#i wish i had some frozen peas

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out. 

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you. 

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”? 

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

 The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?” 

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep. 

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live? 

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this. 

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing. 

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.” 

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone.  You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared. 

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little. 

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered. 

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now. 

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle  you could write home, how would you even word the letter? 

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item. 

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended. 

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. 

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…” 

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat. 

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you. 

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness. 

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it. 

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them. 

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light. 

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page. 

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted. 

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined. 

She didn’t act right away. 

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning. 

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind. 

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you? 

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!” 

Before you knew it,  you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away. 

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it. 

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords. 

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t. 

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor. 

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent. 

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears. 

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist. 

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead. 

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now? 

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand. 

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways. 

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table. 

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said. 

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.” 

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out. 

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home. 

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms. 

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments. 

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain. 

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage. 

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you? 

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down.  “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–” 

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side. 

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.” 

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.” 

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?” 

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here. 

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you. 

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now. 

Freedom was confusing as hell. 

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle. 

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink. 

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied. 

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun. 

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

#yandere #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #ren hana #ren hana x reader #afterwitch writes #/pets prologue done! dunno how many chapters this one will end up being.

[hornedqueenofhell]

Steddie Sick fic pt. 3

Pt 2

When they make it to the parking lot Steve is clearly having a time freeing himself from octopus Eddie who has decided to latch onto Steve with a single-minded determination. Gareth wishes he had a camera.

He can’t see what Harrington does to make Eddie let go but whatever it was was very effective as Eddie finally releases his grip and allows Steve to lay him down in the backseat. Dustin hands his keys back and accepts a hug from Steve before the freshman trots back over to them as Jonathan pulls into the parking lot. The boys wave to each other and then Steve is gone, taking Eddie with him.

“You think he’ll be okay?” Grant asks worriedly, they did just hand Eddie the Freak Munson, weak as a kitten, off to King Steve. The enormity of what just happened starts to hit them all and they start to panic.

“Oh fuck, oh god what if he kills him?”

“He wouldn’t do that right? The kids wouldn’t have called him if he would, right?!”

A sharp whistle cuts them off and they all turn to Lucas who pulls his fingers from his mouth, he gives them all a disappointed look, his hands settling on his hips like a small, angry soccer mom. “Steve is getting certified as an EMT. He’ll keep Eddie safe.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Gareth explodes, he was ready to tear his hair out worried about his friend.

“Steve doesn’t know that we know.” Mike says as he hands Dustin his backpack, Will is already off to go talk to his brother.

“Huh?” The band collectively replies.

“He’s scared he’ll fail. Doesn’t want to tell anyone until he’s sworn in, like there’s any chance he won’t be top of his class. He doesn’t know that we all know already, we’re planning a big party for him once he graduates. Of course Dustin has all the subtlety of a brick to the face so how Steve hasn’t figured out that he knows yet is the real surprise.” Lucas explains, giving Dustin some major side eye.

“Hey!”

Well that was kinda reassuring, didn’t people who did medical stuff have to take a vow to not hurt people or something like that?

“What’s going to happen when Eddie wakes up?” Oh boy.

~O~

Munson was scary light as Steve got him through the front door and onto the couch. He’d mumbled a few things into Steve’s neck when he got jostled as Steve kicked the front door closed behind them but settled down again shortly after.

“What was that?” He asked as he pushed Munson’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Had… dream…like this.” He mumbles and yeah Steve needs to get his fever down. He walks into the kitchen and finds a frozen bag of peas he used to use for sports injuries and after wrapping it up with a towel from the stove he plops the bag on Munson's face.

"Blindfolding me 'lready, sssso bold."

“You really never shut up do you?” He rests one arm on the couch arm, chin propped on the other with a slight smirk. He leans over Eddie and watches as the older boy drags the bag of peas to his chest to hold against his overheated core and blinks up at him with foggy, wet bambi eyes.

“C’n think… a feww ‘ays.” Munson tries to give him a flirty look back but his fever makes him uncoordinated so it looks more like his face just scrunches up uncomfortably. It makes Steve chuckle softly and Eddie lights up in response.

“Pretty… pretty boy.” He tries to reach up but Steve catches his hand and gently places it back on the pea ice pack. Munson was smart, pressing his wrists against it to help cool him down. 

“I know I’m gorgeous Munson but let’s get you feeling better before you try to kiss me okay?”

“Promise?” Well, Steve feels like he should be surprised but considering Eddie has been basically spilling his sexuality in his fevered state, he’s just going to wait it out and see if Eddie remembers any of this later. And if he doesn’t then he will keep the older boy’s secret.

“We can talk about it when your fever breaks. Do you think you could keep some food down for me or would you rather take some Nyquil and sleep?”

Eddie looks queasy at just the mention of food so it’s not a surprise when he asks for sleep. Steve stands and goes to dig through his medicine cabinet, he knows he stocked up when Dustin had a cold from all the stress after Starcourt. After filling up the little cup with the medicine he fills another glass with some gatorade mixed with ice for him to wash it down.

Eddie’s breathing is still a little shallow when he returns, but hopefully the medicine will help with the fever breaking. He is able to haul Eddie up enough to get him to drink the medicine but struggles with getting him to sip the juice. Eventually Eddie places his hand over Steve’s to steady him so he’s not feeling waterboarded. 

“Spose it’ss too late t’ ask, you di’n’t poison me right?”

Steve sets the glass aside since it seems like Eddie is done drinking. “No Munson, I’m not that jealous of you stealing my kids yet.”

“Nooo, not jel’uss. Kids luv you.” His slurring started to get worse as the meds kicked in.

“We can debate that in the morning, for now let’s get you in a bed.” He takes the melty bag of peas and sets them aside before scooping Eddie up again. Getting up the stairs leaves Steve huffing a bit, Eddie is light but he isn’t weightless. He says as such and gets a bite to the shoulder for his trouble.

“...u callin’ me fat?” He pouts and weakly tries to squirm away.

“No Eddie you’re the prettiest princess at the ball I assure you. I will search the whole kingdom to find out who could ever fit into your scuffed up Docs.” Steve snorts but Eddie looks pleased as punch at Steve’s proclamation.

“Damn straight.” Eddie sighs tiredly, his head lolling against Steve’s shoulder. “Don’ wanna wake up.”

“Wake up from what Eddie?” He asks as he lays Eddie in the guest bed, he kneels down to tug off Eddie’s boots and set them aside. Talking to Eddie is like conversing with a sleep talker at this point.

“Dream, you bein’ niccce.”

“What would you like me to say in this dream of yours then? Before you wake up.” He asks, looking up at Eddie from where he’s kneeling in front or the other, hands gripping his shins to keep his balance. He’s not expecting Eddie to reach out and touch his cheek with icy fingers.

“Ssssuch a crussh on you…school.” 

Steve’s cheeks explode with color at that admission and he quickly stands up to lay Eddie down and tuck him in. Eddie is out as soon as he hits the pillow. Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he watches Eddie Munson curl around his pillow in his sleep and let out a loud snore.

Shaking his head he leaves the door cracked open and heads back downstairs to clean up and watch some tv before bed.

Pt 4

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #stranger things unnamed freak #corroded coffin #sickfic #emt!steve #steddiefic chronicles

[kitashousewife]

your company christmas party is just as boring as you thought it would be. old christmas music, bland food, a very uneventful gift exchange, and now for the worst part.

small talk.

you’ve been staring at the ice left in the bottom of your plastic cup for what feels like an hour, while some of your co-workers drone on about different work related topics. they held the party after work, so you’re still in business casual when really all you want right now is to be in some sweats on the couch.

“man, this party sucks,” kuroo pulls up a folding chair next to you, slapping the brand new desk name tag he got during the gift exchange next to your cup.

“why didn’t you help plan it?” your question comes out more desperate than you had intended, hoping maybe next year he’ll take this on to save everyone from boredom.

“i wasn’t asked,” he takes a sip of watered-down lemonade. “why didn’t you?”

“didn’t have the time,” you sigh. kuroo nods, understanding far too well. the two of you have worked together for a few months now, more recently on a report that was presented earlier today. he’s definitely become your favorite co worker.

for a lot of reasons.

“did you try the cake?” kuroo points to the food table, but you shake your head.

“everything i’ve tasted tonight has been so bad, i’m scared to try anything else.”

kuroo snorts. you give him a smile, and a silence washes over the two of you for a few moments. your co workers conversation at the table has picked up, louder and more involved than before.

“hey,” kuroo whispers, leaning close to your ear. “think we can sneak out of here without getting caught?”

you think for a second. your boss was adamant that everyone stay tonight, and you just know if anyone sees the two of you leave together that people will talk.

“you go first, i’ll meet you outside. just say you’re headed to the bathroom. i’ll grab my things,” you whisper back, and kuroo smiles. he clears his throat, stands up, and heads for the door. you give him a few minutes before making your own exit, only getting stopped once on the way.

“good, i thought you bailed on me,” kuroo smirks from outside the office door, back against the street light. he’s swinging his keys on his finger, clearly excited to leave.

“of course not. just had to wait for my chance to slip out.”

“well, i’m starving. that food was disgusting, and i need a drink. care to join?”

the warmth of your cheeks is a stark contrast to the frozen night air. you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this moment, wishing it would come.

“yeah, i would. you lead the way,” you smile, but kuroo shakes his head. he slides off his pea coat before handing it to you.

“put this on first,” he grins when you’re finally engulfed in the wool, gesturing his hand down the street.

you feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne that engulfs you, and the fact that kuroo tetsuro is now grabbing you by the hand to lead you around downtown. once in the restaurant and seated, you finally feel yourself slipping back to reality.

“next year, i’m not going to that shit,” kuroo looks over the menu for a moment before laughing. “do you think they picked the food as a punishment?”

you raise an eyebrow. “the food? what about the music? seriously, what century are we in?”

kuroo smirks. “c’mon, the gift exchange wasn’t bad. what did you get?”

you roll your eyes. “nothing, just something small.”

“tell me!”

you sip your water, shaking your head. “tetsuro, it’s nothing-“

“if it’s nothing, then tell me.” his grin is almost teasing. you sigh, and pull a mug out from your purse, printed with your name.

spelled incorrectly.

“amazing,” he laughs, examining the mug. “what if i told you i got it for you?”

you about spit out your drink. “then next year, i’d watch out. i’ll make sure to get your name.”

he raises an eyebrow. “next year? no, next year you and i are bowing the party and coming straight here,”

your heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t notice.

“sounds like a plan.”

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #kuroo x reader drabble #kuroo tetsuro #tetsuro kuroo #hq fluff #hq drabble #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader

[artiststarme]

Burning Down The House

Well, this turned out to be a little angstier than I anticipated but I hope you guys like it! I'm thinking there will probably be a part 2, maybe a part 3 as well. As always, please leave your thoughts in the comments and if you have any title ideas, send them my way!

~*~*~*~

Eddie was used to people hating him. He was long accustomed to the insults, points, and glares that came from being different in a small town. As sad as it was, it was a constant in Eddie’s life. No matter what, he could always count on people to despise him for being himself. It didn’t matter if he was a scared little kid moving in with his uncle to escape his father’s abuse or if he was a grown man trying to move on after a traumatizing experience, the people of Hawkins were never going to show him any respect.

Every time he left his house after the Spring Break from hell and his subsequent recovery period in the hospital, the fellow people of Hawkins made sure to show him how much they didn’t want him there. Andy and his other jockey goons would corner him to give him flurries of punches that would leave his ears ringing for days. Principal Higgins had gifted him his high school diploma through the mail on the condition that ‘he just stay away’. Even the little old ladies that were once enamored by his politeness glared at him now on the street. 

But Eddie could handle it, he’d long given up on winning everyone over. Years ago, he’d built his armor into impenetrable walls of steel that hadn’t failed him yet. He’d grown his hair out into a dark curtain to use as a shroud, he’d wrestled into a battle jacket, and covered his vulnerabilities with patches for metal bands. The people of Hawkins couldn’t get to him now. 

They could get to Wayne though, and they did. Eddie came home one too many times to Wayne scrubbing spray paint off the sides of the trailer, arthritic fingers cramping as he tried to spare Eddie’s feelings from the harsh words scrawled in paint. He’d see Wayne’s old friends avoiding him downtown, not wanting to associate with the guy related to a murderer. But Eddie’s breaking point was when he stumbled upon Steve helping Wayne into the trailer one day. 

Steve wasn’t supposed to come over that day so Eddie had taken a nap instead. But when he heard loud voices coming from the kitchen, Eddie climbed out of bed to investigate. What he saw though was something he wished he’d never seen. Steve was holding one of Wayne’s arms, guiding him to the couch in the living room while Wayne held a bag of frozen peas against his eye. His face was bruised and he was limping as if his body was battered.

“What the fuck? What’s going on? Uncle Wayne, are you okay?” Eddie asked them frantically. Uncle Wayne just eased back onto the couch with one hand on his ribs and the other still holding the frozen peas. 

“I’m alright, kid. It ain’t nothing I can’t handle,” Wayne comforted him. 

“‘Nothing you can’t handle?’ What the fuck was it that you had to handle, Uncle Wayne?” Eddie desperately asked again. 

“Look Eds-”

“I caught some of the old basketball team beating on him. I managed to chase them off but not before they got in a few punches. Nothing too serious though, I’m almost positive he just has a shiner and some bruised ribs. No concussion,” Steve assured him. 

“You didn’t have to tell him that. Snitches get stitches, Harrington,” Wayne hissed at him.

Eddie couldn’t get over the fact that Wayne had gotten hurt at all. Hawkins was his home, Wayne had lived there his entire life and now the community that he’d grown up with was turning on him? Just because Eddie was accused of some murders that he didn’t even commit? It was such… bullshit. 

