#NO I WON’T TELL YOU THE TITLE OF IT OR MY USERNAME FUCK OFF

[myname-isnia]

I’ve spent the entire day carefully avoiding triggering any negative emotion in myself because the PMS is hitting me hard and I’m genuinely tired of being hysterical all the time, only for my family to come along and shatter all that effort into TINY LITTLE PIECES

#NO I WILL NOT SEND YOU MY FICS #NO I WON’T TELL YOU THE TITLE OF IT OR MY USERNAME FUCK OFF #WHY IS THAT SO DUCKING HARD TO RESPECT #IT’S A BASIC FUCKING BOUNDARY #if my sister decides to not listen and ends up finding my Ao3 somehow I’m deleting everything and I won’t even care #it’s not even like I’m hiding some deep dark secret stuff that can never see the light of day #but writing is something both very person and very sensitive to me #there’s a reason I never share my writing or my art with the people I have the misfortune of calling parents #they trample all over whatever measly sense of confidence I’ve managed to build up #I ask them of one thing. don’t go searching for my creations. I practically beg them of it #and yet they keep. on. pushing #and the more upset I get the funnier they think it is #why don’t I get even the smallest amount of respect. why don’t I deserve at least that #I wish I could cut them all off and never speak to them again. they’re all awful. every last one #I hate them so fucking much #of course I ended up afamilial #who in their right minds would want a family when the only frame of reference they have is… this #I’m so tired…

[witcherthingies]

Step 1 in Modernizing Kaer Morhen

This is a shout out to all forced IT children and grandchildren. Braver than any US Marine

Jaskier was right in that modernizing Kaer Morhen was a clusterfuck of scared and confused workers and confused yet fascinated witchers. Because of where they were located, it was safer to fly in everything needed, which meant many of the witchers first experience of the modern world was in the form of a large cargo helicopter being landed in the fucking courtyard. Most of the witchers were far away from the strange flying device, recoiling from the terribly loud noise. Of course most of the cranes were going as close as they dared, examining everything and chattering amongst themselves.

“Right first thing they’re learning is the internet and google,” Jaskier sighs, leaving the witchers to question the poor pilots as he showed the workers what went where.

Turns out, Kaer Morhen is able to get excellent reception due to its position! Jaskier knew to limit the amount of modern technologies within the keep, at least at the beginning, and so he had just a few TVs littered about and a few computers and laptops. The council room got the most upgrade, due to the need of having information quickly. Jaskier then had to quickly recruit people to teach the witchers about the technology and to keep them from throwing a fucking knife at the screen.

Luckily he knows quite a few college students who are very familiar with helping the elderly with tech support and would love the job opportunity.

Watching Geralt work on a laptop is about as amusing as he thought it would be. The brave White Wolf, the great Warlord of the continent, looking truly pissed off and grouchy at the screen before him and typing with his two pointer fingers.

Cirilla takes to technology like a duck to water. Or... really a teenager to social media. Her and Jaskier are quick to create various social media accounts: twitter, instagram, tiktok, all of the major ones. The username for them all is simply @KaerMorhen with the title page most often being “The Witchers of Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier then makes a video for his main account promoting them and telling his fans that this will (hopefully) not get too in the way of his music making.

The first post on all of the Kaer Morhen accounts is a video with him and Ciri before the large hearth in the main hall.

“This darling, beautiful young woman next to me is Cirilla, or Ciri.” Jaskier introduced with a broad smile. “Daughter of Geralt, my darling husband.” She rolls her eyes but smiles and waves for the camera. “As you can imagine there will be quite the adjustment period,” Jaskier continues. “But so far everything is going well and hopefully Ciri can take over as our social media manager.”

“Seems a whole lot easier than being a princess,” she comments idly, which makes Jaskier laugh.

The video gains a whole lot of traction, with replies upon replies filled with questions. Their next video is a quick questionnaire, the two again side by side with the consort holding pages of questions.

He asks them quickly, “Why don’t you have cat-eyes like your dad?”

And Ciri answers just as quickly. “He’s my adoptive father.”

“Were you really a princess?”

“In a way, yes. But I was a witcher princess so I was a lot cooler.”

“Are you single?”

“I’m fourteen.”

“Can we get a tour of the witcher castle?”

“Once everything is settled and we’re sure the witchers won’t freak out, then yes.”

“Why is your dad a DILF?”

“... What’s a DILF?”

“And that’s all we have time for! Thank you all so much for your questions and curiosity! It really does help the witchers feel at ease.”

It’s another month until Jaskier has a video with Geralt in it. He’s lounging in their bed, Geralt beside him reading.

“Darling,” He asks with a smile, Geralt hums. “You know... technically I’m older than you now... By a lot.” It makes Geralt stop reading, blinking several times as the information sinks in. “Which means I’m a cougar and you’re my boytoy.” Geralt gives him the most exasperated glare, Jaskier can only smile wider, and the video stops there.

#thingywritesthingies #modernized awau #kaer morhen #jaskier would take full advantage of officially being like the oldest person in kaer morhen #geralt of rivia #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #witchers #ficlet #my writing

[fawnpawn]

(Not actually end of chapter) graphics for my fic Mimicry of a neuron chapter 13

I didn't want to learn coding and skins so I cheated. There's 18 total and are less stand alone images so I'm not trying to display them artistically in this post. Get album cropped idiot (unless you're on my blog then apparently it doesn't do that-)

Does it make sense for twice to be using iphones? Not at all (that shit would be so easy to trace-) but all of my other ideas looked weird so imessage style it is.

note on the profile pictures: I don't really consider those my art. The Izuku is mine but the hand+action figure comes from a canon screenshot. Same with the side profile of twice, and the rest of the pose and the van is just fully traced off a stock image and an actual photo.

Also I'm new to ID-ing so if the formatting is trash, tell me.

1st Image ID: A recreation of an imessage conversation between clones of Jin from MHA. Usernames are Buba (Taxi duty), Buba (Lazy ass), Buba (Baby duty), Buba (Clinic duty1), Buba (Clinic duty2), and this chapter’s Jin who has no shown username and a blue text bubble.

Taxi duty’s profile picture is a white van with "free candy" painted in red to look like blood. Lazy ass’s profile picture is of a cropped picture of Jin pointing a middle finger to the camera. Baby duty’s profile picture is of a young Izuku holding an action figure of All Might up to the camera and smiling. Clinic duty 1 and 2’s profile picture is blank, showing their username initials "BC".

1st image Taxi duty: [Baby update @ Baby duty.] Lazy ass: [Baby update @ Baby duty.] Baby duty: [STop fyckn spammn me asshols.] Clinic duty2: [Baby update @ Baby duty. Not sorry.] Baby duty: [Its going better, but he still doesnt wanna leave the house.]

2nd image Jin: [Fuck it. I’m getting icecream for the lil guy] Lazy ass: [Your paying for it.] Lazy ass: [Your paying for it.] Taxi duty: [We all pay for it dumbass.] Baby duty: [Better not be texting and driving.] Taxi duty: [Fuck off. I’m waiting for food.]

3rd image Jin: [Does anyone know a gal with piercings who knows us and the kid? Brown mullet, no vis morphs.] Baby duty: [Oh she might be the chick that stepped in last month at the park. Atorura? Atomi??]

4th image Lazy ass: [Shit I think shes waved at me before. Maybe.] Clinic duty2: [Please tell us you waved back.] Clinic duty1: [@ Clinic duty2 dude get off your phone. It aint lunch yet.] Lazy ass: [oooo u slacking?.] Clinic duty2: [Stfu.] /End 1st ID

2nd Image ID: A recreation of an .exe prompt window titled "Interface Prompt". Text is light grey on a black background with some text coloured red. The rest of the images in this post are of this style.

5th image "<Initialising… Identified Connective Tissue. Identified Muscle Tissue. Identified Blood vessels. Identified Bone.

Starting Exploratory Search… Detecting DOC system. Bone Structures: Phalanges[R], Metacarpals[R], Carpels[R], Ulna[R], Radius[R]…

[Leave]

Exploratory Search cancelled. Starting Disconnect Sequence… Disconnection successful.>" "[Leave]" is in red.

6th image "<Initialising… Identified Blood vessels. Identified White Matter. Identified Grey Matter.

Starting Exploratory Search… Detecting DOC system. Brain Structures: Frontal lobe, Parietal lobe, Limbic lobe, Occipital lobe…

[How hard is it to breed rats.] [Could I hire someone to do it.] [That's definitely more expensive.]>"

7th image "<[There they are.]>"

8th image "<Monitory Search Initiated… Start Blood Test…

[What if they got out.] [Don’t want to risk infesting my properties with rats.] [Won’t ask Jin to do it.] [We can afford to keep buying them.]

Identified Quirk Factor. Starting Exploratory Search… ... ... Exploratory Search unsuccessful.>"

9th image "<[I feel like a futakuchi-onna.]

[Pause]

Starting Pausing sequence… Pausing sequence successful.

Waiting…>" "[Pause]" is in red.

10th image "<Initialising… Identified Connective Tissue. Identified Muscle Tissue. Identified Blood vessels. Identified Bone. Identified White Matter. Identified Grey Matter.>"

11th image "<Starting Exploratory Search… Closest known system : Rat system.

Identified Glutamate Identified Serotonin Identified Epinephrine Identified Dopamine …>"

12th image "<Heart rate : 80 Blood pressure : 0.3 mmHg Heart rate falling. Blood pressure falling.>"

13th image "<[The possibilities…]>"

14th image "<Exploratory Search unsuccessful.> <Exploratory Search unsuccessful.> <Exploratory Search unsuccessful.>"

15th image "<[He would have been so excited if he knew this was what Izuku’s quirk is.] [I wish he was here to see it.]>"

16th image "<[He’d have loved that term]>"

17th image "<[I can practically feel their confusion.] [I wonder if they’ll figure it out.>"

18th image "<Heart rate : 0 Blood pressure : 0 No neurological activity.

[Leave]

Monitory Search cancelled. Starting Disconnect Sequence… Disconnection successful.>" "[Leave]" is in red. /End 2nd ID

#art time #fic time #not putting this under the twice tag even if it has him in it #Living Slime #mha #quirk #image ID

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #atsumu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #kuroo scenarios #akaashi scenarios #kuroo #atsumu #akaashi #kuroo tetsurou #atsumu miya #akaashi keiji #hq #hq scenarios

[flyingchiclets]

Missed a few week due to discouragement but back on the horse we go. Not much progress on previously posted WIPS but there’s been some other luck (depending on who you ask). I volunteered to write @rimouskis some disappointed!Geno and/or angry!Sid fic after a devastating loss to the Devils, and while I want her to have first dibs I’m pretty pleased with what I’ve got so far. It’ll eventually go to AO3 (same username as here). Working title is “A Captain and his Alternate”, so a snip from scene one. Second fic is from when I was trying to push myself to write using a prompt from a festival a month and a halfish ago. Title is the prompt number, so nothing more nothing less on it. Fics under a cut, no warnings needed.

“A Captain and his Alternate”

“I see you yank his leash, I don’t like.” Zhenya shakes his head. “Don’t do again.”

”All right. May I tell him goodnight?”

Zhenya inclines his head and leans on the entryway of the kitchen to give him space but let him know he’s being observed.

“Remember what we talked about.” Mario says softly, gesturing Sidney over and looking at him expectantly. Sidney reluctantly moves and makes a face as Mario rubs behind his ears. He doesn’t want to lean into it, even if it does feel good. Too good - shit. He was supposed to have more time. “Goodnight Sidney. Zhenya.”

“Goodnight Mario.” Zhenya says, waiting until the door is closed again before he huffs a sigh out and looks at Sidney with a deep frown. “Sid… tell me what happen.”

“I barely pushed him and he fucking dove.”

“It was hard push. He saw chance to be sneaky with ref and take. I’m worst at bad stupid penalties, at least let Laffy draw stupid - you supposed to take care when I’m gone.”

“I know!” Sidney hisses and flattens his ears back with a low growl. “Do you have any idea how hard it is being off the ice-”

“I’m know!” Zhenya points jerkily at his right knee, much stronger than it was two weeks ago - but still nowhere near play ready. “Too well. You know how hard I fight to get you A? To promise Sully you do good and you help?”

“The refs gave the game away.” He’s got his shoulders up to where his human ears would be if he had them and silently curses his fate. “It’s not my fault-”

“If you know refs making shit call you make them make good ones! You -” Zhenya groans as he struggles to find the English words. “Ah - change attack, how is call?”

“Strategize?”

“Yes, use different strategy.” Zhenya shakes his head wearily. “You can’t react like angry kitten.”

“Jesus Christ, Zhenya, it’s bad enough that Philly calls me that.” His fists are clenched and his ears are flat. Zhenya’s normally beautiful mouth is ugly now. Spitting hurtful, ugly words instead of laying soothing kisses. “Now I have to put up with it from you too?”

“Listen to what I’m say!” He slaps his large palm against the doorframe with a loud huff. “You make stupid decisions Sidney, everyone so happy you back and we lose! We last in Metro now! You want they take alternate from you? I’m not know what you think, how you feel, you won’t let me help!”

Sidney flinches from the sound of his hand and straightens instead of shrinking back. He flexes his claws and curls his fluffed tail nervously, trying to make himself seem bigger. “I’m angry, okay? I came back and I blew it.”

“You better than that! I’m expect better!” Zhenya scoffs at him. “Don’t flex claws at me, I’m last person to hurt you. I’m so disappointed with you.”

“You think I wanted us to lose?!”

“You never want us lose, I don’t want either. But referees stupid and you not play smart!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

Zhenya sighs wearily and nods, lifting his palms. “I’m sorry I yell. Just expect better - because you better.”

Prompt 192 (for a kink fest, but this scene doesn’t involve any form of sex): Centaur!Geno X Sid (small liberty taken: Geno is a horse shifter that can shift human, centaur, full horse)

“C’mon, EJ said he wanted to give me a tour. Have you already had one?” Sidney asks as he links their fingers and leads Geno slowly back downstairs.

“Not a full one, just barn.” Geno walks easily with him and pauses at the foot of the stairs when he sees EJ with a scrapbook in hand and seated at the kitchen table.

“Perfect timing. I wanted to show you guys what I found when I was cleaning my office up.” EJ jostles the book and gestures them in. “Tour immediately after, promise.”

“Aw, a scrapbook?” Sid asks as he slides into a chair on the longer side of the table so Geno can sit next to him. Sid links their fingers again once he sits and watches EJ open the cover of the book to show a carefully sealed page with a small horseshoe mounted on it. Tidy handwriting, presumably EJ’s mother’s, is underneath it.

‘EJ’s first shoe’

“Your family’s always been nuts about horses, huh?” Sid asks, smiling and looking over at EJ.

“It definitely runs in the family.” EJ grins wryly and turns the page to show a few Polaroids painstakingly held to the cardstock by the corners. “That’s me having my first shod.”

Geno’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he swears his hand is dripping in Sidney’s as EJ points at his skinny childhood self in miniature, holding still while his father is crouched down and talking to him in a bid to distract him while a farrier works on shodding his hooves. Sid’s expression shifts when EJ mentions ‘my first set of shoes’ and he does the math, and he looks at the young centaur in the photos and back to EJ.

“You’re a shifter?” Sid asks softly, leaning forward so he can look more closely at the pictures - one of each hoof being fitted for shoes and another of them being nailed in place. Geno figures it should be time to break the silence, and chuckles a little bit. “EJ you such small, cute colt. What happen?”

“Yeah, I mean - both my parents are, it runs in the family.” He turns the page again, showing himself a little older and taller, still lanky, standing between his parents with all of them shifted. His expression darkens when Geno takes a dig at him. “Rude, man.”

“G.” Sid tsks and nudges him, making a face when he realizes how clammy his hand is. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Geno promises, absently letting go so he can wipe his hand on his pants. “Is no big deal.”

“I thought horse racing was horrifically abusive?” Sid asks as he seems to let the pieces fit together. “Not that you’re cruel-”

“It is. I’m trying to prove a point that it doesn’t have to be.” EJ grins a little bit and blushes. “Geno was teasing me yesterday that the trainers I have here massage the horses. They’re athletes too, they need care for their muscles.”

“That’s so great though, no wonder you’ve been doing pretty good in all the races.” Sidney says and looks back to the book as EJ turns the page. Sid’s expression wilts into one of adoration at the picture of EJ, human, clinging to his father’s shoulders and standing up on his back - both of them are blurred from his father’s pace. “It explains a little bit.”

“I get that a lot.” EJ laughs and hands the scrapbook over, letting Sidney and Geno flick through without even flinching at his more ‘teenaged awkwardness’ photos. “The ranch is kind of a little retreat for myself, too. Other shifters in the league who aren’t out swing in sometimes. Even non-shifters, too. If they’re worth a damn.”

Sidney laughs and blushes as he shakes his head. “Thanks, EJ. We’re flattered.”

Geno involuntarily winces and feels his skin heat, but he soldiers on and gently gives Sidney a nudge. “You have mouse in your pocket you not tell me about?”

EJ winces as well and looks apologetically at Geno - as though asking ‘you want me to stay?’

“What?” Sidney asks, looking up from the scrapbook and at Geno with the gears clearly spinning in his head.

“I’m shifter.” He’s trying to keep his voice from wobbling too much but it’s hard with how intently Sidney is staring at him. “I want to tell you, I just-”

“It’s been ten years,” Sidney hisses as hurt streaks across his face, expression incredulous as he puts his head in his hands. “Geno.”

“I’m sorry, Sid. That’s why come out here, invite too - I want to tell you.” He reaches his hand out and gently rests his fingertips on Sid’s knee while keeping his touch light. “...We talk about future, joke about kids, and I don’t want to hide from you.”

As always thanks for reading, feel free to send me prompts through asks or a message! I do love a good chatfic and the challenge of blitzwriting on demand.

#my writing #WIP Wednesday #men's hockey rpf #sidgeno #Sidney Catsby #< Yes I think that tag is clever

[glowcrizzle]

Today is the 1 year AO3 anniversary of Slow Show by @mia-ugly. I am beyond grateful that this experience (and it is an experience) has existed in my life for a year and felt it needed commemorating. 🎂  

I’m not a creator but I made this playlist for me, so I could take the fic with me, have it with my eyes closed, while driving -- you get it. Today seems like an appropriate day to share it. 

It’s a. It’s a lot. Excessive you might even say. Tumblr will only give you the first 100 songs in this, so, Spotify will fulfill you (or overwhelm you). If you hit my username on the playlist, there are separate playlists for each chapter. 

This is also on Apple Music, if that’s your jam, just hit me up and I’ll send you the link. 

🎉 Happy Slow Show Day!! 🎉 

13 pages of track-lists and excerpts below the cut. Godspeed! 💙

Key:

Songs from Mia’s soundtrack

Songs from the Fic

.

--Title--

Slow Show – The National 

_

--Prequel--

Loverman – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 

Devils – Say Hi 

_

--Chapter 1--

Here I Go Again – Whitesnake 

_

bad guy – Billie Eilish 

-trash a set and shag your husband

_

Something About You (ODESZA Remix) – Hayden James 

-what it would take for Avery Fell to let his guard down

_

A Little Wicked – Valerie Broussard 

-The handkerchief in his hand is now stained purple

_

You Light Me Up In the Dark – The Hounds Below

-His hair catches the light like a halo, making him look more of an angel than ever.

_

Lazarus – David Bowie 

-This could be a problem

_

--Chapter 2--

Unsteady – X Ambassadors

-much easier than talking about the way his heartbeat is still racing

_

Heart of a Dog – The Kills

-Call me darling again.

_

The Twilight Hour - Still Corners

-Looked across the set and thought, Ah fuck me. I’m in love with him.

_

God’s Mistake – Tears for Fears 

-Avery: He’s closed his eyes again, mouth going flat and still.

_

Lounge Act – Nirvana

-Tell her all the terrible things I want to do to her husband

_

Transatlanticism – Death Cab for Cutie

-There’s a strange urgency tonight, though, and Crowley can guess why.

_

Do I Wanna Know? – Arctic Monkeys

-What could it hurt?

_

Clueless – The Marias 

-“Better - yeah. ‘S late.”

_

Motel – Meg Myers

-The hotel room is another disaster

_

--Chapter 3--

Alone in a Room – Asking Alexandria 

-“I’m having a moment here!”

_

Since You’ve Been Around – Rosie Thomas 

-makes Crowley feel like he can breathe again

_

Home Again – The Disco Biscuits 

-It’s starting to feel like home again

_

Every Other Freckle – alt-J

-Perfect. Ridiculous and impossible and perfect.

