#because my brain is always like. god hes so small and floppy and will die if you breathe on him wrong

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

Woe, Crack Baby Shitten au be upon thee.

(@bamsara 's little doodle of Nari being dubbed Cult Babysitter and holding a little lamb irrevocably changed my brain chemistry. So of course, I'm now making it everyone else's problem with the headcanon that Narinder is good with children of all ages.)

A couple of months before Lamb gets captured, they meet another lamb or a very small flock that have to split up very quickly after meeting since there's more chance of the lamb species surviving if they aren't all together. In the meeting, Lamb agrees to try continue the lamb species and gets pregnant via *magic* or afab.

Of course, all of the lambs are captured and killed with Lamb being the last, still a few months away from giving birth.

But then they are chosen and resurrected by The One Who Waits.

Fun fact: a fetus can survive for a few minutes after the death of the carrier. (Also this is a world with magic and gods in it. Logic means nothing to me.)

Lamb starts their cult, crusades across the lands and meets all sorts of allies and enemies. All while quietly mourning their entire species and the child that never would be.

Right up until they go into labour.

The baby is lamb through and through with soft wool, wide eyes, tiny cloven hooves and floppy ears.

But the influence of the crown is blazingly obvious since the baby's wool is jet black and they have three red eyes.

I can't tell which would be funnier. Lamb giving birth in The Lonely Shack or while they are physically in The Gateway just post-beating Leshy. Like they were in active labour right throughout fighting Leshy and had no idea. Either way, it's Shocked Pikachu .jpeg all around. (My fucking KINGDOM for a doodle of this.)

Various dot point shenanigans under the cut

There are two ways to go about this. But either way, Baby is not staying in the Cult. Too dangerous, especially if word gets to the Bishops about there being another lamb. So Lamb can and will speed-run this shit. So it takes them about 4-6 years to fully defeat the Bishops.

Baby stays with Ratau:

Lamb goes and yells at TOWW. They are panicking because they have no idea how to raise a probably-half-god baby.

Narinder has no idea what happened right up until Lamb comes in screaming about him being a Baby Daddy and child support.

Ratau is Grandpa now. This is his fate. He embraces the Grandpa life.

Baby learns how to play knucklebones before they can speak.

Shrumy tries to wager with Lamb/Ratau for the whole Baby. Once and only Once.

Baby's first word is dice. Or die.

Baby worships TOWW, but they are a Baby and don't really comprehend worship so the small shrine gets a lot of flowers, neat rocks and some drawings. Narinder always gives a lot of gold for them. And No, it's not favouritism. Shut up.

Baby knows curses. This is concerning for everyone except Baby.

Baby gets a little TOWW doll. It's their favourite, it goes everywhere with them and washing it is a nightmare for everyone involved.

Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower because of the doll.

↑ this action will have consequences.

When Baby is not so baby, they make stuff out of their wool for TOWW and for his disciples. Or asks their parent to help them make stuff.

Cue Lamb awkwardly giving the three some very wonky scarves or hats.

Baal loves it.

Aym refuses to take his off. Ever.

Narinder is actually upset cause his doesn't fit. He's too big. He had to wear it like a little ring.

Or Baby stays/is brought to the Gateway ala Aym and Baal situation:

If Lamb gives birth in the Gateway, everyone is getting a free midwifery education and free trauma. The cats want a refund.

Ya know when a baby instinctively clasps their little hand around a finger and it's like a crime to pull away? That but with Narinder's big ass claw that Baby can only barely cling to.

Aym cries the first time he holds Baby.

Baal straight-up refuses to give Baby back for a good hour.

Lamb visits at least once a day.

Lamb also brings baby things since a baby will do what a baby will do.

Depending on how old Aym and Baal were when they were gifted, Narinder is either learning all of this for the first time or is reminded of how challenging baby care can be.

Narinder purrs = a zonked Baby.

Baby's first word is Vessel.

Baby is taught to fight. Lamb doesn't like it but accepts it.

Baby has a little lamb doll. It is only due to the fact the afterlife doesn't have dirt that they avoid the nightmare of trying to wash it.

Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower since they refuse to be parted with him for long.

↑ this action will have consequences.

Lamb teaches Baby about being a lamb and if Aym and Baal join in, well who are they to deny their child's only friends/guardians this?

Narinder and Lamb figure out how to get Baby to teleport to the Living World and Baby gets to visit Grandpa Ratau.

Post-game shenanigans.

Narinder: Give me back my crown. Lamb: Ok. Sure. Narinder: I will now sacrifice my most devoted follower (the Lamb) for my freedom. Lamb: *Kill Bill sirens*

Lamb somehow doesn't kill Aym and Baal and instead kidnaps them via Indoctrination Circle out of spite/ reluctance to hurt them.

Narinder feels betrayed that the Lamb would refuse like this and kidnap his acolytes. He was going to resurrect them! He can't fully commit to raising a child while being the God of Death.

Lamb feels betrayed that Narinder would want to kill their child. After all they've been through together! After the way they saw him treat Baby with such gentleness and now he wants to kill them?!

This comes out in the very final moments right before Lamb goes to give the final blow.

Narinder: You are a vengeful false idol and a traitor! Lamb: At least I'm not a monster who wanted to kill my own child! Narinder: Wait. What.

This devolves into a massive argument with divorced-couple vibes.

Narinder is insulted and a bit hurt they thought he would kill his own child.

Lamb is hurt that Narinder would just demand their sacrifice without even talking to them about the whole situation.

Either way the lesson learned is Narinder needs to be more blunt and Lamb needs to not jump to conclusions.

So they are left with a newly usurped Narinder and a newly crowned Lamb. Oops.

Baby is with Ratau when all of this is going down.

Baby is happy their family is all together properly. Baby is Not Happy about this whole cult thing demanding attention from Their Baba.

The Cult is baffled by the sight of their leader with both a baby and a Spouse? Bitterly Divorced Ex? Estranged Co-parent?! What ever it is, most of them have elected not to touch the whole situation with a 10ft barge pole.

Baby learns what the word Father is and how that word refers to Narinder.

Baby calls Narinder Father/Papa/Daddy. Instant KO.

Narinder somehow gains a small hoard of children that like to follow him. Baby Does Not Approve.

Baby also Does Not Approve of this newly formed rift between their parents.

Cue Parent Trap level of Shenanigans.

Aym and Baal are recruited.

The Hoard of Children are recruited. Baby now Slightly Approves.

Narinder and Lamb have an Actual Conversation after the 18th time they get locked in the confessional together.

This of course evolves into Narilamb.

Bishops are saved from purgatory.

Despite all attempts otherwise, Baby is introduced to them.

Shocked Pikachu .jpeg x4

Maybe after a few more years, not-so-baby Baby wants a sibling.

This got so much longer than I thought but yes. Shitten Shenanigans: Accidental Child Acquisition flavoured.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #Shitten Shenanigans Au #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #narilamb #true devotion #Cotl Aym #Cotl Baal #Cotl Ratau #accidental child acquisition #at least on Narinder's part #long post #I once again do not go here #this got longer than I thought it would #Bam's brain is SO wrinkled and I want to lick it

[aphsillyos]

his default recall is so cool..........

#not me arts tag #ive never used his default skin so i didnt even know what it looked like until now....ough #i wish u could mix and match sounds or recalls with skins................ #i honestly forget half the time hes supposed to be like. Cool and Suave and a Competent Badass #because my brain is always like. god hes so small and floppy and will die if you breathe on him wrong #also hes always crying and breathing heavily in my ear so im just like. poor guy #he should be at the bed taking a nap not fighting....... who made him fight.... stop that he doesnt belong on the battle field #he might be a badass hitman or smth but my brain is like #this is just a sad theatre kid who took gymnastics #''aphelios how is your assassin training going'' aphelios who has only been reading the acrobatics textbook: my what #is there anyone still reading these tags. hi there #i have a lot of thoughts on him. im very obsessed with his animations #like he has a laugh animation for every weapon....... #all the various weapon animations... #maybe the real reason we wont have a legendary for 10 more years is all the animating they have to do #i mean his base animations are so good id honest be like OK if they reused them #cant rly do much better than already Top Tier animations #unless we get an alune legendary..... #hope alune is super awesome and badass and all the aphelios voicelines are a really shy awkward guy or smth #like you look so cool and awesome fighting and the whole world doesnt know ur listening to a lil guy in your brain the whole game #the contrast would be very funny methinks #if anyones still reading this. yes i know riot made up some reason about budget or whatever for voices #but i choose to believe aphelios is head empty no thoughts and thats why he doesnt talk to alune #(STILL GOOFY OF A REASON... lots of VAs can do both genders of voices.... like. what about kindred and kayn....) #then again wouldnt be surprised if they were overbudget on the animations but still smh my head into oblivion #can relate to a guy who simply doesnt wanna talk #(said after 10000 tags of talking to myself) #i should really put my thoughts onto a separate post or blog or something #anyways have i mentioned i think hes really cute

[muffindaddystyles]

okay but imagine waking up next to soft!dom harry in the middle of the night and snuggling closer to him because you had a nightmare or you just couldn’t get to sleep well and he just kisses you, whispers sweet nothings and holds your hand as he helps you back to sleep

SCAREDY KITTEN Y/N, CLINGY AND MELTING OVER HARRY ALWAYS GONNA BE MY FAVE

Wednesday’s are most tiring for Harry. Shit tons of paperwork, shipping and unloading and then being a visible leader at the workplace to make sure the gang runs efficiently.

Weary and knotty in his muscles Harry dragged himself all the way to the threshold of his house to his room, his comfort space for many reasons— it smells incredibly sweet of his lovie, it’s cosy and the blankets are always toasty with her warmth and the room temperatures's the perfect chilly against your skin, akin to whole house.

“Hi Mushy,” He greets her coarsely, ducking down and a bit to the left of her gaze when she busily mumbles a ‘hi!’ Back with her head stuffed into her books, crossed legs on the chunky silken duvet and blankets.

“No kisses, pretty?” He asks, patting her head gently and she looks up at him. Equally tuckered out and bushed, she’s been trying to solve this stupid stupid algebra and it seems like algebra solved her and kicked her in arse telling her to do this nonsense with someone other.

“Sorry.” She sighs, scurrying to her knees and lifts her bum to plant a soft kiss to his lips instead ends up smashing a sloppy peck to his chin making both of them giggle.

She really thought she was about to get a good sleep, after having a tummy full dinner, doing her night routine with Harry and cleaning the little mess around her room because it keeps on irking her the whole night of otherwise --- she really hoped.

Her hopes were crushed brutally with a bulldozer when Harry knocked out the moment his floppy head hit the pillows, his embrace's homey and his breath melting into her skin makes her wants to learn the pattern mentally and sleep to it— she did.

She almost lulled herself into a light slumber when their whole house shook, the windows squeaked and their bedhead banged against the wall ever loudly from the force of her jolt due to the peal of unexpected thunder.

Y/N hates thunderstorms. It hyperventilates her badly and she’s never able to sleep during them, she might ends up crying or trying to make a clever run god knows where. She’s a science student still her silly and scared brain convinces her that the lightening will fall on them and burn them to ashes.

For a moment it didn’t happen again, replaced with calming patter patter of rain and she was glad she hasn’t woken Harry up. Who’s snoring softly into his pillow, his arms lax around her body and his facial features placid and soft.

There’s an ominous roar again in the sky and this time it fucks her up properly. She whimpers like a puppy shrinking into Harry’s side, eyes bolted shut as she feels her heart pumping in her ears – thumping eerily against Harry’s chest and she gasps, her knees knocking against Harry’s lower abdomen when there’s furious amount of non-stop thundering. Quite funnily he only mutters something incoherent and tucks her further into him.

Y/N’s sleepy, loggy and her scary surroundings doesn’t makes any sense to her and she doesn’t want to wake up Harry.

She’s feeling awfully, small and little and skimpy.

Terrified her eyes blows away when she sees the light-flashing outside scarily bright, “Daddy!” She cries out, latching her elbows around Harry’s neck and her thighs around his waist -- practically haggling the dude into a bendy doll.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy. . .” She mumbles unremittingly into his throat, her tears soaking the crew neck of his shirt -- tummy jolting against him and it stirs Harry, trying to take in his wear-bouts— knuckling the blurriness away from his eyes, he looks down at his lovie in haziness worried something bad happened because last he remembers she was good and about to drool over him. His warm palm gliding up her back, the fabric of her pyjama top bunching in his hold.

It doesn’t took him long to realize why his lovie’s so rucked up, clinging onto him like she depends on him for dear life when another wave of thunder-clapped and she was shoving herself into him with a frightened sob.

“Hey, hey . . Poppy. Daddy’s here. Not g'na let anything happen t’ya, sweet girl.” He whispers, cupping her face with both of his hands and tilts it up gently to look into her scared eyes, he sandwiches her shaky hands in-between his thighs and brings her impossibly closer to him – stroking his thumb over her wobbling wet bottom lip.

“We're gonna die!” She stutters a whiny sniffle hating that this awful thundering wouldn’t stop. Her outburst quirks Harry’s lips into a small smile, his heart oozing with overloaded infatuation for his love who’s just too innocent and cute for her own sake.

He gives her an eskimo kiss, pecking the corner of her salty lips then kissing her mouth tenderly and lovingly, “Said the same thing last time baby.” He calms her down. Rubbing her back, halting at the dip of her hip to massage the soft spot gently.

“Shh, shh, ‘s okay . . . I know it scares my darling so much, hate tha’, wouldn’t want my little’s poor heart to suffer this much would I?” He says groggily, tone coy and affectionate. He brushes the frays falling over her eyes out of shakiness, behind her ear and smooches a kiss to the side of her temple.

A surreal quietness blanketed them, her timid voice breaking through it and Harry smiles foppishly and lazily down at her hands still covering her ears. He tuts caringly when she blinks and glistening moisture collects under her eyebags.