“Uncle Wayne, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault. You don’t deserve this, I should- I’m just so sorry.” Eddie felt tears build up in his eyes. There was no one less deserving of a beating than Wayne. He was the saint that took Eddie in when no one else wanted him so for him to take the brunt of Eddie’s actions, it made him feel terrible. 

“Boy, this ain’t yer fault. You didn’t do nothing and you don’t deserve this either. I’m fine, everything’s gonna be alright. We just gotta wait for this to blow over,” Wayne told him calmly. He could tell that Eddie was on the verge of a panic attack but he knew that words always calmed him down. 

Steve just shook his head at them both and handed Wayne some more ice. “I don’t think this is going to blow over. I heard some of my neighbors are trying to get the cops to arrest Eddie again even though we already got his name cleared. And I guess some of the guys on the basketball team with Lucas are trying to scare you guys off. It might be time for you guys to move somewhere else.”

Eddie just looked at him blankly. “And go where? With what money? We can’t afford to leave.”

Wayne hummed, “Nah, I don’t want to leave here. Hawkins is home whether they like us here or not. We’re staying until we can’t no more.”

Steve and Eddie made eye contact over Wayne’s head and shared a heavy look. That day was approaching faster than anyone was comfortable with. The town had always hated Eddie but Wayne now too? Things were escalating and it would only be a matter of time before the choice was taken from them. 

Later that night, Eddie was wrapped like an octopus around Steve in his bedroom when he heard glass breaking. His head shot up in tandem with Steve’s and they both hurried to get out of bed. Steve grabbed his nail studded bat that he’d taken to storing next to the bed and made his way down the hallway. They didn’t see an intruder but what they found was so much worse. 

The entire kitchen was engulfed in flames. The fire was creeping along the walls of the living room and the charring was reminiscent of that of the Upside Down. Thick, black smoke threatened to suffocate anyone that tried to combat it.

“Fuck Eddie, get Wayne! Get as much shit as you can and get out!” Steve yelled at him as he dropped the bat and hurried to fill a mixing bowl with water. “Eddie, go!”

Eddie spun around and bolted to Wayne’s room. His uncle was sleeping soundly on the bed, the bruising along his face darkened further with the light of the fire illuminating it. 

“Wayne! Get up, the trailer is on fire!” He shook his uncle’s shoulders until his eyes squinted open. “Uncle Wayne, the house is on fire, we have to go!”

They made it outside before any real damage could be done. Wayne and Eddie were fine, no burns or smoke inhalation. Steve, the glorious and idiotic bastard that he was, contained the fire to the kitchen until the fire department got there and refused to leave the trailer until he’d secured Wayne’s favorite Garfield coffee mug. Wayne couldn’t even yell at him when he showed him, just pulled him into a long hug and nestled the mug close to his chest. 

It seemed that their prior conversation had tempted the universe because they couldn’t stay in Hawkins after that. Even with little damage occurring to the bedrooms, the fire damage to the kitchen and living room areas made the trailer uninhabitable. 

After packing what they could into the cars, they made their way to the Harrington’s house to spend the night. Eddie couldn’t stop shaking during the drive and long after Steve had pulled him into his own bedroom. 

“Eds, it’s okay. Everything is fine, we all got out safe and Wayne got to keep his favorite mugs and caps. Win-win, everything will be okay.”

Eddie just looked at him in shock. “Everything is not okay, Steve! Someone tried to murder us in our sleep and then ruined our trailer by setting it on fire. That’s not okay! And now we have to find a new place to live and after this, it’s definitely not going to be in Hawkins which means I’ll have to leave you and the kids. Nothing about this is okay!”

Steve pulled Eddie into his arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Eddie, we’ll find a new place for you guys and we’ll make sure you’re safe. And you don’t need to worry about me. I love you so I’m going to follow you wherever you go.”

“What about Wayne?”

“He’s probably going to throw more of a fit if I don’t go. I’ve heard him telling you to buy me a ring, I don’t think he’ll let you leave me here if you tried,” Steve chuckled. 

That was true, Wayne had been threatening to propose on his behalf if he didn’t get a move on even though gay marriage wasn’t legal yet in the first place. Regardless, Steve wasn’t getting away from the Munsons anytime soon. 

Steve brushed his hair off his face as he thought and whispered, “get some sleep, Eds. We’ll worry about it in the morning. You’re safe here, I got you.”

And with that, Eddie fell asleep feeling safer and more secure than he had in months, maybe ever. Nothing was alright right now but they would be eventually. Especially if he had Wayne and Steve to count on, which he would for a long time coming.

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#they all end up moving somewhere and starting life over outside of Hawkins #Steve doesn't tell the Party he's leaving too just kind of sneaks off while they're saying goodbye to Eddie and never comes back #Robin hunts him down and almost gives him another concussion #stranger things #steddie #angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #uncle wayne #wayne munson

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

You and Lewis make the most of your time together before he returns to America to do his best to free himself to spend his future at your side.

Warnings: Angst, Class Divide, Discussion of Divorce, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: I am a lying liar who lies - there are now six parts because Lewis and his darling do not know how to leave me alone. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5393

--------------------------

Returning home shortly before noon the next day, you could not help the fond shake of your head to see Lewis’s borrowed car already parked at the curb outside your flat building. The lovely, impatient man was early, of course. Early enough to see you tired, sweaty, and underdressed once again. You wanted to be annoyed with him, yet you could not find it within yourself to summon any emotion other than amused affection. Stepping into the building, you were in the process of fishing your keys from your handbag when a stunningly familiar voice carrying through the door halted your movements.

“And so that was your plan all along?”

Johnny. Your twin brother, physically absent from your life, existing only in intermittent letters, for years. Much longer than the just war, with your mutual need for employment to support your father had driven you both from home in 1934. A lot was made of some sort of intuition that was supposed to exist between twins, that as they had shared a womb, they surely shared a lot more, but his return home today was a complete shock that had you frozen in place in the hall. The next words out of his mouth did nothing to encourage you to proceed inside.

“You’ve permitted a married man to seduce your daughter, your sweet pea.” He spat, an unfamiliar ugliness in his tone. The comment was certainly directed at your father, but Lewis was undoubtedly in the room, and he confirmed your supposition as he spoke up.

“I would ask you not to insult your sister’s honor, it has been, and remains, utterly unimpeachable.”

“Bloody hell you sure speak like one of them…”

“Johnathon you will mind your tongue. I understand that you have lived differently for quite some time now, but I will not tolerate that sort of language or disrespect in this home.”

Your eyes widened as you heard your father raise his voice, something that happened so infrequently that you could count the sum total of such occasions on the fingers of your own two hands.

“I am quite satisfied,” Your father continued, “with the correspondence between Captain Nixon and his solicitor. I find his intentions for your sister, my daughter, to be completely honourable and I thoroughly encourage them. She has never been happier, Johnny, and if you cannot manage to smile for her when she comes through that door any moment now then you’d better go for a walk until you find a way to.”

Tensing at the thought of your brother angrily storming out of the flat, and right into you, you crept backwards and down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the higher floors, obscuring yourself behind the landing to wait. To see if he was indeed so against the idea of you being happy with Lewis that he would rob you of a reunion with him then. You waited nearly five minutes, which felt like an eternity, until you heard Mrs. Stokes and her herd of children leaving their flat a few stories up, tromping down the staircase towards your hiding place. Johnny had remained inside, there had been no further shouting – at least none that you could hear at this distance.

Taking a fortifying breath, you pulled your keys from your handbag and headed into the apartment, smiling softly as your father and Lewis were chatting in the sitting room. “Good afternoon you two.”

“Well look at you, sis.” Johnny spoke from the doorway to the kitchen, and it was not hard to present a face of shock, for in place of a gangly sixteen-year-old boy, there was a rugged twenty-five-year-old man standing there, grinning at you.

“Johnny!?” You gasped, dropping your handbag as you rushed forward to hug him, squealing as he hauled you off your feet, his time with the 78th Infantry having made him unspeakably strong.

“Blimey you really have gone yellow haven’t you.” He teased and you smacked him affectionately as he set you back on the ground gently. “I’ve heard it goes away after a few months, don’t get your you-know-what’s in a twist.”

“Can we please stop talking about my underclothes and talk about when you got home?” You glanced at Lewis, feeling rather embarrassed to have your knickers discussed in front of him, but he was smiling warmly, unfazed.

“This morning on the first train from London. I gather we’re going out for dinner later?”

“Absolutely, I am looking forward to taking all three of you out together.” Lewis nodded firmly and you smiled at him fondly, vaguely aware of your brother’s scrutinizing gaze upon your face in your periphery.

“We were going to go out for the afternoon, but you just got back and–”

“Go on sis, I hear he’s only in town a few days and you’ll have to put up with me for a lot longer than that. Go have fun, I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hugging him tightly once more, you then kissed Lewis’s cheek quickly before going to get changed into something suitable for a drive and a picnic before the pair of you made your way out to the car, leaving your brother and father to catch up.

“You two look nothing alike you know, I’d never have guessed that you were twins…” Lewis teased as he opened the car door for you.

“That’s what fraternal means – not identical.” You shook your head fondly, hesitating a moment, an apology for your brother’s behaviour dangling on the tip of your tongue.

“Well either way, he loves you very much and that’s all I could ask for on your behalf.” He nodded, eyes widening as you grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, your heart swelling almost painfully inside your ribcage.

His hands planted on your hips, holding tightly but letting you direct the kiss, lips parting compliantly at the tentative swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip. Losing your nerve, particularly in full view of the front window of the flat, you stopped short of sliding your tongue to his, but still felt a rush of pride tingle through you at the ruddy hue to his cheeks as you pulled back from his mouth.

“I’m not entirely certain what I did to earn that but…you’re welcome.” He grinned cockily and your jaw dropped at his impertinence before you laughed brightly, shaking your head as you slid into the car, happy to leave him wondering.

Glancing at the backseat, you raised an eyebrow curiously at the picnic basket and blankets there, wondering just what Lewis had planned for the afternoon.

“No peeking.” He smirked, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you close across the bench seat once he’d started the car, pulling his hand back to shift the car into gear.

“Might I know where we are going?” You asked curiously, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at him playfully as he headed down the lane.

“I thought I might show you where I lived while I was in England – well not the actual house, we’ve given it back to the Wills family, but the town.”

“I’d like that very much.” You nodded firmly, turning to look out the windshield as he headed out on the road out of town.

“We will have to drive past Lydiard, unless you’d like me to take the long way?” He glanced at you, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s alright, I suppose I will eventually pass it at some point, I’d much rather it be with you.”

His hand squeezed your knee affectionately, fingers lingering on your bare skin when he found no interfering stockings until he was forced to employ it again in changing gears as he sped up as you left Swindon behind. You had somewhat bemoaned the difficulty related to finding stockings lately, but as his fingertips idly caressed the side of your knee, suddenly you really didn’t mind very much at all.

As the pair of you drove past the tree-lined drive leading towards Lydiard House, you swallowed to see a series of guards posted at the road, finding the sight altogether unwelcoming and eliminating any last bit of nostalgia you may have felt for the place you had called home for a decade.

“I would bet it feels an awful lot like a prison for the St Johns and the rest of the staff, too.” Lewis muttered and you nodded quickly.

“I have to say I certainly do not miss working fifteen hours a day. Free time in the evenings, it’s been quite a revelation.”

Lewis grinned at you softly, squeezing his hand that had promptly returned to your knee. “I told you that you were much better suited to this life.”

“You did, yes. Thank you.” You pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, paying closer attention to your surroundings as you neared Aldbourne, a town you’d rarely had occasion to visit previously.

Lewis took you on a small tour, pointing out the Nissen huts, or Quonsets as he called them, where the enlisted men had stayed before swinging by Littlecote House where he had been billeted. He regaled you with funny stories from training and that one time his closest friend Dick had been forced to upend his mattress to get him out of bed after a very intense night of celebration. Circling back to the centre of the village, he parked in front of a small bakery, opposite the village green.

“We just need to pick up our dessert and then we’ll be ready for lunch?”

You nodded warmly, sliding out of the car with him as he led you into the shop. It smelled positively divine inside, all sorts of sweets in the display cases.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Nixon?” Lewis smiled and the girl behind the counter looked up with wide eyes.

“Leftenant! We didn’t think we’d see any of you boys back here again.” She smiled up at him brightly, fairly batting her eyelashes at him.

“Just wanted to be sure my girl had a chance to try the best lardy cake in all of England.” He smiled smoothly, looking to you warmly.

Swallowing tightly, you could not help but notice the way the girl’s face fell as he tugged you closer.

“Anything you’d think your father and brother would like as a souvenir of our travels?”

Normally you would have refused, been stubborn and reticent in the face of his generosity, but there was something about the way the girl was throwing daggers at you as she retrieved a box with his name on it from under the counter that emboldened you.

“Perhaps a few imperial cookies?” You looked up at him hopefully and he rewarded you with a quick peck to the cheek.

“A dozen of the imperial cookies as well please.”

“Of course, leftentant.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the impulse to correct her sharply as you felt rather territorial about that title – more precisely that pronunciation of that title. You waited quietly as she packed a box of the cookies and Lewis paid the total. You were more than a little relieved to say your goodbyes and leave the shop, baked goods in hand, and retrieve the picnic supplies from the car.

“Can I help you carry something?”

Lewis paused a moment before passing you the blankets, taking the boxes from the bakery and the rather heavy looking basket himself.

“You know I packed artillery shells for the past seven months, I am not helpless.” You teased as you followed him across the street onto the village green.

“Just because you can, darling, doesn’t mean you are expected to.” He replied with a smirk, waiting for you to unfurl the blankets on the ground before the pair of you settled in.

“So long as you remember that I am not helpless, Lewis.” You replied firmly, watching him unearth several packets of sandwiches, some fruit, and a bottle of lemonade from the basket along with glasses to drink from.

