#REST IN FUCKING PIECES MY SANITY FOR THE NEXT TWO PLUS YEARS

[shirozora-draws]

It's WHAT day today!? Not me already feeling weird about working on two sketches to post the same weekend as that sketch I posted for the first time in months only to find out that Today is the Two Year Anniversary of The Day Dinluke Took Over My Brain.

(It's not 12AM yet, this still counts as a 12/18 post)

Anyway.

Been dying to do some nice proper "the staircase fic is firmly on my mind" sketches. This version of Luke actually shows up later in the fic and the shape/cut/color of his robes are also influenced by Padme's wardrobe. Din's look has appeared on this blog before and is super duper influenced by what we saw of Aq Vetina's residents in the flashback scenes. The, uh, holocron plays a smaller part than it looks but I bought a holocron at Disneyland and wanted to have fun with my new reference.

Have I posted about the staircase fic on the art blog? It is live and currently posting as Gravity Well on AO3.

#shirozora draws #dinluke #lukedin #skydalorian #din djarin #luke skywalker #grogu #the mandalorian #star wars #jedi holocron #story: the staircase fic #story: gravity well #I'M BACK WITH EVEN MORE SKETCHES IN THE FINAL HOUR OF THIS GLORIOUS DAY #THIS DECEMBER 18TH WHEN DISNEY WARS MADE THE MISTAKE OF PUTTING DIN AND LUKE IN THE SAME ROOM #MY CONCLUDING THOUGHT AFTER HYPERVENTILATING THROUGH THAT WHOLE EPISODE? #'SO GROGU HAS TWO DADS NOW' #REST IN FUCKING PIECES MY SANITY FOR THE NEXT TWO PLUS YEARS #WHICH IS WHY I AM POSTING THREEEEEEE WHOLE ASS SKETCHES THIS WEEKEND AFTER MONTHS OF WRITING DINLUKE FIC #LIKE I'M RUNNING OUT OF TIME LIKE IN THAT HAMILTON SONG #FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

[midgardianweasley]

Movie Night

Movie night

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: It’s friday night, or more commonly known as movie night for the Avengers. A horror movie was put on and Y/N isn’t feeling so brave, luckily she’s got a Romanoff nearby.

Warnings: coulrophobia (fear of clowns), mentions of the IT movie and pennywise.

Word Count: 2.5k

Идиоты. - ‘Idiots.’

Requests are open!

“I vote action movie”

“We watched an Action movie last week, Sam.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly looking up and meeting my eyes, earning a small smile in return, attempting to provide some sanity for the man.

“Plus, do you not think we’ve had enough action for one week?” Bucky grumbled, this week having taken a toll on everyone. We were all exhausted from our missions, some more than others, the soldier being one of them.

“Okay okay, no action, damn” Sam put his hands up in defeat, accepting that he wasn’t going to win this one. A few more options had been suggested, Bruce suggested rom-com, Thor suggested comedy, Vision proposed a documentary, all of which were shut down with groans and sounds of protest.

I turned to my assassin girlfriend who had been sitting beside me watching the scene unfold with an amused smirk on her face, her green eyes darting around the room whenever someone else spoke and taking sips of the drink she had in her hand. I nudged her slightly to get her attention

“Hey.”

“Hi”

“If it was up to you, what would you choose for movie night?” I asked. She morphed her face into a thoughtful one, still with a slight smile on her face, taking time to make her decision.

“If it was completely up to me? I would-”

“Aha!” Tony interrupted with a loud snap of his fingers. “I know, we haven’t watched a horror movie in a while, and the new IT movie just came out, we can watch that” He smirked, proud of his contribution to the discussion at hand. I looked around the room, praying that they would pick anything else, literally anything, even Vision’s documentary.

Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be really into it as they all shared nod’s and “yeah” “sounds good” before splitting up to go and get their snacks and blankets to bring back to the large sofa.

Although I wouldn't admit it to the rest of the group, I was absolutely terrified of clowns and have been since I was a child. If there was a clown at a birthday party or an event, I’d pretend I was sick so that my mum wouldn’t make me go. She soon noticed a pattern in my behaviour, putting the pieces together and realising that I hadn't come down with the flu three times that month, I was avoiding the ‘entertainment’ of the parties.

She tried explaining that it was just a guy in makeup and a funny suit, showing off fun tricks and jokes. However, 9 year old me still refused to attend, faking a sneeze and hiding under the blanket.

“Woah, Y/L/N, you good over there?” Tony furrowed his brows, concern written all over his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I wish it was a ghost.

I regained my composure, nodding and sending a firm smile his way, hoping that would be enough to prevent any further questioning. With a shrug, he made his way out of the room and caught up with Thor to explain what ‘IT’ was.

“You don’t look so good, sure you’re okay?” Nat placed her hand on my back, rubbing small, reassuring circles with her palm. I wanted to put on a brave face and tell her I was fine, that there wasn’t a problem and my heart wasn’t racing with fear, but the look on her face, while caring and concerned, was also warning me not to lie to her. Not that i’d manage anyway, she always had ways of finding out the truth eventually.

I shook my head, letting out a small sigh and turning in my seat to address her. My eyes met hers and I felt my heart settle slightly just by looking at her, she always made me feel safe.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” She whispered, her hand coming up to rest on my cheek, her thumb stroking my cheekbone in small movements.

“It’s so silly, really.”

“Nothing is silly if it’s upsetting you Detka. Tell me.”

“It’s this movie.”

The confusion was obvious on her face, yet she stayed quiet, allowing me to elaborate.

“I just, I’ve never been the best with clowns. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had this fear of them. If I saw one, I’d run in the opposite direction, which was more often than one would think. I mean, seriously, who wants one of those things at a party? What happened to princess parties? Or tea parties!” I exclaimed, my tone becoming more intense as I spoke.

Natasha nodded, I could almost see the cogs turning in her head, figuring out how to approach the situation. After a minute or two, she focused her eyes back on me and her hands had trailed down to meet with mine, interlocking them in the process.

“Do you want to skip it tonight?” She suggested.

“No, no, I don’t want to cause a fuss. Plus, I kinda don’t want the others knowing.”

“Are you absolutely sure? I’m sure we can pull a sickie for one night.”

“I’m sure. Just, can you stay next to me? And let me hide if it gets really bad?”

“Of course you can. I’ll be next to you the whole time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

___________________

We were at the haunted house scene in the movie. There had already been jumpscares that I'd managed to avoid for the most part, but I don’t think I've moved past Georgie’s death yet, let alone have time to process the psycho killer clown on the screen.

Eddie was in a room alone, he was staring at this dirty, old fridge and a white hand had appeared, curling itself around and tapping on the side so you could only see it’s fingers. I tugged the blanket that was laid across Natasha and i’s laps and pulled it up to my nose, eyes still on the screen, but prepared to take cover. It appears as though nothing has changed from all those years ago.

As the fridge door creaked open, my blanket had raised higher and higher, my grip tightening by the second while the hand reappeared, this time, you could see it’s entire body contorted into this small space.

“Nope. No, absolutely fucking not. No.” I mumbled, covering my eyes with my fluffy shield. Luckily, Nat had stolen the sofa at the back, meaning I could skip the scary parts without anyone taking much notice, them being too entranced by the movie. Weirdo’s.

In my safety bubble I'd created, I felt my girlfriend’s hand on my thigh, rubbing small circles to reassure me that I was okay, and that she was here. I shuffled a little so I was closer to her, if that was even possible, her then adjusting so that her hand was still on my thigh, but another arm was wrapped securely around me, pulling me into her side a little more.

I assumed we would stay like that for a bit, until she started to shift more noticeably and lifted the part of the blanket closest to her, and put it over her own head, taking me by surprise, a faint gasp leaving my lips when seeing that she’d joined me.

“You doing okay under here?” She spoke softly, a hint of amusement playing on her face as she looked at me folded up into a ball.

“I am. This blanket protects me from all.”

“Of course it does, the fluffier it is, the more protection, right?” She quoted words i’d spoken earlier on when bringing in the blanket for us.

“Are you sure you’re not going to boil under there?”

“Nope. And even if I do, the fluffier the blanket, the more protection from cannibal clowns.” I’d explained proudly. Yes, I'm an Avenger that fights extraterrestrials and demigods and still runs to a blanket for safety, leave me alone.

We stayed under there for a minute or two, holding hands and sharing small kisses while the movie continued and we hid in our little bubble.

“C’mon lovebirds, the movie isn’t over yet, you can continue that when we’ve gone to bed if you must.” Stark called out, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and retreat back to her previous position.

I don’t know what ran through my mind, I clearly didn’t think twice about the situation I was in, my default being to follow Natasha and pull the blanket down and off my head. Upon resurfacing from my cocoon, I looked towards the Television. Bad idea. With a shriek that I'm almost certain could be heard from Asgard, I flew under the blanket again after seeing Pennywise with all of his teeth on show, edging towards Eddie to eat him.

Natasha’s arms wound their way around me again, slightly shaking now from the fright. Even though the blanket tended to muffle sounds, I could hear the room fill with laughter and comments from the Avengers.

“I didn’t know your voice could go that high Y/L/N”

“Pennywise! You scared Y/N!”

“Y/N, it’s literally-”

“How about you guys shut up and watch the movie? Otherwise I swear to god Thor, I’ll bring snakes in here and Sam, I’ll cut the wings off of your suit.” I heard the redhead next to me threaten, alongside some more punishments to the others who laughed, immediately silencing them, all of them knowing that she wasn’t one for an empty threat.

Even though the laughter died down and no more words were spoken, tears still built up in my eyes and were daring to fall down my cheeks. I feel so embarrassed. A room full of superheroes and I was scared to death over a fictional clown in front of all of them.

I tried to keep my sniffles to a minimum and at a level where no one could hear me, however, they seemed to have caught Nat’s attention as she whispered to me, loud enough for me to hear, but quietly so that it was only me that could hear.

“Mind if I come in?”

I chose not to verbally respond, instead, I pulled the edge of the blanket up, allowing her to bend down and make her way underneath. After making herself comfortable, she turned to me and did, what felt like study, my face before tutting under her breath.

“Идиоты. Are you okay?” I smiled at her speaking Russian. She often switched between the two, interchanging within sentences. I’d been around her enough to pick up on some of the terms, funnily enough she’d said that word so often, my understanding was immediate.

“Feeling a bit humiliated” My voice came out weak and slightly gravelly from the crying, her thumb immediately wiped the tears off of my cheeks, lingering afterwards.

“Don’t be. Everyone has their fears, you shouldn’t be embarrassed by having them. Okay? It just means you're human.” She patiently explained, sparking a question to leave my lips before realising.

“Do you have a fear?”

She smiled “mhm”

“Can I know what it is?”

She leaned in closer to me, lips hovering beside my ear so I could feel and hear her breathing quietly.

“Идиоты” She whispered, resulting in me clamping my hand over my mouth to limit the noise my laughter was making.

“There’s that smile I love.” She took my chin in her index finger and her thumb, her face once again, coming closer towards mine before our lips met in the middle, sharing a soft, quick kiss, distracting me from any embarrassment i’d previously felt.

________________

The movie had just finished, everyone was getting up and starting to clear up any mess they’d made, mainly popcorn that had fallen everywhere, Wanda and Vision being the main culprit, jumping at the scary parts had caused a popcorn avalanche near their seats.

Nat and I gathered our blankets and snacks we’d brought in, trying to ignore the slight tension hanging in the air, and just as we were about to walk to our bedroom, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Peter.

Rocking back and forth on his heels and fidgeting with his hands, he smiled.

“Hey, uh- miss Y/L/N. Miss Romanoff, sorry, I just wanted to come and make sure you were okay.” He rushed, clearly anxious to approach us considering the telling off Natasha gave everyone earlier.

“I’m okay, thank you Peter. You can call me Y/N by the way, ‘miss’ makes me feel old.” I chuckled, visibly seeing his shoulders relax at my response, he was really sweet, never wanting to get on anyone’s bad side. He’s a good kid.

“Sorry mi-,Y/N, sorry, I’ll remember for next time. That movie was pretty freaky, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“I will, thank you.”

Feeling more relaxed, I made a slow but steady beeline for the bedroom, wanting to have cuddles with Nat and go to sleep, hopefully forget the movie ever happened. Soon enough, we were both changed into a vest top, I wore a pair of shorts and Nat wore a pair of sweats and we were in bed, facing each other with our legs tangled together, our noses bumping every so often.

“I love you” I mumbled in between kisses, eyes opening briefly to be met by her green orbs looking back at me.

“I love you more, Detka.”

A silence then overtook the room, only being able to hear the breeze outside and a slight whistle from where it was flying through the trees. I’d usually adore this, finding peace in the wind and the darkness, tonight however, it felt unsettling. All I could hear in my head was the soundtrack to the movie, picturing the bloody teeth and that creepy smile from earlier in my head.

“Love?” I nudged my girlfriend’s nose gently, hoping she was still somewhat awake.

“Mhmm?”

“Can you, can you possibly sing to me?” Her eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile on her face, wrapping her arms tightly around me before humming a quiet melody, sending me into a blissful sleep.

By noon the next day, I had received apologies from everyone in the compound, a couple of bone crushing hugs from Thor and some complementary pancakes that Wanda had made with some help from Bruce, aprons on and covered in flour. Everyone tucked into their individual stacks, enjoying some lighthearted conversation, Nat taking the opportunity to press a small kiss to the back of my hand, I quickly returned the gesture. It was lovely.

Movie night was a rollercoaster, but at the end of the day, I was surrounded by the best people, and nothing would change that, not even the fear of clowns.

Though they’re still really fucking scary.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

#Natasha romanoff #Natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff lfuff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanova #natalie rushman #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov

[clairdelunelove]

Closer Than We Seem

kyoutani kentarou x f!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual pining 

warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassment 

synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues. 

a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!

He was sick of it.

Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.

Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt. 

2:25

“It’s been two damn hours.” 

Kyoutani’s gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didn’t appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day. 

“And they’re still arguing,” Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, “who the fuck argues that long?” 

Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isn’t a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject he’s gloriously failing, and sleep was needed. 

Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesn’t muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a male’s and it takes all of Kyoutani’s willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble. 

His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms. 

The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once. 

“Get out!” 

At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep. 

“Shut up!” 

He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately. 

A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college student’s temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other person’s unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him. 

“Oh that’s it,” he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure. 

Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room. 

Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasn’t excluded out of the list.

“Could you shut your mouth? You’re being too damn loud, man--”

Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script he’d previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him. 

You’re unfairly pretty. 

It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when it’s pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that you’re wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that you’re already giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, “were we being too loud?” 

“N-no? I mean yes,” Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, “chemistry.” 

Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, “you have a chemistry test?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you need to get some sleep before it?”

“Yeah.”

His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes follow the blond’s movement of leaning against the doorframe, “we’ll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.” 

His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but he’s not ignorant.

“You good?” He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.

His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blond’s inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. He’s aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving. 

“My bad,” Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, “I didn’t mean to make you cry-” 

“Who’s at the door, (Y/n)?”

The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, it’s the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blond’s keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards. 

“Oh,” you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, “my dorm room neighbor.” 

Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, you’re reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back. 

The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, “can we help you?” 

Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.

“Yeah, you can,” the blond responds with a miffed scowl, “noise complaint.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. It’s painstakingly silent. He’s surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze. 

“She wasn’t listening to me, so,” the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, “sorry, dude.”

Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutani’s expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him. 

His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, “I’m pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.” 

The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other male’s jaw tightens before he’s storming off. The blond regards the other’s lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath. 

A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, “thanks.” 

“Nah,” his amber eyes flicker to yours, “don’t need to thank me. ‘Ts about time someone put him in his place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I could,” Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, “if you’d let me.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl. 

“Sounds like a deal.” 

Your response has his attention locked onto you again and he’s internally thankful that he’s not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look. 

Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.

“I guess I’ll see you around-”

“Kentarou,” he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, “Kyoutani Kentarou.” 

“(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),” you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, “and good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.”

The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planck’s constant.

-

“Whatcha doing there?” 

Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. It’s unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blond’s tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didn’t toss on the hat because he couldn’t bother with styling his hair- of course not. 

You’re situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what he’d picture they would be. 

“Studying,” your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him. 

Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. He’s recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.

“No shit Sherlock,” the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, “coulda sworn you were sleeping.”

Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. It’s lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet there’s a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face. 

“Kyou!” 

The threat isn’t laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched. 

Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, “that’s what you get.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He pauses and then recognizes that the position you’re in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours. 

Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months. 

“What,” the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, “he locked you out again?” 

You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutani’s heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you won’t answer the seemingly obvious question even when you’re slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.

Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure he’s only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didn’t have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions. 

“He’s always treating you like shit,” the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, “and you’re always falling for it.” 

The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriend’s inconsideration. 

Kyoutani’s chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. You’re recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy. 

“Listen, (Y/n), I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“No,” you speak up with newfound acrimony, “that’s exactly what you meant.” 

Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutani’s wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that he’s able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof. 

Your furrowed expression mellows.

Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that you’ve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriend’s attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step. 

The golden hue outlining Kyoutani’s eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. He’s mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips. 

Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, “sorry.” 

The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasn’t often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He can’t mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.

“It’s not your fault,” you shake your head in reassurance, “I know that it’s mine.” 

Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you can’t help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that you’re able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasn’t planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but it’ll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run. 

Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses. 

“You’re just,” his confession smoothly slips out, “too good for him.”

The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. He’s content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you. 

“C’mon,” he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, “you can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?” 

Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. He’s nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder. 

“I mean, let’s go.” 

With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male must’ve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. It’s absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like you’re flying when he looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that he’s accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.

Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. It’s eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other. 

Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he would’ve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.

Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think he’d actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- he’s praying that this won’t be the last time.

“So, I only let you in because I don’t get this chemistry problem-”

“Kyou!”

-

Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. It’s bewildering that he’s willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist. 

“What are you doing? I told you that we’re over!” 

The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didn’t wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise. 

The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.

“Come here and give me a kiss, babe,” your ex boyfriend garbles. 

The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person. 

Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriend’s chest, “get away from me!” 

“Bitch!”

The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before he’s barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that you’ve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation you’re aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you don’t dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign you’ve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.

A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but you’re holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation. 

Landing a hit on Kyoutani’s sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, “get outta the way, man-” 

“Didn’t you hear her,” the blond barks out and shoves him, “get the fuck away.” 

Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that you’ve never witnessed in your encounters with him. He’s absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutani’s damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction you’ve assumed. 

The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend. 

If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutani’s body isn’t a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriend’s wrist, and twists it behind the other’s back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before. 

“Seriously, cut the shit,” the blond warns, “leave (Y/n) alone.”

When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriend’s mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment. 

“‘Ts alright,” Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatic behavior, “I didn’t break it. Yet.” 

Your ex boyfriend’s eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, “I-I’ll leave you alone! Please. I’ll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?” 

Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutani’s face and the recognition dawns on him. He’s seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the other’s lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blond’s lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani. 

“Her new boyfriend.” 

Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriend’s eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose that’s the rare emotion, floods within you at your offender’s misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and he’s left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, “or I swear I’ll invert your ribcage.” 

Your ex boyfriend doesn’t need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You don’t mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma you’ve initially faced was heartbreaking. 

“Kyou,” your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, “I love you.”

He’s steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didn’t have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love. 

“I love you too.” 

The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutani’s forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasn’t dried up quite yet. He’s still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutani’s drawing you closer. He’s earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and he’s grumbling at your childishness. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gone out running,” you motion toward his frazzled state. 

“Phone died.” 

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutani’s chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you. 

He’s silent before remarking, “I got us takeout though.” 

Golden eyes don’t miss your gleaming ones and you’re beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare he’s given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag that’s placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in. 

“What’d you get?” 

“Pizza,” he pauses, “and mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.” 

“You’re the best.”

Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction. 

It’s dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as you’re rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when he’s aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow. 

“Your room or mine?” 

His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart. 

Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and you’re shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling. 

“Not that it matters, I guess.”

#kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani x y/n #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fluff #college!kyou #kyoutani x reader #aoba johsai #mad dog

[atinybitofau]

[ateez] M I N G I ↝ enemies to lovers

EMPTY PROMISES (FT. WINGMAN SAN)

format: oneshot , wc: 1700+ , tags: fluffy-angst

• “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

• you roll your eyes at the impeccable hell raised demon named Choi San,

• who somehow someway,

• ended up being your college seat mate in almost every class.

• “A reminder is the last thing I need.” you feign a senile smile. “Not when I have a body mirror just egging to show me how beautiful I look every morning.”

• San chuckles bring the chair out for you to sit. “Well that may as well be the second most disgusting thing you wake up to anyway.”

• “The first?”

• his eyes roll in one direction, his tongue the other. “That.”

• god damn.

• how torturous it was to look at Song Mingi tonguing down the university’s female frat doll across two seat rows.

• “Great.” you sigh reaching for his notes from the other day. “Now would be a good time, San, to convince me to keep renewing my college registration please.”

• Song Mingi..

• where to begin right?

• well it all started when you two ended up as lab partners last spring.

• decent work; A+ for effort.

• besides that, a fat F for restraint.

• cause Mingi’s hot as hell, you knew that.

• one spectacular night and the next morning over?

• it’s, “Sorry babe. But you’re just not my type?”

• it’s humiliating for you.

• gut clenching at most.

• how the hottest guy in the University uses you like a voodoo doll.

• it isn’t embarrassing because you think you aren’t good enough,

• it’s embarrassing because you were stupid enough.

• stupid enough to let him break you just like that.

• “He’s just jealous.” San reminds you as class ends and Mingi walks out.

• “Yeah?” you reply in the most sarcastic way possible.

• “Yeah..”

• San’s a good guy though.

• unfortunately, one of Mingi’s better friends.

• but he knows more secrets than of what he can tell.

• some of which that revolves around, “— Mingi’s insecure. He just doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

• “I told you I’m over that.”

• you really are stupid.

• San knows you’re lying, hell, and so does the rest of the entire student body (a big body let me tell you)

• are you really over Mingi as much as you say you are?

• maybe not..

• “Hey hot stuff. What’ll take to get you to go out with me this Saturday night?”

• you smile at a potential date ready to say, “Free dinner and free cuddles?”

