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tommybowefuneralattendee · 2 months

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Hey wait I said I'd give you a tommien prompt, didn't I? Uh...521

hiiiiii red so funny story 521 did not spark joy so this is actually for prompt 251, which i very well could have lied about given the nature of the spreadsheet, but we're vibing. number 251 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt generated in specific is: Kisses to calm the other down

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 3.6k, rated T

summary:

overwhelmed and anxious in public unfortunately isn't new to damien. being checked on by tommy bowe? that's a little new. || or, damien and tommy are briefly at a party together.

With how easily Tommy sees through feelings anyone has anybody else, Damien should be glad that he seems to have a big old blindspot when it comes to feelings somebody might have for him. It's embarrassing, right, to crush on a coworker, and you should hope that they never notice so that you can make it go away before it becomes a problem. That's the normal response to that. He should be glad that he doesn't have to deal with that particular anxiety, but seeing as he has to deal with all the other shit, at least knowing exactly where he stands with Tommy would make things easier, in theory. All the other shit being Ian nudging him whenever Tommy walks into a room, Spencer's jokes, or Shayne offering to wingman for him, probably poorly if Damien would actually let him. No risk of that, though. He's not gonna say a goddamn thing.

It's just that he can't help but smile every time he hears Tommy's voice. It's just that Tommy is one of the funniest people he's ever met in a fucking building full of funny people, and he's nice but he still has bite to him, and he's so beautiful. He's so, so beautiful. He didn't really think about it when he first met Tommy. He wasn't ready to think about it. Tommy was just a guy at work who was pretty cool, but it wasn't like Damien was hung up on the thought of him. No, that part came a little later.

Falling for someone all at once isn't really something that happens to Damien. He believes in love at first sight, sure, but mostly as a nebulous concept for other people, not as something he sees himself as capable of experiencing. He needs a minute to settle into a crush, just a little time for him to convince his brain that he is not a frog and this is not a pot of water slowly coming to boil, that even if he does have some gentled sort of feeling for someone, it isn't going to tear down the walls of his life. He works very well with how his life currently is. He's stable. Risking that just isn't a fucking option.

Damien goes to therapy. He's pretty well versed in how to identify and then come down from an anxiety attack. Unfortunately, most of his coping strategies have to do with securing a quiet, private space and regulating his breathing. He doesn't even remember who Ian said this house belonged to, patting Damien on the shoulder and basically telling him to go play with the other kids, as if he's not three years older than Damien and much more likely to do stupid shit besides. Well, given their circumstances. Anthony is here and Shayne isn't, so Ian's a lot more likely to get into stupid shit tonight. In a sans-Anthony-add-Shayne situation? He probably could not say the same thing. Boys will be boys means pushing Shayne down a flight of stairs in a laundry basket and scoring his ability to not bust his ass.

Usually, distracting himself with humor helps at least somewhat when he's in a public situation he's unable to extract himself from, but the overstimulation is worsening the anxiety is worsening the overstimulation, like the world's worst mental health circle jerk. He lasted an admirable amount of time amongst strangers in his own opinion, at least an hour, probably. He hasn't been checking the time, but he's sure. He's at least four rooms away from the nearest speaker, but he can still feel the music in the floorboards beneath his shoes, buzzing through the air. There are too many people here. How many people do you need at a party? Shit, he shouldn't be here. He's a friend of a friend of a friend, maybe, or maybe just a friend of a friend, he doesn't know who threw this party. He doesn't know who this house belongs to. He ended up in a walk-in closet somewhere in the back of the house, sitting on the floor, trying to let being in the dark calm him down enough to stop caring about the vibration of the floor. He's not good at parties, okay? It doesn't come up much.

There's a lot of really nice clothes in here. They're on racks like this is a theatre department or something, so Damien is sitting on the floor leaning against the clear wall on the side that functions as a hallway of sorts. A passageway, rather. He can see the door and the back of the room from here, so maybe that will reduce his anxiety some. Or, like, it would, if the door wasn't already being pushed open, scant minutes after Damien had finally found the space alone. He's about to protest verbally, because he's working on self advocacy in therapy and a party is a largely low consequence event to try setting boundaries at. But, well.

It's Tommy. And he looks so relieved when he sees Damien, like he had been looking for him.

"I was looking for you!" he says, walking into the room on steady feet. Relief traces a guilty trail down the back of his throat. He wants Tommy to have fun, of course he does. He's just glad he's not gonna have to deal with a drunk person right now.

"You found me," he says, voice tight. Immediately, Tommy steps closer, eyebrows coming together in concern. He stops a few feet away from Damien, close enough to speak but still giving him space.

"How can I help?" he asks, so horribly earnest. A slightly unhinged little giggle works its way out of Damien's throat, anxiety so thick in his mouth it feels like he's choking on it.

"I don't um- stay? Just. Stay a minute?" God, this is embarrassing. And in front of Tommy, of all fucking people.

"Of course," Tommy says, sitting down on the floor next to Damien, back to the same wall Damien is leaning against, close but not touching. Neither of them say anything for a second, several seconds, a minute. He couldn't be sure how long they sit there together, the only sound the music from across the house and their breathing. Despite it all, calm is still water in Damien's fingers, so close that he can feel it but slipping every time, catching on the roughness of his panic. Tommy lasts an admirable amount of time before he starts fidgeting, picking at his fingers and smoothing down his pants. Damien turns his head, looking at Tommy sidelong with a cracked open grin.

"You don't have to stay, Tommy. Go have fun," he says, quieter than he means to and with an unintended sort of rasp. It's a tone that always makes him think of the last days of summer before school came back, that delicate intersection of bittersweet anxiety, of fond resignation. Tommy makes a protesting noise.

"I just found you," he says, matching him for volume. It's been several minutes, probably close to ten at this point. Obviously, Tommy is right and that's not a terribly long amount of time, but it seems like a long time to sit in silence with someone at a party where everyone else is having a ball, without some other form of shared entertainment. The idea of that, shared entertainment with Tommy Bowe, has Damien glad that it's pretty dim in here, the only light coming from strip lights at the top of the walls. Better it be dim than Tommy be able to see how red his face is right now, anyway.

"Go have fun, Tommy," Damien repeats, thinned out with the reticence he can't seem to shake. Tommy makes another noise of protest, this one a little more frustrated.

"I'm exactly where I need to be," he says, sure as anything. There's a tension in the air that has nothing to do with Damien's anxiety, something wire tight that appears most every time he's alone with Tommy, that comfort underscored by that almost-but-not-really romantic tension that never feels as easy as it should.

"Don't get me wrong, you being here is helping, but I don't think need is a fair thing to say," Damien tries to joke, smile going crooked on his face. Tommy smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes, gaze glued to the floor. For a moment, Damien flounders, sure he's said something wrong.

"Who said it was about you needing me?” Tommy asks, to which Damien's mouth snaps shut, because he supposes that isn't what Tommy said. Guilt roils in his stomach; he's been trying to get better at not thinking the worst of his friends.

"Sorry," he says, unable to articulate exactly what for but needing to say it anyway. Sorry for putting words in Tommy's mouth. Sorry for being a fucking mess. Sorry Tommy might need him.

"It's all good, Damien," Tommy says, soft and careful. He shouldn't have to control his tone around Damien.

Damien clears his throat. "Yeah," he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. His palms are still sweating, his heart still feels like it's going a thousand miles an hour, and he doesn't really think he could get up off the floor without getting extraordinarily lightheaded. He's doing that thing again, cataloging his symptoms like a sort of self case study, collecting data on the things that should feel most real to him. There's this distance from the skin when he feels like this, like he is both outside of and lost in his body, observer and observed, a rat in his own laboratory. He doesn't even realize he's wandering off in his head again until Tommy reaches toward him in his peripheral vision, pausing mid-air.

"Hey, can I touch you?" Tommy asks, ducking his head close so that he can keep his voice lowered. His knee is already close enough to his thigh that Damien can feel the warmth coming off of him, but sure, why not? It's not like this isn't already embarrassing enough.

"Yeah, um. Yeah," Damien says, shaky. He has to make conscious effort not to flinch when Tommy's hand rests upon his face, careful and just a bit cold, like Tommy had been outside before he came and found Damien and still hadn't warmed up. He can't say he was expecting Tommy to touch his face, fingers and palm careful in cupping his cheek. There's an instantaneous calming factor to his touch, as if Tommy himself, the feeling of his skin, is enough to settle whatever storm lays beneath his breastbone.

"Close your eyes," Tommy says, and so Damien does, doing his best not to list into Tommy's hand. There's pressure against his mouth then, solid but gentle, confident but not overwhelming. Just this shade tentative. A small noise comes from deep in Damien's throat and he's pressing into the kiss, an approval that has Tommy weaving fingers in his hair. They should probably talk about this maybe, but Tommy's hands are in his hair and Tommy's tongue is in his mouth and he's leaning into Damien like he's gonna climb in his lap, and it's all very much, okay? He's not exactly making it from point A to point B on the logic highway. He is taking the backroads. He's cruising.

Tommy does climb in his lap in a second, but not in the way Damien expected. Instead, Tommy is gently guiding him fully into laying on his back, thighs spread across Damien's hips. His weight feels like it's holding Damien down to the planet more than gravity ever could. When he pulls back, breaking the kiss, Tommy chases his mouth, kissing him one last time before sitting up, perched on Damien's lap like it's exactly where he's supposed to be. Damien can't help but agree. Still. Talking about this. Bracing against the floor and the wall, he sits up with Tommy still in his lap, leaving them with a little height difference, being as Tommy is taller than him standing and not to mention in his lap (which Damien cannot even pretend to be cool about to himself, he can't imagine telling Shayne about this later, which he'll inevitably have to do, because how the fuck else is he supposed to process this?) so he's got quite a few inches on Damien in this position.

"I have no idea what's going on," Damien says honestly, sparking a cute little giggle that Tommy tries to muffle in his shoulder. He runs his hands up and down Tommy's back, touching and feeling and all of the things he's always wanted but was too scared to do. Well, not all the things, this isn't his house and he's not a that kind of guy, and also he has no idea where he would get certain things that would be needed in this situation here, and also there's a lot they haven't discussed yet, and Damien has to still be a little more anxious than he thought, because based off of the way Tommy's body is shaking in his lap, he's said all of this aloud and Tommy is laughing at him. Which, fair. Damien is also laughing, nose tucked up against Tommy's hairline, the smell of his skin, his cologne, his body wash all flowing over Damien, comforting. Grounding. Fuck, this would be so much worse if Tommy hadn't found him.

"Well, I'm glad I could help, baby," Tommy teases, bussing a kiss across Damien's temple as he pulls back to look at him. Tommy's always pretty, but he's especially pretty this close up, eyes still bright in the dim and so, so brown. Damien can't help but lean up to kiss him again, quick and sweet, a theft. Tommy runs his fingers through Damien's hair again, tilting Damien's head back in his hands. Damien looks up at him, reverent and rapturous.

"I really like you, Tommy," he rasps, unable to make himself anything but honest beneath these hands and looking up at those eyes. Relief suffuses through him when Tommy smiles widely down at him, pecking him on the mouth.

"That's really lucky," he says, saying nothing more. Damien's smile goes soft, his eyebrows raised. Tommy rests his forehead against Damien's.

"Why's that?" Damien asks, more of a whisper than anything.

"I really like you too," Tommy whispers back, closing the gap between their mouths and kissing Damien. They're both smiling a little too much for this to go perfectly, but Damien's not sure he'd have it any other way. The world feels small again, focused in this place with Tommy where they're close and everything important is right here, right in Damien's line of sight. Tommy kisses him one last time, climbing out of Damien's lap and stumbling to his feet. Righting himself, he offers a hand to Damien, who takes it and stands with him despite not knowing the reason they're standing in the first place.

He voices as much to Tommy, who laughs.