_

Something For the Longing – The Orchids 

_

As Far As I Can See – Phantogram 

-it’s been a really, really long time

_

Sinister Kid – The Black Keys 

-“Mothering buggering shit-”

_

All These Things That I’ve Done – The Killers

-Crowley fists one of his hands against his forehead, shuts his eyes tightly.

_

--Chapter 4--

I Like Me Better – Lauv

-I liked the outline of your face under the stagelights

_

I Do This for You (ft. Marlene) – Giorgio Moroder

-“Let me see what I can do. About your precious Hamlet.”

_

The Longing – Imelda May 

-Avery POV: “Look at him like - like - you can’t let him see the way you look at him.”

_

Just a Man – Los Lobos

-Avery POV: like he’s being led into battle and not onto a set to do the job he loves

_

World In My Eyes – Depeche Mode 

-wants to make that bastard purr

_

Tired (ft. Gavin James) – Alan Walker

-Let me be a magpie for you

_

Blow My Mind – The Benjamin Gate 

-Avery: “I know you now.”

_

Breathe You in My Dreams – Trixie Whitley

-Crowley’s seen that expression on Avery’s face in his dreams

_

Love Me Like That (ft. Carly Rae Jepsen) – The Knocks

-What have I done to - oh. Oh. Right.

_

Like Real People Do - Hozier

-“Sure, angel, what- whatever.”

_

Clearly – Grace VanderWaal 

-Crowley waits for the rest of the night.

_

Gwendel – PeelsDeen 

-Az sits in the back seat, away from Crowley. Alone.

_

Now I’m In It – HAIM

-Avery POV: It’s a look like an open grave, a look like desire tempered with grief…

_

Flesh for Fantasy – Billy Idol

-Crowley isn’t lonely for the rest of the night

_

--Chapter 5 (Avery POV)--

Smalltown Boy – Rosborough 

-1978, Hartlepool

_

Bright Horses – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

-1986, Newcastle Upon Tyne

_

The Runner – Foals

-1991, Bristol

_

Shock To Your System – Tegan and Sara

-Tracy: “Why d’you let them?”

_

Cracking Codes – Andrew Bird

-“Forever, of course. I’ll never -”

_

Colour me In – Damien Rice

-Their fingers - just touch. Slightly.

_

I’m Not in Love – 10cc

-Less to regret by not ever speaking of it.

_

--Chapter 6--

Electric Current – Lower Dens 

-“I’ll let you know when you find it.”

_

Guess I Miss(ed) You – The Daylights

-Keep talking, keep him here a little while longer.

_

Reflecting Light – Sam Phillips 

-“don’t meet his eyes like that, it looks like it’s a lead-in to a kiss”

_

King of Pain – The Police

-a good reminder of the kind of life he’s got to live

_

I Wanna Get Better – The Bleachers

-and Avery’s gaze is so gentle it hurts a bit

_

Feather – X Ambassadors 

-Avery: “Someone has to”

_

Darker Side - Jonny Lang

-Avery: “Oh - good Lord.”

_

Firestone (Acoustic) – Conrad Sewell 

-“Will you show me?”

_

Velvet Gloves and Spit - Timber Timbre 

-“Anthony - ”

_

Wrong – Depeche Mode

-Avery: “I have to go.”

_

F**k it I love you – Lana Del Rey 

-“Not your fault, angel”

_

--Chapter 7--

Somebody to Love – Queen 

_

Heavenly – Cigarettes After Sex 

-“I fucking still.”

_

Will Do - TV on the Radio

-“You too. I’ll see you there.”

_

Monster – Colours

-No wonder Avery ran off like a thief after a heist

_

Swallow My Pride – Ramones 

-“I feel fucking ill about it.”

_

I Was Wrong - The Oh Hellos

-Avery: “I’m the one who has to apologize, not you.”

_

The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret – Queens of the Stone Age

-Avery: “Please don’t tell anyone”

_

Wait for Me – Kings of Leon

-Avery: “Right now, I’m just - a bit in pieces.”

_

Don’t Stay – X Ambassadors 

-“You can - stay or leave or - whatever you like.”

_

The Moth - Aimee Mann

-Avery’s eyes meet his, and then it’s like a car accident

_

Red Door – Julien Baker 

-“I can - I can wait longer.”

_

Can’t Pretend - Tom Odell

-“I wasn’t apologizing for that. This morning. I won’t.”

_

Come Down to Me – Saving Jane

-Avery: “You were wonderful”

_

Secret Smile – Semisonic

-And if sometimes he catches Az watching him between takes

_

I Want More - KALEO

-Az laces both of their hands together, stares at them.

_

I’m Gonna Do My Thing – Royal Deluxe 

-“So don’t tell me what will hurt me. I know what hurts.”

_

--Chapter 8--

Perfect Day – Lou Reed 

_

Remember to Breathe – Sturgil Simpson

-“You can’t sit in the car all night you absolute nightmare”

_

Wild Love (Acoustic) – James Bay

-The two of them stare at each other and then both look away awkwardly.

_

Seasons – Future Islands

-finally, fucking finally, he’s exactly where he wants to be

_

Closer – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “if you like”

_

I Want All of You – The Verve Pipe 

-“If you think I can survive this without looking at you -”

_

Use Me – Miguel

-whatever he sees in Crowley’s face makes him come to some sort of decision

_

So Much Love – Depeche Mode

-Love, he said love

_

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You – Bill Ryder-Jones

-I know you, Crowley wants to say, but doesn’t.

_

Become My Dream – Silya & The Sailors 

-“Even if - anything, angel.”

_

I Belong In Your Arms – Chairlift

-For nearly two weeks it goes like this.

_

Faster - Matt Nathanson

-“You’re going to fucking kill me, angel -”

_

Come Together (feat. Sivu) – LAUREL

-In case you think they don’t wake up together

_

The High – Kelela

-Az has pulled a stool over to the edge of the tub

_

Just in Time – Valerie June

-Then Az’s hand is on his shoulder, turning him around.

_

I Can’t Take It – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “Don’t rush, just - like this.”

_

Like This – Jake Scott

-Avery murmurs and it takes Crowley back to their first kiss

_

Terrible Love – The National

-Flinches away from him.

_

Help You Out - Emarosa

-And he nods.

_

--Chapter 9--

I Remember You – Ramones

-The first person Crowley loved was a liar.

_

Brighter Skies - Race Banyon

-As if they were cut with a jigsaw, as if they were meant to fit.

_

Not Tonight – Tegan and Sara

-When they reach the edge of the city, his hand slides out of Crowley’s.

_

As Sure as I Am – Crowded House

-So Crowley kisses him.

_

A Promise – Miriam Makeba

-And for awhile, he believed her.

_

Mistaken for Strangers – The National

-They’re only two small words, but they still make Crowley’s teeth ache.

_

Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye – Leonard Cohen

-“Good-“ Swallow, speak, leave.

_

The Fear – Pulp

-Crowley should have been smarter this time. He really should have been.

_

Take Me – Leela James 

-“I’d like you to close your blinds.”

_

Whenever You Want It – Clare Maguire 

-“What do we do now?”

_

At My Weakest – James Arthur 

-“It will be.”

_

Komm zurück - Fotos

-For years and years and years, nothing did.

_

Come on Get Higher – Matt Nathanson

-their feet sliding in the tub

_

Lay Down – Sarah Proctor

-I want to wake up with you.

_

Sort Of - Ingrid Michaelson

-Why is my heart breaking?

_

Fairytale of New York – The Pogues 

-Just pump that shit straight into his veins.

_

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? – Ella Fitzgerald

-Avery: “What do you think?”

_

We’re Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together – The Velvet Underground

-“You want to grab dinner somewhere?” 

_

Hiding – IAN SWEET

-Crowley stops walking. Looks at Az in the darkness.

_

Romance Dawn – Radkey

-A slice of light cuts through the darkness.

_

Crown of Love – Arcade Fire

-Crowley feels like the world has never been darker, and his heart will never stop beating

_

Devil’s Backbone – The Civil Wars

-He thought he was ready for this conversation, but at the sight of Az’s face, his throat has gotten too tight to speak.

_

Sinners – Lauren Aquilina 

-“If this all goes down in flames, if it all falls apart - we can go off together.”

_

Please Forgive Me (Song of the Crow) – William Fitzsimmons 

-Avery: “It’s over. I’m - I’m so sorry.”

_

Start a War – The National

-He twitches and trips and yet somehow manages to walk away without falling over.

_

Broken – Daley

-And this soft heartache was somehow the sharpest of them all.

_

--Chapter 10 (Avery POV)--

Daily Battles - Thom Yorke & Flea

-He tries to remember these things - but the background is still a chorus of beeping machines. There’s nowhere he can be but here. 

_

Everybody Wants You - Red Hearse

-Go out and surround himself with people much more interesting and available than Avery. Better people, certainly.

_

A Thin Line – Blackchords

-But still - roads not taken, and other fun middle-aged spirals.

_

My Own Soul’s Warning - The Killers

-When was the last time someone asked Avery that? When was the last time he asked himself?

_

Who Am I - NEEDTOBREATHE

-I miss you.  There. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. 

_

Wait for Me - Jack Curley 

-What he wants to say is ‘don’t find someone else. Not yet. You and your black leather and your cut-glass profile: you’re gorgeous and God knows other people want you.’ 

_

Coming & Going – Amaal 

-“Two ships passing in the night,” he says quietly.  Then he takes a swallow of wine, lets it roll down his throat. “If you were here -” 

_

Iron - Woodkid

-Crowley leaves him there, pressed against the wet brick wall.  Crowley leaves him there.  Crowley steps between Avery and a camera, and then leaves him.

_

The Greatest Bastard - Damien Rice

-He can’t be the person that kicks Crowley into the ashes again. He can’t hurt him like this, and Avery’s going to hurt him - he already has. 

_

No Right to Love You – Rhys Lewis

-He deserves someone like - like Daniel. Deserves to be loved in the daylight.

_

If It’s Hurting You - Robbie Williams

-Time is a tricky business when you’re dying slowly; it skips like a flat stone on a quiet lake.

_

Happy For You – Gayle 

-But surely - surely he’s allowed just this much. Just one message, just so Crowley knows that - that he’s happy for him. That Avery is so happy.

_

I See You (ICU) - Phoebe Bridgers

-When Avery sees Crowley on the red carpet, it feels like the sudden remembrance of a lovely dream.

_

Once In My Life - The Decemberists

-Crowley: “I know there’ve been some - hard times. That’s - that is what it is. But for me - it’s been a privilege. A dream. So.” He nods and nods and nods again. “Thank you.”

_

Coming Down - Dum Dum Girls

-Tracy: “But I wasn’t. I was hurting you. This whole time, Az.”  She shakes her head, wiping frantically at tears that won’t stop falling. “He loves you.”

_

I Don’t Know Anything – Little Voice Cast

-He’s afraid of finding out that all this time - he was doing the wrong thing anyway. He’s afraid that Anthony Crowley will never talk to him again.

_

Sweet Sour - Band of Skulls

-"And you're fired"

_

Heart Attack - Devarrow

-The sun is still rising when Avery gets out of the car, closes the door behind him. Though some of the roads have changed, his feet still know the way down to the docks of his youth. He was never a sailor, but the shoreline is familiar as a childhood sweetheart, as a long lost love. 

_

Landslide - Robyn Sherwell

-He’s alone, and he’s nearly fifty years old. He could get on a ship, he could throw himself into the sea. There’s no one holding him back anymore. 

_

All I Can - Sharon van Etten

-And he knows. He knows.

_

--Chapter 11-- 

Salvation - The Strumbellas

- there’s a moment where he swears he sees a young idiot in black standing in the crowd. Red hair gelled up into spikes, black t-shirt full of holes and safety pins. A young man who has no idea how much he’s about to lose.

_

Soldier - Fleurie

-And he’s still fucking here.

_

Easier – Mansionair

-Then he gets the fuck above ground and he calls Beez (oh great, they’re his emotional-support-asshole now. That’s healthy).

_

Deep End – Holly Humberstone  

-“I brought you cheese,” Beez says, and Crowley starts crying.

_

Falling Short – Lapsley

-For the next few days, he lets his stupid body do what it needs to do to keep himself upright.

_

Chariot (Stripped Version) - Gavin DeGraw

-Shit, this was a bad bad idea. 

_

Quiet Light - The National

-There’s a text from Az later that night, and his name on Crowley’s phone makes him feel like jumping off a cliff.

_

All That We Had is Lost - Postiljonen

-He’s not allowed to be in love with that man anymore. Wasn’t ever, really.

_

Heal - Tom Odell

-It makes a rather hysterical laugh well out of his throat. Anthony fucking Crowley. You are still alive. 

_

Let Me Go - HAIM 

-Crowley tries to ignore the soft, injured expression on the other man’s face as he turns away.

_

A Beginning Song - The Decemberists

-“What’s more frightening than having a choice?”

_

The Spark - William Prince

-And he likes to think he would have just burned the world to ashes with the power of his love, would have said fuck everyone, I choose you – but who knows. 

_

Sharp Scratch - The Slow Show

-So stupid, I know, and I’m - sorry, I still love you and I’m tryin’ to stop and I will I just - needed to tell you that. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just miss you.

_

Beautiful & Brutal – Plested

-Crowley moves without thinking. Falls like a stagelight, glass everywhere. He walks forward and is kissing Az before the door has even been pulled shut.

_

Bad Chemistry - Fake Shark

-“I’ve been - thinking about this -” Az says between darts of his tongue against Crowley’s overheated skin.

_

All We Do – Oh Wonder

-“But I - I love you. And I can’t -  hide. It hurts too much.”

_

Broken Strings - James Morrison (ft Nelly Furtado)

-“I wouldn’t survive it. That way it was. I wouldn’t.”

_

Stole the Show – Parson James

-But even on their distant shores, Crowley and Az don’t stop looking at each other. It feels like an ending. Maybe it is one. Not a happy ending, but not a bad one either.

_

Level Up - Vienna Teng

-excerpt from Anthony Crowley: Out of the shadows, under the spotlight

_

The Wire (Alternate Version) – Patrick Droney 

-Avery: “I’m rather in - in love with you.”

_

Sweet Thing - Van Morrison

-“You can stay at my place. If you like.”

_

Falling in Love - Cigarettes After Sex

-“I love you. I’ve missed you, and I love you, and I want you -”

_

Stay - Cat Power

-He watches the slow flicker of awareness in Avery’s blue eyes. The curve of his mouth into a shade of smile that Crowley’s never seen before.

_

Freedom - George Michael

-“To the world.”

_

--Chapter 12--

Banks - NEEDTOBREATHE

-What he wasn’t used to was bringing someone else down with him, and jail would be a bloody blessing compared to seeing Az grey-faced and staring out windows, or that one time Crowley’s pretty sure the man was crying in the bathroom, trying to swallow down the sound so that Crowley didn’t notice (he clenches his hands into fists just thinking about it).

_

Black Mambo - Glass Animals

-“It’ll have to be.” Crowley drops to his knees. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.” 

_

Florets - Grace VanderWaal

-Crowley can let his fingers curl against Az’s palm, can watch him open as a flame, not caring who notices.

_

Sight of the Sun - fun.

-That this longing won’t destroy him, and won’t destroy Az either. It’s not a shovel for burying Crowley alive - it’s a spade for planting things.

_

Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground

-Az drops his hand onto Crowley’s knee (“What is this song? I rather like it.”).

_

Only Everything (Acoustic) – Quinn Lewis

-“It’s nice to have someone make it for you, right? Sometimes,” Crowley says softly, too much love in his throat and in his hands. It’s hard to breathe around it, especially when Avery is looking at him.

_

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

-“You bought a cottage for us.” Crowley is an animal being taught to speak through scraps of meat and electric shocks. “This cottage.”

_

Say You’ll Be Mine – Christopher Cross

-Avery: “But if you wanted -” Fuck, there are tears in Avery’s eyes. “If you want. I’d like to call you my husband. I’d like to say ‘let me ask my husband,’ or ‘I brought my husband with me’ or ‘my husband won a BAFTA’.”

_

Anthem - Leonard Cohen

-Their broken edges match. And somehow, the light still shines through.

_

Precious Love – James Morrison

-When the light catches them both, they shine. And so do you. So do we.

_

Good Man (acoustic) - Josh Ritter

_

_

If you made it this far...wow, hi hello. So, this is ours and my musical exposure is limited, if you’ve got a better song for an excerpt, feel free to shoot it over, more than happy for this to be a living changeable thing. 🤡 

#slow show #slow show playlist #tumblr html code after read more is some bullshit #it's fic for your ears

[peachyunjinnie]

— 03. https://sugarbaby.com  | bgc

bang chan/reader/ ― ft. hyunjin | angst (?), comedy (?) | sugarbaby!au mafia!au

wordcount: 1k

content warnings: mention of amnesia, chocking, gagging, handcuffs and lee know is an asshole and he nearly fought with changbin- sORRY.

― synopsis: through your urgent and acute need for any kind of financial income, you see the ad of a sugarbaby website. you decide to overcome your pride and hit ‘sign up’.

note: i hope you can enjoy it a little bit! next part is out on saturday or sunday again.

blog masterlist

ɪɴᴅᴇx: ―   one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine

© peachyunjinnie 2020. do not repost, modify, or translate.

I noticed the instant sentiment and need to sleep. The strong urge to not sleep whatever happens was keeping me up but after a good 20 seconds, I was out and gone.

“Is she dead?” I heard through my amnesic state of mind.

“Don’t say things like that, Jeongin!”

“She looks dead though, she looks...sick.”

“Changbin is kind of right. She looks like a corpse.”

“Could you two stop talking about her, right in front of her?”

“Han, does she or does she not look like a dead body? You’ve seen enough to tell.”

“Okay, she kind of does, but you two don’t have to do this right here and now...”

“Han is right, she is under Nitrous Oxide.”

“Nitro- what?”

“Nitrous Oxide. An inhaled gas that causes a decrease in anxiety has some analgesic effect, which means that it can help decrease pain. She is now experiencing temporary amnesia, which means she won’t remember what happened during the time she was breathing the Nitrous Oxide. Also known as ‘laughing gas’ or ‘happ-“

“Seungmin, I asked what it is. Not a whole Wikipedia page.”

“Leave Minnie alone, he just wanted to help you Lee Know.”

“And I could’ve lived without that whole paragraph Jeongin.”

“Lee Know, don’t be so goddamn mean to everyone.”

“Did I hurt your feelings, Changbin?! Aw, I am so sorry! I apologize deeply! Tch.”

“Let’s talk about this outside-”

“Changbin, Calm down.”

“Could you all shut up? She is waking up.”

The voices in my head appeared louder and clearer, the echoing sounds giving me a dizzy feeling. Everything was black and my eyes were being closed by a blindfold. The voices arguing what they should do with me now. I noticed how I couldn't move either, handcuffs cutting bruises into my sore wrists. But a thing I noticed too was also that they didn't gag me at all, or put duck tape over my mouth.

"HELP ME! HELP! PLEAS-" A hand pushed a cloth inside my mouth, stuffing it forcefully. I tried my best to bite his hand but it left my mouth quickly. The rush I felt at that moment became unendurable. All of the voices stopping and one next to my ear, violently snapping at my throat and yanking my hair.

“If you dare to fucking scream again, I'm gonna sew up your mouth. Kitty” He whispered against my cheek. I could hear a smirk at the end of the sentence. I didn’t dare to do anything else again and kept my body down.

How can you trust someone who kidnaps you? How do I classify him whether he would really sew my mouth shut or not? Simple answer, I can't. I'd rather shut my mouth before it may never open it again. Mute tears of panic and fear formed in my eyes, wetting the blindfold. Silent sobs of terror were heard and mumbling went around the room. I could hear sentences like 'Lee Know you're making her cry' and 'Chan's gonna kill you'.

“Ah come on, this girly girl needs to be quiet.”

“But you’re scaring her with your words. Stop it Minho.” The authority in the voice of the man was reminded of a teacher or a father.

“I’m sorry but that dress and her body...Wow, she’s hot.”

“Felix, could you maybe at least try to keep your testosterone down?”

“Changbin, it is clear to see. She is hot.”

“Does Chan really need to claim her? She could be all of our little girl.”

“Lee Know, you are by far the most perverted, obnoxious, insensitive asshole I know.”

“Thank you very much for this title, I feel very honored, Seungmin.”

“What will we do with her now?” Shivers running up and down my spine, my head spinning in circles and my breath becoming more hesitant.

“You will do nothing. I will.” Loud footsteps in the room were audible from everywhere. Confusing my already poor sense of orientation. Until I could only hear single steps coming closer to me.

“Hello, darling.”

“Fht-dj,.” I muffled out and tried to form a sentence. But as said I tried and failed at my attempt, sadly. He took the damp cloth out of my mouth.