• instead what’s being said is, “A better pick up line maybe and a better face. Beat it, loser, or I’ll shove your head further up your ass than it already is.”

• you glare at the tall what.

• the keeper of your sole sanity,

• the keeper who refuses to give it back.

• “Mingi, what the hell?” you seethe pulling at his shirt. “That’s the eighth date you cost me!”

• “The eighth date I saved you from you mean.” he rolls his eyes leaning mindlessly next to your locker. “Every guy that asks you out obviously just wants some of your ass.”

• “Says the guy that’s already had it and thrown it away.”

• Mingi doesn’t do what he does to torture you.

• far from that in fact, it’s the opposite.

• and just because he’s everywhere but with you,

• doesn’t mean he wants to be.

• “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Mingi? Like I don’t know, t-bagging somebody over Professor Kim’s desk?”

• Mingi lets out a guttural groan before rushing to tail behind you. “If I’m here with you, why would I need to be somewhere else?”

• “Because I hate you. Now leave me alone.” you push back at his chest from where he walks reversed in front of you. “I have labs at 2.”

• Mingi’s frustrated at most.

• the secrets that San keeps making it worse for him.

• cause Mingi just wants to be with you.

• but he doesn’t deserve that right, he knows that.

• so does everybody else including you.

• but unlike everybody else, you hope too high.

• “I’ll pick you up.” he tells you breathlessly eyes stern on you.

• but you swerve around him not saying a word.

• “Y/n, I’ll be there!”

• yeah right, you mumble under your breath.

• like each time he says.

• like each time he chases you.

• he raises that bit of hope that you have deep inside.

• but face the facts, y/n, you love him.

• one miserable year of pining and regret turned into this terrible devotion,

• of him and you picking sides.

• picking sides of which you can’t even define.

• “Asshole..” you mutter shaking your head turning to walk back home.

• alone.

• and you should’ve expected it.

• for him not to show up.

• sometimes you do wish he does.

• sometimes you do wish you woke up feeling good and looking that way too.

• waking up without sore eyes.

• “Don’t you look stunning this mor—“

• “San, I’m transferring.”

• “–ning. WAIT YOU’RE WHAT?!”

• you sigh noticing Mingi hasn’t walked in for class yet.

• “I was offered another scholarship overseas. And they offer a great summer program.” you bite at your lips not daring to look into the devil’s eyes. “I didn’t want to but.. there’s nothing really I’m giving up here.”

• “um ME? HELLO?!”

• you want to tell him he’s not enough.

• well San at least.

• it’s not him you need or want for that matter.

• that what you stayed here for was more than just a stupid college romance.

• but you fell so deep in love with someone who promises too much.

• to be short ended every time?

• “I need a break.” you mutter instead. “Maybe the short program will be good for me. Plus, if things don’t work out, I can always come back?”

• “You don’t plan to though, do you?”

• “Nope.”

• San tries to spend as much time as possible with you.

• trying to convince you to stay otherwise?

• actually trying to buy enough time until he tells Mingi to man the fuck up.

• calling him with ends tied saying, “Y/n’s leaving you jackass. No thanks to you. She’s going overseas and if you don’t do something about it, she’s not gonna come back.”

• Mingi scoffs.

• wanting not to care.

• cause it’s only so big his determination of loving you.

• it’s funner with different people, not the same thing over and over again.

• why he decided not to have you.

• he’s happy between satisfied and that.

• what’s better than being satisfied and happy?

• he doesn’t know yet.

• “San, can you help me pack?” you begrudgingly beg over speakerphone. “God there’s just— so much.”

• you’re already crying.

• how dumb you are to expect Mingi to convince you to stay by now,

• how wrong you always are.

• “How many times?” San asks you while you pack empty minded.

• you wipe at your sweat taping up a box. “W-what?”

• “How many times, y/n?”

• “How many times what?”

• “How many times did you wait? Wait for him to come to you whenever he says he will.”

• you don’t need him to specify or elaborate what he meant.

• you know exactly what he’s talking about.

• you roll your eyes going back to the task at hand, ignoring how much of an eyesore you must really look like right now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, San.”

• “Oh yeah?” he stands up and pulls your arms away from that blasted box. “Then at least answer me this. How many times have you tried to go to Mingi instead of wait for him?”

• how about never?

• your back hurts.

• your head hurts.

• your heart hurts.

• actually how about, “Answering that isn’t what I need right now.”

• “Then what about Mingi? Is he what you need?”

• if San only knew what kinds of pain you felt..

• and to think this was gonna be the last hurrah.

• sometimes hate does overpower love on levels too high.

• like your hope for example.

• “I don’t need to be told twice when I’m not wanted. And Mingi doesn’t need to say it more than once either.” you’re convincing yourself more than you’re trying to at San.

• the clocks ticking y/n.

• that hope you have left starts to cycle back into intuition.

• if he doesn’t want to man up, y/n, you have to.

• now San’s that little devil on your shoulder that gets in your head.

• “M-Mingi..”

• his breath is rushed, haggard when he picks up the phone. “Yeah?”

• “Can you come over? No, you need to come now.”

• “Y-yeah. Okay yeah. I’ll be there soon.”

• for once, he does do something he promised to.

• looking like a complete shit storm almost as bad as you.

• what’s worse than a sight for sore eyes?

• two of them.

• “I love you.” you tell him as soon as you open your door. “You piece of shit. How many times I wait minutes for you outside the labs thinking you were gonna actually show up? The many times I’d wait for you at restaurants thinking you were actually gonna treat me out like all the dates you rejected for me? You piece of shit. How many times do I have to wait? No I’m not gonna wait again, Mingi.”

• his eyes blink resurfacing from his clouded mindset only to find you. “You actually wait for me?”

• “Well yeah I do!” you pout at the tall man who pouts back at you like a reflection in a mirror. “You say you’ll be there and of course I wait. Even if you were shoving your tongue down a poor girl’s throat minutes before, I’ll always wait.”

• Mingi’s lips twitch. “And you were waiting for me now. Before you leave to go somewhere without even telling me. You were waiting for me to tell you not to go.”

• he wants you to say it first.

• even if he doesn’t deserve it,

• he wants you to say it.

• “I am waiting for you to tell me not to go.” you grip at your door handle as if waiting to close it shut. “But I’m not waiting longer than I did for your stupid I love you back.”

• Mingi, come on, you idiot.

• just say it.

• “So you’ve been waiting a year for me to say I love you?” he reminds you as if he needed to.

• but that’s not what you want right now.

• no, you want him to tell you to stay.

• to stay for him.

• “I’m not gonna wait more than ten seconds. Ten seconds then I’m closing this door and saying goodbye.”

• “I just need five.”

• he takes you by your waist, fast and slow.

• like the whole year it took for him to do it again.

• to kiss you again.

• to hold you like this again.

• and god did the wait make it worth it cause you taste like heaven sent on a Monday morning,

• paradise to the undeserved.

• he cradles your cheeks in between the palms of his hands,

• for that 5 seconds he promised,

• only to finally say,

• “I do love you back.” he mumbles against your lips. “So please don’t go. I promise I’ll stay. Just— for fucksake don’t go.”

• satisfied,

• you between happy and that.

• him feeling past both satisfied and happy.

• no actually completely in love,

• you tell him, “I’ll stay if you keep that promise.”

• and for once in his entire life,

• he does.

@atinybitofau

#it’s one of the better drafts i had lol #i just realized i suck at endings #jk i been knew #ateez #ateez song mingi #song mingi #mingi #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez preferences #ateez oneshot #mingi oneshot #mingi reactions #mingi scenarios #mingi imagine #mingi enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers au?

[thenakedgingerwrites]

The Love Potion

I had accepted that I was gay around freshman year of high school but had never come out. Now a Junior in college, the only sexual experience I had with a man was letting a guy blow me drunkenly at a random house party. Luckily none of our friends overlapped and a word of the encounter was never uttered. However, it made me crave a man that much more. All that to say, I was a convincing straight guy. Most of my friends were guys, and my closest friends were all guys from my high school football team. Most of them stayed in town to go to the local university like myself, so we stayed close. There were pros and cons to that but the major con was losing the ability to experiment and find my true sexuality without the fear of being rejected by my previous 'life.' My risk aversion was subsiding though. Partly due to the blowjob I got a couple months ago, but mainly due to Ben.

After dorms, a few of my friends got a house together near campus. It was a 5 bedroom house and worked perfectly for us. That is until one of our buddies, for a few personal reasons, dropped out and moved back home with his parents. Luckily we were able to find a couple dudes via craigslist that needed a room for the rest of the year, Ben being one of them. There was another guy that was actually the better candidate between the two, but I had pushed that we give the room to Ben. My friends didn't put up too much of a fuss or pry as to why I think he was the right choice, which I'm grateful for. I don't know how they would have taken my rationale being he was incredibly hot. When I first met Ben that day he was wearing khaki shorts that hugged his thighs and huge bubble butt and a varsity T that molded around his rounded, muscular body. Ben was short, maybe 5'8" or so. Definitely the stocky-muscle type of guy, but had maybe been drinking a little more than he should and going to the gym less. What it created was a slightly curvy but still very attractive body, from what I could tell. His face was his best quality though. Everything about him was puppy dog. He had doughy eyes, pouty lips, and an adorable button nose. Short crew cut and the hint of a shoulder tattoo later, I was lusting for him hard. After he moved in, my fantasies didn't exactly come to fruition as I had imagined. The "bump into him after a shower and his towel falls" scenario didn't happen, and he unfortunately wasn't a guy that liked to get naked for the humor factor as some of my other friends were. He did drink a lot which was maybe a gateway opportunity, but our friend circles were different. I tried to make connections but due to my hidden motives, I would always second guess myself or get too nervous. He was becoming more and more a roommate, and less and less a sex toy. And then one day, during lunch with another one of our roommates, he shared that he was super superstitious. He believed in a natural medicines too. His mom was apparently Wiccan, and although he didn't latch on to the religious side of his mother's beliefs he did believe in 'herbal magic' as he called it. We made fun of him a bit and the three of us laughed it off. The cogs had begun to wirr in my mind though. I could use this, but how? A week of googling and research led me to the idea of a love potion. There were a few different recipes or 'spells' or whatever online, and the lust was clouding my judgement as to whether this was a sound idea or not. There was a moment of doubt during the week but after Ben came in from a run, sweaty and shirtless, his round pecs and keg-abs in perfect view, I was able to wave away any hesitation. It took another week for Ben and I to be the only guys in the house for the evening, and it was now or never. I knocked on his door. There was some rustling, but opened it shortly after. He was already in 'pajamas' which consisted of loose basketball shorts and a tight t-shirt with the words "All American" written on them. "Hey, Matt. What's up?" He asked, leaning on his door frame. I was nervous, but needed to be the perfect actor tonight. "I have a.. er.. well a really random question. And it's kind of stupid." He chuckled a bit. "Okay, shoot." "You mentioned your mom the other week, and it got me curious." "Oh god," he started, rolling his eyes, "I promise I'm not a crazy person." I quickly stopped him. "No, no! That's not what I meant. See, there's this girl in my finance course that I've been crushing on hard. We've talked a few times but I don't know if she's interested. I did some googling and it looks like there's this... Wiccan love potion.." Ben's eyebrows raised, he was curious and amused. "Go on..." I felt like he was just looking for the opportunity to call me the crazy one and laugh this all off, but I continued. "Well, I'm desperate and thought I'd give it a try but could use your help. I know it's stupid, but what's a little science experiment anyway?" I laughed it off, trying to pretend I didn't really believe it would work. Which I didn't, for the record. "Well I wholly believe in that stuff, man. Herbs can be a powerful thing. They can release all sorts of chemicals in your mind to mimic emotions like love, fear, happiness, yadda yadda. Did you get a recipe for it?" I mocked a bit, "Wait, you don't have a family secret there?" We both laughed. "I do actually, and I think I have all I need but wanted you to sanity check it. See if it seems bogus." He agreed, and we went up to my room. I closed the door behind us, while unnecessary it seemed more intimate for me and try my plan. So far it was working, but the real test was yet to come. I shared the ingredients and steps I found online, and he agreed with what it was saying. Rosemary brings out this feeling, and this herb reduces inhibitions, and blah blah crazy person talk. It could have actually been a turn off, but even if I didn't believe an ounce of what was coming out of Ben's mouth he sure did know a lot about this voodoo science. And that was impressive on it's own. We worked the next 20 minutes or so creating this 'love potion.' There were a few electric moments for me like when he would help me grind an herb down and our hands would touch, or he would read out the next step and layer in his own 'professional' opinion. At one point, when he was sitting on the ground with his knees up, his shorts slid up his thigh so much that I wondered if he was even wearing underwear. The thoughts were setting me ablaze inside. When it was finally done, he explained the last steps. "So, you basically just need to add a piece of your hair to some of this, and then somehow get her to drink it." "And then what?" "I guess just wait? I'm not really sure how this concoction will work, it could affect anyone differently." Now to setup my plan. "Now I just need to find a clever way to get her to drink some random, greenish liquid. And it won't even work anyway." "Don't question the juice man, this stuff has enough herbs to turn her on to a cactus." He seemed so serious. "I just wish there was a way to test it. Well, you believe it will work so strongly how about you drink a swig. If you try and kiss me after then I'll know it's legit." Ben just laughed. "If only you could be so lucky!" I pushed it, "No really. You can prove to me that it's real. The effect is only supposed to be temporary right?" Ben got a tad more serious. "Matt, I know it will work. You're the one doubting my skills man." "Okay, you're right. I don't think this can work. I hoped it would, but this shit would be in stores everywhere if it really did." I started to ham up my disappointment. "I don't think the FDA would let it get to there. Plus most people are huge skeptics like you, so no one would buy into it." I looked into his eyes to hold a stare for a beat. "You really do believe in this stuff don't you?" "I do. Well, not all of the Wiccan stuff, but herbs and spices are just science. No need to believe anything." I got some confidence up, acting of course, and wagered with him. "Okay fine, I'll test it out." "With who?" Ben asked, admittedly he actually looked confused. Adorable. "You." He furrowed his eyebrows. "That's not funny, Matt." "No, really. No offense, I don't think I'm going to suck your face after taking a swig of this but I'm willing to take that chance." He chuckled, "that's a risky bet." "I don't think we're eye-to-eye on the odds here Ben." I chuckled back to him. He sighed. "Okay, well don't blame me when you think I'm a total hottie." "Don't worry," I sarcastically retorted, "I won't." Ben took a tiny scoop of the liquid into a measuring cup and plucked out a hair from his head. "You want me to drink your hair?!" I feigned minor disgust. "It need's some DNA. I could put some earwax in there if you'd prefer." I stuck my tongue out and agreed that the hair would suffice. "On second thought..." Ben put the cup down and stood up. He reached into his shorts, to my excitement but composed an expression of confusion, and winced a bit. Removing his hand from his crotch region, he held onto a single pube. He grinned. "Seriously dude, fuck you! I'm not eating your pube. Now I know this is a crock of shit." I didn't know how far to push my aversion but was still afraid of being outed by not having a big enough reaction. "This potion is rooted in sexual urges, and so a hair more closely rooted to sexual connotations should be more potent. You're not scared now are you?" Ben teased. "Scared of choking to death on one of your smelly pubes? Yeah." He held the hair up to his nose and took an exaggerated inhale. "It's not smelly." "Ugh." I rolled my eyes and pretended to dry heave. "You better not tell a soul about this." He mimed his other hand zipping his lips. I sighed, "fine give me your damn pube water potion." "Let me remind you this was your idea." "yeah, yeah yeah..." He added the tiny dark blonde hair into the cup and swirled it around a bit then handed it to me. "Bon appetite," he cheerfully said as he handed me the cup. I took it down in one quick gulp and followed with a few swigs of water we had nearby. It tasted like old rainwater some leaves have been decaying in. "Did it taste romantic?" Ben asked. "It tasted like dead raccoon, but that probably just your pube." We both laughed at the situation. The next minute we sat silently waiting for something to happen. I asked when I would feel this magical urge to kiss him and he shrugged. Works different on every person he said again. "Well, I don't think I find you super sexy. Sorry to ruin your night Ben." "Oh shut up, it's only been a minute. Let's play a game. Simon says." "Seriously?" he lost me. "One of the effects of the potion is that you should be willing to be persuaded by me much easier. What's one thing you would never do, even if I asked you to?" "Ben, I'm not sucking your dick. Sorry bud." Again we both laughed. He continued. "I'm not thinking anything that extreme, but good to know. Me either. Try this, stand up." I got up while acting like I was being pulled up by some ghost. "Oh my god Ben, you're a voodoo god!" "I really am," he said, amused. "Now spin around." I did as was told, still hamming it up. "Jump. Touch your toes. Blink your eyes. Pinch yourself." He had me do routine, mundane tasks for a couple minutes. I stopped pretending a ghost was manipulating me at some point and just did as I was told, kind of forgetting what was going on. Then finally he told me to take off my pants. It snapped me back to consciousness. I pushed back against the command accusing him of just wanting to see my dick and called him a perv. He said, "no, no. Just your sweatpants, you goof." Somehow this made it much more palatable and the pants dropped immediately. I stood there in my t-shirt and boxer briefs staring at Ben for my next move. He stood up, walked over to my bed and plopped down face first. He told me to give him a back massage. I no longer really knew what was me and what was the potion, but I honestly didn't care. I got up on the bed and straddled him. After a few minutes of massaging his back he told me to take off his shirt. I did, then continued the massage. His skin was so smooth and soft under my hands. My own butt resting on his was starting to pool blood to my crotch. "Massage my ass" and I did. I shifted down lower and began to knead his huge bubble butt through his shorts. A minute of this and he told me to strip him completely. He helped a little by arching his back, but the shorts quickly peeled down off his legs revealing his succulent globes just asking for my hands. The massage continued and I enjoyed every second of it. His ass was so warm to my cool hands. It was lightly dusted in dark blond hair but not really hairy like some of the guys I'd see in the locker room. It was definitely the biggest though. As I kneaded his butt, I would get more daring with my movements. I would get closer to his crack but the move away. Timid. I began to turn my kneading movements into spreading ones, exposing his hole a little more each time. My thumbs would rub inward towards his hole when I spread his cheeks. It started subtle, I think, but at some point became very deliberately sexual. I had almost touched his little dark rosebud when he said, "Yep, you're gay for me right now." Startled, I jumped off him and stammered my protest. He rolled his head over and laughed. "It's okay dude, it's the potion. I won't tell anyone." I reiterated, "I"m not gay for you dude. I was just giving you a massage, that's not gay." He looked down, "Your boner begs to differ." I followed his eyes and saw my cock stretching against the elastic of my boxer briefs, slightly peeking above the band. I covered up my shame. "I"m not gay" I said again. "I know, Matt. But for the sake of our deal, I've gotta do this." I was about to ask “do what?” but he beat me to it. He turned over to reveal his semi-hard cock and balls, nestled in a light patch of dark blonde hair. "Suck my dick." I instantly remembered that when I drank the potion this is exactly what I said I wouldn't do. However at this point Ben seemed confident that the potion was in complete control and I could finally live out my fantasy without any repercussion. I didn't hesitate. I got back on the bed and shoved my face into his crotch. I hadn't sucked a cock before, and honestly hadn't even been this close to another dick in my life. Ben wasn't fully hard yet, but I could already tell he was bigger than me. Probably only about 6 or 7 inches long like me but much thicker. His balls were larger too. I wondered how I would fit it in my mouth if it kept growing but accepted the challenge. I used one hand to guide his member into my mouth. I only took a couple inches in to wet it with saliva. He tasted so good. Slightly salty but a pretty neutral flavor overall. For some reason I had imagined a cock would taste just like what cum smelled like. I was happy to see it was far less extreme. As I whetted him fully and began to pump him while I swirled my tongue around his head, Ben began to get audible. He started with just some sighs and moans, but quickly began to give me specific directions. "Jack me harder, lick my shaft, suck my balls, swirl your tongue, deep throat me." His hands began to guide my head as well. I gladly took the direction. He had gotten fully erect by now. I came up for air to admire his cock. I was right about it's size. It may even be a bit shorter than mine, but boy was it thick. Although it realistically couldn't have been as thick as a soda can, it looked like it without a direct comparison. "Don't stop Matt!" Ben looked down at me during my break and quickly got me back on task. I sucked and pumped him but I wanted a little more. I took a creative liberty and started to trail my mouth downward. I had seen in hundreds of porn clips guys eating out another guy's ass. I'd never had it done to me to validate if it felt as good as porn made it seem, but wanted to test it out on Ben. I don't think the thought would have crossed his mind, but once I began sucking on his taint and still moved south he got the hint and silently complied. Ben arched back and raised his legs and ass up into the air. I kept one hand firmly around his cock and jacked him off as my tongue made it's fast approach to Ben's virgin asshole. The taste was unique. He had clearly showered some point in the evening, but still I thought it would taste a little like, well, shit. I was delighted to discover it didn't. It almost tasted like a sweet cologne. There was a musky quality but also a sweet aroma. I mimicked all the actions I'd seen in porn. I licked his hole, spat on it, sucked on it. Ben seemed to like just the simple lick the most, and so I focused on that. It didn't take long into this new experience for him to reach climax. His breathing began to speed up and he breathed/growled, "I'm gonna cum." I had a conflict of interest. I had never seen another guy cum in real life, and wanted to watch him erupt all over himself for my viewing pleasure. I also had never tasted another man's cum before, and the thought of taking his explosion into my mouth was incredibly hot too. It was a split second decision, but I threw his hips back down to the bed and wrapped my lips around his cock. Ben tried to push my head off him and breathed a "no, you don't have.." but I swatted him away and brought him to the point of orgasm. He went past the moan decibel and actually yelled in pleasure as he erupted into the back of my throat. The warm, sticky liquid shot ribbon after ribbon against the back of my mouth. I attempted to swallow between bursts but turns out swallowing when there's a cock in your mouth is hard or at least it was for me, so some of his seed dripped out of my mouth and down his shaft. I milked every ounce out of him, and even squeezed his cock like a toothpaste tube to get the last few drops. Ben's intensely tense, and sweaty body turned to putty after a few shudders. I sucked on his cock for another minute or so as it waned in my mouth. Finally accepting that my fun was done for the night, I let it pop out of my mouth. Ben arched up on his elbows. "You have a nice dick." I said, smiling. He chuckled, "that's the potion talking, but thanks." The potion. I had forgotten. Ben read the look but mistook it for more of a panic. He leaned up and grabbed his shorts from the floor, quickly slipping them on. Grabbing his shirt he said, "I should go take a shower. I'm really sorry about this." I tried to stop him but he was out my door and down the stairs in a blink. I just laid there on my bed staring up at the ceiling. My first time sucking a cock was amazing, and of all people it was with Ben: my ultimate fantasy man. I heard the water turn on from the shower the floor below, and took the opportunity to finally pleasure myself. I imagined Ben in the shower and replayed the last hour in my head. I came with more force and volume than I had, maybe ever. I cleaned myself and my room up, and waited to walk down and approach Ben. I finally got the courage a couple hours later but when I approached his room I could tell the lights were off and turned back. I'm not sure if I'd ever get that chance again with Ben. One thing for sure though, I was 100% addicted to dick and needed more. I had lived 21 years without it and had all that time to make up for. How I was going to get it, would be another adventure.