“Sorry, didn’t wanna wake you,” She skootches impossibly closer into him, nuzzling her face in his strong healthy rising chest and he shakes his head petting her hair, “Would’ve been bummed if you didn’t,” He hugs her securely, and she relaxes taking a nourishing breather. Something so protective, safe and warm his huggies makes her feel.

Harry himself is the definition of tenderness, for her.

“Good?” He inquires, pressing his lips to where her neck and shoulder meet—- rubbing his hands up and down her arms smiling assuringly when Y/N hums in meekness.

His head perks up, brows shooting up nonchalantly when Y/N groans again upon all of it starting again and he coos, tightening his hug more compassionately screwing his mind too think of any idea to distract her.

“Would my baby like to keep me inside her, keep daddy warm?” He cuddles her chuckling softly when she buries her face in his neck, fisting the waistband of his joggers out of shyness and quick to bob her head timidly as Harry showers her in tiny sloppy wet fond kisses.

“Hmm. My soft little one.” He murmurs, hooking her panties away and spitting in his palm to squeeze it around his girth and gives himself few pumps before lubricating her with his own precum and eases carefully inside, not to hurt her.

Their temples falls against eachother, whimpers mingling as Harry bottoms out inside her. Balls snug against her bum, his eyes glassy as he nudges her playfully, “Now if we get stoned to death . . atleast it’d be with me cock inside ye',” His belly does a loopy loop upon earning a shy giggle from her (he takes pride in making his lovie laugh) and she moans breathily when he squishes her bum cheek grumbling disgruntled.

“Not letting them see yer bum thou,” She hiccups a giggle, feeling ticklish from all the raspberries he’s blowing at her skin and lapping the sensitive spot then, teasing it dry.

“You’re s’nice to me, I love you.”

“I love you too, my little one.”

Harry’s forever and always gonna be her comfort person.

#HOPE YOU LIKEEE IT BABY ELLIE #IT WAS SO SOFT FOR MY OWN GOOD SAKE AND I WROTE IT HALF SLEEPY SORRY LOL #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles one direction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles dirty one shots #harry styles fanfiction #harry smut #harry angst #dom harry #daddy harry x subby reader #dom harry x subby y/n #dom!h x sub!y/n #dom!h x sub!reader #harry styles #harry styles blurb #cute harry #fluff #hsh #naughty harry #daddy harry styles fanfictions #daddy harry styles smut #daddy harry fluff #soft dom harry #soft dom!h #soft daddy harry

[yourdeepestfathoms]

A Place To Rest

[Broadway Kids]

NOTE: Everything between Carrie and Tommy and Carrie and Sue is strictly platonic!! 

Word count: 6397

Prompt: “Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” “You are very endearing when you are half-asleep.”

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

She is shaking.

At least she thinks she's shaking. What difference will shaking make? It won't change anything.

It doesn't matter that her knees are wobbling, it doesn't matter that she is losing her ground, it doesn't matter that she is on the floor holding her head in her hands, now, entire body shaking as she struggles to see through blurry eyes and breathe through rapidly closing lungs. None of it does, did, or ever will matter.

She doesn't even know what’s going on around her now. She can't tell, everything is blurring together and she feels like she's dying, she's finally dying and she's going to accept it, she wants to accept it, she wants to die, there's nothing else left for her here and there never will be, but She won't let her die-- She made her and She’s going to keep her in this godforsaken world as long as She wants because it’s a blessing she’s a blessing even though She hates her even though she’s cursed and cancerous and a devil’s child--

The bile itching in her throat causes her to make a disgusting sound and she continues to lose herself despite it. She is sobbing and shaking violently and she does not know where or who she is anymore and it burns, her skin burns, Mama stop it BURNS--

Tommy is standing near, watching the scene unfold, and does not understand, he cannot understand. He does not and cannot and will not ever understand, but that will not stop him and it never has before. He hasn’t seen this happen before, not like this, not so suddenly and out of nowhere, but he knew what he had to do.

He races over to her and wraps himself around her frail body, feeling her try to curl into herself, feeling her try to push herself away to writhe on the tile alone, but he does not let her, he will not let her. He's new to this whole “big brother” thing, like how she’s new to the “little sister” thing (and being cared for) but he will not allow Carrie to go through this by herself. He does not understand, but he continues on with what he feels is right, and he does not want her to push him away.

She stops struggling and cries into him. His chin resting at the top of her head as he holds her into his chest. Whispers to her to breathe with him, one...two...three-- come on, you're doing great, Carrie-- just like we’ve been practicing-- one...two..three…

Her brain stops and blanks out, and she’s scared--Are people watching? Where are they in the school? Are they still in school?--so scared, but Tommy is a sunny island in a raging sea of dark thoughts and she clung to him as she was drowning in the pitch black tide.

She tries to go along with the breathing pattern he had set for her with wet eyes and sweaty hands and slowly tries to wrap her weak arms around him as well.

She desperately wants to say thank you, so she does so in a quiet, shaking whisper (her hands are too sweaty and she can’t seem to remember how to even sign at the moment). He tells her that it's alright in a voice matching hers.

------

She is shaking.

Was shaking.

Tommy watched her shake, felt her shake, and held her while she shaked. He held her like his arms were the only things holding her together, and he’s starting to believe they very well may have been because this has happened more than once before.

Carrie was broken in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine, and he was determined to piece her back together.

He met her outside her final period class, a mythology elective (because she was a gosh dang nerd), and she looked surprised to see him standing there, smiling (she had begged Principal Morton to not call her mom and be sent home after her little episode in the hallway). She blinked at him, then looked back into the empty classroom like she was expecting one of his friends to materialize inside. Tommy laughed.

  “I’m here for you, silly.” He said. “Come on.”

Carrie hesitated, wry for his sake. She took a tiny step backwards, white-knuckling the black straps of her plain red backpack, like she thought she could disappear into the painted mural of a parthenon on the back wall of the classroom (she had once told him that’s one of the reasons why she enjoyed the class so much- she liked to sometimes doze off and pretend she was in Greece, amongst powerful gods and mythical creatures. she had said she wanted a pet griffon.)

  “Carrie,” Tommy scolded her patiently. “Come on. It’s okay, I promise.”

She hesitated again, then nodded and stepped out. She walked down the hall beside him with her shoulders hunched in, eyes to the ground. She was so on edge, so Tommy just decided to drop the bomb on the plans he had for the two of them before she could possibly get any worse (because he doubted she would get better).

  “You’re probably wondering why you’re getting such a grand escort,” Tommy said. Carrie glanced up at him with a small nod. “Well, you see, since you agreed to be my partner in that project for Mr. Stephens’s class, I thought it would be a good idea to work on it at my house!”

Carrie froze mid-step.

  “Tommy--” 

A smile twitched onto Tommy’s lips. He always grinned like a dopey idiot when Carrie used his sign name. It was a descriptive name instead of an arbitrary one; the letter T at the right side of the face to give his initial and show that he had dimples, a characteristic that Carrie thought fit him the most (although she had REALLY wanted to do a sign name that would include his trademark letterman jacket, but though that making a jacket motion with the letter T would look silly). And those dimples quickly became a noteworthy feature on him because they always appeared when the sign name was used. But then they started to fade when Carrie continued to sign to him.

  “--you know I can’t. My mother--”

  “Tell her it’s for school.” Tommy said hurriedly, cutting her off. “It’s not a lie!”

  “But she’ll get mad if she finds out I’m with a boy…”

  “Then don’t tell her. Say it was mandatory or something. Say I’m a girl! Named...uhh...what’s the female version of Tommy? Oh! Tonia!”

That got a tiny smile out of Carrie. “I think that’s the girl version of T-O-N-Y.”

  “Eh, close enough,” Tommy said. “So. Will you?”

Carrie looked up at him, fingers twitching with half-formed signs, then replied, “Okay.”

  “Yes!!” Tommy cheered. A kid staying for after-school tutoring in a nearby classroom looked up from his desk and blinked at them from the open door. “Awesome! You’re the best, Caz!”

Carrie smiled wryly. “I try.”

The two of them walk out to the furthest parking lot, down near the Ag building and barns, which was named “Africa” by the students and teachers alike because it was so far away (nobody really knew who started calling it such a thing, it’s had that name before Tommy even got into high school, but it just stuck). It was quite the trek, which was particularly rough when raining or cold out, but it beat the front parking lot, which was creatively named “Suicide” because it was “hell to get out of” (there were seven parking lots in total: Suicide, the front one for everyone to use and is always packed; Africa, student and sports parking; Madagascar, a long stretch of lot on the side of the pig barn; Turkey, Ag barn parking; Senior Hill, senior only parking; The Den, teacher parking; and No-Man’s Land, a small, overgrown parking lot near the abandoned campus portables, which nobody really parked in because it was all gravel and pretty creepy). They climbed into Tommy’s black Jeep he had named Bessie when he got it. Carrie always thought it was weird that he named it.

  “Sue named her car, too!” He had argued.

  “What’s its name?” She had asked.

  “Guinevere.” He had answered.

  “That’s a girl's name.”

  “You usually give cars girl names, Caz.”

  “Oh.”

Tommy started the engine and began to pull out. Carrie was fidgeting in the passenger’s seat, eyes locked on an Ag student walking a fat white goat with a red-brown head and floppy ears around a carousel-like contraption. She worried her hands in her sleeves, then in the straps of her overalls, and then in the hem of her shirt. She looked as though she would explode if Tommy were to so much as jokingly brake check the car.

  “Not even Sue was this nervous to meet my folks,” Tommy tried to joke, noticing her anxiety and hoping to help her relax a little.

  “Were you nervous?” Carrie asked instead of commenting on the statement about her being nervous.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Tommy admitted openly. “So don’t be embarrassed if you’re shy, okay? My parents won’t give you the ‘hurt my child and I’ll kill you’ talk like I got from Sue’s dad.”

Carrie nodded and rested her hands into her lap, watching the town flash by through the windshield. She usually didn’t sign when Tommy was driving so as to not distract him, which he appreciated, but he also sort of wished she would talk to him so there wouldn’t just be these awkward gaps of silence. But at least this gave him some time to quietly observe her--which, in a way, distracted him as much as Carrie signing to him would because he kept glancing over at her.

What made her break earlier today? What happened? What was wrong?

She was looking out the window, now, so her thick brown curls were facing him. Even in the dark, stringy abyss that was her hair, he could still make out knots and tangles and a slight sheen of oil that stated she hasn’t washed it in a day or so. Then, she cocked her head slightly and a few locks shifted, revealing her tanned shoulder and neck underneath. There, he could see patches of skin much redder than the rest. There were four in total, two on her shoulder, one on the side of her neck, and one right behind her left ear, and were about the size of a dime. They were edged with ignited crimson flesh that had maws like a frozen lake of murky grease. Crags of crusted brown flesh encircled a few of the marks and-- had they been there yesterday?

Carrie turned her head and Tommy didn't look away fast enough- his gaze lingered for just a bit too long and she noticed him staring. But she didn’t say anything. Just nonchalantly swept her hair back over her shoulders until it covered up the marks again and stole a piece of mint gum from the packet in the cup holder.

Tommy doesn’t look at her for the remainder of the drive.

--

Cheery yellow marigolds and pink daffodils and purple geraniums are sprouted around the side of the grey house with healthy, well-watered grass blanketed out across the front yards. Three large oak trees, encaged in a circle of wood chips cast large shadows over the ground. Stones in various shades of brown are set into the edges of the sidewalk and stoop, and they clink against each other when Carrie’s foot accidentally slipped into the rockbed. She leapt back and looked as though they were actually the last eggs of an extinct species of bird and she had just squashed them, ruining any chance of resurgence in the population. But they weren’t eggs, they were just rocks, and Tommy reminded her of this gently, also mentioning that he stepped on them all the time. It doesn’t really make her feel any better because “he lived there” so he was “allowed to stomp on whatever he wanted”, while she was “a guest” and shouldn’t “go around ruining everything”. Tommy realized that he wasn’t going to win this particular argument, so he let it go and stepped inside.

  “I’m home!” He called into the house. 

He walked through the front room and into the living room. His mother turned from where she was preparing dinner in the kitchen and smiled at both him and Carrie.

  “Hello, sweetie,” She called back. “How was school?” She stepped away from the stove, washed her hands, then walked over to formally greet her son and the new guest.

  “It was good.” Tommy said, putting his backpack on the back of one of the dining table chairs, then motioned for Carrie to do the same. “Mom, this is Carrie. Carrie, this is my mom.”

  “Hello, dear,” His mother said kindly.

Carrie gave a polite smile and wave. Her hands were still fidgeting with her sleeve and Tommy couldn’t tell if she was still chewing the piece of gum she had taken from his car or if she had swallowed it. Her eyes were darting around everywhere, and not just to examine his house. She was looking for something very specific.

  “Oh!” Tommy’s mother raised her hands and began to form gestures with them. “How are you?”

Carrie’s eyes went wide- like, so-wide-Tommy-worried-they-may-just-pop-out-of-her-sockets kind of wide. Her head whipped from the woman before her, then to Tommy, and then back to the woman, and she began to jitter happily. She soon got the most wonderful expression of bliss, anxiety, and triumph that Tommy had ever seen.

  “You can SIGN?” She exclaimed.

Tommy’s mother laughed. “I took classes in college. Who do you think taught Tommy outside of school?”

  “Tommy you didn’t tell me your mom could SIGN!!” Carrie exclaimed again, but this time to Tommy. She had a broad smile absolutely glowing on her face and was shaking Tommy’s arm, as if this was the most delightful thing that has ever happened to her (which was a little RUDE because meeting Tommy should have been in that spot!!).

  “Surprise!” Tommy beamed at her.