“Who are you?”  

“Excuse me, where are my manners. I am Chan or Christopher. Sir to you. I am the head of this mafia group and I want to help you with your financial income, Alice.”

“Alice..? I asked and forgot that my username on that website was Alice.

“Isn’t that your name?” He tilted his head and was obviously confused.

“I will tell you my name if you take off this blindfold and the handcuffs.”

“Ah-Ah, no deals. I am in charge of this place here. Everyone listens and respects my commands. Don’t make me show you why they do.”

“I would risk it. Take off that blindfold or else-”

“Aw, you’re trying to threaten me. How cute.”

He took off this blindfold and I could finally see a light. I couldn't tell how long I was sleeping but this burn in my eyes from the lamplight was the absolute worst. My eyes could not get used to the bright light. With a short second, it became easier and I saw the outline of his face, his heart-shaped face, his blond hair, his cocoa-colored eyes, and his bulky nose. How he leaned against the table and looked down at me from above.

“Like what you see, Babygirl?” He smirked out, exposing his dimples.

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids #skz #chan smut #bang chan smut #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids chan #skz chan #bang chan #chan #stray kids fanfic #smut #stray kids bang chan smut #stray kids chan smut #stray kids reactions #skz reactions #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #skz scenario

[yuusaris]

I was tagged by @pyro-sea a whiiiiiiile back and just now finally have the time to get to iiit!!!!

Name - Yuusaris (Yusariis on AO3, because Iiiiii had forgotten which letter I doubled in my new username.)

Fandoms (That I Write For) - Yu-Gi-Oh, Borderlands, and I have some nice Red Vs Blue's under my belt.

Two-Shots - Currently nonexistant! I have never been able to finish anything longer than a one-shot! Something that I do hope to stomp out, but I just... always burn out, overstretching myself before I even touch the paper. Everything I've written is a one-shot, and anything that isn't, isn't finished.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter - See above. If you're wanting to press further, my lips are sealed and I shan't reveal any prior usernames I may or may not have had.

Actual Worst Part Of Writing - Writing the stuff that actually has emotion to it. I'm really bad with tension and Bad Things Happening, and it takes a toll on my writing. If I know something bad has to happen, I soften the blow or I resolve it too quickly or unrealistically. Or not at all. And then I write weak work as a result and get bored and just... throw it out.

Like I said - I burn out really quickly.

How You Choose Your Titles - If it's catchy, has a good hook into what makes the story interesting, and is something I can use to write a summary for, then I use it. The Title should encompass what the story's gunna be for your reader, the interesting part about it, whether it's content or emotion or even just some jokes.

Example: Body for Body, Life for Life is the entire crux of Ryou and Bakura's deal, and the only way to change it is to still adhere to this.

Pantsless? In MY Chili's? is a known meme and tells us the story will be a fun romp, and that we'll be in a Chili's. Someone's pants will be off.

'Restless' was a Dragon Age one-shot I wrote in which my Warden Mahariel can't sleep due to various anxieties - she is restless, has seen a potential future where she will not rest in peace, and vows to never rest until she can die the way she feels she deserves, and not on someone elses terms.

IDK, titles are something I get particularly proud of.

Do You Outline? - only recently and even then.... it gets so confusing and convoluted so quickly. As soon as I write down the events, I realize they don't work or I change it for better characterization or what I think might be fun or cool and then the whole thing gets thrown off. And then... what, I throw out this outline. Which I worked on and is still relevant, mostly? get rid of parts that connect the other parts? Then the other doesn't make sense.

I'm trying to use them more, but they're super difficult. I always feel like I'm scrambling to figure out where the heck it all went wrong.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice - ...I'm not saying I will or won't but oh my GOD I would love to write FinDom flareshipping. Or read it, So fucking bad, oh my GODDDD. callouts@ me - shuuuut up and write it. Oh my god. Just put the WORDS. on the PAGE. Sit down. Stop jumping. Stop pacing. Stop talking out loud. Stop squirming. Stop dissociating. Stop thinking about writing. Just write. Type. babble. Something. Anything. You're mania isn't writing, it's distracting you from writing. It's fine. Just write it. Two cakes, you're not unorigional. Two cakes, they want two cakes. Just fucking stop. Pacing.

Best Writing Trait - This is a hard question. This is... seriously hard..... Do I need to have a best trait? I mean, I'm not a bad writer, I'm a good one, but... idk, having a 'best' one kinda varies from story to story, doesn't it? I don't really have an answer for this. I guess it's that I'm well-rounded? Everything I write is good or servicable. I'm a good writer.

Spicy Tangential Opinion - No tangents, only truth - Seto Kaiba is a BOTTOM.

No Pressure Tagging -@tepperz because his writing and characters are lit, fanfic or otherwise. Also, gunna go with@ladymdc and @championofdogs

#lets see if this works #tumblr is giving me grief cuz this post is HUUUUGE #my writing #if this doesn't show up all the way know it's because I was writing in three different text post tabs #webbed. site.

[avengersassemble-fics]

Fine Line

Bucky Barnes x Reader

post-endgame :’(

Summary: The world continued on after the Blip. Some people held onto their memories and some people moved on with their lives. Despite the loss and heaviness of the world around them, five years passed and people kept living. But when the snap was reversed, the Blipped returned to lives that had continued without them. Some families were reunited, and some Blipped came back to empty homes and broken families. Through that loss, seeking someone who understands how their feeling may not be the worse idea as the Blipped try to navigate a world that’s different than what they remember.

part 01/?? “fire and ice”

word count 4.5k

an: um..... yeah..... sorry HAHA oop. angst and sadness sorry. lemme know what you think or else I won't know to continue this. also....the title haha c:

For a lot of people, the blip brought back loved ones and injured broken hearts. Families were repaired and friends reunited with one another. But for some (or a lot of people) they were put back into a life that had moved on without them. In some cases, significant others moved on and started lives with others, friends suddenly weren’t around, family members passed during the years they were gone - for a lot of people it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows when they came back from being blipped. Although little to no time had passed for them, five years passed for the world. It still continued on its axis along with everyone on it.

Being blipped back into existence and then with the outcome of what life was left for you, it was like a rug had been pulled out from your feet. The man you were supposed to be marrying (married to?) had moved on with his life a couple years after your wiping. So for you to return in the same spot of the living room you shared with him, right in front of him and his new wife with their several month old son, wasn’t an ideal way to be thrusted back into life. It was painful to have to watch him love another, but what could be done? He started a family without you, and it took you a couple weeks before you moved back in with your parents. At least they were still around.

Their New Jersey home felt foreign to you now, though they did welcome you back with open arms. They always would, you didn’t doubt it, but the glaring reality of your life was still weighing on your shoulders. Your parents watched you fall into a pit of despair and didn’t know how to help you. You didn’t know how to help you. Most days you sat there and fiddled with the engagement ring on your finger. You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to remove it even though it didn’t mean as much now. Not to Derek at least. Or maybe not in the way you had looked at it.

Taking residence in the bedroom you grew up in was distracting to say the least. You were often reminded of the life you once had while living under this roof. Before Derek, before the blip, before all of this. Here you sat in the desk chair in front of your computer with your chin rested on your knee, just scrolling aimlessly through Facebook. You ignored the unopened messages of friends and family reaching out, as they also had traces of messages from the past five years as well, and you couldn’t bring yourself to read them. You didn’t know what you were searching for, if you were even looking for anything, but you scrolled nonetheless.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad when one article caught your eye. It was about ways of coping with returning after being blipped. In the dark, and in your three day of old sweats, you decided this was the time to click on the link. Intrigued you pulled the laptop closer and started to read through it.

Have you returned from the blip and life around you seems to feel different? Maybe empty? Are you struggling with your self worth?

It was like it was speaking to you and you found yourself nodding your head along with each question. You were all of these things, but the things they were recommending made your face fall once more. Maybe you were stubborn, but the thought of confronting people face to face made your stomach churn. You were about to click out of the article when the last recommendation made you stop.

Maybe you feel you can’t talk to those around you about what you’re feeling. And that’s okay. But maybe this website can help you.

There was a link and the website was called hoolablip.com It was a bit tongue in cheek but you still found yourself following that link instead. What popped up was a webpage that allowed you to create a profile, and chat with those who were going through the same thing as you were: returning to a life that left them behind.

You bit your lip and hovered over the sign up link. You had avoided your family, friends, the even idea of therapy, but you felt like you were going stir crazy not having someone to talk to about it. This. Your life. Everything. So you impulsively clicked the button, and began to fill out the questions linked to it. You picked a screen name, inputted a basic bio, and filled out some of the questions. It was simple enough of a process, and soon you were on your very own homepage, but suddenly very unaware of what to do now.

There was a message option and you clicked on that, and went over the words in your head.

What brings you to hoolablip.com? Be as brief or detailed as you’d like. Your message will be sent to a random active user.

Hm. It was a start you guessed. So you slowly typed out a message.

You: I’m not sure where to really start with this. I can’t talk to my family, my friends wonder where I am but I don’t know where I am either. So… I’m here. Writing to a complete stranger in the hopes maybe someone out there can understand what I’m going through, or feeling. Or maybe tell me what I’m feeling because most days I don’t know myself.

You hovered over your keyboard, unsure of how much to express in just this one message. Or what to even include as far as your personal information. But you just let the words come out.

My name is (Y/N), and I was blipped three months before I was supposed to marry my college sweetheart. When we came back, if that’s the right way to describe it, I was right back in the living room of the townhome we shared. But it wasn’t my home anymore. The inside changed, and there was a new family there. His family. I can’t seem to forget the shock on his face, and his wife’s face when I just appeared there. It was an awkward conversation to have in the middle of their home. And I can’t shake it. His wife is lovely, their baby is beautiful, but I still can’t shake it. As selfish as that may sound.

As you typed you didn’t realize the tears that had fallen down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away.

I’m not sure how to end this off. So maybe this should be it for now. Maybe it finds someone.

And then you hit send. The tension you had felt like it disappeared when you hit send. You sat back in your chair and looked over the message once more before going back to scroll aimlessly through Facebook. There were a number of posts from your friends about their lives. Outings with pictures attached, videos, the same old thing. You rested your chin in the palm of your hand when the sound of a little ding rang through the speakers.

On the tab you had written that long message was a little number one. You got a message back. Oh god, someone had read your message. In the dark you were taken back, and slowly went back to the tab to see a little chat box that wasn’t there before waiting to be open.

The username attached to it was ominous, but the red notification made you open the chat either way. You lingered over the fact their message was equally as long, and you read it over.

LoneWolf17: I can assure you that you aren’t the only one who has no idea what to do besides seek solace from strangers. I think it may be easier for us to open up to someone we don’t know, rather than to those around us.

Deep. That was really deep.

LoneWolf17: I think I can imagine how it must feel to be back in a place that isn’t home anymore. But I can’t imagine how it must feel for you to have to accept the fact he started a life with someone when it was promised to be you. You aren’t selfish. You’re human. And you’re hurt. My name is James. I don’t know what I’m doing here really. I don’t think I have a right to be upset about my best friend leaving me behind to have the simple life he always wanted, but then another part of me thinks that it fucking sucks. He was the only one who believed the best in me when no one else did. He fought for me when everyone else doubted me. We always said we’d stand with one another until the end of the line, but I guess his was finer than mine was.

You had to take a deep breath after that. Though he wasn’t clear on the details, James was hurt by his best friend. And here you were complaining about your love life being in shambles. He still appeared to be online, so you typed up a response.

You: You may be right about it being easier to talk to a stranger than the people around us. Especially when I guess this is the place for all of us who were blipped. Maybe we get each other. I suddenly feel pretty obtuse for complaining about my love life when you lost your best friend, but I appreciate you saying it’s okay to be hurt. I think that’s all I know how to be right now. What do you mean he left you behind for the simple life, if I can ask?

And then you hit send. You didn’t know if your message was good, but you were far out of your comfort zone here. You watched your screen to see two little check marks appear and after a few moments his little picture started to type. You found yourself biting at your nails in anticipation of his next message.

LoneWolf17: It’s a confusing and long story, but he got the girl he always wanted and the life he dreamed of. I won’t be able to see him anymore, though.

You raised a brow, and typed another reply.

You: Does he not live here anymore? Not that I know where here is..

You saw his bubbles pop back up almost immediately. And then another message appeared.

LoneWolf17: Haha yeah something like that. Here being New York.

You: Oh, you’re nearby.

LoneWolf17: Oh yeah? You’re in the city too?

You: Oh no, not since.. Well. You know. I’m in Jersey right now until I can get back on my feet.

LoneWolf17: I see, but not too far still.

You: Haha not too far.

You had migrated with your laptop to your bed, and rested your back against some pillows to watch the screen again. You wondered if you were boring (“dry” you think was a term thrown around now), but you smiled a bit when another message popped up on your screen.

LoneWolf17: So what’s your plan? To get back on your feet?

You: Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. Wallowing in my self pity has been on my to-do list for the last few weeks. I’m not too sure where to start.

LoneWolf17: Well this is a start, isn’t it?

You read over his message once, twice, then three times as you pondered his words. So you settled on this for a reply.

You: You seem to be a man of many insights, James.

His bubble moved again in an immediate response, and then his message appeared just as quickly.

LoneWolf17: Call me Bucky.

- - - - - - - - - -

Over the course of the next week you found yourself checking the website for more messages from your mysterious pen pal, who you called Bucky. Your conversations were casual but they were enough for you to come to your senses. Just a little bit that was. You had enough energy to get out of bed and shower and change. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.

Your parents seemed to notice when one day you even ate a bit of breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and toast. They were little nibbles, but it was enough for some pressure to leave their hearts. You tried to ignore their stares as you carried the piece of toast back to your self proclaimed cave and even opened the blinds to let sunlight in.

That’s where you perched yourself most days and looked out the window to watch people, cars, anything pass by the suburban home you hid in. Each day you searched for something in the faces that passed by, but always came up empty handed. If your frustrations grew enough you’d pour over the exhaustive amount of literature that was packed away in the boxes around you.

You had graduated from NYU with a major in english literature studies with a minor in creative writing. You were on your way to receiving your PhD when everything happened. Though you were still awarded it “in lieu of extenuating circumstances” it felt wrong that you had it. You never really finished the work for it. It felt like a handout, and it stayed in a frame in the boxes as well. There was something you were looking for, and you grazed the spines of each book looking at the titles over and over. . .

There. You pulled the red colored (and heavy) book out and flipped through it. Overlooking the notes and highlights that grazed the pages, you came to a page that was left untouched. You ghosted your fingers over the words and looked at your laptop. You carefully sat down in the desk chair and pushed the lid open and found yourself writing another message to your mysterious pen pal, Bucky.

You: I’ve found myself looking at the people who pass by my window to see if they hold some kind of answer to the questions I have, but they just continue on not having a care in the world. It made me think if it’ll be like that for us again. I brought myself to fish out this old college literature book I had to study for hours and hours on end, and I thought about sharing this with you. It just seems to fit the world right now, from my eyes at least.

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

You wondered if it sounded too cliche, or if it was too bleak. But it was one of your favorite poems, and now it made a little more sense in today’s world. Your world. You didn’t know if it would strike a chord with him like it did with you, but you sent it either way. It had been a few days since you heard from your chat buddy, and though he wasn’t online you knew he’d get it at some point. You heard your sisters arrival downstairs and braced yourself for her impromptu plan to get you out of the house.

Bucky Barnes was walking side by side his friend Sam Wilson, not really paying much attention to what he was saying to him. There was a chill in the air as the sun had lowered hours before. He didn’t know where Sam was leading him this late at night, but Bucky didn’t question it too much. His mind had drifted once again to the subject that Sam and him never really spoke about. To Steve.

He thought with time it was going to get easier to accept what Steve had chosen for himself. When he told him he was taking all the stupid with him, he didn’t mean to literally fucking take all of it. But how could he even really be mad at his best friend? Steve always wanted that life, and he always wanted it with Peggy. Maybe he was angry at Steve, or maybe he was angry that he never got to make the decision for himself.

“Are you listening to me?” Sam asked him randomly.

“Not really,” Bucky replied, which earned a grumble from the man on his side.

“At least you’re honest,” Sam replied, before stopping in his tracks which made Bucky turn to him, “this is it.”

“What-” Bucky turned to look at the bustling building Sam was motioning to, and raised a brow, “what makes you think this is the place to get intel?”

“Well if you were listening to me in the first place, you would know the lead is an upper east side socialite,” Sam patted his shoulder and started down the alleyway. Bucky grumbled a bit and followed in his steps towards a line that had formed for this nightclub-esque building. Sam cut the line and seemed to have a few words with the bouncer, who let them right in. It was going to be a long night.

The music that pumped through the building made his shoes vibrate, but he followed Sam’s lead through coat check and then around the corner which opened up to a large, vibrant party. To say Bucky was out of his comfort zone was an understatement. He was 10,000 miles out of his comfort zone. The looks he got from people made him cast his eyes down and back to Sam who was leading him further into this mess. It wasn’t until they were literally in the middle of the room did Sam turn to him and clap him on both of his shoulders.

“I’m going to go upstairs, you keep an eye out down here,” Sam had to nearly yell over the music, and with one final slap to his arm, he was gone. Bucky glared at his back as he walked away from him and looked around for a bar. He needed a drink, not that it would do anything for him, he just had to get away from this crowd. The bodies that jumped and knocked against him made him push his way through the crowd a little faster. Oh Sam was going to pay for this one day.

When he finally made it to the bar he gripped the wood edge and pressed himself into it. Resting his arms on the counter and stared at the back of the bartender, trying to see if he could gauge her attention.

“It’s no use,” a voice said next to him, which caused him to glance at his side to the person who was casually talking to him, “I’ve been trying to get her attention for 10 minutes.”

The woman who spoke to him had her eyes trained on the woman behind the counter, not looking his way once while she spoke. Though the lights flashed around the room, there was little to no emotion in her irises. So Bucky turned back to the bartender and waved his hand, which she seemed to catch from the corner of her eye. The bartender did a double take on him and Bucky hid the grin from his face when she headed over. He glanced at the woman beside him whose mouth fell open then quickly closed and watched as the bartender came over to take his order.

“I’ll take a rum and coke,” Bucky ordered and then nodded at the woman beside him, “and whatever she wants too.”

The woman glanced at him as he reached for a couple of bills from his pocket, and looked back at the bartender, “Make that three of those.”

The bartender nodded and turned away from them to make the drinks. Though silence fell over them, it was fine with Bucky. When the bartender came back with all three drinks she spaced them out evenly between them, and gave Bucky another sweet smile. Bucky forced one back, picking up one of the glasses as the woman on his side picked up one of the other ones. Bucky took a generous sip and watched as the woman completely downed one of the drinks and left the empty cup on the counter.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to be here either,” Bucky called out over the music. That when she finally met his gaze and shook her head.

“My sister insisted on dragging me out,” she said to him, and then picked up the other glass and nodded at him as she backed away, “thank you.”

Bucky offered a nod back but she was gone in the crowd not a moment later. He let out a little humph, and turned back to the crowd, his eyes going over the crowd. It was going to be a long night if Sam didn’t get what he needed soon.

- - - - - - - - - -

By the time Bucky had gotten back to his apartment in Brooklyn, he was ready to wash the day's endeavours off of him. It was late, very late, and he could smell the alcohol and smoke on his clothes. He removed his coat and scarf and kicked his boots off and reached for his phone in his pocket. Though technology was still new to him, he was enjoying it a bit.

On his way to his bedroom he swiped through some notifications when his finger landed on an email notification. In the short amount the preview showed him, he could see there was a new message from you. He didn’t know why he frantically opened the webpage, but he did. He rested himself on the edge of his bed and read over the typed words in the palm of his hand, mumbling out loud the poem word for word. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he thought of what to say, and began to type his thoughts.

LoneWolf17: I don’t think I’ve ever read something that spoke to me like that did. How we let our emotions control us even though they could destroy everything around us. So you studied literature way back when? You never told me.

And then he sent it. Though your picture wasn’t illuminated like you were online, he still had solace that you’d see it. It comforted him in a way that you weren’t online, maybe you were doing something for yourself, it seemed you were doing more than just “sulking around” as you liked to call it.

There wasn’t a lot he knew about you, just like you didn’t know a lot about him. But he let you call him Bucky, and you didn’t seem to realize who it was you were speaking with, and a part of him was grateful for that. As Bucky stripped from his clothing and got into his shower, his mind wandered to what he did know about you.