#magic #mind control #cmnm #aware

[writethehousedown]

i'm burning for you (shalaska) - freyja

A/N: hello!! I really didn’t mean for this to get up to 8k, but, here we are. I figure we all need a little beach fluff in our lives, right? Also, this is technically spring break, because it worked better for my purposes, but it works for a summer challenge. At least, I hope so.

Summary: Alaska’s crush on Sharon Needles has been manageable only because Sharon Needles does not wear anything remotely sexy. Too bad Raja decides Sharon’s going to be the model for her new swimsuit spread. Or, Sharon wears seven very, very distracting bathing suits, and Alaska’s spring break is completely and utterly fucked. 7.7k.

DAY ONE OF SPRING BREAK

“Spring break is a time to relax, right?”

“Mhm.”

“The idea is to get away from it all, right?”

“Sure.”

“‘It all’ includes hopeless crushes, right?”

“Why not?”

“Then explain to me how this is fair?”

“My eyes are telling me it’s very fair,” Willam says, sliding her sunglasses down her nose to leer over at the ice cream hut. “Maybe even a blessing.”

“I hate you,” Alaska says, but she lets her eyes follow Willam’s gaze. The sight that greets her confirms it: her spring break is completely, utterly, unfairly ruined.

Sharon Needles is standing at the stationary ice cream truck, talking animatedly with Jinkx Monsoon and completely oblivious to her enraptured audience.

“This is homophobic,” Alaska says, her eyes never leaving the other woman.

“I was just about to say gay rights,” Willam says, and Alaska takes a deep breath.

Alaska has had a crush on Sharon ever since she cracked a joke the first day of their shared government class last semester, so, naturally, Alaska has learned a few things about her: Sharon is a poli-sci major in her junior year. Sharon is at the top of her class. Sharon throws the best Halloween parties on campus. Sharon fights with the pastors that come to yell at passers-by on the quad. Sharon exclusively wears ratty t-shirts and ripped jeans. Sharon sneers at the word ‘sexy’ like it spit on her mother.

Sharon Needles is currently getting ice cream dressed in the sexiest bikini Alaska has ever laid eyes on.

It’s black, with a simple bra and a high waisted black bottom. Netting covers the top and ties around the neck, standing out against Sharon’s pale skin. Gold caps off the end of each string, catching the light attractively when Sharon shifts, laughing. It hugs Sharon’s figure tightly (of fucking course, it’s a bathing suit), showing off… everything.

“Staring is rude,” Willam says, and Alaska tears her eyes away from Sharon’s ass, cheeks burning.

“I wasn’t staring,” she says automatically. “Let’s go lay down with Courtney.”

“No ice cream?” Willam asks, voice verging on a whine, and Alaska ignores her, marching back down the beach towards Courtney, who is lazing in the sun and has been since three hours before, despite her skin already being perfectly bronzed.

“Oh, hello!” Courntey says, pleasantly surprised as Alaska flops down next to her. Willam daintily lies down on her other side. “How was the ice cream?”

“Apparently Sharon’s too sexy to be getting any ice cream,” Willam says simply.

“Willam!”

“Ah,” Courtney says sagely, looking at Alaska with sympathy. “She does look good today. I just saw her with Jinkx Monsoon.”

Alaska groans, giving into temptation and looking back at the ice cream truck just in time to see Sharon catch a drip of melted ice cream and lick it off of her finger. She does it exaggeratedly slowly, clearly in an effort to make Jinkx laugh, but all Alaska can focus on is the way her red lips split into a slow smile around her tongue.

“Fuck my life,” Alaska says, watching as Sharon cackles at the face Jinkx is making. A little bubble of jealousy springs up in her belly - she should be the one making Sharon laugh.

“Calm down,” Willam says flatly, and Alaska glares at her.

“I’ll calm down when she stops wearing that swimsuit and goes back to baggy t-shirts. Where the fuck did this even come from?”

“I think Raja Gemini got her hands on her,” Willam says.

“So Raja Gemini is to blame for ruining my life,” Alaska groans, laying down in defeat. Or maybe she owes Raja her life. Either one.

“She’s doing a swimsuit project for the school magazine,” Courtney says excitedly. “She’s done at least seven different designs, and they’re all supposed to be crazy unique. It was actually supposed to be last year’s spread, but they couldn’t find the right model.”

“She rejected Naomi Smalls, Violet Chachki, and fuckin’ Courtney,” Willam says, and then she pauses as if in thought. “I guess I would want someone with boobs, too.”

“Hey!” Courtney shrieks, laughing. Alaska shrugs.

“Makes sense,” she says. “Those girls are too skinny, anyway.”

Willam snorts. “You’re one to talk. Sharon could break you in half.”

“Yes, please,” Alaska says.

“Why don’t you go over and ask her, then?”

Alaska looks at her. “You have to know that’s not an option.”

Willam shrugs. “Your fingers, I guess.”

Alaska hits her with Courtney’s rolled up towel.

-

DAY TWO OF SPRING BREAK

“Tell me again why we chose to come to the most popular beach?”

“Because going with my parents to their new lakehouse would have sucked harder.”

“I don’t know,” Alaska says, her book forgotten on her stomach as she stares twenty feet to her left. “At least there would be a chance of me finishing Macbeth.”

“You don’t go to the beach to catch up in your English classes, whore,” Willam says. “You go to ogle at everyone.”

“Well,” Alaska says grimly. “I’m certainly ogling.”

Courtney had been right - Raja Gemini is doing a photoshoot, it is based on swimsuits, and Sharon is her model. They’ve decided to do the shoot on the beach itself, and currently, they are too close for Alaska’s sanity.

She watches as Raja jams the feet of her tripod into the sand, laughing at something Sharon has just said and tossing her long, straight black hair behind her back as she fiddles with her equipment. Her swimsuit is fun, made up of a strappy pink top and bottoms with a gigantic eye on the ass, but Alaska’s eyes gravitate towards Sharon no matter what she tries to focus on.

Sharon stands just off to the side, patiently waiting with her hands on her hips, completely oblivious to the way Alaska’s mouth goes dry just looking at her.

She’s in a one piece today, made up of a dangerously see through lace that shines when the sun hits it. It’s certainly unique - it covers her chest in a turtleneck and has sleeves that go down to her wrists. Her legs are bared normally, her pale skin offset brilliantly by the olive green of the fabric, and her lips are painted a dark eggplant.

If this carries on for the rest of the week, Alaska is completely screwed.

“We have to change spots,” she says, as Sharon walks over to help Raja with her camera. God, she’s so helpful. And considerate. And hot. “Like, immediately.”

“I fought a ten year old kid for this spot,” Willam says. “That’s not happening.”

“Willam,” Alaska whines, flipping over to glare at her friend. Willam is unmoved, expression blank behind her mirrored sunglasses. “If I have to suffer like this for much longer, I’ll die.”

“I’ll make sure to say nice things at your funeral,” Willam tells her. “Courtney yelled at me about the kid. I didn’t sit through that just to leave two days in.”

“Courtney’s getting you a margarita right now,” Alaska says drily. “I think she’s over it.”

“Yeah,” Willam says. “Having a girlfriend sure is nice.”

“Don’t act like she wasn’t the one to ask you,” Alaska snaps back, and Willam raises an eyebrow.

“So you’re never going to make a move?” she asks, and Alaska turns to look at Sharon again, forlorn and resigned to her fate of forever looking from afar.

“That’s exactly what I– what the fuck is she doing?”

Courtney is currently traipsing towards Raja and Sharon, two margaritas in her hands and a huge grin on her face. As she nears them, she turns her head to meet Alaska’s glare. She winks.

“I’m going to kill her,” Alaska says lowly, horror creeping under her skin, and Willam laughs.

“I guess Courtney’s going to make a move for you,” she says, and dread suddenly breaks over Alaska in a cold sweat.

“She’d better fucking not be,” she says, watching Courtney finish talking to the other two. “I swear–”

“Courtney!” Sharon hollers, and Courtney stops making her way back towards Alaska and Willam to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“We’re having a party tomorrow night! You and Willam should come! Alaska too!”

Alaska’s breath catches at the sound of her name.

“Yeah!” Courtney calls back, but not before she flashes Alaska a cheeky grin. Alaska hates her. “Totally!”

“I’ll text Willam the details!” Sharon shouts, and Alaska turns to stare at Willam.

“You have her number?” she asks incredulously.

“I have everyone’s number,” Willam says, shrugging. “Plus, we smoke sometimes.”

“You smoke sometimes?!” Alaska cries. “Why haven’t I heard about this?!”

“It’s not important!” Willam says, widening her eyes with annoyance “I smoke with everyone!”

“Smoke?” Courtney asks before Alaska can fire back an response, flopping onto the gigantic beach blanket Willam had procured at the beginning of the trip. “I would kill for a joint right now.”

“You made me leave the weed behind, remember?”

“Right.”

Alaska turns her attention back to Macbeth, over the conversation, her face burning and more absurd jealousy making it hard to focus on the words. If she can just get this act finished –

“Awww!” Courtney squeals, sounding excited. “They’ve started the shoot! Sharon looks amazing!”

Alaska is required by law to look, and when she does, her heartbeat goes straight to her underwear. She can’t tear her eyes away from Sharon, lounging on the sand with her blonde curls strewn beneath her, giving the camera the bedroomiest bedroom eyes Alaska has ever seen.

This isn’t fair.

“Damn,” Willam notes from behind her. “I thought she was going to be awkward.”

“I’m entranced,” Alaska says, watching Sharon shift positions. She’s only half joking. “I’m bewitched.”

“I’m bored,” Willam says. “Let’s go swimming.”

“I swear, you have the attention span of a goldfish,” Courtney says, looking reluctant to stop watching the shoot, but standing up anyway. Willam shrugs.

“Sorry,” she says, clearly not. She looks at Alaska. “You coming?”

Alaska grimaces. “I need to finish this,” she says, looking at Willam apologetically. She lifts up Macbeth. “Sorry.”

“I would have just taken ‘I’m too horny’,” Willam says drily, and Alaska’s jaw drops.

“Bitch!”

“Have fun!” Willam says, grabbing Courtney’s wrist and tugging her towards the water. Alaska waves them goodbye until they’re too wrapped up in each other to even think about her, and then she forces herself to look back at her book. She hadn’t been lying - she needs to read. She will finish Act One by the end of the day, god help her.

She gets two lines in before Sharon’s laughter floats by, and suddenly, Lady Macbeth’s speech is completely lacking in engagement. Before she can help it, Alaska’s eyes trail up towards the photoshoot, and a jolt runs through her at the sight of Sharon straddling a chair, her legs spread and on full display.

Alaska doesn’t look at Macbeth again until Sharon is off of the beach and out of her sight.

DAY THREE OF SPRING BREAK

Raja’s parties have always been loud, drunk, and glittery, and this one is no exception.

It’s a beach party, so Alaska, Willam, and Courtney all show up in their swimwear. Except - they have absolutely no intention of swimming.

They all have makeup on - Willam’s bright and sparkly, Courtney’s subtle, and Alaska’s the best that she could manage. Willam has body glitter spread down her arms and legs, which has spread to Alaska and Courtney by mere association, and Alaska can only hope that the chunky blue sparkles go well with her bubblegum pink bikini.

“Now this is a party!” Willam shouts over the music, and Courntey nods, grinning.

“You know what it’s missing?” she shouts back.

“Us!” Willam yells, and then they’re making their way through the crowd to the makeshift bar, which is a fold out table littered with red solo cups and booze. Alaska’s heart stops with every platinum blonde girl that they bump into on the way, and she’s relieved when they make it to their destination seeing neither hide nor hair of Sharon.

Willam fills one of the cups with beer out of the keg and thrusts it at Alaska. Alaska shakes her head at it, too nervous to drink and not the biggest fan of beer, anyway.

“Not tonight!” she says loudly, and a sudden voice from behind her makes her jump five feet into the air.

“Wow, didn’t have you pegged for a stick in the mud!”

She whirls around to find Sharon standing just beside her, a red solo cup in her hand and her cheeks flushed with excitement and alcohol. As if her sudden appearance wasn’t enough to kill Alaska on sight, she’s in another exquisitely fitting bathing suit, black and glittery and with a deep, deep V.

“Um,” Alaska says intelligently, her eyes glued to the pale expanse of Sharon’s chest, and Sharon grins.

“You like it?” she asks, glancing down at herself. “Raja made it by hand - I’m not allowed to go swimming with it, because the glitter will wash off. I’m not entirely sure she’s suited for swimwear.”

Alaska laughs, regaining her footing, a little. She will not make a fool out of herself right now. She’s sober, and Sharon knows it - she won’t have an excuse for being an idiot in the morning. “I’m not sure you should really be swimming in October, anyway,” Alaska drawls, referring to the spider web shape of the strapless bra cups, and Sharon cackles.

“It’s not her fault,” she says, grinning. “I requested something a little spookier.”

“Well, I like it,” Alaska says, openly admiring it now that she has permission. “It’s my favorite so far.”

“So far?” Sharon asks, raising an amused eyebrow. “Have you been sneaking peeks?”

Alaska feels like her face is on fire. “Uh–”

“Alaska,” Sharon admonishes, but there’s a smile threatening to break through her scandalized frown. “Raja doesn’t want anyone to see until the spread is finished.”

“Then don’t do it on a public beach!” Alaska cries. “You’re distracting!”

“Am I?”

Alaska hadn’t thought blushing harder was possible, but the heat creeping up her neck says otherwise. “I mean - with the cameras, and everything - it’s a whole production, you know.”

Sharon laughs at her stammering, and Alaska can’t help the affection that warms in her chest at how loud it is. “You can say it’s my bad modeling,” she says, and she touches Alaska’s arm like she’s sharing a secret. Alaska freezes, afraid of somehow scaring her away. “I have no idea why Raja chose me, but I’m milking it for as long as she thinks I’m worth it.”

“You are,” Alaska says without thinking, and then she sucks in a breath, watching Sharon’s face for confusion - or something worse.

Instead, Sharon leans forwards a little, frowning. “What?” she says, louder than before, and Alaska can’t help but sag with relief.

“I said ‘good idea’!” she shouts, and Sharon’s face splits into another smile.

“Let’s go outside!” she says. “I can’t hear a goddamned thing!”

And before Alaska can respond either way (yes - of course she’d say yes), Sharon’s grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowd, towards a pair of sliding glass doors near the back. Her ears ring as they exit the house, the sudden silence more of a relief than she’d expected, and Sharon slides the door shut behind them, muffling the music even further.

“Thank god,” Sharon moans. “I thought my head was going to burst in there.”

“Really?” Alaska teases. “That seems kind of lame for someone who throws the best parties on campus to say.”

“Halloween parties,” Sharon corrects, like Alaska doesn’t already know. “And I’m usually already drunk by the time those start. Whatever’s in those kegs doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, tonight.”

“You mean I’m talking to a sober Sharon Needles right now?” Alaska cries, pulling her face in exaggerated shock. “No.”

“Yes,” Sharon says, nodding gravely. “It’s horrible.”

“I don’t think you were even sober for Dujour’s class,” Alaska says, shaking her head. “Can I take a picture with you? This needs to be documented.”

“Well, I can’t believe you were sober for Dujour’s class,” Sharon says, her tooth gap on full display. “It was a nightmare even when I was drunk out of my mind.”

“That was a government class!” Alaska laughs, staring at Sharon in amused disbelief. “You needed that class more than I did!”

“I had your notes!” Sharon says. “I’m sure I got more out of those than I would have out of Dujour’s mouth.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Alaska drawls. “I’m pretty sure my notes are the reason you don’t have to retake that class.”

“I said thank you!” Sharon says, her defensive tone undercut by the huge smile on her face. Alaska finds herself mirroring it, Sharon’s grin infectious.

“You were drunk!” Alaska tells her. “That hardly counts!”

“Then allow me to say it again: thank you, my hero,” Sharon says, and then, before Alaska can tell her that sarcasm doesn’t count either, she grabs her hand and bows over it, kissing her knuckles.

Alaska is certain that her face goes at least five shades of red, Sharon’s lips soft and burning against her fingers. “You’re welcome,” she says weakly, as lightly as she can with her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Suddenly, she is very, very aware that she and Sharon might as well be alone together, the sliding glass door practically a chasm between the quiet beach and the roaring party.

Sharon lets go of her hand as soon as she’s done, giving Alaska another gap-toothed grin. Her lips are black to match her bathing suit, her blue eyes done up in shades of grey, and Alaska’s breath catches in her throat as she watches the party lights dance across her face.

“Now,” Sharon says, like nothing remotely romantic or intimate has just occurred. Alaska thinks she might have whiplash. “Do you like swimming?”

“What?” Alaska asks, her face still burning from earlier and her brain struggling to catch up.

“This suit may not be functional, but tomorrow’s is,” Sharon explains, “I want someone to swim with me tomorrow. Sun tanning isn’t exactly my thing.”

Alaska laughs at her. “No, I wouldn’t expect it to be,” she says dryly, and Sharon shrugs, grinning.

“Well? What do you say?”

Alaska’s heart starts to quicken, her palms sweaty. She bites back the ‘Of course!’ she wants to say, instead sticking to her teasing. The last thing she wants Sharon to think is that she’s overeager - she does not, under any circumstances, want to fuck this up.

“What happened to Raja?” she asks. “Or are you only using her to get fame and fortune?”

Sharon snorts. “I wish,” she says, rolling her eyes up in a playful expression. Alaska is entranced. “But I don’t expect Raja’s graduation project to make me anything but masturbation material.”

“Sharon!” Alaska cries, unable to help the laugh that escapes her. A pleased smile curves across Sharon’s face.

“I only speak the truth,” she says. “And Raja doesn’t like to swim - she’s afraid of the water.”

“She is?”

“More specifically the undertow,” Sharon says. “I don’t like thinking about it much either.”

Alaska twists her lips in acknowledgement. “I guess, but–”

The sliding glass door suddenly opens with a sharp bang, making both women jump and Alaska cut her sentence short with a small yelp. She whips her head around to look at the door, already upset at being interrupted. Dammit.

Willam stands in the doorway, looking somewhere between her fourth or fifth drink, grinning like a loon. “‘Laska!” she shouts, much too loudly. “Courtney’s chugging the keg! Courtney!”

“Courtney?” Alaska repeats, disbelieving. As a rule, Courtney only drinks things served with at least one toothpicked fruit - Alaska doesn’t think she even knows what cheap college beer tastes like.

“It’s crazy!” Willam yells, eyes wide, and she walks over to grab Alaska’s wrist, tugging her inside. “Come quick, or you’ll miss it!”

“Wait!” Sharon says, and Alaska stops, resisting Willam’s drunken attempts to keep pulling her with a strength that only comes with the will to please Sharon Needles. “Tomorrow?”

“I’m there,” Alaska manages to say without stuttering, and her heart flutters as she says it, the glitter on Sharon’s bathing suit sparkling attractively in the moonlight. “When?”

“7 pm, by the lighthouse?”

Alaska has plans to go to some bonfire with Willam and Courtney at seven, but it takes her all of two seconds to decide that it’s not at all important. “Perfect.”

Sharon smiles, and it’s sweeter than the grins she’s been shooting Alaska all night. Alaska could look at her forever. “It’s a date,” she says.

Alaska is pretty sure her heart actually stops.

All she can do is stare, her jaw slackened and her cheeks burning, for a too-long moment. Sharon gives her a strange look, laughing a little.

“Are you alright?”

“Um,” Alaska says, because she’s stupid and her brain stopped functioning the moment Sharon arrived on the beach in that fucking bikini. “I’m, uh–”

Willam, always helpful only on accident, suddenly gives a particularly hard tug against her arm, and Alaska is jerked back into the thumping music of the party, bodies pressing against her as Willam leads her straight into the middle of a crowd. Courtney is in the middle, upside down and downing beer from the keg, but Alaska can hardly bring herself to care. Instead, her mind keeps wandering towards Sharon, her blonde hair nearly white in the moonlight and her eyes glittering with amusement.

It’s a date.

She doesn’t know if the way her stomach flips is out of nerves or excitement.

DAY FOUR OF SPRING BREAK

The sunset is gorgeous.

It’s pink and yellow and orange, glittering across the water with blinding light, the clouds streaks of bright coral against the sun’s burning yellow. Alaska glances at its arresting beauty, sighing appreciatively, and then she goes back to staring at the woman next to her.

Sharon’s swimsuit is a bright red one piece, with cute white pinstripes that nod to the forties, the sharp angles of her waist adding to the post-war feeling. The plunging neckline, however, is very much reminiscent of the modern era, and is very much what Alaska’s eyes keep getting stuck on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sharon says, her eyes still on the horizon. “It’s like looking at sherbet ice cream.”

“Mhm,” Alaska says, raising her gaze a little to rest on Sharon’s face. Her makeup is lighter, today, with only a bold red lip and winged black eyeliner, and Alaska finds the painted on beauty mark charming. “Love it.”

Sharon turns to look at her, and she wrenches her gaze quickly to look out at the sunset, her face burning. “Something tells me you’re not looking at the sunset,” she says, her voice teasing, and Alaska blushes so hard she can feel her ears burning. She looks at Sharon apologetically, unable to meet her eyes.

“I - uh - I’m–”

“I’ll make sure to let Raja know,” Sharon continues, giving Alaska a fond smile. Alaska immediately stops attempting to say anything, her heart bouncing around her ribcage. “She wasn’t so sure about this one, so it’ll be good to hear.”

