the corner and walked down a dark alley. The guys who were standing outside the ally had hopefully noticed the entire scene with me and the old man. I just hoped that they were smart enough to peg me as a happy-go-lucky girl with money and follow me down the alley. I had just begun suspecting that they were stupid and that I should try a different street when I heard a loud, false cough behind me.

I turned around and sighed with relief as I saw that the guys were behind me, “Thank god you guys were smart enough to follow me, I thought you guys would never show up.”

They were the usual street thugs, close-cropped hair, black clothes, I could tell from the looks in their eyes and their stances that they thought that they were the toughest people to ever walk the streets. I snickered as they turned to each other with confusion written all over their faces. Finally after a solid few seconds of blank staring the biggest one, obviously the leader stepped forward and roughly grabbed my arm with a gloved hand.

“Cut the small talk,” he growled, “Just give us your all your cash and you won’t get hurt.”

I snickered as I looked at him sideways. Now came the last part of my plan, usually either the hardest or most fun part. I grabbed the guys forearm and took a deep breath. Even with my vampire strength I still needed some concentration. I steadied myself and yanked hard on his forearm, throwing him roughly to the ground. His skull hit the concrete with a thud and blood started seeping out the impact wound. I stared at the scarlet liquid seeping out onto the ground and drooled. It had been so long since I had last drank and human blood had the sweetest aroma. Lost in thought I paid no mind to the guys who were now rushing at me. A fist to the jaw finally broke me out of my trance and my mind was back to the task at hand. I saw that the other three guys had surrounded me, leaving me no chance of escaping. It didn’t matter to me though, escaping wasn’t part of the plan. One of the guys aimed another punch at my jaw, but this time I was ready. I grabbed his hand and pulled his body downwards. This time I wasn’t going for a flip, I aimed the pull carefully so that the guys stomach collided perfectly with my knee making him clutch his stomach and sink to the ground. As I turned around one the guys aimed a kick to my ribs, and I used another grab. This time I grabbed his leg and pushed him forcefully, sending him barreling down to the ground, back first. Another cracked skull on the concrete, another guy down. I turned to face the remaining thief and found nothing but a shadow spiraling away from the alley.

“Tsk, coward,” I scoffed as I watched the guy high tail it away. I knew that it wasn’t worth it chasing him, I had all that I needed right there.

I turned to the collapse thieves on the pavement with a hungry grin. Shakily I bent down to the first guy and tried desperately to ignore the pooling blood. I was a vampire, so it was natural for me to drink blood, even still there was something about taking blood from another person that just seemed wrong to me, morally speaking. The last time I had drained a living being it hadn’t gone so well. Stealing was another issue, though. I justified my thievery by saying that these people would have robbed me if I had let them, though it still left a dark mark on my conscious.

It took all of my concentration to not start licking the blood off the ground as I rummaged through the guys' pockets. I pulled out his wallet and laughed with glee as I opened it, 100 dollars, cash. I rummaged through the other guy’s pockets with similar results. At the end of it, I come out with 400 dollars, all from a single gang. Even though I didn’t like stealing that much, I couldn’t deny the rewards. I thought of pulling the trick again, but the ever-increasing tremor in my spine made me reconsider. Now that I had the money I needed I knew that it was long past time for me to finally buy some blood. 

I got out of that part of town quickly, but not before stopping at a bathroom to change. As much as I loved wearing clean clothes, drinking blood was messy and I didn’t have money to spend on washing my clothes. A place to stay was pricey in the city, and I needed to save all that I could. I got on the subway with a satisfied sigh, knowing that my thirst would soon be quenched. 

I arrived at the butcher shop without any incident. There were a few stares as I lined up but no one tried to throw me out again. I waited in line for an excruciating ten minutes. The bitter metallic smell of animal blood invaded my nostrils and made me hungrier and hungrier. So much so that by the time I reached the counter, I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. 

“Four gallons, f-four gallons of cow blood, please.” I stuttered as I placed two hundred dollars on the counter.

The butcher looked at me strangely, eyebrows raised, eyes looking concerned, but eventually he went to the back to fulfill my request. When he emerged from the back carrying two double gallon container I could barely stop myself from jumping over the counter to get them. My breathing was heavy as he took the two hundred dollars and handed me the jugs. I stepped away from the counter and pressed the jugs to my chest. I felt comforted by their cool weight, they told me that everything would soon be okay. Even though I prefer my blood warm, I would take what I could get. I knew that I needed to ration if I didn’t want to come back next week, but my instincts took over and I couldn’t control myself. As my mind fogged over I tried to tell myself to wait, to at least get out of the shop before I started drinking, but my body wouldn’t listen. I watched as my hands  popped the top off of one of the jugs and brought it to my lips right there and then on the tile of the butcher shop. My body didn’t care about the stares, the looks of horror, or even the shrieks. All it knew was that it was fulfilling it’s bloodlust.

I would be the first one to tell you that the blood didn’t taste good. In fact, it was absolutely horrendous. It was bitter and dirty tasting, like licking iron soil. In fact, consciously I wanted to put the jug down and wash my mouth out with soap. But the vampire part of me craved it, needed it. That was the part of me that was still hungry even when I lowered the jug from my lips and put the cap back on. 

As I looked around the butcher shop I found that the people inside it were even more disgusted with me than usual. I knew that it was because I had just drunk a gallon of blood right in front of them, but it still stung. Next thing I knew I down on the concrete in front of the butcher shop with a badly bruised tailbone.

I stared at a now fuming butcher as he bellowed, “You, girl are banned! Now get out of here you wannabe, vampire, freak!”

I got up from the pavement and chuckled. Wannabe vampire, I thought with a sad grin, I wish I was a wannabe vampire. Every time I would go to sleep I would pray that everything in the past four months was just a bad dream. That I would wake up in my bed to my dog Dune barking and my mom making breakfast. I would give anything to rewrite my history. Pushing back tears I pulled out my phone from my now even more battered backpack and opened the notes app. I added Middle Side Butchers to places I was now banned from with a sigh. They were one of the few butcher shops in the city that sold blood I could actually tolerate drinking. I knew that I needed to find another soon before my blood supply ran out. 

I hopped on the subway and rode it only a short way before getting off. The area wasn’t as crowded as midtown, nor as shady as where I had beaten up those thieves. It was currently going downhill, so people were leaving left and right. That meant that there was enough foot traffic to make it safe, without it being overwhelming. I walked through the mostly deserted sidewalks and glanced around at the decently clean brick buildings. Pulling out my phone once again I used my maps app to find my way back. Along the way, I thought back to an issue that had been bugging me. Even though I hadn’t been home in a few months my mom was still paying my phone bill. I knew that my mom was forgetful, but I still liked to think that she still cared about me, even if she had thrown me out. I arrived at my destination and switched off my phone. It was a four story brick building that by my estimates had been abandoned for years. I went around the side and climbed up the fire escape. On the roof hundled next to a large air duct was my tent, weighed down by some loose bricks I had salvaged from a demolished townhouse. 

I unzipped the flap and went inside. One dollar thrift store blankets covered the yellow plastic floor and two overstuffed pillows joined them. Strewn about the tiny space was a portable charger, two empty jugs that used to contain blood, and a spare jacket. I laid down inside my space and connected my phone to the portable charger. My mind begged for rest, but I knew that I needed to refuse it for as long as possible. I couldn’t keep waiting for cloudy days to go out. If I was going to survive I knew that I needed to finally get a vampire sleep schedule. I groaned as I realized that if I was going to stay up all night I needed something to do, and that meant leaving my cozy tent and going out into the city. I checked the time and realized that I should start looking for butcher shops. It was almost time for places to close and if I wanted to find one before that, I knew I needed to start then. I steeled myself, pulled on my jacket and stepped out into the cloudy twilight. 

I decided to head to old town, I heard that there were a lot of butcher shops open there. I walked briskly one foot in front of the other, head down, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. With my sensitive hearing, my ears picked up the chatter of the crowd and the engine garble. I followed my nose to a particular scent which I assumed to blood, but when I finally looked up I wasn’t where I was expecting to be. 

“Yorkie Harmon Public Library,” the sign proclaimed.