Your picture was one of the sample photos the website lets you pick from, a little penguin, so he of course didn’t know what you looked liked or sounded like, but you sounded smart and insightful. But you were so casual about it that it made him smile a lot when he read your messages. You were also careful and hurting, like him. He knew the story, but he felt he didn’t know your story, if that makes sense. You were funny too, you made him laugh a lot. The times the two of you spent chatting together over the last week was almost like a breath of fresh air for him. He didn’t talk about Steve (minus his name of course) with anyone but you.

When he was done perusing his own thoughts and turned the water off, he reached for a towel to wrap himself in and stepped out and into the steam filled bathroom. He tied the towel carefully around his waist and used his hand to wipe away at the hazy mirror and took in his appearance. He still donned the long hair and beard, and frowned at himself in the mirror. He tried not to let the weight in his shoulder bring him down, and instead went to his bedroom to change.

Bucky grabbed his phone again as he settled onto the bed once more, pulling his shirt down his chest as he saw another new message from you. Now you were online, and he read over your message quickly.

You: Welcome to the wonderful world of Robert Frost. It breaks my heart a bit that you felt the same way about the poem as I did, but then again I’m happy to see you have good taste in poetry.

Bucky chuckled at your sentiment, and scrolled down to the bottom of your message.

You: I was towards the end of my program to receive my Phd in english lit studies, minor in creative writing. I mean they gave me the doctorate but it’s tucked away in these boxes. I don’t feel like I truly earned it, y’know?

LoneWolf17: Don’t let your heart break for me, doll, like you said - I’m just a man of many insights. And my insight is thinking you should still be proud of the work you put into that degree, especially if you were so close to the finish line before the blip. What did you need to do to complete it?”

You: I just had my research to finish.

LoneWolf17: So then why don’t you do it now? For yourself?

His question made you stop and think. Bucky seemed to have a way of doing that to you. As you thought about what he said, Bucky sat staring at his phone wondering if he may have said the wrong thing. But his tensions eased when you typed back

You: I can think about it, man of many insights.

Bucky chuckled to himself, and looked at the time on the top of his phone. It was late, and he could feel the dryness in his eyes when your little bubbles started to move again, he eagerly awaited another message from you when your message popped up again.

You: I hate to end our conversation so soon, but I think I drank a little too much tonight. I think it may be time for me to hit the hay.

LoneWolf17: Is that why you’re so agreeable tonight? You should definitely get some rest.

You: Haha, very funny.

LoneWolf17: Goodnight (Y/N).

You: Goodnight, Bucky.

Bucky watched as your little picture went from glowing to dark, and felt relieved that you were taking yourself to bed. Bucky stood and set his phone down on the table by his bed and then got under the covers, using his flesh arm to rest under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Bucky found himself for the first time in months drifting off to sleep with no thought of his friend, instead he thought about the words of the poem you sent him.

Maybe signing up for that website was a good thing after all.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic

[sheliesshattered]

Black Sails fanfic: Blood In The Hourglass

Posting this to Tumblr in its entirety for the first time, in honor of the 300th anniversary of Jack Rackham’s historical death. Also available on AO3 under the same username and title, originally posted in 2018. 7200 words, rated Mature for Anne’s colorful vocabulary. Angst with a happy ending, historical character death, immortality and reincarnation, canonically queer characters and relationships. 

Jack and Anne in the years after 1720.

Blood In The Hourglass

"Anne, please talk to me," Jack pleaded through the bars. The manacles on his wrists clanked ominously, and she kept her gaze definitively turned away.

"Ain't got nothing to say," she said, the first she had acknowledged him since the guard left them alone.

"We only have a few minutes left—" He stopped with a strangled sound, words he wouldn't say, but Anne heard them anyway. She tried not to think about it, neither the words nor that sound. "Surely there are a few things worth saying, darling."

"I don't want your goodbyes," Anne growled, tucking her chin lower.

Jack sighed, leaned against the bars of her cell, the closest he could get to her. The closest he'd ever get again. "Surely you can see the sense to this, Anne. Think of Max, if nothing else. At least one of us should go home to her."

She finally shot him a look, gaze hard. "Had you fought like men, you'd need not be hanged like dogs," she spat, loud enough she suspected she'd been heard out in the hallway. Part of her knew it was unfair to lump Jack in with the rest of the crew, knew his behavior had been motivated by something other than a desire to get drunk and fuck off, but in that moment she couldn't bring herself to care. The result was the same. "We were so fucking close, Jack," she went on, quieter, frustrated. "All you had to do was say yes."

"Yes, well, suddenly my indecision has vanished," he said, flippant, then sighed again. "You and Max can still do this, you won't be alone."

"It won't be the same," she grumbled, looking away.

"Promise me you'll follow through on this, Anne," Jack said. "I know it's what you've wanted. Don't let all this derail you," he said, waving a manacled hand to take in their present circumstances.

"The fuck do you care?" she said. "If you'd wanted this too, you'd have said yes, and we'd have done it by now. You didn't, and now here we are. Maybe I will and maybe I won't. Maybe it means fuckall now."

They were silent a moment, then Jack said, "I realize now my hesitation must have looked like I was contemplating leaving you, and I — you must know, I could never do that to you, not willingly, not again."

Anne snorted, because what the fuck do you call this then? But Jack went on without acknowledging it.

"It wasn't you, of course it wasn't you. I was consumed by my own issues, and blind to everything else. Immortality scares the hell out of me, Anne, in ways I can't even articulate. But as it turns out, imminent death scares me even more. The choice is obvious, now, and should have been obvious from the moment you suggested we follow that map." He waited until he'd managed to snag her gaze, then said, "I shouldn't have hesitated, I should have trusted you, and I am more sorry than I can say to be putting you through this, darling. But I think we might have one last chance, if you get out of here. When you get out of here."

She made a vague what the fuck noise at him, encouraging him to go on.

"Do you remember the note, in the lower left-hand of the map?" he said quietly, eyes on hers. He couldn't say too much here, obviously, given then risk of being overheard, and she had to think a moment to come up with what he meant, despite the many long hours she'd spent studying that fucking map.

"Blood in the Fountain?"

He nodded, his eyebrows raised and something that might be hope his dark eyes.

"You think it'd work?" she said. "Even after...?" Words she couldn't fucking say either, when it came to it.

"Worth a shot, if you're going there anyway. Which I hope you will."

She stared at him a moment. "I'd need your blood, dumbass. And we can't be sure I'll get out of here with anything I have on me, so giving it to me now is a shit plan."

"At home— at Max's, my old sea-chest. At the bottom there's a coat, you'll know the one I mean. From the day of the rescue. Should be plenty."

She tried to think past the simmering adrenaline of her anger, tried to get at what he was suggesting. It was far from ideal, but it might actually work. So long as the map wasn't bullshit, and she could survive getting out of here, and she and Max could truly find the fucking Fountain. It could work.

"I'm still fucking pissed at you about this, though," she finally said. "It didn't have to be this way. Even if this works, I'm going to be pissed at you for the next century, at least."

Jack huffed a laugh in response, and Anne let herself look at him, really let herself see him, this last time — or last time for who knew how long, if this worked. Their captors had not been kind to him, but beneath the bruises and scabs, he was the Jack Rackham she knew, the Jack she'd always known, sardonic and calculating and wistful. And loyal to her, here at the end, in ways she knew she didn't deserve. Til they put us in the fucking ground she'd said to him, but she should have known he would never let her follow him down that path, if there was any other option for her.

"I would expect nothing less, my love," he replied, and they could hear their jailor approaching in the hall outside, keys jangling. Jack turned towards her, pressing his hands through the bars as far as the manacles would allow. "Anne, I—"

"I know," she said, taking his hands at last. For the last. "Me too. The only thing that's meant anything in all this bullshit." She held his gaze, hoping he heard the rest. There were more words she couldn't say, words Jack wouldn't make her carry in his absence. "You better not stay gone long," she said instead.

"I'll see you on the other side, darling," he said, as the executioner pried him from her grasp.

--

"You're absolutely sure about this?" Anne said, cell phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she shuffled down the narrow aisle. "This flight, today? I'm getting really fucking sick of these false positives."

"Those were near misses, not false positives, there is a difference," Max replied, voice tinny over the — well it wasn't even fucking lines anymore was it? — in a way Anne still wasn't used to more than a century after telephones had become common. "He is here, somewhere, we simply have to find him. An aeroplane is, at least, an enclosed space with a limited number of people. It will be harder to miss him this time."

Anne snorted and rolled her eyes, knowing Max knew her well enough to hear the expression over the phone and halfway across the world. "It's not missing him if he ain't here to find."

Max sighed, and Anne could imagine her taking off the glasses she didn't need, rubbing at her eyes that didn't age. "We know he is here, Anne. We know it, the signs are clear, there can be no doubt. I know it seems hard to believe in this moment, but somewhere in your immediate vicinity is Jack Rackham, finally, at last. Try to focus on that. On the old feeling of him, the things we've kept alive in us, that familiarity. You will know him when you see him, I truly believe that. But remember, he will not know you, so you must be the one to find him."

Anne grumbled under her breath but didn't argue. "You meeting me in LA?" she asked.

"No, I am in Paris until the end of the week, at least. But I have arranged for a car to meet you at the airport, and had the apartment prepared for you. And do not forget, the garages are all on automatic sensor now, do not be concerned when you cannot find the button in the car. Text me when you are home, and I will carve out some time for a video call."

"Well here's hoping he's a futurist like you," Anne muttered, still parsing that long string of jargon, "so someone in this relationship will have the first fucking idea what you're talking about."

Max laughed, rich and easy, and said, "There is a link on the desktop of your phone called 'Max'. Press that and write a message to me — think of it as a telegram, dear one. And then I will call you later."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you."

"Je t'aime," Max replied. "Have a good flight."

The phone went dead and Anne shoved it into the pocket of her jacket, continuing the awkward shuffle through the coach section of the plane, an eye out for her row. She fucking hated air travel, and she hated it worse when Max wasn't with her. She wasn't looking forward to pacing the aisle during the flight, but Max was right, this was probably their best shot. If he was really here, if the signs weren't bullshit.

But she'd know him, wouldn't she? If Max was right about any of it, it was that. So either he was here or he wasn't. And in the next few hours, she'd know.

She found her row, slid into seat 22D, stuffed her faded old backpack under the seat in front of her, then took quiet stock of her neighbors. The seats to her right were occupied by a young couple, leaning into each other, clearly newly in love. Irrelevant. Across the aisle to her left, the window seat was empty, and in 22B a gray-haired woman with a neckpillow was already dozing. As Anne watched, a man in a cheap suit put his rollerbag in the bin over their row, then settled into the aisle seat across from hers.

And immediately began to chat her up.

Among the many things she hated about traveling alone, this sort of shit ranked pretty fucking high. It also made her wonder if she ought to start wearing a wedding ring, like Max did. The idea wasn't so odd, anymore, legal most places now, even. About fucking time. Not that it usually carried much weight with this kind of asshole, but it was better than having to listen to them.

She was about to tell the jackass in the suit to shove off when out of nowhere a ratty duffel bag collided with his face with a good amount of force, knocking his head back into the seat at a satisfying angle. Time seemed to slow as Anne looked up, following the line of motion, at the person holding the straps of the bag, tall and lean and smiling in a way that was both polite and totally insincere.

Those fucking sideburns, was Anne's first coherent thought.

"Oh, I am so sorry," the newcomer said, and his voice— it wasn't anything like Anne had expected, and yet exactly right. "I didn't see you there," he went on. "But I do believe you're in my seat. 22C?"

Suit-shit looked annoyed and said, "Pretty sure this seat is A, C is by the window."

"The posted signage would seem to disagree with you," he said with that same smile, gesturing to the placard above the seat that clearly showed A next to the window.

The jackass flushed red and shot a glance at Anne, and she realized she'd been staring. She jerked her gaze away, sneering.

"Yeah, well, my mistake," the jackass mumbled, and then bothered the woman in 22B to let him into his rightful seat.

Anne surreptitiously watched as the newcomer squashed his duffel bag into the overhead compartment, her head spinning. He was tall enough that it wasn't even a reach — easily as tall as he'd been the last time around, with that same slouchy stance. After one last good shove to the duffel, he settled into the aisle seat across from hers, and Anne had to remind herself not to stare, to only steal glances as the rest of the passengers filed on and into their seats.

He looked different, of course, softer somehow, and at least a decade younger than he'd been when he'd died. His hair was a shade or two lighter than she remembered, but so similar to his old style that the effect was the same: a mess on top and too long in back, but somehow he made it look intentional and fashionable, no matter the century.

Other than the broad sweeping sideburns — sculpted from the hair in front of his ears, she noticed on a second glance — he had no facial hair to speak of, which changed the balance of his face in interesting ways. His eyes were as dark as ever, and Anne found herself grateful for it, grateful to recognize those eyes she'd once known so well.

The shape of his jaw was different, his shoulders narrower, but beneath all the differences, he was the Jack Rackham she'd known, the Jack she'd always known, sardonic and calculating and wistful. Max had been right, she'd recognized him instantly, even before he'd spoken. He hadn't spared her a second look though, so maybe that was something else Max was right about, that he didn't remember anything from before. They had some theories on how to jog his memory, but Anne had been half hoping that it wouldn't be necessary. If he didn't remember, there wasn't much she could do until they were on the ground in LA, anyway. Max was the one who knew about this shit.

As the flight crew began the final steps for takeoff, Anne glanced across the aisle again to find him watching her sidelong.

"I hope that wasn't as painful as it looked," he said conspiratorially, leaning an elbow on his armrest and angling himself towards her across the aisle.

She looked over at him, unsure what to make of that comment — and realizing suddenly that she had completely forgotten how to be like this with him, how to be strangers. If she'd ever known, really. "I dunno, I kind of enjoyed watching him get smacked."

Used-to-be-Jack grinned, ducking his head to hide it. "No, I meant the part just before that, actually. Him talking at you. I hope it wasn't too painful for you."

Because of fucking course Jack had done that on purpose. It wasn't quite walking up and slitting the throat of her abusive fuck of a husband in the middle of a tavern, but of course Jack had to make that kind of entrance. Every fucking time.

"Nothing I couldn't have handled," she said, shooting him a look. "But I appreciate the backup."

"Glad to help," he replied easily. "Feels like we ought to stick together— you know, aisle mates and all."

"...Right."

He smiled at her pleasantly, then turned back to his own space as the flight attendants made their way down the narrow aisle.

Anne snuck glances at him throughout the safety announcements, noting all the differences, all the fucking uncanny similarities. Evidently she wouldn't be forced to wander the aisle at all, thank fuck, but she had to find some way to make her staring a little less obvious. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene and scare him off. As soon as they were in the air, she pulled her backpack from under the seat in front of her to fish around for her earphones.

Across the aisle, the person who had been Jack huffed a laugh, and Anne looked up out of habit, out of instinct.

"The, ah, Jolly Roger," he said, gesturing to a threadbare patch on the front of her backpack. Max had bought it for her sometime in the 1970s, she'd forgotten when exactly. Forgotten it was on there, even, when she'd hurriedly packed for this last-minute flight. Still smiling in bemusement, used-to-be-Jack pushed up the unbuttoned cuff of his overshirt to reveal that same flag, inked in black on the inside of his forearm, skull grinning toothily up at Anne. It was more accurate to the original than her patch was.

It's fine, she could still hear him saying, defeat in his voice. His old voice. It's fine. And here it was fucking tattooed on him like he'd been born with it.

Maybe Max was wrong about just how much they could expect Jack to remember on his own.

"Always been a favorite of mine," she answered neutrally, eyeing him.

"You know whose flag it is, then, of course?" he replied.

"Jack Rackham's," she said automatically, and watched his face closely, waiting for the twinkle in his eye, for the moment his expression would crack to let her know he'd been fucking with her all along.

She'd waited three hundred years for that look, and apparently she'd have to wait a little bit longer.

"Ah, and there history would agree with you — while leaving out some rather important and salient facts. While Rackham was undoubtedly using this flag by the time of his death in 1720, he'd been known to use others earlier in his career. His iconic flag was, in fact, a rather late addition to his legend, not recorded at all before 1718 or so. And sightings of it continued for nearly another fifty years after his death, which the official histories never account for."

She did know that, of course. She remembered it — not well, her grief and desperation at the time having driven her nearly further than Max could reach — but of course she knew it better than anyone.

But if Jack was going to fuck with her, she could fuck with him right back. "What're you saying? Rackham came back from the dead?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Undead pirates, purely a Disney invention," he said, flashing her a grin, even while that I'm-fucking-with-you twinkle stubbornly refused to surface. "No, I believe Rackham's partner in crime, Anne Bonny, survived him. There are records for the deaths of most of his crew, but Anne Bonny simply disappears from the historical account. It's my belief that she escaped Jamaica and returned to piracy, under Rackham's flag."

If he did remember, if he'd recognized her as quickly as she'd recognized him, this was a fucking weird-ass roundabout way of telling her so, but also the sort of weird-ass roundabout-ness that just screamed Jack. "Do you think Rackham would've approved of that?" she asked.

"Oh, most assuredly," used-to-be-Jack replied. "The woman was a force of nature, taking on her world the way she did, in that era of history. If Rackham didn't approve, then he wasn't worthy of her in the first place."

"Are you fucking with me?" she asked before she could stop herself, narrowing her gaze at him across the aisle.

He looked over at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, the picture of innocence. "No, not at all. I truly believe that. And besides," he went on, smirking, "I would never joke about pirates, Anne Bonny least of all."

He didn't say her name right, she decided. Said it like it was one long name, the syllables running together, and pronounced Anne all wrong, none of the emphasis he used to use. If he was fucking with her, he was doing a shit job of it. She glanced over and found him watching her a bit sheepishly.

"I'm sorry to prattle on — pirates are a bit of special interest for me, you see — and I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Jack," he said, smiling pleasantly at her across the aisle. Just like fucking that. I'm Jack, with that utterly innocent expression, what the fuck.

Not fucking with her, she decided. Pretty sure at least. Which just made it that much fucking weirder. "What, like Rackham?"

He flushed a little but wore it well. "Well, when your given name can be shortened to the same moniker as that of one of your childhood heroes, why not? Life's too short."

He seemed to be totally unaware of the fucking surrealness of all of this. "...I'm Anne," she said, looking at him sidelong, suddenly missing her hat, after all these years. "And I don't mind the pirate talk. Obviously," she added, with a nod to her backpack that she'd stashed at her feet again.

Jack shot her a look, eyebrows raised. "Ah, I see I'm not the only one with a namesake in this discussion — though that does beg the question, then, how precisely you spell Anne. With or without the E. Anne Bonny, of course, is nearly always spelled with that trailing E, even at a time when the records can barely agree on a spelling for Rackham. Which has always led me to believe that Anne Bonny must have been somewhat protective of her name, particular as to its spelling. Where would you say you fall in this whole E discourse, Aisle Mate Anne?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, challenging. "Well, what do you think?"

He considered her a long moment, eyes narrowed. "You look like an Anne-with-an-E sort to me."

"You can tell that by looking?"

He shrugged. "It takes a certain sort of strength to carry around that extra letter your whole life, defend its existence." He smiled, self-deprecating, and Anne was momentarily caught up in the play of his expressions on this new face, so similar, so fucking different. "Or perhaps I am merely projecting — having recently dropped from Jackie to Jack myself."

That caught her off guard, and she looked over at him again. "Jackie, huh?"

"Short for Jacqueline. I have a... complicated relationship with gender. Jackie was my mother's compromise, and I held on as long as I could, but I just couldn't..." He trailed off into an expression of frustration.

"Jack suits you anyway," she said after a moment, hoping there was still something in him that could read her tones of voice as easily as he once did.

He shot her a grateful look. "I knew you would understand, Anne-with-an-E. We cannot be other than we are."

--

Jack was surprisingly easy to talk to, once she stopped looking for that I'm-fucking-with-you smirk. They'd talked plenty before, all those years ago, but Anne knew she was different now, that three hundred years with Max had changed her. They couldn't have talked like this back then, not really. Not with her openness and his lightness.

There were things she couldn't tell him yet, not while he still lacked his memories and certainly not in public, but she told him what she could: about Max, and some of the places they'd seen, and the little business in New Orleans that occupied most of Anne's days. They discussed pirate movies and history, Jack's childhood in Philadelphia of all places, how excited he was to see the Pacific ocean for the first time.

All through it, it was clear he didn't remember her or that life before, at least not consciously — his subconscious seemed to have taken up the slack. They'd find a way to jog his memories, once they were on the ground again. Max would know how.

The longest break in their conversation was when the drinks cart paused in between them. By the time their flight landed in LA, they'd exchanged email addresses, but they naturally fell into step beside each other after they disembarked. LAX was, as always, a warren of crowds and construction, but she was in no hurry to lose Jack's company, so she stuck by his side even as the faster moving travelers wove around them.