“I assure you I would never dream of considering you helpless. After all you rescued a drowning dog from a lake while wearing a full-length dress.” He grinned, popping the seal on the bottle to fill you a glass. “Climbed the highlands to procure me heather and grouse feathers, poured TNT and lifted artillery shells, served a certain honorable without murdering her for her deplorable behavior…” His tone had started off teasing but as he set the glass in your outstretched hand his face grew serious. “No darling, if anything I really quite admire you.”

Ducking your head shyly you took a sip of the tart liquid, enjoying the way it sparkled on your tongue. The pair of you picnicked happily in the sunshine, demolishing most of the sandwiches and fruit before Lewis unboxed the cake.

“The best in England, you say?” You grinned, peering at it curiously.

“Well, all of us in the 506th would certainly say that, but I wonder what a real Englishwoman will say.” He smirked, using a knife from the picnic basket to cut a slice, holding it out for you to take a bite.

Looking to his expectant face before glancing back down at the outstretched piece of cake, you leaned in to take a bite, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you sat up to chew thoughtfully. As the flavour of it spread across your tongue, you began to nod happily.

“Oh wow, that’s probably the best I’ve ever eaten as well.” You agreed once you swallowed your mouthful.

Lewis beamed happily before taking the next bite from the piece still in his grasp, leaning back onto his forearm lazily as you prepped another slice for yourself, trying not to spend too long drinking in the length of his body in such an enticing pose. Looking around the village square instead, you smiled.

“It’s so peaceful now, I can only imagine the havoc you all wreaked.” You laughed softly and he chuckled.

“Havoc is an excellent choice of word, darling…”

After you’d both eaten your fill, you carefully packed up the remnants into the basket, setting the bakery boxes aside to take home for your father and Johnny to have a go at them. The shadows began to creep across the grass and a glance at your utilitarian wristwatch told you it was nearly four-thirty. Lewis suddenly sat up, drawing your gaze as he fidgeted slightly before shifting closer to you.

“Darling I…know I can’t make as much of a fuss about this as I’d like to but… We’ve been talking an awful lot about the future and what it might look like, and it would be a mistake if I didn’t make it official. Or as official as I am able, at this point.”

You held your breath, focusing intently as you did your best to hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a promise of my intention to marry you?” He produced a velvet box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a ring very much to your taste, not too many stones, in the metal of your choice, showing just how closely he had been paying attention to your preferences yesterday.

“Lewis…” You exhaled in awe and looked to him, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes…I of course…” You smiled, finding your eyes suddenly blurred by tears as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

“I thought…you’d maybe want to wear it on your right hand and then…when I get the divorce finalized, I’ll write you right away and then you can put it on your left, like a proper engagement ring.” He murmured against your cheek, and you smiled so broadly it made your jaw ache.

“I love you so very much, Lewis Nixon.” You shifted back to kiss him warmly, sighing against his lips as his fingers slid up your neck to cup your jaw.

“I love you too, darling.” He replied once you’d parted for breath, and he plucked the ring from its box to slide it onto the fourth finger of your right hand. “This is only the beginning.”

If only you’d known how seriously Lewis would take that statement. The baked goods immediately followed by a lavish dinner went a long way to easing your brother’s concerns and then all too soon Lewis had to return to France for his boat home. It was exceedingly difficult to see him go, though it was a relief to know you that, at least this time, you were not sending him off to combat.

It was not long after his departure, however, that your father began to receive regular wire transfers to cover rent and other necessities. Your father feigned innocence, though you did not believe him for one moment, as Lewis would not have known the necessary sum otherwise. You took to a letter to chastise Lewis, albeit lovingly.

While his subsequent responses acknowledged your wishes, they also cleverly shifted the focus to seeking your approval of potential homes and venues for your inevitable nuptials. It was late January of 1946 when a large trunk arrived by courier when you finally received the news you had been long awaiting. Johnny was at work, your father at the pub. You were enjoying a rare moment at home alone after finishing work for the day, having kept a small roster of clients to accumulate pocket money to spend on previously frivolous things like skin care and hair cuts.

Signing the receipt slip, you had the delivery man set it in the living room before kneeling to open it, gasping at the neatly folded piles of clothing contained within. Laying atop were two envelopes, one letter-sized and another legal-sized. You quickly retrieved the letter, assuming it would contain the most explanation, and sliced it open with your trusty butter knife.

It was fortunate that you were the only one at home, for the childish squeal you let out as you fell onto the sofa would have been a mortifying thing for anyone else to witness. Fumbling slightly, fingers made clumsy with glee, you took the ring from your right hand and quickly slid it onto your left where it truly belonged, holding it up to admire it proudly. Glancing at the watch on the same wrist, you sat up, realizing you still had time to send your reply and grabbed your handbag and overcoat, dashing out the door and down the lane to the post office.

It took a bit of explanation from the clerk, it being your first telegram after all, but you managed to condense your words to keep the entire process affordable.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity, with Lewis’s reply arriving by cable the next day that he would be in London mid-February. You employed the services of a local seamstress, as ordered, to have your trousseau properly fitted. Lewis proved yet again that he had paid attention, having sent a few dresses and ensembles in ivory and white to choose from – and mercifully nothing so ostentatious as a full wedding gown. You were able to give ample notice to your clients and you’d already procured a passport – thankfully you’d started that process in September of the previous year.  Using your accumulated ration coupons, you purchased a swimming costume and an irresistibly fine nightgown for your wedding night.

It felt like no time at all before the three of you were stepping into the suite at the Ritz that Lewis had reserved for you to get ready for your wedding that evening, and the rest of your family to stay the night before returning to Swindon on the morning train while the pair of you headed out on your honeymoon. You were startled to find a young woman waiting for you there.

“Good afternoon miss, sirs. My name is Sara. Mr. Nixon has sent me to assist you in getting ready. He asked me to give you this before you could protest.” She held out an envelope of telltale Ritz stationery and you took it with a fond sigh, following her into the room where the bellhop deposited your trunk.

Huffing in bemused annoyance, you quickly turned your attention back to Sara, working with her to hang up your outfit for the impending ceremony before looking over the selection of ‘decorations.’ Lewis had sent several sets of jewelry for you to choose from and after some deliberation you eventually settled on one before submitting yourself to Sara’s talents as she saw to your hair. Mercifully, all rumours had proven true, and the yellow hue had vanished from your skin and hair, returning you to your normal appearance. Your diligent use of skin care had also gone a long way to soften the callouses of your work-roughened hands and by the time Sara was through with you, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Stepping out to where Johnny and your father were waiting in their new suits, purchased with a hoarding of ration coupons and Johnny’s excellent wages from his new post at the Great Western Railway, the three of you gawked openly at one another.

“Well, we certainly clean up nice, aye?” Your father grinned.

“You look pretty as a picture, sis.” Johnny grinned and pulled you in for a hug just as Sara hurried out with a small bouquet of white roses.

“Don’t forget these, miss. Your car to the embassy is waiting downstairs.”

You took it carefully and smiled to her. “Thank you so very much for your assistance, Sara, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure miss.” She blushed prettily, bowing her head shyly. “I’ll see to it that your trunk is moved to Mr. Nixon’s suite with the rest of your luggage. Congratulations.”

You parted with your thanks before heading downstairs, trying not to roll your eyes when you found the waiting car was a Rolls Royce. You really might have to murder him at the end of that aisle. Climbing in carefully, the three of you drove to number one Grosvenor Square, the address of the American Embassy. It had been Lewis’s idea of course, and only possible given that he personally knew the ambassador Mr. Harriman.

It was his hope that it would ease your immigration to the United States, to be technically married on American soil, while still being able to have Johnny and your father in attendance. The building was rather imposing as you climbed out of the car, thanking the driver as he held the door, not at all what you would have imagined for your wedding. Then again, you’d never imagined marrying an American divorcé set to inherit a great fortune one day, either.

Surrendering your coats to one of the ambassadorial staff, you took a moment to compose yourself as Johnny stepped into the reception room, nodding to your father when you were ready before the doors were opened and you made slow progress down the aisle, allowing for the extra time it took him to manipulate his prosthetic leg with each step. You were pleased Lewis had chosen a smaller room, there were not that many people in attendance, really just the ambassador and his wife, your small family, and Lewis and yourself. But as you walked down the short aisle towards the man waiting for you in black tie with the officiant at his side you were certain nothing had ever been more perfect in your entire life.

Your father shook Lewis’s hand before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, ambling over to his chair as Lewis took your arm in turn. He leaned in to whisper warmly in your ear.

“You look incredible, darling.”

Swallowing tightly, you whispered back. “You are lucky there are too many witnesses to commit manslaughter here.”

He barely contained his laughter.

The ceremony was sweet and simple. The signing of the licence took a little extra time as you also completed your immigration application at the same time, with his excellency Mr. Harriman signing as a sponsor – a breathtaking honour which you were quite certain you would never be able to fully process. Lewis had also clearly bought the wedding bands at the same time as the engagement ring as they all looked quite smart next to one another once placed on your respective fingers.

The intensity of Lewis’s eyes on yours as the officiant pronounced you man and wife had you feeling rather apprehensive of the kiss he was about the lay on you, a kiss you were admittedly no less desperate for after nearly six months, but reticent to share in front of an audience. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it was a soft and utterly appropriate kiss that only left you wanting more as the small group of attendees applauded your finally-accomplished-union.

Bestowing the bouquet upon the ambassador’s wife insistently, in gratitude, you finally allowed Lewis to pull you down to the separate car waiting to take the pair of you back to the hotel where the four of you would celebrate in a private dining room. The driver had barely closed the door before Lewis was pulling you close, at last delivering the thorough conquering of your mouth you had been yearning for as you clung to his coat, not wanting to ruin his styled hair.

“I have missed you far too much, darling.” He whispered against your lips as the driver pulled the car into traffic. “How will I ever repay your patience with me?”

“Do not remind me of balances and things owing, Lewis, I’m in a good mood.” You teased fondly. “You will meet my rage tomorrow when we’re stuck on a boat together for days on end. Tonight is for celebration only.”

He responded with a lopsided grin as his gaze traversed your face, expression fading slowly to one of seriousness before he kissed you fiercely once more, hands sliding dangerously close to your carefully pinned hair. You pulled back quickly with a pout.

“You can ruin that later.” You panted a little and he pressed his face against the crook of your shoulder.

“I will ruin more than your hair later.” He spoke, breath skating along your skin, making you shudder for many reasons. “Darling, are you certain this is not your murder plot unfurling right before my eyes?” He lifted his eyes to look up at you with a pained expression, your fingers reaching out to cup his cheek sympathetically as the car pulled up outside the hotel.

Summoning the strength to compose yourselves as the driver came around to open the door, you stepped out carefully and took Lewis��s arm to head inside, rather enjoying the way people glanced at the pair of you approvingly.

A small feast of beef wellington, Victoria sponge, and tea with milk and sugar – among other delights – awaited you all back at the Ritz. Lewis was barely able to keep his hands from ensnaring yours, his knee from pressing against your thigh, from feeding you bites of food proudly. He did an amiable job of getting to know Johnny better this time despite his distraction, the previous adversarial tension having evaporated from your brother with the arrival of the divorce decree several weeks ago. Lewis took great interest in Johnny’s employment and the topic of conversation devolved into a rather intense debate about railways…even as Lewis began to pull the hem of your dress higher beneath the tablecloth with tantalizingly bold fingertips. Eventually your father dragged a very stuffed and well-liquored Johnny off to bed, freeing the two of you from the obligation of entertaining them any longer at which point Lewis lifted your left hand to press a kiss to the rings on your finger.

“Well, Mrs. Nixon.”

You smiled shyly, but delightedly, to hear your new title from his lips. “Well, Mr. Nixon.”

“Fait accompli. At last.”

Nodding warmly, you leaned in to kiss him gently, giggling as he tasted of icing sugar and strawberry jam from his last bite of cake. “We should let them in here to clean up.”

“Are you propositioning me, Mrs. Nixon?” He teased as he stood, sliding his arm around your waist as you stood in turn.

“No!” You squeaked in self-defence, though you were more than a little enticed by his earlier promises from the car.

“Then allow me to proposition you, I would very much like to see what you’re wearing underneath this lovely outfit.”

“Mr. Nixon!” You feigned shock even as you pulled him out of the private dining room to head up to your shared suite.

--------------------------

Read Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fic #lewis nixon #band of brothers #easy company

[duskkodesh]

I've had rats for years at this point now and finally want to put down the best tips I've learned. This won't work for everyone, some are very conditional to me, but maybe some of these will help someone. Fleece hammocks: Boo. Microplastics and too warming. Canvas hammocks: Yes, please. Highly washable. Far more tough. I wish they were easier to find. Coiled rope baskets are also a godsend. I hang them by the handles in the cage, they love them way more than anything marketed to rats. Bottles are nice but some rats wanna splash and have a place to wash their little hands. Fresh in pod peas are by the pound at my supermarket. I usually spend 70 cents on the amount for several treat sessions. All my frozen peas end up getting freezer burnt by the time I get halfway through the bag. Antibiotics will be needed if you keep rats. Do not give antibiotics with dairy, many classes of antibiotics bond to calcium thereby making them far less effective. Speaking of, antibiotics seem to have the hardest taste to cover up. Ground meat baby food, Hershey simply five syrup (Just a little), peanut powder (No added sugar, oils), fruit compote/jam/jelly, small absorbent bread snacks/cereal, smushed pasta, cream of wheat, are all options to get meds into rats. You can call exotic vets and ask for an estimate on a basic rat exam. Do it, the prices vary WILDLY. We had a vet who charged us 35$ to see three rats at once and one who quoted us 200$ to look at one. You're gonna notice a trend if you call vets in higher class/rich areas. Fuck em'. Also ask your vet if you can keep a supply of meds on hand just in case. If they last at room temp you can buy some preemptively. Things like doxycycline you can get from human pharmacies.