“What?” Alaska asks, completely lost, her ears still warm. “I don’t - what?”

Sharon frowns, glancing down at herself. “The swimsuit? You want it, don’t you?”

Realization clicks in Alaska’s end, and suddenly, relief along with a strange hint of disappointment has her nearly falling over. Sharon’s completely oblivious - thank god. “Yes. Yes, the swimsuit. That’s what I was looking at.”

Sharon doesn’t look convinced, her eyes lingering on Alaska’s face. Alaska feels like a butterfly pinned to styrofoam. “You do like it, right? I’m not just assuming?”

“No,” Alaska says hurriedly, surprised. Sharon sounds almost insecure, unsure of herself, and it’s something Alaska never wants to hear in her voice again. She keeps forgetting that Sharon isn’t used to dressing like this, no matter how much it seems like she’s doing it to torture Alaska specifically. “I love it. It’s very forties.” She stumbles over the ‘f’, meaning to say flattering and chickening out at the last second.

Sharon grins. “Thanks,” she says. “You can relax, I’ll stop fishing for compliments.”

Alaska doesn’t know whether to feel relieved at the unintentional save, or to try and defend Sharon from herself - she doesn’t know which way is up most of the time, around this woman, so this is completely hopeless. She finally speaks after a too-long pause. “You weren’t–”

“Let’s go! I’ve been dying to get in the water all day!”

Sharon grabs Alaska’s hand, and Alaska doesn’t breathe the entire time Sharon drags her towards the water, Sharon’s fingers curled around hers the only thing on her mind. She finally sucks in a breath as they hit the water, the cold making goosebumps blossom across her skin.

“Jesus!” Sharon says, stopping as soon as the water reaches her thighs. It takes actual effort for Alaska to keep her eyes from lingering there. “No one told me it was freezing!”

She squeezes Alaska’s hand harder as the waves come up to hit her stomach. Alaska feels too warm to notice the water brushing across her own thighs, her heart in her throat.

“Do you want to get out?” she asks, even as disappointment sinks in her gut. Relief wars with it - she wants to spend more time with Sharon, spend all of her time with Sharon, but her anxiety tells her that if she spends too much time with her, she’ll fuck it up. She doesn’t know if she can handle that.

Sharon shoots her a scandalized look, letting go of her hand to turn towards her. Alaska tries not to mourn the loss. “Of course not!” Sharon says. “We just have to go in all at once.”

Alaska pulls a face at the idea. She’s never liked the ‘bandaid’ approach to things. “Are you sure?”

“What?” Sharon teases. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” Alaska says plainly, and she smiles at the laugh Sharon lets out.

“Be brave for me?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach does several somersaults.

“Of course,” she says, and Sharon grins.

Alaska follows Sharon as she wades out further, both girls shrieking as the icy water comes up to hit some new section of skin. Sharon stops as the water comes just below her shoulders, her hair streaming behind her like a mermaid’s. She looks enchanting in the orange of the setting sun, the blue of her eyes almost electric as the sun shines across them.

“Count of three,” Sharon says. “We duck under.”

Alaska nods. Sharon takes a deep breath.

“One,” she says.

“Two,” Alaska counts. Sharon’s smile is blinding.

“Three.”

They duck under, Sharon heedless of her makeup and Alaska steeling herself for the shock of the cold. It’s freezing, but her body soon acclimates to the temperature of the water, and she surfaces feeling refreshed.

She comes up before Sharon, so she watches as the other woman comes up for hair, her hair slicked back from her face and her mascara bleeding a little, a huge grin splitting her face. She looks stunning, and Alaska’s breath gets caught in her throat as she takes her in, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since Raja told me she wanted me to model for her,” Sharon laughs. “After I figured out she wasn’t joking, of course.”

“Of course she wasn’t joking,” Alaska says before she can stop herself. “You’re perfect for this.”

Sharon raises her eyebrows. “Believe me, I’m not. Her suits are doing most of the work. All I have to do is stand the way Raja tells me to stand.”

“Please,” Alaska blurts out. “The suits are hardly the reason I’ve been watching the photoshoots.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Alaska thinks very hard about ducking under the water again and not coming up again.

Sharon is looking at her with a curious expression, and Alaska suddenly needs to get away right now.

“What do you m–”

“I have to go,” Alaska interrupts, panic making everything too much, too fast. “I just remembered, I have - something.” She starts wading towards shore, but Sharon grabs her wrist.

“Alaska, wait,” she says, and Alaska turns to look at her, avoiding her eyes. Her eyes get caught on Sharon’s lips, set in an adorable pout, and she has just enough time to imagine what it’s like to kiss her before she rips her gaze away. “What plans?”

“Um–” Alaska says, completely panicking, Sharon’s fingers too warm around her wrist and her eyes too intense on Alaska’s. The sun is dimming, casting them in purplish grey. She casts about for a good excuse, and she lets out a breath when she finds one. “There’s a bonfire. I’m already late - I promised Willam I would go with her.”

“The bonfire?” Sharon asks, letting go of Alaska’s wrist. Alaska turns to go again, cursing when she hears Sharon start to follow her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know,” Alaska says, even though she knows exactly why. They make it onto the beach, and Alaska grabs her towel, drying off hurriedly. “I - I don’t know.”

“I doubt that,” Sharon says. “What did you mean, earlier?”

“What?” Alaska asks, playing dumb. She can’t find her phone. Where the fuck is her phone?

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and she sounds frustrated. Alaska winces. “Do you like me?”

Alaska freezes, terror ripping through her as she scrambles for a denial. “No,” she snaps out, panic making her voice hard and sharp. Sharon takes a step back, her eyes widening, and Alaska feels guilt drop into her stomach like a deadweight. She could cry at any moment. “I don’t,” she continues, her voice gentler. She can only pray that Sharon doesn’t hear the way her voice trembles. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t realize liking me was such a stupid idea,” Sharon says, hurt bleeding through her voice. Alaska wants to sink into the ground and die.

“No, I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” Sharon interrupts, her shoulders slumping. She looks put out - Alaska hadn’t realized how badly she wanted to go swimming. “I know what you meant.”

Alaska finally finds her phone underneath Sharon’s towel, and relief courses through her as she shoves her feet into her sandals. “I have to go,” she says, and Sharon snorts, but there’s no laughter in it.

“So you’ve said,” she says. “Have fun.”

“I will,” Alaska says, plastering fake-cheer all over herself, and she practically runs away, the image of Sharon and her closed-lipped smile, bathed in the moonlight and hair still dripping, burned into her mind.

She can’t help but feel like she’s just ruined something, but she has no idea what.

DAY FIVE OF SPRING BREAK

Alaska avoids Sharon to the best of her abilities, life threatening embarrassment making her stomach twist at even the thought of facing her after last night, but of course, she still ends up stumbling across her.

She’s getting margaritas with Willam and Courtney, which is fun only until they both reveal themselves to be wildly unsympathetic to her plight.

“So you spent two nights flirting with her,” Willam says, after giving Alaska a long, unimpressed stare when she’d finally answered Courtney’s incessant questions about her ‘date’, “only to freak out when things started to actually go somewhere.”

“Nothing was going anywhere,” Alaska snaps. “I fucked it up, and she noticed.”

“Didn’t you say you two were on a date?” Courtney asks, frowning. They move up in line. “Sounds to me like that’s what she wanted.”

“She obviously called it a date as a joke,” Alaska tells her. “I’m not stupid.”

“Debatable,” Willam says. Alaska could punch her.

“You should at least try to talk to her,” Courtney says. “You can’t just run away from her in the middle of a date and never talk to her again.”

“That shit ain’t right,” Willam agrees, and Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth.

“It wasn’t a date,” she reiterates. “And I can’t talk to her. I have no idea where she’s staying - she could be anywhere right now.”

Courtney frowns at her. “She’s right there,” she says, pointing down the beach. “I thought you’d noticed.”

Alaska follows her gaze to find Sharon and Raja in the middle of another photoshoot, this time close enough for Sharon’s feet to be in the water.

Alaska can’t look away from her.

She’s dressed in a two piece, the bottoms designed to look like high waisted blue shorts and the top a black and white pinstriped bra, cut into a sweetheart neckline that suits her perfectly. Her hair is done up in round, loose curls, spilling over her shoulders and back, and a white sailor hat sits cock-eyed at the top of her head. Her lips are painted a bright red, pulled into a pout as she salutes the camera, her other hand at her hip.

“I can’t go down there,” Alaska says, shaking her head. “I can’t go up to her and try to talk about my predatory behavior when she looks like that.”

“Predatory is one way to say it,” Willam says, and Courtney hits her on the arm. She turns to look at Alaska eagerly.

“You’re not predatory, silly,” she says. “You have a crush, and so does Sharon. Go down there and fix what you’ve broken.”

“Ouch,” Alaska says, and her stomach twists nervously at the thought of doing what Courtney tells her to. “And I can’t - she doesn’t– She doesn’t think of me like that.”

“How are you supposed to know when all you do is stare at her like some stalker?” Willam asks, and Alaska shakes her head. They reach the counter, now at the front of the line.

“I just know,” Alaska says, resisting the urge to stamp her foot with the frustration that’s bubbling up inside her. They just don’t get it. “I have, despite popular belief, actually held a conversation with her. I’m not doing it.”

“But how–”

“Welcome, ladies - how can I help you?” the cashier asks, giving them all a friendly smile. Alaska relaxes as Willam and Courtney start ordering, relieved that their interrogation is temporarily put on hold.

She sneaks a glance back at Sharon, who’s now crowded with Raja around the camera, no doubt looking at the pictures they’ve just taken. She’s sure they’re all wonderful.

Sharon’s ass looks great in those shorts.

Alaska’s never going to be able to look her in the eye again.

DAY SIX OF SPRING BREAK

“This is stupid,” Willam says. “I can’t believe how stupid you’re being right now.”

“It’s called self-preservation,” Alaska says.

They’re sitting on their blanket, sneaking glances at Raja and Sharon, in the same place they’d been for most of the week. Sharon is stunning, in an eggplant bikini that suits her pale skin, made to look like it’s been wrapped and twisted around her body. Her makeup is dark to match the suit, and she’s so hot that Alaska thinks she might die.

“Right,” Willam says drily. “Why won’t you just go talk to her?”

“Because,” Alaska sighs forlornly, her heart fluttering as Sharon’s lips twist up into a smile. “I can’t.”

Sharon’s eyes flick over to her, and her heart skips a beat. She tries not to feel hurt when Sharon immediately looks back at Raja, seemingly without giving Alaska a second thought.

“I don’t think she wants me to, anyway.”

DAY SEVEN OF SPRING BREAK

It’s not the last day of break, but it is the last day they’re on the beach, and Alaska’s plan is simple: avoid Sharon, mope around while Courtney and Willam rub their happiness in her face, and maybe sneak a peek at Sharon’s next bathing suit.

Willam, unfortunately, has never had very much respect for Alaska’s plans.

“I invited some people over,” Willam says from her spot next to Alaska on the couch, her eyes never leaving her phone. Her voice is nonchalant, but Alaska still shoots her a wary look.

“Who?”

Camping out in the Belli family’s beach house had been Alaska’s idea, a stroke of genius she’d had the previous night. She can’t seem to avoid Sharon successfully on the beach, so she’ll leave it entirely. She won’t be able to catch sight of Sharon if she’s sitting on a couch watching The Golden Girls on Willam’s enormous television.

“Raja, Jinkx,” Willam lists. “Sharon.”

Alaska’s heart does a swan dive into her stomach.

“That had better be a joke.”

Willam looks up at her. “It’s not.”

Alaska turns off the tv, turning to face Willam full-on, murder in her heart. “Willam, why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because Raja asked if she could,” Willam says, and then, “and because I thought it might be a nice opportunity for you to make out with her.”

“Willam,” Alaska hisses, panicking. “How could you?”

“You’ll be fine,” Willam says, hopping off the couch. “Though I suggest you get ready - they’ll be here in half an hour, and Sharon and Raja are coming straight from their photoshoot.”

“No,” Alaska breathes, aghast.

“Yes,” Willam says. “At least go put some mascara on. You look like you’re a hospital patient.”

“I hate you,” Alaska says, and she really feels it.

“You’re wearing pajamas,” Willam tells her. “They have ‘cunt’ printed across the ass.”

“Fuck,” Alaska says, and she stands up. “Jesus fuck, Willam!”

“It’ll be good for you,” Willam says, as Alaska races past her towards the stairs. “Courtney agrees!”

Alaska makes sure to slam the door to the bathroom extra hard.

-

Sharon arrives in a red one piece that practically screams ‘lust’, and it is the most homophobic thing to have ever happened to Alaska.

It’s wine dark and strapless, and the front of it is laced like a corset, allowing Sharon’s pale skin to peek through. The sweetheart neckline perfectly hugs her, emphasizing her full chest and her collarbone. Her lips are painted to match, her eyeshadow dark, and Alaska might go into cardiac arrest just looking at her. It’s like looking at a 15th century bar wench. Alaska wants her to pin her up against the wall and–

“We brought wine?” Raja says, her deep voice startling Alaska back into her body, and she realizes that she’s been making them wait in the doorway for a full minute.

“Great,” Alaska says, her face on fire, and she lets the two of them in, trying not to wince at the cordial smile Sharon gives her. She makes a note to kill Willam later for making her answer the door.

“You can set it on the counter,” she directs, and Sharon follows Raja into the kitchen, where Willam, Jinkx, and Courtney are waiting. Alaska lets out a breath as she closes the door, trying to decide if she’s relieved or hurt that Sharon doesn’t want to be alone with her.

She doesn’t know why Willam’s decided that this is going to be helpful in any way, but she supposes she has to deal with it, now. Deal with being around her crush who’s disgusted that she has a crush on her for who knows how long.

Not the ideal way to spend her last night on vacation.

“‘Laska!” Willam calls. “Come in here! We’re trying to decide what to play!”

Alaska sighs, steeling herself for more of Sharon’s apathy.

Fuck my life.

-

Willam, Courtney, Raja, and Jinkx all conveniently vote to play Seven Minutes in Heaven, despite Sharon and Alaska’s vehement protests and the fact that none of them have been in high school for at least three years.

They’d found an old wine bottle that Willam’s mother had filled with sand and dried flowers on an end table somewhere, and they’d emptied it, Courtney suggesting that they select the first two participants by spinning it.

Conveniently, and without any sort of finagling of Willam’s, or strategic flicks from Courtney, or purposeful nudges from Raja, the bottle lands first on Alaska, and then on Sharon.

They’ve been standing in Willam’s locked closet together in awkward silence for two minutes.

“Well,” Alaska says, when she can’t stand it anymore. She can just barely see Sharon’s face in the sliver of light coming through the bottom of the door. “This is awkward.”

Sharon shifts, and Alaska blushes as her hand accidentally brushes the side of Sharon’s thigh, snapping her hand back quickly. Sharon sighs, sounding annoyed. Guilt twists into Alaska’s stomach at the sound. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

There’s a pause. “Clearly,” Sharon says, and though her voice is light, there’s an edge of bitterness to it that twists into Alaska like a knife.

“I’m being serious,” she says, desperate to make Sharon at least understand that she’s not trying to force herself on her. “I didn’t ask Courtney to kick the bottle like that.”

“I know, Alaska,” Sharon says, and she only sounds more irritated. Alaska winces.

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance these past few days! They just won’t let it go, even though I–”

“I know,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska slams her jaw shut, jumping a little. “You made that perfectly clear on Thursday. I don’t need to be reminded.”

Alaska scrambles to appease her, guilt making her feel ill. “But I–”

She suddenly stops herself, her brain finally processing Sharon’s words and coming up with only a series of question marks. “What?”

“You’re not interested in me,” Sharon says, and she sounds upset. “I get that. But believe it or not, it hurts when someone tells you they can’t stand to think of you like that repeatedly. Especially when–” she cuts herself off, inhaling quickly. Alaska feels hope flutter through her like a butterfly, though she tries to crush it as soon as it comes. What if-?

“Especially when what?” Alaska probes gently, and she lightly touches Sharon’s arm, trying not to let her heart pound too hard as she does.

“Jesus Christ,” Sharon says, but she sounds defeated. “This is embarrassing.”

Alaska’s hope spikes. “Sharon?”

“Only because I can make sure we never see each other again,” Sharon says, voice threatening. “And only because if I’m going to tell you, it’s going to be while we’re playing a game I didn’t think I’d even hear about ever again.” She pauses, and Alaska waits, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“I have a crush on you,” Sharon says eventually, her voice quiet and a little shaky. “But, only like, a tiny one - it isn’t a problem, I swear. I won’t make it awkward.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, in which Alaska stares at Sharon, numb with shock.

Then, happiness comes bursting in.

Alaska lunges forwards to kiss Sharon, unable to wait for any longer, pure, disbelieving joy flooding her body with adrenaline. Sharon’s lips are soft and warm, and she makes a muffled noise of surprise against Alaska’s mouth, freezing up underneath her hands.

She lightly pushes Alaska away, and Alaska goes willingly, panic shooting through her like lightning. “Sharon, I’m so sorry, that was unc–”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Sharon says, her eyes wide. “You told me on the beach that the idea was ridiculous.”

Alaska stares at her for a moment, speechless. It’s like Sharon’s just shown her a sports replay where she’d fumbled the ball and then blamed it on the player who’d thrown it to her. “That’s because I was scared,” she says after a moment. “I thought you were disgusted.”

“Disgusted?” Sharon repeats, disbelieving laughter bubbling over her words. “Alaska, that’s possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Rude,” Alaska says, but she’s too elated to really feel it. She’d been so stupid - Sharon likes her. Sharon has a crush on her. It’s too good to be true.

“So the swimming suits really were working?” Sharon asks, and this time, it’s Alaska’s turn to laugh disbelievingly.

“Were you distracting me on purpose?” she asks, half shrieking, and Sharon grins that bright grin again.

“At first? No. But when I saw how you were looking at me at Raja’s party…”

“Evil!” Alaska cries. “I can’t believe I ever had a crush on someone so cruel! I’m–”

Sharon cuts her off with another kiss, and Alaska melts into it, sighing as Sharon’s fingers come up to thread through her hair, somehow managing to avoid its tangles. She slides her hands around Sharon’s waist, pulling her closer so that they’re pressed up against each other, relishing in the feeling of Sharon’s warmth all along her body.

She moans as Sharon deepens the kiss, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and the ocean. She hums, pleased, and Sharon pushes her forwards so that she’s flat against the narrow wall, sliding her hands down, down, down, over her breasts and her stomach and coming to rest on the waist of her jean shorts.

Alaska breaks off the kiss with a gasp, already squirming with pleasure. “Jesus Christ,” she breathes, and Sharon grins, giving her another quick peck on the lips.

“You want this?” she asks, her voice husky, and it goes straight to Alaska’s panties.

“Yes,” she says. “Plea–”

A loud knock on the closet door has them flying apart, and Alaska tries desperately to will the flush away from her cheeks as they hear the lock being undone.

The door swings open, and Alaska squints her eyes against the sudden brightness and Willam’s smirk.

“Seven minutes are up,” she says, looking them both up and down. “Would you two like to request more time?”

“No,” Alaska snaps, just as Sharon says, “Yes.” She flushes at the contradiction.

Willam eyes them smugly. Alaska wants to kill her. “I’ll let you two figure it out,” she says, taking a step back. “There’s chips downstairs for when you guys want to replenish your energy.”

“Fuck off, Willam,” Sharon says, and Willam smirks.

“Sure,” she says, and then she’s out of the room before Alaska can hit her like she wants to.

“I hate her,” Alaska says, and Sharon grabs her hand, giving her a sweet smile. Alaska’s heart melts.

“I love her,” Sharon says. “She’s the reason I can do this.”

Alaska rolls her eyes, although the smile she can’t help splitting across her face takes away its edge. “Fine,” she says. “But I still hate her. I’ve never been so stressed in my life.”

Sharon’s grin morphs into a sly smile, and she tugs Alaska back towards her, arranging her hand so that it rests on her waist. “I think I know a way to relieve some of that.”

Alaska raises an eyebrow, a thrill running through her as she steps closer. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I think I’d prefer to show you,” Sharon says, and then she pulls Alaska in for another searing kiss, and Alaska melts completely.

Thank god for bathing suits, and thank god for Willam.

#rpdr fanfiction #shalaska #background witney #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #willam belli #courtney act #raja gemini #freyja #lesbian au #fluff #humor #teeny tiny angst #summer lovin' 2020 #day 1: bathing suit #submission

[kackmack]

Fake Smile

Chapter 3

Friday 

“Now for the final fight of the night, We’ve got two outstanding ladies! Standing on the right side we’ve got MANNON OF THE BLACK BEAKS. And on the left we have AELIN THE FIRE BRINGER!” The announcer roared through the speakers.

Bouncing on her toes Aelin looked out to the audience. Mannon must have some kind of following because tonight’s tournament was abnormally crowded.

Kick boxing has always been Aelins escape, her little piece of sanity no matter how fucked up her life is, when she put on those gloves she was no longer Aelin. Even though it was her horrible foster father who forced her to have this physical outlet for his own gain in bets, she didn’t care, she loved it. Aelin loved the feeling of being completely submersed in the fight.

Staring at Mannon, Aelin let the killing calm consume her. As the bell rang.

Mannon striked first with right hand dead strait coming to Aelins face, Aelin dodged at the very last second and the hit whipped Aelins long braid. With Mannon leaving her right side open, Aelin flung her leg straight to Mannons rib cage causing her take a step back. Mannons face went into a feral smile and her left hook caught Aelin by surprise as it went across her face.

Aelin didn’t let the hurt show as she swung and the impact to Mannons right eye was glorious.

On the Fifth and last round, Aelin could feel her limbs start to shake lightly in protest, Mannon has been giving a good show and quit an equal fight, the winner could be either one at this point.

Mannon had just landed a harsh kick to Aelins stomach when the seconds were winding down, on sheer desperation of being hunched over with one hand gripping her stomach, Aelin punched upward, giving Mannon an uppercut that sent her to the ground.

The bell rang and the crowd went crazy, howling and stomping filled the gym.

Aelin didn’t even feel Dorians father grip her arm and throw it up in a victory stance.

