#Marcy’s a sleepwalker | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

canis-or-cannotis-lycaon · 9 months

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"Close Your Eyes." || Gael, Regan

TIMING: August 4th LOCATION: The morgue PARTIES: Regan (@kadavernagh and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f SUMMARY: Gael, back from his “camping” trip, keeps his word and brings an animal carcass to Regan, hoping for some insight on what exactly happens when he sleepwalks. CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary

All things considered, though Gael was still in immense pain after that third night, the camping trip with Alan really did wonders. Granted, he still didn’t remember what had happened but there was this sense of… calm that had been present up until that selection of nights. In the twisting and stretching of his body, falling unconscious as pulses of agony were pumped through him, overwhelming him into dormancy, he woke up the next day still naked and covered in blood but most importantly, he wasn’t alone, not that time as Alan wasn’t too far away in the same conditions. He didn’t want to talk about it still, preferring to ask how the other man was doing and just to be able to complain about how sore he was for the first time ever since the brain injury. Most importantly, Gael felt… normal. Or at least as normal as he could’ve been given their shared condition. Setting aside the conversations he had with Kaden, Emilio and Leticia, when he thought only about the things he’d talked about with Alan and Alex, he didn’t feel so much like a stranger lost in a world that suddenly wasn’t for him. That wasn’t the reality of it, of course - they were in the minority and the onus was on them to change to adapt to the society that didn’t know any better at best - but as he went down to one of the smaller brooks that snaked around the woods with Alan, rinsing the blood off his aching limbs, his fresh scar, smelling the familiarity from his friend, he’d never been so sure that he would be able to manage this neurological disorder, after all. It was the smoothest time he’d had since the accident, certainly better than whatever happened in July and he almost all but forgot about the shadowed figure that ruptured at the side that haunted him on occasion, out of the corner of his eye, invading his dreams. Today, Gael was just outside the Morgue that Regan worked at, a box with an unpleasant odor emanating from it and though he was very aware of how he looked and moved, he felt considerably better on the inside. He gave a polite nod as he entered the building and the secretary buzzed for Dr. Kavanagh, stating that there was a “man with a bad-smelling box” wanting to see her. —

Oh, good. According to Marcy, her animal carcass was here. And probably Gael along with it. Regan’s stomach clenched at the thought – despite no harm coming from it yet, she wasn’t sure how wise it was that she’d told Gael everything she had. It seemed beyond believability, but then again, so many here believed in witches and magic and things far more absurd than being able to sense death. And Gael wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think there could be at least some truth to what she’d said. Did that make it more dangerous or less dangerous that she’d told him? Cliodhna’s voice, usually echoing through her calvarium, was unusually silent on the matter. Regan wasn’t sure her grandmother would have tolerated the insult either. Of course the denial of the femur, her birthright, would provoke such honesty.

And wouldn’t it feel… good? To be doing something good? Wasn’t that the whole point of being here? She didn’t regret offering to help.

Regan pushed through the doors of the lobby and nodded a greeting and thank you to Marcy, who still gawked at the winter coat. But her attention was on Gael. He looked… so unlike how he’d appeared at the museum, even when they were under duress. He had been full of life, then. And while he still had the same stubborn resilience practically shooting off him, he looked far worse, like he’d spent the entirety of the previous night, maybe week, sleepwalking. And as she felt the pull of death coursing from the box in his arms, she wondered if maybe she was spot on. “It looks like it may have been a long night for you, Gael.” She was at least heartened that he’d seen a doctor about all of this, which was more than most in town could say for their pathologies. “What do you have for me?” She had her eyes glued to the box. Her skin fizzled. “Follow me to my office. We work in there.” With a quick glance at Marcy to see if she was being studied, Regan carded herself back through the doors and led Gael down into the belly of the morgue. “Have you thought about what I’ve said? About people not always being prepared for the answers they think they want to receive?” ---

Gael wasn’t sure when the last time he’d been in a morgue was but the smell seemed stronger this time; clinical, eerie, like he inherently felt unwelcome in the space even though there weren’t too many people there to make that judgment call, not to mention Regan was the one who made the suggestion. He made pleasant enough small talk with the receptionist - Marcy, he learned - as he waited for the medical examiner to collect him. When she came through the door and the professor turned to regard her, however, he couldn’t keep his expression from shifting into one of mild surprise; he was expecting her to be dressed similarly to that day in the museum, just with the addition of a coat but by ‘coat’ he thought ‘a lab technician’s coat’ and not a winter coat that looked… warm, for starters and too bulky to be truly convenient otherwise.

However, Gael wasn’t here to judge and he recovered quickly enough, flashing her an easy smile that reached the corners of his sunken eyes. He knew how he looked. He wasn’t sure how to fix it anymore and apparently feeling good or bad, the ache that thudded through his bones, the threat of sleep that wanted to pull him under again though nowadays he found himself terrified of doing that. He just regretted that it seemed so obvious the week after. But he was infinitely more determined to find answers than receiving looks of sympathy, words of observation. He wasn’t sure which category Regan fit into.

But for now, he opened his mouth as if to respond to her question when she opted to take him to the back office instead and Gael caught the look Regan gave to Marcy; quick, narrow. None of his business. Maybe Marcy was a proponent of encouraging the doctor to get out of the morgue more. Nonetheless, the man followed behind the shorter woman, still holding the box carefully and absently shaking one of his legs as he walked, trying to get the twinge of pain from his shin out of his step. “I have.” He said earnestly after a small pause.

And he had. Was it a risk? Sure, but Gael was never averse to taking risks. He was a strong believer in many things - science, religion, and most of all, people. He trusted Regan; she wouldn’t lie to him and he trusted that she would be forward with what she could find in the mangled remains of the animal that he gathered the pieces of that morning… it was still mostly intact. “If I can’t anticipate any form of answer, I shouldn’t ask the question to begin with.” ---

“It’s easy to say that. It’s easy to say anything.” Regan left Gael to consider that as she held open the door to her office. She guided him past the bone-stuffed shelves and flesh-eating beetles and nodded toward her desk. “You can place it there and have a seat. I’m sure you won’t be surprised that I have some questions for you. First, where and when did you find these remains?” Her eyes drifted over to his disheveled hair and sagging eyes. She chose to regard his physical state with silence for a moment. “And is there anything else I should know?”

“Let’s see what you’ve brought.” Regan stretched her gloves over her hands and tenderly opened the box. She had been itching to do that this whole time, and it was worth the wait. She beamed down at the raccoon with large eyes, her heart quickening with each hair she combed through. There was a mat of blood underneath it, and one of its legs was missing, but it was otherwise a fine specimen. She could tell from some flakes of ice in its fur, its stiffness, and its temperature that it was just starting to defrost from wherever Gael had been keeping it. “This is very nice,” she remarked, too engrossed in the raccoon to look up at Gael as she spoke. She peeled back the raccoon’s grimacing jowls and examined the teeth; white but with noticeable tartar. “I didn’t forget why you came here. But there’s much to learn from a physical examination, too. Sometimes more.” Slowly, she turned the raccoon over on its side, and noted what was impossible to miss: that its entire flank was a great, raw pit surrounded by impressive bite marks. Something had taken a huge bite out of the animal. Its intestines spilled out and the stench of bile mixed with feces filled the room. She took a deep breath.