Zip ties are god. All hail zip ties. Same with swivel clasps. Between them both you can cage mount anything your heart desires.

Leave bedding in a hot car or freezing conditions for a night. Warehouses get mites. Mites are a dick to deal with. Kill em' all.

Give them a variety of fresh things while they're young. Not always but sometimes I'd get an older gent rescue who had no idea what to do with berries or tomatoes and would refuse them. They learn better what is safe when young. At some point you will have an emergency. Make sure you know where an emergency vet is and that they keep night/weekend hours. Keep funds on hand for that day.

Rats hide pain well. When they age you may need to start pain management if you notice them moving differently even if they don't show their pain blatantly. Just start with low doses and see if they act like their old selves again. Research your breeders. Get recommendations from other rat people. Check and see if there are rat rescues in your area. Also the Humane Society sometimes takes in rodents.

Controversial take: You will encounter people in ratkeeping who say buying feeders is a sin. It's not. Feeder supply will exist whether or not every rat fancier boycotts them. We are far far fewer in number than snake/lizard people. Wherever you got your rats it's valid so long as you give them healthcare, good nutritious food, love, and mental stimulation. A lot of the 'foods to avoid, foods to include' lists are not researched. I've seen lists that ban chocolate. Rats freaking love chocolate they just need to take it easy on fats and sugars but cocoa powder can be a good mix in and can help ratty blood flow. I've seen people ban mango. if you read the study that led to this they gave rats an obscene amount of D-limonene to trigger cancer and small amounts had no side effects at all. Read the studies, look for sources.

#Rats #Ratblr #fancy rats #pet rats #petblr #I'm gonna take heat over my view on feeders

[starzblvd]

Somethin’ Stupid | pt.3

AN; the last part is finally here, I promise next time I make a series I’ll make a reminder to write faster on these things!! On a side not I’ve been trying to write more poems, I’m just scared they sound like a 13yr olds English assignment. I sincerely appreciate everyone’s support on this series up to this point<33 I’m not sure if anyone caught on, but I stole the Frank Sinatras song title for this

Two separate people you’d wish to keep apart by all means, were colliding & it wasn’t helping the problem at hand. The distance made it so you couldn’t see just how much Abby was laughing right at Ellie, excusing how her arms crossed in front of her stomach failed to contain that laughter.

“Fucking Abby.”

Ellie was agitated, regardless she wanted to play the bigger man in front of you, not wanting to cause any further problems. So refraining from a harsh confrontation she lead you away, with her hand clasped onto your wrist pulling you away from Abby’s practice session. Ellie’s grip was one of a strong clutch, her walk was quick with long strides to get away from Abby’s viewing as soon as she could.

“She looked like a kicked dog, I wish I recorded that,”

Abby had her fun and enjoyment making a soccer ball hit her new goal keepers face, but dissipated at the look of worry you wore being pulled away at the wrist. The way your eyes were so agile of worry that Ellie was in pain. Sheer regret would ruin this moment for Abby, regret for being the pinpoint reason of the soft tending gaze you placed onto Ellie.

It wouldn’t matter how you looked at Ellie now, not taking a second to look back with the plans to hit the store erased from her mind told by her change of path to her dorm instead. Not saying a word, it didn’t seem the time to, the weight of how angry she truly was something you didn’t know how deep rooted into her was.

“El’s, are you okay?”

Allowing her to continue on this short rampage Ellie was perusing wouldn’t end well, better to strike her down before she goes on any longer in this state. Even then there’s no response, the footsteps leading to up the stairs sounded heavier each step. Before Ellie would drive you up any further you’d beckon her arm to stop, signaling to pause the trudging up the stairwell for a brief moment. A mean look of features had remained the whole walk, but now it was you being so sweet to her now. Ellie dropped the prolonged clench of her jaw, knowing with you it wouldn’t change anything staying in the mood of having resentment for Abby.

“Look, I’m just,”

her fingers come in to pinch the bridge of her nose between her eyes, a soft sigh following in suit right afterwards. The way Ellie could be so gentle and aggressive we’re two sights that contrasted each other like black and white.

“She was obviously targeting me or something and, I know I know, putting my anger on you isn’t gonna help.”

The stairwell was secluded, while Ellie beamed down onto you, standing on the step in front of you. A remorseful look of a smile looked back at you, the smile that let you know she’d let it go for the moment.

“Take it easy yeah? Let me put some frozen peas on your bruise.”

Ellie moved to the side, gesturing for you to take the lead now. Her hand fell from your wrist to dangling from the grasp of your two fingers locked onto her own middle and pointer finger. Ellie would never with intent be so rough with you, not when it could strain the relationship you’ve built, so she made it so every time she was mad to resolve it quickly.

Walking like this with her right behind felt oddly familiar, odd as if this had been the life you’ve already been living of having Ellie walk alongside heading home, yours and Ellie’s home. If only you knew Ellie shared this feeling of familiarity, imagining it plenty of times before, walking up to your dorm. Welcoming herself inside as if she’d come home to you after a tiresome day into a shared space filled with furnishings reflecting both of your personalities.

Finally getting to the door and jamming in the key Ellie gave you for “just in case” situations, her arms crept behind you latching to your sides now holding onto you.

“By the way, I don’t have frozen peas,”

Ellie’s voice came in a raspy whisper with how close she was, the small chuckle that you felt on your shoulder had you a rose tinted face.

”But, I do have frozen go-gurt sticks.”

Her arm outstretched to the handle of the freezer before yours, rifling through the strawberry flavored ones to get to the blue raspberry one. She spun you around to face her, Ellie let you hold it up to her face to the sore cheek, any pain given by the hit was forgiven by the endearing way you treated Ellie when she was hurt or sick, or felt bad for that matter, with the smile you’ve adored ever since the first meeting.

“Does it feel better yet?”

“Yeah, with you as my designated nurse.”

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

Game day, the day that’s been anticipated with so much enthusiasm by so many people was here. By now Ellie went to practices over a dozen time, to makeup for being put on such short notice. She was player 7, so naturally you had to make your shirt with 7 plastered onto it and in bold letters Ellie Williams. Even when wearing Ellie’s number you still had an obligation to Abby, she was the reason you’d be going in the first place. 6:17pm, you were in your room adding the final details to the sign you initially were working on for Abby, the teams red and white shades coordinating the outfit you set up the night before digging through your wardrobe, ribbons laced into your hair.

Abby was training with her team more often than not with the game approaching, so Abby couldn’t help asking to meet up an hour before heading off to the fields. What you didn’t expect was her appearance at your door, originally it was planned to meet at the lobby. You’d known it was Abby when her voice asked for you by name.

“Woah you’re dressed up.”

Abby’s scent wafted into your face once the door was swung open, the perfume she used complimented her perfectly. Abby’s smile faltered for a second when she realized whose number you wore so broadly.

“Didn’t know you’d come meet me here, otherwise I’d finish your sign earlier!”

The smile went right back onto her face, peering over your shoulder catching a second of a glimpse before you block her view as in attempt to keep the sign a surprise. Knowing you’d been working away on a sign that’d be more widely seen steered her attention from the Ellie shirt.

“You’re such a big fan of me,” Abby’s lips went right into a smile, letting the edges of her eyes wrinkle. Despite her tough appearance Abby she was tender hearted where it mattered, and who better to show just how tender she could be than you.

You roll your eyes at her comment trying to retain the grin that was slowly forming,

“For your next game I should be your sponsor, here come in. Wait before you get in,”

Snaking around Abby, you brought your hands up to cover Abby’s eyes, laying your pinkies on the plush of her cheeks.

”Okay start walking.”

“Kind of hard to walk when I can’t see,” maybe it was the body heat of yourself, or the heat radiating off of Abby’s reaction to your sudden touch that your hands felt warmer. You situated Abby on the edge of your bed avoiding the sign, sliding it under your bed with your foot in the process, once letting go Abby’s eyes were peeled open already, looking into you. It stayed like that for a minute, both of you being able to appreciate the girl in front of them. Only a minute before Abby’s phone rang disrupting everything.

Unsure of what was being told over the line it was obvious they were screaming, Abby sighed while the other person ranted on and on, presumably someone from her team.

“Alright I’ll be there soon, let me wrap up something right now yeah?”

Groaning she hung up without letting another word come from the caller.

“I have to go, but I’ll look for you first thing at the game.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Abby rised from her spot, her foot stepped towards the door with a second of hesitation, that turned into confidence as she turned around to place small peck onto the right side of your cheek. Unannounced and unexpected the small kiss made you giggle, it felt soft just as her lips looked.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

Front row seat that’d been reserved just for you, you’ve already come across a couple of girls wearing Abby’s number. Ellie’s appearance on the team was so sudden you’d been the only one adorning her number. 40 minutes into the game loud cheering of loud crowds whenever Abby successfully made a goal, but she only made an effort to look at you, smiling right back at her.

Ellie was determined to do something valuable to the game in effort to show off for you, but with Abby deterring any members of the opposing team Ellie was practically useless the entire 40 minutes. Especially since the two times she was put up to the test she missed by an inch or two, the ball going right past her into the net. She’d cruse herself for being distracted by you standing there so brightly from the goal post. The rest of the players shot bitter looks at Ellie’s direction anytime the ball got anywhere near her.

Each of them doubted her ability, it’s was unavoidable with her performance as of recent. Ellie was agitated of her own playing skills, she joined solely to impress you, but it was showing to be an unfruitful way to do so.

A scowl on Ellie’s face was apparent now, Abby on the other hand was gloating now in the screams of everyone for her team, specifically the chant of her last name of every girl cheering for her.

The rest of the game played out the same, leaving Ellie’s goal keeper reputation tarnished and stained, practices went so much better than today and for that she was mad at herself for being unable to perform for you in the way Ellie hoped for.

While the team walked back to the locker rooms, you’d been able to see the celebratory way the players acted with each other. Abby leading everyone and gloating in the credit for winning like she always did. Ellie walked in the back behind everyone else, treading with a slight sulk as if she was on the losing team.

You took the initiative to hurry over to where they were in the back. Getting up and away from your seat, then rolling up the sign for Abby before seeing Ellie, it was her on your mind to see first.

Waiting on a bench outside the doors, looking up from your phone waiting to see any sign of Ellie to emerge from the locker rooms. Abby came out first, face and walk full of pride after another game that went to successfully, even more so knowing Ellie wasn’t much of help giving her all more reason to end up kicking her off. Abby dismissed her teammates that came out alongside her coming right over you. “Had fun? Having you there felt like my own personal cheerleader.”

She sat besides you, crossing her arms together staring at you with the look she’d wear after each win, a look you’ve only seen through photos.

“you did amazing Abby.”

She bit her lip taking her gaze off you debating whether to ask you to a gathering now that the game was over, nervous she’d face rejection. After all you’d already spent so much time watching her.

“you know, we’re getting dinner at a restaurant nearby, would you want to come?” Her voice came out mellowed out from the tone earlier. Abby’s eyes were so docile when waiting for you to reply.

“Yeah I’ll be there, let me do something really quick before we go.”

Upon reply she smiled and went with the rest of her players, heading out talking about the moves they did, soaking in the victory. Ellie walked out the door next, face ridden of annoyance. Almost jumping out of the bench you rush over to her side.

“Hey El’s, going to the dinner after?”

You put your cheery tone on to help Ellie bring herself from the mood or at most distract her attention elsewhere after noting her continued look of defeat.

“No I’m heading out.” Ellie’s voice was worn out, with lingering sentiment of disappointment, a tone you’ve only heard until now. Quiet and raspy in nature, seeing her displayed like this, sweaty, hair disheveled with her little bun holding on for dear life, the slouchiness of her posture, pulled at you with a sense of pity.

Everything becoming all to clear for her rash behavior recently, almost like a blessing to the wishes you’ve fought so far for to become reality. The words found their own way out at her vulnerability, seeping from your heart to the outside world,

“Ellie, I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not standing outside of a locker room at 10pm on a random weekday. You’d play it out to be much more romantic somewhere secluded and alone with her, but withstanding without letting your emotions be known to her when it was this obvious why she acted the way she did wasn’t working anymore. Ellie looked up sharply, her lips were agape but nothing came out, not a single sound let alone a word.

Now it really wasn’t supposed to be like this, Ellie unresponsive while she looked at you confused, essentially as if what you’ve spoken was properly interpreted by her ears or if she really was going crazy.

“God, that was so stupid I’m sorr-“

Just before you’d be able annunciate the last vowel Ellie’s arm took you in close to her in an instant. An embrace that resembles all the strong emotions she’s ever felt for you, each thing she’s done to get to this point.

“It’s not stupid, I’m in love with you too, just never wanted to spoil what we had.”

Even when you wouldn’t ever have thought things would come to be this way it all felt so right, they’re wrapped in the arms of the girl your love was so overbearing for. You can see it In her eyes when she lifted her head that every word Ellie said was genuine, and so genuine was the kiss that you’d been wanting for so long that she gave into immediately upon your doing.

#ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #wlw #ellie x you #lesbian #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou game #the last of us

[bogwitchlesbian]

Steddie exes but Eddie broke up with Steve

They dated throughout middle school until sophomore year of high school. They were childhood sweethearts and Eddie and Wayne were the only real people to show Steve love and kindness

Steve is all in, as we know, and is looking forward to the rest of his life with Eddie. He’s the only person that’s stuck around this long, and they’re in love. Even Wayne says he thinks they’ll beat the odds for teen romance. What could possibly happen to break them up?

Steve’s dad, that’s what. He comes home one day while Eddie is on the floor rambling about something to do with the new Judas Priest album, while Steve watches fondly from the couch. Nothing even remotely incriminating is going on. They’re 5 feet apart, and (for once) wearing their own clothes.