I groaned and realized that I must have been just following my feet all of that time, muscle memory was strong after all. I smiled and I remembered all of the times my mom had dragged me there, saying that I needed a quiet place to study. I chuckled and reminisced about how there was never much studying, but always a lot of fun. As I started walking in the direction of an actual butcher shop I wondered if my mom was doing well. Even though she hadn’t depended on me financially, I knew that my mom must have been having a hard time without me, especially since Dune was gone too. She had always loved talking Dune out on walks.  A part of my mind wanted my mom to be struggling, after all, I didn’t just leave, I had been kicked out, by my own mom no less. Though, I mused, it was pretty much my own fault.

As I followed the smell of blood to the butcher shop, I remembered that my friend had invited me to a party. The old me was so excited, I had been trying desperately to be cool. I quit theater and stopped going to the library as much. Finally, it seemed like my work was paying off. I had spent practically the entire day preparing. Prepping my outfit, practicing my dance moves, rehearsing who I was going to talk to and how I was going to talk to them. My mom had originally been apprehensive but eventually was no match for my supreme powers of persuasion. I giggled and thought about the hour I spent thinking up my argument.  As long as I was back by eleven and didn’t drink any alcohol my mom was allowing me to go. Even though I didn’t know how strictly I was going to follow those rules, I didn’t protest, I knew that it was either go with the rules or stay home. When I got the party it was exactly what I had imagined. Darkroom, rainbow lights, mellow dance music on the speakers, I loved every second of it. Until he came along.

I looked up and found that I had already reached the first stop. Gorgon’s Butchery, I read. Opening the doors carefully I stepped inside and was greeted by a muscular woman wearing a leather apron. I approached her cautiously and asked about the shop’s blood sales. I was a bit deflated when the woman told me that they didn’t sell any animal blood of any kind at that store. Not even pig blood. I left the shop and tried to be hopeful on my way to the next place. 

As I was searching for the next butcher shop my mind wandered back to the night I had been turned. At the party, I was approached by a guy. His face was clean shaven and smooth, his hair pulled up and back into a dark messy bun. I had been fascinated by him and flattered that he decided to talk to me of all of the people who were at that party. He had pulled me upstairs and into a bedroom. At this point warning bells had started flashing in my mind, though there was no way I would have guessed what was about to transpire. I quickly asserted that I wasn’t interested in him that way, and he had laughed. Even then, four months later, the words he said next haunted me.

“You don’t even know what’s comin’” He smiled darkly.

The next thing I knew I was waking up the next morning, limbs sprawled all over the bed. I could barely remember the night before, and my vision was blurry. My body was throbbing all over and there was blood on the sheets. I felt faint and woozy. I had the owner of the house call me a cab back home. As I sat in the back, my exhausted brain tried to think of a good excuse to give my mom. When I returned home at eight o’clock the next morning with no excuse and a feeble apology my mom had grounded me and sentenced me to spend the rest of the day trapped in my bedroom. I hadn’t really minded the rest then, though now I was thankful for it. I hadn’t known it at the time but that was the last time I had slept peacefully in my own bed.

I walked into the next butcher shop and waited for someone I could talk to come out. This time I was elated when I heard that they sold blood, by the gallon. Though my spirits fell severely when I heard that they only sold pig’s blood. I had sampled many varieties of blood in the past several months and one thing that I was certain about was my hatred of pigs' blood. Even though the sun was rapidly setting underneath the cloud cover I knew that if I ran I could get in one last butcher shop before nightfall.

My feet pounded the pavement, and I thought about the sickness. During my grounding after the party, I had barely been able to get out of bed. At first, I had no appetite and even a cup of water was too much for my stomach, then I was ravenous, it seemed like nothing in the world could satisfy my hunger. My mom did her best to try to take care of me, but she had to work so most of the time it was just me and Dune, my dog. I had to slow my pace as I thought of what had happened to Dune. My hunger had been growing worse and even though I was insatiable the thought of eating made me nauseous. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was playing with and petting Dune. 

One night I had been energized and stir crazy, I had taken to pacing around the living room and clutching my roaring stomach. Dune chased after me as I went around and around, knowing in her instinctual dog brain that something was wrong. After hours of pacing and trying to suppress the pain, my mind was clouded and dim. I knew that if I didn't do something that I would go crazy if I hadn’t already become insane. I had regarded Dune with wild eyes and let my instincts and drives taint my thinking. I had called the pup over, looked into her eyes and saw the infinite trust the dog had in me. At that moment I thought nothing of living breathing creature in my arms, and only of my own hunger. Not even stopping to guess what I was doing, I stuck out my now sharp incisors and pierced the pup’s soft flesh. Dune had struggled and wined, but slowly, ever so slowly, her strength began to fade until I was left draining a limp corpse. Consciously I knew that the blood tasted rancid and acidic, but my subconscious couldn’t get enough. That’s how my mom found me, curled up on the living room floor my teeth still deep inside my now dead dog. Next thing I know I was out of the street with nothing but my backpack and a change of clothes, staring at the face of my horrified mom.

I got the final butcher shop just as the owner was standing outside and locking the front door. I asked him about blood and with a firm headshake he told me that they didn’t sell any. I walked away and weighed my options, it was either pig’s blood, or starve. Though, I thought, I did have one option if I was really desperate.

When I had been walking away from my home and trying desperately to think of somewhere to go someone had tapped me on the shoulder. Thinking that it was my mom I turned around gleefully and recoiled in horror as I saw his face. Some subtle had grown on the once bare cheeks but I recognized the guy from the party, the one I now knew had turned me into a vampire.

“Come on, “He gestured as he started walking, “My place isn’t far from here.”

I clutched my backpack and spit in his face, “I’m not going anyway with you, monster!”

He laughed, “Don’t get fussy, Kiera we’re both monsters now. You were just kicked out and you have nowhere to go. If you come now I’ll even teach you how to drink from an actual person. Dog blood is good in a pinch, but tastes hella nasty”

Hot tears pricked my face as I looked into the guys' dark eyes in defiance, “I will never be a monster like you, and I will never drink human blood! Just LEAVE ME ALONE!”

As I stomped away the guy yelled that I would always be welcome and I held myself back from shouting something in return. I remembered the entire incident like it was yesterday. I remembered gazing at the night sky and telling myself firmly that there was no way that I would ever drink human blood. I didn’t want to be like the monster who had made me kill my dog,  I didn’t want to be a monster.

I walked down the shadowy city blocks and regarded the growing moonlight as it seeped through the clouds. I thought about my mom, without me and Dune my mom would be all alone. Every rainy night, every hard bench bed, I had thought about just going back home, but I knew that I couldn’t. I knew my mom well, and I knew that she would never accept me as I am now, she could never accept me as a vampire. 

I got back to my rooftop without incident and was surprised to see the silhouettes of people moving around up there. Thinking that they were city workers or repair people I quickly dashed up the fire escape. When I finally pulled myself onto the roof I gritted my teeth. Six guys, none of them wearing any sort of uniform of any kind were trashing my tent. The yellow plastic was ripped and my blankets were strewn out everywhere. I rushed towards them and geared myself for a fight.

“What are you-” I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence before someone came at me from behind and hit the back of my head.

I turned around, floor spinning dizzy and regarded the person who had just hit me. He was tall and muscular, with a cruel smile emblazoned on his tan face. I pushed him down and made sure he was knocked out, but by the time I finished with him the rest of the guys had come over. They started beating on me. Punches and kicks were thrown my way and I did my best to dodge most of them. But five against one was hard and I was losing ground. One landed a heavy roundhouse kick to my stomach and knocked me off balance, sending me stumbling backward. One of the guys got in front of me and I caught the punch that was being thrown my way. I used my signature move and used his arm as leverage to throw him to the ground. As I was leaning forward, making sure my victim was out, disaster struck. One of the guys came up behind me and landed a solid kick on my back. I landed face-first on the concrete and tasted my own dark blood in my mouth. I heard the remaining three guys laugh as one of them place his boot on my head and pushed down. 

I tried to roll over and fight, but I didn’t have the strength. I was tired, I was hungry, I had been living on the streets for months. I blinked back tears as I heard the words “kill her” thrown around. I felt more helpless than I had in months. For months I had tried to live on my own, to survive, but it seemed like that was coming to an end. I sobbed and realized that this was the end to my life as a vampire. 