  “Tommy!!!!” Carrie released one hand from shaking Tommy to sign his sign name. “This is so cool!!!!”

  “More comfortable, I hope?” Tommy said.

  “A little,” Carrie said. She let go of Tommy and smiled up at him bashfully. 

  “Good.” Tommy said, this time audibly. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and start to work!”

They excused themselves and walked up the staircase to Tommy’s room, which was decked out in as much sport’s decorations as Carrie was expecting by the big teasing grin on her face.

  “Not a peep.” Tommy warned.

  “Good thing I’m mute.” Carrie replied. She looked around the room. “This is the first time I’ve been to a friend’s house. I don’t know why I expected it to be like mine.”

Tommy wasn’t surprised with that first comment. “What’s your room like?” He asked.

  “Dull,” Carrie signed, and stuck her tongue out a little in distaste to enunciate the horribleness of her own bedroom. “Empty. Boring. I don’t even have pillows anymore.”

Tommy did a double take. “Wait- are you serious?”

  “I’m not allowed to lie,” Carrie said, then sighed. “Completely serious.”

  “Are pillows, like, against Christianity or something?” Tommy said. “I don’t remember that in the Bible. Although I’ve never read it, so…”

Carrie giggled. “You goof.” She said. “But no, it has nothing to do with religion. My mom just doesn’t trust me very much.”

  “What does she think you’ll hide under there? Some playboys?” Tommy laughed.

Carrie blinked at him in innocent curiosity. “What are those?”

Tommy stopped laughing. He cleared his throat a bit too awkwardly. “Nothing, Caz, don’t worry about it,” He ruffled the top of her hair and then glided past her over to his desk. He pulled out a dark blue pen and a mostly-blank notebook from one of the drawers. “So, what do you think our story should be about?”

  “Why does everyone think they can keep hiding things from me?” Carrie pressed on instead of giving him any ideas. “What is it? P-L-A-Y-B-O-Y-S.” She had to fingerspell it, which meant she didn’t know the sign for it, if it even had one, and that meant she really didn’t know what it was. 

  “You’re too little.” Tommy said.

  “I’m not little!!” Carrie cried, and the rapid, furious formations of her hands practically equated to her yelling with her voice. As if to prove her point, she stood up straight, puffed out her chest, lifted her head regally, and looked about as grown up as a newborn sugar glider.

  “See? Little.” Tommy grinned at her and she pouted. He patted her head again, then sat down on his bed. “Now, back to the project.”

  “I’ll find out what it is later myself…” Carrie signed grumpily to herself.

  “Caz, honey? I can see you signing.” Tommy said. “Maybe don’t sign-mumble around someone who knows ASL.”

Carrie stuck her tongue out at him, then plopped herself down beside him on the bed. She peered down at the notebook he was holding and then up at him. “What do YOU think it should be about?”

  “I asked you first,” Tommy said, poking her in the stomach with his pen. She squirmed away with a giggle.

  “Well--” Carrie fumbled, clearly shy. “I don’t know--”

  “Spit it out.” Tommy encouraged.

  “I’m mute.” Carrie signed again, like earlier, but this time it was her turn to poke him with a finger that had its nail chewed down to the painful quick.

  “Sign it out.” Tommy corrected. “Come on. I know you got some good ideas in that head of yours.”

She really did. Tommy remembered how Mr. Stephens once had them draw three cards with emojis on them out of a bucket and write a story with aspects of each one. Sue had gotten a file, a girl, and a heart with an arrow through it, so she threw together a cheesy, but cute story about Cupid putting the main character’s love letter into a file that belonged to the love interest, which ended up getting them together. Chris got a globe, nails being painted, and a van, and her story ended up being Gordon Ramsy travelling around the world brutally judging and shaming nail salons on how they paint nails. He, personally, had gotten a rain cloud, a hand, and a blue heart, and after fumbling for a short while, he managed to put together a story about two star-crossed lovers coming together at a heart-shaped pond during a rainstorm, which definitely had hand holding somewhere in there. Not his best work in his opinion. But Carrie had gotten a sound effect symbol, a key, and a chair, and the outcome was a story about a man being held hostage in a room filled with high frequency, ear-splitting noises that would eventually cause all his organs to implode unless he unlocked himself and hit the off button...but the key was surgically embedded in one of his ears, which he had to scratch out and yank on to get out. It was chillingly well-written and had so much detail that Tommy and Mr. Stephens alike momentarily worried that she had gone through some type of ear trauma to the same degree. But she had merely laughed when this concern was brought up.

  “Well?”

  “What if we did horror?”

  “Horror?”

  “Yeah!” Carrie was unraveling from her shell a little bit more, letting her ideas fall from her fingers as she formed the story in her hands. “Like-- what if it was about this person who usually works a shift that has them away from home a lot of the time when everyone else is. The night shift, I think? Sorry, I don’t know jobs. Anyway, their shift gets changed to the day shift and they stop being nocturnal. The next morning after this change, they see their neighbor smiling at them from the front porch when they step out to get the mail. They think nothing of it, but then it keeps happening. The neighbor is always smiling from the porch. And then it’s revealed that the actual neighbor is a woman and she was murdered and her body is rotting in the house and the smiling guy was the killer and the protagonist didn’t know that because they were always working the night shift and never met their neighbors!!” She finished with a radiant smile and expectant eyes. Her expression practically screamed, Praise me! Praise me! Tell me how smart I am! How creative I am! How good I am! Please, please do it!

  “Aren’t you a little Edgar Allen Poe in training?” Tommy teased, ruffling her hair. “That’s an awesome idea!”

Carrie blushed, shy again. “Really? You wouldn’t mind if we did it?”

  “Not at all!” Tommy said. “Let’s do it!”

And so, they began to storyboard and then draft, bouncing dialogue options off of each other and taking turns writing, their drastically different penmanship (Tommy’s was surprisingly more curved and pristine, while Carrie’s was blocky and had sharp edges like ancient text in a prehistoric scroll) a glistening, inky contrast on the pages.

It was currently Carrie’s turn to write and she was fervently scrawling intense detail about the false-neighbor’s impossibly wide smile on the page. Tommy studied her, watching her wordlessly murmur back the things she wrote to herself before continuing on quickly like she thought she had a time limit on what she was allowed to write in one day. She was very focused, but at least calmer than she was earlier. Still, the curiosity was eating away at Tommy- he desperately wanted to know what had set her off at school.

  “Can I brush your hair?”

Carrie looked up in an instant and instinctively touched her hair. The natural brown curls were coiled awkwardly at the tips, individual strands sticking out in places, and it had lost its softness, suggesting that it was in desperate need of a good washing and brushing. She blushed slightly, thinking that Tommy must have thought it was gross or messy.

  “I do it all the time for Sue, believe it or not,” Tommy went on, trying to seem harmless in his request, which he was, but Carrie had more walls up than anyone he had ever met before. He just wanted to help her relax a little more, and maybe even open up to him because Sue liked to share things when she got her hair brushed. Carrie may, too.

Carrie hesitated longer. Truthfully, she trusted Tommy, she really did, perhaps more than she ever trusted anyone, aside from Miss Gardener- not that there was much competition in that regard, granted. Tommy, she knew, she /hoped/, was a good guy. Even before they became friends, he had never done anything to hurt her or betray her trust, instead just staying out of the bullying or even sometimes dispersing it and unknowingly saving her in some cases. That trustworthiness and safety he provided, constantly, was undeniable and reassuring. She appreciated it greatly.

But on the other hand, she had never felt comfortable letting people touch her. Okay, well, that was a lie. She was extremely touch starved. She was more wary of new touch, because, in her experience, it could only bring pain in the long run. Letting people get close, generally, was something she avoided on an instinctual level, not that anyone ever really tried to get close to her before freshman year. Pushing everyone away had become her brand. Only recently did she start breaking that habit, letting Tommy work her out of her shell, but it was still a long, slow process. Becoming friends with him, despite everyone he’s close to at school, was not a choice that came easily, and perhaps, in hindsight, it was made too quickly for her comfort. There was no going back now, though. Maybe in an odd way, that was what she needed. An environment that made getting close to someone a must.

Glancing at Tommy with a thoughtful look, she fiddled with one of her curls, which felt stringy and rough when she wrapped it around her finger. If there was a person she could trust with it, it would surely have to be Tommy. The choice was obvious.

  “Sure,” She signed to him. She wrinkled her nose at his goofy smile. “You jellyfish.”

  “Ow! I’m hurt!” Tommy cried dramatically. “Me? A jellyfish? How could you say such a thing?!”

Carrie giggled. 

  “I’m going to go grab a brush.”

Tommy whisked out of the bedroom, but returned moments later with a blue brush in his hands. It was worlds away from Carrie’s wooden, black-bristled one.

Tommy sat back down on the bed and Carrie turned her back to him, letting him have full view of her dark brown mane. Closing her eyes, Carrie took a deep breath. Why was she so nervous? This wasn't anything she should have been nervous over and yet...it felt almost like a test of trust for them. A trust fall that could make or break all her progress with Tommy.

  “I’m going to start now, okay?” Tommy told her. She appreciated the hesitation and patience more than she’d ever like to admit.

  “Go ahead,” She signed, straightening her back. “Be gentle, please? I know my hair may be a bit knotty right now, but try not to pull…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Tommy assured her. After a moment, he started running his fingers through Carrie’s hair, slowly and gently. It was smart, he congratulated himself for. It was going to be easier to find and get rid of any knots this way.

Carrie was starting to relax; he could feel the muscles in her upper back lose some tension and her shoulder blades stopped being stiff, featherless wings poised beneath her skin. So far, she wasn't getting hurt, and the touch was surprisingly pleasant. Tommy really did know what he was doing.

  “You do this with Sue?”

Tommy had to peek over her shoulder to see the signs, but managed to make out what she said without asking her to repeat herself. “Yup!” He confirmed proudly. “I’m really good at it too, huh? I am an expert at all the styles! The cheerleaders and dance team should higher me to french braid their hair.”

Carrie giggled at that mental image. And then--

  “Ow!!”

Tommy froze. He had accidentally pulled on a knot too hard and Carrie shouted, verbally shouted, and recoiled in pain. He pulled his hands back instantly as she leaned forward, breathing heavily in a way that suggested that the hair pulling had given her more than just a shock of discomfort. Her eyes wide open from astonishment, her hands shaking.

It’s been a while since anybody pulled her hair, but she remembered the pain and humiliation clearly. After all, it was a constant for most of her life, and was far from the worst thing she had experienced, but even so, it was not pleasant to be reminded of that.

  “Caz? Carrie? Are you okay?” Tommy asked, worry thick in his voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you alright?”

Carrie took a deep breath and leaned back slowly. She nodded. 

  “Yes,” She signed with hands that were still shaking slightly. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tommy said guilty.

  “It’s okay,” She signed. “It happens sometimes.” She wasn’t as relaxed as she was at the start, but pulled herself together pretty well regardless. After a short moment of hesitation, she felt the brush on her hair again, gently stroking down. Slowly and carefully at first, growing more steady overtime as her hair was getting smoother.

  “Caz?”

  “Hmm?” Carrie hummed. Her eyes were closed in contentment. Wonderful tingles and sparks were crackling through her scalp with every stroke of the brush. She had forgotten how nice it felt to get her hair played with. She could fall asleep to this feeling…

  “What happened earlier today? At school?” There’s worry in Tommy’s voice. The topic alarmed Carrie, and she tried to shake herself back into awareness, but her hair being brushed just felt so nice…

  “Nothing,” She signed with lazy flicks of her hands. “Just something dumb that happened with my mom. It was on my mind for a while. And then I heard something that reminded me of it and I just kind--snapped--I guess.”

Tommy frowned. At the same moment as she said that, he swept her hair to the side and saw those marks again. Up close, he could make out that they were definitely scabs of some sorts. He thought they may be burns by the pale, pus-like glaze over the expanse of each blemish. Burns from a cooking class at school, maybe? The grease they use did sometimes fly. But the marks looked way too big to be grease burns and Carrie didn’t have any cooking electives. So what were they? What had happened to her?

Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask.

This replayed in Tommy’s head over and over again as he combed Carrie’s hair into one big mass in his left hand. He set the brush aside and began to part the hair into three portions, feeling Carrie lurch slightly.

  “Shh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” Tommy shushed her gently.

Carrie relaxed again. He even felt her lean her head back into his hands and breathe out the softest sign of contentment.

With a wrench of his heart, he wondered when the last time she was ever treated with such gentleness was.

  “Do you…” Tommy exhales, unsure if his next words are going to be the right ones. The curiosity is killing him. “Do you, I don’t know, wanna talk about it? It’s cool if you don’t, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.” He dragged his fingers through one of the three groups of hair. “I know it helps for some people, getting everything out. Sue will, like, make these bracelets with beads that have letters on them and she’ll spell out what’s bothering her. Then she will cut it up or burn it or do something and that’s how she’ll get over, or at least cope, with something. If that makes sense.”

  “No, no, it does.” Carrie signed. “That’s really cool, actually. Good for her.” Pause. She fumbled with her hands. “I just-- I don’t think talking is gonna help right now. I’m already thinking about things too much. Don’t really want to fuel the fire.” Another pause. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay!” Tommy said hurriedly. “I understand!”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie is leaning into his hands again and making tiny cooing noises.

  “You’re enjoying this, huh?” He chuckled.

  “Mhm…” Carrie nodded sleepily. He wondered how well she slept at night, especially without a pillow.

  “You are very endearing when you are half-asleep,” Tommy said.

That seemed to jar Carrie slightly.

  “Mmm--” She tried to sit up and shake herself awake, but it was obvious she was quite tired. Her breakdown at school probably took a lot out of her, and then to continue school activities afterward-- Tommy would be exhausted if he were her. And it seemed that she really was.