Steve’s dad flies off the handle anyway. Says some awful things about eddies family, his dad, the trailer park, and what does Steve think he’s doing, risking the family’s reputation hanging around with “a boy like that”

Naturally Eddie is swiftly kicked out, and Steve’s receives a backhand when he tries to defend Eddie.

Steve’s dad leaves again two days later, and Steve races down to eddies place to apologise, but Wayne answers the door instead.

Looks at Steve with sad eyes, inspects the bruise on Steve’s cheek, and hands him a bag of frozen peas and a letter. Tells him that Steve can always come to him if he needs anything, no matter what.

Steve reads the letter once he has trudged miserably back home. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore” is as far as he gets before he feels his heart shatter.

The letter is full of rubbish as far as Steve is concerned. He gets being discrete until he’s 18 and can legally leave his parents home, but Eddie is talking nonsense.

“You deserve better” and “I can’t give you a family like you want”. Lots of on-the-surface self sacrificing words that Steve realises a few years later, after the hurt has settled, were eddies way of protecting himself from what he saw as the inevitable, which was Steve leaving him for some upper class girl with a perfect perm and perfect lipstick.

after he had cried himself to sleep and took the long route to school to avoid going past forest hills, Steve decided in all his teenage wisdom to do what Eddie asked him to do, and forget he ever existed.

He pretended to like girls, and tommy hagan’s cruel laughter. Pretended to like Nancy wheeler, and still somehow got his heart broken, because damn, even if he wasn’t in love with her the way he wished he could be, hearing that someone considered the idea of being loved by you was “bullshit” fucking stings.

After Nancy he stops trying to pretend. Leans into his long suppressed instincts to protect people, and shows Dustin how to take care of his curls in a way he learned from Eddie when he had to dress up to go to a cousins wedding in Indianapolis when they were 14.

The stuff with the upside down honestly becomes routine faster than he’d like to admit. He falls into the swing of the bat with an easy grace that comes from years of suppressed protective instinct.

When Dustin starts attending hellfire is when Steve’s carefully constructed “new normal” starts to fall apart. His constant requests for Dustin to shut up about eddie Munson lead Dustin to the conclusion that Steve is still clinging to his old King Steve prejudices, because why on earth would he think Steve was in love with him? Which he was, by the way. Steve didn’t think he could ever truly stop at this point.

When Chrissy Cunningham dies, Steve’s world turns upside down (no pun intended). It’s why he throws himself so easily into looking for Eddie, despite his half hearted protests. Because what the fuck had even happened?? Eddie cried when Steve used to kill spiders, he could not stomach such a vicious murder.

Eddie throwing him up against the wall when they find him doesn’t scare Steve (it does something though), but the fear in his eyes does. It stings a little that he doesn’t trust him, but it’s been years, and Steve was kind of a jackass for most of them so he doesn’t altogether blame Eddie.

He does feel like running was a little dumb, but he knows all too well how much Eddie likes to run from things. He hates leaving Eddie in Rick’s boatshed, but he knows that even if he could stay without arousing suspicion, eddie would never let him.

The whole lovers lake debacle deeply confuses Steve. First Eddie almost dislocates his eyeballs staring at Steve’s bare chest, and looks like he’s going to pass out when Steve throws his shirt at him, jumps in after him, gives Steve his BATTLE VEST (the one Steve himself helped make, and fully knows the meaning of) then tries to convince Steve to get Nancy back????

Safe to say Steve’s brain feels a little scrambled.

He blames his whole ‘nuggets’ speech in the rv on that. Because honestly what the hell was he even thinking??

Steve doesn’t think about what happens next.

Doesn’t think about desperately wanting to kiss Eddie when he stops him outside the trailer.

Doesn’t think about the fact that he wasted might be his last moments with him to tell Eddie that he never stopped loving him. That he wants to forget the last few years and just pick back up where they left off.

Doesn’t think about how worried he is leaving him and Dustin there alone.

Doesn’t think about how fucking cool Eddie is now, when he hears master of puppets blasting across the upside down.

Doesn’t think about how much he regrets not saying anything when the vines have him in the creel house.

Definitely doesn’t think about hearing dustins heartbroken wails as they reach the trailer park.

Doesn’t think about the love of his life, lying broken in a pool of his own blood in a nightmare dimension.

Doesn’t think about touching him for the first time in years to lift his dead body and heft it through the portal.

He goes home. And in the shower, he thinks far too much. Stays sat on the shower floor so long that the water would have ran cold, were he in eddies cozy trailer rather than his big tomb of a house with its endless supply of hot water.

He thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Thinks until robin finds him, waterlogged yet dehydrated from crying in his en suite. She has no idea what’s going on, but lifts him out and gets him dry and dressed.

He finally explains everything to her. She cries but he’s out of tears.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll cry again for a long, long time.

#long post #sorry for this lmao #I made myself cry writing this #you can imagine whatever you like after this but imo they find Eddie in the upside down and Steve does his best to kiss him to death #Dustin is confused and horrified #robin cries again #Nancy is deeply confused and offended but whatever #she can cope #you can think what you’d like but Nancy would go on a weird rant about Steve ‘using’ her or whatever #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steveddie

[maibeewrites]

ULTRAVIOLENT || Chibs Telford x Y/N

part II. and you'r my cult leader

The next day she woke up with a horrible headache. But she couldn't rest at home, she awoke to a call from Tig. Church meeting.

Well, just what Y/N needed. From the moment she woke up, the only thing she could think about was the night before. The pain of it all, her betrayal, Chibs's betrayal. How he hit her. And how he took care of her after. But it didn't matter. If she ever had hopes for her and him, after last night, it was all gone.

Walking into the bathroom she looked in the mirror. She was taken aback by how bad she looked. Her eyes were bruised from her eyebrows down until her cheeks. Above her right eye there was a cut, which turned into a scab overnight. The same on her lips. She cleaned herself up and put clean stitches over it. Her whole face was swollen.

After the shower, she dried her hair, and whilst drinking a cup of tea and smoking a cigarette, she held a bag of frozen peas over her face, hoping to reduce the swelling. She didn't ever bother with makeup, knowing that her condition was far from concealable.

She put on a pair of skinny brown jeans, and a loose cream colored turtleneck blouse, put on her cut, and after completing her outfit with black boots, she was out the door.

She arrived just on time. Usually she is always early, but she didn't want to spend more time at the clubhouse today than it was necessary.

When she walked in, all of them were at the bar. Jax, Tig, Happy, Quinn, Bobby, Juice, Opie and Chibs. The prospects were cleaning up.

When they first saw her, everyone got quiet for a second.

"Holy shit." Jax exclaimed "Who did this to you?"

"Girl, are you okay?" asked Tig, and he quickly walked up to her and held Y/N's face gently in his hands.

"Yes Tigger. I'm okay guys. This was some personal stuff, there is nothing to worry about." She tried to sound as convincing and confident as she could.

"That is certainly a thing we should be worried about" said Bobby.

"The person who did this to you is an animal. That is all that I'm saying." Quinn spoke. Even Happy looked concerned.

Opie and Juice didn't say anything but were very conflicted. Opie hugged her shoulders as they went in to the Table.

Chibs haven't said a word. He didn't even look her in the eye.

"So, before we talk about what is on our plate with the Mayans, Y/N, you have to tell us what happened. Who hurt you?" Jax asked.

They all nodded and turned to her.

"This was personal business, and I do not wish to tell you just now. I can't tell you, trust me." She looked Jax straight in the eye, with a knowing look. At first Jax just stared at her, but after some monent, she could see that he finally understood what happened. After all, Jax and Chibs were the only one knowing about the ratting. Jax glanced at Chibs who was continuously staring at a specific part of the table in front of him. He then looked back at Jax, and the President understood everything.

"Fine. I respect that Y/N."

"But that is not okay? Somebody hurt her. Who was it? A lover maybe?" Tig guessed.

"He is right, we have to protect her" Juice added.

Y/N chuckled at Juice's suggestion that she needs protection, but smiled at him. She loved Juice, he was so cute, like a little brother to her.

"If pres said to leave it, leave it." Chibs finally looked up and at Y/N. His voice was strict.

After that, the subject changes to Alvarez getting into the Diosa business. They all voted aye for allowing the mexican to buy out Nero's part.

"And guys, I have some good news. We will have a big party tonight. We are all set, things going okay for now. Everyone, wind down, have fun." Jax said and hit the table with the gavel.

Y/N didn't want to spend her time at the clubhouse. She almost immediately got up, and left.

Honestly, the only thing Y/N wanted was to lay in her bed, eat some ice cream, watch a movie and fall asleep. Luckily, there was no more club business for that day, so she went to the grocery store before heading home, where she bought some frozen pizzas, and ice cream. She rode home and was all set for the day.

She took another shower. There was something about feeling clean. She put on a new set of baby pink pyjamas, and crawled into her bed. She got overwhelmed by the tv selection, and after finding nothing she was in the mood for, she started watching a documentary about cheetahs.

She tried her best to pay attention to the hunting method of the animals, or her ice cream, or anything which was not Chibs, but she couldn't. She never wanted to see him again. At the same time all she wanted was him.

When she finished her sweets and put the spoon in the dishwasher, she heard knocking.

She froze. She didn't expect anyone. Her gun was in her bedroom, and her semi was near the front entrance of the house on the coat hanger.

By the time she thought of a solution, it didn't matter.

"Aye, it's me girl. Let me in, I want to talk to ya." It was Chibs. Y/N felt like her heart skipped a beat.

She walked up to the front door.

"What do you want?" She spoke softly, just loud enough for the man outside to hear.

"Let me in. I just want to check up on you." She couldn't figure out Chibs's intentions. It dawned on her, that she was scared. Scared of her friend, brother... She felt incredibly weak and bitter.

"Y/N?"

"I'm scared." That was her response.

------------Chibs' POV----------

"I'm scared." Her voice was so weak, so soft, he could hear the fear and it crushed him. She was everything. The most amazing, interesting, caring and smart women he has ever known. She made a mistake, she had to pay. Or maybe he was too harsh?

He felt as if his heart was sinking to the deepest void.

"Please sweetheart. Let me in, I am not here to hurt you. I just want to..." But what did he want? Himself didn't even know. "I just want to see you."

The door slowly, very slowly opened. Her small frame seemed even smaller now. Barefoot, with her pink pyjamas she was like a little girl. Only little girls don't have their faced wrecked by big bad bikers.

Chibs walked into the house. When he heard the door close behind him, he straight up walked up to Y/N who instantly stepped back until her back hit the wall.

"Don't." He said and embraced her in his arms. At first she froze but then put her arms around him. She smelled like fresh bodywash, clean bedsheets and candy. She was so pure at that moment.

------------------

He smelled like tobacco, gasoline and dirt. His strong arms somehow calmed Y/N down.

"I'm here." She said.

"And so am I. I am sorry, I shouldn't have done this to you."

"No, if you haven't done this, maybe somebody else would've done even worse. I could be dead, Chibs. For what I've done."

He didn't reply. Instead, he picked her up, initially in bridal style, but she eagerly put her legs around his waist.

They looked each other in the eye, and then Y/N caressed Chibs's glasgow smile.

"Take me to bed."

#chibs telford headcanon #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford x you #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs telford x y/n

[phantomram-b00]

To Hell with you

So, I was listening to songs. And then an epiphany hit me hit me harder than this fixation of the show; what if…the roles were reversed? Like what if Azirapahle first said no to the promotion yet Crowley said yes instead? I think I saw a fanfic that did this (I don’t remember) but I wanted to take a crack at this, and I feel like I want to cry myself so imma do a fanfic of it, hope you enjoy. And if you still haven’t seen good omens season too, this will contain that so uh spoiler warning ahead. Have fun!

Aziraphale was just done talking with Nina and Maggie just a while ago whilst Crowley walk away; while profusely apologizing for the whole ordeal both for last night and overall, they did give him advice on his love life. Something he never thought he could describe it given their status from their opposing side, but he’ve been in love with Crowley since 1941, so the label wasn’t exactly far off. But nothing official, and thanks to their advice, he though maybe they can? Why not? To hell with both parties that been trying to separate them for millennia now they’re on their own side.

“Right! Let me at least tidy this up before he comes” he spoke to himself while he put some books in their respective spots as well covered the symbol on the floor and make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Oh ironic given their day to day life on earth. As he does so, he start preparing for the talk as he turn the sign on the front to “very closed”

“Okay, so Crowley!” He chuckled as he talks to himself yet again. “There something I must tell you about, I think it been long overdue for the past 6000 years at this point. And I know I’ve told you you go to fast but-“

He shook his head throwing away that thought like a piece of crumbled paper. That won’t do at all.

“Crowley! Wily serpent! I believe there are thing to be discussed about if that all the same to you…” he said as he put the Jane Austen book in order since Gabriel- err Jim decided to put them away separate by the first sentence they start it. Oh how problematic that organization was it nearly discorperated him the second time. “So we’ve known each other for quite a long time, at this point in time we can even guess each other sentences or predict other moves like Agnes Nutter.” He laughs. “W-well, what I’ve been meaning to say is, w-well, remember when I told you you go to fast? Well, I think I want to retract that statement since I think we can go fast, faster than a rollercoaster as Buddy Holly said-“

He again shook his head, and threw that idea away. But he blushes just thinking about Crowley, how he does want them to make it happen finally, been waiting since 1941 or maybe even longer; his mind begin to wonder around, become a habit for him at this point. He began to think about their life, all the time they’ve been together. Always a risk to be together but deep down, Aziraphale would take that risk all day to see Crowley, the one person that didn’t treat him like an annoyance or dare judge him but instead treated him like an equal, the one person that he would rather dine at the ritz and go on many restaurants with, the one person that he would maybe one day want to live with for all eternity. That feel more like heaven in his eyes than the actual place. In retrospect, he wished if it wasn’t for their side that maybe they could been more braver. Or at least he could’ve been. But he had a smile, maybe they can be now? And they can make up for lost time? And maybe one day, they can move into a cottage? Oh he can never be bored of living with him for all eternity. It make him more giddy just thinking about that possibility.