“Well there you have it ladies and gentleman. The winner is AELIN THE FIRE BRINGER”

Stumbling out of the ring, Dorain caught her arm and put his face to her ear to whisper something that she didn’t hear at all, causing her to give him a quizzical look.

Dorian didn’t say anything else as he led her to the locker room, Aelin could have sworn she saw a familiar tall silver haired man in a hoodie, from the corner of her eye but she refused to think anything of it.

Entering the locker room Dorian laughed and said “What I was trying to say is, did you want to wait for me to get your winnings together tonight or come back in the morning?

“Well how long would I have to wait here tonight?” Aelin asked.

“Few hours. At latest I’ll be done by around 1 am” Dorian answered.

“Uhh no I’m starving” Aelin laughed as he ungloved her. “Plus its best I don’t walk around with money too late at night”

“Oh by the way, your win tonight is going to bring in a lot of popularity to the gym…. Apparently you just broke Mannons 13 running winning streak.” Dorain said as he exited of the locker room.

Aelin couldn’t help her smirk as she walked out of the gym and made her way to her favorite 50s diner around the corner.

Walking out of  the gym, she heard shouting from behind her, trying her best to ignore it, Aelin increased her pace.

“Hey Bitch”

“Hey Bitch”

“You stupid little bitch, I’m talking to you”

Aelin started to sprint when a large hand gripped her arm and yanked her to the alley.

Aelins head was slammed to the brick wall as three men crowded her.

“Do you know how much money you cost me, bitch?”

Aelin started thrashing against the arms holding her back. She tried, she really did try to keep her mouth shut “Shouldn’t of bet on the wrong horse”

The man laughed low scratchy sound that sounded terrible. “Wrong horse? Mannon has been a sure thing for months. That last punch was illegal and you know that”

“The ref didn’t think so” Aelin answered.

“That’s just because your fucking his son sweet heart”

Aelin thrust her face forward connecting with his. He grunted as he yelled “You fire breathing bitch”.

He followed that with three punches to her face and one hard to her stomach.

Aelin started to whimper with pain and the man smiled.

“What? Can’t fight out of the ring with no gloves?” he said smugly.

“Well have your men let go of me and take me on like a real man” Aelin said through her teeth.

“No I don’t think so.”

Aelin didn’t see the following punch to her stomach.

She let her head hang low and he gripped her jaw up to look at him. At that Aelin spat all the blood that was pooling in her mouth, strait to his face.

One of the men holding her back lifted her up and slammed her to the payment.

Aelins air was knocked completely out of her.

Aelin heard footsteps and she turned her head slightly to see a tall figure running towards her, the man attacked the three men and she didn’t see or hear the rest.

………..

Earlier that day

“Mr. Whitethorn”

“Yes Remelle” Rowan said to his secutary, shifting his face from the computer to meet her eyes, Remelle seemed to blush slightly.

“Mauve is on line one, says its argent.”

“Thank you, Remelle” Rowan said as she left his office.

Rowan couldn’t help but sigh inwardly as he picked up the phone to his boss.

“Rowan, I need you to go to the other side of town and meet up with Rolfie, He’s thinking of pulling his investments and I need you to be…. convincing”

Rowan gritted his teeth as he said “Isn’t that Graviel or Vaughans job?”

“Yes but they are both out of town, Lorcan is a little too tough and Fenrys charm won’t work with Rolfie, he’s a little prickly in that way.” Mauve answered quick.

“Yes mam. I’ll be on my way”

Few hours later, Rowan was walking out of Rolfe’s office, infuriated at how long that negotiation took, he knew Mauve was selling him short by saying prickle.

Rowan was two minutes short of shoving his face to the table when he finally agreed.

Walking down the street, Rowan was trying to let his anger ease before he headed back to the office when something caught his attention

It was the girl. The girl from the French restaurant, her picture was in front of some small gym. Being promoted for some fighting competition tonight against a white haired woman.

Her face looked angry, angry enough to look years older which is why Rowan almost didn’t recognize her until he read “Aelin the fire bringer”. Rowan didn’t know why he laughed, maybe it was the fact that he realized he missed judged her, or because this poster did indeed surprise him.

That night, Rowan didn't know why he was at this gym. He didn't know why he decided against his better judgement to come to the competition. For some odd sick curiosity, Rowan needed to see the fire ball fight.

Standing in the corner in a black hoodie, Rowan tried his best to blend in with the men crowding the ring. He knew he would have to wait awhile before she fought because her being headliner meant she's the last fight of the night.

Finally he saw her bouncing in with a smile as people surrounded her walk to the ring.  

Rowan watched as Aelin was on her toes waiting for the announcers to finished. He noticed that she was in a long sleeve dry fit shirt and shorts showing her long lean tan legs, compared to the white haired girl with a small sports bra and tiny shorts.

As the fight started, Rowan didn't realize he was indeed on his toes watching her every move as she twisted her body and swung, nimble as a cat as she dodged and struck.

Hes never seen people fight with such grace, even with his past in the marines, fighting was always rough but she.... she looked like she was dancing. 

On the last round his nerves were high and his heart was beating fast as the seconds were winding down. He could tell the fight could go either way until Mannon struck hard to Aelins stomach. It almost felt like she struck him because he could feel the blow.

Next thing he knew Aelin struck upward and Mannon was on the floor. The Crowd went crazy around him as they crowned her victor. 

As Aelin stumbled out of the ring, a man held her and Rowan could have sworn he kissed her cheek while leading her out of the gym. Rowan didn't want to acknowledge the pang of jealousy. 

When Rowan was finally able to get out of the gym, he heard some commotion from the other side of the street, he wanted to ignore it, he wanted be on his way but the moment he heard a grunt and a body hit the floor, with blonde hair whipping in the air and hitting the ground he couldn't stop him self from running to her. He couldn't stop himself from flinging his body towards the men to get them off of her. 

Authors note: Okay i really tried not to jump between scenes this time. I hope its better to read. Its my first time switching perspectives hopefully its understandable. 

tags @flowersinvegas @shadowstar2313 @heir2chaos @heymichelle360 @aelinchocolatelover @captain-timetraveldreamer @nish247

#rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver #rowaelin #rowanaelin #tog #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #tog fanfic #throneofglass

[writingwithadinosaur]

“V-Day Reunion” - Part 1

“V-Day Reunion” - Part 1

My Masterlist - Here

My Kingsman Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Word Count: 1,119

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Emotions, Violence, Cursing. Let me know if I missed anything, please!

Summary: You and Eggsy were each other’s go-to for everything. But when a robbery goes wrong, you are given a chance to restart. In doing so, you have to say goodbye to your old life. That is, until even more shit hits the fan.

Author’s Note: I had a rough night one night in November and ended up rewatching Kingsman to help take my mind off of things. Then I got this idea at work the next day and thought it would be a really cool idea! Hopefully, you guys enjoy it!

Huge shout out to the ever beautiful, @witchymarvelspacecase , for beta reading this and being a wonderful person! Please go check out her work as well! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Life was shit. But your band of misfits made it more manageable.

You had known Brandon in secondary school. The two of you had talked a handful of times and were always friendly to one another, but never gotten close until recently. You were sitting at your usual bar stool at the pub a year or so ago as he was drinking with his friends. He recognized you sitting alone at the bar, waltzed on over, offered you a seat at their table, and the rest was history.

You didn’t realize that that table of noisy, and sometimes immature dickheads, would become your go-to group for anything you needed. Ryan, Jamal, and Brandon were the three older brothers you wish you had had growing up.

Eggsy, however, was different.

People like Eggsy Unwin were a rare find, and you were forever thankful that the two of you connected as well as you did.

It started with going to the pub with your boys. Then it turned into you and Eggsy talking more (to no surprise of the rest of the gang.) Which lead to many jokes, and jabs at you two while the two of you fell hard for each other.

You both had major baggage, but you accepted every bit of each other, and did your best to work towards a life together. You were the one that helped patch Eggsy up when Dean used him as his personal punching bag, or if Dean’s lackeys ever fucked around with him. And Eggsy was the one that you went to when you needed to run away; when your mother’s verbal abuse got too much to handle on your own. When your own mind started turning on you, Eggsy was the one that you called. As soon as he heard you weren’t okay, he was on his way to meet you wherever you were to help.

Because you two had each other, you both learned enough street smarts to know how to survive. You were skilled at blending in, making yourself just another face in the crowd, and sleight of hand. You also had quite the knack for hacking. Computers, mobiles, security systems, the whole nine yards. Eggsy was skilled in more physical things like free-running and a bit of fighting. Together, you taught each other, and got away with some impressive (and illegal) things. As much as you loved Eggsy, he just couldn’t get a grasp on the technological aspect like you could, so you were the main hacker if your guys ever needed one.

You both were smart enough to limit how illegal your activities were. You preferred to keep it to petty thefts, pickpocketing, graffiti, and the occasional gambling. You knew that if you did anything that involved high priced items, you had a high chance of getting fucked over.

You thought you wouldn’t have to worry about even the idea of a high-end robbery, until Brandon brought up the idea to the boys one night at the pub.

“I’m just sayin’, if you could use your magic fingers and get into their computer system, you could steal more than just the cash!”

“Yeah. You know how much money one of them suits go for in that store?” Jamal chimed in, directing his question to you in particular. “£3,000. I don’t even know how ridiculous their ties are in there.”

“First of all, never say ‘magic fingers’ when talkin’ to me ever again, ya fuckin’ creep. Second, that’s a stupid amount of money for a fuckin’ suit.” Everyone chuckles, but Brandon doesn’t let the idea die.

“(Y/N/N), imagine how much they got in their account if they sell shit like that.” You roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, taking a long swig of your drink. You look to Eggsy to try to have some sort of sanity come back into the conversation. His eyes are looking at Jamal and Brandon as if he was considering what they were saying.

“Eggsy! You can’t seriously be thinkin’ about this! This whole idea is fuckin’ mental!” Eggsy looked at you, then to his drink, then reached out to take your hand in his.

“It’s mental, but it could work. I mean, look at the shit we’ve done already.”

“What we’ve done already has been small-scale shit. This would be massive.”

“And that is what we’re sayin’, bruv!” Brandon tapped the table in front of you. “It would be massive! We could all be properly set for at least the next few months!”

“Or something could go wrong and we get fucked! And not in the good way!” You counter, thinking about the possibility of getting caught in a job like that.

“That sounds like somethin’ more up Eggsy’s alley, (Y/N/N). Don’tcha think?” Ryan piped in. You quickly send a strong smack to his arm as everyone else laughed it off.

“Shut up. You all know what I mean. We haven’t done anythin’ like this. If something goes wrong--”

“But what if everythin’ goes right?” Eggsy interrupted you. You just gave him a look that questioned what the hell he was thinking before he continued. “C’mon, babe. It would be just like any other. We just take a few more steps to cover our asses and we’re good. And we can’t do this without you.”

“Yeah. It really would only take one or two of us plus you, (Y/N/N). You’re the only one that knows all that smart techie shit. We have no chance if you ain’t in.”

You looked into your glass and watched the liquid inside as you thought about what the hell the guys are talkin’ about.

“They really would be fucked without me. But this isn’t some petty shit, this is high-end, silver-spoon, could-spend-a-lot-of-time-in-jail, type of shit. One or all of us could be fucked and sent to jail. But if everything actually went right… All of us could be set. Eggsy and I could try to get away from the bullshit at home. But what if…”

Your mind couldn’t stop playing all of the “what if” scenarios, both good and bad. The boys kept talking about the idea, but you weren’t listening. It wasn’t until Eggsy gave your hand a squeeze that your mind came back to the conversation in front of you.

“Whaddaya say, (Y/N/N)? You in?”

You looked around the table to find everyone’s eyes on you, awaiting your answer. Meeting Eggsy’s eyes, you took a deep breath in and finished the last of your drink in one gulp.

“If we’re doing this, we’re bein’ smart about it. No jokes, no oversights. We plan this out, and we stick to that plan.”

Tags - @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @witchymarvelspacecase @theeactress @thomasstanleyhoelland @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @hbknati

#kingsman imagine #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman fic #kingsman fandom #kingsman fanficiton #eggsy x reader #eggsy imagine #eggsy unwin imagine #eggsy fic #eggsy unwin fanfiction #gary unwin x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfictions

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “On the Two” (Chapter 1/9) (au)

Summary: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Rating: E 

Content Warnings: Borderline alcoholism, very brief mentions of past relationships, mentions of the loss of a limb - this fic is primarily tame but I’ll do my best to tag anything that might need tags. 

Chapter Specific Warnings: Alcohol use, past injury mentions

A/N: Holy. Shit. I’ve finally found a minute to post chapter 1. Hoping to stick to a Thursday schedule for posting, and I can’t wait for you all to see this unfold. 

I have to give shoutouts and love to three very important people to this process. @initiala sent this over a year ago:  look i know you're busy and have a lot of fics, but just hear me out: CS Dirty Dancing AU. So. Now you know who to blame/thanks, like I’ve been doing! To @phiralovesloki for the heaps of emotional support and handholding when I needed it. I can’t imagine my life without you in general, let alone my writing process. And of course, my beta, my dancing expert, my sanity: @captainstudmuffin. Thanks for all you do for me, from proofreading to slapping me into action. I’m sure we’re even on boob punches... for now. 

Catch it on FFN & Ao3!

Welcome to Camp Hope!

About Us

Years ago, Ruth Nolan operated these camp grounds as a haven for children to explore the fruits of the Earth and come into their own. For fifteen years, she oversaw the summers of thousands of children, all in need of the room to grow and eager to learn the skills of the outdoors.

In honor of Ruth’s hard work, we’ve re-opened the camp to those who still want to learn about the wilderness, explore the rich terrain that this coastal Maine property has to offer, and take the classes you’ve maybe not had time to take in the past. It’s not all outdoors, either! Our staff is composed of very talented individuals that are available to teach you almost anything, from dancing to the arts, yoga and fitness routines, as well as anything you’d expect from the average camp of summers past. You’ll enrich your body and mind and connect in ways you never have before!

A summer camp for adults may seem like an outdated or unconventional thing, but here at Camp Hope, we aim to improve the memories you may have of summer camps long past, or make new ones if this is your first time. Plus, now is your chance to try things like zip-lining without getting a consent form signed! There are plenty of perks to trying new things when you’re old enough to decide for yourself.

Please check our FAQs and pricing packages; your stay can be as short as a week or as long as the whole summer. Our accommodations range from your own private cabin to our brand new, hotel-style lodgings. We welcome you, and hope you’ll enjoy your experiences!

Sincerely,

Snow and David Nolan

Owners, Camp Hope Ltd.

-x-

Sifting through the mail on his table, Killian tosses the pamphlet for some kind of camping place into the stack to be thrown away. It joins the myriad of advertisements and coupons that he doesn’t bother to look at or ever use. Besides, if it’s a camp marketed towards adults, it’s likely something religious or a thinly veiled addiction recovery facility, and while he’s probably edging along the lines of alcoholism, he’s damn well not there yet.

There’s roughly a week’s worth of mail here, as it’s been a couple days since he’s even thought to check his mailbox, but he’s sure Liam will be up his arse any day here to go over his finances. If he makes it look like he’s been keeping things in order, Liam is less likely to give him his Worried Brother speech this month.

He sips at his coffee, pausing just a moment to pop two painkillers before resuming his sorting. When he’s hungover, the phantom pain where his left hand should be is stronger, and today is no exception to that. He hasn’t bothered to put on his prosthetic, content instead to leave it off until he has to go into public.

Days like this, though, he has nothing but time to mindlessly sift through his queue and get day-drunk. It’s been ages since Killian can remember going more than two or three days without a drink. That doesn’t stop him from unscrewing the top of his favorite brand of rum when he pours the second cup before he settles in to watch Netflix. He sprawls across the couch, happy as he ever can be to live off the settlement over the accident that cost him his hand.

There’s a bar down the street that he visits when he needs personal interaction, and if he’s lucky there might even be a woman willing to help with even more personal interactions. That’s what last night had been – him in the bar until closing, a brunette that he can’t remember the name of giggling as she pulled him towards her car. A short while later, a cab brought him home, alone, with a little less dignity than he had before.

The sound of a key in the door announces Liam’s arrival before the man himself calls out a greeting, and Killian is minimally glad for the distraction from the road of self-pity and/or loathing that he was about to embark down. He knew there was a good reason to starting his sorting today. He stashes the bottle of rum beneath the coffee table again, running his fingers through his hair real quick to tame it down.

“Ah, you are awake. Excellent. I thought we’d set your bills straight, and maybe head out for some lunch. Breakfast? What meal are you on?”

“Let’s just call it brunch. Eat first, bills second,” Killian declares, sending his spiked coffee one forlorn look as he realizes he’ll have to go get dressed and act like a responsible adult for a few hours. He takes one more gulp before taking the mug to the kitchen to dump it out.

He’s in his room for just over five minutes, using food as a motivator to get him out the door sooner. The shirt is mostly wrinkle free, and he thinks the jeans he slides on are clean, so he’s at least presentable and won’t have to deal with Liam’s tongue-clicking. He makes sure to snag his sunglasses off the entryway table before ushering his brother out the door. Had he taken much longer, Liam surely would’ve declared that the bills looked quick or manageable, and they’d take ‘just a minute more’ to complete. As it is, he can see his piles have been tampered with, straightened and organized to his brother’s preferences, as he glances back on his way out; he timed it just perfectly.

Halfway through eating, Liam takes a sip from his water before placing it back on the table, steepling his fingers as he rests his hands on the table. “I’ve just had a thought,” he says in a way that really gives away that he’s been sitting on this for a while now. “How would you like to get out of town for a while?”

“When? How long?” Killian asks, preoccupied by the task of trapping all the toppings on his sandwich. He hates using his prosthetic to eat, doing his best instead to wrangle the whole thing with his right hand while his left arm stays beneath the table.

“Over the summer? We could make an adventure of it. Maybe go back home, visit the relatives. It’s not like you’re doing anything here. As my own boss, I can afford to take some time off. We go, we live a little, return in the fall as new men. What do you say?”

The prospect of getting out of the city, away from everything that holds painful memories for him, does sound appealing. Spending the whole time with his brother, however, tarnishes it just a touch. It’s not that he doesn’t love his brother, but Liam has a tendency to be… a little overbearing.

Of course, for a long time after Killian’s accident, Liam probably had every right to be. He’d just lost a hand, for fuck’s sake. Coming just after the loss of his fiancée probably didn’t help, either, but Killian was deep in a hole of depression for so long he wasn’t sure he was ever going to see the surface again. Now, he’s not so much depressed as he is resigned to this life, unemployed due to disability, living off the accident settlement, and drinking away his feelings as often as possible without officially becoming an alcoholic.

The thing is, Liam’s overprotective shadowing of Killian’s life is nothing new. He’s been this way for as long as Killian can remember, and since Killian can only half remember a handful of instances with either their mum or their dad, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that Liam feels more like Killian’s father than his older brother. Still, every bird has to fly the nest sometime.

And Killian did for a bit. He flew, and was so close to having everything he wanted in his life – a job doing a craft he loved, a woman that he intended to marry and grow a family and home with, and still the taste for adventure on the tip of his tongue if he ever chose. But all good things come to an end, in his experience.

First was Milah’s passing. Her brief but destructive illness soaked up all their life savings, leaving Killian with a broken heart and empty pockets. He didn’t care about the money, and why should he? He lost the reason he was saving it in the first place. He could earn it all again, but he’d never have Milah back. And then, shortly after, as he helped wrap up a custom boat build for a wealthy client, something went wrong. He still doesn’t remember exactly what happened, just that one minute he had a left hand, and the next he didn’t; it really was that simple.

“I’ll think about it,” Killian finally says, abandoning the hand-held option for his food and dropping it back into the basket it came in. He stabs at the pieces of it with his fork and considers the offer. He will think about it, too; he’s not just saying so to change the conversation back to footy and traffic patterns. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten away. He’s set for life on a permanent vacation if he so chooses, but a change of scenery would be welcome at this juncture of his life.

The idea marinates all while they finish their meal, and the whole walk back to Killian’s apartment. He’s so hung up on the possibilities involved that he doesn’t even complain as they sit down with his meager stack of bills. He signs when he’s told to do so, with no remarks about the tedium of the task while they work.

By the time the afternoon is wrapping up, Killian has made up his mind. As Liam stamps the last of the bills and puts Killian’s checkbook back where it resides, Killian speaks up. “I’ve thought about your offer to get away for the summer. Might not be such a bad idea, after all.” He keeps his tone light, nonchalant, hoping that Liam won’t catch on that it’s something he might genuinely be excited about for the first time in longer than he can recall.

“Excellent. Leave all the planning to me,” Liam says as he stands and throws the trash into the bin. “I’ll send you a packing list when I’ve finalized the plans and we can meet up again to get everything squared away for a couple months out of town.”

With a shrug, Killian extracts himself from the couch in order to see his brother out since all their business is complete. In his distracted state, he misses the gleeful look on Liam’s face; it’s an expression his brother was infamous for as they were growing up and meant that Killian was about to be served a life-lesson, and he likely wasn’t going to enjoy it very much. But he’s so lost in his thoughts about all the places they may go – both familiar and new – that he bids his brother goodbye and settles back in for his slightly interrupted day of Netflix.

He doesn’t even slip more rum into his glass until after he’s had his dinner.

-x-

Emma Swan is just as much a part of Camp Hope as the camp is part of her. For the last fourteen years, Emma has been making the journey of varying lengths back to the campgrounds; it’s something a lot like flocking home for the summer, and she’s made the trip from right in Storybrooke – the tiny town closest to the camp – and from as far as Tallahassee, all those years ago.

This year, she’s traveling from just outside Boston along with her roommate, Ruby. While the stories of their upbringings are vastly different, Emma and Ruby have been two peas of a pod since Emma’s first trip.

Back then, she was journeying to Camp Hope as part of a foster kid outreach program. It was two glorious weeks that she and twenty-some other foster kids got to go to someplace new, rather than waste away in a group home or get shipped off to bible camp again. She was fourteen, and while some of the crafts and activities were aimed at kids much younger than her, she still sat at the table and made bracelets, tie-dyed a shirt and bandana, and participated in capture the flag with water balloons like it was her first time, but that’s mostly because it was.

At the campfire that night, Ruby plopped down next to her, showing her the “right” way to toast marshmallows and offering to put red streaks in Emma’s hair so they could match.

