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absurdthirst · 4 years

Note

So admittedly I've asked another writer about this trope, but i really want this for the Mando fandom!! It's the opposite of sex pollen. It's FIGHT pollen and ANGST. One of them gets drugged/ mind controlled to fight/ kill the other 😏

***I have to admit...I dragged my feet on this. I suck at writing out action sequences...

Crazed

“Mescal! You have to stop!” Mando ducked as another blaster bolt was fired in his direction. He was pinned down and he could only be thankful that the charges for the Ambien rifle were in the belt around his calf. Otherwise his lover would have killed him by now.

****

He should have never let you enter that cantina by yourself. You had grinned up at him, just as charming as the damn kid when you gave him those eyes. Claiming that you could give him a better idea of where the quarry was located in the busy bar.

It was then that everything had gone to complete shit. The quarry had an accomplice, something that wasn’t included in the information given to you on the fob. That accomplice had spotted you looking at the quarry and moved in. Injecting you with Ira, a potent drug that caused uncontrollable rage in the user. Causing them to want to kill those they were closest to. Which had led to his current predicament.

****

Every fucking weapon in his arsenal was meant to take down any adversaries permanently. Luckily he hadn’t brought the ambien rifle with him, but still, the blasters and whistling birds were not things that he was willing to use against you. He just wanted to keep you engaged so you didn’t try to take off for the Razor Crest again.

The child was secured and he engaged ground protocols, but as you knew the damn code. The only way for him to change it, to keep you from getting into the ship, was to do it from the control panel in the cockpit.

Another blaster bolt hit the wall behind him.

“I’m gonna kill you, Mando!” You yelled, sounding completely different from the woman that he normally dealt with.

“Meshla! Just stop!” He knew that he was going to have to do something and quickly. “Listen to me!”

He bolted out from behind the low wall and darted towards her. He saw the unrestrained fury on your face as you lifted the blaster again as he lowered his shoulder and ran directly into you, driving you both to the ground.

He had sparred with you many times, normally contained you with ease. But this time the drugs that coursed through your system had given you a strength that was making you a formidable adversary, difficult to contain.

He managed to get ahold of your hand, slamming it to the ground to try to knock the blaster away. Shots went wild in the street as it went off. You growled as you went wild underneath him, kicking and punching with the hand that he didn’t have pinned down. He had never seen you look so furious.

Then you reached for his helmet. In the rational part of his mind, he knew that it was the drugs that caused you to grab the edge of the Beskar. You had respected his Creed for far too long for this to be you. But it didn’t stop him from reacting to it.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured as his hand curled into a fist and connected with your jaw.

****

You woke up with a start, laying on your cot, the cot you share with Mando with a horrible headache and a sore jaw. Sitting up quickly you grasped your head with a groan that caught the attention of someone who was lurking around the corner, waiting for you to wake up.

“I have some bacta cream for your jaw.” He held out the tube.

Your eyes welled up, remembering everything that had happened. Every bolt that you had sent Mando’s way. Remembered reaching for the edge of his helm.

“Man-Mando, I-I….I’m so so sorry.” You stuttered, shaking in place at the realization of what exactly you had tried to do. “I would have n-never…”

“It’s fine.” Mando stated shortly, still holding the tube for you to take. “I know that it was because you were crazed.”

You lowered your head, tears falling to wet the blanket that covered your lap.

“Besides, you also know how I subdued you.” His voice lowered as did his visor, as if he were embarrassed.

“Thank you.”

His helmet jerked up. “What?”

You nodded. “I tried to take your helmet off. I would have killed you. I tried to kill you. I would have killed the kid. Thank you for stopping me.”

His helmet dipped once, a firm nod before he looked away. “I’m still sorry I hurt you.”

You took the tube of cream as silence settled between them. Each of you wondering what the other was thinking, but too afraid to ask.

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Note

Hi may I please request some more dirty/ funny/ etc Vision and Wanda pregnancy headcannons? Idk why but this has become my new obsession!

You most certainly can! I’m sorry this took me so long to get to, my Ambien kicked my ass last night and well into the day today. Slept too damn much. But here we go!

- Pregnancy cravings are normal and boy did Wanda have them! And it was never “I want...” it was “The babies want...” either phrase would get Vision moving quickly but there was something about saying “The babies want” that really got him moving.

- The cravings were always very specific too. “The babies want macaroni and cheese” meant from the KRAFT blue box. Not homemade like Vision had planned. It had to be from KRAFT. A burger wasn’t just any burger, it has to be a double Whopper with cheese. No exceptions, no imitations.

- This of course was when she was finally able to eat more than just hard candies. That lasted for the first 5 months but after that nausea went away, it was cravings 24/7 and yes, Vision absolutely did go out at 4am to find Wanda and the boys a chicken quesadilla.

#headcanons #outnumbered au #Anonymous #reply #asks

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whoareurl · 4 years

Text

birthday fic for softersteve <3

i’ve been gone for ages soz but i had to pop by and give @softersteve some birthday love because i still read their blog religiously for all the soft steve content so here’s some shrinkyclinks of my own. it’s a bit light on snez but there’s plenty of whump! and i might have an idea for a part 2 but we’ll see

By the time spring break rolls around, Steve is practically dead on his feet. Midterms floored him and he’d spent so much time in the art building over the past two weeks that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s developed a conditioned rage response to the hideous 80s wallpaper in his favourite workroom. So, when it comes time to pack for their week-long trip home, Bucky is the one who does most of the hard work. The lucky bastards in engineering don’t have midterms in the spring semester and the bright-eyed innocence in Bucky’s eyes kinda makes Steve want to stab him in the hand with a fork.

“Got everything?” Bucky asks as Steve slips into the passenger seat, dosed up on Ambien and fully prepared to fall asleep as soon as they hit the interstate. It’s only a two hour drive, much shorter than what many students have to endure, but it’s still more than Steve’s stomach can handle, especially with all the stress he’s been under lately. Besides, his joints have been aching all day and the beginning of spring allergy season is making him congested so he’s happy for the option of a little time out. “All your meds?”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, already feeling heavy-lidded. “Yes, ma.”

Bucky grins and, like the dickhead he is, plays up his role. “Are you sure you don’t need the bathroom before we leave?”

Steve slaps him and buckles himself in. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky shoots back and starts the engine. “I’m putting on my country playlist so you’re just gonna have to deal until the meds knock you out.”

Steve groans but it’s a playful groan. Despite his protests, Steve doesn’t actually hate the country songs Bucky adores. Well, not all of them. And he’s gonna be out cold in about twenty minutes so he figures it’s only fair to indulge Bucky’s garbage music taste.

“You’re the boss,” he says, firing off a mocking salute before tucking his school sweatshirt up between his neck and his shoulder and settling in for the ride.

He expects to be woken by Bucky telling him they’ve arrived so it’s with some surprise and confusion that Steve finds himself awake barely an hour later with an absolute cacophony of bells ringing in his head and a thin sheen of sweat all over his skin. He lets out a little groan and makes an aborted move to get Bucky’s attention before he remembers that he’s driving.

“B-Buck,” he croaks out without ever really deciding to speak.

Bucky hums gently and, when he looks over at Steve, he pales quite significantly. “Stevie? What’s wrong? You gonna be sick?”

As he’s speaking, Bucky is already turning the music off and reaching blindly behind him for a plastic bag which he thrusts into Steve’s lap as a makeshift sickbag. Steve coughs and then he can’t stop coughing. And then he thinks back to the midterms and the stress and the all-nighters and he feels a weight settle heavily on his shoulders. So, it wasn’t allergies. He’s not sure if the timing is excellent or awful since now he’s not going to be enjoying his time off but at least he won’t be missing class. Either way, this is already shaping up to be one hell of a spring cold.

“You’re running a fever,” Bucky worries as he briefly touches Steve’s forehead, glancing between Steve and the road.

“I know!” Steve snaps and feels immediately guilty. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky returns and he doesn’t even sound fazed. Ambien-fuelled Steve isn’t exactly known for being a barrel of laughs. And right now, he feels like garbage. “We’re about 45 minutes out. You gonna be okay?”

Steve sighs and is about to make a half-hearted quip about not having much choice when he’s suddenly overtaken by a desperate need to sneeze.

“Heh’NGXshoo!” Steve is thrown forward with the unexpected force of it and stays there when he can feel another one building. “EhYISHHew! NXGH’huh!”

“Don’t stifle,” Bucky mumbles. Steve feels Bucky’s hand land on his back and rub along the bumps of his spine.

Without tissues, the best Steve can do is wipe his nose on the cuff of his hoodie and sniffle the rest back. It’s, fundamentally, super fucking gross. God, he’s so cold and he cannot stop shivering. The fact that his t-shirt is soaked with cold sweat certainly isn’t helping but he’s sure as hell not going to take it off. Because that would mean having to take his hoodie off and the thought makes him want to cry. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and brings his knees up to his chest, grateful, for once in his life, that he’s small enough to curl up in Bucky’s passenger seat.

“Services coming up,” Bucky says. Without opening his eyes, Steve knows exactly the worried expression Bucky is wearing by the tone of his voice. “I can pick up some tissues?”

Steve sniffles, feeling somewhat pitiful. Tissues would certainly be good. But they’ll get there faster if they don’t stop. It’s a dilemma but, in the end, when another violent shiver wracks through him, Bucky makes the decision for him.

“Alright. Tissues and a blanket,” he says, cranking up the heat and angling the blowers so they’re all pointed at Steve.

When they’re parked in the service station, Bucky reaches over to push Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “You don’t do anything by halves, huh, Stevie?” He says gently, leaning in to kiss Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything stupid?”

“Can’t. You’re taking all the stupid,” Steve mumbles, forcing a weak smile. This seems so appease Bucky somewhat and he smiles back.