“Crowley!” He started again. “We need to talk, but I think maybe, this would be best suited if we go to St. James park? You’ve always love that place with the ducks. We can get frozen peas. And we can talk as we sit? Or if you prefer, we can dine at the ritz? I can feel an reservation was just open for two” he giggles while hugging the first edition Jane Erye by Charlotte Brontë. “Or maybe, we can talk here, and have drinks? I’ve got an expensive—“

Ding

Aziraphale look at the door and see Crowley back, couldn’t content his smile even if he tries.

“Crowley!” He said putting the book down and walking over to him.

“Angel” said giving him a smile back in return. He take off his glasses to reveal his Sunny eyes. “Listen angel, there something I need to talk to you about.”

“So do I!” He chuckled lovingly whilst look at his sun. “funny how two minds think alike, but I think first I would like to ask you if-“

“Hold that thought for just a moment angel,” Crowley said as aziraphale stopped his laughter. “Listen, Shax and I talked.”

“I’m quite aware, seen you guys had much to talk about despite what the stunt she pulled.” Aziraphale spoke. “Nearly started a war.”

“Right yeah, uh, so, during the talk, she granted me something. And, well, okay cutting to the chase here angel, she want me to be Duke of hell.”

“Oh.” He said taken aback. “Surely you said no didn’t you? I mean you always complained about how they’re the worst and not to mention that they even have a sign on not licking walls? Frankly you saying…”

He stop to look at Crowley face, reading it carefully like it was one of his books. Only this time he does not appreciate this sudden twist.

“Crowley please tell me…” he choked out. “Please..”

“Angel, maybe I can make this right. If I’m Duke of hell-“

“Oh Crowley” he look away running his finger through his white hair. He then lightly laugh. “Please tell me this is one of your devilish jokes you wily serpent!”

“Shax said…she said I can even bring you down to hell with me. We can make hell nicer, no, we can make hell a better. We can even maybe prevent whatever is happening—“

“Ohhhhhh! Crowley I thought you were better than this.” Aziraphale said choking back the tears. “You should be better than that Crowley!”

“Angel—“

“If I didn’t need heaven then it fairly certain that I don’t need hell neither!” He paced around trying to calm himself but avoiding his eyes. “You know Heaven told me to come back to them with a promotion to be supreme angel before this whole Gabriel and I said “no I will certainly not go back to you” and you shouldn’t neither.”

“Well of course you said no angel, heaven are a bunch of self-righteous arseholes and certainly no better than hell I’ll tell you that much.” Aziraphale face continues to be horrified. “But hell, I know hell isn’t the best neither but angel, if you’re by my side, we can make it better.”

“Crowley are you realizing that if hell ends life here on earth it be just as dead as if heaven ended it.” Azirapahle said this time he open the flood gates and tears are streaming down with his voice cracking. “Crowley… tell me you said no.”

Crowley tries his best to choke back his tears too. Seeing his angel distraught was the last thing to see. The last thing he ever wanted to do. He look away from aziraphale feeling his heart growing heavier the more this conversation prolongs.

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale said not even trying to wipe his golden tears away.

“Angel. Maybe I can make an actual difference. I can try to stop it.”

Aziraphale shook his head, he was too shocked yet to upset to form any form of a sentence. His glossy eyes was enough for Crowley to start his water works, he look away once more. Aziraphale turn around and let out a sigh.

“Right guess you got everything out then, it my turn to say my piece—“ despite this, Crowley waited patiently. “We’ve known one another for quite a long time. We’ve been on this planet more than the human that roam on earth. We can always rely on one another and we can or at least I had hoped we trusted each other. We’re on our own side as you said even four years ago at the ritz. To hear those words was more heavenly than what heaven could’ve ever offered to me.” He feel his heart growing heavier. “And I would love it if we—“ he stop again as he feel his tear roll down his cheeks once more. “Crowley, how is it that Beelzebub and Gabriel can go off to Alpha Centauri, the place you yourself have been dying to run off, then we could too right? Just the two of us.” Crowley wanted to smile, but he was too distraught himself to bring himself to do so. “You’ve always said, that we don’t need heaven or hell, they’re toxic Crowley! We can still run like you always said, we can even go to Alpha Centauri with them” Crowley shook his head repeatedly. “We can— what why are you saying what is it?” He said showing curiosity and concern.

“Angel then come with me. I can run it and you can be right by my side. We can make a different please.” Crowley said pleading now. He want to cup his hand on his face wiping away those golden tears, but even when he toke a step, aziraphale toke a step back shaking his head.

“You can’t leave—“ me. “You can’t leave this bookshop.”

Crowley would never want to leave him alone. He would do anything to stop time just to stay in this bookshop for all eternity with him, basking in their love they been so desperately trying to achieve. To listen to angel’s ramble of a book he know he read for the millionth time. To have quality time with him whether it just them drinking wine or even just them holding each other in their embrace while they listen to classical music to bebop as azirapahle would call his taste. But that not what he said did he?

“Oh Aziraphale..” Crowley said giving a sadden smile. “Nothing last forever.” He wanted to kick himself just for saying those fatal words. The words that finally push azirapahle over the edge as now he can’t hold back. He hold his hand in his face as he let it out, just for a moment. Even in that moment, Crowley want to hug him. But he stopped after a moment, as to try to revert back to his calm demeanor.

“No.” He said grabbing his glasses and giving it back to Crowley. “I suppose you’re right about that one.” Crowley look as he see the glasses. Trying to process what he was even doing. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.”

He proceed to walk out of his own bookshop.

“Best of luck..” then it hits him. “Angel!” He doesn’t stop walking away. “Aziraphale come back!” Aziraphale turn around, he was completely drained. His angelic happiness is no where to be found in his hazel blue eyes. “Work with me.” He still pleads, even aziraphale let out a sigh as he continues. “To hell..we can be on our side even down there. Doing our own things down there.” Aziraphale wince from that sentence as he look away to avoid his eyes. “I-I need you aziraphale!” He finally said which prompted him to finally look at him. Both their watery eyes met. It felt like time stopped again. Maybe Crowley finally convinced him. Maybe they can be in their side even in hell. Maybe they could make things better. Him and Aziraphale against them—“you have to understand what I’m trying to offer here Angel..”

“Oh I think I know quiet well. Maybe even more than you can Crowley.” He said. But he realize it wasn’t his usual tone. He sounded apathetic. Is this really it? This shouldn’t be. Why does it feel…

“Well. If that the case, is there really anything else to say at this point?” Crowley said as he put on his glasses as his tears starts to appear yet again.

“Listen.” Aziraphale said pointing up. “Can you hear anything?”

“No. Angel what are you trying to…”

“That’s exactly my point. No nightingale.” He said, that was it for him. He feel he can’t hold it back any longer. “You stupid snake. We could have been us.” Aziraphale said emphasizing on the term us. Crowley looked away to let tears run, even closing his eyes to hope it be all over. But then he felt his lapel of his blazer being pull and the feeling of soft lips pressed again his own. His eyes shock open as he see aziraphale. Principality. Angel of the eastern gate. Kiss him. This wasn’t what he expected their first to be, not one where tears are mixing with each others. He wanted it to be more romantic, more on a happier note. One that both can enjoy. Not this. Not when his angel is obviously hurt. Oh Satan, what have he done. He lift his hands couple times but he was able to place his hand behind Aziraphale’s back and kiss back. He felt his head spin around like all the planets he created, can feel like he seeing stars he help create. And here he is, kissing the biggest star he’ve every laid his eyes on.

Soon they pull away from each other, Crowley having to catch his breath, not hiding his cries anymore. Aziraphale just stand there in hope, can this finally convince him? Crowley look at Azirapahle, many emotion can be battling each other, anger, lament, happiness, shocked? Maybe all above.

“I…I…” love you. Do it again. “TO HELL WITH YOU” he wanted to cover his mouth. Why did he let them escape. Where the soap when you need it. Aziraphale let out a silent gasp as golden tears escape him once more.

“I forgive you.” Aziraphale said walking out of the bookshop.

“Wait angel!”

He walks out of the bookshop, he almost push people down, forget for a moment that London can get busy. He look around to try to find him. “Aziraphale! Please, come back!”

No avail. He can’t find him anywhere, no white haired tartan wearing angel. He feel down to his knees.

“What have I done?” He said to himself. His scales emerged feeling intense emotions, he wanted to scream as he feel smoke coming out of him.

“Crowley?” He look up and see Shax. “Right, I take it he didn’t take it well.”

“What do you think?” Shax was gonna talk again before he stop her. He stands up “Right don’t answer that. Let just go.” He said drained. Feeling empty. Betrayed.

“Jolly good. Now I will say, I’ve heard word from upstairs.” Shax said as they walk, Crowley look at her but not in interest but he had to know.

“And what do the holier than thou angel say?”

“Well. Something about ahhh. The second coming as they like to call it. We got a role in this too, so best get a move on” Shax chuckled as she walked as she talked more about this role. Crowley stopped. He turn around just for a moment and see Aziraphale, he was far away about to turn the corner. But he can easily see that he left enough room for him to come with him to walk, the finale plead. He can’t make out what his expression was but it didn’t matter, he look at him one last time. Before he start walking backward and turning back to Shax. Completely disappearing from the crowd. “You know. Pity your boyfriend didn’t come. Me and Furfur were betting on it, guess no matter. We got work to do.” He stopped listen as she went on. He wanted more than anything to just run back to him. He wished he didn’t take this. But part of him felt that maybe he can still try. If not fro earth, for aziraphale. To keep him safe as he try to stop this plan. To stop armageddon from happening once more. Even if that meant he can’t see Aziraphale ever again.

Meanwhile Aziraphale just nodded. Understand this was it. It truly was over. He saw Maggie and Nina walk away holding hands as if God was rubbing salt in his wound. He then see Muriel waving at him in glee. He would’ve wave back in mutual respect but not now. Not today. He just walked away leaving them feeling concern. Aziraphale walked, unsure where exactly he walking to but his feet keep moving so he might as well walk wherever his shattered heart take him. He then heard a radio from one of the stores singing the song. That song meant for them.

Snap

Just like that the song stopped. He continues to walk. Walk as far as he can. As golden tears fall once more.

(Reference for the golden tears and Sunny eyes)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #hope you like angst #I felt like crying today #stop because I had to watch that scene for reference again and I almost cried all over again aaaah #good omens fandom #good omens 2 #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #good omens season 2 #anthony j crowley #aziraphale good omens #good omens aziraphale #good omens aziracrow #good omens ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom #ineffable spouses #ineffable soulmates #they ineffable your honor #to hell with you

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 20

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 19 🍂 Part 21

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, There's like a half-explicit description of a blowjob.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae has made it so that I now owe up until 25! Homegirl just keeps on keeping on. But we're getting there... Fun stuff coming up! Enjoy!

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @omgkatinka @summersong69 @diegos-butt @beck07990 @peaches1958 @pandaxnienke

“Woman, that car of yours is gonna be the death of me!” Tough luck, though, you told him, because you weren’t going through the process of getting another car. Besides, he was the one who had picked that one.

“What’s wrong with it, though?” You asked as you looked around the counter. “Grab me the peas from the freezer, would you?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” Sy growled, “it’s just too small for normal people.” He held the bag of frozen peas to his forehead while he walked over to you. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit his head trying to get into your car, and you were fairly sure it wouldn’t be the last. Served him right, though, because you were somehow training your splits every time you had to get into that ridiculous truck of his.

“Didn’t feel like getting off your step?” he teased as he handed you the bag of peas. The two of you had a love-hate relationship with the way he teased you about your height. And by that you meant that you hated that he loved it, and he loved that you hated it.

“If I got down from here, I wouldn’t be able to do this,” you said before you kissed him on the head. “Besides, it’s not as if you qualify as ‘normal people’, you’re a giant.” Not back home in the Netherlands, though, he wasn’t even on the tall side of average there. But he didn’t need to know that. Sy didn’t have a fragile ego, but you were fairly sure it could be bruised, and calling him small in any capacity was probably the way to go at it if you wanted that to happen.

“Car’s fixed,” he just said, not wanting to get into that argument again. He wouldn’t want to risk overusing the ‘everything’s bigger in Texas’ line he loved so much.

“Thank you, honey,” you said sweetly, “what do I owe my favorite mechanic?”

“You ain’t ever gonna owe me nothin’, Sugar.” He wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your neck gently before moving his mouth up to your ear. “But I’ll gladly take donations in the form of some quality time with you on your knees.” You looked at the dinner you were making. It had another 25 minutes of oven time in its future… You ordered Sy to toss the dish back in the oven, and he happily obliged. If you hadn’t asked him, he would have insisted: He didn’t like it when you had to get off your step stools you had stowed away in every corner of the house while holding hot things, heavy things, or any other kinds of things.

When he stood back up after doing what you asked, he grinned; you were already on your knees and eagerly undoing his belt. His own suggestion hadn’t left him cold, but there was room for improvement, you judged as you wrapped your fingers around him and gave him a few strokes. He looked down, which created the perfect opportunity for you to give him that look that always drove him crazy. It was simple – eyes wide, biting your lip – but effective, and you chuckled when you felt him grow harder in your hand.

“I coulda waited but I ain’t comp- fuck!” He gave up on trying to speak when your tongue hit the tip of his cock, and didn’t seem to regain the ability after that. You relished the swears and moans that Sy let out, and you laughed when he took a step back to lean against the kitchen table after a few minutes. The hand on the back of your head didn’t put any pressure on you, but you had to admit it was very nice to feel Sy’s fingers in your hair.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good to me,” he groaned, and from the way he said it you could tell he was close. Now, how terrible would it have been if you both had a friend with a knack for walking in at precisely the wrong time…

“Well, I guess we’re square.” Jules. “I’ll give you guys a minute. To clean up, not to finish.”