Emma passed on the streaks, but the next day when Ruby dragged her to a special meeting for future counselors, it was all history from there. More than just finding a way to spend her summers that didn’t involve wallowing in her own loneliness and isolation, Emma met David Nolan during the counselors program. Upon picking up bits and pieces about her, David decided to introduce Emma to his mother. As soon as Ruth met Emma, she was set on bringing her on as a permanent fixture in their lives.

Having previously thought that she’d never find a place that wanted her, a place that wanted someone old by foster standards and jaded beyond reason, Emma was shocked. Not only was she wanted, she was loved. Despite the three year age difference, and the short time they’d been together, David became her best friend and brother, with Ruby a close second.

There was a shared passion of dancing between Emma and Ruby, and when they weren’t raking in the volunteer hours during the summer, they were saving every penny they earned from their respective guardians to take dance lessons one town over. And that’s the way it went until they graduated.

Remembering what happened after graduation always leaves Emma with a pit of shame in her stomach that feels a lot like indigestion, so when she wanders to the kitchen, she pops two antacids before starting up the coffee maker. It used to be worse, but time heals all, even wounds that don’t feel like they’ll ever scab over.

It’s time for their annual trip back, just two days away, and Emma has too much to do to spend her morning in a guilt trip over things that happened in the past. Instead, she wanders down the hallway to get Ruby up. There’s a whole list for her friend to complete today, and she’s pretty sure she’s also battling with a hangover from being out too late the night before.

She knocks, only twisting the knob and entering the room after hearing the faint groan of invitation. “Hey there, champ. Good morning!”

Ruby groans again, struggling to push her eye mask off her face and groping for the pain killers and water on her nightstand. She’s one of those drinkers that’s always considerate to her morning self – something Emma has always been in awe of. “You’re not the morning person, stop sounding so chipper,” Ruby instructs after drinking down half the water. She hauls herself to sit up, patting the edge of her bed for Emma to sit down. “What’s on your Snow-style agenda for the day?”

“I’m going to clean. You’re going to wrap up the sub-let on the studio space. Graham is supposed to be down there around noon, so you’ve got time, but I need you to grab the costumes we’ll need for performance nights.” She leaves Ruby to get herself out of bed, and calls out that she’ll get breakfast started.

“Don’t break the toaster!” Ruby calls from behind door that Emma closes on her way out, and while Ruby can’t see Emma rolling her eyes, she knows her friend will sense it. It was one time.

Leaving for Camp Hope has always been a little tumultuous for them, but after this many years, Emma thinks they’ve gotten a little better at it. There were a few years where they weren’t going back to work camp, and those are the years that make Emma’s heart ache most – more than the year she refuses to think about.

They closed the camp when Ruth’s health suddenly declined the year after the year-that-shall-not-be-named, and Emma and David only made the journey every week to tend the growing weeds and mend the deteriorating buildings the best they could. With Ruby’s help, they were able to keep the camp from falling apart, but the same couldn’t be said for them. Ruth passed the winter after Emma turned twenty, and she lost the closest thing to a mother she’d ever found.

Luckily, they had one more to hold their family unit together. A year after Emma met him, David met Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known to her friends as Snow, and Emma got to witness fairytale levels of Love at First Punch between them. Down the road, the wedding was a bit rushed, so that Ruth could watch her son get married. Years after the quick engagement and marriage saw them going stronger than ever.

For two years, the camp remained closed, but David and Snow, thanks to an off-hand comment from Emma, decided to reopen the beloved summer camp as an experience for adults. It took a whole other year until they could renovate everything up to standards, but it was worth it. The first year they opened again, it was so profitable and the waitlist was so long that they were easily able to expand and enhance the experiences.

Shaking her head, Emma realizes she’s spending way too much time reflecting and not enough time moving. Down the hall, she hears Ruby’s water start up, and knows she has until the time the taps shut off to get that woman some hangover worthy breakfast. Pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she takes three deep, scalding gulps to get herself going.

She’s just plating up some eggs and bacon, snatching a bagel from the toaster so Ruby can construct her own breakfast sandwich when the roommate in question comes ambling into the kitchen.

This is Emma’s favorite version of Ruby. Stripped of her makeup, without a product in the world in her hair post-shower, wearing an old t-shirt and boxers for her pajamas. Her usual persona is an elaborate mask, with the heavy makeup and killer manicure, flirtation just as exposed as her long, lean legs normally are. The short shorts and low-cut tops are standard everywhere but at home. That’s the Ruby that will likely crawl into her car bright and early in a couple days, but today she’s happy to spend time with average Ruby, and she’s happy when she does not break the toaster again. There are small miracles, after all.

When both of them are settled at the breakfast bar with their food, they start talking strategy, both in prep for leaving and for camp itself.

“Are the costumes for the Waltz demo here or at the studio?” Emma asks as she alternates sips of coffee and bites of her pop-tart.

“The studio, I think. I’ll grab them when I meet with Graham and lock up everything else of ours.”

“Good. Don’t sleep with him this time, okay?”

“No promises,” Ruby says, a wicked grin spreading across her lips even as she tries to hide it behind her coffee mug.

At the very least, they might get a deal on the rent again, which is the only consolation Emma can think of. The rest of their day is a whirlwind, with Ruby taking care of the studio and Emma tidying up their apartment. She packs the bulk of their non-perishable foods to take with them, cleaning as she goes, until the whole kitchen is spotless. She also takes the time to write down the instructions and emergency numbers for Aurora, their downstairs neighbor that’s been kind enough to take care of their plants and fish while they’re gone.

It’ll be weeks until either one of them can make it back to the city, if they do at all, but Emma doesn’t mind. While she loves Ruby and living in the city, she gets her own cabin for the summer. They converted one of the old lodges into a dance/yoga studio, located just a short walk along the west trail from the main lodge. Behind said studio, they relocated one of the cabins and refurnished the whole place to act as the dance director’s housing for the summer. Thankfully, Ruby likes to throw herself into a multitude of activities, so she bunks in the staff cabins up the hill and leaves Emma to have her solitude.

Mostly, all that means is that no one will know that she’s in the studio putting in extra hours. Maybe this will be the year she can quit hunting down bail skippers and be able to focus on nothing but dancing. She can always dream, at least.

Ruby stops in only briefly to drop off a case of their costumes and check in, taking the time to change into a date dress and do her hair and make-up. She gives Emma a wink before she leaves and tells her not to wait up, before disappearing in a flurry of stiletto clicks and perfume. She doesn’t get home until late, when Emma is already tucked in her bed hoping to fall asleep. Her friend is humming and heads straight for the shower.

Emma’s not a bit surprised two days later when Ruby announces that Graham decided to pay more than they originally negotiated, and laughs at the wolfish grin on Ruby’s face as they throw their bags into the backseat and boot of the Volkswagen Bug that Emma’s had for years. They’re actually running on time for once, but Emma doesn’t expect that to last long, especially when, after only an hour, Ruby announces that she’s famished and starts calling out the name of food places they pass.

The trip to Storybrooke, on the coast of Maine, is one of Emma’s favorites. The scenic views from Boston onward are ones she’s familiar with, but that still lift her heart. The trip is only four hours if they don’t stop, but with Ruby’s pea-sized bladder, and her bottomless stomach, it’s more likely they’ll get there in five hours… if they’re lucky.

One year, it took them almost twice as long to make the journey because Ruby was chasing down the International Cryptozoology Museum and her cheap-o GPS meant that the museum (which was on the way) eluded them for hours until Emma screeched that they were done looking and if Ruby really wanted to see it, they’d find it on the way home.

They found it on the first try on their return drive, and Ruby bought her the biggest cone of Rocky Road ice cream they could find at a nearby ice cream stand, to make up for the original disaster.

This job that they do, this ability to go up and demo and teach dances to the souls that will wander through the paths of Camp Hope, is only possible because of the popularity of the camp. The first year, Emma and Ruby would switch off every two weeks, with Ruby piling all her lessons into the two weeks she was home and Emma trying to catch ask many bail skips as possible in between her own lessons and classes. When the popularity of the camp became apparent, they were able to rent out their studio space to a few other dance teachers in the area while they took the whole summer to attend to the camp. It helps that David is able to pay them, and pay them well, for their time and energy.

Along the way, Emma has met the heartbroken and the heartbreakers, she’s met dreamers and lovers, she’s taught cynics and optimists, and she’s danced for every person in between. The two of them together have dealt with perverts and assholes, handsy men and women who don’t take “no” for an answer, and people who have gone on to contact them once the summer ends to continue their lessons in the city. It makes it all worth it, these months away from all the comforts of home, to spend their summers in another version of home.

Plus, thanks to an excellent network of friends in Boston, they never want for anything from home if they forget it. It’s all just a PayPal and overnight shipping away, really.

As Ruby climbs back into the car from their third rest stop, this thought comes in handy. “I left my favorite performance shoes by the door,” Emma groans out as her friend seatbelts in and starts the car.

“Good, because I forgot to grab my sleeping pills off my nightstand,” she says, grinning quickly and dropping the sunglasses back onto her nose.

“I’ll text Aurora now.”

With the promise of a package imminently to be sent their way, Emma relaxes as the last of their journey passes by outside the windows. She zones out to the sights, not perking up again until they hit the Storybrooke town limits. They’ll top off the tank and stop in to see Granny for lunch (second or third lunch by Emma’s count) before heading up to the campgrounds. Her car crawls by each familiar sight, and Emma smiles at the simplicity of it all – the never-changing nature of their sleepy little town. While she only officially lived in Storybrooke for three years, it’s still the only place she’s ever called home.

Granny is already outside by the curb when they pull up, and Emma takes a minute to let Ruby climb out of the car to reunite with her grandmother. It’s only after she sees their hug loosen up that she opens her door, languidly stretching as she unfolds herself from the passenger seat. Then it’s her turn for Granny to gather her up and hug her so hard that Emma’s back cracks. She won’t complain, it definitely eases the travel tension to get a hug from Granny. They’re ushered inside the small diner the elderly (and boy, would be lose her shit if Emma said that term out loud) woman has run for the last billion years.

“When should I expect the first package from your neighbor?” Granny asks after their lunches have been set in front of them.

Ruby laughs, not even ashamed of the fact that they’re so predictable that her grandmother knows they’ve already left something behind.

“We’ll be back in town over the weekend to get it,” Emma answers.

“I already saw one of the trucks of shipment head up to the campgrounds,” Granny remarks as she refills Ruby’s coffee cup. “Your brother has been up there for weeks getting everything ready.”

“Please tell me he’s at least eating.”

“Snow has badgered him back home a couple times now to eat and sleep, and she picks up meals on the days they decide to stay up there. Sounds like you’re gonna have a full camp most of the summer.”

“That’s the plan,” Ruby says, beaming before she takes the last bite of her sandwich.

Emma waves them both off when they move to go into the back for more family time. It’s not that she and Ruby don’t get to visit ever, it’s just that the stretch between Christmas and camp time can sometimes feel like much longer. The same itch resides just below her skin – the need to see her brother and sister-in-law so strong that she almost slips away before she’s done eating and leaving Ruby to hitch a ride out later with one of the counselors that lives in town.

Instead, she idly swirls her onion rings through her ketchup, taking her time with making sure every crumb is gone from the plate while she waits. She glances around, waving to the familiar faces in the booths and at the counter beside her, and she grins at the large board already propped near the entrance that loudly welcomes the campers to town. Since the grounds are two miles north of Storybrooke, many will pass through on their way. Some will stay overnight in the bed and breakfast while others will stop for a bite and a fill-up before continuing on to Camp Hope.

Thankfully, the business that the camp brings to the town will mean that the owners of most, if not all, of the establishments will have their pockets lined for months to come, making the onslaught of guests and visitors worth it when the summer ends and they go back to something less than a speck on the map of Maine.

Ruby and Granny are back a short time later, while Emma is idly catching up with a sweet yoga teacher that goes by Tink. The name is fitting of the cherub-faced woman with the perfect curly bun of blonde hair on top of her head. She’s new to the staff, but not to the town, so Emma is happy to listen to her excitement bubble over as she discusses all the classes she’ll be teaching for the next few months.

“A little help?” Ruby asks, and Emma finally glances up to see her friend’s arms laden down with several bags of what Emma assumes are home-cooked meals, prepared in advance and packaged for the crew that’s already working on getting the grounds ready for the summer. She moves around the counter to take a few of the cloth totes, waving farewell to Tink as they head out.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly; they use the main entrance to deliver the food to Snow, who’s waiting for them beneath the welcome sign when they pull up. Emma hugs her tight before transferring two of the bags to her. They make the short trek down to the main lodge where Emma gets to give her brother his own hug, tight and bracing and full of the warmth she misses when she’s away from him for so long. With lunch delivered, Ruby and Emma head back up to the car to move it to the staff parking.

The lodges they’ll each be staying in are much closer to their hidden lot than they are the main entrance, which works out well when they’re unloading enough luggage for four months, and maybe a kitchen sink or two. It takes them three trips up and down the steps leading to the lot: one to Ruby’s space in the staff lodges, one to Emma’s private lodge, and one to the studio itself.

Emma wastes no time turning on all the lights and stepping up onto the vast wooden floor. There are mirrors lining one wall, floor to ceiling, and another has all the cabinets where they store their costumes and gear. The wall opposite her reflection has windows spaced evenly apart, which she immediately starts working open even as Ruby brings in the last tote of their stuff. The air is a little stagnant, but flipping on the overhead fans will get it moving again.

Ruby drops the last container with their gear, rushing out to choose her space and start unpacking as soon as she can and promising to come back later to help get the studio in order. Emma waves her off, already itching to have the space to herself. Her muscles are practically begging to be warmed up, to take advantage of the wide open space that calls her name.

She knows she needs to clean first; the mirrors and windows all have that faint tinge of grime that comes from a long winter of neglect. The air conditioning unit needs to be tended to, as well, and tested to make sure it’s in working order before the summer starts in full. Then there’s the cleaning and organizing and stocking and… and Emma doesn’t care. She rips open the first bag she finds and pulls out leggings and a sports bra – they’ll do in a pinch. She changes quickly before skipping along the path back to the studio.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s selected something with an upbeat tempo, thankful again for the auxiliary port that allows her to play her own music from the impressive sound system. She sits on the dusty floors for a moment to slip on a beat up pair of practice shoes and lamenting again how she’ll have to turn her focus to cleaning next.

She takes her time stretching, making sure to work out all the kinks from the drive up and getting her muscles and body all warmed up. As soon as she’s on her feet, she’s running through swing patterns that she can do on her own. Through lines of sailor shuffles and slides, she dances using the whole dance studio, going from one end of the spacious floor to the other. She doesn’t get this much room in Boston. She doesn’t get this solitude. She doesn’t get this freedom. Maybe this is the real reason she loves coming back to camp so often, and there’s probably something in her psyche to deal with in those regards but it’s nothing she’s willing to look too closely into.

By the time the playlist switches to something for cooldown, Emma has worked up an impressive sweat. She grabs a towel from the same bin she found her shoes in, wiping down her face and neck before dropping back to the floor for final stretches. Placing the towel on the floor, she stretches out briefly, staring up at the ceiling and watching the fans whirl peacefully above her. This is it. This is home for the next couple months. And nothing will change how happy she is to be here.

With that thought, and a beatific smile, Emma changes back to her tennis shoes and hauls herself off the floor. There’s hours of cleaning ahead of her, after all.

Chapter 2

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #cs multichap #sarah writes ff

[starlightsoulwriting]

Chaos Theory - Chapter Three

A/N: a.skdjfg;.ewukojhdP:SLK iM SCREAMING YOU GUYS 

I'm just really excited about this story and pacing myself is really difficult when I have more than one chapter ready but like I know I need to do that in order to keep consistent updates. I'm also trying to get a job so like wish me luck with that! Let me know what you think! Am I being too cryptic? too obvious? too slow? I need some help lol.

Masterlist

Crossposted on AO3

Chapter Three: Sphinx

11:23 PM

Liana didn’t have to wait long before she was able to see the advancing swarm of androids from over a mile straight down the street, white ants getting ever closer. By the time they would reach the entrance of Recall Center 5, every human would have long since cleared out of the area, prompted to leave by the news and emergency alerts. The block was already nearly deserted, but now even the national guard and SWAT had to clear out. She would be free to move without Perkins fucking things up (again). She stood from her crouch behind the concrete rails and grabbed her things before launching down the fire escape, the cold metal burning even through her fleece-lined gloves.

The National Gaurd had already cleared away all the bodies, leaving the street blue and her soul hollow, knowing her friends had been thrown away like common trash. Stupid Perkins, stupid president. Ruined everything. Her fist curled, nails sharp enough to feel through the leather and heat bloomed in her chest, her brows furrowing. She grit her teeth, before closing her eyes and collecting herself.

Breathe in… Hold…  Breathe out…

Focus.

There’s no use dwelling on what’s already done.

Opening her eyes, she then moved to lean against one of the buildings, rummaging around in her bag, wading through the brick-a-brack in search of what she needed. It’s showtime. She just hoped her words of advice to Connor had confused him enough so he would believe her - or at least build some trust. There was no way this would work if he refused to listen. At least he was a deviant now.

A shudder ran up her spine as memories flashed at the thought of Connor’s less than pleasant machine personality. Liana could still feel the echo of mechanical hands tighten around her throat. Fuck. She smashed her balled fist against the brick behind her.

Deep Breath. Refocus.

You’re safe.

She resumed her search, heartbeat more erratic than it was just a minute ago. She finally found what she was looking for in her bag, though, and she was thankful for the distraction. She pulled out two items from her canvas duffel, a smile tugging at her lips despite the swell of nerves and anger in her stomach. Months of work and it all came down to this next few minutes. She was in the home stretch. - if this worked.

If one looked at the two items in her possession, they wouldn’t seem like anything special. Of course, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Underneath, there was previously unheard of technology hiding. They were designed in every way to blend in, just like her duffel bag was. The silver “watch” in her hand had taken considerably more time to perfect than the canvas sack, however - cramming all the same components into a much smaller package was an obstacle befitting a Genius Grant Laureate such as herself. And she had done it, eventually, after months of chugging unhealthy amounts of coffee.

Her colleagues would be so impressed when she finally got the chance to show it off.

The other object was more discreet - a thin, clear, silicone disc about the size of a dime. If looked at closely, thousands and thousands of tiny circuits could be seen, capable of holding several petabytes of code. The code had been the hard part, actually - the memory disc was a standard piece of equipment for Android Techs looking to temporarily add new code to their charge. All they had to do was press it on the androids temple, opposite their LED, and it would be integrated into their systems.

The hard part of Liana’s job had not only been finding the RK800 model’s base codes, but also working with her software team to actually make a dependable subroutine. The AI techs at Cyberlife did not make her life easy, and while that was their job, Liana couldn’t help but hold a grudge against the coding team for making her take longer than she should’ve.

Although, time-wise, the only thing at stake was Liana’s ever-thinning sanity.

All she needed to do now was to get Connor to wear them and then the rest would follow.

The truth is self-evident, if one is able to remember it.

Connor saw her waiting long before they were in speaking distance. The warehouse androids got there first, swarming the street around Liana, pulling down the barriers of the Recall Center and setting their brethren free. The sound of crunching metal was music to her ears. She leaned back on the brick, trying to appear as casual and non-threatening as possible.

Connor, however, had other ideas, and stalked towards her, head down, eyes dark and fists loosely clenched at his side. Boy was he pissed.

He was always unhappy to see her after Markus died.

“Where are the others? What happened?” He was using his interrogation voice, deliberately standing too close, looming over her smaller frame to intimidate an answer out of her. So much for that whole trusting her thing Liana was hoping for. She took a deep breath, trying to remind herself that this was Connor, and she gently pushed him away with one hand. While he was displeased, he took the hint and withdrew slightly, thank fuck. He made her nervous when he was like that. Her lungs burned again with bad memories.

She rung her hands together and steeled her nerves. “Perkins shot them. I was keeping watch on the roof,” She couldn’t meet his eyes, the intensity in his stare too much for her right then. “Even with warning, there were too many soldiers for them. Josh told me to stay put even if something went wrong. Figured if they were dying I shouldn’t go with them.” Josh was unnerved by the thought of someone dying for a cause not their own, even if they were willing. Plus, she really disliked being shot, so she didn’t exactly insist. Besides, the mission was more important than Jericho at this point, unfortunately.

Connor wasn’t any happier with her, but he understood the logic all too well, and knowing Markus and Josh, it was as likely an explanation as any.

“And how did you know what would happen at Cyberlife tower? How do I know you’re not working for them?”

Liana barked out a very inappropriate laugh despite herself. “‘Cus they fucking shot me!” She shook her head, sighing. “More than once, actually.” She looked back at Connor, guessing correctly that he would be wearing a bewildered expression. “They kinda suck.” Liana shrugged at her understatement. “Although, I have found out a thing or two in my campaign against the evil corporate overlords.” She held up the Silicon coding chip. “For one thing, I know that the Amanda program still has a direct link to your head, and since they know you’re working against them, they are going to try to hack you.” She looked him dead in the (very nice looking) eyes just so he would understand how serious she was - how much hinged on him believing her. He was wary enough of the company that she hoped he would believe her. “Now, you could take the chance to find Kamski’s emergency exit from the Zen Garden Program, or you can take this.”

She took his hand in hers and placed the chip in his palm. “It deactivates the Amanda AI, so even if Cyberlife tries to make a connection it won't go through. You don’t have to trust me on this but…” she looked at her watch. 11:29 PM. “You have three minutes until they try to take over your program and assume control of the android rebellion. You can comb through that program in less than a few seconds to see if I’m telling the truth.”

Connor’s LED went solid yellow for a few seconds, his expression blank and eyes glazing over as he processed the information. When he finished, it flashed red for a moment, before returning to a calming, stable blue. He pressed the code to his temple, letting it deactivate the proper AI subroutines. Liana smiled. Step One: complete. His gaze was focused as he searched her face, confused. “How… do you know all this, Lieutenant?”

