#i can't do things halfway. i have to explain my work or else my brain will grow mold

[sealrock]

me: hector is part of a small percentage of garleans that have psionic powers to compensate for their inability to manipulate aether, but it weakens greatly with age and causes immense mental strain

also me: *falls into a deep rabbit hole of paranormal pseudoscience and marvel/dc comic power scaling wackiness in an attempt to explain why and how that is in the ffxiv universe, but suspension of disbelief is thrown out the window*

#cid.txt #rambling thoughts incoming #since se is pretty much done with garlemald: my city now #i can't do things halfway. i have to explain my work or else my brain will grow mold #is it biological? esoteric? environmental? who knows #leave it to me to make things more complicated than it needs to be :p #but there has to be more to their third eye beyond having better spatial awareness for weaponry #there has to be an advantage that others who can use aether do not have #i'm most likely not the first person to think of this concept but i enjoy tinkering with it #and as a sidenote i kinda wanna make yves a pisonic too because the more i remold him the more i move away from his mhach/supernatural root #his new outfit greatly inspired my current situation #he's already tall like a garlean and his full name is latin so he'll fit right in #and since he and hector are similar people i wanna revisit their early concepts of where they were friends—kirke included #i can't not see these 3 as the terror trio no matter how hard i tried to separate them through each rewrite #i'll have to make a meta writeup soon #signalis mgs and outlast have been templates for this concept #so let's see what I can cook up

[thefallennightmare]

Moment of Weakness-twenty

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Author's Note: hopefully I'll have time to get another one out today.

Tags(closed): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying @themorningsunshine @kenziekugler22 @calwitch @sebastianstansqueen @stanaddict @stucky-simp03 @sleyeveryday @loustan90 @lyra-black13 @valsworldofcreativity @cjand10 @tesseract69 @batprincess1013 @subwaysurf45 @arsonfrogger @yoruse @5moremin @lipstickandtanqueray @mandijo17 @joannaromanoff @justsebstan @winters1917 @elizacusi-blog @football1921

The tension in the small office was too thick, it enclosed around my throat and I was unable to breath at times while feeling his stare bore into my back. His heated gaze would follow my every movement as I walked around the open area, doing my best to work and keep myself from locking eyes with him. 

It worked; for the first few hours. 

Today was the first day back at work after wallowing in my own self-pity for the last week and a half. Needless to say, from the second I stepped foot inside, it had been so awkward to be around Bucky. He kept to himself in his office, the door opened halfway, but when he saw me arrive at my desk, he didn’t bother to talk to me. He knew that it would only result in one thing. 

Either me smacking him or yelling at him. 

He was right. 

If it wasn’t for Steve, I probably would still be home in my bed and staining my pillowcases with more tears than arguably necessary. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder in the doorway, knowing who was leaning against it with their arms crossed over his chest. 

“How’d you get in, Steve?” I breathed. 

“The spare key you keep hidden under the mat,” he informed. “You do know you’ve been gone for the last week.” 

“Nine days,” I corrected while pulling the covers closer to my chin. “You can let yourself out the same way.” 

Steve sighed and was soon kneeling in front of me, his gentle fingers brushing the hair out of my face. My eyes fluttered shut at the feeling and for a moment, I forgot about the pain I had been in. 

“He’s not worth all of this, Y/N.” Steve motioned to the current state I was in. 

Unwashed hair, sunken eyes, tear stained cheeks, and my body buried underneath my piles of blankets on my bed. 

“I made a fool of myself,” I let out a shaky breath. 

Steve’s large hand began rubbing comforting circles on my back. “You do foolish things when you’re in love.” 

My eyes widened. “I’m not-.” 

He didn’t bother to let me finish, explaining how I was not in love with Bucky Barnes. 

“Why else would you consistently go back to him, Y/N? After all the hurt he put you through?” 

I parted my lips, wracking my brain to come up with a good answer, but they seized shut when nothing came out. 

As much as I didn't want to admit, Steve was right. 

I was in love with Bucky Barnes. 

My hand cupped his cheek. “I let the best guy go, huh?” 

A chaste kiss was placed on the inside of my palm before Steve yanked the blankets off of me. The cold air from my open window danced around the bareness of my legs and I whined, wanting to feel the warmth yet again. 

“You have twenty minutes to get ready, otherwise I’m dragging you into work kicking and screaming.” 

Thankfully Steve didn’t have to drag me into work, I came willingly. Much to the dismay of the screaming voice in my mind that this was a bad idea. 

Some people may think that a job isn’t worth seeing your ex lover almost every day but when there’s one person there that makes it bearable, you don’t want to leave them. 

I glanced up towards the office across from my desk where Steve was lounging on the couch, sketch book in his lap. He looked away for a moment, eyes catching mine, and gave me a small smile. My heart dropped, knowing that with my own stupidity I had let him go, ruining any chances with him. 

“Idiot,” I muttered to myself. 

The front door opened and bounding inside with a bright smile was Natasha as her soft voice called out a hello to everyone.

I turned my back and continued working on the schedule for today. 

“Oh, Y/N! Did you hear the news?” 