By the third time they'd stopped to look at the signs directing them toward baggage claim and all, she was having trouble keeping herself from smiling at his obvious annoyance.

"First time in LAX?" she finally asked.

"That obvious?" he said, making a face. "My confusion with the signage only continues to increase," he went on, waving in agitation at the temporary sign in front of them and the construction zone around them. "I take it you're an old hand at navigating this monstrosity?"

She shrugged, still trying not to smile. "More or less."

"I suppose I need to find ground transportation," he sighed, "if you would be so kind as to take pity on me and help me find my way, Aisle Mate Anne?"

"Where are you headed? Maybe I can give you a lift." More time could only be a good thing. Even knowing she had a way to contact him again, she didn't want to let him out of her sight any sooner than she absolutely had to.

"I'm on my way to San Diego, to meet an old friend of mine. There's a train from Union Station. Once I figure out how to get there. I think there's a bus or something."

"Nah, public transport in LA is a fucking nightmare. I have a car waiting for me, at least let me drive you to Union Station. Come on."

She touched the back of his hand in passing and turned to lead the way in the direction of her car pick-up, slipping between the clumps of travelers. After a moment she realized he wasn't keeping pace with her, paused and glanced back at him. He was still standing where she'd left him, staring down at his hand as people parted around him like a rock in the surf, his ratty duffel forgotten at his feet.

"Jack?" she called, taking a few steps back to him when he didn't acknowledge her.

"I have had this dream so many times, and I never understood..." he murmured, more to himself, turning his hand over as he continued to stare.

"The fuck's gotten into you?" she asked.

His gaze snapped up to hers, dark eyes intense and utterly focused on her. "Anne," he said, and something about it brought her up short, her heart hammering.

It was completely different from how he had been saying her name, exactly like how she'd wished he would—

For a long moment, all she could do was stare at him, holding his gaze across the few feet that still separated them.

"...What? Just fucking now? Are you fucking kidding me?"

He shook his head, looking dazed. "Yes, just fucking now. You touched my hand and I—" His eyes sought hers again, so familiar in his changed face. "I wasn't fucking with you, earlier, Anne. I wouldn't— that wouldn't be my first instinct— it isn't my first instinct, to fuck with you in this moment, to draw out this farce any longer than strictly necessary."

And all at once it hit her like a punch to the gut. It was really him. Jack Rackham. Standing in front of her after three hundred fucking years.

"So what is your first instinct, then?" she asked, not quite sure what to do with herself, either.

He took half a step towards her then stopped, hesitant, hands splaying open helplessly at his sides. "Darling."

Anne didn't need more of an invitation than that. She closed the distance between them in a few quick steps and didn't stop until she had barreled into him and wrapped her arms around him. Jack embraced her just as quick, holding her tight and leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

"I cannot believe you did it, I cannot believe you pulled this off, Anne," he whispered fiercely, cheek pressed to her hair. "I can't believe we're standing in the middle of LAX in twenty fucking eighteen and you did it, you marvelous woman, you absolute force of nature."

She huffed a laugh against his chest, and only then realized that she was crying. "I can't fucking believe you have that tattoo."

"You continued to use it," he said, sounding awed, and a bit like he might be crying too. "For fifty years! You kept it alive, made it so notorious it's nearly synonymous with pirate, made sure the world knew it, so I could find it again. Do I disapprove of you continuing to use it? Are you mad? I could not possibly be more proud of you—"

He cut off with a choked sound and Anne clutched him tighter, ignoring the people streaming past them, the boarding calls echoing over the PA system, the news on televisions chattering overhead, the construction on the other side of the flimsy barrier wall. There was nothing else in this moment but the reality of Jack Rackham, alive in her arms, after so fucking long.

"Thank you for finding me, my darling," he said, holding her as tightly as she held him. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

--

Eventually they continued on out of the terminal, Anne leading the way to the private car service Max used.

"I had a car dropped off for me," she told the attendant behind the counter. "Last name's Beaumont, under either Anne or Max."

"Yes, Ms. Beaumont, we were notified that your flight had landed, so your car is being brought up now. It should only be another minute or two, if you'd like to have a seat."

Jack shot her a look as they settled into adjoining chairs in the empty lounge next door. "'Ms. Beaumont,'" he mimicked with a mocking twist to his voice.

"Oh don't you start," Anne said, swatting at him. "Just the latest in a long line."

"Beaumont is an interesting choice, though."

She shrugged. "Over the years I've learned it's best to just let Max have her way in things like this, only put my foot down on shit like not changing my initials. At least these days we can say we're married, instead of trying to claim we're sisters or whatever the fuck."

"I'm sure that's lovely for you," he replied, his tone not quite as light as he'd aimed for, she thought.

"She's missed you too, you know," she said, knocking her foot into his. "We both have."

He looked at her sidelong, almost shy. "I don't wish to intrude, darling. I know how the two of you were before, and given the way you talked about her on the plane, I can only imagine that bond has strengthened over the intervening time."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't have gone to this much trouble to get you back if we didn't want you with us. The both of us."

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the effort," he said, tracing the back of her hand with a fingertip for a moment. "But I would understand if things have changed since 1720."

"It was a long-shot and we pulled it off. That's all that's changed. Shut the fuck up about it and enjoy the moment, will you?"

Jack shook his head, smiling over at her again. "I still can't believe this actually worked, and yet here we are."

"I can't believe you made me wait that fucking long."

"Came as quick as I could, darling. Just got a little sidetracked along the way. Being dead and all."

"Three hundred fucking years, Jack!"

"Ah, no, two hundred and ninety-eight, thank you very much. I had planned to celebrate that anniversary in style, Anne. You've borne witness to the depths of my obsession with my previous life already," he went on, gesturing at the tattoo on his arm. "We'd even talked about going to Jamaica for the anniversary, Chaz and I—" He cut himself off suddenly, eyes gone wide. "Oh my god, Charles. We have to get to San Diego."

"...For your school friend?" Anne asked, trying to keep up with his sudden shift.

"No. Well, yes — my closest friend in the world, as it turns out — but I am suddenly quite certain that Chaz is Charles."

"Vane, you mean? What the fuck?"

"It has to be. I haven't the faintest fucking clue how, but it has to be."

"Vane's the old friend you flew out here to visit? What the fuck, how long have you known him?"

"My entire life. Inseparable since childhood — we were born in the same hospital two days apart, for Christ's sake. Whatever brought me back seems to have brought Charles along for the ride."

Anne shook her head, stunned. "Guess we're going to San Diego, then."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but one of the overly-cheery staff members came to get them then, leading the way down a short hallway to an elevator. When the doors opened on the private garage below, Anne was relieved to find that it was the Maserati waiting for them and not one of Max's new Tesla toys. She still hadn't quite wrapped her head around the fuel needs of those, and she was glad Max had remembered she'd said so.

She tipped the valet and slid into the driver's seat as Jack settled into the passenger's side.

"This is your car?" he demanded once the doors were closed behind them.

"Fuck no, this is Max's car. Like I'd drive anything I can't wrench myself," she snorted as she secured her seatbelt and put the car into drive. "It just ain't worth keeping a vehicle out here, I'm in LA so rarely. Easier just to use one of Max's."

Jack blinked at her in surprise. "One of Max's?"

She shrugged. "I've given up trying to keep track. The sun never sets on the Maximillianne Empire and all that."

"Hang on, M.E. is Max? What am I saying, of course she is, you are, with a name like that, with an empire like that. But there is clearly some history I'm missing there."

She focused on merging with traffic before responding to him, too busy swearing at LA drivers under her breath. "'Course there is. Fucking three hundred years, Jack! But broad strokes, there ain't much to tell. You already know I stayed on the Account through... guess it must have been '68 or so. By that point everyone who'd known about Flint's treasure was dead, so we went back for it. Took us awhile to find all the caches — Ben Gunn was stuck on Skeleton Island for years, kept finding bits of the treasure and re-hiding it, went completely off his fucking rocker — but we had time. More time than we knew what to do with, really. When we had all the treasure we could find, we sailed for the mainland, for what's the States now, bought some land. Max did what she does, started building a new empire. Eventually bought Skeleton Island and the cays around it outright, just in case we'd missed any of the treasure. But you know how Max is, always on to the newest thing, always investing the profits into some new venture. Sorta ballooned over the years."

Jack was silent a long moment, and Anne glanced over to find him watching her, a calculating grin on his face. "So you and Max were the final recipients of Flint's treasure? Simply sailed off into the sunset with it? Amazing. Fucking brilliant. If the history books had any idea...!"

Anne snorted in amusement. "She'd have been here, if she could have. She's in Paris on business, we got word about your flight so late there wasn't time."

"Ah, yes, well, it was fairly last-minute travel on my part as well. Though how you knew I would be on that flight is a mystery to me, much less in that row!"

"You'll have to ask Max about the signs, I have no fucking clue how those work, they just do. It's how we knew you were back in the first place. But I don't think she knew where you'd be sitting, kept telling me I'd have to walk the aisle looking for you."

"Glad to have spared you that at least. I'm still a little surprised you recognized me so easily, given everything that's changed."

She looked at him sidelong before turning her gaze back to the 405 freeway.

"You have to admit this is all a bit different," Jack went on, gesturing at himself. "Not sure I would even recognize myself on the street."

"Your hair's the same, dumbass."

Jack shot her a confused look, then reached for the visor to flip open the mirror there and examine his reflection, one hand in his hair. Messy on top, too long in back, those fucking sideburns.

"Ah. Well, clearly bits of me have been slipping through for some time now. But no, this is actually— I shaved my head, five months back? Six? I needed a change, desperately. I haven't had the faintest fucking idea what to do with it as it's grown back in, besides just let it be. Somehow that seems to have formed... this."

"Now that is difficult to picture," Anne admitted.

"It was a rash decision, but I don't regret it. It's all tied up in this whole... fucking Jacqueline thing. That was a bit of a tangled knot to unravel even before I had the rest of my memories bouncing around my head. And now, I don't know what the fuck to think."

Into the silence that followed, Anne said, "You're you. That's all I care about."

He sighed and it sounded a little ragged. "Thank you, darling. I know I have done absolutely nothing in this life or the last to deserve a day like this with you, but I am ever so grateful for it."

"The fuck you talking about, 'a day like this.' Three hundred fucking years, Jack! If you think I'm letting you out of my sight even once in the next century, you're fucking wrong. You're stuck with me, like it or not."

Jack smiled, ducking his head to hide it. "As I said, nothing in this life or the last to deserve this. But you won't hear a complaint out of me."

"Good. Because you're outvoted anyway."

They continued south at a fair clip, conversation flowing between them even easier than it had on the plane, now that they didn't have to hold back. But when her phone began to buzz in her pocket, Anne realized what she'd forgotten to do. "Ah, shit," she said, keeping one hand on the wheel and digging the phone out of her pocket with the other. "Answer that, would you?" she added as she all but tossed the telephone at Jack.

He caught it neatly and answered it before its next ring. "Hel-lo?" he asked in greeting, clearly unsure what to expect. Anne cast a quick glance at him before turning her gaze back to the freeway, and saw his face break into a wide grin. "Max," he said, and Anne couldn't help smiling a little as well at the warmth in his tone. "Yes she did," Jack replied to something Max had asked. "We were seated across from each other, actually... Ah yes, I did wonder if that was your influence... No, no, we're— somewhere in Orange County anyway, I haven't a clue. Headed vaguely south-ish."

"Put her on—" Anne stopped when she realized she didn't have the word, waving one hand at the phone pressed to Jack's ear. "Make her voice loud enough so I can hear."

"Speakerphone, darling," he supplied, shooting her a grin, then did as she asked. "Sorry Max, say that again?"

"You are driving south...?" Max's voice came through the little brick of technology in Jack's hand.

It finally hit Anne, in that moment, driving Max's ridiculous car down the broad freeway, the Pacific sparkling out the passenger's side window and the voices of the two people she loved best in the world mingling in the little cabin, that they'd done it. Really, truly, fucking done it.

--

All they had was an address and a slip number, but Jack knew how to make his phone tell them the best route there, and before long they were winding through San Diego, nearing the waterfront. Eventually they had to park and go the rest on foot, and Jack led the way down the jetty with a shit-ton of confidence for someone who had never been west of the fucking Mississippi before.

The sailboat wasn't much to look at, but clearly well loved, maintained in a way a lot of the day-trip sailors hardly bothered with anymore, in Anne's extensive experience. As they neared they could see a man sitting on the deck, his back to them as he worked on a rope splice. Jack increased his pace, clearly recognizing him, and Anne took a moment to catalog this new Vane. His skin was dark beneath a sun-bronzed tan, and he wore a thick bundle of neatly locked dreads gathered at the nape of his neck, still as broad-shouldered as ever. And like Jack, despite the changes, there was some undefinable thing that was distinctly Vane.

"Chaz!" Jack called when they were still a few yards away, waving when the man on the boat looked up.

"Jack!" he said cheerfully, standing and turning towards them as they approached. "What the fuck, I wasn't expecting you for a few hours yet. I would have met you at the train station if you'd texted me." He stooped and produced a sturdy-looking board and laid it across the gap between the jetty and the boat.

"Yes, well, something came up," Jack said as he came aboard. "Charles, I'd like you to meet—"

"Anne Bonny," used-to-be-Vane said with a grin, startling her. "About fucking time." He held out a hand as she stepped on board, and after a moment she shook it. His palm was calloused against hers, hinting at years of sailing.

"Charles," she said with a little nod, not quite sure how to react.

Vane blinked a few times and uttered a little huh before Jack's agitation drew both their gazes.

"You knew?" he asked, sounding surprised and affronted.

"First night out at sea alone, I knew. Nice to have a few more of the details back, though," he said, nodding at Anne with a grin as she blinked back at him silently.

"And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?" Jack demanded.

Vane shrugged. "Why do you think I've been pushing for you to come out here? Seemed like a face to face sort of conversation. Thought it was just you and me though, glad to see you two ran into each other somewhere along the way."

Must have been that damned coat, she realized. Vane had been with them the day of the rescue, must have bled on it too.

"Anne, your what the fuck face hasn't changed a bit," he added with amusement. "Hang on, you look exactly the same, how's that fucking possible? When Jack and I—" He waved vaguely at he and Jack, how different they each looked.

Anne shot Jack a look and he grinned, turning to Vane.

"Now that, my friend, is a very interesting story," Jack said, throwing an arm around Charles and pulling him towards the boat's little galley, "worthy of your best booze."

Anne smirked and followed after, letting the sound of Jack's voice lead her onward.

"...Tell me Charles, what do you know of the Fountain of Youth?"

#q #Blood In The Hourglass #Black Sails #Black Sails fanfic #Jack Rackham #Anne Bonny #Jack and Anne #my writing #available on AO3 under the same title and username #please comment and reblog!

[soft-stormcloud]

Damage Control [The Witching Hour Au]

Trigger warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Cursing, cigarette mention, needle mention, fear, screaming, misgendering (not on purpose, they just don’t know yet), suicide comparison, hopelessness, self deprecating thoughts, crying, bad home life mention, beer bottle mention, knives, fear of murder, blood 

A/n: I’m realizing when I switched blogs over from chemically, I never posted this? Which is annoying. Anyway. Here it is.  This is for The Witching Hour Au, sequel to End of the Line. Origin fic.

    “You’re kidding, right?” 

    The teenage boy shook his head. He had a cigarette between his fingers. “Nope. Heard it all from Mary.” 

    “Mary’s always full of shit,” Izzi grumbled, kicking a stray rock. It sailed into the alley and clattered against the broken concrete. 

    “Oh?” He smirked. “So you’ll go inside, then?” 

    She glared up at him. “Yeah. I will.” 

    “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ellie said nervously. She was wrapped up in her winter coat, her pale face poking out of the hood. 

    Adrian waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine.” 

    “If you really believe that stuff, you won’t let her in!” Ellie insisted. 

    Adrian laughed while Izzi rolled her eyes in amusement. “What, do you believe it?” 

    She blushed and looked away. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. 

    He stepped closer to her, tickling her sides. “You think the ghost of Riley Cornell is gonna get you?!” 

    She shoved him off, his cigarette dropping to the ground. “Maybe!” 

    “Come on, Ellie.” Izzi held out her hand. “We’ll go together.” She glared at Adrian. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” 

    She pursed her lips, and then sighed. She took Izzi’s hand and let herself be led into the alley. 

    Adrian raised his phone, and hit record. 

    “God,” Ellie gasped, covering her nose, “what’s that smell?” 

    “Don’t think about it.” 

    Their sneakers sunk in spots where the concrete gave way to mud, in dirty puddles of rain water and muck. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and needles. As the girls approached the dumpster near the centre of the alley, backed up against the theatre wall, Ellie stopped and shook her head. 

    She was suddenly stricken with fear, so strong she couldn’t move. 

    “Ellie?” Izzi looked at her, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

    She just shook her head. She was too scared to speak. 

    “Come on, there’s nothing there.” Izzi forced a chuckle, but Ellie was starting to freak her out. “Let’s finish this so we can rub it in his face. He’s just a stupid boy, he was trying to scare us.” 

    She started walking again, and Ellie shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No,” she choked out. 

    Izzi dropped her hand, inching forward. She got to the dumpster, rounded the corner, and- 

    There was someone there.

    She only got a glimpse of the face, half covered in scales with a glowing eye, before she screamed and sprinted out of the alley. She pulled Ellie with her. Adrian burst out into laughter and recorded them running. 

    “Put that down, you idiot!” Izzi snapped. Ellie had tears in her eyes. “There’s something in there!” 

    Adrian laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you saw something. What, did a leaf scare you?” 

    Izzi clenched her fists, and screamed in frustration. She pushed Adrian as hard as he could, and he fell back into the alley, phone scattering behind him. 

    “IZZI!” He jumped back up, rushing to make sure it wasn’t cracked. 

    He pulled it out from under the dumpster, sighing in relief. He looked up, and- Two eyes stared back. One brown, one yellow, like a snake’s. 

    He went white from fear. He booked it out of the alley, forgetting that they were recording. 

    Riley listened to them leave, covering their head with their arms. They just wanted to be left alone. 

    ___ 

    “We have a problem,” Logan said as he came down Roman’s basement stairs, Patton following close behind. 

    Virgil was standing in the middle of the room, the furniture pushed out of the way, with a stack of books on his head. He glared up at them. 

    “What are you doing?” Patton asked. 

    Roman raised his phone, taking a picture. On screen showed a floating stack of books. “This is going to be great for my Instagram.” 

    “I gave the two of them some things to do to help Virgil practice his sentience,” Logan said. “I think things that require more concentration can help him progress faster. A little bit harder of an exercise, you know?” 

    “FUCK!” The stack of books fell right through Virgil’s skull, sitting at the floor, occupying the same space as his feet. He stepped out of the way, and kicked one of them with all his might- It smacked against the wall and landed on the carpet. 

    “Excuse me!” Roman gasped, picking it up. “This is an exclusive, I’ll have you know!” 

    Virgil growled. 

    “Maybe we can take a break,” Patton said, opening up her arms. Virgil grumbled and snuggled into them. “Logan has something to show us, anyway.” 

    They all crowded onto the couch, Patton with Virgil in her lap, Logan and Roman’s shoulders pressed together. They all leaned in as Logan pressed play on his phone. 

    It was a YouTube video, posted anonymously and titled, “REAL monster found in the alley by the theatre!!!!” It was clearly posted for a specific audience, as the actual location wasn’t revealed. 

    Curious, Roman pulled up the video on his phone, and scrolled down to the comment’s section. He recognized most of the names as people from their school, or with the same usernames as their Instagrams. 

    “Shit,” Virgil said under his breath as the video showed Riley, fully visible and now on display. “You need to get this taken down.” 

    Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me?” 

    He shrugged. “If anyone here can learn how to hack, it’s you.” 

    Logan scowled, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Right, while I work on that,” he rolled his eyes, “why don’t you keep working on your sentience? We need to get Riley out of there. What progress have you made?” 

    Virgil looked away. 

    “Not much,” Roman admitted. “He still can’t leave the house. The farthest he can go is the front porch. We’ve been using your exercises, but, well- They aren’t really working.” His eyes widened. “I mean, they are! Just, not… Enough?” He blushed. He always sucked at talking to Logan. He loved the guy, but it was impossible to please him. 

    Logan, though he was feeling significantly less motivated, looked to Patton. “And how have you been doing on your part?” 

    “I’ve been trying… But he doesn’t trust me!” Patton looked guilty and embarrassed. “He won’t talk to me. I can’t even get him to stand up.” 

    “What do you mean?” Virgil asked. 

    “He’s just… Curled against the dumpster, hugging his knees. Sometimes when I go he won’t even raise his head!” 