“These guys are the real monsters,” I thought bitterly.

As this thought crossed my mind it seemed like something in my head finally clicked. No, I told myself firmly, these were just people, these were just humans. The only monster that rooftop was me, and I was allowing myself to be killed. I had been resenting my mom for not being able to accept who I had become, but it seemed like I hadn’t accepted it either. I didn’t want to be like the one who had turned me so much that I had been ignoring crucial parts of my new existence. I was a vampire, and that meant that I needed human blood to survive. As felt my skull being pressed into the concrete I realized that drinking animal blood had been doing but weaken me. I realized that if I wanted to thrive I needed to do what was natural, not what was right. 

In a burst of strength, I turned over and grabbed the boot that had been pressing my face into the concrete. I used it to pull the man onto the ground and I stood up triumphant. I wrenched the guy up by his collar and held him above my head. I looked him in his once cruel, now deeply terrified green eyes as I lowered him down slowly. I breathed on his pasty neck and was reminded of my late dog, Dune. Only this time I remarked, as I drank deep from his arteries. The blood wasn’t rancid, it was sweet.

#amwriting #writing #creative writing #vampire #urban fantasy #writers #My writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #spilled ink #spilled words #spilled prose #spilled writing #spilled thoughts #prose #original #words #Original Work #original writing #original fiction #original characters #original prose #story #short story #short fiction #fiction

[thesickpanda]

Lyrica Withdrawal

When I was new to the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia, I really had no idea how many of the specialists I was seeing also had no idea. I naïvely assumed they knew what was best for me and in desperation, took their advice and went on medications that proved disastrous for me.

The Background:

The first medication I was put on was Lyrica (pregabalin) at a dose of 150 mg morning and 75 mg at night. I initially did feel some relief. For around six months I felt like the edge had been taken off. A few months after that, I came off drug cold turkey with no withdrawal effects. However, I did notice a return to a very bad baseline of pain and so I went back on the drug. It was definitely doing some good.

Fast forward a few years later and I'm suffering from severe withdrawal effects of the anti-depressant I was also put on (Cymbalta). It takes me nearly a year to come off that drug. It gives me a taste of what’s in store for me when I try to come off the Lyrica...

After being on pregabalin for six years, I I start noticing some things. If I accidentally miss a dose, I get terribly agitated and feel nauseous and sweaty. The symptoms disappear around half an hour after I take Lyrica again. This worries me, but I have so many other fires to fight in my life, I shelve that fear for now.

By year 7, I no longer feel as if the drug is doing anything for my pain (I don’t think it has done much in many years, actually, as I have long-suspected I built up a tolerance to it).

Instead, I want to take medicinal cannabis. I figure it would be best to come off Lyrica before I try new medicine. I see my regular doctor at the beginning of 2018 and express my desire to come off the drug as well as my concerns about withdrawal. Like most doctors, she is ignorant of its effects and tells me there are no withdrawals from Lyrica and I should be fine. She tells me it works in the central nervous system so what could possibly go wrong? It's not like it's an SSRI or anything. She tells me to take 25 mg out of my dose each week. Like a fool, I trust her and do this.

And So It Begins:

Getting from 150mg to 100 mg doesn't seem to do me much harm. I'm therefore lulled into a false sense of security that everything is going okay. In February, however, I start having depressive episodes and low mood. I start feeling hopeless and angry and anxious all the time. I have vivid night terrors. What's so insidious about the drug is that all this snuck up on me. The depression fell perfectly rational considering I was upset about being in a state of constant pain. I was recovering from foot surgery and could not do much exercise ot get out much. It was also extremely hot and so I was unable to leave the house for several days at a time. This is enough to upset most people. However, I wasn't just a bit blue: I went from being somewhat disgruntled with the situation to feeling suicidal, experiencing sudden spikes of intense emotion. I began to self-harm, randomly smashing my own face with my first. The spikes are so dramatic they take me unaware. One moment I'm talking casually to my partner on the phone, the next I’m banging my head against the wall screaming my lungs out. It's nothing that he said, it's just a sudden feeling of utter despair and anguish. During this terrible episode, I phoned the suicide hotline, wanting someone to talk me out of using the kitchen knives to end it all. What's so frightening is that I seem so ready to do it, as well. I've always been one of those people terrified of my own mortality, so for me to suddenly want to die with such intensity seemed a little odd. Thank goodness that little rational voice in my head guided me to the suicide hotline. The episode passed and I was left feeling completely numb inside.

Later, I began to have hallucinations where I would see things warp and shift before my eyes. I lost time. I often felt dizzy and had intense derealisation that scared me so much. This went on for about two weeks before I realised it was the drug that was doing this. I told my doctor and she instructed me to stabilise the dose immediately. She was utterly surprised that I’d had a reaction and kept reiterating that Lyrica doesn't have withdrawal effects. (Seriously, she was like a broken record!). I told her to do what I had done: go online and Google it. There are people suing Pfizer because of these effects. There are people who have wound up in hospital after suicide attempts or after blackouts where they lost their minds. There are people who’re addicted to the drug, suffering terrible anxiety if they don't get it.

The Truth About Lyrica:

I understand Lyrica can help some people, and to those people I wish you well and hope it continues to support you. But my stand on Lyrica is that it’s a HECK of a dangerous drug. It hijacks your body's ability to make certain chemicals so that you gets physically dependent on it. Pfizer has not told doctors about the withdrawal effects and they have exaggerated its benefits for chronic pain, too. There was certainly no mention of it in the leaflets when I first obtained the drug. But only a casual Internet search reveals innumerable horror stories of thousands of individuals who went through weeks or months of horrific symptoms trying to get off this drug.  And like me, they were told time and time again by doctors that they can't possibly be experiencing the very real, very frightening effects of withdrawal.

The smallest dose of Lyrica that I can buy is 25 mg. I sincerely believe this is deliberate. I feel that if Pfizer made smaller doses, it would make tapering off the drug easier. After my bad experience, I stabilised my Lyrica and was too afraid to come off it. They got one more year of money out of me. I now have to pay Pfizer for the privilege of not going insane. Thanks to this wicked setup, I am dependent on a drug I no longer want to take and which is no longer doing me any good.

Back to my Story:

As mentioned in a previous post, 2018 was a hard year for me for many reasons, and the withdrawals only made it worse.  Still, one glimmer of hope remained. My cannabis prescriber, a wonderful doctor I had the pleasure of meeting in June of last year, told me that the liver enzyme that processes cannabis is not the same that breaks down Lyrica, meaning I could take the drugs together. It takes a few months of titration, but finally I find a dose of cannabis that helps me sleep solidly for the first time in many years. Up until this point, I would wake up a dozen or more times in the night and maybe get around 4 to 5 hours collectively. On cannabis, I have 4 to 6 hours of unbroken sleep, which is almost a novelty to me. Unfortunately, one day I stuff up my cannabis dose and accidentally and very unexpectedly get extremely high. I know this sounds funny to many people, and even I can see the funny side of it. However, the sensations were really intense and I vividly hallucinated. All of this was very triggering as it reminded me of the derealisation and panicked feelings that I would get on Lyrica, so my response to feeling high was panic. I was paranoid and anxious and agitated for hours. I really disliked the sensations and felt out of control and incredibly scared.

Lyrica and Cymbalta “Ruined Drugs” For Me:

I am a firm believer that if I had not had such terrible experiences with both Lyrica and Cymbalta, I could handle the stoning effects of cannabis. I also feel that if I had known what to expect from a cannabis high, I would also have been less terrified. All that being said, the experience leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I drop back my cannabis dose. Over time I work  back up to .4ml and for no discernible reason, I get high again. This time it is worse. I'm not as high as it was the first time as I am on a slightly smaller dose, but in the confusion and brainfog that it gives me, I forget to take my Lyrica. Unlike the first time, I can't seem to sleep through the night. I have restless legs, hot flushes, nausea, bad dreams when I do dose and just a general sees sense of foreboding.  The first time I got high I noticed that I had a pleasant afterglow in the morning. The second time, however, I felt really rough. It was then that I realised that I had forgotten to take my night dose of Lyrica and that what I had been experiencing was a fantastic combination of being stoned and going through withdrawals. Needless to say, this did not help my emotional relationship with cannabis.