  “No, hey--” Tommy grabbed her shoulder, but let go instantly when she flinched. “It’s okay, Caz. You can take a nap if you want.”

Carrie blushed. “N-no, that’s-- That’ll be weird. I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No.”

  “When did you last sleep?” 

It took Carrie by surprise. Tommy finished the loose braid and she turned to him quickly after, blinking tired eyes at him. She definitely didn’t get a good rest last night, if she got any at all.

He wondered if it was from the strange marks on her neck and shoulder.

  “A day ago?” Carrie admitted.

  “Carrie…” Tommy sighed. “That’s not good for you, you know. You need sleep.”

  “I know,” Carrie ruffled. “I just--” Her fluttering hands snapped into tightly clenched fists when the sound of the doorbell resonated through the house. Tommy looked up and could faintly hear his mom greeting someone, then footsteps ascending the staircase.

  “This conversation isn’t over.” He told Carrie sternly, then got up to go into the hallway and see who it was coming up. “Oh! Sue!”

After the initial greetings and a kiss hello, the couple walked back into Tommy’s bedroom. Sue seemed surprised to see Carrie sitting on the bed.

  “Oh, Carrie,” She said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Hi, Sue,” Carrie signed. Her eyes are half lidded, now, and even the simple signing of a greeting is sloppy.

  “We were working on the project for Mr. Stephens,” Tommy informed his girlfriend.

  “Ah,” Sue nodded. She peered at Carrie, who had her head slouched ever so slightly. “You look tired.”

  “She hasn’t slept for a day,” Tommy told her worriedly.

  “I don’t need sleep.” Carrie declared stubbornly. She has her head lifted and eyes open completely, but it seemed uncomfortable for her to do so.

  “I can’t understand you,” Sue said, “but from that look you have I’m assuming you think you could stay awake forever if you wanted to.” She tilted her head at Carrie with a warm smile. “It doesn’t work like that, you know. You need sleep, sweetie.”

That made Carrie falter. Her jaw fell open and she blinked at Sue’s soft expression, then closed her mouth and blushed faintly. She glared grumpily at Tommy.

  “Why is she so nice?” She signed angrily.

Tommy laughed and wrapped an arm around Sue’s shoulder. “Because she’s amazing!”

  “What?” Sue asked, looking up at him. “What did she say?”

  “She asked why you’re so nice,” Tommy told her. “Which is very true. Also you REALLY need to take ASL!”

  “I already have my language credits,” Sue said.

  “Well, so do I, but I’m still taking the class!”

  “I have no room in my schedule.”

  “Then get rid of something! You don’t need that medical class, right? You’re already smart!”

Sue laughed. “Yes, but probably not smart enough to-- Oh! Carrie!”

The little freshman was nodding off, tipping off of the bed, and would have smacked her face against the hardwood floor if Sue hadn’t cried out. She jolted backwards, eyes wide with fright, and Tommy immediately went over to her side, quickly followed by Sue.

  “Carrie,” Tommy said, “you need to rest. You’re /tired/.”

  “No.” Carrie signed stubbornly, although her eyes were barely open. Just a day without sleeping seemed to wring her dry, but, then again, she didn’t exactly have a great metabolism, or much energy to burn with how small she was. It’s no surprise that she got tired so easily, but added with the weight of her breakdown and not being able to properly recover from that because of classes--she must have felt like she’s been awake for weeks.

But there was something else, too. Her avoidance towards rest seemed to be more long-running than her just thinking it was impolite to do so at someone else’s house because she looked up at Tommy, her dull eyes glazed with fatigue and fear, and signed, “Please, Tommy. Don’t make me sleep.”

It was heartbreaking. The way she looked at him dug barbed claws into his chest and ripped his heart right out. He couldn’t possibly force her to do something she didn’t want to now, but…

  “I’m sorry, Carrie.” He said. “You need to rest.”

He swore he saw betrayal flicker in Carrie’s eyes and the barbed claws tore back into the open wound in his chest. He bit his tongue to keep himself from revoking his statement, which was a struggle because he really, REALLY wanted to now.

Carrie turned her head to Sue, her gaze helpless as she began to sway slightly. Her hands were clenching open and close as if she thought she could claw herself back to wakefulness.

  “Sue,” She signed clumsily, desperately. “Don’t let me sleep. My Mama-- I have to-- prayers-- have to go home-- gonna die-- nightmares--”

Sue steadied Carrie. The younger girl whimpered, desperation shining in her dark eyes. Sue looked at her with great care.

  “It’s going to be okay, Carrie.” She murmured to her. “Just rest. You’re exhausted, sweetie. You deserve to relax. Don’t worry, we’ll get you home.”

The pet name seemed to hit Carrie like a rag of chloroform to her face because she slouched over into her arms a mere second later, asleep--or unconscious. Her chest rose and fell in long, peaceful movements, and her face was as still as the couple had ever seen it. The tortured expression that seemed to be permanently etched into her features since she was a child was gone for now.

  “She’s cuddly,” Sue commented with an endeared chuckle. Even in unconsciousness, Carrie still curled into her like a kitten seeking warmth. She stroked her head, running her fingers down the laces of the braid. “Cute, too. Did you ask your mom if you could keep her?” She looked at Tommy with a teasing grin, but it fell when she saw his guilty expression. “Tommy? What’s wrong?”

  “Did you see the way she looked at me?” Tommy said. He clenched his hands against his jeans. “She looked like I had stabbed her.” He swallowed thickly. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”

  “Oh, darling,” Sue cooed. “You big sweetheart.” She moved one arm that was holding Carrie to take Tommy’s hand. “She’ll forgive you. I know she will. She looks up to you a lot. I don’t think she would want to lose you.”

Tommy smiled slightly. “You always know what to say.”

  “I learn from the best,” Sue winked at him. She looked down when Carrie stirred slightly against her, making a tiny noise before settling. “I never thought i’d be holding my boyfriend’s sleeping pet fish.”

  “Hsst.” Tommy jabbed her side. “She’s not my ‘pet fish’.”

  “If you say so!” Sue laughed. Her laughter died off, however, when she noticed the marks on Carrie’s neck and shoulder, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Oh my…”

  “Do you know what those are?” Tommy asked. “I was wondering about that but didn’t want to ask her. I thought that maybe they’re grease stains? I’ve seen that stuff fly before when cooking so they might--”

  “Tommy,” Sue breathed out in horror. “These are cigarette burns.”

#sue is absolutely the Mom Friend and you can pry that from my cold dead fingers #carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #sue snell #tommy ross #carrie fanfiction #carrie fanfic #my writing #a place to rest

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke)

okay, look. I wasn’t gonna post this until it was FINISHED because i am trying to learn to actually finish my wips. but. the world is sorta falling apart and i hope that maybe i can help even one person feel temporarily less anxious about it all. 

i wrote this for @gumnut-logic‘s birthday and am now over a month late, so! good! (so sorry nutty, you’re so incredible at blessing us with your words, i just wanted to do something nice for you since you’re so so good to us)

my love for virgil tracy + my silent lurking in this fandom have brought this about. i never thought i’d be writing thunderbirds fanfiction and yet. here we are (my father would be so disappointed in me).

this is my first time writing these characters, as will become painfully clear. pls be nice to me, i am fragile lol. i am horribly aware that my virg is probably too ‘floppy’ as per your post, nutty, so sorry in advance! this is me whumping your boy emotionally and mentally, but i’m gonna fix him, i swear! there are five parts (i have written the first three). 

virgil is always written as being very good at taking care of his mental health, and it occurred to me that some of the best people at this have had to learn to be that way, and so I guess this is an exploration of that? anyway, have some virgil aggressively loving his family. 

brains isn’t in this and kayo isn’t much either sorryyy. oh my GOd shut up, here you go:

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn't have to do it alone.

word count: 2.8k ish (part 1/5)

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

i.

He isn’t quite sure where it began. Somewhere between three back-to-back rescues, pulling a child’s body from thick, black mud, and failing to reach the scientist before smoke ravaged her lungs, a weight settles in his chest that none of his usual coping mechanisms can shift. 

To say it’s been a hard week would be an understatement, but then again, they��ve had hard weeks before. Any time a rescue mission turns into a recovery mission, they all feel it - how can they not? - but this time, this time is different. 

Perhaps it was seeing the kid’s mother break down completely at the sight of such a small corpse. Perhaps it was the abuse hurled at him and his brothers by the scientist’s girlfriend for failing to rescue her soulmate in time. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion and pain, perhaps it was feeling ribs break under the force of his CPR efforts, perhaps it was knowing that in spite of it all, it wasn’t enough. 

It’s like he can’t quite draw a full breath. Like his throat has half-closed and tears are creeping at the back of his eyes, but neither is willing to break the damn. It’s the heaviest kind of emptiness he’s ever known. 

And so Virgil forces it away - or if not away, then at least to one side - whilst he takes care of brothers who need to talk about the horrors they have just witnessed and the fresh guilt they now bear. He’ll take care of himself later (probably) and then he’ll finally be able to shift that god-awful weight on his lungs. It’s fine. 

*

Alan is easy enough to handle; Virgil’s pedestal will never be as high as Scott’s or John’s but he’s still Alan’s big brother, and Alan feeds on reassurance and praise. Virgil knows that both Scott and John will be in later to check on their youngest too, but for now, Alan needs him. 

“You did well today, kiddo,” Virgil says, leaning against the doorframe to Alan’s suite. His littlest brother is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. 

Alan blinks slowly, twists to meet his eyes. Overly-bright cornflower blues meet steady browns and Virgil catches the tremble of Alan’s lower lip with an aching heart. 

“You did, Allie.” Virgil strides across the room and has Alan scooped into a hug within seconds. “All those people are gonna wake up tomorrow because of you.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, Virg,” whispers Alan. “So many people didn’t make it.” 

“I know.”

(The weight on his chest and struggle to breathe will never let him forget it). 

Alan sighs, rests his head on his brother’s broad chest. “I just - I keep remembering her face. When she realised I couldn’t save her. I close my eyes and she’s just - there.” He closes his eyes and digs the heels of his palms into them.

He’s so young. It’s not the first time that Virgil has had doubts about forcing this responsibility on a teenager, but it is the first time Alan’s watched someone die in his arms and none of Virgil’s carefully crafted words will change that. Especially not now, whilst the pain is raw and jagged and demanding to be felt - no, Virgil and his brothers will be helping him to untangle this over the next few weeks.

“Wanna play something?” he asks instead. 

The response is less enthusiastic than usual, but soon Alan has a fragile smile on his lips as he thrashes Virgil’s Princess Peach with Waluigi (and so what if Virgil deliberately chooses the tracks he knows he’s shit at just to make Alan chuckle when he falls off Rainbow Road again?). 

*

His water-loving brother won’t be so easy (though of course, there’s nothing easy about watching someone so young trying to carry the weight of the world). Still, Gordon is at least predictable in his frustrated misery and rolls his eyes as he sees Virgil coming towards the pool with a towel in hand. 

“I’m not in the mood, Virg,” he calls, before hurling himself underwater and sinking to the bottom of the pool. 

It’s Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes, but he kicks off his shoes, sits on the poolside and dangles bare feet into the water, waiting. When Gordon finally emerges from the water, annoyance flickers across his face at the sight of his waiting brother, and he turns, kicking away from Virgil with a powerful breaststroke. 

Virgil waits until Gordon’s swum four lengths before speaking. “How are you doing?”

Gordon’s perfect rhythm barely falters as he grabs his brother’s leg and yanks, pulling Virgil into the pool and immediately swimming away. Virgil shakes the water from his hair, internally cursing his stubborn-ass younger brother and treads water until Gordon reaches his end of the pool again. 

“How many lengths is that?”

Gordon ignores him, switching fluidly into butterfly stroke and splashing away from him once more. 

Virgil can’t help but sigh; his limbs are aching and his chest is heavy and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed. But his younger brother is hurting - emotionally, sure, judging by the way he’s slicing through the water like it’s done him wrong, but physically too if the minute winces are anything to go by. (And Virgil can’t stand it). 

The next time Gordon comes by, Virgil is ready. He seizes his brother around the middle, and bodily drags him to the edge of the pool. He doesn’t often use his size and strength against his brothers, but this time calls for it. Once out of the water, the fight goes out of Gordon, and he staggers, murmuring “ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Come here, you idiot.” Virgil pulls Gordon into a shady spot by the loungers, and begins helping Gordon stretch out overworked muscles. Gordon hisses as Virgil presses down on his calf muscle. “Sorry, Gordo.”

“S’okay.” Gordon glares up at the sky. “Just stupid cramp.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil shakes his head. “Yeah, that or the fact you’re reliving your Olympic training after having been up for forty-eight hours straight.”

“You know if you keep doing that, your face will get stuck.”

Virgil pulls a hideous face, then grins in response to Gordon’s laugh. It feels good to smile, it shifts the weight on his lungs the tiniest bit. 

“Flip over and I’ll do your back.”

“Virgil Tracy, you’re a goddamn saint,” Gordon declares, obediently flopping onto his stomach. 

There’s a pause whilst Virgil runs expert hands over the rock-like knots in Gordon’s back and Gordon melts into the mattress. When Virgil next speaks, his voice is gentle even as his hands dig in: “You know that punishing yourself isn’t going to bring them back.”

Gordon tenses then sighs. “Damnit, Virg. Can’t a guy get a massage without psychoanalysis?”

But his voice is a great deal lighter than it would have been even half an hour before.

*

His wrists are aching by the time he drags himself out to the cliff edge where Kayo likes to perch. 

His brothers have different uses for this particular stretch of rock: Scott likes to end his morning runs here by stretching in the breeze off the waters. For John, it’s a spectacular place to stargaze, not least because it’s so very quiet and dark up here. Gordon can often be found diving off these rocks, cheered on by Alan, much to the constant stress of their oldest brother, who attributes more than seventy percent of his grey hairs to this cause. 