“Five minutes,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Steve feels awful, there’s no denying it. The joint pain he’d been feeling earlier has progressed from a dull ache to something a bit more aggressive, particularly in his hips, and the congestion in his sinuses has spread down into his upper chest. He feels the tightness pulling just below his collarbones and resigns himself to the fact that this is going to be a nightmare of a week.

True to his word, Bucky returns quickly and throws a fleece blanket over Steve’s shivering body. “Sorry, pal, all they had were Yankees blankets.”

Steve makes a face. “I better not have Gerrit Cole’s face on me right now,” he grumbles, cracking one eye open to look at Bucky.

Bucky laughs, ripping open a fresh box of tissues and settling it near the gear shift. “You gonna take it off if he’s on there?”

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbles, opting not to look and live in warm, comfortable denial.

His next breath catches deep in his chest and he curls in on himself with another rattling cough. Thankfully, he gets it under control before Bucky starts rummaging through the glove box for his inhaler. He’s actually gone one in his pocket thank you very much. Not that anybody ever bothers checking anymore. No, his reputation for leaving it at home - either out of forgetfulness or, for one memorable year in middle school, sheer stubbornness - has pretty much put an end to anybody bothering to check if he’s carrying one before they hand him another. He supposes he should be touched and, on a good day, he is. But today is not a good day. Today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and Steve just wants to be asleep.

“Not long now, Stevie,” Bucky says soothingly. Steve wants to be annoyed because he’s not a child but he can’t find it in himself because, damnit, Bucky’s voice is actually soothing when he talks like that.

Fuck, he’s so in love.

By the time they’re pulling up outside Sarah Rogers’s house, Steve feels truly miserable. He’d started feeling nauseous about ten minutes ago and had opened the window for some air which only brought back his earlier shivers with a vengeance. And, to top it all off, he saw the Yankees logo on the damn blanket. Today sucked.

“Come on, babydoll,” Bucky says as he helps Steve out of the car.

Somewhat reluctantly, Steve abandons the traitorous blanket in the car but snags the box of tissues and lets Bucky sling his arm around his shoulders as they head up to the door. As usual, Bucky rings the doorbell to let Sarah know they’re there and then heads inside. Steve shivers involuntarily at the warmth of the house and catches a few, itchy sneezes into a fresh handful of tissues.

His nose hasn’t stopped running since it started nearly an hour ago and all he wants is a change of clothes and a nap.

“My boys!” Sarah exclaims as she comes out of the living room to greet them, expression softening when she sees the state of her son.

That expression is just too much for Steve who detaches himself from Bucky and wraps his mother up in a hug. He can’t smell anything through his stuffy nose but he can imagine the homely way she always smells and has to blink back tears. God, he’s a mess. He blames the Ambien more than anything. Everybody knows they fuck with you if you don’t sleep long enough.

“Aw, honey,” Sarah mutters into Steve’s hair, running a hand up and down his back. “You shouldn’t have come all this way if you weren’t feeling well. I’ll still be here in the summer.”

“Didn’t feel bad until we left,” Steve admits, somehow completely forgetting how much worse that makes his cold sound.

Sarah frowns and holds him at arms length, looking him up and down. “That came on fast. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Ma,” Steve starts but Bucky interrupts before he can offer any platitudes.

“Like hell you are,” Bucky grumbles, slipping his arm around Steve’s waist. “Bed. Let’s go.”

Steve huffs, his indignation giving him the strength to stand his ground. “I’m fine.”

Bucky yawns. “Who said it was for you? I drove all the way here. I need a nap.”

“Well, you can go without me,” Steve says, unsure why exactly he’s continuing this argument. He wants to go to bed. But he’s not going because he’s told to, even if it is Bucky and Ma.

Bucky pouts. “But I sleep better with you there.”

That bastard. Steve knows what he’s doing. He’s used this tactic time and again and the worst part is that it always works. It’s working now. Steve knows he’s going to agree even before his Ma presses a kiss to his cheek and says, “Take the guest bed, boys. You’ll have more space.”

So Steve lets Bucky drag him upstairs, lets Bucky dig out a sleep shirt for him while he gets undressed, lets Bucky pull him tight against his side and tuck a hot water bottle against his back. He gives in. He cuddles up close and drifts off tracing the curve of Bucky’s hip bone with his fingers.

Bucky’s so beautiful. Steve doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Marry me,” he whispers as he finally drops off the edge of the cliff into sleep.

part two

#acefic #acefic stucky

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vv00rm · 4 years

Text

Starkid/TCB moments that I think about a lot:

• aaaaaaaaahhhhh AhhhhhHhhhhhHhhh

AAAAHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

• To honour. Hittin’ on her, gettin’ on her, Stayin’ on her, and if you can’t come in her, come on her, God bless America!

• Aiaiaiai they’re gonna do it, they’re gonna do it - Aaaaahhhhhhhh

• I’m severely nearsighted

• can’t even tell her bloods apart

• when i rule the world i’ll plant flowers! when i rule the world i’ll have snakes!

And Jane Austen novels! - and giants and thestrals and all my death eaters

• when you’re bound to VoldemOoOorT

• and I’m happy as a squirrel, long as I’m with mister Quirrrrrrrrel

• So, you’re Thomas Jefferson and I’m your Sally Hemmings, is that right?

• It’s going to be pretty hard to make that rollerblading date from Azkaban

• Is okay good? Quirrel! okay is wonderful!

• Hey Voldemort?

Yeah, squirrel?

Okay is wonderful

• YEAH SQUIRREL

• No one’s innocent

• I liked you better when you were dead

• you know you broke my heart

• and pretend to be the hero again? typical jerk! what happened tobthe man I knew? It’s a little late for an interview! feeling a lot of deja vu again!

• generally all of one step ahead

• that one bit in one more shot, where the overlapping themes happen. gotta have another, got to have another - gimme more, give me another - shot, shot, shot, one more shot - and another, another

• ring ring - the phone rings. i answer it. *runs across the stage*

• this is humanity’s eleventh hour. And i’ve prepared something for the occasion. * sits down more elegantly that i ever could*

• i have a little something for you. it’s in your breast pocket. That’s a grenade, it’s live i have the pin

• you poisoned me!

oh, get over it. i’ve been poisoning myself a little bit everyday since 1939

• we did all we could do to eliminate the jew, but nobody ever sanked us. so we never got the glory and you rewrote the story and a feel it from my vener to my shnitsel

• I’m grecel, im hans, im heidi, im vondjslshksbsks *the entire chorus of this song*

• Literally All of Torture Tango

• Lightning strikes a second time - back on top! A champion!

• Well, I think your a big dsyummy

• and you thought the threes of is wouldn’t hear? i dont think so! uh uh Uhh

• In fact, we’re gonna take on all of you RIGHT NOW *gets in that fighting position where on of them holds Nick Land up while Nick Lang holds his fists up*

• I’m better now. Im drunk

• Im sorry, I fell asleep because that was so boring

• Im obi wan kenobi amd im an alcoholic

• ambien - im on it

• FUCK YOU HACHETFIELD

• *all of Twisted*

• also all of if i believed

• but i looove, I Looooooove , I LOOOOOOOOVE being at your side

• * FUCK IT ALL OF KICK IT UO A NOTCH REPRISE*

• What do you say we tirn this funeral *pops up gummy ring* into a hweddin’

• I’ and arachnid of simple taste - i just want to eat brains!

• *thud* *thud* *thud* **thud* *opens door, revealing Joe Walker in a dress and extreme makeup*

• not exactly in a musical, but fuck it: SATAN IS A REAL MAN

• Ouch my Butt!

• Just a taste of What THE FUCK

• looking for a last name here-

audience member, momentarily: The DickRats

• What is this trip about? One, two, three! I’m a mONsTER

• the entire ‘ yeah, i loved my parents.’ ‘ but that didn’t stop me from doing what needed to be done’ bit

• This guy- pushes him- is a Sorcerer!!!

• Hey Ja’far?

Yeah?

Where do hippopotamus’ come from?

... Africa.

How’d you know that sorcerer!

• And you’re right about Deb, she’s a hardcore stoner

• What if I could promise more, than what I gave to you before, so when we don’t see eye to eye, i’ll always give your way a try-

*put down ring* *j-mills is sad* *holds up another ring* *j-mills is happy*

This is the dawn, the dawn of our time. We are womankind, with the gift of a greater mind

• Ducker pushes Emberly away to pray for zaz and j-mills

• i don’t wanna do the work today

• At night!! he sees!! he knows, when the rest of us don’t!!! Oh no!!! What’s that?!?! I don’t think we’re alone!!

• Let it out, let out-

- NEVEEEEEEERRRR!

• Hey mister business, how do you, How do you, How Do You Doooo.... WE GOT A DOUBLE FOR YOU!!! Hey, Mr buisness, and we’ll bring it right up.

•*all of MADE IN AMERICA*

• i just really love Joey Richter, okay

• MY MOM’S A BITCH

• mouthface: “dies” of dysentery: The Loord sent me baack~ *winks at audience*

• when i interact with a new object, im gonna poke it, the im gonna pick it up, wiggle it about, put it in my mouth. and if if it doesn’t try to get OUT of my mouth, its going down the hatch

• Dysentery World and Wagon is on Fire

• Wagon is On Fire is better and more dramatic than the entire les mis

• *all of AVPM and AVPS*

#starkid #tcb #saf #spies are forever #black friday #trail to oregon #starship #twisted: the untold story of a royal vizier

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Kurtbastian one-shot “Coming of Age” (Rated PG13)

Summary: An unfortunate accident while teaching his son to ride a skateboard does more than knock the wind out of Sebastian's sails. (1741 words)

Part 53 of Daddies

Read on AO3.