"I was coming to find you to see if you wanted to go home with me? Not, like. Not in this way, because I didn't know this way was, well. An option. And it still doesn't have to be in any certain kind of way, of course, I just saw you earlier and you looked as uncomfortable as I was but by the time I had talked my way out of the conversation I had been looped into, I couldn't find you, and now-"

"And now we're here, and you can want to take me home in any way you want," Damien assures, adding a bit of a good natured leer into the sentiment. Tommy laughs, swatting him in the shoulder.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice, I am in a public place," he says, pursing his mouth to keep himself from smiling. Leaning into Tommy's space, Damien lowers the timber of his voice just a bit, riding that line between joking flirtation and genuine. Irony and earnesty. Never sure which one is more embarrassing. Even less sure which one is real.

"And if we weren't in public?" he asks, gravel low and coffee rich. Tommy rolls his eyes, shoving at Damien's chest halfheartedly, lingering with his palm over Damien's sternum.

"You're doing voice actor bullshit," he says, still trying not to smile and failing so beautifully. Damien cups the nape of Tommy's neck, tilting his head so Damien can just barely brush their lips against one another.

"Is it working for you?" he asks, breaking the moment by breaking into giggles. Tommy shoves at his chest for real now, laughing as he stumbles away from Damien in the direction of the door.

"Fuck you," he says, but he reaches for Damien's hand, given to him freely without verbal ask.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Damien remarks, the temptation of trying his luck looming too large for him to ignore. Tommy looks back at him just to roll his eyes but doesn't drop Damien's hand, leading him through the sprawling house like he knows exactly where he's going. When he asks Tommy about it, he shrugs his shoulders.

"I get really anxious about not knowing where I'm going, so I kinda memorize paths in new places, like. Automatically? Just because I've been doing it so long, I guess," he explains, shrugging his shoulders again as if that's not impressive as fuck.

"That's impressive as fuck," Damien says aloud, needing to impress this upon Tommy, who laughs, but the back of his neck is pink and he's not looking at Damien, so something is telling him he's taking the compliment. God, to be able to compliment Tommy freely, tell him he's pretty, tell him he's awesome and funny and smart and probably the most interesting person Damien knows, including every weirdo voice actor he's ever worked with, which is saying something, but he can't unload all of this onto Tommy at once because holy shit, that would not be fair or cool. Instead, he follows behind Tommy quietly, just holding his hand and walking, mind going quiet as well. The pound of the bass doesn't feel as piercing as it once did, the sensation of vibration almost pleasant now that he doesn't feel like a thousand things are happening at once. Exiting into a quiet little side yard area is like bursting out of water, breaking the surface tension of a pool. Tommy leads him directly out of a gate that Damien definitely wouldn't have noticed on his own, let alone that quickly, further lending credence to the idea that Tommy is so much better at basic navigation than he is.

"Chanse led me in on this side, apparently he's been here before," Tommy says, answering the questions Damien hasn't even asked yet. Fondness for him surges within Damien as he processes what he actually said, nodding.

"Oh, cool. Any idea whose house it is?" he asks, which is apparently funny, because Tommy nearly trips over himself laughing. It was a genuine question, but people often think Damien's genuine questions are funny. Autism thing? Possibly. He's never been quite so proud of it before, though. Never quite so proud as when he can make Tommy laugh.

"Not a fucking clue," Tommy says, cutting fond eyes at him before leading Damien to the passenger side of his car, leaning against it with Damien's hand still in his.

"Is this where you tell me I'm not the only girl you took to the prom?" Damien asks, unable to bear even a second of awkward silence when everything in his chest feels so equally light and tight. Hot air balloon heart and Hindenburg lungs. Tommy huffs a laugh, his breath visible in the air.

"Yeah, sorry, babe, it's just- I just had a solid second where I could not think of a single name a woman might have. Am I gay enough it makes me dumber? Damien, I'm serious," Tommy insists through Damien's laughter, though he's laughing too, so Damien isn't sure who he's trying to convince. Grin wide on his mouth, Damien holds Tommy's face in both hands, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, touching and touching and touching. He gets to watch as Tommy calms in his grasp, though his grin doesn't dull in the slightest.

"You are," Damien says, pausing to kiss Tommy briefly, "so fucking cute." Tommy makes a frustrated noise, cute and high, both hands on Damien's chest but not even half assing pushing him away this time, just resting there, one palm flat on his chest while the other hand curls into a fist in his shirt. Damien kisses him again and he can feel when he's got Tommy caught up in it, when Tommy is paying more attention to Damien and what Damien is doing to him than the world around him and inside his head. Having Tommy's attention on him is heady like smoke, rolling across Damien's skin and making his vision hazy, clouded. It's Damien that chases Tommy's mouth this time, and him as well who is held back by that palm flat on his chest.

"Making out with you in the street outside of the house of someone much richer than either of us is not on the gay agenda for the evening," he insists. Damien kisses him again and steps away, laughing as Tommy's lips fall into a pout.

"Can't break the gay agenda, Tommy. Tell me what we're doing," he says, soft and indulgent and earning another of Tommy's smiles. He hooks his fingers in the collar of Damien's shirt, knuckles rubbing against his skin. It trips Damien up a little, breath catching in his throat as he looks at those big brown eyes, that beautiful smile.

"Come home with me," Tommy whispers, sweet and close. Damien leans close, their lips nearly brushing as he replies,

"Let's go."

#tommien #tommy #damien #mine #smosh fic #ask answered #spreadsheet fill #red this fic ate my frontal lobe i hope you enjoy it !!!#prompt filled #drowninginredink

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frodo-with-glasses · 1 year

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Was up late last night drawing the comic for today, and kinda had a brainwave…in a way, Robin Smallburrow and Beregond of the Guard are foils to each other.

(“Oh no, she’s talking about Beregond again,” you might be thinking, and to that I say “yes I love him shut up”)

Both Robin and Beregond are civil servants in their own countries. Robin is a Sheriff in the Shire, and Beregond is a Guard of the Citadel, which is the seat of government for all of Gondor. Both of them are minor characters, just normal dudes trying to do their jobs in the middle of a war. And both of them run up against a pickle where they’re forced to choose between what they’ve been ordered to do and what they believe is right.

Now, of course, their circumstances aren’t exactly the same. Beregond’s crisis has a very narrow time limit; Robin’s crisis is extended over several months. Beregond has to make one huge choice; Robin has to make dozens of little ones. Robin wasn’t handed a time bomb that says “commit treason now or someone you care about will be heckin’ barbecued alive”, and Beregond didn’t have to watch the job that he loved slowly degrade into stifling, nonsensical rules.

But if they did—if their situations had been reversed—how would they have reacted?

It’s not an easy thing to break the rules, even for a good reason, when your job is centered entirely around following them. It’s not an easy thing to risk your reputation, your livelihood, your life, even if it’s a matter of conscience.

I’m sure most of us—those of us who dream of theatrics and heroics, anyway—would want to be Beregond, breaking the rules in one brilliant display of righteous rebellion and saving the day. Maybe some of us will have that chance.

(When the time comes, I hope we choose well.)

But in reality, most of us are Robin. Maybe we do have a choice to make between what’s safe and what’s right, but it doesn’t happen all at once. It happens slowly, in little decisions scattered over the course of our lives. Maybe we know we’re on a bad road, but we think we’re too small, too weak, too far gone to do anything about it. Maybe we’re letting it happen, grumbling about the state of the world but too scared to take action; passively accepting one little infraction of conscience after another, sitting like a frog in a slowly heating pot that doesn’t realize it’s been boiled until it’s too late.

I have a lot of sympathy for Robin, because he is all of us. He loves his home. He has friends and family and hobbies. He wants to do what’s right, but he’s weak and scared, and he deduces—rightly—that he’s too small to change the tide on his own.

(What he fails to consider is that he’s not alone.

“If we all get angry together, something might be done.”)

What would Robin have done, if he were in Beregond’s position? What if he had to make one huge choice to save the life of another; even if he had to break the rules; even if he had to kill coworkers and friends over it; even if it cost him his own life? Would he have had the courage to make the right choice?

(Would we?)

Honestly, we should probably be grateful that Robin’s crisis wasn’t just like Beregond’s. It would be absolutely tragic if a hobbit had to kill other hobbits. But it does make me wonder—at what point does it become too much? At what point do the tiny decisions stack up enough to equal one Big Decision? When you’ve gotten so used to making compromises on your conscience, where are you supposed to stop? When you’ve played along, toed the line, and kept your mouth shut; is there a point at which you reach a line you refuse to cross, or will that line always be pushed back, and back, and further back, until you one day look up and realize you’ve abandoned everything you used to stand for?

Is it better to do what’s right at the very beginning—to stand your ground, surrendering nothing—and just endure whatever punishment comes out of that?

If you didn’t have the courage to do it the first time…is it too late?

Beregond’s choice was clear. “Do what’s right, or someone dies.” Robin’s choices were less clear, probably muddled by time and social pressure and the inertia of an otherwise cozy, sedentary life. But maybe the hope of this story is that even though Robin didn’t have courage like Beregond—even though he didn’t dig in his furry little heels and do what’s right the first time—he still gets a second chance.

“Some of the village-folk had lit a large fire, just to enliven things, and also because it was one of the things forbidden by the Chief. It burned bright as night came on. Others at Merry’s orders were setting up barriers across the road at each end of the village. When the Sherriffs came up to the lower one they were dumbfounded; but as soon as they saw how things were, most of them took off their feathers and joined in the revolt.”

I like to imagine that Robin was at the front of the line.

#robin smallburrow #beregond #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr meta #my writing #yes this is replacing the ask game for today #it’s already 1 AM as i write this and i still have to finish the comic LOL

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transingthoseformers · 10 months

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Seeing OP as a corrupt cop made me think of that tumblr post that had normal OP be replaced by SG OP and only Ratchet could tell. TFP-verse.

And wow, what an au that would be. Imagine if Megatron found out. I'm just imagining their battles becoming some sort of twisted courtship. I feel like it would be very dangerous for the mecha around them, and the more secure SG OP would feel in his hold over the Autobots, the more he'd let his mask slip. Shorter temper, crueller in battle, less concerned for humans etc.

Okay but that sounds cool as fuck, I've read fics where he was imo slipping into SG territory but never a full on swap like this

I wonder just how would Ratchet react? What's his course of action? Hell even if he did tell anyone would there be unpleasant consequences? What if SG Oppy learned that baseline Ratty knew?

The possible dynamic here for SG Optimus and baseline Megatron is interesting, especially as it falls onto the side of their scale where Megatron is insanely fascinated with him, dare I say enamored. Does anyone notice this? If so, what do they do? Again, consequences?

Don't even get me started on the humans like. Does someone out of the five main humans notices that he's a little more harsh? If so, again, course of action? Consequences?

Is the entire thing just a "frog in a pot of water with the water slowly being brought to boil and it doesn't even notice" situation? (Btw that's a myth. The frog exactly realizes at some point the water is getting too hot.) Where they notice too late?

What about the possibility of someone expressing concerns gets brushed off? Now I don't think any of the autobots would have malicious intentions in said brushing off, I just think they'd try their damnedest to give Optimus the benefit of the doubt because as far as they're aware that's someone they care deeply about and that's a thing. Ignoring red flags for the sake of someone you trust and know that deeply, even if shit is starting to get odd.

But, that's the fun thing about this scenario (well fun to us). That is not their Optimus. That is not their friend. That is not their leader. That is not their prime. That is shattered glass Optimus, a warped bizarro version of the mech they know and love, pretending to be baseline Optimus.

#maccadam #transformers #ohhoh. now that's fun #sg Optimus prime #tfp optimus prime #tfp ratchet #tfp megatron #that's all kinds of fucked up (affectionate)#that post sounds so fun #this scenario sounds so fun #this version of baseline megs and sg oppy are like two stars colliding (look i love comparing oppy and megs to astronomy stuff)#and jesus fuck is that stellar collision messy and destructive and beautiful from what google is showing (sue me)#tfp through the glass au

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plnkdemon · 1 year

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LOVE ME LIKE A GOD, I'M WORTH IT TILL I'M NOT

lucifer x gn!mc breaking up word count: 1,097 tw/cw: bleeding, branding/burning (from a pact mark, not done by another person), toxic (abusive?) relationship, self-reflection, loss and reclaiming of self-worth, nonsexual stripping down to underwear, self-indulgent writing, no beta we die like mc. please let me know if anything is missing. notes: mc is unnamed with they/them pronouns and an unspecified body type, with the exception of the placement of two pact marks. mc is described as having a stronger proclivity towards the sins of pride and wrath (in that order), because i am nothing if not epicurean.