For Kayo, it’s a watchpost. Her stormy eyes skim the horizon for non-existent threats, calculating, calm, controlled. And after a bad rescue (or three), she sits and waits for hours at a time, gazing into choppy waves and brilliant sunsets with the loneliest eyes Virgil has ever seen. He’s supposed to sit with Kayo in silence until she tells him what she needs from him, be it a hug, his presence, or just distance. 

This time, she makes it clear the moment he pads towards her, fading into the rocks like she was never even there. Distance, then.

*

John is possibly the hardest to handle of all his siblings, purely because he’s the hardest to get a hold of. John knows Virgil’s antics only too well, knows that a meaningful conversation about how he feels is coming, and has therefore made himself scarce. 

 Virgil sighs as John misses (read: rejects) his third call in a row. Two can play at that game, Jonny.

Instead, he dials straight through to EOS. 

She answers him immediately, as usual. “Virgil. I have been anticipating your call.”

“You have?”

“You have all had unsuccessful missions. You always call after missions with a body count.”

Virgil swallows, fresh guilt rising in his throat, and forces it back down. 

“Please can you put me through to John, EOS?”

“Of course, Virgil.”

Silence for a second, and then John’s hologram appears. His red-headed brother is studiously avoiding eye contact, hands darting over controls in an anxious pattern.

“This isn’t a good time, Virgil, I’m busy rerouting some calls to local emergency services, and-”

“John.”

“-and there’s a call from Tehran that really needs me, so if that’s all-”

“John.”

Silence. 

“How long since you last ate?” 

John’s eyes meet Virgil’s and he looks away at once. “Uh… this morning?”

“Negative,” EOS chimes in, “last intake was twenty-six hours ago.”

John’s jaw clenches. “Thanks, EOS.”

“John, you need to eat.”

“Smother Brother.”

“I’m serious.”

EOS pipes up again, “John also needs to rest. He has been operating for twice the recommended period of time.” 

John glowers, but says nothing.

“Don’t make me set Scott on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows and John sighs loudly in frustration. “I will. I will. I just - thinking about food makes me feel nauseous. Like…” He swallows, looks away. “Like I’m eating mud.”

The sharp hurt in Virgil’s heart twinges violently and he wishes more than anything he could wrap John up in a bearhug and stop the world from hurting him. “What if I’m here whilst you try?” he asks softly.

Another sigh. “Fine. But only if you eat something too,” John says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that your stomach was growling even louder than Two’s engines on the way home.”

“Smother Brother,” Virgil’s voice is hopelessly fond, even as he goes to make a sandwich that he can’t face eating (which for him, is a bad sign - he who has forced down Grandma’s inedible chilli through sheer willpower and love). The bread is hard and tasteless, the filling bitter. He chokes down a half slice, focusing instead on the fact that his younger brother is carefully chewing at his toasted bagel, eyelids heavy. Eventually, John’s shoulders slump, and his head lolls back into slumber.

His work here is done. 

Well, almost -

“Hey, EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?” 

“Can you put that playlist I made him on a loop?”

“Of course, Virgil. Venus Bringer of Peace is now playing.”

There. 

*

His oldest brother is hurting. Virgil doesn’t need ESPN or whatever freaky connection Gordon and Alan accuse them of having to know that. 

There was a death toll, and therefore Scott will be hurting. Every life lost becomes a personal fault for the man, and nothing Virgil says or does will change that. They have this argument every two or three weeks, increasingly frequently as the months since their father’s disappearance have ticked into years. And he’s so very tired of rehashing the same words over again and again, he’s so tired of being utterly powerless against his brother’s borderline suicidal recklessness, he’s so tired of his uselessness in convincing Scott to stop treating his life like some replaceable trinket.

(So very, very tired).

And yet, Virgil stands in the doorway to his father’s office, bracing himself for yet another battle with his older brother.

Because taking care of the idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic is what he does best - especially when said idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic least wants it.

Scott is hunched over the desk, poring over debriefs with an almost-empty glass of something amber in his left hand. Virgil makes a mental note to re-encrypt the code to the drinks cabinet - Scott had cracked it far too quickly last time, but he doesn’t stand a chance against John…

“Hey, Scott,” he finally enters the room, but his brother doesn’t even spare him a glance. Virgil takes the seat opposite him - the one he used to sit in as his father waxed lyrical about his dream of an elite rescue organisation (it hurts) - and waits. 

After five or so minutes, Scott looks up blearily, blinking in surprise. “Virg? What are you - when did you-”

“It’s gone midnight, Scott. We agreed you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

A muscle in Scott’s jaw twitches. He’s wound tight from alcohol and stress, and it hurts Virgil to see it.  “I have to get this done.”

“Not at one am, you don’t.”

“Don’t start, Virg, you know debriefs are essential - you know I have to - to -”

“To what?” 

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you have to get done? What’s so important that it can’t wait till you’ve at least slept?”

Scott breaks - quicker than usual (thank you, whiskey) which is a relief, because Virgil’s energy is down to its last droplets; hell, it’ll be a miracle if he even makes it to his room after this. 

“To figure out where we fucked up! To explain to the fire services that we did fuck-all for their rescue efforts! To figure out why I wasn’t fast enough to get to those children! I have to - to know,” he flings himself to his feet and begins pacing. “Fifty-four people died today, that’s fifty-four lives we should have saved, and I have to know why we failed so it never happens again.” He slams both hands down on the table, scattering papers to the floor. His eyes are wild and slightly bloodshot, and Virgil’s heart aches for the pain in those cerulean blues. 

The fight leaves Virgil’s spirit, because for once, he’s having a hard time reconciling his own failings with the number of bodies he’s pulled from mud and rock today. Usually, he is the first to reassure his brothers that they did all they could. But on a day like today, with the weight of whatever-it-is on his chest, it’s just not good enough. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave Scott alone in his pain. 

“What can I do?” Virgil asks quietly, and Scott stares at him. 

A pause. “Just - just be here,” Scott allows at last, sinking back into his chair. 

“Always,” Virgil says, and he means it, even through the fog of this exhausted, low, heavy feeling. 

“You okay?” Scott says, looking him over with a frown, and Virgil curses internally, because of course, Scott notices what none of his other siblings have. 

“As much as any of us are right now,” Virgil answers, as honestly as he can. Scott clearly doesn’t quite believe him, because he keeps shooting Virgil surreptitious glances laden with concern, but he lets it go. Perhaps he too lacks the energy to fight him on this. 

(It’s not enough and Virgil knows it. It’s not enough to stop his brother from working himself into an early grave and it’s not enough to blame poor construction work for the collapse of a tower block when he should have been able to save them).

(He’s not enough). 

*

He’s exhausted. He had thought he was shattered before, but now - 

The heaviness in his chest is a gaping wide hole, and the edges are raw and ragged from trying to hold himself together. His throat closes and clogs, but the tears won’t come, even as misery wells inside of him.

He looks blankly at the piano he sometimes uses to pull himself back from edges like these - edges that plunge down, down, down into an abyss he daren’t explore. Only the tug in his chest isn’t there. The canvas on his easel remains blank, his paintbrush untouched. Hell, even the idea of a nice, hot shower has him cringing at the effort and self-care involved.

What the hell’s the matter with him? 

He can’t quite explain it, and for one usually so attuned to others’ emotions, this awful lowness is startling. Because it’s more than lowness, and it’s more than heaviness - it’s more like a complete absence of feeling, an emptiness that he doesn’t know how to name. 

Perhaps, it will shift in the morning. Perhaps, this is the consequence of pushing yourself to over-exhaustion and beyond, and then expelling what little energy remains to support your loved ones. Sleep will help, Virgil tells himself. Rest makes everything better, you will be better in the morning.

#thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #littleoldrachel writes #not wolfstar #happy belated birthday nutty!

[maximusthewolfe]

Peaches and Plums | 1/?

Back in Fillory, present day, Eliot struggles with the rush of memories from a life he apparently lived, even though he didn't. But there's a quest to be finished, a kingdom to be run, and a world with no magic to make it all infinitely more difficult. So what's a High King to do when flashbacks won't stop and Quentin just wants to move forward?

I wanted to play with all the empty spaces from THE scene in A Life in the Day, and explore the fallout from it in the present world that never really got shown. I hope you enjoy! 

Also on AO3 

“Just give. Me. A minute,” Eliot said through gritted teeth, irritation sharpening the edges of his words until they cut effortlessly.

“Babes, look, we don’t have a minute. I need you to get your shit together now.”

Margo’s voice matched his abrasive syllable for abrasive syllable, but Eliot kept the heels of his hands pressed firmly to his eyes. She was right. The quest was waiting. Their kingdom was waiting. Somewhere in the castle, Quentin was waiting. When had the weight of not one, but two entire worlds suddenly landed on his shoulders? And when had he decided he was okay with carrying it all?  He may have been miserable at Brakebills, but sometimes he missed the simplicity of burying his misery in drugs and drinks and warm bodies willing to occupy his senses for an evening.

“Can’t magic save itself for once? Let its merry band of idiots take a breather?” he said. His swift answer was Margo prying his hands from his face, an unforgiving look in her eyes.

“What the fuck is this, El? It’s your goddamn quest, you roped me in. And you know I’ll do anything to help you out here because fuck if I don’t miss magic more than that purple vibrator I left in the cottage, but I didn’t ask for this. Any of it. Do you see me moping over some lost past that probably sucked ass anyway? I mean, you apparently died, right? Sounds like a fuckin shitshow to me,” she said, hands on her hips, standing her ground, as always.

Her voice echoed slightly in the high marble ceilings of the throne room, only serving to add to the power of it. Margo had always known how to command a room. Or in this case, an entire castle. Eliot shook his head, a mess of dark curls flying from the places where they stuck out around his crown. “I know. Down, Bambi. I get it.”

“Well,” Margo said, tapping her gorgeous pointed toe boot on the floor, “What I need you to GET right now, is your ass in gear. Q’s called some sort of all-questers-on-deck meeting.”

Eliot groaned his disapproval but stood from his throne anyway. She was right. Margo was almost always right. But she had missed one fine detail. He wasn’t mourning the loss of a past he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t all lost when Margo stopped them from going to the mosaic in the first place. Oh no, not by a long shot. He remembered everything. That was the problem.

“Let’s go see what our sweet, depressive Potter thinks we ought to do next,” he said, raising a hand in protest even as he followed Margo out of the throne room. “Which, I take issue with, by the way. His incessant need to be the big man in charge. This quest was bestowed upon me, technically, and he keeps hijacking it.”

Eliot pretended not to hear the words of the Great Cock ringing in his ears. You have a brother of the heart. With the floppy hair. This quest was just as much Q’s as it was his. It might have been theirs – both of them – more than it was anyone else’s.

“Weren’t you just complaining about not wanting this thing?” Margo eyed him carefully, clearly uninterested in putting up with whatever rabid mood swing was overtaking him.

“Well, yeah, but I want the option of not wanting it, you know?” he said airily, twirling his hand above his head as though that elegant, meaningless movement explained what he meant.

“Oh fuck,” Margo rolled her eyes, “Can you not be a teenage girl for two seconds here?”

Eliot huffed, but he quieted and followed the path to the fairy-proof hallway, linking his arm in Margo’s. When they turned the corner, Eliot caught sight of Quentin pacing back and forth, hands twisting in front of him, long hair creating a curtain over his face. He could practically see the concentration on the younger man’s face, the way his forehead scrunched up, eyebrows practically in his hairline. He was trying to work something particularly difficult out, Eliot recognized the look in an instant.

****

And suddenly, he wasn’t in the pale stone hallway convening with the other questers anymore. He was outside a small hut, staring at piles of tiles around them, looking up to catch that same concentrated, problem-solving look etched onto Quentin’s face in a different world, in a different time, in a different life.

“Um – so,” Q started.

"Yeah,” Eliot paused, understanding what he was trying to say before it was said, “Um… Let’s just save our overthinking for the puzzle, yeah?”

A beat passed where Eliot’s heart was practically in his throat, and then Q nodded. “Yeah.”

And that was that, or so he thought.

The mosaic itself was increasingly frustrating by the day, but they still worked at it diligently, documenting each failed attempt and starting over again. And again. And again. By the end of the day, they were both exhausted, and by the end of this particular day, Eliot was especially exhausted. He’d been doing his best to follow his own advice, to save his overthinking for the puzzle, but it was difficult when he kept catching vivid glimpses of the night before in his mind.

He watched as Quentin moved through the little hut, anxiety coming off of him in waves as he filed away the drawings from the day according to some intricate organizational system he’d made up, and Eliot had let him run with. He’d thought he’d had a pretty good handle on all of Quentin’s… Quentinisms before they stepped through the clock and into this past version of Fillory, but the level of familiarity every tick, every look, every sigh now held in his heart only proved to him that he hadn’t known as much about the younger man as he’d assumed. So, it was unsurprising to the former (or future? Time travel had never really made sense to him) High King when Quentin looked in his direction with those big, worried eyes.

“Hey, El?”

Eliot blinked away the interest in his amber gaze and replaced it with practiced nonchalance. “Hmmm?” he hummed in response.

“You ever think about what’ll happen if we don’t figure it out?”

The fear in Quentin’s tone was poorly masked, even to the ears of someone not as well trained in emotional avoidance. Eliot’s immediate instinct was to diffuse.

“No, not really. That’s not how this story goes, Q. You’re the hero, and the hero doesn’t die halfway through the quest,” he said dismissively.

“Well, the hero also generally doesn’t kill a God and get magic turned off in the first place, so,” Quentin retorted, “I’m not sure the usual literary epic rules apply here.”