Now, she looked at Gael, her eyebrow raised. “It did not survive this injury. It’s fresh, no scarring. Do you have a dog?” Her eyes were pulled back down to the marks, and she traced her finger over one of the deeper tooth-shaped cavities. “A big one.” ---

Of course it was easy to say anything. Gael meant what he said, though; he normally functioned under the rule ‘say what you mean’. He wasn’t about to say ‘yes’ to placate her and he’d already had the conversation with a couple of other people, her included, where he had the humility to say that he didn’t think he was ready to comprehend certain concepts that were brought to his attention. He’d have to hope that she would still give him those answers even if he actually didn’t want them. Once they were in her office (a strange place, he thought, considering perhaps an examination room would’ve been more appropriate), Gael made his way over to the chair she told him to sit in once he placed the box on the cold, impersonal surface of the desk. “I found it this morning, in the forest… close to where I woke up.” He explained with a grunt as he sat down, thankful for the back support as he placed a hand against the gnarled scar tissue that twisted itself along his spine. He exhaled, locking eyes with her for a moment and letting another pause settle between them. His mind wasn’t reeling but he couldn’t keep a knot from forming in his throat, filling him with nausea at the thought that he wanted to tell her yet didn’t. “Its blood was on my hands. I had some of its fur under my fingernails.” Gael couldn’t bring himself to tell her that it wasn’t just under his fingernails. It was between his teeth and the blood was also on his nose, his chin, his neck down to his chest. How he’d retched pieces of it that morning as he cleaned himself up at the river. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. … Maybe it really wasn’t him and as he held up a hand instinctively, the smell eventually overwhelming his annoyingly sensitive senses, Gael met her gaze again and shook his head. “No. I don’t have a dog.” He remarked. “I have a few-months-old kitten but no dog.” He nodded to the carcass and while he’d since heard her own accelerating heartbeat, no doubt an effect of her strange enthusiasm over her connection with death. “That’s what killed it? A dog?” He asked. ---

“I don’t know what killed it yet. But I know some kind of large carnivore did this, and you having a dog on your property would have offered a decent explanation.” Of course, few things were ever that easy, that neat. “The blood under your nails, though…” It was strange, to say the least. Bite mark analysis wasn’t the most reliable, but this clearly was not done by a human. Regan turned the raccoon again, spotting more raw wounds, these ones sprinkled with blow fly eggs and arranged in large gashes. She ran her fingers over the marks, even poked a finger inside to see how deep it went. They looked like they were left by massive claws.

The answers would come from another source, then. Gael could tell her little of value, and that wasn’t his fault.

“Okay.” Regan announced, standing up straight, her attention snapping from the raccoon to Gael. “You’re sure about this?” She asked, though she already knew the answer. “I have conditions. One condition, really: you can’t look. Ask what you want, but do not look. Do you find that agreeable?” She had never done this with anyone else around before, anyone who wasn’t like her, but she could venture a guess as to how it would be received. “You don’t need to do anything. Only sit and wait.” ---

Perhaps Gael was a little too enthusiastic… or desperate for an answer that pointed away from him. Of course there was no way to tell what it was for certain, at least further than a ‘large dog’. The one with Ren wouldn’t have done this and he didn’t remember any large dogs whenever he woke up. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as proficient at her job as either of them thought she was and she was mistaken…? No, no that wasn’t it either. However, when the medical examiner said ‘okay’, Gael also snapped to attention, straightening up and lowering his hand to place on his lap with a concealed grimace at both the sudden movement pulsing through his body and the smell of rot and body fluids. Granted, he still didn’t know quite what she was talking about just now but her one clear, simple instruction floated through his tired mind. He can’t look. Gael obviously didn’t know what that meant and part of him hesitated for a moment. Was this the part where she waited until he wasn’t looking before provoking him into something? Was she going to bite him and taste something synthesized in his blood? …Were there species who could do that? Why was he assuming she wasn’t human? Nevertheless, he gave her a look and nodded with a certain resolution. “I…” Risky. She told him not to promise. “I won’t look.” In an effort to prove it, Gael stood from his chair slowly and turned it so that it faced the wall where he himself turned around on the spot before sitting down again. He didn’t know what was going to happen, if anything happened at all, but he leaned forward and held his head in his hands as his elbows propped it up on his knees. “Okay, do what you’re going to do.” ---

He said he wouldn’t look, but could she trust him? She had so far, with the scant crumbs she’d been willing to give him. But this was different. Everything she’d told him might sound merely fantastical or delusional to the wrong person. If he saw this, though, things would be harder to wave away. And Regan liked the cushion of Gael questioning his sanity, as much it pained him. “Thank you,” she said cautiously, in a tip-toe of a voice, testing to see if he had any second thoughts about that. With one final look at Gael, whose head was turned away and his eyes closed, she was satisfied that he would keep his word.

Regan took in another lungful of bile and blood, and devoted her full attention to the raccoon. She held the cloying stench inside of her and allowed her vision to relax into asfís bháis. Even if Gael decided he wasn’t ready to face what she saw, she needed to be ready.

The walls of her office fell away, shelves becoming trees, the raccoon pumped full of vigorous life. Regan’s hand sifted through the animal’s coat, and as more came into focus, she could see further. The detail greater. But her attention was in the wrong place. A chill rolled between her vertebrae, the sensation of being watched spreading through her. Was Gael looking, despite what she’d asked of him? She couldn’t tell. Because where Gael sat, there was now a dark shadow, long-limbed with piercing orange eyes. Before Regan could study it, it leaped. The raccoon’s whiskers twitched and its eyes shined with fast-blooming, primal fear. It scrambled on its small hands, shooting toward a tree, but the shadow was faster, hungrier. Blood sprayed across the ground, the whites of the creature’s teeth, and Regan could see it for what it was now: a ravenous canid with a murky coat and only predatory instinct in its eyes. The teeth gnashed. More blood shot in every direction. And as the animal’s gaze seemed to see right into hers, the woods faded, the blood becoming carpet and the raccoon a stiff lump under her hands.

She still saw those eyes. They stuck to her own, even when she closed them. When Regan took another long breath, just as she’d been taught, she realized how tense every muscle in her body felt. Disgusting. She kicked her legs, loosening them. Adrenaline had no place here.

“You can look.” Regan shook her head, trying to clear it of the vivid image, that amber, and let the room fully set back in. She glanced down at the raccoon with reverence, a silent thank you for allowing her the information she now had.

“Gael, this is going to sound strange.” She braced him, though he probably didn’t need it. What about this wasn’t strange? She sat down and pushed her chair a little closer to his, if only to force her body to move. She learned forward and steepled her hands, considering how to best address this. It would be good news, wouldn’t it? “You did not kill this animal. I suspect you haven’t killed any of the ones you’ve been finding. I didn’t see you. What I saw was a…” And there was the tricky part. What was it, exactly? “It looked like a wolf, but… odd. Gangly and large. I mostly saw its teeth. We don’t have wolves here.” Regan sighed, equally vexed by this as she would be seeing Gael responsible. “It was likely a strange coyote or dog. It was not you. So I don’t know why you find blood under your fingernails or why dead animals keep turning up, but you should be absolved of blame.” ---

And so Gael’s eyes were closed but he was unintentionally on edge, fully anticipating for something to be done to him while his back was turned and he was two senses down in terms of expecting something, though his hearing was still fully capable. …Nothing happened. He wasn’t sure how long he was there, even managing to relax after a brief while but as far as he could tell, Gael was sitting in the office of an eccentric medical examiner, facing away from her with his hands over his eyes and his eyes closed as she obsessed over a raccoon carcass for an indeterminate amount of time. However… as he sat there, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck instinctively standing as he anticipated being attacked while his back was turned, he also heard something. The conversation and test he had with Alex sat on his mind with greater frequency nowadays and while before it was just something he happened to pick up on on occasion, his head tilted very slightly as he could’ve sworn he heard her abnormally-low heart rate increase, if only for a moment.