    “Right, well, I doubt videos like these,” Logan shook his phone, showing off the video they just watched and all the others that came up in the recommended, “are helping.” 

    “So you’ll try to hack them?” Virgil asked, and Roman snorted. 

    Logan looked at them flatly. “If it’s our only option.” He stood up, brushing his jeans down. “If you three could stay here and help Virgil work on his sentience, that’d be helpful.” 

    Roman laughed. “And where are you going?” 

    “Damage control.” 

    “Are you sure you want to go back there, Lo?” Patton asked nervously. She squeezed Virgil’s waist. 

    He held up his hand. “I’m sure. It wasn’t that bad to watch. I’ve gotten over it.” 

    Nobody believed that. 

    “Well, I guess it’s all up to you, then!” Roman said, clapping his hands together. 

    Right. “Isn’t it always?” Logan didn’t wait for a response, just left. 

    Roman gathered up the books and straightened up, grinning. “Guess we better get back to work!” 

    Virgil looked at the books in distaste. “I need coffee first.” And with that, he sunk out. 

    Roman’s eyes widened. “HE CAN’T GO TRAMPING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN, MY PARENTS ARE HOME!” 

    ___ 

    “Hey.” 

    Riley didn’t move. 

    Logan sat down next to them, so they were both hidden by the dumpster. 

    “Did they show up today?” 

    Riley hesitated, and then slowly nodded. They were hugging their knees, just like Patton said, their chin rested on them and their eyes downcast. 

    “We’re working on getting those videos taken down,” he said, “so maybe people will stop coming around.” 

    “Don’t bother.” 

    Logan frowned in confusion. “What?” 

    “It won’t work,” they mumbled. 

    “Don’t you want to take the chance?” 

    They shook their head. 

    Okay. So that definitely wasn’t the way to get him to open up. Maybe a different direction… 

    “Have we told you about our friend Virgil?” 

    They snorted. “What, your ‘ghost friend?’” They wiggled their fingers a little, their only movement. “Ooooooo. I’m sure he can help me.” 

    That was definitely the wrong direction. Shit. Shit. Fuck. 

    Logan sighed. “Tell you what.” He spoke quietly. “When we get you out of here- When -you can come back to my place.” 

    Riley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move or look at him. 

    “It’s better than this gross alley. And it’s quiet. It’s really quiet. No one will bother you. And you can rest a few days before you meet Virgil.” 

    They hesitated. “How long has Virgil been dead for?” 

    Logan didn’t want to answer. “A while.” 

    They laughed again, shaking their head. “You guys have no fucking idea what you’re doing, do you? I-” Their voice cracked, “I’m going to be here forever. Virgil can’t even leave his house, how am I ever-?” 

    They broke, and started sobbing, their body shaking. They buried their face in their knees, and Logan hesitated, before wrapping an arm around them. 

    Before Roman and Patton, he never really had any physical affection. He just tried to think of what they would do. 

    Finally, Logan made a right move. Did something good. Riley collapsed into his arms, burying their face in his chest as they sobbed, gripping him tightly. Logan wrapped them up tight in their arms, letting Riley let out all their fear and pain and stress. 

Riley eventually fell asleep, leaned against Logan’s chest. Well. He definitely couldn’t leave now. He reached around for his phone, plugged in his headphones, and put on a podcast. 

___

Logan found himself visiting Riley every day. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t that beneficial. He could be working on learning how to hack, or helping Virgil with his sentience. 

But he didn’t. He visited Riley. 

He learned their pronouns, and what their favourite books were. He informed the others of their pronouns, and ordered Riley’s favourite books. Then, because Riley couldn’t hold them, Logan read to them. 

Every day. 

Eventually, he even started seeing them more than once. He would drop in to talk a few minutes before school, and skip lunch to read a chapter with them before heading back. Then he would go back after school, and stay with them until it got dark. 

When it started, Riley would normally fall asleep leaning against Logan, and jerk awake as their sentience failed and they fell right through him. 

That didn’t happen much anymore. 

“You’ve been spending quite some time with our dragon boy,” Roman said one night, while Virgil was trying to learn how to tie different knots. “Any progress?”

“Not a boy,” Logan reminded, eyes focused on Virgil’s frustrated fingers. “And… Not much. They’re able to keep up human contact, but otherwise, nothing new. Still can’t hold a book. I think I’ve gotten them to open up to me, though.” 

“Oh?” Roman’s eyes twinkled. “Human contact, eh? Opening up, eh? So what happened? How did they die?”

Logan just laughed. 

“Really?” He whined. “You’re not gonna tell me?!” 

“Not on your life.” Riley trusted him with that information. It wasn’t to be taken lightly. 

“I brought cookies!” Patton cried as they came into the room, holding a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. They sat next to Virgil, taking away his rope and replacing it with a cookie instead. The bracelet on their wrist had returned to its usual green, instead of the pink they wore before. “What are we talking about?”

“Logan’s new boyfriend,” Roman teased. “Er, uh- Partner!” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Riley is not my partner. They’re just my friend.”

“Ooh, big word comin’ from you,” Virgil said with his mouth full. “You sure you’re ready for that commitment?” 

Logan glared. “And what about you two?”

Patton and Virgil glanced between each other. “What about us?” Virgil asked. 

He waved his hand at them aggressively. “When are you going to, you know, date?!”

They both laughed. “We already are, cutie!” 

Logan blinked. Roman was laughing at him. “You are?”

“Since the day we met,” Virgil confirmed. 

“It was love at first sight,” Patton sung. 

Virgil smiled. He didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, but if that was how Patton felt, who was he to argue? 

“Whatever,” Logan huffed. 

“Not everyone dances around their feelings,” Roman teased. He knew Logan was touch starved, and had trouble expressing his emotions due to his suffocating home life, and he tried to be nice about it… But sometimes it was hard. 

“We should watch a movie tonight!” Patton smiled. 

“Normally I’d say yes,” Logan said, “but Virgil really needs to work on his sentience. Riley isn’t doing well there.”

“Okay, hold on,” Roman said. He looked uncharacteristically serious. “Say we do get Virgil up and about. What then? Is he gonna see Riley and immediately know how to help?”

Their eyes all fell to Virgil. 

He hesitated. “... No.” 

They were quiet. 

“But- But it could still help, right?” Patton asked nervously. 

“I mean, sure, it could.” Virgil shrugged one shoulder. “But the only way to help them is for them to build up their own sentience.” 

“But they don’t want to,” Logan insisted. 

“They’re like, ghost-suicidal!” Roman cried. 

“Yeah, well.” Virgil held up his hands. 

“We need something to motivate them,” Roman mumbled. “Logan, you aren’t enough?”

“Apparently not,” he grumbled. 

Roman looked at him guiltily. “That’s- That’s not what I meant. Just that, you two are getting close, and wouldn’t they want to spend more time with you? Wouldn’t they want to do it for you?” 

He shrugged. 

“Now, Roman,” Patton scolded, “romance isn’t everything. If Logan was the only reason they were motivated to get better, I’d be worried!”

“I think it’s that they don’t think they can,” Logan said. “They don’t have any faith in themselves.” 

“Then we need to show them that they can!” Roman declared. “Which involves Virgil building his sentience, so he can float down Riley’s alley, and flaunt their ghostliness! Problem solved!” 

Logan wasn’t so sure that would work. But… He didn’t have another plan. So he stayed quiet. 

“We might not have too much time,” Virgil said. 

“What do you mean?” Logan asked. 

“Just, if they don’t make progress soon, they could… Regress.”

“Regress?” Patton frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.” 

“They’d go back into their loop, and we’d have to start from scratch. Only- Well, we wouldn’t be able to break them out again.” 

“What?” Roman whispered. 

Virgil was staring at his hands. “It’s like… How someone with dissociative identity disorder, their mind fractured after going through a trauma, to protect them. If Riley stays in this depressive state too long, the same thing will happen to them. Their spirit will lock them back into their loop, and not let them back out, to protect them.”

“How is that protecting them?!” Patton cried. They had tears in their eyes. 

“Because it’s easier to go through the same trauma than to experience new ones,” he said. 

Logan glared down at his lap. That… Would not happen. Not to Riley. 

“Lo?” Pat asked, sniffling. “Where are you going?” 

He grabbed his backpack, full of the books he had ordered for Riley. “Going to Riley.”

“Logan, that won’t help anything-”

He was already gone. 

___ 

Riley sniffled into their knees. The kids were throwing beer bottles at them. 

They had wandered in, drunk, and were now screaming about some monster. They were recording again. 

They were always recording. 

Every day, it got harder to hide. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” 

The kids looked back at Logan, who was glaring at them from the entrance. 

“Yeah?” One of them laughed. “The hell are you going to do?”

Logan pulled the knife out of his pocket. The same one he was carrying the day he met Riley. 

That was all it took for the kids to bow down. Logan’s knife glinted in the moonlight, his determined glare staring them down. They stumbled past him, but Logan grabbed one of their shoulders. 

He snatched the still-recording phone, and deleted the video off the device. He shoved it back in the boy’s hands. 

When they were gone, Logan pocketed the knife and knelt in front of Riley. He pulled Riley’s hands away from their face, and pulled them into his arms. 

“I hate it when you leave,” Riley spat, gripping onto him. “I hate it!” 

“I know,” he lied. “I know. Come on, stand up with me.” 

“What? Why? I can’t go anywhere.”

“Just stand up.”

They stood up, and Riley’s legs were shaking. 

“We have to get you out of here,” Logan said. “So I need you to please work with me.” 

“Okay,” they whispered. 

“Hold out your hands.” 

Riley did so. Logan reached into his backpack and pulled out one of the books he bought, a thinner one. It was a very short collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories. 

Riley’s eyes widened. They were so focused on the book, that they didn’t recognize Logan trying to gently settle it in their hands. Whenever it started to fall, Logan would catch it. 

Then, finally- Finally -after a half hour of this, the book stayed. Only for a second, and they both fumbled before Logan caught it, but it stayed. They both saw it. 

Logan looked up and caught their eye, and they both grinned. 

They spent the rest of the night celebrating. Riley laid down with their head rested on Logan’s soft thighs as Logan read, his voice careful and soothing. 

“I hate it here,” Riley whispered as the sun touched the horizon. The sky was an ashy gray, peeks of fire coming up in the distance. “It’s so boring, and when it’s not boring, it’s terrifying. I’m so… Scared, all the time.” They squeeze their eyes shut. “I keep thinking that he’ll come back, and kill me all over again. And I’ll have to start over.”

“That’ll never happen,” Logan promised. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” He brushed Riley’s hair back with his fingers. “We’ll get you out of here. We will.” 

“Logan,” Riley swallowed, “could you do something for me?”

Logan immediately got nervous. He wasn’t good at favours. He always did them wrong, somehow. 

“Could you leave the books with me?” 

He blinked. “Of course. Why?”

“So that you have to come back,” they said. “To get them. And so I can practice.” 

Logan blushed. He refrained from telling them that the books belonged to them. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow to help out. We can use some of the exercises I’ve been having Roman practice with Virgil.”

“Are they working?”

“... They haven’t, uh, not worked yet. It’s too soon to tell.”

Riley smiled a little. “You’re the boss. You know more about this than I do.”

“That’s ironic,” he laughed. “Get some sleep. I don’t know what sleep deprivation can do to a ghost, but let’s not find out.” 

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” they said, and it was almost an order. 

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll haunt you.”

He really hoped they would. 

___ 

Virgil was sitting in the kitchen while Roman’s mother cut up some lemons. 

It was dangerous. Not a smart move, really. He could go visible any minute now. He wasn’t anywhere near poltergeist level. 

But controlling his form was getting easier, and it was exhilarating. 

She scooped up the lemon slices and dropped them into the pitcher of tea she was making, and carried it outside. In the backyard, she and her husband were sitting on a picnic blanket while Roman painted on an easel he had set up back there. They were playing music and laughing and talking. Virgil longed to be a part of it. 

But he couldn’t get that far. 

He stood up and came around to the counter, picking up the knife Roman’s mother had left. He ran his finger along the blade and-

“Shit!” He snapped, dropping it. 

It cut him!

He snatched a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger as blood pooled out. It dampened the paper towel with red, and then disappeared. 

The doorbell rang and Virgil went to see who it was, grinning. He pulled the door open and yanked Patton inside. 

Patton squeaked. “Verge?”

“Look!” He shoved his finger in Patton’s face, ripping the paper towel off.  

Patton gasped. “Oh no, how did this happen? Are you okay?!” He inspected the cut carefully. 

“Patton, the knife cut me!” He sounded way too excited. 

Patton looked at him. “Uh… Yeah, babe. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah!” He grinned. 

Patton was so confused. “Sweetheart, I need some context.” 

“I’m a ghost, Pat. I used to just sink through the floor! Knives shouldn’t be able to cut me!”

“Does this mean…?”

He grinned, nodding. “I’m getting more sentient.” 

#virgil sanders #sympathetic deceit #loceit #moxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #virgil #deceit #logan #patton #roman #the witching hour au #virgil writes

[chemically-imbalanced-romance]

Damage Control [The Witching Hour AU]

    “You’re kidding, right?” 

    The teenage boy shook his head. He had a cigarette between his fingers. “Nope. Heard it all from Mary.” 

    “Mary’s always full of shit,” Izzi grumbled, kicking a stray rock. It sailed into the alley and clattered against the broken concrete. 

    “Oh?” He smirked. “So you’ll go inside, then?” 

    She glared up at him. “Yeah. I will.” 

    “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ellie said nervously. She was wrapped up in her winter coat, her pale face poking out of the hood. 

    Adrian waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine.” 

    “If you really believe that stuff, you won’t let her in!” Ellie insisted. 

    Adrian laughed while Izzi rolled her eyes in amusement. “What, do you believe it?” 

    She blushed and looked away. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. 

    He stepped closer to her, tickling her sides. “You think the ghost of Riley Cornell is gonna get you?!”

    She shoved him off, his cigarette dropping to the ground. “Maybe!” 

    “Come on, Ellie.” Izzi held out her hand. “We’ll go together.” She glared at Adrian. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” 

    She pursed her lips, and then sighed. She took Izzi’s hand and let herself be led into the alley. 

    Adrian raised his phone, and hit record. 

    “God,” Ellie gasped, covering her nose, “what’s that smell?” 

    “Don’t think about it.” 

    Their sneakers sunk in spots where the concrete gave way to mud, in dirty puddles of rain water and muck. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and needles. As the girls approached the dumpster near the centre of the alley, backed up against the theatre wall, Ellie stopped and shook her head. 

    She was suddenly stricken with fear, so strong she couldn’t move. 

    “Ellie?” Izzi looked at her, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

    She just shook her head. She was too scared to speak. 

    “Come on, there’s nothing there.” Izzi forced a chuckle, but Ellie was starting to freak her out. “Let’s finish this so we can rub it in his face. He’s just a stupid boy, he was trying to scare us.” 

    She started walking again, and Ellie shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No,” she choked out. 

    Izzi dropped her hand, inching forward. She got to the dumpster, rounded the corner, and- 

    There was someone there. 

    She only got a glimpse of the face, half covered in scales with a glowing eye, before she screamed and sprinted out of the alley. She pulled Ellie with her. Adrian burst out into laughter and recorded them running. 

    “Put that down, you idiot!” Izzi snapped. Ellie had tears in her eyes. “There’s something in there!” 

    Adrian laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you saw something. What, did a leaf scare you?” 

    Izzi clenched her fists, and screamed in frustration. She pushed Adrian as hard as he could, and he fell back into the alley, phone scattering behind him. 

    “IZZI!” He jumped back up, rushing to make sure it wasn’t cracked. 

    He pulled it out from under the dumpster, sighing in relief. He looked up, and- Two eyes stared back. One brown, one yellow, like a snake’s. 

    He went white from fear. He booked it out of the alley, forgetting that they were recording. 

    Riley listened to them leave, covering their head with their arms. They just wanted to be left alone. 

    ___ 

    “We have a problem,” Logan said as he came down Roman’s basement stairs, Patton following close behind. 

    Virgil was standing in the middle of the room, the furniture pushed out of the way, with a stack of books on his head. He glared up at them. 

    “What are you doing?” Patton asked. 

    Roman raised his phone, taking a picture. On screen showed a floating stack of books. “This is going to be great for my Instagram.” 

    “I gave the two of them some things to do to help Virgil practice his sentience,” Logan said. “I think things that require more concentration can help him progress faster. A little bit harder of an exercise, you know?” 

    “FUCK!” The stack of books fell right through Virgil’s skull, sitting at the floor, occupying the same space as his feet. He stepped out of the way, and kicked one of them with all his might- It smacked against the wall and landed on the carpet. 

    “Excuse me!” Roman gasped, picking it up. “This is an exclusive, I’ll have you know!” 

    Virgil growled. 

    “Maybe we can take a break,” Patton said, opening up her arms. Virgil grumbled and snuggled into them. “Logan has something to show us, anyway.” 

    They all crowded onto the couch, Patton with Virgil in her lap, Logan and Roman’s shoulders pressed together. They all leaned in as Logan pressed play on his phone. 

    It was a YouTube video, posted anonymously and titled, “REAL monster found in the alley by the theatre!!!!” It was clearly posted for a specific audience, as the actual location wasn’t revealed. 

    Curious, Roman pulled up the video on his phone, and scrolled down to the comment’s section. He recognized most of the names as people from their school, or with the same usernames as their Instagrams. 

    “Shit,” Virgil said under his breath as the video showed Riley, fully visible and now on display. “You need to get this taken down.” 

    Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me?” 

    He shrugged. “If anyone here can learn how to hack, it’s you.” 

    Logan scowled, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Right, while I work on that,” he rolled his eyes, “why don’t you keep working on your sentience? We need to get Riley out of there. What progress have you made?” 

    Virgil looked away. 

    “Not much,” Roman admitted. “He still can’t leave the house. The farthest he can go is the front porch. We’ve been using your exercises, but, well- They aren’t really working.” His eyes widened. “I mean, they are! Just, not… Enough?” He blushed. He always sucked at talking to Logan. He loved the guy, but it was impossible to please him. 

    Logan, though he was feeling significantly less motivated, looked to Patton. “And how have you been doing on your part?” 

    “I’ve been trying… But he doesn’t trust me!” Patton looked guilty and embarrassed. “He won’t talk to me. I can’t even get him to stand up.” 

    “What do you mean?” Virgil asked. 

    “He’s just… Curled against the dumpster, hugging his knees. Sometimes when I go he won’t even raise his head!” 

    “Right, well, I doubt videos like these,” Logan shook his phone, showing off the video they just watched and all the others that came up in the recommended, “are helping.” 

    “So you’ll try to hack them?” Virgil asked, and Roman snorted. 

    Logan looked at them flatly. “If it’s our only option.” He stood up, brushing his jeans down. “If you three could stay here and help Virgil work on his sentience, that’d be helpful.” 

    Roman laughed. “And where are you going?” 

    “Damage control.” 

    “Are you sure you want to go back there, Lo?” Patton asked nervously. She squeezed Virgil’s waist. 

    He held up his hand. “I’m sure. It wasn’t that bad to watch. I’ve gotten over it.” 

    Nobody believed that. 

    “Well, I guess it’s all up to you, then!” Roman said, clapping his hands together. 

    Right. “Isn’t it always?” Logan didn’t wait for a response, just left. 

    Roman gathered up the books and straightened up, grinning. “Guess we better get back to work!” 

    Virgil looked at the books in distaste. “I need coffee first.” And with that, he sunk out. 

    Roman’s eyes widened. “HE CAN’T GO TRAMPING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN, MY PARENTS ARE HOME!” 

    ___ 

    “Hey.” 

    Riley didn’t move. 

    Logan sat down next to them, so they were both hidden by the dumpster. 

    “Did they show up today?” 

    Riley hesitated, and then slowly nodded. They were hugging their knees, just like Patton said, their chin rested on them and their eyes downcast. 

    “We’re working on getting those videos taken down,” he said, “so maybe people will stop coming around.” 

    “Don’t bother.” 

    Logan frowned in confusion. “What?” 

    “It won’t work,” they mumbled. 

    “Don’t you want to take the chance?” 

    They shook their head. 

    Okay. So that definitely wasn’t the way to get him to open up. Maybe a different direction… 

    “Have we told you about our friend Virgil?” 

    They snorted. “What, your ‘ghost friend?’” They wiggled their fingers a little, their only movement. “Ooooooo. I’m sure he can help me.” 

    That was definitely the wrong direction. Shit. Shit. Fuck. 

    Logan sighed. “Tell you what.” He spoke quietly. “When we get you out of here- When -you can come back to my place.” 

    Deceit raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move or look at him. 