Eliot paused, elegantly wrinkling his brows at his…. friend? Fellow quester? Brother of the heart? Man he kissed and then some the night before? Quentin may have had a point, but if they couldn’t count on fairytale rules in this fairytale land, well, then what was the fucking point of it all?

“So we’re playing parts in Homer’s Morally Gray Odyssey. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Yeah, but what if you are?”

“Then I try to be right again tomorrow. We don’t have a lot of choice here,” Eliot said finally, sighing heavily.

“Huh….” Quentin’s unspoken anxieties were enough to drive Eliot completely mad.

“Come on, out with it,” he prompted, waving at the space in front of him. “The floor’s all yours.”

“No, it’s, it’s nothing.”

In lieu of rolling his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache, Eliot replied, “Convincing.”

“It’s just – “ Quentin’s hands were headed for his hair, a nervous tick Eliot had learned to recognize long before they’d spent a year with almost solely each other. “I know we said no overthinking last night –“

Eliot held up a hand, shaking his head as he stood. He tucked in the olive green fabric of his shirt that had been pulled loose in the movement.  “Stop. No, nothing good can follow that sentence. And no offense, but I think I’m about up to my tile-riddled brain in ‘nothing good’ for the day.”

He’d woken up that morning with an impressive amount of hope in his heart for Eliot Waugh. Quentin was lying beside him in bed, his own arm draped protectively over Quentin’s waist. It was something he’d never really been able to stop himself from doing, protecting Quentin. Even when it came at the cost of his own destruction, it was a fee he would pay a thousand times over. In the morning light, Eliot was quite certain he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the peaceful planes of Quentin’s face awash in the golden-pink of the sunrise filtering in through the window. It struck him in that moment how rarely he saw the younger man looking at peace. The calm on Quentin’s sleeping face then was a stark contrast to the intense anxiety that had clouded his every feature nearly as soon as he woke up.

One year. It had taken one year for Quentin Coldwater to break his heart again. But the way he’d looked at him after remembering the previous night; the way he’d practically jumped, and then almost fell, out of bed, tucked his hair anxiously behind his ears, dressing quickly and insisting on getting to work had done the trick. It took everything Eliot had to give him the out earlier that day, he didn’t think he could bear to drudge it back up in order to allow the younger man the space to verbally hammer the final nail in Eliot’s extremely premature coffin.

“El – “ Q protested, but Eliot sauntered away in the direction of the kitchen.

“Seriously? Can we not Quentin this to death, please?” he said, his voice betraying the exhaustion he felt at the prospect of having to listen to Quentin detail all the ways in which he was “really great, but…” That was typically his speech to give.

“Eliot, for fuck’s sake, would you let me finish a goddamn thought for once?”

Quentin had followed him into the hut’s tiny, primitive kitchen. The forcefulness in his voice caught Eliot off guard. With considerable effort, he stopped himself from speaking again by biting his lower lip from the inside and crossing his arms with impossible grace over his chest. He arched an eyebrow in a sort of challenge for Quentin, conceding him the floor.

“Oh, um. Okay. I didn’t think you were really going to –“ Quentin must have caught the exasperation that swept into Eliot’s gaze, because he corrected himself quickly, “Right.”

“Look, I just – I’ve been thinking and I know that all of this,” his hands flailed around him, trying to encompass the hut, the mosaic, and the time they’d stepped into in one erratic gesture, “Is just, y’know, not at all what either of us expected. And I dunno, it’s a different world, but it’s also not? And you’re still Eliot and I’m still Quentin and I just think that’s something important. That’s something you should know, you know?”

“Q….” Eliot interjected cautiously. Biting his tongue had never been Eliot’s strong suit, but he did his best, motioning for Q to wrap it up, smirking to mask the small spark of hope that had ignited in his chest. It was foolhardy, Eliot knew, but something in the tone of Quentin’s rambles shifted the day’s despair in him slightly.

“What I’m saying – what I’m trying to say is – we’re here. And it’s familiar because it’s Fillory, right? But it’s also totally not because it’s Fillory like, forever ago, and we uh, we don’t know HOW long we’re gonna be here. We could figure this out tomorrow and I dunno, I just mean, if we did, if we do, I don’t think it would uh, I don’t want you to think it would change the fact,” Quentin’s sentence sputtered out there, his left hand raising from the place it had settled deep in his pocket and coming to rest on the back of his neck, his elbow jutting awkwardly out from his side.

“That I – I want last night to happen again.”

A hush fell over the entire hut. In the heavy silence, Eliot’s heart took Quentin’s words and used them as lighter-fluid drenched kindling, growing the spark of hope into a wildfire that propelled him forward. He reached out his arms so that his hands cupped the sides of Quentin’s face a full three seconds (damn long limbs) before the rest of him did, and pulled the shorter man up to him, dipping down to meet him somewhere in the middle, their lips crashing together far less gracefully than they had the night before. He felt Quentin’s arm drop from the back of his neck, felt the uncertainty in the other man’s body as Eliot kissed him like he was the only viable source of oxygen in the room.

When Quentin had started rambling, Eliot wasn’t sure what to expect, but it damn sure wasn’t the confession he received, and if this was a quick lapse in mental clarity brought on by the stress of another unsuccessful day at the mosaic, he wasn’t going to miss his moment. Eliot’s long fingers tangled easily into Quentin’s hair, and after a moment where Quentin’s entire body tensed against the sudden contact, Eliot felt him relax into it, felt Q’s hands wrapping around his waist, hands sliding up his back. They stayed that way for several minutes, Eliot’s tongue hungrily exploring the younger man’s mouth until finally he pulled away but kept his hands on either side of Quentin’s face.

“Done overthinking it?” he asked, a slow, playful smile spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.

Quentin looked dazed, eyes bouncing back and forth between Eliot’s as though searching for some sign that this was all a joke to the older man. He would find no such evidence. After a long moment, seemingly satisfied with his search, Q smiled, mirroring the joy Eliot could feel emanating from his own face, and lifted onto his toes to close the space between them again.

#the magicians #queliot #fanfiction #magicians ff #the magicians ff #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #3x05 #a life in the day #queliot ff

[gaypopandlockmein-blog]

Hands of Time

Pairing: You / Shownu

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,820

Genre: Soulmate!AU // Non-Idol!AU

Summary: In a world filled with soulmates, you never really think about meeting yours. It will happen, but the when is harder to pinpoint; unless you happen to have a count down attached to your wrist. Now it’s only a matter of time before you meet them, and you aren’t sure how to feel.

Everybody on Earth has a soulmate. Soulmates can have a timer on their wrists or the red string of fate tying them together; they can have the name of their future partner on them or a small tattoo that matches someone else’s. Since before I, or my parents, or even my great great grandparents were born, soulmates existed in the world, though people never truly noticed that they were being led to said person.

I find myself looking down at my wrist again, watching the timer tick away. I’ve got three days, seven hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-six, no, twenty-five seconds before I officially meet my other half. Dropping my head into my hands, I rub at my temples and whisper over and over to myself that this was pre-ordained. Whoever I meet is going to be the love of my life, for the rest of my mortal existence. A deep sigh escapes me as I imagine all the possible situations.

There have been accounts of soulmates that clashed as soon as they met, even if they were supposed to be together. There are sob stories of soulmates who die before they can meet; tales of ones who meet but can’t be together. The longer I sit here in this coffee shop and think about all the things that could go wrong, I start to feel sick, and shake my head of the thoughts rattling in my brain. This is no time to be panicking over this. You’ve still got a few days, and you don’t even know what will happen. No point in psyching yourself out over it.

“Y/N?”

My head raises at the sound of someone saying my name. I immediately start beaming, standing from my chair and wrapping the guy in my arms. “Oh my god! Hyungwon, what are you doing here? I thought you went abroad for that modelling gig!”

His cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. I wave him towards the table that I’m sitting at, offering him the chance to turn it down if he wants. Hyungwon gives me a small smile, taking a seat opposite me, cupping his coffee between his large hands. Comfortable silence settles between us for a moment before he opens his mouth, eyes drifting around the shop.

“I actually…met my soulmate while I was abroad. I-I didn’t exactly expect it, you know? Threw my whole career into a bit of a,” he sips at his drink before continuing after making a face, “a rough patch, if you will. Anyway, I finished the modelling job there, spent some time with them and then came back home. I’ve got another job running here for a while, but it’s hard to focus when they’re not around.”

I can see as much, since Hyungwon has been looking around this entire time. His gaze can’t seem to focus on any one thing, and the only time it does is when he’s glancing at the phone he set on the table, face up to show the screen. A soft sigh escapes my parted lips as I prop my chin up with the palm of my hand. Leaning into it, I wiggle my brows a little, causing Hyungwon to snort and shake his head, floppy brown hair swishing over his forehead and eyes.

“Well you can’t just tell me you met your soulmate and tell me nothing! What are they like? Are they a model as well? Wait, wait! I wanna see a picture!” I gush, reaching over and grasping his hand.

Hyungwon rolls his eyes, lids drooping in their usual manner as he picks up his phone and pulls up a photo. Handing me the object, he starts talking about their job and what they’re like, causing me to beam at my best friend. The two of us have known each other since primary school, always being there to defend the other whenever someone decided it would be a fun idea to pick on the one of us. It was the one thing that got me through all those years of bullying and frustration from my parents to be the perfect kid.

“Ah, I’ve got a friend meeting me for lunch, so I should be going. I’ll text you later, yeah? Maybe you can meet Shownu sometime soon. If you’re still single and all,” Hyungwon teases, pocketing his phone as he stands and throws out his coffee cup.

I stick my tongue out at him, standing as well and packing up my things. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I curse loudly, drawing the attention of multiple patrons in the shop. I can hear Hyungwon laughing at the door, and an apology falls from my lips before I’m rushing out after him and shoving at his tall frame.

“Shut up! That was so embarrassing!” Brushing some hair back from my face, I chew on my bottom lip as I pull out my car keys. “I’d love to meet one of your friends though. It’s not like I’ve had much time to socialize with anybody outside of my computer and all those people I have to help on the phone. You have no idea how hard it is to care for an art gallery.”

We pause at my car, my arms wrapping around Hyungwon, who returns the hug and ruffles my hair as he steps back. I squint up at him and smile, feeling a lightness overtaking my chest at seeing him again. It feels like ages since I’ve hung out with any friends of mine, especially Hyungwon, who travels a lot. After a minute, I gasp, eyes widening in surprise.

“Wait! Is he a model too?”

The question seems to catch Hyungwon off guard, his face twisting in confusion before registering the inquiry. He laughs, doubling over and clutching at his stomach as he shakes his head. I frown, kicking at the ground and punching his arm playfully.

“Aish! Don’t laugh at me! I want to be prepared if I’m about to meet another attractive model,” I quip, watching as Hyungwon waves his hand and collects himself.

“He’s not a model, sorry. It’s hilarious that you asked though, because there are plenty of agencies that have been trying to get him to work with them.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he straightens up and steps back so I can get in my car. “He’s a dancer, usually works with students teaching classes or can be found choreographing for musician’s music videos. I think you’ll like him. I’ll text you later and we’ll set up a good time for all of us to hang out. I might bring Minhyuk and Jooheon.”

The thought of seeing more of my friends has me nodding happily and telling Hyungwon to text me before I pull out of my spot. Waving at him from my window, I glance at the clock on my wrist and shiver. Just three days, Y/N, and then you’ll meet your soulmate.

My eyes flicker down to my wrist again, heart racing in my chest as I realize I’ve got five minutes before I’m going to meet my soulmate. Hyungwon is sitting beside me, fingers flying over his phone screen as he texts someone, perhaps his friend, perhaps his soulmate, I don’t know. I’m so focused on my own sickness rolling in my stomach that I don’t think about it. A throat clears on my left and I turn, seeing Minhyuk with a raised brow staring back at me.

“What’s wrong? You look like you might be sick. Are you not interested in watching this movie? We can always change,” he states, expression worried. It reminds me of my mother’s face when I’m sick and I swallow thickly, shaking my head.

I move my arm over and show him the clock there, watching Minhyuk’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your soulmate is gonna be here?! Oh my god! This is amazing!”

I place my hand over his mouth, hushing him, looking around and sighing out when I realize no one was paying attention. My lips pucker and brows furrow as I give Minhyuk an ‘are you kidding me?’ face, causing him to return an impish smile my way. He mouths ‘sorry’ after I pull my hand away and I sigh softly. Every time someone walks in, I find my gaze falling to my wrist and then jumping back to them, thinking, maybe this is the one.

Of course, it never is, and as the seconds are finally counting down, I think I might explode from the excitement and panic racing through my veins. Just as the time runs out, Jooheon, and who I assume is Shownu, come wandering in. I’m aware that Jooheon isn’t my soulmate, given that he found his own ages ago, so my eyes flit right to Shownu, who tilts his head to the side when he sees me. They make their way up the steps, pausing in the aisle before Jooheon starts shoving his way to a seat beside Minhyuk.

My entire nervous system lights on fire, glancing down to my wrist and seeing that, yes, I am out of time. Returning my eyes to Shownu, I see him look at his own wrist, a surprised expression taking over his features. It’s cute, the way his lips part slightly and how his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. When he finally glances back at me, I can see his own excitement and worry settle on his face, body stilling briefly. This gives me a chance to give him a once over, taking in his body and features. I must admit, I can understand why so many modelling agencies want to work with him.

He’s got the physique of a boxer, all thick thighs and broad shoulders, clearly muscular underneath the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing. His black hair is short, fluffing up at the front and standing out against his tan skin and dark brown eyes that swim with all sorts of questions that I’m not sure I can answer. My gaze travels down his face, pausing on the full and pouty lips that are still parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise. A throat clears beside me, reminding both myself and Shownu that we’re at a movie theatre and that there’s a show about to start.

“Umm, Hyungwon, mind if I sit here? I like being in the aisle seat,” Shownu asks, voice deep and slow. It’s obvious he’s thinking over his words carefully, making sure they don’t seem too suspicious or awkward.