True to his word, Gael didn’t open his eyes or remove his hands from them until she instructed him to do so. And when he did, he sucked air in through his nose as the lights seemed way brighter than they were before. Obviously they weren’t but maybe he pressed his hands into his eye sockets a little too ambitiously. Maybe as he closed his eyes, putting the heels of his hands over them, he was actually trying to blot out the things that he saw in the dark. He stood up and rotated the chair again, casting a bleary-eyed gaze to the carcass for just a moment before he looked away and opted to focus on Regan instead. And then… the news. Gael held his breath, his eyes widening slightly with the anticipation of what she managed to learn while they sat in the complete silence of the office. He didn’t question it, he wouldn’t right then - he figured it was part of her “death sight” that she talked about and for all he knew, she communicated with the corpse telepathically. He didn’t know what to think anymore. It… wasn’t him. It never was. The mantra that Gael repeated in his head for hours sometimes, slipping in and out of consciousness in the pitch black nights and dreary, misty mornings, the mantra that he repeated so many times in his head back then that the idea was successfully pushed out of his mind only for it to be dragged kicking and screaming back over the past couple of months. It wasn’t just a mantra repeated in his head anymore. She was supernatural. He was not. It was a werewolf. It had to have been. And Gael wasn’t a werewolf. The professor couldn’t keep himself from coughing out the breath he held as though he just received an announcement that he won the lottery. A dopey grin crossed Gael’s sunken features as he looked down at the raccoon with a newfound admiration, looking at it like it was made of gold and he had struck it. The look danced from the raccoon to Regan, unable to contain the excitement and relief that washed over him. “It wasn’t me.” He repeated, with a new connotation in his tone. “It wasn’t me!” He wanted to stand up, kiss the raccoon on its rotting head, dance out of the office and shove both his middle fingers into Kaden and Emilio’s faces as if to say “I TOLD you so!” but he did none of those things, instead clenching a trembling, burned hand in the other as he exhaled with that same overwhelming sense of relief. “Was it… the death sight? Was that what you did when I was turned around?” He asked, a new spark of life in his sleep-deprived eyes as he looked earnestly at Regan. ---

Gael was positively dripping with relief. His voice bounced and his entire face brightened. He almost looked like a completely different person, shed of the exhaustion that had cloaked him before. Regan had the opposite reaction, shrinking back as though Gael was an explosive that had just been set off, like she could catch feelings from his shrapnel. Something inside of her loosened, though. She had never helped the living in this way before, never even told anyone outright that she was capable of it, and it felt… satisfying. Not good, not pleasant. She was beyond such things. But it had the same sense of fulfillment that also came with signing off on a complicated autopsy report after 6 hours of meticulously scavenging for answers.

The energy in the room seemed to die down – even if not as dead as she preferred – and she squirmed a little, regarding his exuberance with subtle distaste. The worst of it seemed to be past. Regan stepped closer to Gael and the chair, still wary. “That’s what you came here for. Yes.” She crossed her arms, looking back over at the raccoon. That such a carcass could bring joy to someone else did thaw her heart a little bit. A bit. “This seems like it was quite the positive revelation for you.” And she didn’t want to divert the wind from his sails, but… “You’re satisfied with that? With this? Validation from someone who claims to understand dead raccoons, even though it leaves other questions unanswered?” She gestured down to his tattered hands. “Like the blood under your nails, or what you do when you’re asleep.” ---

Gael glanced up at the medical examiner, her questions managing to poke through his veil of positivity. ‘You’re satisfied with that?’ He thought on it as she continued, motioning to the hands Gael had witnessed become matted with a thick layer of hair, extending his nails, making his arms and fingers unrecognizable in the darkness even with the anomaly of his highly-attuned eyesight. He thought on the blood under those nails, the sleepwalking, waking up covered in the stuff. He thought about what Alex had said about how she and Alan and other sleepwalkers were werewolves and that there was no other explanation for it. Not a brain injury, not a neurological disorder, not a parasite. There was no cure, no fix, nothing but the dreaded resignation he talked to Regan about before. “...I am.” Gael replied after a lengthy pause and a nod of affirmation. He inhaled deeply, the stench of the raccoon’s carcass filling his nose literally but it was accompanied by the confidence that he could go forward with this information. Everyone else was wrong. Everyone who talked down to him, danced around and suggested that it was something like ‘he’s a werewolf’ were wrong, simple as that. He had tried to consider that thought and it felt wrong, like a puzzle piece being forced into the incorrect spot. The thought pained him if he thought about it long enough and when he wasn’t confronted with that as a question, it was literally out of his mind, easily slipping back into the thought that he was just a sleepwalker with vivid, sleep-deprived hallucinations and a proclivity for violence. He nodded again. “I trust you.” At this rate, he would’ve believed the priest who said that he was possessed by a demon. This was the closest Gael had gotten since he moved to the validation he wanted, that he was just a guy. He didn’t care if he had werewolf friends, or fae friends, or friends that could turn into jaguars. He really didn’t; everyone had their process and even if he didn’t believe in them, he believed in his friends’ beliefs. Okay so Alan was a werewolf; HE was the one who killed the beavers. Gael had no idea what he’d done to deserve NOT being turned by a werewolf but that sounded like ‘Sleepwalking Gael’s’ problem, not his. “I… I literally can’t imagine what else it could be.” He added after another pause, some of the vivacity leaving his body language though he was still considerably lighter than before. “But I’ll answer one question at a time and that was the biggest one.” Gael started to get to his feet again, his body still thumping with aches and his back definitely popped in a couple of places but he almost didn’t feel them. “I don’t know what else it could be.” He repeated. “...Are you not satisfied with that?” He decided to ask.

Gael’s eyes were swimming with thoughts, and Regan could only imagine how rapidly his neurons were firing, the relief trickling down to his bones. There were few things heavier than telling someone of their impending death. Today, though, it felt like she had done the opposite: offer renewal. This had clearly been tormenting Gael’s thoughts, night and day, and to be able to lift some of that burden was meaningful, even if she had to tolerate this display of emotion. At least he had the sense not to galavant around the room, a stupid grin from ear to ear. Regan shuddered at the thought.

She hadn’t been expecting to have her own question fired back at her. The answer did not arrive when she tried to summon it. “I don’t know,” Regan replied honestly, shooting a glance down at the floor. “I like a thorough explanation, an autopsy report tied up neatly in a bow. But the world doesn’t always work like that.” Her eyes narrowed at his proclamation of trust. “And I still think that’s foolish. You’re too trusting. It will destroy you.” She shook her head, knowing there was no talking Gael out of his own nature. He thought her inflexible and unchanging, and perhaps she was, but he was stubborn, too.

Regan found herself drifting back toward her desk, hand absentmindedly running through the raccoon’s bloodied coat. “Anyway, I’m… glad I could help you.” Glad. That was a word she scarcely used. It felt stilted on her lips. How natural it would have been coming from Gael’s. There was something else though, an admission, unprompted, that the moment was calling for as adamantly as the raccoon had beckoned her from her desk. She hesitated but gave in to it. “I’ve only done this for the dead. Sought answers for them in this way, I mean. And their next of kin, of course, but they don’t know. No matter how implausible the information I come back with in the process of an autopsy, they don’t question how I came about it.” Regan rolled her eyes. “Well, the court would, sometimes, but not everything makes it into the report.” She looked at Gael earnestly for a moment, before her features tightened in realization and she brushed everything away. “Anyway, you should bring me more dead animals.” ---

She tried to hide her expressions behind the words she said but brief as they were, Gael noticed them: the hesitation when he returned her question to her, the way she looked down momentarily as thoughts came before the answer, her reluctance to admit that sometimes the world didn’t give you all the answers you wanted at once. That was how he worked - he was similar to her in that he craved answers, explanations, reasons for why and how things worked. But he’d reached a point in his life that he realized that that wasn’t how it worked. If he received one explanation, especially one that he was willing to forgive in the efforts of returning some of his life back to normal, so that he had someone to back him up when he said ‘you’re wrong’, then asking for more answers and not being satisfied with what he was given would just drive him further up a wall.

She said his trust would destroy him but at this juncture, Gael wasn’t sure that was accurate. The thoughts, the bombardments of what he was, taking that control and choice away from him, that was destroying him. It was keeping him up more than the regular sleepwalking did before this whole mess. The words everyone else said, boring into his skull, nosing into his business, telling him what was best for him while he watched how they talked to other people, that was destroying him. And who knew, maybe this trust in Regan’s assessment, this desperate clinging to something that he could relate to and use, would destroy him down the line.

But it wouldn’t destroy him now.

And now was how Gael knew to live.

Regan said that she was… glad she could help. Gael’s eyebrow quirked slightly, silently acknowledging that perhaps she didn’t say that often, if at all. And as she explained a little more about what she used her gift for, the pieces seemed to click for him when it came to her. She knew what she could do and she embraced it. She didn’t say she was glad she could help often, but he wondered if she did, it was just nonverbally as she lovingly caressed the corpse of a person who somehow could tell her how they died. He was curious about this still, and he had questions for the process of course, but she had already been so helpful to him and he caught that earnest expression on her face before she laced herself back up.