And so for the rest of 2018 and into 2019 I have been experimenting with my dose of cannabis. I am now on a much lower dose than I'd like to be, but it still helps me get around four hours of sleep but it's not enough to get me high. I think I’d have the courage to go up again if only I weren’t facing a frightening upcoming battle.

The Present Day and the Challenge I Now Face:

A week ago, I forget to take my Lyrica again. I missed my night dose and while the cannabis got me to sleep, I soon woke up feeling extremely depressed and anxious and tearful. My partner is sleeping in the living room due to the extremely hot nights we've been having. I wake up and tell him what's I am feeling. He holds me and then gasps, exclaiming that I feel like I'm burning up. I have terrible restless legs and cannot get to sleep, even though a cuddle from him normally is enough to settle me. I tell him that perhaps I am coming down with a fever and I should take a Nurofen. I switch on the lights, see my transparent pill box still full of pills, and realise I'd forgotten to take my Lyrica. I take it with a mix of relief and anger and despite having a near panic attack for the next half hour, eventually its effects kick in and I start to feel less strange. As I lie awake in bed that night waiting for sleep to claim me, I fear I'm never going to be able to get off this drug. Even missing it by a few hours gives me bad withdrawals…

In the light of day the following day, my mind has changed. I am furious at being held hostage by this drug and I refuse to go through this any longer. I am determined to come off Lyrica this year.

My Plan To Come Off Lyrica:

While the (much better informed) online community recommends reducing the dose by 10% every four weeks, this would mean opening up each capsule and somehow parsing out the exact ratio of powder into a new, gelatin capsule. My partner meticulously did this with the Cymbalta, only it was much easier as Cymbalta has beads in it, not powder (all he had to do was count out one bead per new capsule). Lyrica is much more challenging. Last year, he bought expensive, laboratory-level scales to try to measure out the powder and make up the capsules. But it took him about an hour to make up three pills. I saw how gruelling it was for him and decided I didn’t want to do it that way, or at least not that year when so much shit was hitting the fan.

Today, I have come to the conclusion that I don't want to waste any more time on this nonsense. I feel brave enough to come off by a 25 mg drop, only this time I'm going to do it every two months. I'm going to give my body time to adjust to the new dose before I attempt it again.

Last weekend, my partner and I were like generals looking at a map. We stared at the wall planner for 2019 before we marked out long weekends in January, April, June, September, and December. Some of them have public holidays on either side of the weekend whilst others my partner is going to use his annual leave for. We intend for me to drop my dose this Friday morning and he will be home to help me with any of the withdrawals. At least this time, someone will be there to restrain me if I decide I want to kill myself.

We are very alone in this struggle. There are no rehabilitation centres for drugs like Lyrica in Sydney. Most GPs don't even know it has withdrawal effects. Instead, we have to rely on the Internet and a number of Lyrica Withdrawals Support communities on Facebook and forums to help us with this process. The only doctor who has agreed with me that Lyrica is a difficult and dangerous drug is my cannabis prescriber. It point blank called it an “evil drug”. She has told me that CBD oil has been known to help with the withdrawal effects and this is something I have seen mentioned over and over again in the support forums. Many people swear by it. So yesterday, we spent $830 on three bottles of (legal) Canadian CBD oil to help me get through this process. Of course, we will have to keep paying for the Lyrica for the rest of the year, but I intend to make this the last year Pfizer takes our money.

Bracing For Impact:

Tomorrow is the day I drop my morning dose from 75 mg to 50 mg. I don't know what to expect. I mean, I do know what to expect, but I'm not sure if this drop is going to be as severe as previous occasions. After all, I'm not going to drop again until April. Still, the past few nights I have had really bad anxiety. At night, I contort my body into rigid shapes, waking up after 4 hours (when the cannabis is wearing off) to find my whole body in absolutely disgusting pain.  I know why my body is doing this, though. I'm extremely tense at the moment, and extremely worried.

But I have to do this. It is time for me to slay this dragon.

Conclusion:

I wanted to make this post so that others are aware of the dangerous withdrawal effects of this drug. I totally understand there are many spoonies for whom this drug has been a boon and I'm glad for you I don't mean in any way to shame people for taking Lyrica or for having a good experience on it. But I do feel like I need to make a public service announcement about its dangers. If I had been warned of these withdrawal effects I may have reconsidered taking it. If I had known what to expect when coming off the drug, I would have tapered much better. I just want others to know that this can be a treacherous drug and that your doctor may not be able to help you. Please be careful.

And also, wish me luck…

Further Reading:

Whole Lawsuits Against Lyrica/Cymbalta companies have sprung up to meet demand.

https://www.enjuris.com/pharmaceutical-liability/lyrica-cymbalta-lawsuits.html

https://www.drugwatcher.org/lyrica-cymbalta-lawsuit/

Read more about the withdrawal symptoms of Lyrica at the blog Mental Health Daily

Read this comment thread on the forums of Chronic Pain Australia to get an idea of the challenges faced by someone trying to come off this medication.

Truly terrifying video on YouTube of BBC’s “Drugs Map of Britain” doco chronicling the pregabalin addiction crisis in Belfast.

#Lyrica #Lyrica withdrawal #pregabalin #pregabalin withdrawal #drug withdrawls #prescription drug withdrawals #Cymbalta #drug dependency #Fibromyalgia #spoonie #chronic illness #chronic pain #ignorant doctors #Pfizer #mydoctoralmostkilledme

[rydenstories]

my sister’s disappearance and the church in the woods

REDDIT

Many people in my life don't know it, but I spent two years of my childhood living with my grandmother.

When I was approaching my teen years, it had come to light that my mother had developed a pill addiction after a surgery left her on pain management. She had kept it hidden pretty well for a while, but eventually rehab was the only option. Unfortunately, this left my dad with no one to care for my sister, Diane, and I while he worked countless overtime hours. Nana had to be the one to take us, even though she lived hours away. I didn't mind the move. Any patch of the middle of nowhere is about the same as any other, but Diane felt betrayed. She was a little younger and didn't understand the nature of the situation, she just thought they got tired of us.

Diane often asked me why I wasn't mad that they'd abandoned us. There was nothing I could say convinced her that they hadn't.

During our time living with Nana, she homeschooled us. Our parents didn't necessarily know how long recovery would take and they didn't want us to acclimate to an overwhelming social environment we could immediately be ripped from at any time. They never expected recovery to take so long and they never expected Diane to see it how she did; lockdown. She felt they shipped us away to punish us. Somewhere along the line, she had come up with this evil fairy tale version of our parents when, in reality, they were just kinda having a hard time.

We spent the first fall and winter inside, expecting to go home any day, and when Dad showed up late one night in March, we thought we might really be going home. However, his face was painted with anger and tears. He told us Mommy needed more time, but that trailer was small. I easily overheard the words "relapse" uttered under hushed tones in another room. I don't think Diane understood that much, but when she saw me cry at the realization, she made some sort of connection and it only heightened her disdain for mom and dad.

Spring came around and warm weather opened up the entire world outside. Nana left us to our own devices after lessons and the trailer sat in the middle of a gigantic campground. She told us that there would be many kids to play with when the summer campers came around, so it would be a perfect time to spend spring exploring the grounds. Diane practically bolted out of the door, despite the chill and the rain. We spent a while getting to know the place better together. There were the normal things kids like; two rather large playgrounds and a swimming pool we just couldn't wait for them to open that summer. However, we were more interested in the wooded trails. The entire place was surrounded by dense forest and if you went just a little far off the trail into the trees, you'd find tons of abandoned structures to climb on, waterfalls, and even a few caves.

Diane was very excited about the prospect of meeting and playing with other children. She had a rather large group of friends in our neighborhood back home, and she felt so robbed of that being sent to live with Nana. I was a little shyer, but wanted desperately to convey that I wasn't. I was two years older, but Diane was much cooler and more charismatic than me. I didn't want to seem uncool, so I played it up that I was just as excited as she was. Together, we planned out an amazing hide and seek game in the woods for when the summer kids arrived. We tried to recruit the few other children living on the campground year-round, but there really weren't many. Most of the people living there were old, and if they did have kids around, they were usually only visiting. We gave up and returned to exploring and planning on our own.