Aw, the poor thing was used to knowing everything. She crossed her arms and leaned back on the wall, head resting on the brick so she could look at him properly. “You should just call me Liana. Hank and I won't know which one of us you're talking to if you call us both ‘Lieutenant’ all the time,” she gave a soft laugh. Connor was so formal all the time. “but as for me knowing things I shouldn’t? You should be able to figure that out on your own in a few hours, actually. If I told you right now there’s no way in hell you’d believe me, babe.” His LED blipped red again, but Liana wasn’t sure if it was because of confusion or being called ‘babe’ - from her experience, though, it was probably the pet name.

“You said the same thing at the church - that I wouldn’t believe the truth. I assure you, I’m running very low on explanations for how you know all this. I would be glad for any reasoning, however absurd.”

His expression had been steadily softening throughout the conversation until it reached the familiar puppy-dog look that Liana had sorely missed. It had been a while since she’s seen it in earnest. A bloom of warmth spread through her chest and she held back a smile, wary of confusing the poor android further. “Nah, Con, you’ll see for yourself what’s up. Meet me at the café down the block from the station. 9 o’clock on the morning of November 6th, alright? I’ll explain everything to you then.”

Connor’s LED flickered between red and yellow, and he shook his head. “That’s an entire year away, Lieu- Liana.” She just smiled at the use of her name, ignoring his protest, and presented Connor with the silver watch from her bag. Initiate step two.

“Congratulations on saving the day, Connor. I know you don’t need this to tell time, but I want you to have it. As thanks for putting the Cyberlife suits in their place.”

Connor stared at the gift, yellow blinking LED punctuating the ever-increasing silence between them. But slowly, he reached his hand out and took the watch, clipping it carefully around his left wrist. “Thank you. I’ve never received a gift before.” His voice was soft and Liana had to hold herself back again from hugging him. It was almost too much for her heart to handle.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

Focus.

She smiled gently, finishing the conversation. “I’m glad to give it, Con,” She turned her attention to the androids milling about around them and let out a chuckle. “You should probably talk to them, though, too.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, and turned away.

Suddenly, the spell over the two was broken, and Connor was back among the sea of robots around them. Step Two: complete.

As she watched him take the stage and begin his speech to the mass of machines, the clock turned over.

11:36 PM

and then they were both gone

Tags: @rk800downloading

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh oc #detroit become human connor #chaos theory #dbh connorxOC #oc #connor #chaptered #drama #sci-fi

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Glitched: Part 11 - In Your Head

Author’s Note: SURPRISE! Here it is! I FINALLY got this damn thing done, holy shit X_X I actually got only the first 2 pages done two nights ago and the other 14 tonight, but that’s beside the point.

Firstly, I apologize for just how long it took for this to come out. I was really busy with school and other things the last few weeks, plus I was having a difficult time getting this chapter started. I knew what I wanted to happen, I just didn’t know how to write it all out, you know?

Anyway, I’m not going to spoil anything, but holy fuck, I actually sacrificed my sanity writing this chapter. I’m a very squeamish person - I love horror, blood I can handle, and some gore I have my limits, but anything to do with surgical operations and hospitals and organs instantly does NOT sit right with me. I get incredibly upset and disturbed. Now of course there are different types of surgeries, and there are two in particular that scream so much NOPE to me. The first is spinal surgery, which was featured in Part 9 - that made me a squirming mess. The other one - the one I find the worst - is featured in this chapter, and I honestly have NO IDEA how the hell I wrote all of this, I really don’t. If I have nightmares tonight, I have myself to blame.

So that being said, HUGE WARNING: This chapter is incredibly graphic and gory. In fact, in my opinion, it’s probably going to be the most graphic and horrifying chapter in the entire fanfic, but who knows? There are graphic detailed depictions of surgical operations being performed, as well as certain surgical instruments mentioned. There are moments of abnormal body horror. There are intense, vivid, and horrifying hallucinations. There is a sense of dread and horror throughout, especially nearing the halfway mark onward. A character suffers extreme trauma to the point of heavily intoxicating themselves.

Honestly, I have no idea how I wrote this, let alone why. This is the most gruesome, disturbing thing I have ever written in all my life, I swear.

Also, there is foreshadowing in this chapter ;)

Listen to this playlist while reading it.

Enjoy!

Why are you here?

Thin beams of sunlight broke through the branches of a nearby tree, casting down over him where he stood. And though it was a rather warm summer day, the green-haired man only felt cold. He stood there out in the middle of the sidewalk, standing before a lovely winter-white house; the sort of which looked like it was right out of a fairy tale. Although all of the other houses appeared to look exactly the same, there was something about this one that stood out amongst the rest, and he was the only one who knew what that reason was.

It wasn’t how the house looked that made it different than the rest; it was who lived inside and what had happened there not too long ago. There had been a fight, a dreadful one. She had yelled at him over and over again like a screeching banshee. She had said that she needed time to think, and being the good husband he was, he had granted her wish. He would go off to work and give her some space. But a month or so later, he received a call while at work, and the words that came slithering out of her mouth constricted his poor heart to the point of shattering it. He had reached a breaking point.

Why are you here?

His hands clenched up into fists at his sides, digging his nails into his palms; attempting to block out the memory with sharp pain. He kept his eyes transfixed on the front door, staring at it as though he was expecting it to open at any moment. There were a few children – probably ranging between the ages of four and six – down the street, shrieking with delight as they chased one another. The green-haired man couldn’t hear them over the obnoxiously loud rush of blood in his ears. Whatever was left of his broken heart was pounding violently against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape.

He didn’t like this, not in the slightest. The last time they had spoken to each other it hadn’t been pleasant. They had gotten into the most heated argument they’d ever had, one so ugly and horrendous it had made him shed tears of sorrow. He didn’t want to lose her, he didn’t want to lose the kids. And yet, after that argument, he did something that neither of them would’ve ever expected. There was no way to sugar-coat it – he had shot himself. After hearing his wife go on about getting a divorce and how she wanted custody of the children, he couldn’t bear it. There was some sort of darkness deep within his heart, having been lingering there for some time, and those final words had granted that darkness freedom. Those words had destroyed him once and for all.

Why the hell are you here?

On live television, he had put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, attempting suicide. Everything had gone black, and though he had been in recovery in the hospital for over half a month, he was still trying to piece everything together – what had happened after the gunshot and how he had survived. Now, for some reason, here he was, about to see his wife and kids for the first time in what felt like years. And though he knew he should’ve been feeling hopeful and happy to see them again, he didn’t feel any of that. There was only heart-wrenching dread swelling inside his chest, and he couldn’t fully understand why.

What had brought him here? He had been avoiding this like the plague for the last three months, fearful of what consequences he’d be facing, and yet he had somehow finally worked up the courage to approach the house. He swallowed the lump in his throat and dug his nails further into his palms, wincing at the pain.

Why the FUCK are you here?

* * * * *

It was a late afternoon on April 9th when Henrik had found Chase.

One moment the doctor had been going about his business, handling some paperwork, and the next, there was a loud gunshot that shook the entirety of the void. Almost immediately Henrik had felt his blood run cold as dread settled into his veins. Something had happened to one of the others – he could sense it. Maybe it was his doctor’s instinct, but he knew someone had gotten severely hurt. Schneeple didn’t hesitate in his actions; the man bolted out of his office, weaved his way out of the hospital, and went in search of who had gotten hurt. He ran around aimlessly until he spotted three men, all standing around someone lying in a pool of blood on the ground. His heart stuttered.

Oh fuck, who was it? Who was the man on the ground?

Henrik didn’t even take the time to notice who was standing versus who was on the ground, he instantly rushed over to the group. He stopped dead in his tracks and gasped in alarm at the bleeding out man at his feet. Chase Brody – his dear friend, the one person he was rather close with – laid there in a crippled mess on the floor, staring up at the doctor blankly. There was a penny-sized hole in his right temple, a bullet wound, bleeding out onto the carpet underneath him. His arms were splayed out to either side, and a few inches away from his right hand lay a nine millimeter handgun. The poor man had attempted suicide, but luckily, he wasn’t dead; he was breathing shallowly and Henrik could make out a faint pulse in his neck vein. The doctor barely managed to breathe properly at this discovery.

He wasn’t dead – not yet anyway.

“Jesus Christ. Someone, grab me zee stretcher now!” Schneeple snapped as he dropped to his knees besides the wounded man.

Without saying a word, the two green-haired men towering over him dashed off to retrieve the stretcher, while the other man – one who was holding a camera – stood there staring down at Chase wide-eyed, looking rather shaken.

“I-I don’t know w-why he did it. I…I can’t understand w-what would’ve caused him to do this.” The man was visibly shaking and he wasn’t blinking. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “I mean, I did notice he was speaking to someone on the phone earlier, and he seemed rather upset. But – But I didn’t think he’d – he’d do something like this!”

Henrik instantly took a glance up at the man. “Vait, vait, hold on, he vas on zee phone vith someone? Who?”

The man shrugged, his face scrunching up with confusion; trying to recall what he had overheard Chase say to whoever was on the phone.

“I don’t know, umm…” He let out a huff of air and shook his head, “Something about a divorce and custody of the kids. He must’ve been speaking with his wife.”

“Fuck.” Henrik spat, turning his attention back to the bleeding man. “I should’ve guessed. Alvays moaning and groaning about Stacy. Goddamn it, Chase.”

Henrik stared down at Chase, gently grasping his head and moving it to the side to get a better look at the bullet hole. A very faint groan came from the man.

“Chase? Chase, buddy, can you hear me?” Henrik asked, lightly slapping Chase’s cheek to see if he could get a reaction out of him. There was none. His eyes were fixed onto the doctor, slowly blinking and struggling to focus. Unfortunately, the poor man couldn’t hear a single thing. His gun had gone off right at his temple and as soon as he had pulled the trigger, an ear-piercing ringing deafened him. He hadn’t the slightest idea what the doctor was saying. Everything was fuzzy to him. He was having difficulty keeping his eyes open, his gaze roaming around the room lazily; a very small smile on his lips. The man was in such a daze, he couldn’t really tell what was going on. Henrik slapped him again and gently shook his shoulder.

“Chase, come on. Focus. Focus on me, buddy.” He insisted, forcing the man to face him. The American could only release another groan in response.

“Goddamn it! Vhere is - ?!”

Before he could say another word, the egos came bursting into the room with the stretcher; coming to a screeching stop where the doctor was crouching over his bleeding friend. Henrik didn’t have to give an order; everyone immediately grabbed onto Chase and gently hauled him up and onto the stretcher. As soon as Chase was laid down, the doctor wheeled him out of the room and bolted for the hospital, not even bothering to take a glance backward. He could hear the others following close behind him.

“Nein! Stay back!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Return to vhat you had been doing! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

The two egos exchanged worrisome glances as Chase’s cameraman spoke up.

“But Doctor, there’s something you need to know. He – .”

“For fuck sake, I don’t have time for any of zhis!”

“Yes, but Doctor, he - .”

“He’ll be alright, I assure you of zhat! I can help him on my own! Now go!”

Without another word, and leaving them behind in the dust, Schneeple barged through the doors of the hospital and darted into the E.R. He didn’t hear what the cameraman muttered as he came to a stop.

“He’s done something horrible.”

* * * * *

Dr. Schneeplestein raced Chase over to the operating table and very carefully moved him from the stretcher onto the table. The wounded man let out a strained groan of agony.

“Don’t vorry, Chase, don’t vorry. You’re going to be okay. Schneep vill save you.” The good doctor reassured before he raced over to his surgical attire; rushing to slip everything on and nearly trip over his own feet in the process.

At hearing yet again another weakened sound escape his patient, Henrik returned to his side to get him hooked up to his monitors. He needed to keep track of the man’s vitals before he could even begin operating on him. He stripped Chase of his shirt and applied the electrode pads to his chest, his heartbeat starting up on the nearby monitor. After all of his vitals were clearly showing up on screen, Henrik inspected the wound. He adjusted the overhead light so he could get a better look, knowing all too well that he needed to see just how bad the situation was. Very gently, with gloved hands, the doctor touched the edges of the bloodied hole before checking the other side of the man’s head. There was no exit wound. For a fleeting moment, Henrik could’ve sworn he felt his stomach drop at that realization.

If there was no exit wound, that meant that the bullet had to be buried somewhere deep inside Chase’s brain. That would mean brain surgery would have to be required. He would have to open up the man’s skull and –

Henrik shook himself free of that possibility. He’d never performed such a surgery on anyone before, and today wasn’t going to be the day to give it a go. Returning his attention to the bullet hole, he reached for a small torch and shined it inside, trying to eyeball just how deep the bullet had gone. He couldn’t see all too much, but he barely made out a faint shine come from inside, like something metallic was glinting back at him. That had to be the bullet he was seeing – what else could it have been? And if that was the bullet, then that meant brain surgery wasn’t going to be necessary. Why operate if the bullet had only managed to get lodged between his skull and scalp? And admittedly, this discovery threw the doctor off.

Chase had shot himself point blank, hadn’t he? How else would the bullet have ended up here in the side of his head? If he had tried shooting through his mouth, the bullet would’ve been in a completely different location in his head. And no one would’ve shot him because honestly, who would ever want to shoot the man? As far as Schneep could tell, Chase and his cameraman had been close friends, and the poor guy had seemed rather shaken from what he’d witnessed. Plus there was the information about how Chase had been on the phone with Stacy before the incident. Everyone in the void knew just how broken up Chase had been about his relationship with Stacy for the last week or so, but no one – especially not Henrik – would’ve ever thought he’d be pushed to the point of putting a gun to his head.

“Vhat zee fuck vere you zhinking, Chase? Vhat zee fuck vere you zhinking?!” Henrik flared as he looked over the bullet hole. “Vhy zee hell vould you do somezhing like zhis to yourself? I know you vere hurting, I know you and Stacy vere having problems, but you could’ve said somezhing! You could’ve spoken vith someone – you could’ve come to me!” He snapped, locking his eyes onto his patient’s, almost looking at him pleadingly. “I, myself, am going zhrough a hard time vith my family. If zhere’s anyone in zhis godforsaken void zhat vould understand vhat you’re going zhrough, it’d be me!”

Chase couldn’t get out a response – he still couldn’t hear. He could just barely make out the doctor’s face and how his lips were moving, clearly forming words and talking to him, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what the man was saying. All he could do was stare up at the upset surgeon with a vaguely confused expression.

Henrik frowned and pushed away from him with a grunt, grabbing the anesthesia mask so he could knock out his patient. He shook his head in disbelief as he placed the mask over Chase’s nose and mouth, watching him slowly breathe in the gas and his eyelids struggling to stay open.

“You idiot…Vhy didn’t you come to me?” The doctor said under his breath, looking at his friend sadly.

The anesthesia took over and within a minute, Chase’s eyelids fell shut; falling into a black abyss of unconsciousness. Henrik briefly glanced at the monitors to make sure his patient’s vitals were still going at a steady pace. The American’s heartrate was escalating a tad bit, struggling to keep blood flowing up to his head. His breathing, however, was rather slow and deep, like it should’ve been. Sighing with relief, the doctor turned back to his patient.

If Henrik’s assumption was correct – that the bullet had only gotten stuck in his scalp versus his actual skull – how the hell was that possible? A point-blank shot, especially with the gun Chase had used, should’ve resulted in the bullet travelling in and out of his head, or at the very least should’ve gotten buried deep in his brain. Hell, there were burn marks surrounding the wound and petite pieces of shrapnel scattered about. And yet, from what the good doctor could tell, the bullet hadn’t gone deep at all. Odd.

No matter, Schneeplestein had to act fast. Leaving a bullet inside the man’s head unattended, what with all of the shrapnel as well, would surely result in infection or worse. He wouldn’t have to perform any brain surgery on his patient, but he’d have to dig in and extract the bullet.

Releasing a shaken breath of dread, the surgeon went to quickly retrieve the tools he’d need before collecting them onto a nearby stainless steel table and rolling it over to his side. He reached for a pair of forceps when the light above him flickered. He stopped himself and glanced at the light with puzzlement. What the hell was that for? The heart monitor behind him seemed to glitch out for a brief moment as well. He jerked his head in its direction and frowned. He remembered back to October 29th when he had saved Jack’s life, and the very same things had happened. He shook his head and let out a sigh of agitation. Maybe it was time to get new lights and monitors – clearly these ones were beginning to have some problems.

Brushing the signs off as nothing, the doctor returned back to his patient and grabbed his forceps. He leaned in close to Chase’s temple and slowly and carefully dug them into the man’s head. Small globules of blood ran out of the wound and down the side of Chase’s head, pooling under his head and staining his hair red. It took a moment until he hit anything, and even then, Henrik was afraid that maybe he had been wrong about the depth of the bullet, but once the tips of his forceps came in contact with metal, he let out a breath he’d been keeping in. He turned his head and eyed his scalpel, reaching for it and bringing it up to Chase’s head. He proceeded to cut into either side of the wound before prying open the wound with the forceps; widening it for easier access to the bullet.

His vision pulsed very suddenly, the light above him flickering once more. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, attempting to brush off whatever was wrong with his vision. His heart stuttered violently in his chest right as the heart monitor behind him glitched out once again. And very faintly, barely audible, the German could’ve sworn he made out a gleeful giggle echo around the room. His eyes shot open and he stood up straight, looking around the room wildly as though he was expecting to find someone else there in the room with him. He noticed how the far end of the operating room had suddenly gone dark – all of the lights having shut off for some unknown reason. Brows weaving out of perplexity, the doctor stopped what he was doing, raised a hand to his mask, and tugged it down.

“Hello?” He called out. “Who’s zhere?”

There was no response, nothing but the beeping of the monitors from behind him and the shallow breathing coming from Chase. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any movement or any sign of someone hiding from him.

“I svear to God, I don’t have time for games.” He huffed. “If someone is zhere, please, get zee hell out of here. Can’t you see I’m dealing vith emergency?”

Still no response. After a good long moment of realizing nothing was happening, the doctor readjusted his mask over his face and returned to the task at hand; convincing himself that what he had heard was just his brain playing tricks on him. He stretched the wound open until he found it wide enough, and then blindly grabbed for a pair of retractors to keep the incision open in place while he worked. He took out his small torch and shined the light inside, given how the light above him wasn’t enough to make him see clearly. He could clearly make out the bullet now, buried down and nestled right up against the edge of the American’s skull. Schneeple swallowed. He could only hope there wasn’t any damage to the bone, otherwise he WOULD have to cut the man open and put a plate in his head. Trying to keep his hand as steady as possible, he opened the forceps and inserted them into the wound until they reached the bullet. He closed the tips around the circumference of it and cautiously began to extract the bullet from his friend’s head.

The overhead light flickered again and with no warning, an ear-piercing ringing shot through his eardrums. Henrik let out a yelp of pain and jumped in alarm, nearly ripping the bullet out of Chase carelessly because of the sudden action. He immediately set down the torch he was using and cupped one of his ears, shutting his eyes tightly and whimpering softly at the dull agony. Slowly, the sound began to die down and fade away into nothingness, but for a fleeting second, the doctor had gone deaf. He couldn’t hear the monitors behind him, he couldn’t hear the faint buzzing of the lights above him, he couldn’t hear his patient – absolutely nothing. That was until he heard someone, or something, chuckle tauntingly directly in his ear. A shiver raced up his spine as he jolted, his eyes shooting open out of fright.

Bad idea.

His vision was swimming, everything in sight appearing in layers, some of it distorted and blurred. He felt dizzy and quite lightheaded, like he was going to fall over. A shaky breath expelled from him as he closed his eyes again, leaning forward and holding his head up with one hand. He shook his head as though he was expecting his brain to smarten up and straighten out his vision obediently.

What the hell is going on? The German surgeon questioned himself. Why can’t you focus clearly? Is it because you’re operating on a friend? No…No, it can’t be because of that. You saved Jack before and that had been much worse. So why’s this happening?

Henrik felt his heart jolt and he gasped at the sudden pain, his eyes flying open. His vision was fine now, and strangely, the lights that had been turned off in the distance had come back on unexplainably.

Did you not eat enough earlier? Did you accidentally drug yourself again? Is that it – are you hallucinating all of this?

There was a loud beeping coming from over his shoulder. The heart monitor was going off – Chase’s heartrate was struggling to remain steady. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time to question what was wrong with himself, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Dr. Schneeplestein picked up the torch he’d been using and positioned it back over the bleeding wound while he slowly pulled the bullet out of his patient’s head.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

“Fucking Christ!” The doctor yelped, almost tearing the bullet out and damaging his friend’s insides.

He shot up straight at hearing the layered voices of which sounded like young children, probably between the age of six and eight. The lights off by the entrance of the room were out again, except this time is seemed like that entire portion of the room was completely pitch black. He couldn’t see a single thing. He squinted in a poor attempt to see if anything was there.

“Hello? I know someone’s zhere.” He called out towards the darkness. “Vhy don’t you show yourself?”

He didn’t get a reply, but there was a devious giggle again and this did NOT belong to a child. It sounded inhuman and layered, like there were two different entities laughing at both his confusion and growing anxiety. In fact, Henrik couldn’t deny it. He was beginning to get unnerved by what was happening. He felt like he was being watched, like someone – or something – else was there in the room unbeknownst to him, and they were keeping a close eye on him. He didn’t like it. He was growing increasingly more and more uncomfortable, and it was beginning to remind him of how he had felt when he had operated on Jack back in October. He could feel his heart pounding away against his ribcage and his breaths were coming out a tad uneven now. He shook his head and lowered his eyes back down to the open incision, trying to convince himself this was all his imagination. But then it happened again.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

And again.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

And again.

“You’re gonna regret.”

He lifted his head again and this time, the poor doctor yelped and jumped back in alarm at suddenly making out two figures standing in the shadows; nearly tripping over a few leads and cables down by his feet. He clutched his chest with a bloodied hand, his eyes never leaving the figures; shaky breaths expelling from his lips. From how small they were and how the voices sounded like they belonged to children, he had to assume the figures were exactly that, and given how one had long hair, what looked like a dress on, and how one voice seemed more soft and delicate than the other, he could only imagine that one was a boy and the other a girl. They weren’t moving and he could barely see them at all – he could only make out the faint silhouette of both of them, holding hands. He couldn’t see their faces at all. He blinked with confusion, although fear was also swirling in his eyes.

“H-Hello?” He stuttered. He swallowed hard and stood up straight, letting out a shallow sigh.

Get a hold of yourself, Schneep. They’re just children.

“Vhat are you two doing here? Are you lost?” He asked in a somewhat calm and collected manner, a small friendly smile coming to his face.