Gael was savvy. He knew when someone’s social limit was drawing to a close. So, with that and what felt like a great weight lifted from his mind, the professor offered the medical examiner a small, but respectful bow of his head accompanied with a gentle, but enthusiastic grin. “I appreciate it, Dr. Kavanagh. I’ll be sure to. I’ll text you and leave them with Marcy.”

No thank-yous, no exaggerated praise or unwarranted compliments. She was a person of business and Gael felt like he’d received more than one thing that day as his mind repeated everything she said, especially the part where she said she was glad.

#wickedswriting #writing: Close Your Eyes #writing with: Regan #unsanitary tw

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vrisrezis · 2 years

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Calamity trio with a s/o who has sleepwalking

Anne probably found out at a sleepover or something. She deals with it like how she deals with Marcy tripping all the time, and she tries to make sure you don’t wreak havoc in the middle of the night, whilst panicking.

Sasha is more chill and lets you do your thing, finds it much more amusing than Anne does. You’ve lived this long and have been sleepwalking so what’s the big deal? She goes back to sleep and makes fun of you for it the next morning, showing you a video he took of you in the middle of the night.

Marcy doesn’t worry as much either, unless the sleepwalking tends to make a huge mess or actually endangers you. They may put a lot of weapons away or lock certain doors so you don’t go through potentially dangerous rooms in the middle of the night.

#marcy x reader #marcy wu x reader #amphibia marcy wu x reader #amphibia anne boonchuy x reader #amphibia anne x reader #anne x reader #anne boonchuy x reader #amphibia sasha waybright x reader #sasha waybright x reader #sasha x reader #amphibia x reader

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hardlygclden · 2 years

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HARDLY GOLDEN - a playlist for the evolution of bediah boregard

part one | coming in kicking and screaming from growing pains: bediah’s youth is remembered in the static tunes of his father’s car radio, and the desperation to be just like him solely to keep him around. these are the echoes of his childhood when he didn’t realize this was all he had. rebellion struck early on when he started to see that he could be more than a tool, and he began to grow into the man that latched on to key west like a weed. what would it take for him to turn on the hand that gave him crumbs? bediah thrived in his father’s shadow, but his youthful shine would make him a nuance to the locals that they wouldn’t mind casting in brass. it didn’t last long, and he’d face consequence.

i. cat’s in the cradle - harry chapin ii. behind blue eyes - the who iii. hospital - counting crows iv. save a prayer - duran duran v. hey jealousy - gin blossoms

part two | blissful ignorance and rage: upon his reemergence into society after turning in years for his actions and those of his father, bediah unleashed what he had been reserved behind iron fences. he believed good was self serving and when he got what he wanted, he didn’t let go.

vi. country song - seether vii. sex & candy - marcy playground viii. possum kingdom - toadies ix. machinehead - bush x. sos (sawed off shotgun) - the glorious sons xi. silver lining - mt. joy xii. keep it together - puddle of mudd xiii. steady, as she goes - the raconteurs xiv. spaceship - puddle of mudd xv. stockholm syndrome - muse xvi. you won’t know - brand new xvii. virgin - manchester orchestra xviii. the hand that feeds - nine inch nails xix. let’s talk about your hair - have mercy xx. fuck them all - the dangerous summer

part three | to be good: bediah learned to keep his down, to atone where he could while still being true to the spirit that he wanted to be his.

xxi. ghosting - mother mother xxii. mess is mine - vance joy xxiii. where we are - the lumineers xxiv. our song- rks xxv. alligator - of monsters and men xxvi. don’t take the money - bleachers xxvii. this picture - placebo xviii. sometime around midnight - the airborne toxic event xxiv. shameful company - rks xxx. salt and the sea - the lumineers xxxi. shimmer - fuel

part four | remembrance of what was wasted: there are parts of bediah he isn’t sure belong to himself, or the person he wanted to be in order to catch his father’s attention. his insistence robbed him of his youth, and he wonders what he can still have for himself.

xxxii. act on impulse - we were promised jetpacks xxxiii. the middle (acoustic) - jimmy eat world xxxiv. diet soda society (acoustic) - the maine xxxv. scumbag (acoustic) - goody grace xxxvi. tell me you’re sorry (acoustic) - real friends xxxvii. she’s quiet - the home team xxxviii. hated (acoustic) - beartooth xxxix. in bloom (acoustic) - neck deep

part five | to be better: to be good is hard, and so bediah will try to be better first. he holds his flaws not on his sleeve, but in his tattered pocket. he’s wrap their loose threads around his finger but never tug hard enough to know where they’ve unraveled from.

xl. hear you me - jimmy eat world xli. exiles - third eye blind xlii. the funeral - band of horses [to know me as hardly golden, is to know all wrong, they were] xliii. its called: freefall - rks xliv. broadripple is burning - margot & the nuclear so and so’s xlv. civlian wye oak xlvi. save me - jelly roll xlvii. sleepwalking - live - this wild life xlviii. get on the road - tired pony xlix. coney island (ft. the national) - taylor swift l. i’ve given up on you - real friends li. placeholder - the story so far

#i realized AFTER there was a specific breakdown #oh well #━━ bediah task ｢the cost of our desired wrongs｣#━━ bediah tunage ｢these are the daydreams that keep me clean｣#━━ bediah musings ｢if you're weak come to me and find shameful company｣

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tharrb · 7 months

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Running from this nightmare: chapter 3

Marcy and her father pulled up to the high school. Marcy had refused to talk the entire time, having the same tired expression she had the whole summer. “You can get out now.” Her father said, trying to encourage her. Marcy refused to answer.

“You can’t still be thinking of those two? He questioned his daughter frustratedly. “They’re dead weights, and you were better off leaving them behind.” Marcy got out of the car without saying a word. “Come on, don’t be so glum. This town is…it’s like a new beginning”. He said in a cheerfully condescending tone as he drove off.

Easy for him to say, Marcy thought. There was nothing back in LA to keep him there, which is why he was eager to leave. Of course he wouldn’t consider why she might not want to leave. All he needs to be concerned with his job,which, if living with him for thirteen years taught her anything, was always going to be his priority. Heck, as far as Marcy was concerned, the only reason he delayed the move was because having a child run away wouldn’t be a good look for him.

Marcy’s reception to her high school was exactly as she expected. The students all gave her dirty looks. She never could figure out why people looked at her that way back in California-she alway had trouble looking people in the eyes-and she sure wasn’t gonna figure out now.(though she suspected her being much younger the the rest of the senior class had something to do with it). Whenever someone got angry or annoyed with her, wether it be because she talked for to long, was too noisy to herself, or for just being there, Anne and Sasha would always protect her. But since they weren’t there…well, her best bet was to just pretend she’s not there at all.

Her time in springwood was, in a word, uneventful. So much so, that it surprised her to learn that two week’s had past, something she only knew because she read her fathers newspaper. The headline was “teenager dies by sleepwalking off a building.”

”Some kids drew dicks on my locker.” Marcy stated, trying to get a response out of her dad. “Hmm?” He mumbled, looking away from his newspaper. “You think it’s because of your job?” Said Marcy’s mom. “What?” Asked Marcy. “Ah well, as you know aware, I’ve been made the district manger of the local spendco.” Said Marcy’s dad. “Though it seems, this being a small town, that some folks are afraid that it will threaten the local businesses.”

Great, Marcy thought. Better add that to the list ways my dad makes my life hell.

”Well, no bother. Just do what I’ve always said; as long as you put head in academic’s, you won’t have to worry about any of that.” Said Marcy’s dad, still in that infuriatingly cheerful tone. As if she’s been doing anything but since she arrived in springwood.

Marcy’s parents began to chatter as marcy did her best to ignore them. “Anyways, a lot of kids having been buy caffeine products from the store lately.” “Huh, you think it’s one of those clickclok challenges or whatever they call it?” “Hmm. Gonna need to ask Quinton to restock.” Unwilling to listen further, marcy stomped back to room. “What’s gotten into that child?” Her father said.