There was a day that was particularly rainy at the end of April in which Diane wanted to go explore, but Nana said there would be a big thunderstorm coming that night and she'd prefer we didn't go out further than the two playgrounds. Diane stomped her foot and protested until she finally realized she wasn't getting her way. Then she turned to me, expecting that I would go with her. I told her that I really didn't want to, and she gave me a look accompanied by the hardest of eyerolls before storming off. She slammed the screen door way harder than necessary and was gone. I shrugged it off and fell asleep on the couch, watching gameshows with Nana.

Diane returned later with a different attitude and pulled me aside later on that night, under the cover of the sound of thunder, to express her excitement about having made a new friend at the park named Eden. I laughed, and she became immediately confused and defensive. I genuinely thought she'd made up the name as I'd actually never come across it before then. Being the older sibling, I picked up on her defensiveness and decided to pick on her a little bit, claiming not to believe in her new imaginary friend. I didn't necessarily believe she'd made it up, but messing with her proved to be an opportunity my sisterly instincts didn't wanna miss out on. This made her determined to prove Eden to me.

It took a week but Diane proved me somewhat wrong after spotting a little girl I'd never seen down the path. Her hair was dark with a natural curl and she wore a green gingham print sundress despite the late spring chill. Diane called out to her, using the name Eden, but the little girl didn't turn to respond and instead ran away, down the path and around the corner. I expected to see my sister hurt but instead, she immediately chased after her, laughing as she turned the corner out of site. I tried to chase them down, but they were nowhere around. I turned around and instead found them waiting for me at the head of the trail. I wanted to ask how they'd gotten there, but I didn't get the chance before Diane started boasting about her new friend.

Eden was Diane's age but my size and although she seemed well spoken enough, she didn't get many words out between my sister jabbering on about how Eden knows where to find great hiding places just barely off the path. I scoffed, knowing myself that we'd explored pretty much all of the immediate areas off trail. There weren't any awesome places I didn't know about. Still, this strange girl seemed like she'd been there much longer than us, so I wasn't about to question her. She led us across the campgrounds to another edge of the woods that was mostly bike trails and I immediately felt a smug little smile cross my face, realizing that there weren't any structures on that side. Diane and her little friend were about to make themselves look stupid and I couldn't wait to laugh it up.

Before I could say anything, however, Eden disappeared into the trees with her hand gripped firmly around Diane's wrist, who immediately snatched mine. Suddenly, we were sprinting across bike trails and through trees, not even really bothering with the trails at all. I desperately wanted to ask either of them where we might be going, but I could barely breathe. Both girls had so much momentum that they were practically dragging me behind them. We finally halted at some high bushes, which Eden pushed aside with one fluid motion to expose a large field. At the back edge of the trees was an enormous church.

I stood in shock directly in front of the small opening we'd gone through. Many of the buildings in the woods were intact, some of them weren't even that old, but nothing this huge stood so solidly, the steeple being the only thing missing. Even most of the stained glass windows were intact. It was the kind of discovery you read about in teen fantasy novels, something you expect to be magical. However, I felt wrong for being there.

Although the grass in the field had grown high, there were multiple tiny paths through towards the church that Eden led us down. As we neared the almost too-goliath building, I started noticing things that bothered me; abandoned toys, a few lost bikes, some other toys that looked like something you'd see in a museum. I finally found my voice and spoke up, pointing out the fact that other kids clearly know about this place. My sister shot a look back at me with a condescending "So?" I reminded her that we were looking for hiding places, and Eden wasn't leading us to a good hiding place if every other kid knew about it. Eden spoke up, calmly stating that it wasn't a hiding place. I stopped, feeling a little more than uncomfortable. This stopped the movement of the entire group, bringing both girls to look back at me with an almost impatient demeanor.

They didn't need to ask before I stated that I felt we might get in trouble for being there, someone had to be keeping the place so nice, and it clearly wasn't the other kids, with them just throwing their garbage toys around like that. Eden answered with a little scoff and giggle that said she clearly knew more than me, but I wasn't going to get into trouble for some girl I barely knew, so I grabbed my sister's arm and turned back. She fought against me, but I threatened to tell Nana, and that ended the argument pretty quickly. Eden didn't try to stop us or follow. She instead disappeared up the church steps and through the heavy sun bleached wooden doors.

The following week, neither of us went out. I was to unsettled by the church, and Diane was a mix of angry at me and afraid I'd tattle. Nana seemed a bit concerned and took me aside, wondering if anything was wrong. I didn't tell her anything, though. To tell the truth, I was mildly afraid I might get into trouble too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diane listening in. It was clear that she'd heard and realized that I wasn't going to tell Nana anything. She seemed pretty satisfied with that.

I woke up the following morning and noticed that Diane wasn't asleep in the cot next to mine. I wasn't surprised, I knew she'd wanna go out and play now that she knew she wasn't going to get into trouble, so I got out of bed and went to go find her. She could play with her weird little friend without me but I had to at least make sure she wasn't at that church again. I knew in my gut that we weren't supposed to be there, no one was. However, I didn't find her at any of the regular spots. At that point, I found myself getting more and more miffed at her choices and at the fact that I now had to go search the bike trails for her.

I had this smug attitude about me and even had come up with a pretty good idea of exactly how I was going to tell Diane off. I felt pretty self-assured up until an hour into searching all over that side of the forest and finding absolutely no sign of my sister, Eden, or the church. I doubled back to the trail-head and sat for a moment before ultimately deciding to go back to the trailer and tell Nana. We'd be in trouble, sure, but I reasoned with myself that Diane would be in more trouble than me, and at least Nana would probably know where the church was located, or one of the grounds managers definitely would.

I'd made it about halfway back to the trailer when an unsettlingly warm hand grabbed my wrist from behind and spun me faster than I could react. Eden, this time wearing a yellow rose print button up sundress. She had a genuine look of worry on her face. She told me that she and Diane had been playing hide and seek, and she couldn't find Diane for some time. My own worry kicked up, but I was also a little intrigued; this was the first time I'd heard Eden speak at any length. She had an accent I'd never heard as a child and still can't exactly place as an adult, and she told me that Diane might be hiding somewhere really dangerous.

I listened to her talk more as we walked across the campground together, her taking the lead. Eden spoke the whole time, telling me about all the different structures in the forest, and what they used to be. She told me about these dangerous little rock ledges she'd told Diane about, and how we'd go there to make sure she hadn't hurt herself. Her voice was smooth and even kinda comforting, it put my worries at ease. I started to feel guilty. Maybe my previous discomfort with this girl stemmed from jealousy. I could still feel something off about her, but it was now muffled under the comfortable surface that her voice provided.

When we reached the edge of the trees, she grabbed my wrist again and asked me to trust her. Before I could say anything, we were gliding through the forest again. This time, she pulled me behind her with her own force alone, fast enough that the trees around us all started to smear together in shades of green and brown. We burst through some brush and again, there stood the intimidating church and the toy-littered grounds around it. Eden had let go of my wrist and I was kinda feeling that uneasiness again. I knew this wasn't where she said we were going, but without really thinking about it, I allowed her to grab my hand and lead me ahead.

The doors seemed even larger up close and looked heavy, but Eden grabbed the handle and pulled it open with ease. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside but I was shocked to find that the inside of the church was almost completely pristine. The red walkway carpet that led to the pulpit looked brand new and the beige floor underneath could've been freshly mopped. Twelve rows of wooden pews lined each side of the center walkway. They were all littered with children's toys, little trinkets, jewelry, jackets, and even a few loose shoes. The rest of the room had stood through the test of time, but those things didn't for some reason.

The fixture that immediately drew my attention was a dark, bathtub sized basin on the far side of the pulpit. Eden led me to it. As we grew closer, I noticed that there was murky water inside. It smelled rank, like swamp. She told me there was a really cool animal living in it. She wanted me to see it. I wasn't able to think much more about it before I felt my legs moving me toward the tub, my head leaning closer to the water in hopes of seeing such a strange creature. Something underneath the surface started to swirl. Light glowed from somewhere far deeper than the basin itself was capable of being. I saw something floating deep and I leaned closer to look.