“That’s enough.” The words leave your mouth before you’ve finished thinking them, cutting off the tirade of thinly veiled aspersions with an unintentional command.

Your normal stance is a brazen refusal to conform, most likely carried over from your home realm. It’s second nature to keep your keep rooted in place when someone tries to push you to the side, and it’s no different in the Devildom. You only proved that, both figuratively and literally, between ordering the brothers to address you by your name instead of “human” and physically holding your ground in the face of threat of death. At the start and end of every day, you are proud and not unjustly so, earning yourself the pact mark of the Avatar of Pride situated in the center of your chest as a symbol of your strongest sin.

But none of this is normal, is it? In fact, it’s so fucking stupid. At what point did you allow yourself to soften, become malleable to the hands of a man? Even worse, when did you start to feel ashamed to show your true shape instead of the carefully crafted visage that was thrown over you? It was slowly suffocating you without you even realizing it.

The comprehension is so sudden and heartbreaking you audibly gasp for more air – real air that wasn’t heavily filtered through the thick layer of what you’re expected to be. When you breathe out, it sounds uneven and choked. You were a frog in a pot of water, and it finally boiled over.

In the short time your realization took, Lucifer becomes enraged. Being told to “stop” by a mere mortal and actually have to obey was blasphemous. What gives you the right? Where did you find the audacity to even think to silence the First Lord of Hell?

His anger is blinding. While his words had been cut off, it didn’t prevent him from doing anything at all. He took on his demon form and stood tall, head raised so that he had to look down the bridge of his nose at you…

You… sitting on the edge of his mattress with your head bowed. It stops him in his tracks without a single order from you: he doesn’t recognize this human. The loss of familiarity is stunning and confusing. What the hell is going on?!

You shrug off the clothing that he had meticulously picked out for you, the cause of this whole argument because you had folded them rather than handing, causing minute creasing in the fabrics. In Lucifer’s eyes, an inexcusable failure for a guest of Lord Diavolo’s.

Left in your underclothes, you finally raise your head, meeting the bewildered eyes of your partner – your keeper. Lucifer remains stock still while you gather the clothing and stand, not minding that he had purposefully left an uncomfortable lack of space between his commanding frame and the edge of his bed.

He finally starts to recognize you, the stubborn human who never paid attention to whether or not space was made for them, because you would unapologetically make room for yourself. A wordless statement of your own presence, that was not to be ignored, dismissed, or silenced.

When the armful of clothes is unceremoniously shoved into his chest, he doesn’t protest. He watches as you don’t flinch when his intimidating wings flutter. This was the human he fell in love with, how long had they been absent? How did he not notice? How long…? Beneath the re-emerging human that he’d adored and longed for ever since they were first acquainted, was a shade he didn’t remember…

Revealed by the shedding of the outfit he’d chosen for you was his brother’s mark, just above his own, darkly gleaming with dangerous rage. Momentarily, he wonders why you would summon Satan, before his mind catches up with the situation. You had said nothing, the pact wasn’t active with his brother’s power, but your own, a side effect of your own inner wrath.

Lucifer doesn’t regret his choice to bind himself to your soul, but always made a conscious effort to hide the evidence of it under high-collared shirts, inadvertently hiding the mark that was so close in proximity to his own. Logically, he knows the meaning of the placement: that while your strongest sin was pride, wrath was not far behind. It was easy to ignore that though when it was out of sight and when he ensured you acted only as he permitted.

The skin around Satan’s mark is red with irritation, burning like a branding, and he knows from experience that if you weren’t calmed down, blood would be drawn soon, staining your underclothes and obscuring the mark of pride with the stream of red.

Lucifer can’t find it in himself to reach out or to try to form words, whether the command would allow him to or not. His gaze is locked onto your sternum, where he’s sure you’re experiencing terrible pain. A pain he caused – causes.

A misunderstanding of the Avatar of Pride is that he can’t experience shame or embarrassment. He can, although his pride prohibits him from showing or admitting as much. As far spread as this misunderstanding is, you know the truth. You know that while his carefully constructed persona shows no reaction, he feels ashamed as he watches your pact with the fourth-born blister and burn, because no matter how many times he lectured you on the mess that your wrath – your humanity – left behind, this was you. You are messy. You leave stains. You make mistakes. You feel so much that you spill your own blood with the sheer magnitude of it. He fell in love with the flaws that made you so inexplicably yourself but he painted over them, sealed them away in favor of making you something you aren’t. This is the result, cracks in the thick layers of plaster and acrylic where your flesh and bone are exposed.

He doesn’t stop you from shoulder-checking him as you force your way past. He doesn’t move even when the door slams shut behind you with finality, leaving Lucifer to deal with the solitude that he earned. He nearly collapses to his knees when he hears Satan’s voice, surely attracted by the pull he felt through your pact. He focuses on the few drops of blood left in your wake, seeping into the seams of his floor, when he hears the two sets of footsteps leading away from his prison cell and he can’t find a single blame that doesn’t fall on his own shoulders.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x gn!mc #gn!mc #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc angst #angst #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw branding #grumpy old fart

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kendrixtermina · 10 months

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Something I've recently been thinking in the light of a lot of the discourse on here that everyone is distracted left vs right when they should be paying attention to the libertarian vs authoritarian axis as well.

(Of course few authoritarians call themselves that, but it is this belief in strict rules & that people can't be trusted to decide for themselves, that ppl need to be controlled for their own good etc)

The authoritarian left hasn't been a thing for 20 odd years after communism fell but I suppose it was a matter of time till they would come back in some form - just like, alas, the far right nuts came back after the ppl who personally remember what a bad idea the nazis were gradually died off.

There was a post on tumblr recently calling the censor crowd "functionally conservative" but they really aren't, they're pro gay, pro environment, pro minority, pro change, pro tax etc. they are leftists, but what they also are is authoritarian.

The authoritarian left is back, & this is what's happened in this last decade with this neo-puritan/paternalist/cancel culture stuff. It just gradually crept into left spaces frogs in a boiling pot situation & was just nodded along with because everyone wants to be pro-justice etc,

& then in the news/ by critics it is all just often it's just all lumped together as "the left" - When people say "libertarian" they usually mean libertarian right (eg doesn’t care about social control or anyone smooking weed or being gay in private, but pro corporate, against tax, wants to keep social categories somewhat the same etc. )

No one applies the libertarian/authoritarian split to the left any more as if they're all libertarian by default but they aren't. Not the "censor stuff that makes me uncomfy" crowd, for sure. They're just as authoritarian rightist censors, they just want their own team to win.

But when anyone complains about “leftists censors” they’re usually accused of projecting, decried as immoral etc. even when they’re not being hostile & possibly open to rational dialogue. in other words, there is heavy “for us or against us” logic, treating anyone not 100% on your side as indistinguishable from extremists. Which is authoritarianism: No dialogue, no divergence from orthodoxy not even just for argument’s sake, no thinking bad thoughts

In some situations I may have more in common with a centrist libertarian than an authoritarian of either left or right. I don’t want no puritan crusaders of either paintjob telling me what to do.

I think this difference needs to be emphasized more, basically.

#politics #leftism #political compass #authoritarianism #discourse #cancel culture #feelings #censorship #freedom #purity culture #neo puritanism #anti

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werewolvestolovers · 8 months

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i'm three weeks out from quitting my job and it's finally sinking in just how depressed i was. i think my adhd meds are very good at keeping me from impulse quitting - a constant problem i had when unmedicated - but this ended up being a slow boiling frog pot kinda situation.

also it's nice to be able to use all that executive function to just... improve my life? do the dishes regularly. actually keep up with my laundry. i finally feel like i have the energy to plan things again.

my birthday was last week and i decided to spend some money on me and finally go get a laser hair removal consult this week!!

one of the few side effects from my adhd meds is that i. cannot. stop. skin. picking. like I have tweezers stashed in random places because i keep compulsively picking at my face.

plus my body did a weird shift in biology when I started getting into my 30s - my leg hair is now super light and slow growing while my face now has random bristly, coarse patches of hair on my chin and cheeks that are too dense to easily tweeze away. between the face picking and the stubble, my skin is a mess and it's really increasing my anxiety when I go out. so! finally decided to bite the bullet on laser hair removal for my peace of mind - wish me luck!

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mahikamihan · 1 year

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I agree with you 100% about Foolish's relationship to risk and death. I think that he takes on a vital role as the pillar on the server. The others lean on him for help, be it building, providing resources or protection from mobs. Through learning his necessity to Tina in the cave after his first death, he realises this and takes on the heavy burden. While he was the initial chaos bringer, challenging the pillagers and pestering Tina, he is forced to become the level-headed and unmoving one. To ignore the pranks and the stealing- to guarantee the wellbeing of his friends.

Not only was it the death itself that sparked his change but, like you said, the extent to which Tina had to break the rules- going against her strict code that she had restated again and again. In this moment he sees past her strict server dictator facade, not as the nuisance of a neighbour or subject for teasing but as someone who needs him.

I think that this feeling of being needed is what keeps him going, kind of like how he's a 'good' pirate. More important than loot is his want to protect and provide, to please others and be looked up to.

-🦀

also thoughts on potential pyromaniac tina? Miyoungs menacing turn? Foolish's quickness to forgive Tina?

Sorry if this answers comes in late! I’ve dug myself down the stardew rabbithole and wasn’t checking my accounts as fast. More below!

Pyromaniac Tina: I think there’s a few funny lore potential to tinakiArson. XD I especially love that she started panickingly placing pumpkins when she realized what she had done to Foolish’s ship. It’s kind of like giving into the allure of fire— especially knowing now that she is playing part-demon of some kind. Nothing wrong with a little arson here and there, let a lil feminine rage out every now and then. And Tina especially, since she’s been through increasingly stressful situations recently— adding miyoung to the server, the unbalanced trade deals between foolish, miyoung and her, trying to meet her soul quota, etc. she has a lot on her plate! funny how she backtracks immediately though, like she only processes the guilt of her actions after the fact

Menacing Miyoung: menacing miyoung is always my favorite! idk why or how, but i feel like she always had that kind of mysterious mischievous aura around her. Like you can’t really tell what she’s planning to do next which makes her a surprising addition to foolish’s crew! She brings a little teeth to the adventures, spices things up alot! I like hoe even foolish gets pretty wary around her, so she stands as an equal crew member to him 💪🏼

Foolish’s forgiveness: I don’t think it was quick at all! He drove a pretty hard bargain, from taking a pet(?) → burning one of her own pets → burning her house -> having her burn someone else’s build, especially when he knows how hard builds could be. Character-wise, I’m interpreting it as like, “boiling the frog pot slowly” method of getting what he wants (if you get what i mean!). He thought through how he was gonna get his retribution, I’m just as surprised that Tina went through with it. I think for that, he was pretty fair in logic, and he got to see a lil fire up close XD so it was all good on his end, he was having a good time! poor tina though , she had to learn the consequences of her actions the hard way :') he really put her through the ringer when he knows how bad she is at making quick decisions

do you have any thoughts on the recent happenings personally, 🦀? I love the horse-breeding arc that miyoung, foolish and sam went through, so wholesome ^0^

#yumi answers #crab anon my beloved #crunchcraft #crunchcraft lore #it's late at nighhhht #queue #Im sorry if none of this makes any sense #my brain is mush from stardew valley

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poppyseedgirly · 1 year

Text

today i shoveled dirt and planted seeds

cleaned up the yard, sat with my silence

and the sun was hot on my skin

and my period came early this month

but i think it makes sense for april

and i’m off my birth control so it’s just

regulating

anyway, gardening on your period makes sense to me

i’m going to care for this little garden

flowers mostly, and experimenting with cat grass and nip

there was a peacefulness

where moments i was thinking about

everything

and i felt okay

doing something on my own

whether it’s right or wrong

but it’s my own, and i think it turned out quite nice

two patches, surrounded by brick and stones

some water, some pats, and some hope

i’ve been thinking a lot about tears

and watering a garden

and that garden being myself

it takes time, change, fleeting moments

i wonder where tears come from?