Hyungwon glances up from his phone, nodding as he stands and moves to sit on the other side of Jooheon, who’s talking off Minhyuk’s ear as he smiles brightly. Once Shownu sits, the theatre darkens, previews starting to play on the screen, meaning we can’t exactly talk. I chance a peek at him, watching the light from the screen illuminate his face until he glances at me, catching me staring. We both look away, blushing darkly at the fact that we were caught.

As the movie officially starts, I feel the barest touch against my hand, causing me to shiver. I suppose this is taken as acceptance, because the weight and warmth of Shownu’s hand encloses mine, sparks racing through my body at the mere touch of his skin against my own. In all honesty, I don’t remember any of the film since I’m so wrapped up in the fact that I’ve found my soulmate, and he’s holding my hand and…oh wow. Standing out in the foyer of the theatre, I think, he’s even more handsome when there’s actual light; the thought making my heart skip a beat in my chest.

Rubbing at my eyes, I blink a few times, pretending I’m merely adjusting to the change in brightness. The rest of the boys file out after Shownu and I, stretching their arms to the sky and talking about how good the movie was. Neither Shownu nor I speak, occasionally sending a furtive glance at the other before looking away just as quickly. The weight of an arm crashing around my shoulders has my knees bending before I manage to stand back up.

Jooheon smiles down at me, ruffling my hair as he starts to chatter. “So, we’re all going out for pizza and beer, right? I’m dying to let loose, even for an hour. There is way too much going on in my life. How’ve you been though, Y/N? Hyungwon told me that you stopped working at the coffee shop.”

I nod, fighting the urge to find Shownu behind Jooheon. “Yeah, I started working as an art gallery curator. It pays better and I get to spend time with people who have such amazing ideas. Sure, making coffee was great, but it killed my back and didn’t give me the chance to hang out with people and do things with my life.”

The mention of art has Minhyuk going off, talking all about his newest project. Most of the night is spent like this, trading stories about how our futures have been, whether we’ve met our soulmate, and family life. Shownu is quiet much of this time, merely watching me interact with the others with an occasional statement dropped in to seem invested in the conversation. I can feel his gaze on me though, nearly burning through me as I stand up to step outside for a minute and get some fresh air. Leaning against the side of the pizzeria we’re at, I crack one eye open when the door opens a few seconds after me, Shownu stepping out and inspecting the sky.

“It’s a beautiful night, no?” His voice is soft, drifting on the breeze. We stand there in silence for a beat longer before he turns to me, walking over and propping himself against the wall next to me. “I never thought I would meet my soulmate through Hyungwon, of all people.”

Snorting, I nod in response. “Me either. I kind of always assumed it would be Minhyuk or Kihyun, since they’re always trying to play matchmaker for everyone.” My eyes drift to his face, heart skipping a beat when I see how close he is. One of his hands brushes mine, the sparks returning immediately and shooting through me.

He smiles softly when I inhale quietly, eyes raising to meet mine in a question before he laces his fingers with my dangling ones. It feels right, leaving me leaning into him before placing my head on his shoulder. Breathing in deeply, I get a whiff of cologne, something spicy and warm, with a hint of soap. I don’t know how long we stand there, merely basking in the presence of each other before the door bangs open and we hear Minhyuk scream.

“I FOUND THEM! THEY’RE OUT HERE MAKING OUT!” He runs back inside, clearly still yelling about Shownu and I.

My cheeks burn as I hide my face in his shoulder, groaning about how absolutely idiotic our friends could be. Shownu chuckles, his body shaking as he does so, making me smile and bury my head further into his shirt. I feel the pressure of his free hand against the back of my neck, causing me to move away from his shoulder and look back up at him. His gaze is deep, drawing me further into him without noticing my body moving.

The touch of his lips against mine fills me with fire, all the nerves inside me jumping to life. I surge forward, crushing my mouth to his and gripping at the back of his hair, earning a groan from Shownu. The kiss is sweet, despite the bruising nature of it, leaving me both breathless and desperate for more. His fingers slide up to the back of my head, tilting my head and giving him better access as his pressure increases.

I feel his tongue glide over my bottom lip and think nothing of opening mouth for him, an exhale shoved from my chest at the touch of him. We must look like horny teenagers with the way we’re kissing, but I don’t give a fuck, clinging to him as if he was my only lifeline. It’s the sounds of hoots and hollering that make us pull away, both panting with our heads down as blushes burn our faces. The guys all are shouting at us, but we can’t look at them, eyes only raising enough to stare at the other.

“I suppose we should go back inside and finish eating. Something tells me we won’t be able to do that again until we have our first date,” Shownu murmurs.

His comment makes my heart race, fingers still tangled with his as he leads me back inside. The other boys are teasing and poking fun at us, but I’m not listening, thinking only about the fact that this was my soulmate. I think I can get used to it.

#monsta x #monsta x imagine #monsta x imagines #monsta x fanfic #monsta x au #monsta x scenario #monsta x scenarios #sohn hyunwoo #sohn hyunwoo au #sohn hyunwoo imagine #sohn hyunwoo imagines #sohn hyunwoo fanfic #sohn hyunwoo scenario #sohn hyunwoo scenarios #sohn shownu #sohn shownu au #sohn shownu imagine #sohn shownu imagines #sohn shownu fanfic #sohn shownu scenario #sohn shownu scenarios #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fanfic #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios

[stardustheartbeats]

skam fic week – day 1

aka a nooreva fake dating au that that i started but haven’t finished yet! i do hope you like this beginning though :) 

You wanna be friends forever? I can think of something better

Saturday, January 18th

    It wasn’t like Eva planned for this to happen. She never planned on this stuff happening. One minute she’d be having a great time, out with her friends, drinking and dancing and laughing so hard that her stomach would seize up, and the next minute she’d be pressed up against the wall of the bar or the bathroom or the alleyway outside, kissing people who would usually remain forever nameless, even faceless, to her. Usually it was fun.

    Tonight was different, in some ways, but still more of the same. Different because she recognized the guy who was looking at her across the crowded bar. The same because she thought she’d probably end up in the bathroom with him in a few short minutes. Different because she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Different still because she remembered his mouth on hers: hungry, forceful, just on the brink of too much. She shivered at the thought.

    No, she decided. She definitely did not want to end up in the bathroom with him.

    “Eva!” Vilde shouted over the music. “Do you want to dance?”

    Eva tore her gaze away from the guy, blinking. “Nei, I’m okay. You guys go ahead,” Eva said, waving Vilde and Chris off. They turned and headed for the dancefloor. If they noticed Eva’s mood shift, they didn’t say anything. And neither did Sana, sitting at the table with Eva and looking over the room with a watchful eye.

    Eva took another sip of her drink, trying to shake off the weird vibes that she was getting from the guy across the room.

    “So, how is Yousef doing?” she asked Sana.

    When Sana’s face brightened and she launched into a story about Yousef and the five year olds that he taught at his school, Eva started to relax. There was nothing that could calm her more than her friends talking about the people that they loved.

And speaking of which, just as Sana was finishing her story, Isak and Even sauntered up to the table. Eva smiled automatically. They’d been together for three years now, and it still seemed to Eva like they’d only just met. They were all heart-eyes and hungry hands. Sometimes it made her sad. Mostly she was just so fond of them that she didn’t have room for anything else.

They sat down, and Isak eyed Eva. “Ah, Miss Mohn. You’re still with us,” he said, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes.

“I am perfectly capable of not ending the night with a hookup, Mr. Valtersen,” she said.

“Are you?”

She scoffed, indignant. “Of course.” She hardened her voice, even though she wasn’t sure she believed her own words.

“I don’t think so. It’s like, you’re afraid of being alone, but you’re also afraid of committing.”

Eva’s mouth dropped open. “What the fuck?” she said. Isak just shrugged and then said something to Sana about the biology class that they had together.

Even looked at her with a pained expression on his face. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Sorry, Eva. He’s in a mood tonight. Family stuff, you know?” he said, patting her on the knee. “He loves you. You know that.”

She nodded and smiled at Even, though she could feel the tightness in her mouth. Isak had always had the ability to cut through to the very heart of her, and tonight was no exception. She took a long sip from her drink. Why was it that she always ended up hooking up with some stranger? She always chalked it up to the alcohol and the fact that she loved everyone, even when she was sober. But maybe it was something else?

She pushed the thoughts away, with an effort. Maybe it was the creepy guy in the corner, who, a quick peek confirmed, was still staring at her, or maybe it was Isak’s words, but she was feeling unbalanced tonight.

She stood up from the table, grabbing her now empty glass. “Does anyone want anything from the bar?” she asked. Everyone shook their heads, and she pushed her way through the crowd.

    When she reached the bar, she yelled her order to the bartender and then dropped her head into her hands. Tonight clearly wasn’t her night.

She felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and she looked up, expecting to see Even or Vilde, or even maybe the creepy guy who had been staring at her all night.

    Instead, it was a girl she’d never seen before. She was breathtaking, in an airy, fairy-like way. Eva felt her eyes widen. The girl was a bit taller than her, with short, ice blonde hair. Her eyes were large and light blue, dancing with humor, and Eva felt like she was falling into them. She smiled at Eva with deep red lips, on side of her mouth quirking higher than the other, and Eva saw that one of the sleeves of her white turtleneck was pushed to her elbow, revealing a string of small tattoos on her forearm.

    “Um, hi?” Eva said, not quite sure what else to say.

    “Hi,” the girl said breathlessly. “I know that this is really strange and you can totally tell me to fuck off away at any point, but I have a huge favor to ask.”

    Eva had no intention of telling this beautiful girl to fuck off. She nodded her head. “Favor?”

    “Yeah. Do you see, right behind me, the guy with the kind of floppy brown hair? Sort of a big nose? Rarely ever smiles?”

    Eva peeked over the girls’ shoulder, scanning the crowd. It took her a minute to locate the boy that this girl was talking about, but finally she saw him. He was tall and pale, and, yes, frowning. There was a beautiful redhead on his arm, but he was staring at the blonde girl, something like anger on his face.

    “Yeah, I see him,” Eva said.

    “That’s my ex. And he’s here with his new girlfriend, who is basically the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, and my friend went off with this guy that he met on Grindr, and I really really don’t want to have an awkward conversation with him right now, and I saw you by yourself over here and I thought, hey, maybe she’ll help me, out of solidarity? Girl power?”

    Eva felt her mouth quirk into a smile, despite herself. “Help you how?”

    “I know this is weird, but, like, will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

    Eva was speechless. She fumbled, mouth opening and closing, unable to make any sound come out.

    “Are you not cool with girls dating?” the girl said, and she seemed to surge with a fire that wasn’t there before.

    Eva found her voice quickly after that. “No, no. I’m bi! I’m totally fine with that. I just – you caught me off guard.”

    The girl relaxed. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I know I can be kind of intense sometimes.”

    Eva nodded. “But if you want my help, then sure. I can pretend to be your girlfriend.”

    The girl’s face broke into a dazzling smile, and Eva couldn’t help it, she took a half step back. Something was happening in her chest. Something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. Maybe since Jonas.

    “Oh my god, thank you so much. I will totally owe you my life after this.”

    Eva looked over the girl’s shoulder again. “Well, you may have to owe it to me right now. Because he’s coming over.”

    The girl’s eyes widened, and her eyes flicked down to Eva’s lips. “Do you care if I kiss you right now?” the girl said, her voice dropping to a panicked whisper.

    Eva’s mind went totally blank, but she managed to shake her head. The entire world seemed to slow down, the noise of the bar falling away and the smoke and booze on the air disappearing, as the girl stepped closed and leaned her face towards Eva.

    When their lips met, a shiver ran down Eva’s spine. They moved naturally together, and Eva felt herself fall into a rhythm almost immediately. She stepped closer to the girl, slipping a hand into her hair almost without thinking. The girl deepened the kiss, moving against Eva until her back was against the bar and she felt like she’d always been gasping for air, until now, and she could breathe easy. When the other girl’s tongue slipped into Eva’s mouth, she started. It was like electricity to her brain, and she eagerly ran a hand over the other girl’s cheek. She could’ve stayed like that all night, and all of the next day too, if only–

    “Noora?” A boy’s voice. Coming from behind the girl– Noora, Eva assumed.

    Noora pulled away from Eva. Her hair was disheveled and her lipstick was smudged, but Eva just thought she looked even more beautiful than before. She widened her eyes at Eva and Eva gave the tiniest of nods, slipping her hand into Noora’s.

    Noora turned around. “Oh my goodness? Willhelm?”

    “Are we on this again?” The boy sounded exasperated.

    “Sorry. Old habits die hard. It is so nice to see you, William,” she said, sounding like it was anything but. She turned to the redheaded girl beside him. “I’m so sorry, I’m being rude. And you are?”

    The redhead opened her mouth to speak, but the boy, William, cut her off. “This is Camille. My girlfriend. We met in Paris, about a month ago.”

    The girl smiled, but there wasn’t malice in the expression, though Eva had expected it.

    “How funny! This is Eva, my girlfriend. We met years ago in Madrid, and just recently reconnected.” She kissed Eva on the cheek, and Eva didn’t have to fake the way her cheeks reddened at the gesture.

    “Hi,” Eva said, extending a hand, the one that Noora wasn’t holding, to William and Camille. William took it, and Eva thought he held a little too tight before releasing her.

    Noora looked at the watch on her wrist. “Well, look at the time! Our friends will be wondering where we got off to. Sometimes, when we’re together, we just lose all track of everything. It was so nice to see you William. And a pleasure to meet you, Camille. Eva, lead the way, love?” All of this was delivered in a saccharine sweet voice that, even knowing it was fake, Eva had a hard time not believing. She raised a hand in goodbye and began to push her way through the crowd, back to the table where Sana was still sitting with Isak and Even.