“Exercise bike … dragon fruit cuttings … barbells … another exercise bike … golf clubs … ooo, questionable Japanese print of three naked guys doing it. That’s definitely going in the save pile …”

Kurt peeks out the kitchen door into the living room when he hears his husband mumbling, finally awake after his three hour, painkiller-induced coma on the sofa. Kurt looks his exhausted husband over – the mess of hair on his head, his five o’clock shadow, his wrinkled white t-shirt. With cell phone in hand, peering at the screen through squinty eyes, he looks less like Sebastian Smythe and more like a stereotypical, rough-around-the-edges love interest from some cheesy rom-com.

And it makes Kurt smile.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen his husband so adorably rumpled. It makes him want to cuddle up next to him with a mug of apple cider and waste a whole day doing nothing but being quiet in one another’s company.

With everything going on in their lives, it’s been so long since they’ve been able to find the time.

Well, we have the time now, Kurt thinks as his eyes fall on the cast on Sebastian’s right arm – a souvenir from a recent attempt to teach their son to ride a skateboard.

Thomas took to it like a fish to water. But Sebastian - more like a fish trying to make a three tier Belgian chocolate cake with sour cream frosting.

To be fair, Sebastian used to be an incredible skateboarder back in the day. It was one of the things that attracted the hell out of Kurt when they first tried their hands at being friends. Watching him grind on the railings all over campus made up for a good third of the crap Sebastian had said to him in high school.

But working full time, traveling, getting married, and adopting a kid – especially a kid with special needs - left little time for Sebastian to sharpen his skills. He did fine going forward and stopping. He even popped a decent Ollie. But his attempt to do a kick flip ended with his feet twisted underneath him. He flew head over heels, then landed on his back with his arm twisted beneath him.

Kurt stayed by his side the entire trip to the hospital. He tried to joke with him, take his mind off it the same way Sebastian did with Kurt when he accidentally mixed Ambien and Dayquil with a booze filled donut and had to get his stomach pumped.

Sebastian cracked a smile, but that’s all Kurt could get out of him.

He didn’t make a single sarcastic comment the entire time they sat in the exam room, didn’t make a single off-colored joke when the nurse came to take his temperature. In fact, he was a model patient, which is odd for Sebastian.

And ever since, he’s been uncharacteristically quiet.

The more Kurt watches his husband sulk on the sofa, the more he suspects it’s not the painkillers keeping him sedated.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Scrolling through Facebook marketplace.”

Kurt makes a face. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

Sebastian shrugs, making an I don’t know noise.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“A-ha.” Sebastian turns his phone so Kurt can see. “Look at all these used CPR dummies! And just $40? That’s a steal!” Sebastian shakes his head, returning to the screen. “Why are the kid ones anatomically correct? That’s just nasty!”

“Uh … I feel there’s a story behind this,” Kurt says, sitting beside his husband. “And after our Elf on a Shelf battle, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“Wes has an irrational fear of CPR dummies.”

“But … he’s a doctor.”

“Yup. It made for an interesting four years during his Red Cross internship.”

“You’re not going to buy those CPR dummies, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no need to have half a dozen used CPR dummies in the house.”

“They’re not going to be in our house.” Sebastian chuckles. “I’m gonna send them to Wes.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because pulling pranks on your loved ones can be fun.”

“Or mean.”

“You should talk.”

“Bas …” Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s knee, hoping to pull his focus, but Sebastian doesn’t look away from his phone “… what’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a stick in the mud ever since you broke your arm.”

“Probably because I broke my arm.”

“Yeah, but the old Sebastian Smythe wouldn’t have let that keep him down. He would have seen the silver lining.”

“What silver lining?”

“For one thing, he would have jumped at the chance at getting a five hour bj whilest high on powerful, hallucinogenic painkillers. But you haven’t propositioned me. Not even once.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not the old Sebastian Smythe,” he grumbles. “I’m just an old Sebastian Smythe.”

“Ah ...” Kurt nudges his way underneath his husband’s left arm, wedging himself between Sebastian and his phone, but Sebastian raises his arm higher to see over his head. “I think I see what’s going on. Sebastian, falling off a skateboard once does not make you old.”

“It doesn’t make me young,” Sebastian counters, swiping vindictively at his cell phone screen with his thumb.

“You haven’t stepped on a skateboard in over a decade. You can’t expect to just get on it and go. It’s not a bicycle.”

“Nothing says I wouldn’t have fallen off a bicycle, either.”

“I thought you were the one who didn’t care about growing old.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because, stupidly, I didn’t think it was going to happen to me.”

Kurt is about to remind him that growing old happens to everyone, but he knows what his husband means. Even as a realist, knowing that old age happens to everyone, it scared the hell out of Kurt when it happened to his dad.

And when it started happening to him - his first grey hair heralding the beginning of the end as far as he was concerned.

But sitting beside his husband, curling into his side and laying his head on his chest, he recognizes that he also never believed Sebastian would grow old. Being a responsible adult human isn’t how he sees his husband, even though he’s been that for a while now. Sebastian has a certain boyish charm that seems to withstand the test of time. Nothing fazes him, he takes nothing seriously, and even at his most infuriating, he always finds a way to make life fun.

Listening to Sebastian talk about growing old is like watching Peter Pan hang up his pixie dust and his pointy hat to become a lawyer. It’s inconceivable.

“Breaking your arm doesn’t mean you’re old. It just means you’re not that good on a skateboard anymore.”

“Harsh.”

“But that’s not a bad thing. I know that we want to teach our children, be everything for them. I know you want to be Thomas’s hero, but you already are, and you didn’t need to get on a skateboard to do that. The most important thing is that you’re willing to try and willing to do. And willing to fail.”

Sebastian sighs, dropping his hand with the phone in it to his side and his head back on the couch.

“But I shouldn’t have failed. That’s the thing. I should have been able to get right back on that skateboard and ride it as if a day hadn’t gone by since the last time. And for a good few seconds, it felt exactly like that. I was riding again, and nothing had changed. But then I tried to do that flip, and I felt … heavier than I remember. Clumsier. My brain was telling my feet what to do, and my feet said Sorry! New phone, who dis? And then I hit the ground, and the whole world stopped. Thomas was so worried about me and you were calling 9-1-1 because I couldn’t get my ass up and do it myself. It was just so … humiliating.”

“I get that,” Kurt says, wrapping his arms around his husband’s torso and giving him a hug. “But I think you’re being a little too hard on yourself.”

“That comment is begging for a NC17 rated comeback, but I just can’t come up with one right now.” Sebastian sighs. “See? I told you. I’m old. I’m losing my touch.”

“I don’t see how you can honestly believe that. You’re in excellent shape! You exercise constantly - you run, you play handball, basketball, tennis. So, you couldn’t land one kick flip. To be honest, with the amount of stuff you can do, I would say you were due for one tiny failure. And aside from that …” Kurt snuggles closer, letting his hands roam, careful to avoid certain bruised areas in search for the ones that turn Sebastian on with the mere suggestion of a touch “… do you really think an old man would be having the amount of sex that you do? And not just regular, boring, vanilla sex … inventive sex.”

“Inventive, huh?”

“Yup. And you call me flexible.”

Sebastian grins and Kurt knows he’s got him. “Yeah, well, if there ever comes a day when I can’t fuck, please do the humane thing and shoot me.”

“It’s a deal. And look, if you want to take up skateboarding again, it’s not too late. Tony Hawk is 51 and he still boards. You’re nowhere near that old. With a little time and effort, you can get your old mojo back.” Kurt bites his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh. “I’m sure Thomas would love to teach you.”

“Ha-ha.” Sebastian glares at Kurt, but his grin doesn’t only stay, it grows. “I guess you’re right. I’ll take stock of how many more limbs I’m willing to fracture and get back to you guys.” He raises his left arm and goes back to fiddling with his phone. It makes a cheerful dinging noise and Kurt sighs.

“You just bought those CPR dummies, didn’t you?”

“Maybe …” Sebastian giggles. “Can’t help it. Facebook makes it too easy.”

“Sebastian, I love you, but you are a man with way too much money and way way too much time on your hands.”

Sebastian scrolls back to the questionable Japanese print, his thumb hovering dangerously close to the ‘checkout’ button. “You’re not wrong.”

#Kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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angelhummel · 5 years

Text

5x04

Recap guy voice: Jake and Marley have found true love so you know that’s gonna last!! Umm rude. Also no bc the writers don’t know how to have a relationship without cheating so bleh

I’ve said it before but my favorite parts of the show are when they’re just sitting around acting like fools and the dialogue hasn’t started yet. Blaine and Artie doing the little finger wave thing at the piano? Adorable

I’m glad Tina has some sense and knows Kurt was the biggest Gaga at that school

“Is there a third option?” Honestly this is so silly omg. But good silly honestly

Also ugh I’m sad that they didn’t have a full Gaga episode. Like she had half a dozen albums out at that point with like a million different styles of music she used. They could’ve done a whole ep. You don’t have to split Gaga with Kiss or Katy, trust

“Adam kicked me out of the Adam’s Apples when he heard I was engaged” aww there’s that boyfriend that’s so much sweeter and softer and more considerate than Blaine :)

“Finn wouldn’t want you sitting on the sidelines while life passes you by” isn’t that exactly what she has to tell him in like three episodes?

“What about you, babe?” Realistically I know Dani is the lesbian Adam but I still love her and she’s cute as long as we ignore the biphobia oops

Penny: And if this homemade dark mark doesn’t convince you...

TRUE JACKSON VP

Oh my god I remember someone describing Blaine in a red polo as a cupcake and then in this polo with the decorations he was “a cupcake with sprinkles” and he’s wearing it when Sam says “I like sweet things too” he’s talking about cupcake sprinkles Blaine

So that’s two episodes in a row where Kurt and Santana coordinate outfits. Could they be any cuter??