probably straight from the heart i’d assume

i think about all the things i never felt

i did perfectly for others

i think about the worms in the dirt

and i think about worm hearts and frogs in pots of boiling water

and metaphors and i’m thinking about love

i’m trying not to be confused, but sometimes that’s all i feel,

other days it makes more sense

i thought about how mean you were to me at times,

in all my moments of patience, it makes me scratch my head,

i remember you saying you failed me,

and i didn’t understand and i pleaded to you

are you sure are you sure are you sure

delusional daffodil darling

i will never beg for someones love again

like i’m taking my rose colored glasses off,

like i need to take them off

i went to the eye doctor today

and asked please please please

i do not want rose colored glasses

give me the clearest lenses you got

( which is funny because my glasses are rose colored, i picked a brown pair out, a new era )

you wanted to crack the code so badly, the code of it all, of the universe, and i would always say it’s right in front of you, it’s simple, and it’s not simple, and it’s love

i still believe this to be true, i wonder if that will change, i wonder if one day you will understand

i sit on my twin size bed

and try to pop my sore knee back into place

and think about how at some point

i’m going to lose everyone

and i’m trying to sit with that thought

take it in doses but not too much

because i know when each day comes

i will not be ready, how can you

my grandma called me today

and started asking about depression

reminding me while if others are sad for me

to remember it’s okay if i am sad too

and that i am doing well for my situation

people keep telling me that,

that i’m seeming okay

i wonder what they expect

or maybe they aren’t seeing

what i feel in moments where

i am so scared of myself

she said they used to write books about depression,

and she misses the yellow pages

and they gave her some books when my grandfather died,

she can’t find them as she is blind now and i say that’s okay

she said, it’s like a death allison

one day the person who has been by your side all this time is just gone

and it shot hot tears through me, i said yes

she said talking about depression can be depressing though, so she doesn’t bother with it

and i think that’s really interesting and funny

sometimes her words are so wise and real and cut me so sharp and i want to jot it all down

she said give yourself a hug

i told her ice cream is good for the heart and it made her laugh a lot

she talks about how her own path changed and lead her to my grandfather

i still believe in good things

and better things to come

i believe my garden is just beginning to grow

i believe i’m going to be okay and i’m going to figure it out and be soft and tender

and still have a heart open and warm to love

poppet steps across my laptop

just like before and messes with all the keys

and i let her

some things are the same, most things are different

and that’s okay, i think that’s okay i still say through gritted teeth

i’d be lying if i didn’t miss a lot of things

but again i’m still accepting

rewiring my brain

i think i’m going to walk at the cemetery soon

explore neighborhoods around me

i grew up too sheltered to truly know

why is everything new

i sometimes wonder if people find life as an obligation rather than enjoying all that it has to offer

i worry about getting stuck sometimes but i think to myself i have this thought so maybe i can’t truly get stuck if i’m aware of it

i believe in something good around the corner, i believe in art, poetry, movies, all the words said before each day to come, marlee, poppet, our dreams, the seeds i just planted.

#diary

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jagged1 · 2 years

Text

I Made My Bed And I Must Lie In It (Not If I Can Help It)

Fandom: Outlast Rating: Teen Characters: Mentioned Jeremy Blaire/Waylon Park, pre-Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park Summary: Waylon bails out of a bad situation, but needs some help with the consequences of his actions. Contains: Alternate Universe - College, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Domestic Abuse, Blood and Injury Word Count: ~3100 AO3 Link

Everything hurts. Oh fuck, does he ache like hell. Waylon’s made dumb decisions before, but this one is way up there. He can't believe he actually just jumped from a moving car.

One moment, everything was fine; he was fine, and now... now, he's laying on the side of the road, battered, bruised, bleeding, chilled, and more than a little lost. He isn’t entirely sure how he got himself into this position.

Well... no, he might be lying to himself a bit. More than a bit. Okay, a lot. He knows his friends have never liked Jeremy. He thought they were just being overprotective, a ‘Here’s a newly out Waylon testing the waters in college, better keep an eye on him’ kind of love.

He knows he was resistant to listening to them. Sure, Jeremy could be kind of an ass, but he was kind to Waylon when it mattered. He thought they’d eventually warm up to him. Instead, they hate him more than before and here he is beat to fucking hell in more ways than one.

He was really wrong with that one.

Jeremy’s always been a little pushy, but his confidence in his every move was what drew Waylon in. He didn’t think complaining about it was his place, so when Jeremy pushed a little too hard or went a little too far, Waylon just took it. They were still learning each other's habits and limits. Jeremy wasn't stupid by any means, he had to see what Waylon was okay with and what he wasn't. They'd find their rhythm.

And then, they really didn't.

Jeremy kept pushing and he kept taking. He can’t help but think of the story of the frog in a pot not knowing it’s being boiled alive. It feels fitting.

He's so glad it hadn't gotten physical, because he already feels like death from his ill-advised leap of faith. It wasn't so far off though, based on Jeremy's cryptic answers about where they were headed, what was going to happen, and how angry he got when Waylon finally spoke up and began to really disagree.

He looked like he would have throttled Waylon if he could've and Waylon was not going to stick around and find out.

So a very ill-advised tuck and roll it was. He’s lucky he didn’t smash his head on the ground and that Jeremy just kept fucking driving instead of stopping and coming back for Waylon; he wouldn’t be able to put up any sort of protest in this state.

…Jesus, he really has been a complete idiot. That’s such a messed up thought to have, shit.

He wants to hide away and lick his wounds in peace. He wants to cry for being so fucking stupid. He thinks he could die from the shame of being so thoroughly fooled like he was. He’s thinking about just finding a place to squat for the night when a violent shiver wracks his body and puts an end to that train of thought.

He’s never been hurt like this before and he’s afraid he won’t make it through the night without help. He doesn’t exactly trust his judgment right now either.

First things first, he carefully tests each part of his body, taking stock of what hurts and how injured he might be beyond his nerves screaming pain at him. His back and shoulder took the brunt of the fall, and he thinks he feels cold air directly against his back, which would make sense. He probably has the worst road rash ever, but everything moves and nothing hurts more than he expected it to when he flexed, so that’s good.

Next, he carefully pushes himself into a sitting position and reaches for his phone. He’s praying it survived the jump, because he has seriously no idea what to do if he can’t use it to figure out where he is. He actually does tear up a little in relief when he pulls it out and sees it’s just a little more scratched up. Thank god for good phone cases.

When he pulls up his map app, he feels his heart sink. He’s in a part of town where he’s never been in before, so shuffling off on his own is out of the question. It’s probably better that he doesn’t move too much anyway, but still. He really doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. He’s afraid of what their reaction will be.

He absentmindedly bites his lip and hisses in pain. Shit, it’s probably split, he didn’t think about that. He’s actually terrified of checking himself out with the camera right now and pushes the thought aside.

Focus! He needs help and he can’t stay here. He should call someone, but who? He doesn’t want to call Lisa out to an unknown neighborhood late at night. Miles is out of town on some assignment, if he remembers correctly. That leaves… oh shit. Eddie.

Waylon groans. Eddie is both the best and the worst person for him to call. Eddie drives both a car and a motorcycle. He’ll be able to pick up Waylon with no problem and he probably knows exactly what to do for all his injuries. Not to mention he’s a beast and can take care of himself.

He also may or may not have a bit of a crush on the man and the thought of Eddie seeing him like this and judging him hurts. He debates taking his chances on a rideshare for a minute before discarding the idea. He’s made enough bad decisions for one night.

He takes a deep breath and holds it while he dials Eddie’s number and waits for him to pick up. Oh god, what if he doesn’t answer? What’s Waylon going to do? Will he have to actually try a rideshare? He’s halfway into driving himself into a panic spiral when Eddie answers. “Hello? Waylon?”

He lets the breath out in a messy sputter, a squeaky “Eddie!” coming out with it. Oh god, could he be any more pathetic right now? He grimaces, closing his eyes against the invisible judgment he feels.

“Eddie,” he tries again. “Hi... I’m sorry, but can you come and get me right now? Please? I’m in trouble.” An understatement, but Eddie will see for himself soon enough. “I’ve shared my location.”

“Trouble? Waylon, what is going on?” Waylon can hear him fumbling about in the background as he starts getting ready to leave.

He avoids the question, but does remember to tell Eddie, “Bring your car, I can’t ride on your bike right now.”

“Waylon!” He sounds panicked and Waylon feels so guilty and stupid and pathetic. He wants to end the call immediately, but he knows he’ll only make Eddie worry even more. He doesn’t need to get into an accident trying to help Waylon.

“I’m... not fine, but I’ll be okay until you get here. I left Jeremy. I don’t know where I am and I need help. Please... don’t ask anything more right now.” He hunches in on himself, hissing in pain as it pulls the wounds on his back.

“You do not sound fine. I won’t ask, but you are staying on the phone with me until I get there. I am not budging on this.” Waylon hears the sound of a car door slamming, he must be on his way. “I shouldn’t be long, stay with me.”

He gulps and murmurs quietly, almost chastised, “Okay. Thank you, Eddie.” He can’t stop the tears now, but at least he isn’t sobbing in Eddie’s ear.

Eddie keeps up a stream of comforting words and progress updates, only occasionally asking Waylon to respond so he can check that he’s still there. It’s more comforting than he expected and he finds himself relaxing incrementally.

It lasts until he can hear Eddie’s car speeding down the road. He immediately curls back into a tighter ball, another gasp of pain escaping. Across the phone, he can hear Eddie make another alarmed sound. “M’fine. Just moved wrong.”

“Is that you on the ground?”

“Yes.”

This time it's a wounded sound. “Waylon, darling, I’m right here. Just give me a minute.” He hangs up the phone and Waylon is so, so happy because the word ‘darling’ breaks him. He’s crying noisily now and if Eddie can’t hear him while he’s parking, he will soon.

Eddie practically wrenches his door off the hinges, sprinting over to Waylon. “Darling, what happened?” He drops to a knee, hands hovering over him, like he’s afraid his touch will break him.

Waylon cries harder, noisy gulps of air interspersed with hiccuping sobs. He doesn’t know if he’s touched by Eddie’s concern or hurt that he’s being denied that comfort. His chest feels so tight and his stomach feels like it’s dropped out from underneath him

“Oh, darling...” Eddie sounds heartbroken and his expression can only be described as devastated. “You’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you. You’re safe with me.” He stands up, offering his hands. “Can I help you stand? We’ll get you to my car and make a plan from there, okay?”

Waylon can only nod, carefully uncurling and reaching for his hands.

Eddie immediately takes them, only barely refraining from hauling Waylon up himself to ensure he doesn’t aggravate any of the numerous injuries he can see and especially those he can’t. They’ll need to go to a hospital, but he knows Waylon won’t agree to that tonight. He’ll have to take him home and do his best.

He does practically lift him off his feet with how much weight he takes as he walks him over to the car. He didn't even bother to turn it off, and he’s glad for that with how cold Waylon feels. He immediately settles him into the backseat on his side before swinging around to the trunk to pull out the emergency blanket he keeps in there and tucking it around him loosely. He’d love to have him up front with him, but it’s better to keep pressure off his back for now.

He crouches down again and gently brushes some of Waylon’s hair out of his face. “Are you okay coming home with me? I can take a look at your wounds and take care of them there.”

Waylon’s still gasping for air between his forcefully stifled sobs, so he nods again, choking out a tiny “Please.”

“Of course, darling. It won’t be long.” He strokes one finger lightly against Waylon’s temple before withdrawing. He wishes he could speed home, but he can’t risk hurting Waylon anymore, so it’s better that they get going now.