Diane's face floated in the deep distance, just close enough to see, but somehow much too far away to reach. Her eyes were vacant, her face bloated. The word drowned popped into my head a few moments before my mind registered what that meant. I started to feel my body freaking out and I felt myself start to back away when a hand from behind me, now hot and much too large to be a little girl's, landed on my neck and shoved my face hard into the water. I screamed before I thought to take a breath or close my eyes, so I went in blowing air out. My eyes burned horribly for a second as I closed my mouth and I tried to conserve what little air I had left, while also trying to fight to get my head out of the water. As I struggled, I got a blurry look around. The water around was much too vast to fit the tub's capacity, it was kinda like putting my head down into a hole in a frozen lake. Multiple lights started appearing in the far, murky distance.

They began to approach, dread knotted up with my empty lungs, and I fought harder.

I got my head up long enough to pull air and turn to glimpse Eden. She was much taller now, the floral dress she wore was torn and stretched over her bony, hunched over body. Her skin was all dried up and warped like sun-bleached wood. Then, my head was back in the water. The lights were much closer. I started to wiggle and contort my body in any way I could to get up.

At some point I brought my left arm up a little too far back and I felt something tear in my shoulder. Before I could register what I'd done, that arm struck something hard and Eden lost her grip. I ripped my head out of the water and turned my entire body to her, hoping not to let her get the upper hand on me again. Before I could even focus on Eden, I noticed the room had dramatically changed. The pristineness of it all had disappeared and replaced the whole room with the smell of wet, disgusting swamp stink. A few pews were now missing, the others rotten, termite-eaten, and moldy. The center carpeting was ripped up in a bunch of places and stained. The floor underneath was warped and muddy, with small puddles of dark water pooling all around. The decay of the room finally matched the decay of the objects it housed.

My eyes returned to Eden, still showing her true nature. Her large hand clutched her chest, where I must have hit her to knock her grip loose. I was lucky.

The natural curl of her hair had degraded into long, lifeless tendrils that hid her face as she was preoccupied, looking down at her chest, less in pain and more likely in shock that I was able to knock her back at all. I took the opportunity to move as quietly (but quickly) as I possibly could around the basin, away from the pulpit, and towards the door. I stopped dead in my tracks for a moment when I noticed a single item that hadn't been there before, sitting in the middle of the carpeted walkway; a tiny, silver bangle. It was a gift from my mom to Diane when she turned 8. I know during that time at Nana's, she hated our mom to some extent, but not enough to ever take that bangle off. My knees threatened to cave when three small voices began speaking in perfect unison from behind me. I didn't turn around, I didn't want to see any more of whatever Eden really was, but I never forgot what those voices said.  

"It doesn't matter if you get away. You lost. She's mine. They all are."

I bolted without another thought. I didn't bother to look anywhere except ahead as I ran out of the doors, away from the church, and into the woods. I ran until I realized that I was no longer in the forest at all, and I'd actually exited from a completely different area than I been led into. I returned to Nana's trailer as fast as I could and blabbered out everything without putting much thought to whether or not she would believe me. Whether or not she did didn't make itself immediately apparent. Instead, she covered her very clear concern for my sister in as much comfort for me as she could while she grabbed the phone and called the police.

They arrived and I told them everything as well, but my spirits were dampened by the sheer disbelief and almost disgust some of the officers wore on their faces long before I finished my story. Despite that, I probably recounted it exactly the same, eight or nine times by the time my dad showed up. He shoo'ed everyone away from me and wrapped me in a big hug. It was the first time I felt safe all day. However, it was also the point where the adrenaline finally wore off and extreme pain exploded from my arm and back. The crying began. My dad took me to the hospital, where I learned that I'd completely tore a muscle in my shoulder.

Searches began. The campground owner said that there used to be a church on the land, long before they'd bought it, but they were assured that it had burnt down. In fact, it was one of the only previous structures on the land that didn't have any recorded ruins. They didn't have anything to go of off, so they just searched everywhere. Over and over.

They never found the church. They never found my sister, either.

The authorities wanted to piece parts of my story together that made sense so they could write their reports and let it go. Diane had been lured into the woods by a kidnapper using another child as bait. They tried to do the same to me, but I was able to get away. That was the reality they chose to believe and to present to the rest of the world. It didn't need to be more detailed than that for them.

I spent another entire year living in that trailer, on those same grounds. I lived in fear because I knew what reality actually was. I knew it every time I remembered the taste of that foul water in my mouth, or the heat of Eden's hand on the back of my neck as she held me under. Diane's bloated face stared at me whenever I closed my eyes. It wasn't until my mom finally recovered and I was able to move back home did I start to heal and feel safe again.

The fear faded, but the memory never did. Still, I chose to keep it to myself. It was easier to live with it than experience the disbelief of others over and over again.

In the middle of the night last Saturday, I was jerked out of my bed by my throat. The fingers wrapped around my neck were so hot, I thought they might be metal. It only kept a grasp on me long enough to get me up. I collapsed to the floor in total darkness and loudly gasped for air. The struggle woke my fiance and he quickly flicked on his bedside lamp to reveal an empty bedroom. He got up and helped me up, asking me about a dozen questions, none of which my brain registered. Instead, I ran off to the bathroom, where I cried until I knew I had to tell him everything.

I'm very lucky that he believes me, or at least it seems like he does. I hope he does. Our house has absolutely reeked of swamp stank since it happened, so I know he is at least aware of that. Thankfully, I have yet to be yanked out of bed again, but I'm afraid.

I don't know what to do from here, but I'm tired of being the only person that knows, even if there are no answers out there for me. Even if this just serves as a helpful warning for others to be careful.

#my story #mine

[some-mad-lunge]

I know this isn’t how it went down but...

I just couldn’t get this story out of my head so I had to write it down somewhere. I don’t normally write fanfic but I’m obsessed with these two.

The flight home was long and tiring and Easy didn’t know if he could stand one more second in the energy that was a heartbroken Tobias. He loved his friend, he ached for him but at the same time all he could think about was getting home to Ringo. Even with the knowledge he had to tell the love of his life about his drunken marriage, to his brother no less, he couldn’t wait to be back into his arms once again.

When they finally landed and collected their bags Easy led Tobias through the gates and tried not to notice the dejected shuffle of his best friend’s feet or the complete lack of, well anything really.

“Did you get any sleep on the flight at all?” Easy asked softly as they climbed into a taxi.

Tobias just shook his head and told the driver where to go. The sat in silence the rest of the way home.  The streets were silent but it was well after 2:00 am, everyone should be sleeping shouldn’t they? Wrapped up in the ones they love. Especially if that one had the most solid arms and the sweetest scent right at the base of their neck that made you want to...

The taxi jolted to a stop and Tobias’s soft choked back sob brought Easy back to reality. After paying the driver and leading Tobias into the elevator Easy felt guilty for the bubble of joy mixed with relief that winged in his stomach.

He’ll be sleeping. Maybe I could have a quick shower and sneak over to his place, he wouldn’t mind would he? He said to come home soon. He’d slept too much on the plane and was wide awake but Ringo needed his rest. Then again the thought of being able to watch the sunrise through the window reflected on Ringo’s face was too much of an inspiration. Easy’s artist mind was excited at the thought, maybe sneak a photo or two for his desktop background.

Easy fumbled for his keys while keeping an eye on Tobias leaning against the wall outside their door. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the last few days were finally coming to a head. Easy hoped he wouldn’t have to carry Tobias to his bed.

Suddenly the door clicked open and he was looking into those eyes he adored so much. Ringo stood there with a soft grin, messed hair, sleep pants and that gorgeous chest on full display. Even looking like he just woke up his eyes were clear, focused and searched Easy’s face quickly before whispering a soft “Hey.”

Easy’s stomach did it’s Ringo flip but he was softly shoved out of the way by Tobias before he could respond. Tobias then forcefully hip checked Ringo before gruffly stating “My dog better be alive half brother.”

Ringo rolled his eyes at Easy before responding.

“Alive, fed and probably chewing on one of your horribly unfashionable shoes in your room somewhere. You might find him under your mess.”