Sorry Kurt, I love you, but the Apocalypsticks is a phenomenal name

ADAM! The good Adam. I love him. He was criminally underused

“It’s a little Project Runway. Season six” oh Kurt your jabs give me life

I would literally die for Lady Gaga but AL’s version of Marry the Night is just like... perfect

This is why I wish Klaine didn’t get back together for a while. Bc how could Kurt not wanna jump on that???

I hate Bree but her in this caution tape outfit... I mean I’m only human

Oh my god Marley getting all excited over the Julie Andrews film tribute?? Someone tell me how on earth she could be anything but Kurt’s (and Blaine’s) child???

How can Marley afford to go to the movies and Breadstix every weekend anyway lmao. She broke

“Former teen stripper” honey don’t make me keep thinking about that...

Omg why does Marley look so starstruck when Sam says Penny will be attending the show?? She’s so cute

“...Lady Gaga?” “Who?!” I love Becky sometimes

I love Rachel’s more mature s4-5 wardrobe but this polka dot sweater... Honey. No.

Is Mr. Schuester pretending to teach? Awkward

“Let’s reenact a live birth on stage!” Sorry Unique that’s not for another four episodes

PENIS FLY TRAP how can anyone not love Unique omg

I fucking love the guys’ Gaga costumes but I would straight up trade my first born child to see Kurt in that white corset get up Ryder is wearing

And here’s my fave part of the show, where Mr. Schuester suspends Marley for not wearing a seashell bikini (:

“I can be whoever you want” omg why don’t more people ship Kelliott?? Short answer, they just like hating Blaine and don’t actually care about who meshes well with Kurt

“Lady Gaga is too dark for me” oh my god these people

Sorry but Wide Awake is literally like musical ambien. They sound great but at what cost???

I also lowkey ship Blaine and Jake. I mean look at those big moon eyes from Blaine when Jake is singing. I can’t

Omg Jake kissed Marley’s forehead. Cute. Why why why does what’s about to happen have to happen???

Areola 51 Santana oh my god I love you

I kind of love that Rachel takes a whole ass backseat in this episode. It’s about damn time

“Gaga and Katy push each other to try harder, to get better, to be bolder!” Remember when the legendary Bob the Drag Queen was like “Is Beyonce worried about Britney?” That’s Gaga about Katy lmao

All these costumes are amazing but Tina and Kitty especially... oh my god.

“That was BS. Before Sue”. Okay but Sue is right though. Dress code is a thing that exists lol

I don’t like this song and wtf is this jerky movement down the halls but ugh. Everyone looks so good. I can’t stay mad

And now the loincloths and leopard bras. This show really gets me

And another event (this time forming a band and performing together) that revolves around Kurt and he doesn’t get a single solo line in a song :)

#glee #tdb rewatch #tdb rewatch a katy or a gaga #episode: a katy or a gaga #season 5 #5x04 #my thoughts #long post

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caramelfuzz · 6 years

Note

Can I get the Klance thing with I and 12 please? Also, I'd kill a man for you. Thank you for giving me a small patch of joy in my stressful but mundane life with your sick Keith content.💕💕😘

You??? Made my day??? Thank you so much for your kind words that means so much to me

I hope you like this fic!! I sort of took the flu mask thing from when my friend got the flu right before we left for the Baltic states on a choir tour and he had to wear a flu mask for the flights and layovers. The poor guy was miserable but it was also pretty hot…

In a word, Keith was miserable. He’d boarded this flight with a slight tickle in his throat, but now, only 4 hours in, he was sure he had a full-blown fever. Complete with sweating, shivering, and sensitivity to light and touch. And to top it all off his boyfriend was currently in a nice, comfortable ambien-induced sleep. If only he could take something, anything, to help him sleep, but no, the doctors always told him that his arrhythmia could be negatively affected by taking a sedative as strong as ambien, and his insomnia was such that over the counter medicines didn’t do jack squat. They still had about an hour left in the flight, and then a 6 hour layover. Lance had specifically instructed him to wake him for the landing, lead him to their new terminal, and to allow him to sleep again. He knew Lance was terrified of flying and would rather have him in a comfortable sleep than miserable and panicky, but he wished he could have some sort of comfort from his boyfriend in his current state.

He shivered and huddled closer to Lance, who mumbled something in his sleep before turning away so Keith was awkwardly halfway cuddled to his side. Damn.

He huddled deeper into the thin, airline supplied blanket and desperately wished he could wake Lance for comfort without feeling eternally guilty about it. Muffling a raspy cough into the blanket, he shut his eyes and willed sleep to come. He awoke a few hours later to a flight attendant shaking his shoulder gently,

“Sir, you and your seatmate need to exit the aircraft, please.”

Keith mumbled a hoarse “I’mb so sorry,” before dragging a half-conscious Lance off of the plane. They both stumbled towards their next gate, Lance stumbled because he was hopped up on his ambies, and Keith stumbled because it felt like the world was swimming around him. He was walking in a haze, only just realizing that he still clutched the airline blanket around his shoulders. He finally located their gate after an older airport employee took pity on him after seeing him struggling to read the map on the wall and showed him the way, even helping him guide Lance, who was basically sleepwalking.

He thanked the man as many times as his destroyed voice could handle before he erupted into a volley of crackly coughs, prompting the man to offer a travel sized packet of tissues from his pocket,

“You sound like you’ve got an awful cold, my dear boy. Unfortunately I’m going to have to ask you to wear one of the flu masks we provide in an attempt to keep your germs to yourself,”

He went and grabbed one from the desk for Keith when the latter attempted to stand but began shaking so violently from both chills and exhaustion that he couldn’t stay on his feet for more than 15 seconds before collapsing backwards.

Keith took the mask abashedly, croaking out a final “thangk you so mbuch for all your help, sir. I really appreciate it,” before slipping the elastic behind his ears and affixing the mask over his mouth. The man smiled, before tilting his head towards Lance, who was sprawled out in the chair next to Keith, drooling.

“Does he know you’re this sick? He should have realized you’re not fit to be flying right now.”

Keith shook his head blushingly, not used to this kind of concern from anyone, let alone a complete stranger.

“He’s petrified of flyigg. I’d rather he be asleep thand padickigg.”

The man looked disapprovingly towards the sleeping man, but left it at that, wishing Keith well before leaving him to shiver and attempt to ignore the looks he was getting from other travelers. In a way it was nice to have people avoiding him because of the mask, but it also made him feel terribly self conscious about his illness. He began stifling his sneezes and coughs, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible despite the mask. He shivered miserably as sneeze after sneeze wracked his fevered frame, each desperate stifle sending shockwaves of pain through his skull. At times he felt himself beginning to doze, but would shake himself awake again, an ironic turn of events, really. Just hours prior he would have given anything to be able to fall asleep but now he didn’t want to risk missing their flight.

That was how the entire layover and flight was spent, and by the time they landed, it was all Keith could do to drag Lance from the plane, grab their luggage, and haul everything towards a cab. The driver took one look at Keith’s fever bright eyes and the part of the flush he could see above the flu mask and rolled his window back up. Keith huffed, eyes filling with frustrated tears. He was sick and tired and he just wanted to crawl into a warm hotel bed and sleep until this horrid illness left his body. He somehow found a cab that didn’t mind his being stricken with the plague, in fact, the driver seemed a little too interested in his symptoms for his comfort, but Keith was far too feverish and exhausted to care too much. They finally, finally, made it to the hotel, and there was a light drizzle misting the air outside which caused Keith to shiver violently and sent a dangerous prick straight to the back of his sinuses, but the sneeze refused to manifest.

After a few embarrassing moments of desperate hitching he deposited Lance on the sofa in the lobby and carefully made his way over to the counter, his body suddenly feeling far too light without his boyfriend and their luggage weighing him down.

The attendant looked a bit frightened at his disheveledness, and Keith couldn’t blame her, though he was impressed when she plastered on her best Customer Service™ smile and kindly asked him for his name,

“K-hih!!”

The need to sneeze hit him like a ton of bricks, and he wrenched himself away from the desk, stumbling forward with the force of the sneezes. He didn’t even have time to think of stifling them,

“HIH’KSHH’SH! T’SHChh’EW! Heh’eh…Hh’AKCH’SH!”

He snuffled exhaustedly into his hand before remembering he was still wearing the mask and that his face was dripping with snot. Ew. He checked in as quickly as he could and grabbed his things and Lance before fleeing to the elevator.

Thankfully there was no one else on the elevator to give him dirty looks for bringing his illness into an enclosed space with them, but that also left him with the daunting task of removing both their luggage and Lance from the elevator without the doors closing before he was done. His arms felt like jelly after lugging Lance around all day, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and sleep, but he knew he should at least get to the cold medicine he’d packed in his checked bag “just in case,” or so he’d told Lance. He gingerly deposited Lance onto the large bed, removing his shoes and tucking him under the thick comforter. He just had to take something for this fever before he could join his boyfriend. He swallowed the pills dry and bent down to remove his shoes, but evidently he tried to get back up too fast because the next thing he knew, the floor was coming much too close to his face and the world went dark.

Lance awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and ready to seize the day. When he looked beside him and saw no sign of Keith, though, he got a bit worried. He could vaguely recall a few moments from the ambien induced fuzz that Keith hadn’t been looking too hot for most of their travel time, but he’d been too out of it to form words and say something about it. He hesitantly got out of bed, gasping when he saw Keith sprawled on the floor, shivering, with a flu mask on his face.

“Oh Keith, baby, what happened?”

Keith stirred at his name, sniffling miserably,

“La’dce? You’re awagke. I’mb ndot feeligg so good…”

He trailed off, eyes going unfocused. Lance palmed his forehead, hissing at the heat he felt burning there and rushing to Keith’s luggage,

“We need to get some meds in you, babe. You’re so, so warm.”

“I already took sobethid’ at ligke 10. Just gotta wait for it to kick ind. I’mb really cold. Will you please cuddle mbe?”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s 7 in the morning,”

Lance tutted and helped him to sit on the bed, covering his lap with the large comforter as he shivered hard.