   Eva was sweating and, she was sure, red-faced, and she didn’t know what was going to happen next. But her hand was in Noora’s, and Noor’as kind eyes were dancing as they looked at Eva, and that was enough for now.

#skam #skamficweek #nooreva #noora amalie sætre #eva kviig mohn #noora is bi #eva is bi #everyone is bi #i dont make the rules! #skam fic #littlespooneven #my fics #fic

[my-luminescence]

I seriously know that it sounds crazy. I know. But I feel like I met my soul mate the other day. I know it was literally the first day I met him so I don’t understand why I feel this way. I’m having trouble sleeping cause I keep thinking of his eyes. They were this beautiful hazel color and I don’t think I am ever gonna forget them. Ugh this is so frustrating. I feel like things are gonna feel purposeless for a while until I stop thinking about it. I’m just being ridiculous I don’t know I just have never met someone that I would have been so sure about before. He was so nice and wholesome and genuinely listened to me. He cared. But he’s probably straight. But then again.. no he’s probably straight. But maybe still my soul mate. WHAT THE HELL ISAIAH YOULL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN EVER GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF. No. It’s just so weird. I made a list of what hooked me and I’ll explain each one now:

Hawaii- He talked about Hawaii a lot and like I just fucking love that place even though I’ve never been there and it’s always been my dream since 1st grade to go there. He got a fucking job there and I LOVE that. That means he wouldn’t mine living in a house with me on Kauai maybe? As long as it’s shorter than a palm tree cause that’s state law and you best believe we’ll be law abiding citizens and contribute the best we can to bettering society.

Flip flops- So I totally had just met this boy. We were all swimming at the Lake for Mercy’s birthday and I left my flipyfloppies on the shore which was down this like mini cliff thing away from the camp site. Well I completely didn’t realize I was barefoot and before I could even realize that I had left my flippy floppies down there he had already got them for me. And it was POURING RAIN WHAT THE FUCK.

Volkswagen- He drives a Volkswagen just like me. Like it’s almost the same color. That’s so h*cking weird.

Religious- He’s Mormon. Before you even start to tell me.. I know. But like still. He’s at least Christian. I need that good influence and moral in my life. Even if he is *italics* MEGA Christian. I have always preached having someone that’s right with God. It’s not important to everyone I know but I consider it pretty important. Not like life or death but ya know.

Eyes- I’ve already touched on this a little but DAMN I HAVE NEVER SEEN EYES LIKE THAT IN MY 19 YEARS OF LIFE. THEY WERE THIS BEAUTIFUL DARK CARAMEL MIXED WITH FLECKS OF FOREST GREEN AND I COULDNT CONTAIN MYSELF BECAUSE EVERY TIME HE TALKED TO ME HE MAINTAINED VICIOUS CONTACT AND I JUST KNOW THAT MY PUPILS DILATED AND I CANT DECIDE IF that makes me feel weird or not. I always feel weird what the hell Isaiah of course it make you feel weird you feel weird even when you’re asleep. Remind me why my parents decided to have another kid?

Dark- Em said that he was ¼ Vietnamese. Is that true? I can see it. His complexion was this beautiful brown color and not to be gay but his hair color/body hair color (?) was so pleasing to look at and I’m a complete fäg don’t talk about it.

Build- He has that stocky build that I have continuously sought after. Idk what it is but his build was so RIGHT.

Genuine concern- Okay so enough with fleshly concerns let’s get down to business. This guy CARED. Like really cared. It didn’t matter what I was talking about he always asked questions about whatever outrageously dramatic story that I might have been telling at the time. He asked me about where I work and he made sure that I could hear the tv cause I told him about how I can’t hear very well and he asked me all about that and call me crazy but it seemed like he really cared.

Touchy- when it was time to settle down for the night to watch a movie. He crossed Em’s living room to come sit by me on the couch. We both had a blanket and we shared the couch just me and him. He kept looking at me. I saw it. Marching band has given me excellent peripheral vision. He watched my reaction to the movie a lot cause he had seen it before I hadn’t. Oh! I FORGOT TO MENTION SOMETHING. This boy also LOVES movies like me. When Em asked what everyone wanted to do, me and him both said “movie” like at the same time. And then when everyone else wanted to play a card game were both like UGH (jk we didn’t show an annoying uproar about it we just shut up and played the game cause games are cool too). But when we were done with the game and Em asked what we wanted to now, I said “I already told you that I’d like to watch a movie! I always will give my input if you want!” And he was like “and Isaiah already said what I wanted to do so I just didn’t have to say anything else” and I was LIKE YES WE BOTH LOVE MOVIES I CAN PICTURE IT NOW US BOTH CURLED UP ON A COUCH IN OUR HOUSE ON KAUAI WATCHING MOVIES ALL DAY WHILE ITS RAINING AT THE BASE OF WAIALEALE. But anyways while we were watching the movie he kept like touching be with his legs and he finally fell asleep with them left on mine and I just really love small physical contact like that so it was just really cute that he felt comfortable with me so fast. When he woke up I was like “Good morning!” And he just flashed such a beautiful sleepy smile and a little laugh. SYMPHONIES IN MY EARS. Listens- He listened to every. Word. That I had to say. Need I say more? Ten points to gryffinfuckingdore. Humor- I think of the Sam Smith song “HE COULD HAVE YOUR HUMOOOOOR BUT I DONG UNDERSTAAAAND CAUSE HELL NEVOR LOVE YOU LIKE I CAN CAN CAN” he had the same humor as me as he picked 2 of my card in Apples to Apples and he asked who put one down at one point and I just raised my hand and oh– there was that little laugh again!!!!!¡¡¡ Boyish- He was playing with Em’s dog in the cutest way. I played with Fran first and then he did and it looked like he like mirrored exactly what I had done. He like made violent jerks against the carpet with Fran’s little ball in his hand and it was soooo cute. He loves animals. He also put a little “ :P ” (handwritten) in Mercy’s birthday card that he got for her. Precious!

Active/Participates in Something- he does gymnastics! Yay he likes to stay busy and active! What more could I ask for?!?!

Taller- he was taller than me which is always a necessity when you’re basically a woman inside like me(?). Voice- his voice wasn’t too manly like it had little inflections in it that made it almost unisex. Lots of highs and lows. I have a feeling that he has a large vocal range. I could listen to him talk for weeks. Such a smooth-as-honey sound flowed from his mouth doors.

Well. I think I’ve probably burned this boy into my brain forever. I’m ready to die now. (I’m just kidding I just really wish he didn’t go to school in Arizona and lived 3.25 hours from me here in GA). I know I’m being dramatic and will regret this post in the morning but I just feel like I met this boy for a reason ya know? People like that don’t come around every dynasty. I think I’ll keep his memory forever if I never get to see him again. He was the perfect match for me. It could never work though like always lol. Goodnight Tumblr sorry for this outburst I didn’t mean any wrong by it.

With love, Isaiah

#personal #me #love #psychopath #help #gay as shit #gay #poetry #lol it's not poetry at all sorry

[talkingitout-blog2]

Food Therapy

Today would have been my uncle’s 64th birthday.  We lost him back in April.  

Mom says that he had an accidental overdose that led to multiple strokes, causing him to fall into a coma he would never come out of.  I think she’s trying to protect me.  I think he killed himself.

He had been in pain for decades.  When I was small, he had surgery to fuse the bones in his neck.  The surgery was botched and left him in lifelong pain.  After he remarried, he seemed happier.  He laughed and played music with other people instead of holing up in his house, plucking out the same Stevie Ray Vaughan songs ad nauseam.  But the pain was still there.  No amount of happiness was going to change them.

When he started his catering company, I was sure he was gunning for the role of family patriarch.  He took care of all of us.  Whether that was feeding us, spending time with us, offering us jobs with his catering company, or in my case, sending us $150 grocery store gift cards when we call crying about not having enough money for food AND cold medicine.

When I got the call, I was at work.  I actually got the text.  Nobody thought it was as serious as it turned out to be.  I promised I would come up on my day off to visit.  Hopefully he would be awake by then.

I stood in the hospital room, staring at my uncle.  He was stretched out on the bed, tubes and hoses coming out his nose, mouth, and throat.  People tell you that, when you see people in this situation, they look nothing like the person they were before.  He looked exactly the same.  His eyes were very small and squinty, like my grandma’s.  They were shut tight on the hospital bed.  It looked like his eyes looked when he was laughing.

My uncle and I had the same sense of humor.  Sarcastic and dry.  It’s why we got along so well.  We were always shooting barbs at our family members, and laughing twice as hard when they shot them back.  We loved a good roast.

His skin against the white, starched hospital sheets was pink.  Healthy, newborn baby pink.  He hadn’t had this much color in his face in years.  I thought to myself, “Wow, he looks great.”  There was a sharp inhale.  His jaw stretched to yawn.  He tensed his neck muscles and threw his head back into the pillows.  

“That happens, it’s involuntary.  He’s not waking up.”

His new wife never liked me.  She pretended to, only because she knew our relationship was strong.  He wasn’t there anymore.  She no longer had her shiny, pleasant veneer that made her somewhat agreeable.  Her features were darker.  Her sugar coating was dissolved by tears and hospital bills.

I went on Facebook after work one day after his “accident.”  My cousin.  She posted about having to say goodbye to a good man.  She posted that she would always love her father.  She posted that she would miss him.  She posted his picture.

“Dad, did he die?”  My dad hadn’t heard anything yet.  He called grandma.  Grandma hadn’t heard anything.  Grandma called my uncle’s wife.  She decided she wanted to take him off of life support.  She hadn’t consulted with the family.  She just...made up her mind.

I’ve always been indecisive.  Making a decision requires a commitment that I’ll never be ready for.  I’m too afraid of being wrong.

I called work.  I told them to fuck off for a day or two.  

My whole family sat in the hospital room.  My grandpa, my grandma, staring at their first born son.  My uncle’s, my dad, looking at their big brother.  My siblings, unsure of what would happen next, frightened by the sight of our big, strong uncle so helpless and sedated.  My uncle’s wife, drained of everything.  My mother, sobbing to feel like part of the story.  My uncle’s wife’s daughter, dressed head to toe in black with a wide brimmed, floppy hat and a jack-o-lantern purse, just happy to be involved.

I pull out my phone.  “We should play the Beatles.”

Growing up, my uncle’s home was littered with Beatles memorabilia.  I distinctly remember his collector’s edition copy of Yellow Submarine.  They were everywhere.

“God, no.  Play Stevie Ray Vaughan.”

My dad is almost never right.  But he was this time.

As Stevie Ray Vaughan played in the room, I felt the absence of my cousin.  She had said goodbye the night before.  She couldn’t bear to be with the family when “it” happened.  I couldn’t really blame her, but also, I could.  

We shared stories.  My uncle running his company, physically destroying a copy of Dumb & Dumber, taking my uncles and dad to concerts.  The stories ran like liquor; enough to help us take the edge off, but not enough to make us forget the gravity of what was to come.

We each had our moment alone.  I walked into the room from the hall, where the holding area was.  The air flew from my lungs.  The altitude shifted and suddenly the air was too thin to inhale.  I fought the knot tangled in my throat as I choked on my breath.  It was only me and him.

We used to go grocery shopping for the catering company.  We would load up on decadent and expensive ingredients that were entirely unnecessary for the project at hand.  But it was that quality that made cooking with him special.  It was always a treat to play with new ingredients that we weren’t familiar with.  We either delighted in the flavors and textures discovered, or laugh at how awful it was.  We built recipes from nothing, each more unique and flavorful than the last.  We made magic.

“I’m going to miss you so much.”  I went down swinging as I lost the fight against my tears.  My face was hot.  My nose was running.  I had never had the chance to say goodbye before.  This was a chance I had screamed at God for every night.  

I had lost so many people.  My beloved aunt.  My great grandmothers.  My friends.  My teachers.  My role models.  I had never been gifted the opportunity to say goodbye.  And each time the moment passed without my engraved invitation, I grew angrier.  Angry at God, angry at the world.  I deserved a goodbye.  At least one!  Why hadn’t I been given the chance?

“I promise to take care of her.”  My cousin was heavy on my brain.  If this was dad, I would lose my mind.  I couldn’t begin to imagine to pain she was feeling.  The hollow place in her chest was probably screaming to be filled.  I’ve felt that hollow place.  It’s never screamed, but I bet it echoes.

I leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder.  I held his hand.  For a man who lay dying, his hands were hot.  I ran my thumb over his tattoo.  

“What’s your tattoo mean?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

I pressed my forehead against him harder.  I needed him to feel me there.  I gently kissed his shoulder.  The hospital gown was rough on my lips.  He involuntarily jerked and yawned a second time.  

“That happens, it’s involuntary.”

He didn’t know I was there.  He couldn’t have.  But in that moment, I saw a sign carried on the ether of the Universe and into the room.  It was my message.  It was telling me that this was my chance.  I whispered, “Goodbye.  I love you so much.”  I kissed his shoulder once more.  

When my hand grabbed the handle of the hospital room door, it was ice cold.  My hand was still hot from my uncle’s tattooed hand.  I wanted to go back and grab it once more, just to savor the feeling of his warm, alive hand one last time.  But I had said goodbye.  I couldn’t physically turn myself around to look again.

On my way to work today, I clutched my travel mug of coffee in my two hands.  The city bus bounced and rocked as the driver exceeded the speed limit.  My hands felt hot.  I smiled.

To honor my uncle on what would have been his 64th birthday, I made dinner.  I made tortellini with shrimp and snap peas, tossed in a light butter cream sauce.  The flavor were bold and appealing.  The shrimp were briny and the peas were fresh and offered a light crunch.  The tortellini was perfectly cooked.

Today, for the first time since goodbye, I made magic.