The drive feels like it takes forever and no time at all, both of them caught up in their own worries and fears. Waylon has managed to stop crying even as the guilt and shame he feels intensifies. Eddie feels like he's hanging onto his calmness by a thread. He desperately wants answers and to do something, anything, for Waylon.

He's terribly invested in his well-being.

As soon as he’s parked, Eddie comes around to the backseat. “Waylon, we’re here. Can you sit up so we can go in?”

He nods again, not trusting his voice to hold. He carefully rights himself before awkwardly shuffling along the seat to take Eddie’s hand and stand. As much as he wants to shy away from his touch, he’s craving the comfort it brings him. He makes do with clutching the blanket harder with his other hand.

They make their way inside, shucking their shoes at the door before Eddie ushers him towards the bathroom, settling him on the toilet. “Let me get you a change of clothes and the first aid kit. I’ll be right back.” True to his word, Eddie’s not gone more than a minute. He sets the pile of clothes aside for later before kneeling in front of Waylon. “Can you drop the blanket? I need to see your wounds.”

Waylon lets the blanket slide from his grip and shoulders, hissing as it drags lightly across his injuries.

Eddie furrows his brow at the sound, mouth pursing in displeasure and worry. “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t want to give you anything until after I’ve seen how injured you are. I’ll be as quick and careful as possible. I promise.” He slowly reaches out to touch Waylon, sighing in relief when Waylon’s eyes close at his touch and he relaxes into it.

He takes the opportunity to take a long look at him, bruised, scraped, and bleeding. He looks so fragile and so strong at once. Eddie admires that about him, but he wishes Waylon wouldn’t push himself so hard and treat himself so roughly. He still doesn’t know the story, but he knows Waylon.

He gives himself a shake before refocusing on his task. He gently moves Waylon to get a better look at the various injuries, testing his range of motion. It’s mostly smaller scale, some scrapes and bruises, but nothing that worries him. He reaches for the antiseptic and delicately cleans the open wounds before applying bandages. They’ll need to get ice packs later for some of the swelling.

When he’s done tending to Waylon’s front, he asks “Can you open your eyes? I need to check for a concussion.”

Waylon obliges. He follows Eddie’s finger as it moves, meets his gaze as he checks his pupil sizes, answers all the basic questions he asks to check his memory. They’re both not sure if the pain is related to one or just the overwhelming feedback from the rest of his body, but they do their best.

Eddie is still concerned, but Waylon passes most of his tests, so he lets it go. It will be a problem for them to tackle tomorrow. “I think you’re alright, so now, could you turn around?”

He carefully rotates to put as much of his back towards the light and Eddie’s gaze as he can. He has to fight the urge to curl up as he hears Eddie hiss in sympathy.

“Waylon, darling, I’ll need to cut your shirt off to see better. Is that okay?” At his nod, Eddie reaches for the trauma shears and quickly cuts through the remaining cloth, gently easing it off Waylon’s torso. He looks like he’s been through a shredder, large swaths of skin sheared off and gravel and grit embedded in places, dotting the bright red skin with flecks of brown, gray and black.

They’ll need to clean it all out before he can do anything else, but he’s afraid of causing him any more pain. “Waylon… There’s a lot of debris in these. I’ll need to remove it. Can I wash your back?”

Waylon flushes pink. As if he wasn’t already feeling exposed, this might just be the thing that will kill him. He’s oddly grateful for the pain. It keeps him grounded. He gives another tiny nod, bracing himself.

Eddie works quickly. He uses tweezers to pull the largest pieces out before getting the softest washcloth he has and wetting it, along with a cup full of water. He carefully pours the smallest amount of water along each section of his skin, gently following up with the cloth. It’s painstaking work, each gasp of pain from Waylon makes him wince. But his hands stay steady.

As soon as he’s done with the water, he grabs a soft towel, pressing it lightly against Waylon’s back, checking for any remaining debris and how badly the blood is flowing. When he hears Waylon make a protesting noise, he scoffs, cutting him off. He can replace the damn thing later.

Luckily, there isn’t as much blood as he feared. He will have to restock the antibiotics after this, maybe even the gauze bandages. There’s very little of Waylon’s back and shoulder that survived unscathed. He really wants to know what happened, but no, not yet.

He finishes treating Waylon’s injuries before standing up, his knees cracking from holding the same position for so long. “That’s all I can do for you. I’ll let you get changed and when you're done, come into the kitchen, okay?”

Waylon nods, but doesn’t turn around until he hears the door close. He’s still in pain, but it’s not as sharp as before. He can’t wait to take something for it. He carefully steps out of the rest of his clothes before reaching for the set Eddie left him. He can’t decide if he’s grateful or not for the spare change of underwear, but doesn’t let himself dwell on it, ignoring the heat of embarrassment spreading across his face. The sweatpants are a little long and the soft button up swamps him, but it’s easier than lifting his arms above his head and he’s so grateful for the thought Eddie put into a set of clothes.

He shuffles into the kitchen where Eddie has a cup of tea and a painkiller waiting for him. He takes both with enthusiasm, sighing in relief. He knows it won’t kick in for sometime, but the warmth from the tea is doing wonders as he settles into a seat.

Eddie is just finishing heating and portioning out some soup for Waylon. He gently, but firmly places the bowl in front of him. “Eat. You shouldn’t have that on an empty stomach and you’ll need your strength to heal.”

He waits until Waylon’s more than halfway through the bowl before he broaches the subject. “Waylon... I’ve been patient, but please, what happened?”

Waylon freezes, averting his gaze. He knew this was coming, but he’s not ready to talk about it. Still, he owes Eddie this, if nothing else. He deserves to know the circumstances of why they’re here now.

He slowly, haltingly, tells him about how Jeremy had slowly gotten more... demanding. The build to tonight. The tension he felt in the car and the fear culminating in his ill advised bail out. He can feel himself hunching in on himself as the story goes on, god, he was so stupid.

Eddie is glad his hands are under the table, his fists are clenched so hard, they’re trembling in suppressed rage, knuckles pale white as the skin stretches over them. He has to clear his throat before he can speak, but a thread of a growl underneath is still clearly there. “Waylon, you did nothing wrong. All the blame lies with Blaire. So, please,” he flexes one hand, loosening it before he reaches across the small table to lightly grip Waylon’s forearm, “please don’t think any less yourself, darling. You did the best you could and I’m so glad you called me for help.”

Waylon makes a small noise of protest, but Eddie shushes him. “I mean it. You’re very precious to me.”

Waylon flushes again, hiding his face. Eddie lets him.

This isn’t the end of this conversation, he knows. But he’s hopeful for the future at least.

An early birthday gift for my darling, dearest Dai! I hope you enjoy it @foxieflower <3!

#outlast #outlast whistleblower #waylon park #eddie gluskin #weddie #my writing #my fic #jeremy blaire

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frienderbender · 2 years

Note

write the thing about mag’s rage over the years!!!

sure :^] i’ll expand upon what i started talking about in this ask, so i’ll also touch on why i think it’s important (at least for magnus’s development as a villain) for dethklok’s fame to have taken at least a little time and to not happen literally overnight

so i mentioned the boiling frog allegory, and i think it’s very applicable for magnus in this situation. the premise is that if a frog is put into a pot of boiling water, it will sense the danger immediately and jump out, saving itself. if you put a frog into a pot of water and then start to boil it slowly, the frog will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. the point being that people often won’t react to gradual, growing threats rather than to sudden ones. i think it’s interesting to think about this allegory in the context of the show, because it forces you to perceive dethklok as the bad guys, and in some ways…they kinda are? see: my whole essay on how dystopic being an artist is in-universe.

but i think in the case of magnus’s rage, it also makes sense. magnus has this hope that dethklok will fail without him, and his goal is for them to be nobodies like him. and his obsession with this hope really makes sense if he had years to sit with it, to watch it fester and eventually “boil over,” getting his chance with the revengencers and kidnapping toki and abi and all that. you’ve watched doomstar you know how this ends. but it’s like. you need TIME to reach that point. even the most cartoonish of villains don’t hatch a kidnapping scheme for someone they don’t even know overnight. to get to that point, you need time to really lose yourself. magnus is an undeniably angry person, and i think he had to have been under some external stress to suddenly attack nathan that one night in 1998; but to be where he is by the time s4/doomstar happens is……still a sizable jump. honestly if anything this just further proves that magnus deserved WAY more development and should’ve been recurring throughout s4 at the LEAST (though i would’ve liked to see more of him in s3).

if dethklok became instant successes the MINUTE they got toki, i mean just like. trillionaires within a day. i think magnus would’ve been more shocked than anything. because if that happens, what else is he supposed to do? like what COULD you do in that situation? but if dethklok’s fame was a steady (but still rather quick) increase, magnus would still have time to pray for their downfall. he’d still be able to hope they’d fail. it’s almost like dangling a toy (the hope dethklok will fail) in front of a cat (magnus): you keep it juuuust close enough that they think they can grab it, but pull it further away before they can. but they’ll still play, because surely this time they’ll catch it.

it is interesting, though, like i said at the start, because i think the frog allegory is very applicable to the world of mtl itself. especially if you wanna have some fun and look at dethklok as the bad guys. because, as i’ve said before, this is post-apocalypse media in an unconventional way. dethklok is this huge force of death and destruction (both to the physical world and to the creative world, if you wanna go there), but people want it. they love it. they devote their lives to it. if dethklok became instant successes, that’d be terrifying and turn off A LOT of people (especially if we’re to assume the world was Exactly the same until dethklok appeared). and i think if you put the people in the metaphorical pot of water and THEN turn on the heat, people come to accept it and don’t realize the danger. yes, they have god powers, but there are still plenty of people unaffected by dethklok, and i think that’s a huge underestimation of people in general (and we still see their fans turn on them several times throughout the series). the god powers certainly helped things, though.

but it’s also like. this is such a fun take on cult mentality through the lens of a capitalistic force. how we become worshippers to brands. because like. dethklok is far beyond just a band by the start of the series in 2006. they’re as large as a small country’s economy. they’re a BRAND. they’re a brand that most of the world has accepted at this point as normal. even despite the constant risk of severe injury or worse. if the world is just a frog and dethklok is just a pot of water, it’s already too late. that frog is cooked.

#asks #thank you so much! i had fun writing this. i really love analyzing mtl as a piece of apocalypse media (bc it's one of my fave genres haha)#and i think looking at it through those lens makes the worldbuilding even more interesting tbh #as with all these writings. these are just MY takes so feel free to disregard and interpret things however you want!#that’s the fun of this show. i think you can interpret things in many ways and it’s all super interesting

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chaoticgremlinwholikescheese · 1 year

Text

What You Sacrifice

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rape/Non-Con

Whump

Angst

Hurt/Comfort

it gets pretty dark but will have a happy ending

Everyone lives

Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley

Protective Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Protective Evan "Buck" Buckley

Hostage Situations

Kidnapping

It should be so simple. Boil some water, put the pasta in, and you're done. So how is it possible that Eddie is messing up pasta? He somehow managed to light it on fire. He's a firefighter for God's sake, he shouldn't be having this issue. It's as embarrassing as it is annoying. He just wanted to help Bobby, and now he's staring down at a pot of burned-to-a-crisp noodles.

"Bobby, I am so sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid. I'll start a new batch. Why don't you go get Buck?"

Eddie easily takes the out. Buck and Chris are right, he's cursed in the kitchen. He finds Buck sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. It's a new one he started about frogs. He's reading it both out of interest and so he can help Chris with a school project. Back in his day, they had to dissect the frogs. Thankfully now they just have to do some research papers on them. Eddie always hated doing the dissections. Eddie collapses next to Buck, purposely taking up as much space as possible. Buck scrunches up his long legs and shoots him a smile before laying them on top of Eddie's lap.

"I don't believe in curses. But I'm seriously starting to think that I may have a kitchen curse."

"Oh, you totally have a curse. I don't think I've ever met someone who's failed at making pasta."

"I swear, if it weren't for you, Chris wouldn't know what actual food tastes like."

"Hey, he was subjected to your cooking for years, and he turned out just fine."

"But now he's corrupted by your delicious food. He'll never go back to eating my cooking again."