“Oh… I guess we should get ub thend,”

He attempted to heave himself from the bed, but Lance pushed him back. Keith was difficult to understand, his voice partially muffled by the mask and partially dulled from congestion, but when Lance tried to take the mask off, his hand was smacked away weakly,

“Do, you cad’t catch this. I gotta keep by gerbs ind here with be,”

“At least let me help you blow your nose? You sound so miserable under there,”

Keith thought for a moment, evidently forgetting his own warning about germs in the process, before taking the mask off and scrubbing at the inside of it with Lance’s offered tissue, but the mask was beyond repair at that point, and his face wasn’t looking much better. His nose was red and chapped from his endless rubbing and pinching, and his cheeks were flushed a deep crimson from both the fever and from being trapped with the moisture for so long. Keith didn’t think to tend to his messy face, only continued to attempt to clean the mask that was almost falling apart in his hands.

Lance couldn’t help himself, he grabbed a couple tissues and tenderly wrapped them around Keith’s twitchy and warm nose,

“Blow,”

He commanded gently, and Keith obeyed, wincing at the jolt of pain he felt in his head. Suddenly a tickle worked its way into his nose and he gasped once before ducking back into the tissue with a series of wet sneezes.

“AahtCHTSSh’SHEW! Hh’CHTSshuh! HuhNGT’Chuh! HP’NGKshh’ew!”

They sat like that for a few minutes, Lance switching tissues while Keith continued to either blow or sneeze.

Finally Keith stopped the cycle with a barky cough into his shoulder, his mind vaguely recognizing that his cough had gotten much worse since the previous night, before dizziness took over and he slumped forward into Lance. Lance was startled at the sudden collapse of his boyfriend, but gently propped him up against the headboard and shook his shoulder gently,

“You need to stay awake for a minute, honey. I just need to get you to take some meds for that fever and then you can sleep, okay?”

“Budt our plands… ”

Keith protested softly, a guilty but determined look plastering itself over his misery,

“Nope, I don’t have plans anymore. You’re my number one priority.”

He watched Keith down the pills with the glass of water he’d brought from the bathroom and then bury himself under the blankets, shivering harshly, and couldn’t help but frown. If he hadn’t been such a baby about flying he would have noticed how sick his boyfriend was and this all could have been prevented.

Keith, seeming to sense his boyfriend’s thoughts, reached a fevered shaky hand out from the downy depths of the comforter and grabbed Lance’s hand,

“Dond’t evend thigk about blabigg yourself. I kdew what I was gettig idto, ogkay? I couldd’t bear to see you panicky and biserable.”

He coughed again, and Lance winced before climbing under the covers with him,

“I still feel bad, but I’m going to make it up to you by taking such good care of you that you’ll forget this miserable experience ever happened.”

#Aa writes #sick keith #caretaker lance #coldfic #sickfic #sneezefic #sneezing #poor keet #my son #always miserable in my fics

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ms-maj · 2 years

Note

Secret Santa here 🎅✏️

I do not wanna reveal myself but you have said something that MAJORLY makes me hyped and I'm getting to work as I write this!

Please write me novels on your Bughead takes! I want details!

Your next set of questions

-Favourite Christmas movie?

-The song that makes you think of Bughead the most?

-Bugheads colour pallet? What colours represent Bughead to you!

-Are you a wholesome Bughead fan or a Dark Bughead enjoyer? Or both!?

-Least favourite Bughead moment? Everyone has their favourite but I think the least favourite moment says a lot too!

-Thoughts on the comics? Have you read them are you interested in them?

Tis all for now! 🎅✏️✨

Hello there Santa! I hope the day is finding you well and again, ohhhh boy, I am so very, very sorry for all you're about to read 🤣

Hokay, so, there are levels to this, because I am very, very extra. For the classics, it's "White Christmas". The music and the sets and the COSTUMES, ahhh, just a must-watch for mood setting. Nothing quite kick starts the holiday vibes like WC. And while I don't watch Christmassy romcoms very much, "While You Were Sleeping" is at the top of that list. Now it comes down to the All-Time fave, the one that gets watched every Christmas Eve and has been the biggest part of my entire extended family's holiday since before I was born, and that is "Emmett Otter's Jugband Christmas." Any Muppet fans who haven't seen it, need to. (I'm making @theheavycrown watch this week! Mwahaha)

Oh man, songs! Haaaaaaah, another one of those questions where there are A Lot™ of answers and a you get another novel 🙃 My Blue and Gold playlist has many, many, many, many moods for all your listening needs. Current Bughead vibes: Oceans- Seafret, Only One-Yellowcard, Ambien- Conceiting the Victory and Sway- The Kooks.

Forever-vibes: Best of Me-The Starting Line, Blue and Yellow- The Used, Hurricane- Something Corporate, and For Me This Is Heaven- Jimmy Eat World.

Christmas-vibes: Nothing for Christmas- New Found Glory, Fool's Holiday-All Time Low, Christmas Lights-Yellowcard and of course, Christmas Night of the Zombies-MxPx.

And as cliché as it will sound, I care not at all, Bughead's colors will forever be blue and gold 💙💛

Wholesome Bughead or Dark Bughead? *insert 'Both' gif here* Gimme ALL the Bughead!!

This is a really interesting question and I've been thinking a lot about it. Of course there is the entire disasterpiece that was 4x17. (Hissing noises?! What in the blue fuck was that 🤦‍♀️) But also, I wasn't entirely pleased with how they reconciled in 2x06. Whether it was an issue of editing and we lost context or just all-around poor writing, it just seemed like we missed out on a lot of necessary conversation and I just wanted MORE.

As for the comics, I did read them a lot as a kid because they were literally the only thing my Aunt had at her house that was kid friendly, but because I never understood why anyone would be fighting over Archie, they weren't at the top of my list 😆 I do enjoy reading the current iterations though. That kiss in 'The Hunger'? More of that, please and thank you!

Thanks for such awesome questions!! Sorry it took so long to answer but that song question had me trying to pare down from a hundred hahaha. I'm so excited to see what you create! Have an awesome day, you little gem ☃

#bughead secret santa #bss #so ask me ask me ask me

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sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

It'll be back tonight by jesswhatineeded

The drilling started around 3 a.m.

I opened my eyes with a jolt, instantly awake and confused in the pitch black humidity of the room. My room, although it was still unfamiliar. As I let the shape of my nightstand and the books piled on top of it form in the darkness, the muffled mechanic whirring continued below me.

I kicked the sweaty sheets off my body in a tangled heap and heaved myself off the mattress, immediately stubbing my toe on an unpacked box of picture frames. Of course I hadn’t plugged in a lamp yet.

“Shit,” I hissed and tiptoed to the door around more boxes and bins, a landmine of my procrastination.

I made my way downstairs and peered into the living room. It was blindingly bright with all of the lights turned on - the overhead fan, both lamps on either side of the couch, even the glow of the quiet TV showing a rerun of Family Feud. My dad was crouched down by the front door, drill in hand, installing what looked like a military-grade padlock beneath the knob. His toolbox was open on the floor, its contents scattered around him, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was mumbling something to himself.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He jumped, dropping the drill onto the toolbox with a loud clattering, his mouth open in horror. When he turned and saw me, he exhaled and clutched his chest.

“Jesus, Sarah, you scared me half to death,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s going on? You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same thing,” I said. “You’re the one using power tools at 3:00 in the morning.”

“Is it that late?” He laughed again - that same weird, nervous tittering that was so unlike him - and looked down at his watch. “Must have lost track of time. I’ll keep it down. Sorry, sweetie.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over the baggy t-shirt I wore to bed.

“We didn’t have a decent lock on this door,” he said simply. “You know, this house hasn’t had any updates since the ‘70s. Anyone could come breaking in here and steal something. For all we know, a couple of hobos could have been using this place as a crack den before we moved in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A crack den in a cul-de-sac?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. I spotted two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, a third one half-full next to the toolbox. “I’m sorry I woke you. You should really get to bed.”

“Dad, try and get some sleep,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, clammy and cold on my lips despite the heat. “And then maybe I can get some sleep. No more drilling, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, without looking at me, his bloodshot eyes focused on the wall behind me. “Love you, bug.”

I stumbled sleepily back upstairs when my parents’ bedroom door opened a crack. My mom poked her head out into the hallway, her hair a mess of matted curls. “Again?” She asked me in a strained voice. I nodded and we shared a look of concern.

Dad had never been an insomniac, but ever since we moved to our new house a little over a week ago, he stayed awake all hours of the night. The first night was normal enough; he was up late unpacking. But Mom and I found him sitting upright in the armchair the next morning, wide awake and trembling. The next night I heard him pacing when I got up to use the bathroom, peering down the stairs to see him walking back and forth in the living room, the floorboards creaking gently beneath him as he muttered to himself. The following nights had followed a similar pattern. I would wake to hear him trudging up the stairs after the sun had come up.

He was a writer - mostly of personal essays and nonfiction pieces - but he was never this secretive or consumed with his work. Now whenever we found him bent over his laptop or scribbling furiously into his notebook, he would pack up his belongings and shuffle into the next empty room. This was the first night he had incorporated light home construction and, as far as I knew, beer into his routine. Dad had never been a drinker, either.

The next afternoon, while my dad snoozed the day away in his room, my mom rehashed the same conversation we’d been having for days.

“He needs medication,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Ambien or something. Do you see what he did to the door? It’s not natural to be up all night like that. He’s teaching freshmen at 8 a.m. in a few weeks!”

Both of my parents were English professors at the local college, part of the reason for our move. While my mom had taken on teaching afternoon and evening summer courses, my dad had the season off, fortunately for him given his current predicament. But the fall semester was rapidly approaching. I chalked most of his antics up to anxiety over living so far from the city; he was used to noise, people, chaos. Now we were the only house on a small, dead-end street a few miles from campus, shrouded by trees.