    “It’s better than this gross alley. And it’s quiet. It’s really quiet. No one will bother you. And you can rest a few days before you meet Virgil.” 

    They hesitated. “How long has Virgil been dead for?” 

    Logan didn’t want to answer. “A while.” 

    They laughed again, shaking their head. “You guys have no fucking idea what you’re doing, do you? I-” Their voice cracked, “I’m going to be here forever. Virgil can’t even leave his house, how am I ever-?” 

    They broke, and started sobbing, their body shaking. They buried their face in their knees, and Logan hesitated, before wrapping an arm around them. 

    Before Roman and Patton, he never really had any physical affection. He just tried to think of what they would do. 

    Finally, Logan made a right move. Did something good. Riley collapsed into his arms, burying their face in his chest as they sobbed, gripping him tightly. Logan wrapped them up tight in their arms, letting Riley let out all their fear and pain and stress. 

Riley eventually fell asleep, leaned against Logan’s chest. Well. He definitely couldn’t leave now. He reached around for his phone, plugged in his headphones, and put on a podcast. 

___

Logan found himself visiting Riley every day. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t that beneficial. He could be working on learning how to hack, or helping Virgil with his sentience. 

But he didn’t. He visited Riley. 

He learned their pronouns, and what their favourite books were. He informed the others of their pronouns, and ordered Riley’s favourite books. Then, because Riley couldn’t hold them, Logan read to them. 

Every day. 

Eventually, he even started seeing them more than once. He would drop in to talk a few minutes before school, and skip lunch to read a chapter with them before heading back. Then he would go back after school, and stay with them until it got dark. 

When it started, Riley would normally fall asleep leaning against Logan, and jerk awake as their sentience failed and they fell right through him. 

That didn’t happen much anymore. 

“You’ve been spending quite some time with our dragon boy,” Roman said one night, while Virgil was trying to learn how to tie different knots. “Any progress?”

“Not a boy,” Logan reminded, eyes focused on Virgil’s frustrated fingers. “And… Not much. They’re able to keep up human contact, but otherwise, nothing new. Still can’t hold a book. I think I’ve gotten them to open up to me, though.” 

“Oh?” Roman’s eyes twinkled. “Human contact, eh? Opening up, eh? So what happened? How did they die?”

Logan just laughed. 

“Really?” He whined. “You’re not gonna tell me?!” 

“Not on your life.” Riley trusted him with that information. It wasn’t to be taken lightly. 

“I brought cookies!” Patton cried as they came into the room, holding a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. They sat next to Virgil, taking away his rope and replacing it with a cookie instead. The bracelet on their wrist had returned to its usual green, instead of the pink they wore before. “What are we talking about?”

“Logan’s new boyfriend,” Roman teased. “Er, uh- Partner!” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Riley is not my partner. They’re just my friend.”

“Ooh, big word comin’ from you,” Virgil said with his mouth full. “You sure you’re ready for that commitment?” 

Logan glared. “And what about you two?”

Patton and Virgil glanced between each other. “What about us?” Virgil asked. 

He waved his hand at them aggressively. “When are you going to, you know, date?!”

They both laughed. “We already are, cutie!” 

Logan blinked. Roman was laughing at him. “You are?”

“Since the day we met,” Virgil confirmed. 

“It was love at first sight,” Patton sung. 

Virgil smiled. He didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, but if that was how Patton felt, who was he to argue? 

“Whatever,” Logan huffed. 

“Not everyone dances around their feelings,” Roman teased. He knew Logan was touch starved, and had trouble expressing his emotions due to his suffocating home life, and he tried to be nice about it… But sometimes it was hard. 

“We should watch a movie tonight!” Patton smiled. 

“Normally I’d say yes,” Logan said, “but Virgil really needs to work on his sentience. Riley isn’t doing well there.”

“Okay, hold on,” Roman said. He looked uncharacteristically serious. “Say we do get Virgil up and about. What then? Is he gonna see Riley and immediately know how to help?”

Their eyes all fell to Virgil. 

He hesitated. “... No.” 

They were quiet. 

“But- But it could still help, right?” Patton asked nervously. 

“I mean, sure, it could.” Virgil shrugged one shoulder. “But the only way to help them is for them to build up their own sentience.” 

“But they don’t want to,” Logan insisted. 

“They’re like, ghost-suicidal!” Roman cried. 

“Yeah, well.” Virgil held up his hands. 

“We need something to motivate them,” Roman mumbled. “Logan, you aren’t enough?”

“Apparently not,” he grumbled. 

Roman looked at him guiltily. “That’s- That’s not what I meant. Just that, you two are getting close, and wouldn’t they want to spend more time with you? Wouldn’t they want to do it for you?” 

He shrugged. 

“Now, Roman,” Patton scolded, “romance isn’t everything. If Logan was the only reason they were motivated to get better, I’d be worried!”

“I think it’s that they don’t think they can,” Logan said. “They don’t have any faith in themselves.” 

“Then we need to show them that they can!” Roman declared. “Which involves Virgil building his sentience, so he can float down Riley’s alley, and flaunt their ghostliness! Problem solved!” 

Logan wasn’t so sure that would work. But… He didn’t have another plan. So he stayed quiet. 

“We might not have too much time,” Virgil said. 

“What do you mean?” Logan asked. 

“Just, if they don’t make progress soon, they could… Regress.”

“Regress?” Patton frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.” 

“They’d go back into their loop, and we’d have to start from scratch. Only- Well, we wouldn’t be able to break them out again.” 

“What?” Roman whispered. 

Virgil was staring at his hands. “It’s like… How someone with dissociative identity disorder, their mind fractured after going through a trauma, to protect them. If Riley stays in this depressive state too long, the same thing will happen to them. Their spirit will lock them back into their loop, and not let them back out, to protect them.”

“How is that protecting them?!” Patton cried. They had tears in their eyes. 

“Because it’s easier to go through the same trauma than to experience new ones,” he said. 

Logan glared down at his lap. That… Would not happen. Not to Riley. 

“Lo?” Pat asked, sniffling. “Where are you going?” 

He grabbed his backpack, full of the books he had ordered for Riley. “Going to Riley.”

“Logan, that won’t help anything-”

He was already gone. 

___ 

Riley sniffled into their knees. The kids were throwing beer bottles at them. 

They had wandered in, drunk, and were now screaming about some monster. They were recording again. 

They were always recording. 

Every day, it got harder to hide. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” 

The kids looked back at Logan, who was glaring at them from the entrance. 

“Yeah?” One of them laughed. “The hell are you going to do?”

Logan pulled the knife out of his pocket. The same one he was carrying the day he met Riley. 

That was all it took for the kids to bow down. Logan’s knife glinted in the moonlight, his determined glare staring them down. They stumbled past him, but Logan grabbed one of their shoulders. 

He snatched the still-recording phone, and deleted the video off the device. He shoved it back in the boy’s hands. 

When they were gone, Logan pocketed the knife and knelt in front of Riley. He pulled Riley’s hands away from their face, and pulled them into his arms. 

“I hate it when you leave,” Riley spat, gripping onto him. “I hate it!” 

“I know,” he lied. “I know. Come on, stand up with me.” 

“What? Why? I can’t go anywhere.”

“Just stand up.”

They stood up, and Riley’s legs were shaking. 

“We have to get you out of here,” Logan said. “So I need you to please work with me.” 

“Okay,” they whispered. 

“Hold out your hands.” 

Riley did so. Logan reached into his backpack and pulled out one of the books he bought, a thinner one. It was a very short collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories. 

Riley’s eyes widened. They were so focused on the book, that they didn’t recognize Logan trying to gently settle it in their hands. Whenever it started to fall, Logan would catch it. 

Then, finally- Finally -after a half hour of this, the book stayed. Only for a second, and they both fumbled before Logan caught it, but it stayed. They both saw it. 

Logan looked up and caught their eye, and they both grinned. 

They spent the rest of the night celebrating. Riley laid down with their head rested on Logan’s soft thighs as Logan read, his voice careful and soothing. 

“I hate it here,” Riley whispered as the sun touched the horizon. The sky was an ashy gray, peeks of fire coming up in the distance. “It’s so boring, and when it’s not boring, it’s terrifying. I’m so… Scared, all the time.” They squeeze their eyes shut. “I keep thinking that he’ll come back, and kill me all over again. And I’ll have to start over.”

“That’ll never happen,” Logan promised. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” He brushed Riley’s hair back with his fingers. “We’ll get you out of here. We will.” 

“Logan,” Riley swallowed, “could you do something for me?”

Logan immediately got nervous. He wasn’t good at favours. He always did them wrong, somehow. 

“Could you leave the books with me?” 

He blinked. “Of course. Why?”

“So that you have to come back,” they said. “To get them. And so I can practice.” 

Logan blushed. He refrained from telling them that the books belonged to them. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow to help out. We can use some of the exercises I’ve been having Roman practice with Virgil.”

“Are they working?”

“... They haven’t, uh, not worked yet. It’s too soon to tell.”

Riley smiled a little. “You’re the boss. You know more about this than I do.”

“That’s ironic,” he laughed. “Get some sleep. I don’t know what sleep deprivation can do to a ghost, but let’s not find out.” 

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” they said, and it was almost an order. 

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll haunt you.”

He really hoped they would. 

___ 

Virgil was sitting in the kitchen while Roman’s mother cut up some lemons. 

It was dangerous. Not a smart move, really. He could go visible any minute now. He wasn’t anywhere near poltergeist level. 

But controlling his form was getting easier, and it was exhilarating. 

She scooped up the lemon slices and dropped them into the pitcher of tea she was making, and carried it outside. In the backyard, she and her husband were sitting on a picnic blanket while Roman painted on an easel he had set up back there. They were playing music and laughing and talking. Virgil longed to be a part of it. 

But he couldn’t get that far. 

He stood up and came around to the counter, picking up the knife Roman’s mother had left. He ran his finger along the blade and-

“Shit!” He snapped, dropping it. 

It cut him!

He snatched a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger as blood pooled out. It dampened the paper towel with red, and then disappeared. 

The doorbell rang and Virgil went to see who it was, grinning. He pulled the door open and yanked Patton inside. 

Patton squeaked. “Verge?”

“Look!” He shoved his finger in Patton’s face, ripping the paper towel off.  

Patton gasped. “Oh no, how did this happen? Are you okay?!” He inspected the cut carefully. 

“Patton, the knife cut me!” He sounded way too excited. 

Patton looked at him. “Uh… Yeah, babe. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah!” He grinned. 

Patton was so confused. “Sweetheart, I need some context.” 

“I’m a ghost, Pat. I used to just sink through the floor! Knives shouldn’t be able to cut me!”

“Does this mean…?”

He grinned, nodding. “I’m getting more sentient.” 

#sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #logan sanders #loceit #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #the witching hour

[imgoingtocrash]

1-20 lololol

thank u for your pity savannah joke’s on all of my followers I am absolutely going to answer them all because I’m bored

1. who is the hardest character for you to write?

At the moment it’s MJ--but I’m slowly overcoming that writing block and getting to know her better as I write her. Otherwise...I don’t know, I rarely write for characters if I don’t feel I have a decent angle on them.

2. who is the easiest character for you to write?

Deadpan Snarkers, lol. Tony, Kanan, sometimes Jyn...though I used to like writing for Felicity a lot too because she’s very cute-funny instead of snarky-funny and it was interesting to play with.

3. How do you know if your writing is “in character”?

This is tough, because I think a lot of the fun of fanfic is that we play with what “in character” means, but in my writing, I imagine it all very cinematically--could I imagine the character being played that way by their actor, could I make this scene happen in some alternate universe tv show and feel like it meshes with the real thing (or what I would prefer the canon character was like, in some cases)?

4. Where do your story ideas come from?

It depends. Sometimes it’s seeing something that already exists and taking inspiration (EX: an AU, a trope, an episode of TV, a movie) and other times it’s a very specific scene in my head. (EX: Tony finding Peter in the cabin in your energy has not died. I had to iron out the details of the story as a whole, but I saw Peter’s cabin and Tony’s approach very clearly.)

5. Do you tell the people in your life that you write fics?

I used to, but now I’m more careful about it. My parents have always supported it, but they didn’t really get it. Friends I’ve had since high school are either fandom friends who read it or friends who I showed my writing to at the time. My roommate in college wrote some, so we’d talk about it sometimes. I don’t talk about it at work because it doesn’t really come up, but I don’t think my boss or anyone would think it’s too weird bc we’re all creatives.

6. What has been the hardest fic for you to write?

Invulnerable is off and on hard, just because it’s a very “I HAVE AN IDEA...aaaand now I have to make it into a whole Thing” process that I have with it. this was is the story of our lives was pretty tough just because it’s futurefic, and I was determined to get my ages and dates and things right, and with Star Wars that can be a whooooole monster.

7. What fic of yours makes you the most emotional?

Chapters 5 and 6 of Invulnerable made my eyes water for sure. I haven’t been through anything like it, but the emotional, physical places that I put Tony and Peter in for those chapters were really raw. A Foreign Feeling is pretty high up there now, because it took MONTHS of work with Savannah, and it was fun and emotional and we both had writers block at times but WE DID THE DAMN THING and it feels really good and weird to have it done. Also, you got me hoping for a miracle, because it’s THE HUG WE DESERVED!!!

8. What is a scene you wrote that you are most proud of?

The Vanity Fair article in i fell for mantle photographs is a point of pride for me. I don’t know why, I just always wanted to do something like it, and it feels sleek and modern and super in-universe.

9. Is there one character that you refuse to write? why?

I don’t have any hard and fast rules or anything, but it’s unlikely I’ll ever write for villains. I know some people get a kick of exploring their POVs, but I rarely do.

10. When you write fics, how much of canon are you willing to ignore/skip over?

It seems like a cop-out to say it depends, but it does. In general I’m pretty flexible (most commonly, in who lives and dies), but there’s a point where it essentially becomes original fiction with character names slapped on it, you know? I like to be able to recognize the characters I’m reading about, even if it’s in an AU.

11. Do you prefer to be cold or hot when you write?

Cold. I like to bundle up and sit in my little writing blanket cocoon.

12. What is your ideal writing area?

I do just about everything on my laptop, in my bed. It’s made for staying comfy while writing for hours.

13. How do you come up with your titles?

I’m a fan of using details and quotes from the stories themselves. I also like using songs/quotes as a title that have relation/meaning to the story. I just want things to connect and have meaning.

14. How do you come up with chapter titles?

Honestly, I usually don’t use chapter titles much. When I do, it’s pretty basic.

15. At what point in writing a fic, do you decide to quit?

Well, passion is a big part of it. If I don’t want to write the fic anymore...I won’t. There are also some points where I just...know it’s not going anywhere. If I can’t come up with the next section, if I’ve been stuck on one place for months and purposefully am writing everything else BUT that fic...it’s time to let it go. If an impulse idea makes me want to pick it back up, it’s always there, but I have a lot of WIPs and I try to prioritize and keep it fun by doing whatever I feel like doing.

16. How much of your personal life do you put into fics?

Too much? Not enough?? Tbh I’m inspired by events/people from my life more than I directly reference specific things. Like, 287 Miles, i like (the idea of) you, and the Twenty-Something series weren’t my college experience, but there were a lot of things inspired by campus life, stressors I experienced, or ways I wish my college life had been.

17. What is the most supportive comment you have gotten?

Most recently, the user Laronia on AO3 literally commented on EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY MARVEL FICS. ALL OF THEM. AND THEN LEFT A GIANT, AMAZING COMMENT ON A Foreign Feeling. I am so incredibly touched about it. No one has ever done that before. I felt like a fucking superstar all day.

18. What is the most negative comment you have gotten?

Someone left comments on a couple of my Star Wars Rebels fics that were literally just. Fact correcting me. The most UM, ACTUALLY, bullshit. ON CANON DIVERGENT FICS. Like, no other commentary about the fic. They took the effort to sign in and comment as a guest--not a member, a guest with a username--just to “correct me”. Why. Anyway, in retaliation, I then took the effort to put those comments in the I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS DUDE meme from It’s Always Sunny and sent it to a friend to make myself feel better.

19. How do you handle negative comments?

I really don’t get many, which has been a relief. I think a lot of us do extra research on things like canon timelines, medical jargon, etc. because we’ve experienced gatekeepers like the above commenter and it sucks. We’re terrified that with every fic we have to prove ourselves as “real fans” “worthy” of writing fic. I still do it, even though a part of me wants to be the kind of person that doesn’t spend an hour researching smoke inhalation treatments, what ages everyone was before the Blip, or what year x Star Wars battle happened. I just...try to be kind to my fellow writers and hope that karma comes back to me.

20. What story that you have written makes you the happiest to re-read?

The Cloak Verse is so soft, as a series. Everything in it is fluffy and whumpy and there just because I wanted it to exist. Also, everything I did for Pepperony Week 2019! I worked really hard on all of them, and every one came out really well imo. Again--they’re fics I wanted to read for them, so I made them. OH, and Honorary Stark. It’s EXCELLENT 5 Times fic in general, and I love when I get to do The OTP + The Parent&Child Relationship. (Plus, 3rd Person Perspective on The OTP!)

#i've come a long way as a writer tbh #over a decade of writing and almost a decade on Ao3 #my writing #asks #savvysass

[golbrocklovely]

only the lonely survive // colby brock - chapter fifteen: and about forgiveness, we’re both supposed to have exchanged

A/N: hey guys :) here’s the next chapter. some crazy stuff happens in this, so let me know what you think. i’ll be coming out with another request at some point soon, so be on the lookout for that.

description of the story

taglist:  @ajosieface , @localsleeper , @julyrubyrose , @far-to-many-bands , @absolute-randomness-forever

trigger warning: cursing

word count: 2200

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After talking to Casey for over an hour about Colby and Brennen, I finally went to my room. Removing my dress from the other night and changing into pjs, I scrolled through my phone again out of boredom. I was gaining a lot of followers and subscribers, my dms were filled to the max, and people were tagging me in everything.

This is all a bit overwhelming.

I clicked on my username on insta and went down to my secret account: my Sam and Colby fan account. No one knew of golbrockloves, mostly because I never talked about it. I especially haven't brought it up to Colby.

How do you tell the guy you made out with that you have an instagram dedicated to him and his best friend without looking creepy? Exactly.

I slid down my feed, only to be met with pictures and videos of me. One video was a screen recording of my snapchat from yesterday, me and Colby in the store.

Why does that feel like such a long time ago?

The next couple pictures were from people's stories: screenshots of me and Colby dancing together, me and Colby next to each other in the kitchen, me and Brennen.

I bit my lip anxiously as I clicked on the comments. They weren't exactly bad, but they weren't great.

 snc3lifee who the fck is she?????

samnccolbby her @ is skyebennett

lovely_sncc is she dating colby or brennen?

saramcc OMG COLBY AND HER ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER

solby5vr she better stay away from colby!! HES MINE!!!!

dolansnc why can't colby stand next to a girl without everyone shipping her with him? jesus christ this fandom

 It was strange to see fans talk about me, as if they didn't know I would see what they were saying. Maybe having this fan account was a good thing: I could see how they all honestly thought about me without anyone knowing.

After reading more and more comments, I could tell most believed me and Colby were together. Or maybe me and Brennen. No one was certain. All they knew was that I was close to both. A lot of fans kept saying that I wasn't dating either one of them and that I was just friends.

While still lurking around on insta, I got a bunch of notifications from my personal account. I switched over to it to see I was tagged in multiple snippets of videos. Clicking on the it, I saw the face of Travis Marcus. He had uploaded a new video to his channel, titled "my truth".

Oh God...

I went to youtube and saw his video was slowly starting to trend. I clicked play and sat down on my bed.

Travis sighed, glancing up at the camera. "Hey guys, it's your boy Travis. Um, I have a lot to get off my chest right now. I'm sorry my energy isn't as high as it usually is. But, I needed to set the record straight. There is a lot of shitty things going around about me lately and I wanted to clear the air and tell you the truth."

"Skye, did you see-" Casey stated, dashing into my room. She stopped when she saw my phone in my hand. We both stood there watching Travis.

"So, as you guys know, I was recently accused of doing something terrible... of bullying another youtuber. I won't say her name because she doesn't deserve any more hate... or clout." His lips twitched, trying to cover up a smirk.

"As if he didn't tag you in the fucking video. Fucking asshat." Casey mumbled.

"One of her friends, Brennen Taylor, an old viner, tweeted that I made fun of her at a party recently. I just wanted to say that this is completely false. What actually happened was that I introduced myself to her. She claimed she was a huge fan and that she wanted to… get with me." Travis nodded his head uncomfortably.

What the fuck.