"Good. Cause that means you have a reason to keep me around." He smiles.

"Don't worry, I'm always keeping you around. You're stuck with me."

Buck blushes. Eddie loves that he can make Buck blush. It's adorable, the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears get bright red. And Eddie knows that the flush goes lower as well, but that's something to think about after work. Right now he has to stay professional. That doesn't stop him from giving Buck's leg a quick squeeze. Bobby calls everyone over for dinner. They all sit down at the table, Chimney immediately grabbing the pasta and spooning some onto his plate.

"I can't believe Eddie failed at making pasta," Hen laughs.

"He even managed to set it on fire. Isn't it submerged in water?" Chim adds before stuffing some food into his mouth.

"I tried! That's what matters!"

They playfully squabble through the rest of dinner. These family dinners are always nice. Filled with gentle ribbing, laughter, and good food. It's wonderful. Buck always finds himself at ease here. Being surrounded by love is one of the best feelings in the world.

They're halfway through cleaning up from dinner when the alarm rings. They quickly make their way into their gear and down to the rig. All of it is habit by now, done with ease and certainty. They even have assigned places in the truck. Buck and Eddie always sit next to each other, legs touching.

"We've got a call for a fire at an abandoned warehouse. Caller said they saw some flames, smelled smoke. The place should be empty, but we'll need to run through and make sure. Eddie, Buck, you'll do that while the rest of us get control of the fire. I don't know what's inside the place, so I want you to be fast."

They all nod at Bobby's words. The moment the truck stops, they hop into action. Buck and Eddie pull on their gear and run towards the flames. The door to the warehouse is already open, a loose chain hanging from the handle. The lock lays on the ground nearby. The two of them enter and call out. They receive no response. The flames are getting higher, igniting boxes of mystery things as it travels.

"LAFD! Call out!" Buck shouts again.

"Over here!"

The voice is coming from an open door on the other side of the room. It must lead to another section of the warehouse. Buck immediately runs ahead, Eddie quickly following after him. Buck bursts through the door. His eyes land on a man standing against the wall. He looks unharmed. He's about to ask if the man is okay when he sees the glint of metal. A gun emerges from the man's pocket, and he aims it at the center of Buck's chest. He puts his hands up to show he means no harm. Eddie bumps into his back, but stops when he sees the weapon. Buck can feel him tense.

Two more men emerge from the shadows. Both have guns. They cluster behind the first man, who seems to be the leader. He's wearing a navy coat. It's a brand that Buck recognizes but can't quite name. One of the other men has an eagle tattoo going up his arm, and the third one is wearing a stained jean jacket. Before, it could have been possible to take the boss down. But now it's stupid to even think of trying.

"Sir, we're here to help. We need to get you all out of here." Buck's voice doesn't waver. He needs to stay calm. Plus, it's not the first time he's been held at gunpoint. At least this time he's in a position where he can shield Eddie if he needs to.

READ THE REST ON AO3

#911 #911 fic #buddie #fics

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elsanna-shenanigans · 2 years

Text

August Contest Submission #3: Claim This Desire

Words: ca. 7,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: lime Content: language, sexual situations

This is a bad idea.

A monumentally, boneheaded, epically bad idea and I have only myself to blame. Why the fuck did I suggest just the two of us going away for a week to our parents’ cabin?

Alone.

Isolated.

By ourselves.

Did I mention this is a bad idea?

I take my time putting away the last of our groceries in the refrigerator in a futile attempt to distract myself from the sounds of Elsa moving around in the cabin’s only bedroom in which she is getting it ready for tonight. Barely audible humming floats out of the bedroom and the urge to flee completely drains from me. My sister only ever hums when she’s extremely happy. Now I feel guilty for wishing to not be here.

With the kitchen wiped down and the bags of groceries stowed away, I have nothing to do while I wait for Elsa to finish so I open a bag of green, gummy frogs. My dumb ass hadn’t read the online listing closely enough and accidentally bought twelve bags of Sharable Sized bags instead of twelve personal sized bags. I am now the proud owner of almost four pounds of gummy frogs. I’ll be eating them for weeks. Out of nowhere, a hand reaches into the bag and plucks out a piece of candy.

“All finished?” I smile at Elsa’s relaxed look. The last six months had been particularly stressful for her with the promotion. Something else had been bothering her but she wouldn’t tell me.

“Yes. Let’s have a quick dinner then go to bed.” Elsa covers her yawn with a hand. “I’m still tired from the drive up here.”

“How? You slept the whole way.” Luckily, I have a backlog of podcasts to keep me company.

“I didn’t sleep the whole three hours.”

“Oh yes, waking up long enough to ask for an iced tea when I stopped for gas and snacks before falling back asleep totally counts.” I don’t bother resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “I put your warm, unopened can in the fridge.”

“I was a little tired.” A faint blush dusts her cheeks.

“Obviously.” I tilt by bag of gummy frogs to Elsa, offering them to her.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Umm… yes?” I frown in confusion. Do I really look bad or something?

“Never, in twenty-seven years, have you ever willingly shared your gummy frogs.”

“Not true!” Just because I can’t remember a time I have, doesn’t mean it has never happened.

Elsa raises an eyebrow.

“I thought you would like one?”

That damn sexy eyebrow stays up.

“Fine! I accidentally ordered too many.” Fuck. Now I’m even finding her eyebrows sexy. There are not enough seconds in a day to count all the ways I am screwed.

“How much is too many?”

“I might have… possibly… kinda… ordered twelve bags.” Okay, I didn’t think saying it out loud would actually be worse than when I first opened the box. Who wants to admit to their crush that they are an oblivious idiot?

“Twelve?” Gorgeous blue eyes twinkle in amusement.

“I thought I was ordering the smaller bags!”

“Didn’t the price clue you in?” My sister looks like she is struggling not to laugh.

“I wasn’t paying attention.” My order had two books, face wash, a new reusable water bottle, and three cute new bands for my watch. Twenty-six dollars for my candy didn’t even register.

“And now you own your own personal plague.” Elsa takes another frog and eats it. “A delicious plague.”

I hand her the half-full bag of candy before reaching over to turn on the stove to boil the pot of water. “How does pasta sound?”

“Perfect.” A kiss against my temple. “Thank you for the frogs.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of the kitchen and pick out a movie.” Not that this cabin has much of a kitchen. The building only sports three rooms: a combination kitchen and living room, a bathroom just big enough for a sink, toilet, and minuscule shower, and a bedroom with a dresser and king sized bed. When we were kids, Elsa and I slept in sleeping bags on the living room floor. I miss our parents everyday but I am extremely thankful they live in England now. I would sooner sleep in the car than on the floor.

Sounds from the TV cause me to turn my head and see the opening scene of Jurassic Park. We’ve seen this movie so many times I don’t even have to be looking at the screen to see it. I slice and butter a loaf of French bread while waiting for the oven to warm up and water to boil.

“Can I help with anything?” Soundlessly, Elsa appears next to me.

I am mature enough to admit I very nearly screamed. Admit to myself. Other people don’t have to know. There are enough embarrassing things my sister knows about me, I don’t need to give her unknown ones too.

“Nope. I got this.” The bread goes into the warm oven and I avert my eyes. My racing heartbeat sounds loud in my ears. Sometime while I was slicing and buttering bread, Elsa changed into the tiniest shorts and tank top known to man.

Yup. This is a bad idea.

* * * * *

I am a bad sister. Not the worst out there (at least according to all the True Crime shows I watch) but I am still a bad sister. The second Anna suggested we take a vacation together out here, I remembered that this place only has one bed and agreed immediately knowing this would happen; this being her sleeping peacefully in my arms. I can’t contain the need to hum so I try to keep it as low as I can.

Soft sleepy sounds come from my sister and she tightens her clutch on my shirt, warm breaths puff against my neck. This alone makes the whole vacation worth it. More sleepy noises and I look down to see Anna’s eyes fluttering open.

“Good morning, my little cuddle bunny.” The old nickname brings a smile to my lips. It doesn’t matter if she is four or twenty-seven, if you’re sleeping in the same bed as her, she will snuggle into you the second sleep claims her.

“Good morning.” She shifts even closer to me, Anna’s soft curves pressing against me. “What were you humming?”

“‘You Go to My Head.’ Ready to get up?” For very selfish reasons, I want to stay just like this all day. Preferably without clothes.

“Nooooo. Five more minutes.” Lips brush against my neck as she speaks and I hope Anna can’t feel how hard my heart is pounding.

“You said that ten minutes ago.” My sense of self preservation doesn’t seem to be working as it stays silent when I pull her even closer until we are practically occupying the same space.

“We’re on va…” Anna didn’t even finish the sentence before dozing off again.

Getting up didn’t sound particularly enticing anyway. Judging by the chill in the room, the fire in the wood burning stove must have gone out hours ago. I silently debate if I should brave the cold to light it again or wait for Anna to do it. These shorts, bought specifically for this trip, came nowhere close to mid thigh and the mere thought of leaving this warm bed brings on a phantom chill.

An evil thought crosses my mind. I slide out of bed and pad into the main area of the cabin to get the fire going again. When I return to our bed, I pause for a single heartbeat. It is a sister’s sworn duty to always warm her cold toes on her sister.

“HOLY SHIT!” Anna flings herself away and off the bed. She lands on the floor with a loud thud.

“Morning, Sunshine!” I can’t contain my laughter.

“Fuck you.” Floats up from out of sight.

No objections here. I poke my head over the side and look down. If looks could kill, that would have taken out half the forest.

“French Toast for breakfast?” These giggles better stop, there are way too many good places to hide a body round here.

“With cinnamon and strawberries?” A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Absolutely.” Food is always the best way to bribe for Anna’s forgiveness and the beaming smile tells me the frosty wake up call is excused.

* * * * *

“Do you have gloves?” Elsa stares at her list and waits for my answer.

“Yes.”

“Charged the lantern?”

“Yes.” Another check on her list.

“Did you pack-“

“Elsa, we’ll only be five minutes from here. If we forget anything we can come back.”

“But-“

I interrupt Elsa with a quick peck on the lips. “We’ll be fine. Let’s go.” I grab her hand and pull her with me out into the darkness. Stupid. That was incredibly stupid. It felt natural to lean in and steal a kiss, like it is something we normally do. But now that I know how they feel, all I want to do is push her up against a wall and really feast on those amazing lips. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is she so perfect?

Holding the lantern up, we walk in silence the few minutes it takes to get to the wide clearing. I am kicking myself the whole way, hoping Elsa isn’t freaking out.

“Here looks good.” My eyes stay firmly on the picnic blanket I am spreading out, giving the task much more attention it deserves. The light from the lantern shifts and I hear Elsa putting down the backpack before she sits. I continue to shift awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Are you going to sit down?” It is the hesitancy I hear that brings my gaze up to see my sister looking crestfallen. “Do you want your own spot?” She holds out the red blanket we brought in case the night turns chilly.

There is pond scum, there is dirt, there are worms, then there is me lower than any of those.

“Of course not.” I sit down next to Elsa, leaving, what I hope, is an appropriate amount of space between us. Not too far so she thinks I don’t want to sit with her but not too close and make her potentially uncomfortable. Stupid kiss. Okay, not stupid, just epically poorly timed kiss.

“When is it supposed to start?” Elsa opens the backpack and pulls out two canteens of water.

“It should start…” a glance at the smart watch our parents gave me last year, “in ten minutes.”

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah! I’ve been waiting two years for this.” Excitement overrides my nervousness and I turn to Elsa. At this moment, I know how lucky my life truly is. This stunning woman is beside me, smiling only at me, spending her precious time with me.

“Are you ready?” Elsa pauses before switching off the lantern.

I lay down, looking up at the sky. “Let’s go.”

Darkness surrounds us. Slowly, bit by bit, my eyes adjust and the sky fills with stars. My eyes immediately find the Big Dipper and follow the two stars at the end of the cup to the North Star, from there I spot the constellation Cygnus flying along the Milky Way, visible and bright. I am thankful for the moonless sky, it has been far too long since I’ve seen so many stars.

“Wow.”