After my mom left for class through the garage (“I can’t even figure out to open my own goddamn front door,” she had snapped) I examined the living room, looking for any signs of remaining bottles. Our front door was now armed with a heavy deadbolt towards the top, as well as a chain at eye level. I balked at the level of security my dad had taken and unlocked each one. I turned the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I had missed the heavy padlock at the bottom. I tugged it to no avail, then stood to run my fingers on the top of the doorframe searching for a key. Nothing.

“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered to myself, bending down to examine the lock. He must have dropped quite a few things in the process, too - long white scratches marred the floor, disappearing underneath the door.

Fueled by annoyance and concern, I jogged upstairs and quietly entered my parents’ room. Dad was still snoring soundly as I unplugged the MacBook from its charging place on the bureau and snuck back out. Downstairs, I typed in my middle name and birthday at the password prompt and began my search. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, but I was hoping to find some clues for his odd behavior.

The desktop was littered with folders holding files from old student essays, photos from family vacations, and other miscellaneous crap, all labeled accordingly, but I couldn’t find any new projects. When I checked his internet browser history, something caught my attention. I clicked the link and pulled up an article published in a newspaper only a few months before: “Family of four found butchered inside home.” A red-haired couple, each holding red-headed toddler boys in their laps in what looked like a Christmas portrait, smiled out at me from the grainy featured photograph.

The details were chilling. The father was found in the bedroom, decapitated, his head only a few feet from the body. The mother was found in the children’s room, her body splayed on top of one of the beds in what police determined was a protective move. One of the boys was found underneath her, both bodies hacked to bits. The younger boy was found in the bedroom...and the hallway...and the bathroom. His body parts were strewn throughout the house. I shook my head in disgust and clicked back into the browser history.

A much less graphic story about the family had been published to another news site, this time with a video. The reporter interviewed shocked neighbors who all repeated the same mantra: they seemed like such a nice family, nobody knew them well, they had just moved in, and terrible things like this never, never happened in their town. The police chief looked stricken as he disclosed that there were no leads, no suspects, no signs of forced entry. I clicked back again.

To my horror, there were more articles. Not just about this red-haired family and their smiling boys. There were others, too.

A mother and daughter disemboweled in their country home. A man found dead in his duplex, the lower half of his body torn away. Three brothers hacked to bits in a locked room. A young couple eviscerated in their own bed in what police thought looked like an animal attack… only they lived on the 22nd floor of their apartment building.

The stories were from all over the country, but the only thing the gruesome murders had in common was that all the victims were new residents. After only a few days of moving into new homes, apartments, wherever... they were found dead. No known suspects. No explanation.

I must have been reading for hours, paralyzed with fear as shadows stretched across the room, the brightest light coming from the laptop screen. I had clicked through so much carnage, my stomach was rolling. Even though I tried to explain to myself that this was just essay material, just fodder for my dad’s next big writing gig, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong with him.

“It’ll be back tonight.”

I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. I strained to see him, blue circles dancing in front of my eyes in the darkness. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned the overhead light on with a click and I squinted from the sudden brightness. He was wearing the same disheveled clothes from the night before.

“Wh-what?”

Wordlessly, my dad moved slowly into the kitchen. I put down the laptop and followed him, watching as he opened the fridge and leaned down for a beer bottle, twisting off the cap and guzzling down half before wiping his mouth. He turned to me with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry, bug,” he said, sadly. “I didn’t want to bring you into this. Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What will be back tonight?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know. But I think I figured out how it works, I guess. I’m not sure. There are still...questions.”

“How what works? What the hell are you talking about?” I practically shouted. “You’re really scaring me.”

He sighed and leaned on the kitchen counter, bracing himself with one hand and closing his eyes.

“Since we got here, I’ve been hearing these...these horrible voices,” he said. “Inhuman voices. Animal. And...not. I know them. But they still say awful things. Terrible things. Sometimes they’re not just voices. Sometimes I see them.”

“What do you see, Dad?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, his face contorting with his struggle. But he was at a loss. He shrugged helplessly and shook his head, closing his eyes.

If this was a joke, it wasn’t my dad’s style. He was blunt and honest, almost to a fault, and he wouldn’t indulge in a prank like this. Whatever was happening, he truly believed it was real.

“Dad, are you…,” I started, unsure if I could finish the question. “Are you… drinking when you hear these voices?”

He looked up at me with a furrowed brow and laughed gruffly, without humor. “You’ll see for yourself, Sarah. Soon.”

He finished the rest of the bottle and placed it on the counter, heading back into the living room, leaving me alone, my body shivering from a sudden cold.

It was almost midnight. Dad and I were sitting in the living room, our hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. I don’t think he needed any help staying awake anymore, like I did, but I was just thankful he had put his beer away at my request.

Mom had brought home burgers for dinner from the campus diner around 7. She tried to strike up a conversation with Dad and me, but we were pretty quiet, only murmuring in response to her story about an embarrassing typo in her PowerPoint slides. Eventually, she grew frustrated and declared she was going to bed early since we were “positively boring her to death” and “maybe we all needed more sleep.” I was glad for her absence; I still hadn’t decided what I was going to say to her. I mean, how do you tell someone that her husband is clearly unstable?

Now it was just me and Dad, sitting and waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know. But I owed him at least one night to buy into his delusions before figuring out what to do about it. I checked my phone a few times, scrolling through my Facebook feed without absorbing anything. The TV was off and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock.

“How...much longer?” I asked.

“Depends,” he answered.

“On what?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, dumbly.

And back to silence.

I must have dozed off in my chair because it was nearly 2 a.m. when I felt my dad shaking me awake.

“Sarah,” he whispered. “Sarah, wake up. It’s here”

“What’s he - “ I almost asked, before remembering with an unpleasant sinking feeling this little game I was indulging. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was holding a shotgun in both hands.

“What - when the hell did you get a gun?” I nearly shrieked with a voice hoarse from sleep. “Put that down!”

Dad crouched by the door, setting the gun across his knees and putting his ear against the wood in deep concentration. “It’s here,” he whispered again, to himself more than to me. He looked at me with wide, wild eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

I sat up in my chair and strained to hear, well, anything. But it was just the ticking of the clock and my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I waited nearly a minute before sighing and standing.

“Dad, I don’t hear - “

“Come outside, Daddy,” a voice hissed.

I froze, icy fear spreading through my veins. It sounded like a little girl. I looked to my dad in panic.

“Daddy, I’m so cold. Please come outside,” the voice called again.

It sounded like a young girl, but off. Like something was mimicking her voice. Underneath the high-pitched trill, I could hear a faint, gravelly echo. And there was something so, so familiar about it. I had heard this girl before.

“D-dad,” I whispered, drawing closer and kneeling to join him on the floor. “Who is that? Who’s talking to you?”

He looked at me, sadly. “It’s...it’s you, bug.”

“Daddy, please, I’m scared,” the hollow voice grew louder, like she had her mouth pressed right up against the door.

I realized with horror that it was my voice. Or at least, my younger voice, something I had only heard in the shaky audio of VHS home movies my parents had recorded with handheld cameras. Once I recognized it - the slight, childish lisp I carried at six years old after I lost my two front teeth - it was uncanny.

“How is that possible?” I asked my dad, but he didn’t answer, listening intently to whatever was on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re in there, Daddy. Why won’t you come outside?”

“I don’t know,” my dad whispered back. “But it’ll get worse.”

“Sarah? Sarah, is that you? I need you, sweetie!”

I nearly choked at the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, which was impossible because she was upstairs and sleeping, blissfully unaware, like I had been the past week.

“Sarah, come outside right now. I won’t ask again.” It was the stern voice my mother only used when I was a child and I was in trouble.

“It knows you’re here,” my dad whispered. “It always knows everything. I-I don’t know how.”

“Sarah, listen to your mother. Come outSIDE, NOW.” The voice changed and dropped, morphing into a deep growl as something pounded forcefully on the door. “COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE NOW.”

I leapt back in fear, scrambling back away from the door with tears brimming in my eyes. My dad slowly stood, pumping the shotgun with a loud pop. The door was shaking, the locks rattling nearly off the hinges.

“Come outside, Sarah,” the gnarled voice nearly sang. Something was tapping on the door now - no longer banging full-force, but like fingernails tapping down and back up in quick succession, light as rain. “Come outside or we’ll come in.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. “Make it stop,” I pleaded. “Dad, please, make it stop.”

My dad aimed the gun at the door as it continued. Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped altogether.

My dad lowered his gun and took a step closer to the door. He peered through the peephole, then inexplicably, lifted his hand and slid the chain lock to the left, letting it swing undone.

“Stop!” I called. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he told me, sounding less confident than he looked. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I watched in abject terror as he undid the deadbolt and unlocked the doorknob, fishing in his pocket for a key to the padlock before kneeling to unlock that as well. Every single millimeter of metallic protection we just had was gone. I wanted to beg “no,” but I couldn’t speak. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

The porch light only cast a small halo of light in the inky black night and wind blew the warm evening air inside. Nobody was standing there, but I could feel it watching. I peered around my dad and blinked into the darkness. Something was moving in the black, slipping soundlessly through the trees, almost completely camouflaged by the cover of night. But I could see the tiniest pinpricks of light moving, pacing back and forth, disappearing quickly and then reappearing. They were eyes; eyes reflecting the porch light and blinking.

And from the shadows, it began to scream.

I covered my ears and cried, shutting out the pained howl. I closed my eyes as I waited for some unknown creature to gallop into the house and devour us whole. But instead, I heard the door slam shut.

“It’s okay,” Dad assured me, crouching down next to me, placing the gun on the floor. He grabbed my hands away from my ears and held them with his own. “It can’t come inside. I know that now. It can’t get us. Shh, it’s okay, honey.”