Everyone-Anne, Sasha, her parents-told Marcy that moving wasn’t the end of the world. And they were right-regardless of what happened to her, the world would still turn. She still go to school, be plauged by nightmares, and drown out her parents incessant chatter. And the time would still march forward, until her inevitable death, and march forward still. This was what fate had in store for her.

Everything changed when she came here, yet nothing changed.

#amphibia #fanfic writing #anoes au

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ghoulinfuschia · 2 years

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YAY now that my comic is finished and posted, I can finally talk about these two weirdos. I got a crap ton of asks about the Core’s role in this AU, so thank you for your patience HAHA

Okay, so what’s going on with these two? Ultimately we have a situation where the Core was not removed from Marcy’s mind, so now they’re headmates. I don’t want to say it’s a split personality situation, because it’s more like Marcy was possessed and the Core is kind of a prisoner in her mind now that Marcy’s regained control of herself.

The Core is incredibly…noisy (“Noisy” might be an understatement seeing as the commotion in her head looks like literal hell). The Core is, to my understanding, an ancient eldritch being compiled of the minds of numerous amphibians. With that in mind, i wanted to make it so there are many voices in Marcy’s head conversing, with The Core’s voice being the dominating one. It isn’t always super deafening. Sometimes the voices sound like a crowd’s soft murmuring, the volume really depends on how much the Core is demanding Marcy’s attention in that moment. It’ll also try to disorient her as much as possible, but Marcy’s grown a tolerance for the noise. Ultimately the Core’s goal is to regain control.

One thing I really didn’t want is for Marcy to be at the complete mercy of the Core. I didn’t want it to be where it’s bossing her around all day and making her miserable. I mean..okay she’s a little miserable, sure, but she’s not being controlled by fear. The Core is frightening, but she’s been stuck with this thing for so long that fright’s been watered down to pure irritation. She’s pretty jaded.

She’s just.

She’s over it.

At this point she’s just throwing snark at this thing and wanting it gone. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t see it as a threat though. See here’s the thing- Just because Marcy is pretty good about staying in control, doesn’t mean there haven’t been slip ups. If Marcy’s at an emotional low, the Core can more easily try to fight for control. There’s this constant battle going on where The Core is trying to break Marcy’s will so she’ll let it drive. There are moments where the Core is able to gain control for a few seconds, but Marcy immediately shuts that down. The only time where she’s super vulnerable is during the night.

She’s a sleepwalker— Or at least that’s how it looks to anyone who finds her waking up someplace outside her bedroom in the morning. The Core is able to roam around at night since Marcy’s not awake to stop its antics. She has to be in a super deep sleep though. Marcy’s aware that The Core does this, and has to try taking precautions before going to sleep (they rarely ever work though). For this reason, Marcy is pretty wary about the idea of sleepovers with Anne and Sasha. She’ll only attend if she knows there won’t be any actual sleeping. If they stay awake all night, then she’ll be fine most likely.

One last thing I wanna talk about is the Core’s design. The Core has no definite form. It can manifest itself in Marcy’s eyes however it pleases, but it chooses these two forms usually. One is more terrifying, while the other is emotionally damaging. The Core’s first form is basically an amalgamation of Marcy’s past self from her time in Amphibia, so it’s a mix of her warrior type fit and her Core armor. The form isn’t scary at all, but it serves as a reminder of Marcy’s mistakes. Her betrayal, the lying, the way she got her friends sent to another dimension against their will and caused them so much trauma- It’s arguably worse than any horrifying image the Core can create. Marcy’s grown numb to the scary crap, but this form feeds into her self loathing and guilt issue (which she has to actively combat everyday). I wanted to make a point to not have the Core age with her for the sake of drilling in the idea saying “This will never change. This is still you”.

The second form is just for the sake of being able to tower over Marcy and be more intimidating, plus I wanted to incorporate the Core’s robo arms in some fashion.

And YEAH that’s pretty much all I got…I love these two sm. It’s the “I’m sick of this and I’m sick of your crap specifically” dynamic. Also while drawing this comic, some friends and I were making fun of the Core for looking like an edgelord homestuck OC, so here’s this silly doodle

#Long post #PO3 AU #Power Of Three Amphibia AU #Marcy Wu #Honeybee rambles

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farm-witches-fic-recs · 2 years

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Looking for a fic that I thought I bookmarked and now can't find. Patrick and David go to visit Marcy and Clint, and Marcy wakes up one night to Patrick sleepwalking. In his sleep, Patrick thinks that he never got to be with David, then David wakes up, comforts Patrick and gets him back into bed. I think David and Marcy talk about it the next day. Any ideas?

We do have an idea!

That's make it better by agoodpersonrose!

#ask a farm witch

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maldito-arbol · 2 years

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Chapter 5. Responsibility

HEART CHAPTER HEART CHAPTER <3

‘They are not built to feel. They are not built to be the heart , only to give and give and give . ‘ (oh)

Andy count, 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 12 14 16 21 23 (23 too fucking many)(it’s gonna be really funny if I managed to miscount)

“My name isn’t even really my name”- Witney, chapter 4 IBYBF

(The fact that Choke started playing when I referenced Witney)

Hnnnnn Barrel. I. Hm. Barrel has som eOpinions

Heart out here being the epitome of wanting a reaction out of someone

‘They come to understand later that the very first emotion they had ever felt was called Anger. ‘ (man something about that just. Man)

Froog and Strength having fun,,,,,

Awwwww Witney is so cute,, she’s so excited,,,,

“Do I have to take yours away from you?” He warns. (Barrel?????? Geez this escalated quickly)

A midnight snack from the kitchen

NOO DONT SQUEEZE THEMM NO

“You did a bad thing Heart” ‘I did a bad thing’ (the fact that that so heavily influenced Heart’s own vocabulary hhhhhhhhhhh)

‘So this is what pain feels like inside this dreamscape. It hurts a little more than they bargained for.’ (Man it’s been like a week since u met these people geez Andrias pulling zero punches I see fuck)

STREEENGTH!!! YAY!! My beloved <3 these two are so Fucking adorable

SECRET KITCHEN LEVER

Maybe. But Heart does not like agreeing with her. (Damn Heart has exists for like a week and is already Full Of Spite)

THEYRE ALL SO NICE TO WITNEY RN GOOD IM ACTIVELY IGNORNING THAT THAT WONT LAST LONG JUST LET ME HAVE THIS

THE FOUR OF THEM.

So THATS why Heart and Wit can dual wield dreams and sleepwalking but Strength can’t- it never had to

‘They are not doing it correctly’ ‘After all, there is a difference between gentle touches and tenderness versus rough grips and punishment.’ (*SOBS* SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING HEART NO-)

THEY WERE SO CLOSE TO FIGURING IT OUT FUCK NO

NO DONT THROW THEM TO THE SAND DONT CRUSH THEM IN YOUR HAND NO STOP THEY DIDNT DO ANYTHING WRONG FUCK OFF ANDRIAS NO FUCK

HE STOOD ON THEM????? DUDE WHAT THE FUCK

‘Unbreakable is an aspect of themself they once took pride in. Now, they wish it were a lie.’ (You ruined a perfectly good gem is what you did, look at them they’ve got suicidal thoughts)

NO TERRIBLE AWFUL YOU CANT DO THIS ANDRIAS- DONT PLAY YOULL BE BACK TIGHT NOW HEART PLAYLIST SHIT

Hmmmm. Did the making the other person confirm they they love them happen in PMIT too? It feels familiar I feel like it happened with Marcy and Sasha? I might be wrong I’m not sure but I feel like it’s happened before

If I do a bad thing, if you punish me then, you have to tell me how much you love me. (MAN ANDRIAS YOU RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD GEM IS WHAT YOU DID LOOK AT THEM THEYVE GOT A SEVERELY WARPED CONCEPT OF LOVE)

Because every single one means I love you. (Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Because she participates in it. (THE FOUR OF US)

“Do you love me?” “No, no one here loves you Wit” (HELLO? OKAY??? WHAT?? Terrible awful return of the do you love me no format)

even before they processed the sudden thought of no, please do not hurt me. Then you will have to tell me you love me, and I cannot take it. You cannot love me. You have to love Barrel. (HEART NOOOOMBNN NO. Man i fucking. Just. Geez all of this is so. I don’t even. Man. fuck. What. Geez.)