“Kind o’ ya,” Sy said through gritted teeth. He turned to you when she was gone – after quickly sorting himself out. “Darlin’, you alright?” You shook your head. You were absolutely mortified by what had happened. How was Jules so casual about the whole thing?

“She ain’t seen anything, Sugar,” he tried to calm you down, but it didn’t work. You cleaned off and dove into Sy’s arms.

“Lara, Sy, everyone decent?” Jules asked from outside the kitchen. Sy begrudgingly answered her question. “I’m sorry, I should have knocked.” This was why you kept her around; yes, she was a handful and could be downright abrasive at times, but she was kind and generous and she didn’t hesitate to admit it when she was wrong.

“I forgot you guys were coming early, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fairly sure Jules won’t judge us for doing whatever we want with each other in our kitchen,” Sy said. There was clearly still some residual anger left in him from that fateful day Sy got kicked out of Jules’ and Patrick’s house.

“After what I said to you? Couldn’t possibly get pissed about it, now could I?” And that’s when the three of you started laughing.

“What do you mean ‘the engagement party is here’?” Sy yelled, scaring Jules and you – and even Pat, though he probably wouldn’t admit it. “Why did no one think to tell me? It can’t be here!”

“Why not, Sy?” “I live here, Sugar. That thing we said weeks ago? About those two –“ He pointed at Jules and Patrick. “- living in sin? That’s us now. Alright and them, but…”

“Come on, your parents can’t be that bad,” you said, but you saw Jules’ terrified look and immediately knew how wrong you were about that.

“Not that bad, but I’m tellin’ ya, Sugar, they ain’t gon’ like it. And my grandparents will have a heart attack.”

“But we don’t need to tell them you live here,” Jules tried carefully, “and your grandparents aren’t coming. They’re coming out for the wedding, though.”

“Half the stuff in that livin’ room is mine, Jules.” He had a very good point there.

“Big reaction back there,” you said after you’d sent Jules and Pat home. Sy had escaped to the bedroom and didn’t look like he was going to come out any time soon. “You scared me a little. What’s going on?” There had to be more to it than he was telling you.

“Jules,” he said to your surprise. “Somehow always gets to have it both ways. I love her to bits, don’t get me wrong, but… they’ll get to be the happy engaged couple, nobody needs to know they’re livin’ together, and I’m goin’ to get a bunch of shit from mom.”

“Is it really going to be that bad?”

“I can hear ma already,” he grinned. “’Johnathan George Syverson, I raised you better than to go around livin’ with a woman you have no intention of marryin.’” He paused for a moment after he said it, and then abruptly turned to you. “Not that I don’t… Y’know what, Sugar, I’m just goin’ to shut up.” The face he made while he said it had you in stitches.

“Sy! You’re being ridiculous,” you said, but he gave you a look.

“Am I? You weren’t raised by them, darlin’.” His tone was almost mocking.

“Is there any way we can pretend we’re just roommates?”

“Won’t go over any better,” he sighed, “and I’d also be lyin’ to ‘em. ‘N I don’t wanna introduce you as ‘just a friend’, Sugar. Did that once. Never again.”

#syverson x ofc #syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson fluff #cpt syverson #syverson fic #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

[not-that-dillinger]

There is a lone being that is sitting alone outside, does Ed approach him?

Ed didn't know why he approached, normally he would avoid strangers. Maybe it was because because they looked as lonely as he felt. Or maybe it was just that... well, usually that was his spot at the park, and he didn't particularly feel like wandering to find another bench where he could sit and feed the pigeons (a mix of frozen peas and carrots and bird seed, not bread).

It was a particularly nice day out, but for some reason everyone at the office had decided they needed him to put out their fires, and... well, there's only so much of that Ed could take before losing it. Today was pushing that limit. It was days like this he wished he could bring his birds to work with him to help with the stress, but, well. He couldn't (and perhaps that was for the best since he didn't really trust his coworkers let alone his boss with his his small flock). So instead he fed the feral pigeons at the park. He sighed wit relief when it hit noon (how was it only noon?) and he had an excuse to leave so he could have lunch in peace, looking forward to some time alone with the birds.

...Except, he wasn't. But. Well. How bad could it be?

"Hi," he said, doing his best to keep his tone friendly and not done with everything, or the cold-but-professional tone that he resorted to so he wouldn't end up snapping at his co-workers. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

#thanks for the ask! #ask-liam-and-co

[nokingsonlyfooles]

WTYP: The Shandor Building, Part 11

[Do you like the colour of the fanfic? This is long and if you expand it you're gonna get the whole thing, because Tumblr hates you. Don't say I didn't warn you!]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Part 11: Shake Hands with Gozer

[Beware of strong language, mention of all kinds of death, gore, and Lovecraftian horror.]

[SLIDE: Shandor Studios, with the All Hail Gozer logo.]

[faint sound of a car alarm]

L: Oh, heck, it’s Gandalf…

[chirp-chirp]

[car alarm ceases]

A [dismissive]: You know, this is really not doing it for me anymore. The whole deal. Not even with a camera. No. Fuck it. Your personality is a real turn-off.

R: These chairs are still really comfy, though.

[rumbling, squeaking]

G: [muffled, into phone]: UH-HUH… UH-HUH… IN MY DEFENSE, THEY INSULTED MY DOGS AND SUGGESTED I ASSOCIATE WITH ELON MUSK, ABI… YES, ADMITTEDLY, BUT THERE’S NO NEED TO BE RUDE… MM-HM. WHAT’S IT CALLED? “CLIMATE CHANGE”? [with sudden excitement] OH! “GLOBAL WARMING!” YES! HOW LONG? OH, THAT’S NOT LONG AT ALL! NO, NO, I REALLY APPRECIATE THE IRONY. DIY APOCALYPSE! OH, YES, WE MUST GIVE THEM A CHANCE, MUSTN’T WE? HA-HA-HA. BUT, UH, DO YOU THINK THERE MIGHT BE… A LAKE OF FIRE? EVEN A SMALL ONE? [laughter] WOW! THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!

L: I don’t like where this is going…

A: Rocz, where the hell are my cigarettes?

R: I fed them to a dog.

A: What?

G: SO ABOUT SEVEN BILLION YEARS ON THE OUTSIDE? WELL, I GET BORED, ABI. YOU KNOW I GET BORED. WILL YOU KEEP PODCASTING AND KILLING THE SMARMY MORTAL “JAMES BOND”? HA! ALL RIGHT, I SUPPOSE I WILL MANAGE…

D: Did… Did Abi just say we’re going to keep doing KJB for the next seven billion years…?

L: Sounds like the fate of the world kinda depends on it…

A: Where is my fucking Slimfast bar?

R: Ibid.

V: Will you have a slice of meat bouquet, Lord Alice?

A: [screams]

R: You two gotta stop doin’ that.

Z: Lord Alice is mortal, Vinz Clortho. You are supposed to feed the mortals frozen peas. It is good for them. The demon David Tennant says so.

L: I think you’re a little mixed up about that…

R: Your dimension gets Amazon Prime?

Z: All hell dimensions have Amazon Prime. Where else are we supposed to get our blood plasma?

V: But we have no frozen peas to give, and we must depart our mortal hosts soon!

Z: You may rub our tummies, if you wish. It is good for your mortal brain meat.

L: Aww!

Z: Not you, Vengeful Mortal of Insults!

L: Well, this has been a total fucking waste of time!

A: Get away from me, you smell like Marlboros and despair.

V: It is the Slimfast bar…

Z: You want some of this, Frodo?

D [coldly]: No thank you, Sigourney.

R [warmly]: Good Terror Dogs… Good, good puppies…

G: HA-HA, RIGHT! THESE THINGS HAPPEN! WELL, I’LL SEE YOU AT THE CLUB TONIGHT. CIAO, BESTIE!

L: “Bestie”?

A: [sigh] It’s Mesopotamian rock-paper-scissors, don’t worry about it.

D: To think, all this time, all we had to do was summon Abigail Thorn…

G: VINZ CLORTHO! ZUUL! STOP BOTHERING LORD ABIGAIL’S FRIENDS!

V: Farewell, doughnut-giver!

Z: Never buy copper from Ea-nāṣir!

[electricity, crackling]

MILKSHAKE (M)]: آیا من یک سگ بودم؟ [TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Okay, it’s in Persian, but Google Fonts doesn’t do cuneiform.]

R: Oh, hey, it’s my cats!

PIZZA BOY (P): پدر!

R: Nah, don’t eat that meat bouquet, I have no idea who or what that is…

M: این انصاف نیست.

R: Say, Gozer, is this here permanent?

G: ALL CATS CAN SPEAK WHATEVER LANGUAGE THEY WANT, WHENEVER THEY WANT.

P: Das ist ein süßes Kopftuch.

A: Um… Danke?

M: Никогда больше не трогай мой животик.

A: [snickers]

G: SO! [claps hands] SORRY FOR THIS LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. HOW CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?

[brief pause]

G: WHAT?

[crosstalk, complaining, “We are covered in horse viscera!” “Clean this shit off!” etc.]

G: RIGHT. SORRY.

L: And I want to keep my new van!

G: YOUR VAN BELONGS TO ISHTAR, BUT I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. WOULD YOU LIKE TO FINISH YOUR PODCAST, MORTALS?

A: Oh, yes! Of fucking course we would!

[Rapid scrolling through 10 slides or so before landing on an image of Ivo Shandor.]

A: And in conclusion… Ivo Shandor can eat shit, I’m glad he got ripped in half, art deco architecture is hideous, I disavow everything Sumerian — except Liam’s van and possibly Abi — and billionaires contribute nothing of value to society! [panting] Does anyone have anything else?

L: Pronoun checks will save your fucking life! If any of you out there ever give us shit for the pronoun check ever again, I got a [bleep] with your name on it!

G: SERIOUSLY. THAT COLONEL-SANDERS-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER SUMMONED ME OUT OF A HOT BATH AND MISGENDERED ME ON PURPOSE — I’M GLAD I RIPPED HIM IN HALF TOO!

R: [drawing devil horns and an unflattering mustache on Shandor with the mouse] We have a segment on this podcast we like to call Safety Third…

A: What?

L: Oh my God, Rocz…

D: Fucking seriously?!

R: I’m sorry, but rigidly adhering to our unhinged podcast format has just saved our lives and possibly the entire world — and if we’d just done our goddamn intros we would’ve avoided that whole mess — so we’re going to do a Safety Third! Alice, the drop, please.

[“Shake hands with danger” drop]

[SLIDE: A pastoral oil painting that seems to be missing a figure with a shepherd's crook.]

G: OOH, THIS LOOKS FUN. CAN I PLAY TOO?

WTYP: NO.

D: And clear the slime out of my awesome control room.

G: OF COURSE.

D [suspiciously]: Be honest with me. If someone were to press a button and cover you in boiling hot lava, would that be an inconvenience?

G: OOH, DO YOU HAVE LAVA? I JUST LOVE LAVA!

D [slowly fading, walking away from the mics]: This has been a fucking waste of time!

[door slam]

R: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending)…”

G: IS THERE NOT GOING TO BE ANY LAVA, THEN?

R [with determination]: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending), Liam (yay, Liam) and potential Guest.”

G [distorted, too close to the mic]: HELLO, MORTALS! I AM PODCASTING!

L: Shut the fuck up.

R: “...I am an art-restorer by trade, a profession which, I’m sure you know, has its dangers. Apart from the usual face-melting chemicals, we deal with a lot of paintings of dubious provenance, many of which come into our hands with curses or angry spirits attached. It’s a little like working at the humane society. Most of them can be cleaned up and rehabilitated if you’re careful, but a select few will try to kill you. It’s not their fault, but you do always need to be aware of the hazard. For example, the attached image once contained the figure of a little girl who would slowly approach the foreground of the painting over a period of weeks, before crawling out of the frame and attempting to strangle everyone in the room with her shepherd’s crook.”

A: Oh. Yeah. Pretty standard.

L: Get a new bit, ghost children!

G: I TOOK THE FORM OF A DEMONIC LITTLE GIRL ONCE!

A: No one cares.

R: “We gave her a juice box and some crackers, and let her watch a Disney video (Aladdin, but I’m not sure if you can say that)...”

L: Dammit, how many times do we have to tell you? Do not write it if you don’t want Rocz to say it!

A: Was the time he almost finished reciting that Ashanti death curse not enough for you people?

L: You’re just goddamn lucky he mispronounced it!

R: “And now she’s happily attending the local junior high school. A lot of attached spirits are just hungry, or bored, or both, and are easily dealt with. After they’ve lived through a few near-misses like that, some of my colleagues start to become jaded and sloppy. For example, my boss, whom we will call Timothy Q. Jackass (the Q stands for ‘Clueless’)...”

L: Good. Good name.

G: I ONCE GAVE A JACKASS THE GIFT OF PROPHECY!

A: Go away.

G: …HIS NAME WAS TIRESIAS OF THEBES! WHAT? NOTHING? NOBODY?

L: Get some new references.

A: Read another elegy.

G: DO YOU HAVE A RIMSHOT IN HERE…?

A: Touch my laptop and die.

R: “One morning, Mr. Jackass rolled up to the studio with a tinted etching (image not attached for reasons which will become obvious).”

L: Vigo.

A: Fucking Vigo.

G: THAT CARPATHIAN CUNT AND HIS GODDAMN ART COMMISSIONS. NOBODY WANTS TO PAINT YOU, VIGO, NOT WITH THAT HAIRCUT.