Tobias stumbled past him heading to his dog. Easy shut the door behind him and looked lovingly at his boyfriend.

“You’re here.” Easy sighed out. He knew he sounded like a lovesick idiot but he accepted a while ago that when it came to Ringo that’s exactly what he was.

Ringo’s smiled and enveloped Easy’s face in his hands, leaning his forehead against Easy’s and took a somewhat shaky breath.

“I hope that’s okay. I just couldn’t wait another minute to do this.” Then he lowered his lips toward Easy and softly brushed them on the corner of his mouth.

“I won’t do it!”

Tobias’s shout from down the hall startled the couple from their glow and Easy turned to see his friend’s crumpled face.

“I haven’t changed the sheets since the last time she was, that we...I just can’t...”

“Go stay in my room.”

Easy and Tobias both looked at Ringo with slightly shocked expressions. Easy thought he actually saw understanding on Ringo’s face, a pained sympathy for his brother. It made Easy hurt for some reason.

“I’ve been staying here all week. My room is clean, not that you know the meaning of the word, the bedding is fresh and you can get some rest.”

Even in exhaustion Tobias arched his eyebrow and looked down at Stinker, who was happily rubbing against his owners leg.

Looking back at Ringo he cocked his head.

Ringo sighed.

“Fine yes, the dog can go with you.”

Looking too tired to be thankful, and too heartbroken to be able to face his room again Tobias snatched the keys Easy forgot were still in his hand and headed for the door.

“I’m sleeping naked.” were the last words heard before the door shut behind him and his faithful dog.

Easy looked up at Ringo, his dimples on full display as he beamed.

“That was so kind of you to do.”

Ringo ran a hand through his hair as he gazed intently at his boyfriend.

“Not really, I didn’t do it for him.”

Easy didn’t know who moved first but suddenly they were chest to chest, lip to lip, Ringo’s hands pulling him closer still by the hips and snaking his tongue against Easy’s. The fierceness in Ringo’s hold was intoxicating. Easy wondered if it would ever stop feeling like so much every single time, like the world only existed for the two of them to do this, be together.

“I missed you.” Ringo whispered against his lips as he started shedding Easy of his jacket while leading him on a dance toward Easy’s room.

“I missed you too baby.” Easy sighed, running his hands over every inch of Ringo’s exposed back and shoulders, which felt like velvet and steel under his fingertips.

The term of endearment was new and just  slipped out but Ringo immediately took notice of it. He moaned into Easy’s mouth and pushed him up against the wall, his hands a little more greedy as they grabbed the edge of Easy’s sweater, pulled it over his head and sent it flying across his room.

Somehow they’d made it into Easy’s room, when had that happened? Ringo was sliding his hands around Easy’s waist while he kissed across his cheek and nipped Easy’s earlobe before soothing it with his tongue.

Easy shifted his hips to connect with Ringo’s as Ringo pressed him solidly against the wall.

“I’m glad we’re alone, because showing you how much I ached for you won’t be a quiet experience, for either of us.”

As Ringo kissed his neck Easy felt himself get impossibly hard at the thought of the things he wanted to do to Ringo, or God help him, to have Ringo do to him. With no Tobias in the apartment they could...shit Tobias.

“Ringo first there is something I have to tell you.” God he had to know, he had to tell him now didn’t he? Yes now.

Ringo didn’t stop grinding his hips into Easy as he brought his lips back to Easy’s for a searing kiss.

“It can wait.”, Ringo nipped at Easy’s lips again and he just couldn’t think when he did that. Easy needed to think.

“No it shouldn’t Ringo, I.”

He was silenced by lips pressed to his neck and he couldn’t help but moan. How was Ringo so good at making his brain stop working.

“Are you dying?”, Easy barely heard the words over his own laboured breathing.

“What, no of course not.” I mean technically he wasn’t but if Ringo kept doing that thing with his tongue he just might.

Ringo stopped the sweet torture and pressed his lips firmly to Easy’s as he whispered against his lips, “Am I dying?”

Easy couldn’t help but smile against Ringo’s mouth. He chuckled softly as Ringo took both his hands and laced their fingers together.

“You better not be.” was Easy’s returned laugh but he stopped the moment he looked Ringo in the eyes.

Ringo stared intently into Easy’s eyes, squeezing his hands he had pined beside Easy’s head against the wall. The uncertainty reflected in them made Easy’s heart ache.

Then Ringo said the most impossible thing.

“Do you still love me?”

The hoarseness in his voice made Easy’s breath catch. With his hands trapped he couldn’t wrap them around his beautifully insecure man. He tilted his head up, rubbing his nose along Ringo’s, then he locked eyes with him, and tried to show the fierceness of his love and devotion and just everything in him that was Ringo’s, always for Ringo, in his face as he whispered.

“God yes, always. “

Ringo slowly let out the breath he’d tried not to show that he had been holding. He gave his crooked smile

“Then it can wait.”

And so it did. Later as they laid facing each other, their legs tangled, the fog of lust and satisfaction slowly fading to contentment Easy told Ringo what happened.

To say he was unhappy would be an understatement but he seemed surprisingly understanding. He even laughed about it.

“Even I know you’re not interested in Tobias like that.”

Then his face got serious and Easy worried it might be too much, that maybe it would cause the doubt Ringo tried to keep hidden to grow.

Easy cupped Ringo’s cheek and Ringo sighed, pressing his face into his lover’s hand. Easy loved these moments, when he got to see Ringo completely, the tender man he kept hidden from everyone else but him. It was such an gift and Easy always felt honoured that he got to be the man to feel that love.

Ringo opened his eyes and whispered softly.

“Do you think Tobias will be okay?”

His question surprised Easy. Everyone knew there was no love lost between the brothers, they’d never had anything in common, except maybe now in Easy.

“I just don’t know Ringo. He says she’s the love of his life but he also says he’ll get over her eventually.”

Ringo shook his head, his look got even more intense.

“For his sake I hope she’s not. You can never get over that, losing that. You can try to learn to live with it, but to forget and move on is an impossibility.”

In that moment it all clicked for Easy. For once Ringo understood Tobias, understood the pain he was in. Easy knew the pain he had felt when him and Ringo were apart. Even in that short time it had been torture for Easy, and though he knew it had been hard for Ringo too Easy didn’t know the pain of being the actual cause of the separation. Tobias and Ringo both knew what it was like to be the guilty party, to have their actions be the cause of it all falling apart.

Easy kissed Ringo softly, slowly rolling him onto his back, folding them into what had become their go to sleeping position. Easy pushed his nose into Ringos neck, inhaling deeply the scent that was just so him and hummed softly as Ringo linked their hands over his stomach.

They stayed in silence, Easy was surprisingly starting to slip into a sleepy haze when he heard Ringo whisper.

“I love you.”

Easy smiled in response, making sure Ringo could feel it against his neck, nuzzling him softly and pressing a kiss there before sleep took him.

Ringo stayed awake a little while longer, content for the first time in days and allowed himself to relax. There was a lot to think about, a bit to process and a promise he made to himself. The next time Easy got married it would be to no one else but him. He would make certain of it.

#ringo x easy #easy x ringo #unter uns #fanfic #easy winter #ringo beckmann #i am obsessed #I had to do it #ringsy #richard beckmann

[stupid-jeans]

how to return home ch4 (Jalton)

Sunday night update: So, I lied. AO3 lied to me. What it told me was chapter 4 (unpublished) was actually just a duplicate of 3. I’m so sorry for the confusion and those who thought they had two chapters to read! :( Thank you all for the amazing feedback, as always. I’m so glad you’re enjoying! Off to work on the next chapter of madness game and then I assume the next chapter of this will be up sometime midweek.

Over on AO3

Chapter summary/Notes: Gavin and Jaz reflect on Elijah. Jaz and Adam have a few late night chats. This chapter is solidly in "T" territory. My lovely beta, @undercoverwatermoon's first comment on this was "Oh my GOD" so take that as you wish.

After dinner, the melancholy sets in. Not really for her, but it's coming off of Gavin in waves. Jaz leads him out onto the porch and sinks down in the swing, leaning against his side.