“We have to call the police,” I sobbed. “We have to get Mom and leave here now. It’s going to kill us.”

“We can’t, Sarah.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what it wants,” he said. “It wants us to go. It wants us to flee. That’s how it works.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said. Everything felt like the climax of a nightmare when you’re waiting to wake up and worrying that all of these horrible things are really happening. “How do you know all of this?”

My dad sat back, keeping a firm hand on my arm. “After that first night here, I did some research and found out about the last family. Then I found the rest through property records. Everyone who lived here before us is dead. I don’t know how or why, but I know that - that thing, whatever it is, has to be responsible. This house… it’s both a curse and protection. As long as we’re here, I - I think we’re safe. But if we leave…”

He trailed off, glancing at the door. I didn’t need him to finish. I had read about those families. I knew what would happen to us. And I knew I wasn’t waking up.

That was a few months ago. We told Mom soon after that night. She didn’t believe us until we showed her; I don’t think it’s something you can accept until you experience it yourself. Now she understands.

We take shifts, switching off who keeps watch each night. Last Tuesday, we felt safe enough to forego assigning a guard and fell asleep in our rooms. It didn’t like that. It needed an audience. We woke up in the middle of the night to its shrieks, the door pounding off the hinges, slamming open and shut in heavy blows, broken locks scattered on the floor. Every picture frame on the wall was broken, swinging precariously from their nails. We’ll never make that mistake again.

I ask Dad why he bothered replacing the locks when he knows they won’t make a difference either way. He says it’s more symbolic than anything, maintaining this idea of peace in the face of something so helpless. I guess I know what he means. After all, I locked them in place a few minutes ago myself.

It’s my turn. I grab a book and put on a rerun of a show I’ve seen a thousand times. It makes me feel less alone for some reason. On a good night, I can get a few hours of sleep. I can ignore it when I hear my own voice, but it’s hard when it’s Mom and Dad. It’s worse when it’s something else. Sometimes, not often, I see it, too. Just glimpses - a silhouette in the window, shadows passing under the door, and (just once) black claws sneaking in from under the door. I don’t know if it’s possible to look at it straight on, but I know I’ll never, ever try.

It’s quiet now. No crickets, no birds, no wind. Even the TV seems muted somehow. That’s how I know it’s coming.

It’ll be back tonight. And every night. But so will we.

“I know you’re in there, Sarah. I can hear you breathing.”

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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thedapperrabbit · 4 years

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She-Ra Rewatch: season 3 and onwards through season 4, and boatloads of Introspection time!

So Ive been rewatching She-Ra with my partner, because sharing Entrapdak is caring. I could probably squee on about that for a century or more (because eeee, sharing things i love with people i love AND THEY EVEN PAY ATTENTION TO THE THINGS AND REMEMBER THEM!)...but ill spare you, kind internet strangers who for some reason find my thoughts mildly interesting enough to be reading this. This is going to be a lot. Like, a LOT. A lot especially from a stranger that youve probably only seen a notification from due to me sticking a heart on your content or for reblogging something lovely youve made in pictures or words. I dont think anything is going to be violently trigger-y because im not always great at judging that stuff and also ive yet to feel quite comfy enough to be fully open-posting specifics about my own past trauma, other than a vague allusion to self-harm and distant-ish unspecified abuse aaaand the usual childhood garbage truck of assholes....but i suppose you could possibly draw some darker potential conclusions from the content im focused on. Also, my ADHD makes it incredibly hard to keep to a straight and non-branching narrative so...ramble-y bits and expressions of brain frustration ahoy. Either way...you are forewarned, just in case. Sorry in advance, this is going to be a small booklet by the time Im done explaining, and thinking, and then attempting to stick words to abstract feels which sometimes im great at, and then others i fucking suck at...but at least this is all written and not me trying to say this to any of your faces! Thats....a mercy all of its own. Haa... Anyway, while rewatching with my partner, I realized just how much more painful parts of it are to sit through now...they were the first time, and each time since, but NOW having spent a while mulling over the series as a whole a bunch, and reading a lot of other peoples writings on here and finding myself largely in agreement with most Entrapdak fan’s assessment of things, I just....feel like all the air is ripped out of me during some moments, watching with keener insight. And despite thinking i had myself reasonably well figured out by my age, its all also made me further consider a few things about myself as well. Particularly my notable internalized fury response to chunks of it which have been consistent through all my viewings of SPOP. With Hordak at least, its way easier to understand my reactions. For me at least. Maybe not so much for the people around me. And, shittier due to intensity and subject matter, but still easier in the long run because...the broken bits in me that he resonates with are fresher and sharper and still more recent, like within the last ten years, and thus more towards the front shelves in my head, compared to things that resonate with Entrapta, which are all old, lifelong dull aches at this point. I feel like nothing i can point to is fully sufficient to fully express my feels involving Hordak. But, maybe the best representative moment is with the crying i do every damn time I see his face looking up at Prime just after he glimmer and catra were beamed up...because ive seen that face in the mirror. I HAVE MADE THAT FACE. That same. Goddamn. Face. I may not have gotten a jab to the back of the neck directly from the person I made it at...but they often seemed to silently goad me to harm myself in an attempt to jolt my brain out of getting stuck in re-looping through what theyd just done/said to me. Likewise, much of his interactions with Entrapta are very...very weirdly familiar in feeling, but in a good way. Watching the stuff with Hordak hurts because fuck me if it isnt frequently like watching myself back in 2008ish to 2013, which was the duration of the worst parts of that particular circle of hell i parked my ass in. So...that makes sense. Hes so well written in those moments, it occasionally gave me PTSD flashbacks (still does a little, but now im prepared and braced for it and can shrug it back off....thanks, lifetime of therapy and years of studying abnormal psychology! Still totally not an expert, just very passionate...just, as a disclaimer). Entrapta though...Entrapta is a different story. Mostly, I see Entrapta and in her free expressions of delight and joy and her bouncy enthusiasm I am reminded of a younger, less discouraged me in some ways, and in others, a “me” I could have been, but...well, extremely early-onset anxiety and depression made me insanely self-conscious super-super early on...not that i was great at hiding or...i guess the term people seem comfy with is “masking”? Which was a huge problem, or so it was in the 80s when far less was understood of such things. Id do so for a bit and then would forget to, in a way (because id forget long enough to go and trust again reflexively) and would get badly bullied and would squish everything down until id feel a crumb of safety again, and then almost instantly ADHD would pop that mask right the rest of the way off aaand it would start all over again. Ad nauseam until my teen years, where the depression sort of “fixed” that, and made it much easier to destroy my desire to share much of myself freely at all, save for with one or two people, and to a less deep extent a broader circle of nerd friends. Course, then i hit 30 and ran out of the majority of fucks I used to give. Or I became so damaged and salted with anger that parts of me dont grow any fucks anymore? Either way, plowshares to swords, WHEEEE!) And, maybe thats where this time while watching, I started to really think back to all that, and to how i see Entrapta treated by the other princesses, or really just in general except by Hordak...and why it burns my biscuits so badly. Every time I see someone roll their eyes at Entrapta’s beautiful unbridled enthusiasm or try to make it seem distasteful or at least weird and unwanted and uncomfortable for them but then dont even bother to try coming to terms with why they feel that way... or how they seem to feel free to grab and manhandle her without her consent, or the way they try to lessen her contributions because shes non-normative? Like its the fucking least she can do to make up for being weird in their space (...okay, that might just be the anger kicking in..but i dont feel like its an entirely innacurate assessment, is it?) All of that...seeing it inflicted upon someone, It feels like someones punched me right in the damn sternum, but because its a hurt that im so desensitized to, it seems to have a much different effect than the sharp, violent crushing pain that i feel when I relate to Hordak a little too well for comfort. Again, i could go on, but its nothing more eloquent people on here havent already spoken volumes on. And my first gut reaction is always “I dont understand! why is that their reaction to her?! it doesnt seem logical at all, i dont seem to be able to parse it correctly, how is this acceptable? I HOPE SHE IMMOLATES YOU ALL.”. Which...I suppose isnt entirely usual for me (the silent wishing that people be immolated, I mean...i blame my past years of working in retail. And devouring too much Warhammer 40k contentl). (oh gods...and this is going to be the most clusterfucky part cause i can feel my meds kicking in and thats gonna be hard to keep coherence on but i gotta get this all out of my head or ill forget it or get too scared of you fucking BRILLIANT insightful smart people on here and then ill continue to live scared and regretful that i never said..anything, and just sat here like “noticeme, entrapdak sempais!” Ehhn...which is to say, if this is a garbage dump from here down, dont worry, when i wake up ill fix it...but hopefully itll at least make a tiny bit of sense ) But I realized something...something I hadnt ever rememberd much about due to the shitty neuronormative (apology if thats wrong term) behaviors continuing over years and years but in less and less directly aggressive ways as i grew older and was more prone to losing my shit in , (and likely because I got excessively lucky and managed through...uhhh...agonizing determination? Sheer stubbornness? Alleviatory rebalancing of universal karma? fuck if i know --to curate a surprisingly supportive circle of other castoffs and misanthropes.) That was exactly how people used to treat me. OKAY THISLL BE EDITED LATER to add in the rest of what i was gonna say...im...too full of Ambien sleep meds and damn write it anymore...and im aing trouble separating realigty and dream...an i k apawing at the kybord...not safe Lov yous for reading this far. Il fix it later, swears.

#should i tag this?#im not sure if i like it #berres #psyhcology of pop culture chraracters #psychology of the writer/author

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daisyishedwig · 6 years

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Klaine Advent Day 11: Key

Summary: Continuation of Day 10′s fill. In a matter of days Blaine's whole world falls apart and everything he does to try and stay afloat only seems to make matters worse. A call to Sebastian Smythe is his last resort, and maybe the one that actually starts to make things better.