“I know.” Not many stars are visible back home with all the light pollution. I turn my head to watch Elsa studying the night sky. When was the last time we did this? Probably high school. Joy fills me as I watch this amazing woman beside me.

Elsa turns her head to me and our eyes lock. The air thickens around us. I want to kiss her. A real kiss; one that can’t be explained away as something innocent. My skin itches with the need to lean forward and taste those lips, explore her mouth, claim every part of her Elsa will give me.

Before I can surrender to the little voice urging me into action, a sizzling sound from overhead breaks the spell. Both of us turn our gazes to the night sky. Streaks of light dart across the sky with a sizzling sound. One. Two. Three. Then the night sky fills with light and sound.

“I didn’t know meteor showers made a sound.” Awe in Elsa’s whisper matches how I feel.

“It’s from the meteor traveling through our upper atmosphere.” My eyes stay on the light display above us. I’m so distracted that I fail to notice Elsa moving until her head is on my shoulder, arm wrapping around my waist. I tense at the unexpected touch.

My frozen brain jolts back into action when I feel my sister begin to pull away and I wrap my arms around her, stopping her retreat. I can’t look down, every lustful thought is sure to be clearly seen on my face.

Humming starts up and I easily recognize the song. ‘The Very Thought of You’ is weaving with hissing meteors and the usual nighttime sounds of the forest, making a perfect song for this moment. It’s a fool’s hope that the dark can obscure my face enough with how close we are. I look down. A beat then Elsa’s eyes, twinkling with starlight, meets my gaze.

I kiss her. This is no chaste kiss. It is of desire and devotion and, above all else, love. Elsa does not hesitate to return the kiss. Joy morphs into hunger at the first brush of her tongue against my lips.

“You’re missing your meteor shower.” Elsa’s breathless whisper sends a shiver through me from head to toe, the gentle nip to my earlobe stops all higher brain function.

To hell with that, nothing matters more than the warm body pressed against mine. I tug her leg over my hip, wanting to be even closer. She grinds into me and sets my body aflame.

* * * * *

A beam of sunlight hits my face, waking me up from a dreamless sleep and I can’t be annoyed by it when I remember why we didn’t close the curtains last night. I stretch, the feeling of delightfully sore muscles bringing a smile to my face.

“Good morning, sleepy- what the fuck?!” Anna’s horrified voice chases away any lingering sleepiness.

“Anna?” Holding the sheet against my bare chest, I sit up and reluctantly turn my gaze. My heart drops at her fear. I fight to chase away thoughts that she regrets last night.

“Who are you? What are you?” Anna holds the sheet to her own bare chest and scoots to the edge of the bed.

“It’s-it’s me.” Seeing her pull away brings tears to my eyes and I close them before turning away, not wanting to watch Anna distance herself further. “You regret last night.” I can’t bring myself to make it a question and hear her voice say the obvious answer.

“Elsa?” Sounds of rustling and her hand turns my face back to her. “Please open your eyes.”

There is nothing I can deny this woman even if it will break my heart. But instead of disgust as I expect, I see curiosity, searching.

“It is you.” She presses our foreheads together and heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank god it’s you.”

“Of course? Who else would I be?” This morning is a roller coaster of confusion. I lift up my hand intending to tuck a lock of red hair back but stop halfway there. My hand is lavender. My whole arm is changed and my nails are black. Pulling the sheet away from my body, I peek down at myself. It is everywhere. Dizziness grips me and it’s only because Anna grabs my shoulders that I don’t fall over.

“Easy, Elsa. You need to breathe.” She pulls me into her arms and I calm enough to not go spinning out into space.

The lump in my throat makes it impossible to talk. This must be a punishment for last night. Stopping us last night didn’t even cross my mind, I willingly lost myself in joy and passion.

“Hey.” Anna gently tilts my head towards her. “Don’t do that.”

I hesitantly look into her eyes, unsure what I will see.

“Don’t regret last night.” Taking my hand in hers, she presses it against her chest, where I can feel her heart pounding. “Please don’t regret last night.”

“I don’t.” Partially true. Last was perfect and I want to repeat it all week but then this morning happened. Maybe if I did feel an ounce of remorse for it I would not have ended up purple.

“Good.” Tension leaks out of Anna. She leans in and kisses me before I can stop her. “It feels a little strange to kiss you with your tusks but I don’t hate it.”

“Tusks?” Before I can say anything else, Anna kisses me again, sliding her tongue into my mouth. Energy fills me and my fingers itch to pull the sheet aside and repeat last night. I pull back, stopping myself from pushing things further.

“Breakfast.” Anna pulls back too and I watch her struggling to catch her breath. “We should have breakfast.”

“Okay.” My voice sounds rough even to my ears. It takes a great deal of control not to pull her back into me.

Anna opens her mouth, closes it, then scrambles out of bed. I quickly close my eyes to avoid the temptation that is all that skin. Soft skin. Responsive skin. Delicious skin. Stop. Figuring out how to reverse this is what I should be concentrating on not other, enjoyable, amazing, pleasurable things. Stop. Distraction. I need a distraction. I wait until the sound of the bedroom door closes before I open my eyes again. The full length mirror on the bedroom door catches my attention. After sliding out of bed, I walk over to see what I look like.

Well, this is disturbing. I am purple all over (including my nipples which are a much darker shade), my toenails are black like my fingernails, two small half inch tusks jut up from my lower jaw, the five inch horns twisting up out of the top of my forehead don’t bother me as much as my eyes, my once blue eyes are now a bright red. At least my hair is still blonde. Movement from behind me catches my eye and I turn my head. A tail. I have a fucking dark purple tail. Now that I know it’s there, I can sense it in a tiny corner of my mind and it only takes a little bit of concentration to control it. Long and skinny, it has a flat spade-like tip, and I can feel the air flow over it as it moves.

The smell of cooking bacon fills the room and I rush to dress, my stomach grumbling the whole time.

* * * * *

I sit down across from Elsa after placing both our plates down.

“This smells great. Thank you for cooking.” And that smile makes it worth getting splattered with little bits of bacon grease.

“You’re welcome.” I notice her clothes and frown. “Why are you wearing a hoodie? Are you cold?” If she is cold, why the shorts? It is supposed to be warm today.

Her cheeks turn a darker purple and I can’t help but be charmed when I realize this is her blushing.

“None of my bras or shirts fit.” Her gaze stay on her plate while eats.

“Oh.” My eyes shift to her chest and see the once comfortably fitting hoodie strain slightly at her chest. Only a flicker of something dark moving behind Elsa pulls my attention away. “Is that a tail?”

“Yes.” Her eyes meet mine.

It’s going to take some time to get used to the red. Now is not the time to think about that. I can’t imagine how scary it must be to wake up suddenly looking like this. It’s still Elsa though. I can absolutely roll with this. But first, I need to get that nervous look off her face.

“Can you control it?” I hope my question sounds as curious and unconcerned as I am trying to sound.

“Yes.” The tail stops swishing randomly around and the tip bends up and down in half, waving at me.

“That’s so cool!” So much for bland. But seeing Elsa’s shoulders relax has me believing calm might not be the way to go. Before I can ask anything else, Elsa speaks up.

“How do I get home?” Tension returns to her movements as she starts to eat.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” I eat a forkful of hot eggs. Eating bacon and toast cold is perfectly fine, eating eggs cold is impossible. “You should live with me until we figure this out. My apartment has a parking garage attached. We can get there late at night when no one’s around. All you’d need to do is wear your hood up and we can sneak you in.”

“I can request to work from home. I’ll need an excuse to not go in at all.” Elsa finishes her food before I get even a quarter through mine.

“Say you broke a leg and the doctor said to stay off it for a couple of weeks. Wait, you’ll need a doctor’s note for that.” When Elsa steals a piece of toast, I push my mostly full plate to her and lean back to grab an apple off the counter.

“Thank you. My job doesn’t require doctor notes.” Elsa quickly eats the food on the plate.

“Lucky. I should work for you.” Not. I’d rather jump off a cliff than work with numbers all day. “Do you want me to make you another plate?”

It takes a few moments before she shakes her head.

“Sure? I can-“ A flash of red light blinds me and it takes a bit for my eyesight to come back.

“Are you Elsa Fredricks?” The deep, gravely voice comes from in front of me so I look down at the table, uncertain what exactly I’m looking at. Standing at maybe four inches tall, the little red creature sports curly black ram horns, a tail, and cloven feet.

“Umm… hi.” He turns to face me and I see his face. Just like Elsa, he has tusks, though much longer, sprouting up from his lower jaw and solid black eyes.

“You must be her sister, Anna.” He waits for my nod. “Greetings, Fredricks sisters. I am Harrlock of the Reegnul kingdom.” Harrlock bows. “I am here to ease Elsa into her new existence.”

“Ease how?” If he tries to take my sister away, I’ll squash him like a bug.

Before either of us gets an answer, the little creature jumps off the table and, after another bright flash of red light, appears before us much, much taller. As in seven feet taller and so muscular I’m certain he could demolish my car without breaking a sweat.

“I am here to teach her how to conceal herself and answer questions about her existence.” He sets down a leather (please let it just be normal leather) bag I did not see earlier.

“What am I?” To anyone else, Elsa appears calm and relaxed but I can see the subtle signs of tension.

“You are a succubus.” Muscles moving around his eyes give me the impression he is looking between us. “A linked succubus. That will make this easier. It is bothersome having to find people for new succubi to feed off of.”

“A succubus?” I watch Elsa turn a concerning shade of pastel purple. “Last night… I… I forced her?”

“No.” The answer is unhesitating. “It is impossible to influence a linked partner, only enhance their pleasure. You can influence others only if they’re interested but it will take sex with multiple people to produce the amount energy one night with your link can.”

“Oh.” I expect to see Elsa blush at the mention of sex, instead she just looks relieved. Good. I had no doubts. “Wait, you’re saying she’s my ‘link’? What is a ‘link’?”

“You humans would call it marriage. It is more permanent than that, there is no divorce between linked beings.”

“And we need to have-have-have…” Elsa’s blush matches mine. Kinda. Not even twenty-four hours later and we’re talking about this with a stranger.

“In order for your magic to replenish and control your succubus side you will need to have sex.” He points to me. “Preferably with you. It will be the best nourishment for her.” Harrlock says this far too calmly for my taste.

“But we’re sisters!” Like Big Red and Scary doesn’t know that or that it stopped me last night.

“Unimportant. You are linked.” Either he is very patient or I suck at reading demon expressions. “Any other questions?”

Lots but only one comes to mind. “You’re a demon. Why are we not running away screaming?” I feel calm with only a distant part of myself wanting to flee in terror.

“My kind uses magic to calm living creatures around us. We use it to hunt. But,” he continues on before I can open my mouth, “I have not hunted humans in thousands of years. You taste horrible now.”

Good to know I offend his delicate palate.

“Now that’s settled, let’s begin.”

* * * * *

All three of us are in the meadow Anna and I watched the meteor shower from. Harrlock said it would be dangerous to practice with my new magic inside right now. When he said that, I asked Anna to stay at the cabin but she flat out refused. Now they’re standing six feet away and I’m hoping he keeps her safe from me.

“Are you ready?” I get the feeling that if I say no that he would wait patiently for me to be ready. Guess being thousands and thousands of years old has more than a few advantages.

“Yes.” I’m not so patient. The sooner I can look normal, the sooner Anna doesn’t have to see me this way.

“Close your eyes.”

I close them and listen intently.

“Imagine a stone is in your stomach. Concentrate on that stone. Think only of that stone. Then slowly relax and let the image fade. Feel the energy flow back from your stomach to the rest of your body.”

It feels like water is lazily flowing through me, filling up every part.

“Do you feel it now?”

“Yes.” It moves under my skin, waiting for me to command.

“Repeat the exercise until you can move your magic to any part of your body you desire it to.”

I take a deep breath and picture the rock. Magic flows.

“What caused Elsa to change?” Anna tries to keep her voice low but I can still hear her.

“Major celestial events, like meteor showers or eclipses, cause certain humans to change.” Harrlock explains, his low voice even lower.