His eyes fell to Chase bleeding out on the table and he immediately rushed to try and shield the sight from the kids’ eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here. Zhis is very urgent. You two shouldn’t be seeing somezhing like zhis.” He scoffed. “Vouldn’t vant to give you any nightmares.”

There was an unnerving dead silence flooding the room. Neither one of the children moved, nor did they reply to Henrik. They just stood there like statues in the dark. The German’s smile faltered, getting a tad bit worried now.

“Did you not hear me? You shouldn’t be here. Now please, could you leave? I need to vork on my patient.”

There was still no response from either of the kids. He gulped and tore his gaze away, shaking his head.

“For fuck sake, Schneep, get a grip. You really need to stop drugging yourself. Zhis is getting out of hand.” He chided himself aloud, not seeming to care how there were children in the room.

Figuring that he was only hallucinating and the kids weren’t real, the good doctor went back to work. The bullet was halfway out when he noticed something that caused his heart to stutter. A glob of black sludge bubbled out of the wound and slowly drizzled down Chase’s head alongside some blood. Henrik’s brows furrowed as he dabbed one of his fingertips in it, pulling it back and watching as a thin string of ooze followed. He raised it up and under the light to get a better look at it, not understanding what it was. But he had this gut-wrenching feeling he’d seen it before somewhere, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

He jumped at hearing that layered voice again, his eyes peering over his glasses to see the children still very much standing in the blackened part of the room. He frowned.

“Vhy do you keep saying that? Vhat vill I regret?”

Like before, there was no response. He blinked and shifted his gaze down back at Chase, eyeing the bullet hole. He watched the black sludge leaking out of his head. His heart stuttered at the sight, a feeling of déjà vu washing over him. Where the hell had he seen this before? His eyes shot back to the children, staring at them with question.

“Saving him? Vhy vould I – ?”

“You’re gonna regret it.”

The doctor audibly gulped. Okay, that time it sounded much harsher, almost like it was a bit of a threat. Their voices sounded distorted – one at a higher pitch with the other getting droned out and rather deep. It was incredibly disturbing to Schneeple, and quite frankly, he was beginning to feel like he was in a dangerous situation. Maybe he should call for one of the others. Would they even hear him though? Marvin was too far off in his part of the void, and Jackieboy Man – he was ALWAYS busy, what with being a fulltime hero and all. The chances of either of them showing up let alone hearing the German doctor were at an all-time low. Henrik licked his trembling lips and parted them to question the kids, only he didn’t get a chance to speak. They decided to speak again, but this time, what they said was different. And it threw the doctor off-guard.

“You can’t save Daddy.”

Schneeple stood there frozen in place, eyes firmly fixed on the two shadowy figures.

‘Daddy’? Why would they – ?

Henrik’s heart gave a painful pang as realization finally settled over him. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at the kids.

“Vha – ? Are you…Are you Chase’s kids?”

Well that would make sense then, wouldn’t it? Why they were there – they were clearly worried about their father. But…But how would they have known about this? They hadn’t heard the gunshot, had they? And if they had, why show up so late? And how could they have entered the room without making a sound? And why were they strictly staying in the shadows? And why –

Henrik stopped himself. There were far too many questions going through his head all at once, and the more he thought about them, the more uneasy he was becoming with the kids in the room. He watched the kids uncertainly as he struggled to speak. He was afraid to ask.

“Vhat vill I regret?” He asked in such a soft shaky whisper, he almost thought they hadn’t heard him.

There was nothing but silence for a moment and suddenly, with a blink of his eyes, the figures were nowhere in sight. He blinked rapidly and stood up straight, searching the room for any sign of the kids, but they were gone, completely vanished from existence like they hadn’t ever been there to begin with. The panicked surgeon let out a ragged breath, dropping his head and running a hand over his face, seeming to forget how there was blood on his gloved fingers.

“Vhat zee fuck vas zhat?” He mumbled to himself.

After taking a good long moment to calm his heart down and get his breathing back in order, the doctor lifted his gaze to stare back out into the darkness. There weren’t any figures – not from what he could tell anyway. And yet, he still felt like he was being watched.

Fuck.

His hands were shaking ever so slightly, and he couldn’t work like this. One wrong move and there was no telling what’d happen. The head was a very delicate and fragile part of the body after all. The unhinged surgeon let out an exasperated sigh, set his tools down, and stormed over to the counter, outstretching a hand to grab for his bottle of diethyl ether. He froze up on the spot, eyes fixed onto the bottle uncertainly.

Don’t do it. You know you shouldn’t. You need to stop drugging yourself, it’s not doing you any good. His subconscious told him. Yes, you’re getting nervous and upset, but if you take a swig, it’s not going to help you.

He took hold of the bottle, hesitating to unscrew the cap.

Don’t do it.

Henrik unscrewed the cap, tossed it to the side, lowered his mask, and took a big gulp of the fluid, giving in to his addiction demon. He knew he shouldn’t have been giving in – he knew that – but he couldn’t help it. He had found that after what happened on October 29th, his secret addiction of ether had slowly gotten worse. Whenever he’d find himself feeling really nervous, upset, or overall emotionally unstable, he’d instantly resort to intoxicating himself and it always managed to calm his nerves down immediately. It wasn’t a healthy solution in the slightest, but he didn’t care. If it worked, then it worked, that’s all that mattered. And right at that moment, he really needed to calm his nerves the fuck down.

Taking the bottle away from his lips and feeling his body beginning to relax, Schneeple let out a sigh and headed back over to his patient; setting the bottle down on the nearby table just in case he’d need another swig. He lazily readjusted his mask, feeling a tad bit sluggish and tired all of a sudden. Yep, the drug was definitely kicking in now. Wonderful.

He took a glance at the monitors to make sure Chase’s vitals were still somewhat stable, and sure enough, they were. Henrik nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips from behind his mask.

“Good, good.” He turned to Chase. “You hear zhat, buddy? It’s all going to be alright.” He said, completely forgetting how his patient was unconscious and couldn’t see nor hear a thing. “Let me just take zhis bullet out of your head, huh? Zhen ve can fix you up.”

He grabbed hold of his forceps and pulled at the bullet, finally extracting it from the American’s head. However, at doing so, his vision gave a violent throb and everything blurred out for a moment. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his line of sight. He was getting awfully tired and relax – it had to be the effects of the ether.

The light above him flickered wildly all of a sudden and his vision was going in and out of focus, everything in sight seeming to look like it was all breathing. His eyes widened when he noticed a torrent of black sludge pulse and push out of the hole in Chase’s head as he removed the bullet, a long thick string of it attached to the bullet and getting stretched the more he pulled at it. He nearly gagged at the sight, and almost shrieked when he heard that eerie bone-rattling giggle once again.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

And then everything went black. The lights and monitors suddenly all shut down at once, causing the entire room to flood with eternal darkness. Henrik couldn’t see a damn thing, and the only thing he could hear was his own unsteady breathing, as well as the loud thudding of his own heart in his ears. What the – ?

And just as quick as it had happened, the light returned. In a blink of an eye, all of the lights and monitors were back on and he could see again…except there was something seriously wrong now.

Chase was still on the table and Schneeple was still hovering over him, but he was now standing behind Chase with the American’s head facing his direction; Chase’s head hanging over the edge of the table but his neck getting supported by a metal frame. There were dotted lines across the man’s forehead – put there by a marker. To his left, there were x-rays of Chase’s head, clearly showing that the bullet had in fact gone deep into his brain and there was swelling inside his brain thanks to the damage done. And to his right, there was a stainless steel table, littered with tools for surgery.

Tools for brain surgery.

Henrik’s eyes widened in horror, feeling his blood run ice cold as the situation dawned over him. What the hell was going on? Just a moment ago he had been taking the bullet out of Chase’s head, and now, for some reason, he was about to perform emergency brain surgery on the man? Why?! The bullet wound hadn’t been that serious – unless that had all been the real illusion and this was real time. Swallowing hard, Schneeple watched as well as felt as his body turned to the right and grabbed for something on the table, something of which was clearly plugged into a nearby wall. He pressed a button and the ear-shattered buzzing of a saw blade started up. He was holding an electric bone saw and he was about to start the operation.

Immediately, the German jumped back and let out a gasp of shock…but none of that happened. Nothing came out of his mouth and his body didn’t move, not the way he wanted it to anyway. Furrowing his brows out of puzzlement, the doctor went to jerk his arms or let go of the saw, but nothing was working. It was like his body had a mind of its own and refused to obey its master. Henrik’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he watched himself move the whirling blade to his patient’s forehead, positioning his other hand by the side of Chase’s head to keep him steady.

Henrik could feel his heart racing wildly deep within his chest, beating away at his ribcage so hard it hurt. And though he clearly wasn’t in any control of his body, he could feel himself trembling all over in fear. He didn’t want to do this, he couldn’t! Yes, he knew the procedure, but he had never done it before, and to do it for the first time ever on a close friend – this was a HORRIBLE idea! What if something went wrong? What if there was too much blood flow? What if he accidentally severed something while removing the bullet? There were too many ways this could go wrong and it was filling the poor surgeon with an insane amount of dread.

It was too late now. Letting out a horrified scream, the doctor watched as the blade sunk into Chase’s head, buzzing louder as it sliced through the skin like butter and finally began to cut into the man’s skull. Blood surfaced and ran down the sides of the American’s head, dripping onto the table. The deeper the saw went, more crimson poured out. Some even managed to spurt up into the doctor’s face, spraying across his mask and glasses. Slowly, Dr. Schneeplestein dragged the blade along the length of Chase’s forehead, the buzzing increasingly in loudness and getting accompanied by a nauseating crunching sound; the blade chewing away at the bone as it went. More blood flew up into the German’s face as he rotated the saw around the expanse of his patient’s head, cutting all the way around. Some blood managed to leak out when he reached underneath Chase’s head, and it dripped on his hand, some running down to the floor in red strings. Henrik thought maybe he was seeing things, but he could’ve sworn the deeper the blade went, there wasn’t just blood coming out. The deeper he went, something black seemed to start seeping out in long gross ribbons. Just like with the blood, this inky sludge was now flying up into the doctor’s face as well and he nearly gagged. The blade actually got jammed and stuck a few times given just how viscous and sticky the stuff was.

The entire top of Chase’s head had finally been cut all the way around, and as soon as that was done, with one hand, the doctor pulled back the saw and flicked it off; setting the blood-soaked, sludge-covered tool on the table. Returning his hand to his patient, Henrik held his breath as he slowly and carefully pulled the top of his friend’s head off and away from his body with extremely gut-wrenching cracking and wet, squishy sounds producing from it. Quite a bit of blood immediately flooded out of the unconscious American’s skull – not enough to kill him but enough to pour to the floor and create puddles at the disturbed doctor’s feet. A torrent of thick black ooze followed after it, raining down in streams. The German surgeon was about ready to vomit at the sight, but what he saw inside Chase’s head immediately made him drop the top portion of his friend’s skull.

The man’s brain was a complete mess. While it should have looked pink and reddened like any ordinary healthy human brain, that wasn’t the case with his. The whole thing was a very dull grey, as if all of the life had been sucked dry from it. All of his veins were blacker than black and were weaved out all over the organ, pulsing with sinister darkness. Very faint moss-green splotches spattered his entire brain, making it look severely infected, and what the doctor at first thought to be black spots dotting the organ turned out to be small holes, pumping black sludge out and oozing all along the brain. There was so much black, so much sludge. And if the doctor didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he was seeing something slither around inside the organ; ooze coming out of any hole the thing would pass by.

Henrik felt his stomach churn and twist into knots, nausea swirling in his head. His face went whiter than a sheet, all of his blood running ice cold and draining from his face. His vision was starting to throb and spin, and though his insides had gone dead cold, the room felt like it was sweltering hot all of a sudden. His breathing was becoming so uneven, he was beginning to feel faint. He felt like he was going to be sick. This was far too much for him to handle. What the fuck had happened to Chase’s brain? Why did it look like this? What could’ve caused this? This wasn’t something he’d ever seen or heard of before, and as far as he knew, there was no parasite or virus that was capable of doing something like this to someone’s brain. What the fuck was going on?

The good doctor was about to reach for his scalpel and clamp to gently pry open a section of the brain to remove the bullet, but strangely, to his confusion, his body didn’t do that. Instead, his gloved hands reached into the American’s skull, gently grasped the pulsing organ, and began to pull towards him; slowly extracting Chase’s brain.

NOW he truly felt like he was going to throw up.

Unfortunately for the poor German, he couldn’t do anything to stop the horror; he could only watch as he reluctantly removed his friend’s brain from his head. A torrent of inky sludge poured out and splattered to the white tiling below; strands clinging to the organ and getting stretched as it was pulled out. As soon as it was taken out, Schneeple grabbed his scalpel and severed the brainstem before holding his blackened brain under the light and getting a good look at it. He wiped off a good amount of sludge and then set it aside of a slab nearby, the veins still throbbing strangely even though the whole thing had just been detached from its body. Henrik panted shakily at the disturbance of it all, not at all understanding why he would remove Chase’s brain when all he had to do was take out the bullet. He couldn’t come up with a logical reason as to why he just did what he did.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

The shaken surgeon nearly jumped out of his skin at hearing the children again. He immediately shot up and stared off into the darkness wide-eyed, instantly spotting the two familiar figures standing in the dark.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

He heard something move, and it wasn’t from where the kids were. Henrik jerked his head in the direction of where Chase lay on the table and stared directly into the man’s open, now-hollow skull. The interior of his head was completely bathed in red and black, mainly the lather, and there were small bits of what he could only assume to be brain matter swimming in a thick pool of sludge. He watched it intently, his heart jolting when he noticed the sludge ripple.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

Henrik went to look back at the kids, hesitating to ask what the hell did they want and why they were repeating the same goddamn words over and over again like that, but he never got the chance to. The man yelped and jumped back in alarm when he saw the sludge move out of the corner of his eye. His attention immediately fell back onto his patient’s gaping skull and to his horror, watched as the sludge began to slowly ooze out of the man’s head like a waterfall. A hand flung up to the German surgeon’s mask-covered mouth, keeping himself from letting out a scream. This sludge – it was moving like it was an actual living thing.

Taking slow steps backward and never taking his eyes off of it, Dr. Schneeplestein watched as the inky ooze began to stretch and pull, almost like it was struggling to take on a form. He sprung back and nearly slipped in a puddle of ooze as a limb made up of the inky stuff suddenly shot forward. It looked like an arm with seven fingers and a thumb, all of different lengths but all clawed and digging deep into the tiles. A low rumbly groan came from somewhere, and to the doctor’s horror, it was coming from the mass of ooze piled on the floor.

“Y-You’re gonna r-regret it.”

Henrik didn’t know where to look anymore. He was tempted to take a glance over the children, even though he could barely see them. But given the way their words were getting increasingly more distorted and rather threatening and intense, the man couldn’t help but look off into the darkness.

“Vhat do you vant?!” He demanded, tears beginning to well up in his eyes out of fear.

There was silence for a brief moment until he noticed the children slowly takes some steps forward, finally emerging from the shadows. Henrik’s blood went frozen still in his veins as he choked on a scream.

“Y-You cAn’t s-s-save DaDdy.”

The kids – their faces…Oh God, their faces. What had happened to them? What the

fuck

happened?!

“Y-Y-You cAn’t – You can’t s-save Daddy.”

“Y-You’re G-Gonna – gonna r-regret it.”

 Both of their faces were completely bloodied and mutilated. The boy’s right eye was gone, just one big bloody hole left in his wake. There was what looked like a large gunshot wound in his left cheek, a good portion of his jaw having been blown away. The girl, on the other hand – she had it so much worse. Her entire lower jaw was gone. It looked as though it had either gotten torn off or blown away by a gun. All that was left was a huge maw with torn muscle and flesh hanging loosely, her tongue hanging out with nowhere to go. God only knew how either of them were speaking. Their skin was extremely pale, blue veins lining their bodies and standing out against their dead-white complexion. They may as well have been living corpses – zombies. Henrik could only look on in absolute horror at Chase’s children, not believing his own eyes. He felt icy cold tears escape his eyes as he stumbled backward, yanking the mask away from his face.

“Oh my God! Oh my fucking God, no!” He screamed, shaking his head wildly. “No! V-Vhat – Vhat zee fuck is zhis? Vhy am I seeing zhis?!”

His screams got interrupted by another loud groan coming from the sludge by Chase’s body. His eyes immediately shot back to the thing writhing on the floor, its clawed fingers stretching out and attempting to pull itself across the floor towards the doctor. The poor man watched, trembling in stone-cold fear, as strings of the ooze began to piece together and form a faceless human-like head. Another arm sprung up from the mass, reaching forward and dragging itself along the ground. The thing lifted its head and faced the direction of where Schneeple was. A low sinister hiss came from the creature, a portion of its jaw caving in and stretching like a mouth; a howl of anger coming out of it.

“Y-You’re gonna R-REgrEt it.”

This was too much. This was far too much. Henrik was a quivering, sobbing mess at this point. He jumped back and screamed when the creature suddenly surged forward, its entire form seeming to glitch out before the doctor’s own eyes as it began crawling towards its victim.

“Yo-You’re goNnA R-RegREt i-i-it.”

“You c-c-ca-an’t S-SaVe daddy – save Daddy.”

 The poor doctor slipped on a puddle of blood and crashed to the ground, his breaths coming out laboured and shaky. He struggled to move away from the thing, kicking his feet only then to let out a horrified scream when he felt it dig its claws into his leg. He cried and writhed in pain as he watched the thing jerk and twitch unnaturally towards him, a static-laced growl coming from it as he crawled over top of him.

“You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it.”

“YoU’rE gOnnA regret – .”

 “YOu’Re GoNna reGrEt – .”

“YoU’Re GOnnA – .”

“YOu’Re gOnNa – .”

“YOU’RE – .”

Henrik shut his eyes tightly and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

And suddenly, everything stopped. The children weren’t speaking anymore. There were no more growls and groans coming from the creature. He didn’t even feel the pain of the thing’s claws in his leg. Hesitantly, Schneeple opened his eyes, one before the other.

He was where he had been from the very start. He was standing over Chase, who was laid out on the operating table; bullet wound pulled open with the bullet pulled halfway out. Chase’s head was perfectly fine other than that. His skull hadn’t been cut open, his severely infected brain wasn’t on a slab somewhere. There wasn’t any blood, black sludge, or gore on the floor crawling towards the doctor, and the mangled children who had been Chase’s kids weren’t in the room either.

None of what Henrik had just gone through had been real.

The poor German, he couldn’t stop shaking. His eyes were blown wide with terror, darting around the room wildly, trying to decipher if this was truly real time and that the nightmare he had just endured hadn’t been real. He did a double-take when he spotted his bottle of ether on the table beside him. Almost instantly, with a trembling bloodied hand, he grabbed the bottle, pulled his mask away from his face, and chugged more than half of the contents. He slammed it down when he figured he’d had enough. He shut his eyes tightly and whimpered, clutching his head with one hand, hoping like hell the drug would kick in, and make him relax. It took a tad longer than what he would’ve liked, but within a couple of minutes, the drug began to take its toll and he managed to let out a shaky sigh of relief.

He reopened his eyes and focused onto the wound in Chase’s head. He took a glance over his shoulder to check the man’s vitals. He was still fine, nothing extremely bad to worry about. Releasing another held-in breath, Henrik passed a hand over his face before he returned to the task, finally removing the bullet from Chase’s head, as well as the bits and pieces of shrapnel that were encrusted into his flesh and muscle. He chucked all of that away, sutured up the gaping hole, and gently cleaned the entire wound; washing away any and all blood that had gotten all over the American. Last but not least, he went and retrieved a blood bag and hooked the man up to it, infusing new blood into him, given just how much he had lost. One last time, Henrik turned to check the monitors to make sure everything was alright. His vitals were slowly but surely returning to a normal pace. Schneeple nearly laughed at knowing he had yet again managed to save a patient from death.

Henrik turned to Chase and lightly patted him on the shoulder.

“Vhat did I say? I told you zhat you’d be alright.” He couldn’t help but smile at that. He let out a shallow sigh. “Now zhen, let’s get you into more comfortable room, huh? One less sticky and bloody.”

He was about to move to unhook Chase from the monitors when he halted his actions. Maybe he should wait awhile, just to make sure his friend was truly going to be okay. Thinking that’d be a good idea, Henrik stepped away from the American, headed over to the chair behind his desk, and slid down into it with exhaustion. He sat there, slumped in the chair, still in his blood-spattered surgical cap, gloves, and smock, clearly not giving a damn. He was more concerned about Chase.

His eyes were tiredly fixed onto his recovering patient, worry gleaming in his eyes. His vivid hallucinations played out in his head over and over again like a broken record, trying to figure out why exactly he had seen all of those nightmare-inducing things. He could barely think clearly about it all right now – his brain was getting fogged up by the ether he had drunk. Feeling himself falling, the good doctor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he let sleep take over him.

Before he did, four words came to him.

Four words were hissed directly into his ear and threatened to destroy his dreams.

Four words he would surely never forget.

“You’re gonna regret it.”

Part 10 - Always Watching

Part 12 - Soon

Just adding this in case anyone got confused. Anti doesn’t show up at all in this chapter. Yes, the hallucinations Schneeple experiences are caused by Anti toying with his mind, but Anti himself doesn’t show up. He’s not possessing the doctor and he’s not pretending to be Chase similar to how he pretended to be Jack in Parts 6 and 8. Just letting you all know that.

@gridhorizon, @jse-fandom-protection-squad, @septic-obsessed, @darkcurious, @butterlover328, @steffid101, @sketchy-scribs-n-doods, @no-strings-puppet, @haveaverynicetime, @golden-eyed-guardians, @fear-is-nameless, @nightmarewolf133, @maybekatie, @jack-a-yote, @lil-gib, @aeoix, @lemonofweirdness, @randomcrystals, @vity-dream

#holy shit this chapter #firstly i can't even believe i got it done tonight #and secondly i can't even believe i actually wrote this period #this has to be the most gruesome most horrifying shit i've ever written #if i have nightmares it's all my fault #it's 3:36 am for fuck sake #what am i doing with my life? xd #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfic #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #glitched #horror #dr schneeplestein #dr henrik von schneeplestein #henrik von schneeplestein #doctor schneeplestein #chase brody #chase bro average