A/N: I know this is the Klaine advent, but this fic is certainly mainly focused on Blaine and the friendship he will grow with Sebastian. My plan for this fic has always been Endgame Klaine, but Kurt still isn’t really involved all that much past the first chapter. It’s gonna take a bit for him to reenter the story.

A/N2: If your curious, you can find this verse on my AO3 account, the series is call A Place to Call Home.

“So, maybe I’m wrong, but don’t you have a boyfriend with a family who loves you and would love to play host to such a sweet boy as you for however long you need?” Sebastian said, sliding gracefully into the booth across from Blaine. “So why call up and old acquaintance that lives an hour away instead of burrowing into whatever second hand couch resides at the Hummel’s?”

Blaine frowned down at his near empty mug of hot cocoa, picking nervously at the chipping fake granite table. “Kurt and I broke up,” he admitted softly.

Sebastian was silent for a minute. “Well, it’s the elf’s loss if he let you get away from him.”

Blaine picked at his cuticles and sniffled before looking up at Sebastian. “Your parents won't mind, will they?” He asked nervously before continuing quickly, “I promise I’ll figure something out soon and be out of your hair. I’ll even buy my own food and help clean to pay for the room. I don't want to be any sort of has--”

Sebastian cut him off with a gentle hand over Blaine’s anxiously twitching ones.

“My parents won't mind at all, B, so relax,” he leaned forward and bopped Blaine of the nose with a playful finger. “You can stay as long as you like, eat whatever you like, and treat my house like your house… though my house is probably better if I remember my few key encounters with you stepfather correctly, I’m guessing he's why you want to avoid your home right now?’

“I… I’m not allowed home. He kicked me out.”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with anger, “Where the hell is your mom?”

Blaine shrugged, “I don’t know… and I don’t want to talk about it,” he paused, “I mean… I’ll tell you later, I’m just really tired right now.”

“I… yeah, okay, it's been a rough night for you, we should just get you some food and then get you home to bed, okay? What did you order?”

Blaine bit his lip, “Just the cocoa, I… don’t have a lot of money left.”

“You look thin as a rake, it seems like the old man was starving you for weeks before he kicked you out.” Sebastian flipped open the menu, eyes flickering over the food trying to decide what would be the most filling for Blaine.

Blaine shook his head, “I’ve just been trying to pay for the hotel for as long as I could, my food budget was basically what I could spare for a sandwich at school.”

Sebastian dropped the menu, “What do you mean hotel?”

“I… I used my savings to pay for a hotel, but I only have like twenty bucks left.”

“Jesus Christ, Blaine. How long ago did he kick you out?”

Blaine hesitated, “Uh… like a month or so?”

Blaine flinched when Sebastian cursed under his breath. “Fuck, Killer.” He looked like he was fighting back another string of choice words but he kept them in and resolutely opened the menu again. “You’re ordering like three appetizers, an entree, and dessert,” he informed him, scanning the menu, “on me, and don’t even think about trying to pay the tip.”

----

Blaine didn’t sleep well that night at Sebastian’s. He really hadn’t been sleeping well for a good while, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that his mind kept him up with the worry that Sebastian’s parents would get sick of the random kid their son had brought home to crash in their guest room.

He’d never even met them prior to the awkward handshakes in the living room when Sebastian ushered him in, and thanks to a desperate pleading glance to Sebastian when they’d asked, they didn’t know he was, in fact, homeless. Instead, they thought his parents were just out of the country and Blaine had felt uncomfortable in his house all alone. He would eventually have to tell them the truth, that story could really only work for so long before they either A) would expect his parents to come home or B) would want to talk to them. Either way, some day in the near future Sebastian’s parents would learn he’d been disowned and he honestly didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from them, or even what reaction he wanted.

After hours of tossing and turning, Blaine finally sat up and pulled out his laptop. He’d been looking for jobs at the hotel, but had had no luck so far. As much as he wanted a job soon so he could repay the Smythe’s for their hospitality (he didn’t care what Sebastian said, he would find a way to pay them back) he was no longer in dire need of a job purely so he could eat and keep a roof over his head.

Two hours and five job applications later, Blaine eased his way out of the bedroom in search of a glass of water. He was chugging down his third glass in the soft light of the ice machine when suddenly the overhead light turned on and he jumped, spilling the last of his water down his chest.

“S-sorry,” he apologized, spinning around to see Sebastian’s mother standing in the doorway. “I d-didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh no, dear,” she said with a soft, genuine smile, “I’m the one who should be sorry, I just never expected to see someone else awake at this time of night. Sebastian has a mini fridge in his room, so he never has a need to come down to the kitchen for a drink, and well, William’s snoring is the reason I’m awake, so of course I didn’t expect him.”

Blaine nodded jerkily, “Of course. I was just… thirsty.” He raised the glass, mentally kicking himself. Obviously she knew he was thirsty.

“You wouldn’t happen to be hungry too, would you?” She asked, moving past him and to the fridge. He shuffled out of her way.

“Uh, no thank you. I’m fine.” He moved towards the sink to rinse his glass but her voice stopped him.

“Are you sure? I’ve got about half a cheesecake here and I might just be tempted to eat the whole thing by myself if noone helps me.”

Blaine paused with his back towards her. It was really in his best interest to get to know Sebastian’s parents better, purely and simply because he would be staying with them for an indeterminate amount of time and also because the length of that time would probably be higher if they actually liked him.

He turned back around with his showman smile and said, “Sure, I would love to help you eat it. But if Sebastian asks who finished it, neither of us were down here, right?”

She laughed and nodded, “Of course not, and he knows how William gets when he takes his ambien, neither of them have to be any the wiser.”

“Would you like some milk with it?” he motioned to the empty glass in his hand.

“That would be lovely, Blaine. You pour the milk, I’ll grab the forks.”

Blaine set about his job, snagging an extra glass from cupboard and filling them both with milk before settling down across from Mrs. Smythe at the breakfast bar.

They were silent for a few minutes as they ate and Blaine found he actually really liked that. It was comfortable and amicable and there was something relaxing that came from knowing the other person wasn’t talking, simply because they had nothing to say, and not because they were trying to pretend you didn’t exist.

Blaine was halfway through his second slice when she finally spoke.

“It seems like you are accustomed to the ritual or the two AM cheesecake binge,” She said with a teasing grin.

“Cheesecake is my boyfriend’s favourite dessert, this is a quite common scene his stepmother stumbles across at his house.” Blaine’s face fell as he realized what he had said, “Well… it was. He’s my ex now, so… not anymore.”

She offered him a sad look, “I know it’s hard to hit that point where you were in so long it’s like you don’t know what your life was like without him. That’s how I was with Sebastian’s father.”

Blaine looked up in surprise, “William isn’t Sebastian’s real dad?”

Mrs. Smythe smiled, “No, I married him when Sebastian was four. But the little tyke liked him so much that when he was old enough, he decided to change his name to William’s last name. I hadn’t even done that yet since I didn’t want Sebastian to have a different name than me, but it was kind of nice to finally be able to fully let go of Alexander. But despite not being his father by blood, William is in every other sense of the word. I don’t think Sebastian even remembers his birth father anymore, not really.”

Blaine nodded, tears pricking at his eyes. “I don’t remember my real dad either,” he said softly, “but I’m not close with my stepfather either, so I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. My mom always said he wasn’t that great of a man, frankly I just think she picks bad husbands.” He choked when he realized he’d shoved his own foot in his mouth again. “I mean…”

“It’s okay, Blaine,” she said, placing a gentle hand over his, “you don’t have to like your stepfather or your birth father. It is not a requirement to love your family if they haven’t earned it, okay?”

Blaine nodded, the tears almost spilling over. “I’m sorry, this was so nice, I didn’t mean to ruin it. It’s just been a rough month, losing Kurt, getting kicked ou--” he snapped his mouth shut but he could tell from the suddenly fiery look in her eyes that he didn’t have to finish that sentence for her to know his secret.

“Blaine,” she said slowly, “your parents aren’t travelling, are they?”

He shook his head miserably.

“Oh sweetie,” she whispered, coming over to his side of the bar and pulling him into her arms and he broke, finally letting out the entire month of anguish that he’d been to focussed on simply surviving to actually let himself feel. She hugged him while he cried into her chest clinging to her as he sobbed. “Don’t worry about anything, sweet boy,” she murmured, “you can stay here as long as you need to.”

He slowly gasped his way back into a normal breathing pattern, even as tears continued to stream down his face. “I’m… I’m looking for a job,” he hiccuped, “I won’t be able to work much with school, but I can pay rent, and help with--”

“No no,” she said sternly, holding him out just far enough so she could lock her eyes on him. “We have a strict no working during the school year rule in this house. You will focus on your studies and on graduating, you don’t need that extra stress right now.”

“But--”

“No buts, my house, my rules. I don’t have many of them, because you and Sebastian are practically adults at this point, but that is one of them. You deserve to have a safe place where you can focus on spending your last few months as a minor acting like one and not trying to grow up too soon. No job, Blaine, I mean it. We have more than enough money in this house as it is.”

Blaine wilted under her stern stare, “Can I at least get a chore list so I feel like I’m earning my keep?”

She smiled, a soft tearful one. “Of course, Sebastian will be glad to add you to the chore board, just don’t let him try and shove all of his jobs off on you. I’ve already spoiled him too much as it is.”

Blaine nodded, “Thank you for… for understanding, Mrs. Smythe.”

“Oh, Blaine. At this point you better start calling me Marie.”

“Yes, Marie,” he said with a small sniffle.

“Now, we’re going to finish this cheesecake, and then you’re going to go get a nice long night of rest, okay?”

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: key #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe #seblaine #klaine #kurt hummel #monica writes #daisyishedwig writes

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