“If we stayed inside she would she still have changed?”

“Yes.”

Another deep breath and my magic stutters, the flow uneven.

“Why were you so tiny when you first appeared?”

“It takes less magic to travel between dimensions when I’m smaller.”

The rock. Picture the rock.

“How many demon countries are there?”

“There are nine demon kingdoms with a neutral one, Reegnul, in the center. It is a place for negotiations between kingdoms and for newly made demons to acclimate.”

My magic doesn’t move.

“How long-“

“Anna.” I open my eyes and raise an eyebrow, trying not to snap in frustration but frustration still leaks through.

“Oops, sorry. Shutting up now.” Anna pantomimes zipping her mouth.

“Thank you.” Before I close my eyes again I see the corners of Harrlock’s lips twitch.

I imagine a rock.

* * * * *

“Harrlock is sleeping outside. He says that since I’m still learning, my magic can leak out while I sleep and make him nauseous.” Elsa drags her feet into our bedroom.

“Tired?” If someone asks me to describe my sister in one word I would say ‘stubborn.’ I could see her movements slowly turn sluggish several hours before she stopped practicing. She’d probably still be out in the field if Harrlock hadn’t instructed her to stop or there would be no lessons tomorrow.

“Extremely.” Leaning against the dresser by the door, Elsa sighs. “Thank you for today. I don’t know how I would have coped without you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that but you’re welcome.” She’s my sister and I’m in love with her, doing anything besides being there for Elsa didn’t even cross my mind. I’m just thankful that the demon universe doesn’t have an issue with us or things would get even more complicated than they already are.

Elsa smiles at me then walks to the closet and pulls out a blanket. “Sweet dreams.” She walks over to our bedroom door.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where are you going? Does Harrlock need a blanket or something?” I sit up straighter in the bed, ready to chase after her if I need to.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” Elsa hugs the folded blanket tight.

“Do you want to sleep on the couch?” Maybe she needs some time alone.

“…no, not really.”

“Then get over here.” I pat the bed next to me. It breaks my heart to see her so nervous, like she’s waiting for me to bolt or pull away in horror.

Stiffly, still tightly clutching the blanket, Elsa walks over and sits on the bed, leaving plenty of room between us.

Carefully I tug the blanket away and scoot closer. “This,” I gently caress a lavender cheek, “doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t?” Hope fills her gaze.

“It’ll take some getting used to but I like it and you’re still Elsa.” Surely, it has been a month since she changed and not just this morning. Everything feels new and old at the same time. I bite my lip before speaking again. “Can I touch you?”

“Oh, sure.” Despite my question clearly surprising her, Elsa doesn’t look panicky which is all the approval I need to explore.

I run my fingers up to her neck, and just like everywhere else, her skin is soft while also feeling thicker, stronger than my own. My hand travels up to tuck back a lock of blonde hair only to find her once rounded ear is now pointed. Slowly, I use a finger to trace along its edge and take a note of her breath hitching. Next, I explore the base of her horns which appear to be pretty sensitive area judging by the gasp. The horns themselves are smooth and not black as I first thought, there are hints of purple in the right light.

“Are you okay? Can I continue?” Last thing I want is for her to want me to stop and not tell me.

“Yes.” Elsa’s husky response warms me but when our eyes meet I nearly jump in surprise. Her red eyes are glowing faintly.

The sight of her tail lazily moving catches my attention and I reach for it. Wrapping around my hand, it feels like warm velvet. I rub the spade shape at the end and Elsa moans loudly. Naughty ideas flood my mind when I realize she’s especially sensitive here.

“D-don’t.” Panting breaths fill the room. “I-I won’t be… be able to c-control… myself.”

Her glowing eyes rise to meet mine, desire etched into every feature of her face. I rub her tail.

* * * * *

I finish wiping down the small kitchen counter and hang the damp towel over the edge of the sink to dry. After five days teaching me how to disguise myself, Harrlock will go back home tomorrow. Part of me will miss him, he is a calm and patient teacher but I will not miss the morning approvals of mine and Anna’s nighttime activities to ‘replenish’ my magic.

All morning, from the time we woke up through lunch, my glamour has been on and it hasn’t flickered once. I am proud of that. It means I’ll be able to go buy better fitting clothes when we get back home. Fortunately, Anna went into town and bought me a pair of jeans (two sizes too big so I have to wear a belt) and three shirts in the most brightest, obnoxious colors (I’m certain she did that on purpose.) My tail tightens around my calf where it is uncomfortably hidden in my pants. The glamour only hides my appearance so my tail, if left out, can still knock things over, and horns can still be felt if someone touches my head.

“You have performed well, Elsa.” Harrlock looks pleased.

“Thank you. And you were right, it is getting easier to put on and maintain.” I am confident that the glamour will stay solid now. It held when Harrlock purposely broke a dish earlier, startling me into dropping my own plate. “I’m ready for the last test.”

“Good.” He motions for me to stay where I stand. “Anna, will you please come here.”

“Sure.” Anna slips a bookmark into her book and walks over from the couch. “What’s up, Mr. Red?”

For some reason the nickname, which she has been using all week, amuses Harrlock. I always say my sister can charm anyone, at any time, no matter how grumpy they are, and apparently that includes seven-foot tall demons. He leans over and whispers something in her ear.

Anna nods and turns to me. Words asking what is going on, die in my throat when she slinks towards me, the slow sway of her hips capturing my attention. Teal eyes lock on mine and my breath hitches at the heat in that gaze. She presses into me from chest to knees, the warmth of her body sets my skin tingling. Lips brush over mine and my control breaks. My hands grab her hips, pulling them tight against mine and greedily press my lips to hers. A distant part of me remembers we are not alone and while it doesn’t stop me from deepening our kiss, I make sure not to let my hands wonder. Far too soon for my taste, Anna pulls back and kisses along my jaw.

“You’re purple again.” The whisper in my ear cuts through the haze I’m floating in.

Looking down, still buzzing from our kiss, I see my glamour is gone and I am clueless when that happened.

“As a succubus,” Harrlock’s deep voice draws my attention and I the corners of his mouth turn up into a small smile, “lust is a weakness you will have to learn to manage. Anna will be by far the strongest distraction due to your link but other human’s lust will be also affect you.”

“So we’ll need to practice.” I feel myself perk up at the idea. The old part of me recoils at the thought of Harrlock being in the room but I easily ignore it.

“Lots and lots.” Anna whispers then nips my earlobe before I can ask if she’d mind helping.

“Yes, you will need to work on it.” This time Harrlock doesn’t bother stifling his amusement and shakes his head. “Please try again.”

Practice makes perfect.

* * * * *

There are few views more perfect in life than seeing Elsa in those tiny shorts bend over to pick up the pillow that fell off the couch. All that curvy purple legs, magnificently soft ass, and sexy tail on display has me counting down the seconds until Mr. Red leaves. It should probably disturb me how quickly I have started preferring this over how she used to look but I don’t give a fuck. I have never seen her look more confident or comfortable before and it’s sexy as hell. Elsa continues to hum ‘Time After Time’ as she tidies the sitting area and my admiring eyes stay glued to her. A chuckle behind me breaks my ogling. I look over my shoulder.

“It is time for me to leave.” He picks up the bag at his feet.

“Aww, sure you don’t want to stay for lunch, Mr. Red?” I don’t know what possessed me to call him that when he first showed up. I’m just glad he finds it humorous and doesn’t set me on fire or something.

“Why humans insist on ruining perfectly good meat by burning it is a mystery.” He rolls his eyes and I smirk at the familiar complainant. “Now that Elsa can control her glamour, I must return to my other students. They have rested enough.”

“Will we see you again?” Elsa is now standing beside me, wraps an arm around my shoulders and I lean into her.

“Yes, when you and Anna decide to enter the demon realm, I will be your guide.”

“Wait, I can come too? But I’m not a demon.” I believed I would be left behind when the time came and had been doing my best to ignore the ache in my chest at the thought.

“When the two of you,” he motions between us, “are fully bonded, it will be safe for you but not before then. Some of us have not lost their taste for human flesh.”

I feel myself pale at the thought. Then I catch the small smirk. Jokes? He knows how to make jokes now? My glare only furthers his amusement. Bastard.

“The succubus Liliana will visit you in a few weeks to teach you how to use your succubus skills.” Mr. Red pulls out something out of his bag and hands it to Elsa. “Use this if you need to contact me.”

“Wow.” Sitting in Elsa’s hand is a necklace with a quarter-sized deep red ruby stone in an intricate silver filigree setting attached to a thin chain. It looks old. Really old. Something about it tells me it wasn’t made here.

“To use it,” his deep voice captures my attention again, “hold it, push a little bit of your magic into it then ask for me. I will be able to speak to you in your mind as long as you are touching it.”

“She doesn’t have to use Latin or something?” Every movie I’d seen both the demon and human use Latin. I’m pretty sure it’s even still used by the Catholic Church.

“Latin?” Eyebrow raised, he waits for me to explain.

“Yeah,” I gesture at him, “isn’t it what you guys use for contracts and spells and stuff?”

“Why would we use that dead language?” His infinite patience continues as he answers my millionth question during his stay. “Magic relies heavily on intent and that can become obscured if the caster uses a language they were not raised with.”

“Wouldn’t it sound better though? My sister can totally learn Latin then she can sound like a badass while zapping people.” It takes effort but I refrain from making ‘pew pew’ noises. Elsa sighs beside me, clearly not seeing how cool that would be.

He stops me from arguing my case further, “I have seen demons strike themselves with lightning instead of their opponent because they were too lazy to translate a spell into their native tongue.”

“Oh.” I turn to Elsa. “No Latin.”

“I will do my best to refrain from learning it.” Elsa carefully puts the necklace around her neck; the pendant stopping mid-chest, the perfect length for it to hide under her shirt.

“Farewell, Fredricks Sisters. Until I see you in my realm, good health to you both.”

“Thanks! You too.” I grin at Mr. Red. Though he looks really scary, he had been super nice to us. I’m good at knowing when people are faking nice to me and I didn’t get that vibe at all.

“Thank you for all your help.” Elsa gives a cute little wave goodbye.

A red flash of light and the seven foot demon is four inches tall again, another flash of red light and he disappears. Alone again at last.

“We should finish cleaning up so we can leave early tomorrow.” Like the place isn’t nearly spotless already. Elsa only takes one step before I stop her.

“You know, without traffic, it takes three hours to drive home.” Raising my hand to my chin, I pretend to be thinking things through.

“It does.” Elsa turns to me with a curious look.

“Three hours to your apartment,” I begin ticking points off on my fingers, “an hour to pack anything you may need for a few weeks-“

“Why do I-“

I ignore her and continue on, “Thirty minutes to drive to my place, and ten minutes to get everything up to the apartment. That’s a lot of time.”

“Yes? But why am I staying at your place?”

“Because it’s bigger than yours.” Okay, this is probably the stupidest way to ask Elsa to move in but since I started I will have to go with it.

“You want me to move in?” The smile creeping onto her face makes me hopeful.

“Yup. Gotta keep you supplied with magic.” Innocent, look innocent damn it.

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice.” Elsa’s smile could not get any bigger. “Why don’t we try living together part time first?”

“Okay.” Not exactly the response I was going for but I’ll take it. It will give me an opportunity to thoroughly convince her to stay permanently.

“What does how long everything takes have to do with moving in?” Even with the horns, her head tilt reminds me of an adorable puppy, happily waiting to understand.

“Doing all that will take us almost five hours without traffic. That’s a long time to have a glamour on.” It only takes three steps to be pressed against Elsa. I wrap my arms around her neck and I play with the fine hair on her nape. “We can’t have your magic running out along the way, can we.”

“No, we can’t.” Hands grip my hips and her eyes start glowing faintly red. Elsa starts pushing me back towards our bedroom.

“We should make sure you’re topped up.” The velvety feel of her tail travels under my shirt and up my back. Gentle pressure and my bra loosens. Now I feel like humming.

#elsanna #August 2022 contest #prompt: Cosmic #lime #submission

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