[stifled laughter]

G [hopeful]: …OR THOSE SHOES?

A: [clearing throat] Don’t press your luck.

R: “I recognized a certain Carpathian with whom you are no doubt familiar…”

G: HA! YOU CALLED IT!

L: Interrupting is a privilege, and we will mail you a certificate when you have earned it.

R: “...and, of course, I advised Mr. Jackass to douse it in holy oil and set it on fire, as per the established procedure. Imagine my surprise when he told me he wanted me to clean and restore it.”

L: No. Don’t do it.

A: Step away from the abyss.

G: UNIONIZE.

[pause]

G: WHAT? ARE YOU MORTALS FUCKING SCABS?

A: …Alright, I am not autistic — that I know of — but I have no idea how to deal with this situation.

L: You enjoy human suffering but are pro-union?

G: YOU HUMANS WILL TOUCH A CAT’S TOES UNTIL IT BITES YOU OUT OF FRUSTRATION, BUT YOU WILL STILL FEED THEM AND PET THEM.

[pause]

R: Milkshake, Pizza Boy, will you ever forgive me?

M: Lo mismo ocurre con nosotros, cuando os enseñamos el culo antes del amanecer.

R: Is that a yes?

A: All I know is how to order a beer and ceviche…

L: Rocz, for God’s sake, finish the letter so we can get in my van and go home.

R: “I told Mr. Jackass what he could do with his etching, in language that is not very podcast-friendly, and he replied, and I quote, ‘Don’t be a pussy, it’s just an etching. It’s probably Latvian or some shit.’”

G: VIGO THE LATVIAN MAKES A DAMN FINE BLOOD SAUSAGE.

[stifled laughter, a certain amount of snickering]

G [wounded]: WHAT? I AM BEING SERIOUS. SAY WHAT YOU LIKE ABOUT JELLYFISH AND CEPHALOPODS, BUT IF YOU COME AT VIGO THE LATVIAN’S BLOOD SAUSAGE, I WILL END YOU.

[hysterical cackling, even from the cats]

A: Oh, God, oh, fuck no… Xe tried to kill us!

L: And xe’s doin’ it again!

R: It’s called catharsis, Alice! Laugh or cry!

[pandemonium ending in sniffles]

R: Ah… Ah… Oh, God… Lemme see here… “I reiterated my refusal, forcefully, and Mr. Jackass decided he’d teach me a lesson by restoring the etching himself. The next few weeks were remarkably quiet, with regards to Mr. Jackass, save for occasional instances of chanting. He rarely left his office and appeared to be sleeping there. He was also going through a lot of black candles. There was a single attempt to order ‘an unsullied infant boy’ from DoorDash, which was not successful. The next day, Mr. Jackass called in sick, so I figured he was at the exorcist’s and that would be the end of it. Imagine my surprise when I turned on the six o’clock news and found him declaring his candidacy for City Comptroller. From what I could gather, his platform included human sacrifice and a ‘skull throne tax.’ I had my hand on the phone to call an exorcist and report him, but my mean streak got the better of me. ‘Let’s see how this plays out,’ I thought.”

L: Did… Did he win?

R: “Don’t worry. Vigo the Carpathian, running as Mr. Jackass, suffered a resounding defeat and eventual exorcism. However, we restored and reclaimed so many paintings during his extended sabbatical, that before Mr. Jackass even had a chance to dye the blond bleach job out of his hair, the higher ups called him and told him, and I quote, ‘Don’t come back.’ That is how I became head of the art restoration department!”

[cheers, applause]

R: “The moral of this story, if there is one, is, ‘never interrupt your stupid boss when he is making a mistake.’”

G: A MODERN DAY SUN TZU!

R: “Love to you all, and be well.”

A: Aww, that’s actually very nice.

L: I hope Vigo fried that guy’s hair so bad he never recovers.

G: DAMN, I COULD GO FOR SOME BLOOD SAUSAGE.

R: This concludes Safety Third.

[“Shake hands with danger” drop]

R: Does anyone have any commercials?

L: Rocz…

R: Our podcasting format saved the world.

L: Okay, okay, but I got nothin’.

A: Same. You know where you can find us.

L: Right, we live in your basement. We’re watching you right now.

G: SAME!

R: If we want more Gozer the Gozerian, for some reason, where else can we find you?

G: IN YOUR NIGHTMARES!

R: Of course.

[SLIDE: The Amityville Horror House.]

R: Our next episode…

G: OH! OH! WAIT! I ALSO HAVE A TUMBLR!

A: Oh, my God, I have got to get off that hellsite…

R: Our next episode is on the Amityville Horror…

G: OOH, I LOVE THAT ONE! CAN I FIND IT WHEREVER PODCASTS ARE FOUND?

R: Uh…

A [tightly]: Don’t tell xem, just end the episode.

G: WHAT? TELL ME WHAT?

L: End the episode! END IT BEFORE DEVON HITS THE LAVA BUTTON!

G: HI MOM! HI GRANDMA! I LOVE YOU!

[soothing public domain music]

D [not drunk enough to stop being annoyed but still very drunk]: This is Future Devon… Fuck, I mean Present Devon. I have consumed all the liquor and ice cream I demanded from Gozer, and I am going to bed. If, as I suspect, this has all been an epic-length fanfiction from the diseased brain of some individual out there on the internet, when I wake up in the morning, I expect not to exist. This version of me, I mean. So, I would just like to take this opportunity to say: Fuck you. You will die alone. The pet raven in no way makes up for any of this bullshit — although I cherish him and have named him after Sir Ian McKellen. All these fucking Chekov’s guns all over the place, and you didn’t let me use my lava button even once. I will never forgive you for this. I am so done with podcasting, and everything Sumerian, but apparently I still have several billion years of Kill James Bond to go. [sigh] Okay.

[shuffling, sound of a laptop closing]

D: Come on, Sir Ian, let’s go to oblivion.

[long pause]

SIR IAN (I): This is Sir Ian, I am the raven who is talking now, my pronouns are he and him, and I thought you’d all like to know I work for Pazuzu. Don’t tell Dev, it would only upset them. I suppose I’ll put this up on the Patreon for them…?

[click]

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

[And if ya liked that, I got a whole serialized story for ya. You let me work with my own characters and I get even more unhinged, just so's ya know.]

Thanks for reading!

#wtyp #well there's your problem #ghostbusters #long reads #fanfic #fanfiction #crossover fic #gozer the gozerian #alice caldwell-kelly #liam anderson #justin roczniak #devon #engineering disasters #podcast

[davnittbraes]

A Study In Feminism

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 645

Warnings etc: mentions of reader committing an act of violence, mentions of creepy guys in bars, allusions to sexytimes

Notes: a snippet from the full fic. For context, Frankie and Reader are in a new-ish relationship and just got into an argument after a confrontation with a creepy guy in bar.

You can’t even look at him, can’t see the hurt that you know is obvious in those warm, brown eyes. Instead, you focus on his hands, on the large palm cupping the pack of frozen peas to your scraped knuckles, the long fingers of his other hand gently curling around your wrist. 

You can’t even look at him, can’t see the hurt that you know is obvious in those warm, brown eyes. Instead, you focus on his hands, on the large palm cupping the pack of frozen peas to your scraped knuckles, the long fingers of his other hand loosely curling around your wrist. 

All the fire and heat and fury that burned in your chest moments ago suddenly sputters, flickers. Dies. 

A heavy sigh loosens the tightness in your lungs. “I’m not mad at you.”

His fingers flex on your wrist, his low hum of disbelief vibrating over your skin. 

Fuck, you really screwed this up, didn’t you. 

Letting your head fall back against the door, you force yourself to look at him. He needs to see it, that you’re telling the truth. “I mean it. I’m not.”

That warm gaze meets yours - yeah, just as you thought, it’s there, hurt tinged with anger and now doubt. 

That stings more than the hurt, actually. 

The knowledge that he’s doubting you, your honesty. Maybe even how you feel about him. 

Fuck your pride, girl. Just tell him. 

Shifting your wrist in his grip, you take his hand, squeeze it tight. “Look, I liked it, okay? And I’m angry with myself and I took it out on you and that’s not fair, and I’m so sorry, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

A frown forms between his brows, his gaze flickering over your features in confusion. “Liked what?”

Oh god, just say it, get it over with. “When you showed up and like immediately stepped in to defend me, physically put yourself between me and the threat with no hesitation, then stood there with your stupidly broad shoulders and strong arms and testosterone and this whole aura of “don’t fuck with my girl” and god, Frankie, it was so hot. “

His mouth twitches, lips curving at the corners and his frown melts away, hurt in his eyes replaced by fond amusement. “Oh yeah? You liked that?”

Your nose wrinkles as embarrassment tries to push you away from him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna know what was really hot?” 

His voice dips low, rasping down your spine, pulling it into an arch that curves your hips toward him, a movement tracked by his gaze. 

He definitely catches the clench of your thighs, too. 

His thumb glides over your bruised knuckles. “What was really hot was watching you clock a guy with at least six inches and fifty pounds on you, staring him down like you were gonna castrate him right there in the bar.”

Biting back a grin, you twine your fingers in his, cocking your head to the side. “If only I had a knife.”

He chuckles - why is that so hot - and lets go of your hand, tugs you toward him, pushing into your space, his chest brushing your breasts through your dress. Anticipation catches in your throat, arousal you’ve been holding back for so long pulsing to life. 

Then his expression turns serious, thoughtful, his free hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back with casual intimacy. “That’s what I was thinking, you know.”

Your thoughts are already sluggish with a pleasant haze, it takes a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. “That you wanted me to cut his balls off?”

“I was thinking don’t fuck with my girl, because she’ll make you wish you’d never laid a hand on her, and leaving with your balls still attached is the least of your worries.”

The absolute certainty, the pride in his voice - some emotion you’re not ready to name twists behind your ribs, trembles through your veins. 

God, what you wouldn’t do for this man. 

Lifting your free hand, you let it trail down his chest, the slight swell of his stomach, brush over the bulge of his jeans. His breath hitches as you press your palm there, lean in to murmur against his lips. 

“Don’t worry, your balls are safe with me.”

#triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #reader insert #no y/n

[hollowtones]

what went into that chicken soup

Well I Had Chicken In It Ha Ha Ha

I forgot I posted about chicken soup on here & then I remembered I had chicken soup the other day. I didn't technically make all of it. There's this one local(ish) barbecue place I order from sometimes, they do REALLY good ribs & chicken, but they also make a simple but real nice chicken noodle soup in-house, so I like ordering that as an appetizer.

This time they gave us a lot of chicken soup, because my ma also wanted some, and ordering a big thing of soup was cheaper than ordering two smaller portions, so I had leftovers the next day. I also had a big hunk of BBQ chicken still on the bone left over, so I tossed that in the pot. I wanted to try dressing it up more, but I was having A Day and didn't have the energy for doing much kitchen work, so I mostly just rough-chopped a carrot and split a garlic clove in half and tossed those in to the pot to simmer with everything for a while.

Very satisfying "let's use up some leftovers" kind of meal. I wish I had some frozen peas to toss in there, though.

[ohkate]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

The self care edition

Thanks @energievie for the tag babe!

-----

Name: Kate

Age: 44

What kind of day is it? Will the snow please go away?

When was the last time you ate? Last night

About how many hours of sleep did you get? I sleep off and on and I tend to toss and turn throughout the night. So usually only a few hours at a time.

Name one thing you could do to make your day better right now: Not be at work.

Why are you not doing that thing? Cause...money.

What are you going to do tonight to relax? Gallavich anything. I love fandom creative work and it makes me really happy to just create.

What comfort food do you not eat often enough? I should deny myself more, honestly. But I would say my homemade potstickers.

What’s stopping you? They take like 3 hours to make. And buying all the ingredients is expensive. But they're the best thing you'd ever eat. I make great Chinese takeout style foods. My char sui pork is ridiculoussssss.

Have you ever had a professional massage? Yes. The idea of them used to skeeve me out, but I got a free one as a gift and I found I do like it if it's just my back and if I can just sit in a chair. I don't like lay-down massages unless performed by the person I'm sleeping with. Then it's kind of nice.

Have you eaten fruits and vegetables today? Not yet but I will tonight.

How much water have you had today? None, but I will. I usually only drink water after 5pm. I'm a soda addict.

Is there a self-care gadget you really want to buy? Not so much a gadget, but I wish I could hire someone to take out my trash every night. Or I wish we had a trash chute. I live on a 3rd floor apartment and I work from home so I don't have to go out every day. I have a prior knee injury that's been acting up a lot lately and so going up and down the stairs is killing me. I hate having trash hanging around so I tend to force myself to do it anyway. i wish i could just hire someone to take it out every day for me. It would do more for my mental health than anything else, not having to worry about falling down the stairs.

What is your favorite healthy snack? I actually love frozen veggies and fruit. With some veggies I don't like, i love frozen. Like peas. I hate them cooked, love them frozen.

What is your favorite unhealthy snack? Cheese. An obscene amount of cheese. I'm fairly convinced my entire ass is probably cheese. Or sour cream.

What is one thing you are going to start doing RIGHT NOW to take better care of yourself? I don't do well if I don't have a hobby so I think just continuing to enjoy that is good for me. I tend to get hyper-fixated on something for a long time. I have real life hobbies, too, and those are more consistent than fandom stuff. But if I can't stretch my creative muscles I can get depressed.

And to close, I want you to say one NICE thing to yourself that you really need to hear right now: You're doing the best you can. It's not your fault you are living in the situation you're living in. There's literally nowhere to move to. You work your ass off and not forcing yourself to get 3 jobs just to pay 5k rent on some 300 square foot apartment somewhere isn't being lazy. You're stuck right now but you'll get out of here someday.

tagging: @lingy910y, @metalheadmickey, @gallawitchxx and anyone else who wants to play.

#weekly tag wednesday