They like to break things, they think. They like when things are broken, just like them. (Hhhhhhhhhhh)

Wit cries. Everybody watches, but nobody moves. Her breaths become hiccups, her eyes spill with tears, and she does not bother wiping her face as they all come streaming out. Nobody comforts her. (EVERYONE WAS BEING SO NICE TO HER THO HNNNMMMMM BABY NO PLEASE GIVE HER A HUG SAY YOU LOVE HER STRENGTH WAS RIGHT IT DOES LOVE HER IT LOVES HEART TOO FUCK SHIT HEART ITS FINE STRENGTH WAS SO CLOSE TO FIGURING IT OUT IT KNOWS THEY CAN ALL BE CHILL TOGETHER NO)

“If you don’t tell him the truth, i will” “you promised”(NO NOT THE TRUE COLORS REFERENCE-)

NO THE BELL NO FUCK SHIT FUCK OFF NO

“Accept it, you sniveling coward!!” (YES! Call him out! He’s a little bitch he deserves it fuck yeah insult him!)

“Were you happy Heart?”

HEART CHAPTER CLAP CLAP

Haha :^)

Yeah I’m. I’m not gonna count them so let’s just assume ur correct

BAHAHA NOOOOO NOT CHOKE

Barrel DOES have some Opinions.

THEY ARE.

NO I KNOW RIGHT. IMAGINE EXPERIENCING TRUE EMOTION FOR THE FIRST TIME THE VERY FIRST ONE YOU GET IS JUST PURE RAGE. I’d be fucked too.

Froog and Strength my beloved,,,,,

GOD I miss Younger Witney, she was so precious and sweet,,,, unfortunately she was brought into the WORST environment.

Yeah Barrel is. He’s hhhhhh sometimes. Sometimes? Often.

A MIDNIGHT SNACK FROM THE KITCHENNNNNNNNNNNN. AND GUESS WHATS IN THE KITCHENNNNNNNNNNN.

Andrias leave Heart alone challenge.

Yeah. Yeah… the whole “I did a bad thing” gives my body a visceral reaction now because all of the context behind it is so upsetting.

Andrias is Disturbing. Even more so when you consider that he held himself BACK from hurting his friends at first, only showing his true side in bits and pieces just enough that they wouldn’t have believed him capable of such, but the second he met little Heart who was all his, he just…gave in to all those terrible thoughts. And eventually, he found the willpower to spread the outright abuse to his friends too. Terrible.

Strength is so good I miss it so much.

SECRET KITCHEN LEVER!!!!

Heart thriving on Spite so true.

Haha remember when Witney had healthy, supportive ppl around her? I don’t :^)

And thus comes the Fourth reveal that I have tormenting y’all so with.

*nods head vigorously* Strength always had Froog to share control with. It doesn’t usually do so by itself.

Shhhhhhh *patpat*

You know I had such a hard time writing that scene. That scene where Andrias steps on them. It’s so heart-wrenching and disturbing a concept on its own, but what makes it worse is the fact that Heart describes the whole scenario with such pretty language and without a shred of resentment towards Andrias for doing so.

They had not known what sand felt like until they are thrown against it, a tiny pebble amidst a grand ocean of grains each once lower than they, and now they are buried in them as grit and dust sprays up into the perfect and serene ocean around them, distorting it with imperfection.

When they are scooped back out of the sand, those hands feel like a messiah. Grains slide and slip through the gaps of his fingers, but those gaps are not large enough for Heart’s tiny form to. He wipes the remaining grime from them with those fingers, holds them up proudly like he is displaying a trophy.

It’s heart-breaking. And you’ll notice a stark contrast between the way Heart describes the abuse inflicted on them versus the way Witney describes the abuse inflicted on her when her chapter comes out. Witney gets graphic. Here you want a taste? Take a taste.

Her meager struggling weakens slowly as her eyes roll back and saliva dribbles messily from her lip and the fingers on her from the other side loosen, slip off.

Uhhhhh let me think. There ARE these parts?

“So what did you say to her? What kind of stunt are you pulling with this whole girlfriend thing? I can’t even tell if you really like her or you’re just playing games!”

Now that one, that one she was offended by. “ Of course I like her!” She snapped, stepping forward and subsequently forcing Anne a step back. “If you’re gonna accuse me of some bullshit like that, then you clearly don’t know your own friends at all .”

And this

I’m yours after all. And don’t you love me? Don’t you know how much I love you and Anne? The three of us have always been together, and even if we can’t be anymore, I’ll fight to my very last breath all for you. Only for you.

But I can’t think of anything else 🤔 maybe we’ll find it later

YEAH FUCK YOU ANDRIAS YOU FUCKED UP MY BBY

:’)

FOUR OF US FOUR OF US

HAHAHAHAHAA THATS WHAT THIS WAS FORRRRR

It’s a lot isnt it.

:’))

In this scene I imagine Froog was too afraid to comfort Wit because she didn’t want any of them to get the wrong idea, and Strength was just kinda forced to go along with it.

Hehehe boy I sure do love referencing True Colors!

the bells! The bells! Are calling!!! Yeah on a scale of one to ten How Much More do you Hate the Kitten’s Collar comparison now?

Though there are none visible, the sound of jingling bells reaches her ears, like a kitten's collar to alert its owner to its presence.

YES I NEEDED TO LET BARREL CHEW ANDRIAS TF OUT HE DESERVES IT

I love how it just cuts off there it’s so funny I’ve been laughing for five minutes.

#ask mal #CMTO

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metalinjector95 · 29 days

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Marcy Wu Sleepwalking, or “Sleepquesting”

#amphibia #marcy wu #oh no Marcy’s sleepwalking again #amphibia fanart

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likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 · 3 years

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4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? for people like that are the only people here

I am cheating because I wrote a lot of dialogue I liked, plus I had to suffer through writing a six person dinner scene and Charades with the Roses and Brewers so I feel like I can allot myself a few lines haha. Also I love this story a lot so I’m biased.

Moira: “Did anyone else hear the thundering footsteps of a pachyderm exiting the room?”

David, on Patrick’s sleepwalking: “It’s like conversing with a dramatic reading of Mad Libs.”

David and Patrick, and the joke I spent three days rewriting a scene to fit:

“I don’t think you’d want any decades old porn, if I had any decades old porn to give you.”

“That sounds like a terrible first draft of an O. Henry short story.” The side of David’s mouth quirks in mock disapproval, his eyes soft.

“Yes, I read the Porn of the Magi in grade seven and got an A on the book report. Such a twist ending. Never saw it coming.”

David, on Patrick as a follower: “You won’t even follow me through the Farmer’s Market.”

Marcy, on Patrick: “There’s no such thing as just you, Patrick.”

Please read people like that are the only people here with a hot cup of cocoa and Counting Crows This Desert Life as mood music.

#schitt's creek #david x patrick #schitt’s creek #fic rec #schitts creek #my fic #patrick brewer #writing

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thecomicsnexus · 4 years

Text

Out Back and Back in Beverly Hills

INFINITY INC #47 FEBRUARY 1988 BY ROY THOMAS, DANN THOMAS, VINCE ARGONDEZZI, TONY DEZUNIGA AND LIZ BERUBE

The Manhunters are extinct... but it seems like one of them made it out of the center of the Earth just in time to attack Jade and Obsidian.

SCORE: 5

I have said before that Roy Thomas stories do not age well. Especially in terms of stereotypes and sexism. Which is really ironic considering that two of the characters he helped create or develop further, ended up being gay down the line (by other writers). I am talking of course of Obsidian and Tasmanian Devil. Not Thomas fault but I do find it ironic, as there are no gay people in these stories, and they live in Los Angeles.

Anyway, a big chunk of the episode is spent in Australia, where the men get to witness a secret ritual but not the women... not even the chosen one. Not Thomas fault, of course... it’s just an interesting coincidence.