He continued. “I declined because she was extremely intoxicated. She then proceeded to get upset with me, made a huge scene, got kicked out of the party, and then I can only assume went to Brennen. He was also really drunk, which is why he tweeted in the first place.”

Casey gasped. “Are you kidding me? I'm gonna kill h-”

I hushed her, my eyes never leaving the screen.

“I have footage from that night, because I vlogged it. However, the audio got fucked up so I'm sorry for how muffled it is.” He admitted.

The screen changed to the night of the party. I saw myself standing in front of Travis, talking to him. The audio was complete garbage, low and muffled. I glanced over at the camera, only a moment later Travis nodded at it, smirking. Something I didn't see at the time. My face contorts for a second, he shrugs, and I shake my head, leaving immediately afterwards.

“Now, does that look like I was making fun of her? No. I would never do that. She was upset because I respectfully told her I didn't want to get with her after all her advances. She literally tried later that night to dance up on me, but I just wasn't into her. After I filmed this, she got kicked out for trying to hook up with another youtuber. I think she's desperate for views and just wants more followers.” He declared.

“So, don't give her that attention. And, don't send her hate guys. I wish her and Brennen the best honestly. Sorry this video is so short, I needed to get this off my chest. I hope you all can understand. Peace.” He threw up a peace sign, and then pushed his hand into the lens of the camera, the video fading to black.

Stunned silence fell over the room. Neither one of us could speak.

“Is this real life? I kinda feel like I've had this nightmare before.” I whispered.

“He can't be serious. Does he really think he can get away with this?” Casey shook with rage.

“Why wouldn't he be able to? He has almost a million followers. I just passed 2,000, if I haven't already lost all of them.” My voice faltered.

“I'm gonna call Brennen and see if he can help.” Casey left quickly, pulling out her phone.

I laid my back against my bed, closing my eyes. I took a couple deep breaths, trying to slow down my heart-rate.

That's it.

I sat up quickly. I went over to my desk and pulled out my camera. Setting it up on my tripod, I got comfortable in my chair.

I sighed deeply, then turned my camera on

"Hi everyone. I didn't think this amount of drama would happen to me so soon in my youtube career, yet here we are." I joked.

"I'm sorry if this video is a little all over the place. I'm not editing it. I'm just gonna post it as is.” I clapped my hands together, trying to stop their shaking.

I cleared my throat. “If you don't know, I'm the girl Travis Marcus made fun of. Or he claims he didn't make fun of. I need you all to know that he is lying. I'm not sure why when he could easily just admit he fucked up and apologize. Instead, he did this.”

“I want to tell you guys what actually happened that night…” I stated, looking directly at the camera.

I began to explain that party in detail: how Travis came up to me, how he flirted with me, only for him to make fun of my appearance and film it. I then went on to explain how I left the party because of him ruining my night, only to be told a couple hours later that he got kicked out of the party because he started a fight with Sam, Colby, and Brennen by throwing his drink on Kat.

"I have four witnesses, plus my best friend. And Big Nik's security team could easily corroborate my story. On top of all that, I have this."

I grabbed my phone, pulled open my dms on twitter, and found Travis' message to me. I showed the message to the camera, letting it focus on his words.

Travis: please tell Brennen to take down the tweets. Things are getting out of hand. I apologize for what I said.

"Why would you apologize for something that you didn't do? All of this could have been avoided if you wouldn't have made fun of me. I get you're 'famous' and have the ego the size of a tractor-trailer, but that doesn't mean you get to make fun of random people because they don't fit into what you think is attractive. Be nicer. Be kind. And stop lying to make yourself look good."

I reached over and turned off my camera. I paused, my breath hitching in my throat for a moment.

Holy fuck, did I just film that?

/  /  /  /

I felt cozy surface beneath me tremble slightly. Three times in a row. I opened my eyes, glancing around my dark room.

Was all of that a dream?

I slid my hand over my bed, finding the item that was vibrating. I turned it over, my eyes closing instantly from the bright light. Squinting, I saw messages from all different people. But the most recent made me smile softly.

Colby: are you up to talk?

I shuffled my body upwards, leaning over and turning my light on. I gazed over at my sleeping laptop, my camera still plugged in. The memories flooded back to me. I uploaded a response to Travis, and instantly fell asleep from anxiety induced exhaustion. I didn't even want to see if anyone supported me or not.

Unlocking my phone, I went to Colby's message immediately.

Skye: just woke up. i'm down to talk.

Moments later, my phone started ringing. I answered it. "Hey Colby."

"Hey. How are you doing?" He asked sweetly.

I chuckled. “I've been better, that's for sure.”

“How long have you been asleep? Everyone's been trying to contact you.” He stated.

I shrugged. “Right after I uploaded the video, I fell asleep. I was just too stressed.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He apologized.

I held back a smile. “It's okay. I'm alright.”

“So, I guess you don't know what happened.” Colby replied.

“No, what did?” I questioned.

“Travis deleted his video.” He deadpanned.

I sat up quickly. “Wait what?”

“Well, after you posted yours, Brennen and I talked to Big Nik and we found out from him that his friend John was recording a snapchat during the fight that occurred with all of us in it. It shows Travis getting pulled out of the party yelling essentially what he said to you at everyone.” He informed me, continuing. “He cussed and screamed while he got kicked out, and John sent the video to Messy Monday, and they uploaded it to twitter. It's been trending for the past couple hours.”

“Holy shit. So, the snapchat proved me right?” I muttered.

“Yep. Travis took down his video. He's been radio silent since.” He laughed.

“He probably left a few choice words for me.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“If he did, let me know. I got some unfinished business with him.” Colby joked, causing me to let out a laugh. “Besides, before he deleted his video, Sam, me, Kat, and Brennen all came out on twitter and said that you were right. On top of that, apparently a thread was created of how rude Travis has been to fans. So... he's kinda done for.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that. He'll be back in less than a month.” I scoffed, pulling my blanket closer to me.

“Well, even if he does come back, everyone will know you were right.” He reassured.

I picked at my blanket. “Tell that to his fans.”

“Enough about Travis. Is there anything I can do to get your mind off of him?” He requested.

I sighed. “Like what?”

“Go out with me.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“What?” I choked.

“Go out with me. Where ever you want to go, I'll take you there.” Colby promised.

“When are you taking me out?”

“How about tomorrow? Say eight P.M?”

A smile rose to my lips. “Okay... that sounds good.”

“Where do you want to go?” He inquired.

“If you don't mind it... I kinda want to stay in for a bit. Hide away from the world. Maybe you could come here? We could order take out and watch some movies. And cuddle?” I bit my lip nervously.

He agreed happily. “That sounds fantastic.”

“Good. I can't wait.” I beamed.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” He mumbled, yawning.

I shook my head. “No. Besides, you sound like you need to go to sleep.”

“I'll stay up if you want me to.” He admitted.

“No. No, I'm okay really. You should get some sleep.” I declared.

“Alright. I'll see you tomorrow.” He responded.

“It's a date.” I smiled.

“Goodnight, Skye.” He whispered.

I giggled quietly. “Goodnight, Colby.”

<< CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 16 >>

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock story #colby brock fluff #colby brock x oc #only the lonely survive #colby brock fic

[ibitchytimemachine]

Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Dragon Ball Rating: Mature Summary:

Unwittingly, Vegeta and Bulma come together to seal a fragile treaty between unlikely allies. Both have much to gain and much to compromise. It is an arrangement of convenience. They collaborate, and each gets what they need. Attachment is not part of the agreement. They certainly don't have to like each other. They barely need to interact to reach their intertwined goal. They just need to stay focused. But, focus can become... elusive, when your enforced not-really-your-spouse is so damned—

—distracting!

A lot of people like this fic! I read it MONTHS ago and then over on The Prince and the Heiress Discord we are doing a Fic Club (which is basically a book club, but for VegeBul fics). If you are interested in participating, while I am dumb and don't know how to post a Discord link, but here is one to the TPTH Tumblr, which has a discord invite I think. 

Now, on to my thoughts, below the cut!

First and foremost, I am TRASH for some of the tropes in this fic. Like, arranged marriage that turns into love? YES. Hard, bad man who won't tell anyone except his woman that he's a big teddy bear? FUUUCK YES. Wonderful characterizations and deep world building??? YES YES YES!!!!

And lets be honest, @rutbisbe drew some amazing art for this fic... which is what drew me to the story in the first place! I mean... I needed to know what amazing story brought me this amazing picture of Vegeta playing with Scratch.

It might be one of my absolute favorite pieces of fan art for a Fic ever. 

But I digress, this is not about Rut’s amazing art, it is of course about the story!

I would like to begin with something I loved, but also low key hated about this fic. This world was so rich and beautifully designed. Like the writer worked SO HARD to create a rich Saiyan heritage and it is wonderful to see what different writers come up with in regards to Saiyan culture, which is something I love about the AU’s that have all the Saiyans alive. The stuff that the writer came up with was just fantastic. From King Vegeta bonding with Vegeta over riddles, to the Trials, and the Mating ritual, it really felt like this story was being built up to some sort of epic in which we eventually see Trunks going off to Trials, and Bulma and Vegeta dealing with the stress and aftermath of this practice. While I enjoy all of this information, it was painful to read in context of the story. It almost seemed like the writer got this fantastic idea for some culture, and threw it on the paper. So much of the Saiyan Culture is explored through these huge exposition dumps that have little to do with the plot. It gives backstory and maybe some insight to character motivation, but it is delivered in a dump of information. I feel like the information would have worked better and kept flow of the story if it were delivered in bits and pieces throughout a chapter or even the entire story. It also felt almost like the writer was trying to pad her chapters to make them longer with the inclusion of this information and it just didn't work for me. 

Not to beat a dead horse, but another thing that bothered me was that while it seemed like the trials were this huge important part of the story, there was no real use of them after the info dump. The ONE bit of info dump that I felt was central to the story, was just glossed over. The Mating ritual necklace. Like I wanna know more about it. Do all families have this? Is there some other significance? A vow? is it just fucking with the necklace? I mean.. inquiring minds need to know!

I have one more criticism then we will get to my favorite parts of this story. I realize I will probably sound like a heartless bitch here, but I mean.. Bitch is in my username so what are you looking for here? The story started off SO WELL. The flow was fantastic, the story felt multifaceted. There was character interactions that felt real. And then a few chapters in, it just lost the spark the story had in the beginning. It began to feel like there was more filler and that it rushed to the ending. It seemed like the story just needed to be over. Now I realize that in the AN there are some issues that were addressed and maybe the author just needed to be done with the story to deal with their own real life problems. and I get that. but I feel like the story really really suffered because of that. Do I blame the author? Hell no. Real Life definitely comes before fandom. but it is something I feel like I would be remiss if I didn't say anything about it in this review. 

With that out of the way, what was fantastic about the story? The characters were characterized really well and were kept in character throughout the story. The world was built really well (I just feel like the delivery of the information was BLAH). I wanna talk about a few moments that I really loved.  First: Bulma is giving birth to Trunks and she mother fucking orders King Vegeta away via ChiChi. She pulls out her formal title and ancient Saiyan law. It is a fantastic scene. One of the best in the whole fic, and if you don't read anything else, you need to read it. It’s at the end of Chapter 8, you're welcome. 

I also loved (obviously) the scene where Vegeta is playing with Scratch. But I'm kinda a whore for Vegeta being soft for animals. I love the idea of them bonding over fucking exercising, and how freaking sadistic Bulma is when it comes to Vegeta and those gravity cuffs. Also the scene where Vegeta has just gotten blown up in the gravity room is just really wonderful. I feel like this particular description is a little artsy for the audience, but other than that I loved the scene and smelling colors and such (this description  “Sound was the screeching banshee of stereocilia”. please just tell us that every sound was fucking loud and hurt his ears, this was too much)

If it was not obvious already, I am not a huge fan of this story because it feels SO rushed, and this world is so rich and developed and it just ends. like build this world, and extend it beyond this Freeza conquest... and then you open the story up to so much more than a Freeza defeat story. Like I wanna see how not being a slave by Freeza has changed Vegeta, and I wanna see how Trunks gets raised in this hybrid Earth/Vegeta-sei world. 

But I digress - This writer really knows how to write slice of life. I want so many more moments of real life between Vegeta and Bulma. That is really the shining star of the whole fic, and it is the thing that kept me reading till the end. If what you re looking for is a fic that has moments of brilliance, then this fic is for you. I hesitantly recommend this fic, but mostly because I had some issues reading it myself (mostly when it comes to the exposition dumps and later conflicts). The world is really well built, the writing is good, but there are problems. 

If you liked this review, after you check out this fic, head over to my A03 and check my stuff out too!

#btm fic review #Tit for tat #Vegeta #Bulma #A03

[xpouii]

JSE Day 10: The end is near

Day 10 of the JSE artists prompts 2019 by @septic-bella

**All previous entries are available on AO3 under the title “Mayhem” with my same username.**

               Henrik was sitting at the end of Jack’s bed when Jackie and Marvin came in. Jackie was pushing Marvin in a wheelchair, and the magician looked more than annoyed. “What happened?” Henrik asked, standing.

               “Oh don’t worry I’m just here to give birth,” Marvin muttered gathering his hair up behind his head. “Does anybody have a rubber band?”

               “Something happened with Anti,” Chase muttered from his bed. “Right?”

               Marvin raised an eyebrow, using a rubber band from Henrik to tie his hair back knowing full well he’d regret it later. “Good guess, you psychic now?”

               “We have a theory,” Henrik said. “I have a theory that Jack’s seizures are linked to Anti’s manifestations. What we don’t know is the exact nature of this link, whether Anti is leeching energy from Jack, or if Jack is fighting him somehow in a subconscious state.”

               “Tell them the rest!” Chase muttered. “Tell them what you did.”

               “Chase I had good reason to-“

               “Tell them!”

               Henrik shifted, “I observed Jack during his latest seizure.”

               “Observed?!”

               “Chase, please,” Jackie said, trying to regain some semblance of peace.

               “You should’ve seen the look on his face! He just let it happen, Jackie!” Chase cried, his wrists pulling against the restraints.

               Jackie sighed, “Schneep, are the restraints really necessary?”

               “Of course not,” Henrik said. “The orderlies were just following security protocol. Unfortunately, when I got close enough to free him, he tried to headbutt me.”

               “Chase!” Jackie scolded.

               “He was using Jack like a guinea pig!” Chase said, red-faced. “It’s not cool! It’s not even remotely cool!”

               “We can’t afford to be fighting like this,” Marvin said. “Just let Schneep say his peace. The least we can all do is listen.”

               Chase sank further into the bed, closing his eyes, “Yeah I don’t have the energy to go after him anyway. I doubt I could make it across the room.”

               “I’ll go and get Jameson,” Henrik said, leaving the room.

               Jackie walked over and took off Chase’s restraints, “What a mess.”

               Chase sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, “I don’t like this, Jackie. Just don’t let him hurt Jack.”

               “I won’t,” Jackie said.

               “We won’t,” Marvin added.

                 Jameson looked tired, fundamentally worn down like he never had before, but he smiled when he saw them. His jaw was pressed down to his chest, sutured in place to let his trachea heal, and he had to look up to see them, so he resigned himself to mostly listening. They took comfortable places in the room and Henrik stood at the foot of Jack’s bed to speak.

               “My proposal is that we continue to observe until we can figure out whether these seizures are parasitic in nature, or if they are caused by Jack himself. Once we have a good idea of which, we either heavily medicate Jack to stop them entirely—the dosage could be detrimental to his long-term health but it would effectively weaken Anti or we continue to let the seizures go on uninhibited and attempt to provide support after the fact to soften the blow as much as possible regarding the neural death these seizures will eventually cause.”            

               Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Marvin spoke, “So you let the seizures kill his brain, or you over medicate him which could also potentially kill him. Isn’t this way too fucking dangerous? Haven’t you already-“

               Jackie grabbed Marvin’s knee, silencing him, “We’ll think about it. It’s a lot to take in, but we have to do whatever is best for Jack. Without him, what’s the point?”

               “We all have lives, people to protect,” Henrik said with a pointed look at Chase.

               “I don’t,” Marvin said. “And neither does Jameson. We’re here because of Jack, and that’s it. Maybe you and Chase have kids, and sure Jackie has the whole stupid city enamored with him, but not us.”

               “I don’t see how this is relevant,” Henrik said. “It isn’t as if none of us existed before he came into our lives. We simply have a very strong connection-“

               “And the same face,” Marvin said. “Yeah, totally coincidental. Listen, Henrik. I respect your opinion on medical matters, but I’d appreciate a little more respect from you when it comes to the metaphysical.”

               Henrik rubbed at his temples, “Fine fine,” he said. “I understand. Jack is extremely important. I love him as much as the rest of you. I just… if we could defeat Anti for good—actually get rid of him, wouldn’t that mean Jack would always be safe even if he is mildly damaged? Wouldn’t it be better for all of us, especially you and Jameson who Anti seems to be the most interested in tormenting this time around?”

               Jameson tapped his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. I don’t want to be used as the reason to put Jack in danger. Please don’t do that.

               Henrik’s cheeks reddened, “I’m not unreasonable. I see the rest of you want more proof, a more solid theory before we put any plan into action. I’m willing to comply. Just give me a few days. In the meantime, Marvin, you need to cleanse the house. We can’t all just stay here indeterminately. Once your strength is back the two of you take Chase home.”

               “I thought you wanted him with you,” Jackie said.

               “He’s an adult, and he’s requested to be released from my care.��

               Chase nodded, “He’s telling the truth. I have to get home, and I don’t want to get sedated again for having an unpopular opinion.”

               “Chase you were getting physically aggressive,” Henrik muttered.

               “Enough,” Jackie said. “This is getting old fast. We’ll take Chase home, and you’ll come home too, at least once a day, Schneep. Like you said, we shouldn’t be overtired, and we shouldn’t be spread so thin. If Anti shows up without you there I’m not going to be able to hold anybody’s veins together while we wait for the ambulance. That’s just a simple fact. I’m very clumsy.”

               “Once my magic is back together I can heal,” Marvin said. “But I’m not a doctor. I might be able to stop a blood geyser or mend a scraped knee but I’m not going to be setting any bones or curing a hangover.”

               “Detox,” Chase muttered.

               “What?”

               “I’m in detox. I’m not having a fucking hangover, ok? I’m not that much of a pussy. But thanks for your vote of confidence.”

               “Chase stop being so sensitive,” Marvin said. “We’ve all been through shit these past few days ok? Look at Jameson and tell him you’re detoxing.”

               Jameson looked up with sad eyes, once again being used as a pawn in someone else’s argument. He signed sorry to Chase, and Chase nodded.

               Jackie stood up, eager to interrupt another budding argument, “Come on, Marv. Let’s go try to find a good place to nap. The trauma waiting room had those long benches.”

               “Oh good, my beauty sleep,” Marvin said, but he yawned. “Jamie, do you want a ride?”

               Jameson waved them off with a forced smile, nodding to Henrik and wheeling himself over to Chase’s bed. Henrik left the room with a stiff gait, a lack of sleep and aging joints were catching up to him. He returned to his office for another long night of researching.

               I’m sorry about what Marvin said. It isn’t fair to compare us. Jameson told Chase. What you’re going through is just as dangerous, and it’s got to be hard, because you’re strong. You’re doing all of this for Jack and you have two little ones to worry about. He hesitated then, glancing at the open door. I’m sure Marvin didn’t mean what he said, but he was still wrong to say it. I hope we can talk again when I’m feeling better. I get these confounded jaw stitches out tomorrow and I can’t wait to look up again!

               Chase chuckled when Jameson made one of his exaggerated faces, “Thanks Jamie. You’re a good man too, you know. I’m sorry I doubted you so much when we first met.”

               Jamie smiled and shrugged What can you do? Goodnight Chase.

               “Goodnight,” Chase said, watching him go. He scooted down into the bed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull nausea at the back of his throat. The IV was keeping him hydrated, and nutrients flowed the same way, but he both missed and dreaded the thought of food. How long had it been since he’d eaten a Pop-Tart? Or had a sip of whisky?

               Chase flinched away from that thought, “Jesus Chase don’t be an idiot. You’ve come this far already and things are bad enough without you thinking that way.”

               Whisky has always been a better friend than any of these bastards. Why don’t you just get your weak ass out of this stupid bed and go find some? It’s not like anybody is going to come looking for you. Even Jack knows you’re worthless now. You cracked under pressure like an egg.

               Chase covered his ears, “Fuck you, Anti. I know it’s you. Don’t waste your time.”

               There was no nagging laugh, no glitching in his ears, and Chase paused, wondering why Anti was being so shy all of the sudden.

#henrik von schneeplestein #jackieboy man #chase brody #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #fanfiction #Mayhem 2019 #Egopocalypse 2019 #JSE artist prompt