"You know he'd be really proud of you,” she murmurs. "It would've been so damn easy for us to give up without him."

"He would've been pissed. Can you imagine?" Gavin asks, laughing through tears.

"Yeah, he would've," Jaz agrees, pressing closer to him. "You know that song was the first one we ever sang together?" It's been a while since she revisited this particular memory, but it feels appropriate now, even with the lump it brings to her throat.

"I did know that," Gavin says, sliding his arm around her shoulders. "But you should tell me again."

Though she’s told it multiple times, the story never fails to lift her spirits. She tells him about the first day in Incirlik. Adam had met her at the airstrip and driven her back to their little hut on the base's edge. Elijah had been dancing around with McG in his arms, serenading him and expecting McG to sing his part, which he had zero apparent interest in doing. Begrudgingly, McG had sung, but he'd screwed up all the words causing Jaz to casually remark, "That's not how it goes." Elijah had looked at her like she was his long lost soulmate. They'd never looked back.

"He called me the next day," Gavin says. "To tell me all about this amazing girl. Almost made me jealous."

"You never had a damn thing to worry about. He loved you more than anything. I never even knew something like that was possible," Jaz admits, smiling despite the threat of tears.

"But now you know.” He kisses the top of her head, just like Elijah used to do and lets the quiet settle a bit before speaking again. “So, you think that's something you could have with Adam?"

"That's jumping, like, so many steps ahead," Jaz groans.

"Well, that's not exactly a 'no', so I'll take it," Gavin laughs. "Just do me a favor and don't let this pass you by without some serious thought, okay? I know it’s not a clear cut situation, but that's love, you know?"

Under any other circumstances, coming from literally anyone else, she would balk at the word. But she's safe here and it's not entirely wrong, so she just sighs.

"Yeah, okay."

**

It's nearly 3am when her phone goes off, just a quiet buzz under her pillow, but Jaz startles awake with a racing heart. The remnants of the nightmare still linger as she glances at her phone, squinting against the light.

Adam. You up?

I am now she nearly shoots back sarcastically, but he’s reaching out to her and it’s kind of a big deal. She just calls him instead.

"Hey. You didn't have to call."

"You say that like it's a chore. Last I checked, we're on leave and you can't boss me around. Maybe I just missed talking to you," she murmurs, the cold edge of her nightmare fading at the familiar warmth of his voice.

"I am not bossy. You want bossy, I'll put McG in charge for a week and you can see how that goes," he chuckles. He still sounds tired.

"Mmm, no, I think I'll keep you. Devil you know and all that," she says, stifling a yawn and rolling onto her back. The stars on the ceiling aren't anywhere near as brilliant or as vast as the ones outside, but they're comforting all the same.

"Aw, shucks. You really know how to make a guy feel special. Sorry I woke you."

"You didn't." Of course he would know.

"Liar," he says, mocking their earlier conversation.

"It was a nightmare anyway. So I should be thanking you." Admitting it feels easier than keeping up the lie.

"Wanna talk about it?" he offers.

Jaz knows she can turn him down and he'll drop it. But sharing with him has become almost second nature.

"I was back in Tehran...and he told me you were dead- showed me - and I didn't believe him. And then they brought me Elijah's head." Just saying it makes her queasy, and the words sour on her tongue. "God."

"You're alright," he promises, calm and steady like always. "Just breathe a second, yeah?"

Jaz does, in through her nose and out through her mouth, until the nausea subsides.

"You with me?" Adam asks and she nods before realizing he can't see her.

"Yeah, I'm here. Talk to me? How's Patton?" The dog is a safe topic for both of them.

"He's having the time of his life. I have no idea how I'm gonna bring him back to Turkey after this," Adam says. "Hang on."

She waits, wondering what the hell she's waiting for until her phone goes off in her hand and there's a picture of Patton passed out on Adam's chest; Adam's bare chest. Jaz swallows. It's not like she hasn't seen him shirtless a thousand times, but somehow having a picture makes it seem considerably more intimate.

"You're spoiling him. At this rate, we're gonna have to get him his own bed," she teases, impressed with herself for not letting on.

"Probably. But I'm a sucker."

"You are. It's kind of adorable," Jaz says, and then promptly smacks herself in the forehead because what kind of stupid fucking comment was that? "I mean he's adorable."

"You know, I don't think anyone's called me adorable since I was a kid," he laughs, ignoring her attempt at a save.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it. This is what happens when you wake me up in the middle of the night," she mutters.

"You have no filter? I'll have to wake you up more often, then," Adam says. "I'm sorry. I should let you go."

The rapid backtrack takes Jaz a second to process.

"No, don't. Why'd you text me, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep. That's all."

Jaz knows, without asking, exactly the kind of demons keeping him awake. She also knows that he's not ready to talk about them yet. These particular demons are fresh; too close to the surface to risk putting them into words just now. Instead, she hums and curls up on her side, figuring there's exactly one thing that might help.

"Stay on the phone with me?" she asks.

The relief is tangible in his voice when he agrees. She doesn't let herself drift off again until Adam's breathing evens out. It’s comforting to know he’s there, even through the tinny echo of the call.

**

In the morning, the call is still going. It hasn't been that long since they fell asleep (the counter on her phone says it's been 4 hours and 37 minutes), and Adam's still sound asleep. Jaz disconnects the call and slips out of bed to go for a run.

Like yesterday, there's breakfast and Gavin is waiting when she comes home. The predictability and the routine of it all set her at ease in a way nothing else has in a long time. She figures maybe this is what home is supposed to feel like. She’s so grateful to Elijah for giving this to her.

**

The routine starts to include Adam, somehow. Instead of falling asleep and waiting for him to cave at 3am, Jaz starts calling Adam when she goes to bed for the night. They talk about his day; boating, fishing and hiking with Patton. They also talk about hers. The ridiculous Walmart fashion shows - courtesy of Gavin- gardening and cooking with Connie; going shooting with Dale.

"Family looks good on you, Jazzy," he says. It’s been a week of bedtime chats that end with them falling asleep together, hundreds of miles apart.

"You can't even see me," she points out, teasing. "Besides, I have a family already. With the team."

"You know what I mean. I can tell you're happy there, is all. And I'm glad. You deserve it. But I do miss seeing you."

She feels her cheeks warm.

"I miss seeing you too," she murmurs.

"But see, you have a picture of me, and I don't have one of you," he says. It’s the closest thing to flirting he's said all week.

"Um, last I checked, I had a picture of the damn dog, not you," Jaz scoffs at him.

"That can be fixed."

"Why don't you just ask me what I'm wearing?" she challenges, not sure where the bravery is coming from. Maybe it's all of Gavin's goading.

"What're you wearing?" She's heard him in all kinds of situations, but not like this. Even as an exaggerated tease, his voice is dizzying and warm. Suddenly all she can think about is kissing him. She can still taste his mouth; still feel the faint tickle of his beard. She must make some kind of sound, because she hears his breathing go a little ragged in her ear. It's enough to bring her back from memory land.

"Nothing," she purrs, intentionally seductive in a way she reserves purely for playing a part and nothing more. And it's a total lie. But it'll get Adam back just a little bit.

"Jaz," he says, clearly amused but a little flustered.

"You asked."

"Pics or it didn't happen. Isn't that what the kids are saying these days?" he asks, and that he's not backing down has her a little rattled herself.

She's not a selfie person. To the best of her knowledge, she's never taken one. But she poses sort of awkwardly in the warm light of the bedside table lamp, stretched out on the bed in her wife beater and shorts; something he's seen her in a million times before. Jaz sends the picture before she can change her mind. Self-conscious isn't something she does, but right now, things feel different. Intimate, like the shirtless picture of him with the dog. The one she's looked at more than a few times.

"Liar," he murmurs again, and it takes a few seconds for her brain to catch up.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she laughs softly, trying to remember the last time she felt like this; flirty and carefree.

"You have never disappointed me," he says, suddenly serious.

"I know."

That night, she dreams about waking up in his bed, in his arms, with his lips on her neck. She wakes up flushed and panting, blankets in a heap on the floor. The phone is discarded next to her with the call already disconnected. Jaz can't help but wonder if he dreamed of her, too. She really, really hopes so.

#jalton #the brave nbc #my fic