I mean... it’s not Thomas fault that he runs into these sexist plots all the time. Totally not his fault. He probably did the research and confirmed his theories.

The second part of the issue is what you see in the cover. Jade comes into Todd’s bed, all ready for action... yes... and then Todd thinks she is sleepwalking (like... would that be acceptable, Todd... really?). Jade reveals to be the Harlequin, who now wants to kill the twins.

Long story short, she kind of kills her grandfather. Who was hidden behind Todd’s bedroom window all along waiting for her. Now that is a story I would like to read about... what was Dan Richards doing behind Todd’s window? Since when? How much did he see? He was there, of course, because he suspected Marcie was going to show up, and good thing he did it, as both Todd and Jade were pretty much beaten by the time he decided to step into action (a bit late into the action, I must say). Good thing there was an experienced white male handy to save the day.

It’s a tragic story actually. Marcie became a manhunter because her grandfather suggested it. He was blaming himself that he led her to her death (but clearly not convinced enough, otherwise he wouldn’t have been spying behind the window of a closeted, almost naked, gay young man... he wouldn’t have any reasons to do that). Then she appears and shoots at him, killing him. So he managed to kill himself through his granddaughter.

Also, the moment Marcie attacked Todd I thought to myself (yeah, this is the moment Todd decides to stop dating women).

Another peculiar thing. I completely forgot about the baby kangaroos until they appeared in this issue. Now with a different origin (non-Wonder Woman related).

Again, it would be unfair to judge Thomas over what other writers decided to do upon these characters, or how a lot of things in his scripts are no longer acceptable by society... but boy... there is so much of that in those stories.

#vince argondezzi #dc comics #comics #review #1988 #modern age #infinity inc #lgbtqi #obsidian #jade #manhunter #manhunters #millennium #australia #tasmanian devil #wildcat #harlequin

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thediverismylove · 4 years

Text

every book i read in 2019

full list under the cut! faves are bolded and books read for school are starred

Hunger by Roxane Gay (4/5 stars)

Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan (4/5 stars)

Who Is Vera Kelly? by Rosalie Knecht (4/5 stars)

History of Wolves by Emily Fridlund (3.5/5 stars)

Becoming by Michelle Obama (5/5 stars)

Girl Made of Stars by Ashley Herring Blake (5/5 stars)

The Wicked King by Holly Black (3.5/5 stars)

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand (5/5 stars)

The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi (5/5 stars)

What Girls Are Made Of by Elana K. Arnold (4.5/5 stars)

I Gave Birth To All The Ghosts Here by Lyd Havens (5/5 stars)

Tyler Johnson Was Here by Jay Coles (4/5 stars)

Our Year of Maybe by Rachel Lynn Solomon (4/5 stars)

Shrill by Lindy West (5/5 stars)

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi (3.5/5 stars)

The Perfect Nanny by Leila Slimani (4/5 stars)

Ivy Aberdeen’s Letter to the World by Ashley Herring Blake (5/5 stars)

Like Water by Rebecca Podos (4/5 stars)

The Disasters by MK England (3/5 stars)

On The Come Up by Angie Thomas (5/5 stars)

The Falconer by Dana Czapnik (4/5 stars)

The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan (4/5 stars)

The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo (5/5 stars)

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker (4.5/5 stars)

The Fever King by Victoria Lee (3/5 stars)

*Symposium by Plato (4/5 stars)

The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried by Shaun David Hutchinson (4.5/5 stars)

Educated by Tara Westover (4.5/5 stars)

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite (4/5 stars)

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel (3.5/5 stars)

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero (3/5 stars)

Beloved by Toni Morrison (4/5 stars)

The Truth About Keeping Secrets by Savannah Brown (5/5 stars)

Sink by Desiree Dallagiacomo (5/5 stars)

When The Sky Fell On Splendor by Emily Henry (3/5 stars)

They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib (4/5 stars)

Damsel by Elana K. Arnold (5/5 stars)

*The Aeneid by Virgil (2/5 stars)

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid (4.5/5 stars)

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (4/5 stars)

A Queer Little History of Art by Alex Pilcher (3.5/5 stars)

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo (4.5/5 stars)

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin (3.5/5 stars)

The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls by Anissa Gray (4/5 stars)

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (2.5/5 stars)

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty (4/5 stars)

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (4/5 stars)

*The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (3.5/5 stars)

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (4.5/5 stars)

The Gypsy Moth Summer by Julia Fierro (3/5 stars)

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson (4/5 stars)

My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix (5/5 stars)

Beartown by Fredrik Backman (4/5 stars)

Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins (5/5 stars)

You Must Not Miss by Katrina Leno (4.5/5 stars)

Mermaid in Chelsea Creek by Michelle Tea (2/5 stars)

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing (4.5/5 stars)

The Devouring Gray by Christine Lynn Herman (3/5 stars)

Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong (4.5/5 stars)

Hot Dog Girl by Jennifer Dugan (5/5 stars)

There There by Tommy Orange (4/5 stars)

The French Girl by Lexie Elliott (3/5 stars)

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver (4/5 stars)

Dead Girls by Alice Bolin (3.5/5 stars)

The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James by Ashley Herring Blake (5/5 stars)

Foolish Hearts by Emma Mills (5/5 stars)

Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh (1/5 stars)

Dress Codes for Small Towns by Courtney Stevens (3.5/5 stars)

With The Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo (3/5 stars)

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett (3/5 stars)

The Gloaming by Kirsty Logan (3/5 stars)

This Darkness Mine by Mindy McGinnis (4.5/5 stars)

The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum (4/5 stars)

These Witches Don’t Burn by Isabel Sterling (2.5/5 stars)

Normal People by Sally Rooney (3.5/5 stars)

The Death of Mrs. Westaway by Ruth Ware (5/5 stars)

The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen (3.75/5 stars)

A Ladder to the Sky by John Boyne (5/5 stars)

In A Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware (3.75/5 stars)

My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry by Fredrik Backman (3/5 stars)

The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware (3/5 stars)

Women & Power by Mary Beard (4/5 stars)

The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden (4/5 stars)

The Last Time I Lied by Riley Sager (4/5 stars)

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector (4/5 stars)

Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire: A 500-Year History by Kurt Andersen (3/5 stars)

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (4.5/5 stars)

Murder, Magic, and What We Wore by Kelly Jones (2/5 stars)

The Kingdom by Jess Rothenberg (4.5/5 stars)

The Grief Keeper by Alexandra Villasante (5/5 stars)

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager (5/5 stars)

I Like to Watch by Emily Nussbaum (5/5 stars)

Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyemi (2/5 stars)

A Heart in a Body in the World by Deb Caletti (5/5 stars)

In the Neighborhood of True by Susan Kaplan Carlton (3/5 stars)

The Way You Make Me Feel by Maurene Goo (3/5 stars)

Tell Me How You Really Feel by Aminah Mae Safi (4/5 stars)

The Turn of the Key by Ruth Ware (5/5 stars)

Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion by Jia Tolentino (5/5 stars)

Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup by John Carreyrou (4/5 stars)

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up with Me by Mariko Tamaki & Rosemary Valero-O’Connell (4/5 stars)

The Whale: A Love Story by Mark Beauregard (3/5 stars)

Not the Girls You’re Looking For by Aminah Mae Safi (3/5 stars)

Very Nice by Marcy Dermansky (2/5 stars)

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (5/5 stars)

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger (2.5/5 stars)

How (Not) to Ask a Boy to Prom by SJ Goslee (4/5 stars)

We Sold our Souls by Grady Hendrix (3/5 stars)

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren (4.5/5 stars)

Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck and Fortune by Roselle Lim (4/5 stars)

*Othello by William Shakespeare (4.5/5 stars)

*Lysistrata by Aristophanes (3.5/5 stars)

How It Feels to Float by Helena Fox (4/5 stars)

The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris (2/5 stars)

The New Me by Halle Butler (4/5 stars)

*Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (2/5 stars)

Midnight at the Electric by Jodi Lynn Anderson (4/5 stars)

Sula by Toni Morrison (3.5/5 stars)

*Emma by Jane Austen (4/5 stars)

Sleepwalking by Meg Wolitzer (4.5/5 stars)

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (4/5 stars)

Carrie by Stephen King (4.5/5 stars)

*Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (4/5 stars)

Catch and Kill by Ronan Farrow (5/5 stars)

Trust Exercise by Susan Choi (4/5 stars)

*The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (4/5 stars)

*The Seagull by Anton Chekhov (4/5 stars)

Call Down The Hawk by Maggie Stiefvater (5/5 stars)

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado (5/5 stars)

*Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (3.5/5 stars)

Well Met by Jen DeLuca (2.5/5 stars)

Soft Science by Franny Choi (4/5 stars)

Conversations With Friends by Sally Rooney (5/5 stars)

To Night Owl From Dogfish by Holly Goldberg Sloan and Meg Wolitzer (3/5 stars)

*Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys (3/5 stars)

The Bookish Life of Nina Hill by Abbi Waxman (4/5 stars)

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (5/5 stars)

*Small Island by Andrea Levy (3.5/5 stars)

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (4/5 stars)

One Day in December by Josie Silver (1.5/5 stars)

The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang (5/5 stars)

Final Girls by Riley Sager (3/5 stars)

Milkman by Anna Burns (5/5 stars)

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell (4/5 stars)

Famous In A Small Town by Emma Mills (4/5 stars)

Blud by Rachel McKibbens (4/5 stars)

#personal

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pluckyredhead · 6 years

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Hi there! Fic for a Cause - awesome! I donated to the Hispanic Federation, but idk how to get the receipt to you... Email? (my real name's on it so I don't want to post it on tumblr) (could do w name redacted?) -- Prompt, feel free to modify: post-Defenders angsty porn, Foggy getting wasted and grievingly jerking off about Matt in middle of the night, someone moves his hand away and blows him. He wakes up not knowing if it was a hallucination or dream or what, but his window's open...

Oh my goodness I am SO SORRY I have been sitting on this forever but I finished it!!! Finally!!! You are a Good Soul.

(Note to RAICES donors: I am going to fill my remaining prompts sooner, WHOOPS.)

CW: grieving, death, dubcon. Basically what you see in the prompt.

There were days that Foggy almost forgot about it. Not that he ever forgot, not really, but he could get through a ten or twelve hour stretch sometimes and feel almost okay. Still like a vital organ had abruptly gone missing, or a key color had dropped out of the world - but in a way where he’d grown so used to it he’d stopped wondering why his lungs didn’t fill the way they used to, or why nothing was red anymore.

There were days that grief walked hand in hand with Foggy like an old, companionable acquaintance - no one Foggy would have gone out of his way to befriend, but so familiar it hardly seemed worth protesting that he’d never invited them in the first place.

And then there were the days where every breath he took in a world without Matt felt like the one that would shatter him.

This had been one of the bad days.

The grief was with him when he woke, sitting on his chest like a hateful cat that was desperate to be fed. It stayed there as he showered and shaved and dressed, as he rode the overcrowded subway downtown and sleepwalked his way through an endless series of meetings. He kept his office door closed and sent his calls to voicemail, and when he was late meeting Marci for lunch she was good enough not to say anything about his red-rimmed eyes or faltering conversation.

Dinner was some undifferentiated mass of microwave burrito and definitely more whiskey than was good for him. He wanted to forget, but each sip seemed to bring a memory with it instead - Matt’s eyes and his lips and his voice and his laugh. Blood on his floor. A mask cracked down the center.

It would have been bearable, Foggy thought, if he only remembered the good times. But for every graduation day or gleaming new Nelson & Murdock sign there was a fight or a lie or an ugly secret. Staring at Matt’s empty seat in the courtroom. Sitting in a hospital bed pretending he wasn’t wishing Matt was there.

It would have been easier to have loved and lost if he’d been sure Matt loved him back, even a little bit.

When the floor started heaving like a ship in a storm Foggy decided he’d better make it to bed while he still could. He left one of his good new suits crumpled in a heap on his bedroom floor and crawled into bed, window shut tight against the autumn chill.

Usually drinking helped him to pass out faster, but tonight sleep was dancing just out of reach. The bed rolling beneath him was a little too much like his old twin in the dorm, coming back wasted from a party on Frat Row or the West End. The way Matt would wriggle in between him and the wall, so skinny back then, barely out of boyhood.

“You’re slutty when you’re drunk,” Foggy told him once.

Matt sniffed, mock-offended. “I’m slutty all the time.”

They’d never put a label on what they did when they were drunk or stressed out or just bored, and it had faded out somewhere in law school. Matt never mentioned it, had seemed generally gaily unconcerned by his experimental past, and so it was Foggy who was the mug still hung up on his college roommate and some casual blowjobs nearly a decade ago.

But those nights - and mornings, and not-infrequent afternoons - with Matt laughing in bed with him, sweet and open and all his, were barricaded somewhere deep in Foggy’s heart, somewhere even finding Matt bleeding out on his floor couldn’t breach.

And - shit, just like that Foggy was horny. And wasn’t that fucked up, that thinking about sex he’d had ten years ago with his best friend - dead best friend - dead ex-best friend - could turn him on?

But no one had been like Matt. Marci had been thrillingly voracious and Larry had given more technically proficient blowjobs and what’s her name, Debbie, oh god Debbie had been rapture…

But nothing had ever shaken the memory of Matt’s mouth on him, his hair flopping into his eyes, the red curve of his mouth and the way his hands would sweep over every inch of Foggy they could reach, reading him like Braille that he wanted to learn by heart.

Foggy tried to push the thought away, but he was too tired, too sad, too drunk. And what did it matter if he did something shameful, anyway? There was no longer anyone around who cared about whether Foggy did things he was ashamed of.

He pushed his boxers out of the way and started to slowly stroke himself from half-hard up to full mast. He let himself give in and think about Matt as he did, imagining it was Matt's hand on him, Matt leaning over him, warm and laughing and alive.

"Fuck," he mouthed, a soundless plea, and shut his eyes tight. It was dark in his room, just a gleam of light from the buildings across the alley peeking in through his curtains, but he didn't want to see what he could of his own blank ceiling, his own blank walls, his own blank home. Just for tonight, drunk and maudlin, he wanted to pretend he wasn't alone.

"I missed you," Matt had said once, cheek resting on Foggy's thigh.

"I was only away for a weekend," Foggy laughed, even though he'd felt the same, trapped at his family reunion in Ohio without his best friend.

"I still missed you," Matt said, and put his mouth on Foggy again.

Now as Foggy stroked himself he remembered the softness of Matt's lips, the slick pressure of his tongue, the way his breathing went all uneven and eager. He burrowed himself deeper under the covers as a gust of wind blew cold air across the room, and pushed up into his own fist.

In his fantasy, Matt knelt between his legs, stilled Foggy's hand, and looked up at him with a face full of love and contrition. "I'm sorry, Foggy," he murmured, and Foggy must have known his voice well to be able to recreate it so perfectly in his mind.

Then Matt moved Foggy's hand away and bent over him and oh, his mouth was just as sweet as it had been ten years ago. Foggy tangled his fingers in the soft tumbleweed hair he missed so much and twitched up, up, shaking increments closer until he couldn't hold back any longer and Matt took all of him. Matt was there. Matt wouldn't leave him again.

He felt - no, he imagined - a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm so sorry."

Foggy slept.

In the morning, Foggy woke shivering, his boxers caught around his thighs and his bedcovers a clammy, tangled mess. He pulled his boxers back up, shrugged into a semi-clean hoodie that had been living on his floor, and stood up to open the window. His head pounded. How drunk had he been to leave it open last night? It was November, for cripes' sake.

Wait. Foggy blinked and tried to push a thought through his hangover. He'd closed the window last night. He remembered closing the window last night.

But the window was open.

Foggy pushed it all the way up and leaned out. There'd been a fine frost last night, and it lay like crystal on the slats of his fire escape. The landings and steps sparkled like a stairway to another world.

And there, directly beneath the window, was a clear set of footprints.

#daredevil #i write things #neurocrat

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