I cursed under my breath before spinning around in my chair and gave her a nod. “I did. Congratulations.” 

“It’s so exciting! I’m still so early so it’s a bit scary telling everyone but I can’t help it.” She sat in the chair across from my desk, making herself at home. 

My lips pulled in a tight line. “Yeah, I bet.” 

“Bucky is going to be such a great dad. He’s so excited that he’s been looking up baby names on google.” 

Ignoring the stinging pain in my heart, I did my best to make sure she noticed that I had a lot of work to do by pointing to it. 

“I really should get back to work. Bucky left a list of things for me to catch up on that I missed.” 

Natasha waved me off. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if us girls talked for a few minutes.” 

I sighed, defeated. “Sure.” 

“So.”

She started to ramble on some more about how excited she was that she and Bucky were finally starting a family. According to her, they have been wanting kids for years, but Bucky never felt that they were in a good spot in the marriage to start. 

“What made him change his mind?” I forced myself to ask, secretly wanting to know. 

Natasha tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “If I’m being honest, it was an accident. He’s always been safe, using a condom every time, but that night he couldn't contain himself. Practically threw himself at me.” 

I swallowed thickly, the pain becoming too much for my fragile heart to handle Although, there still was something else I needed to know. 

“How far along are you?” 

“Only six weeks so we still have a long way to go,” she smiled. 

I curled a brow with confusion. “Bucky told me you’re a few months along?” 

Natasha’s face twitched as her shoulders dropped, but she quickly recovered by waving her hand around. “Oh, same thing. Is he busy?” 

She was quick to change the subject which only made the alarm bells in my mind ring even louder about this whole situation. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s presence was felt behind me which caused Natasha to quickly jump to her feet and wrap her arms around him. As they shared a kiss, I forced myself to look away like I did so many times before. 

“I thought I heard your voice,” Bucky said. 

“I was in the neighborhood and thought to have lunch with you.”

Bucky shifted on his feet. “Why today? You haven’t shown up in the office since last week.” 

This caught my attention and my ear perked in order to listen. 

“So what do you say, lunch?” Natash asked yet again in hopes of avoiding another conversation. 

“Y/N?” 

My eyes landed on Bucky, hearing my name fall from his lips made my heart skip a beat. 

“Hm?”

He wrapped an arm around Natasha’s shoulder. “How does my schedule look this afternoon?” 

I gave him a small smile. “You’re actually booked up. Mr. Stark is coming in to sign the contract for your new project together and Dr. Banner is at two o'clock so he can present his idea to you.” 

Bucky’s eyes lingered on my lips before he nodded, giving Natasha his attention yet again. “Rain check?” 

“You can’t spare even ten minutes?” She pouted. 

He shook his head while placing a kiss on top of her head, this causing me to look away again. 

“I’ll make it up to you with dinner.” 

They conversed for a few more minutes before Natasha reluctantly left, leaving Bucky remaining in his previous spot behind me. I kept my eyes trained hard on the screen in front of me, not bothering to give him an ounce of attention. 

“Y/N,” he breathed my name. 

I continued to ignore him even though my heart began to hammer hard in my chest, especially when he knelt down next to me, his hand resting on my knee. 

“Can you please talk to me?” 

The wheels of my chair scraped against the floor as I pushed myself away from him. 

“I have a lot of work to do,” I simply stated. 

He let out a low breath before standing to his feet and began following me as I walked into the breakroom, the door shutting behind us. 

“I missed you.” 

I spun on my heels. “Don't.” 

His eyes were filled with so much angst and sorrow that I almost fell for it. 

Almost. 

“You were gone over a week, I want to make sure you’re okay,” Bucky said. 

I shook my head with a set gaze. “You don’t get the right to ask me how I’m doing or say that you miss me when it’s your fucking fault that I’m like this.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Leave me alone, Bucky. Please. You need to focus on your family now, stop worrying about me,” I said while tears pricked in my eyes. 

“All I can think about is you. I miss you.” Bucky leaned against the counter in the room. 

I held firm, only giving him a nod. “Well, it seems like it’s a one-sided feeling because I don’t miss you.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.” 

The inside of my cheek caught between my teeth, knowing that my lie was detected right away. 

“I’m not going to keep doing this dance with you, Bucky,” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m only here to do my job then go home at the end of the day; alone. Or with someone, depending on how I’m feeling.” 

He pushed himself off of the counter, a shaky breath escaping him as his ilps pulled in a tight, angry line. 

“You’re already seeing someone?” 

I scoffed, eyes drilling into him deep. “If I was, it’s not your fucking business.” 

“Is it Steve?” 

The way his voice cracked at the name echoed in my ears, but I continued to stand tall in front of him, not letting him see how bad I had been hurting. 

“No, I lost that chance because I chose you. Yet look where that got me,” I admitted while looking at my feet. “Fuck this, I’m going back to work.”

We stared at each other for a few beats before I walked past him, ripping my arm out of his grasp as he reached for me. 

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan #moment of weakness-mob!bucky barnes

[crookshanks23]

Newest episode thoughts incoming.

So I actually got to do the live listen this time, since I'm off for summer break. I'll get to do two or three more throughout July, which is exciting. But I kind of wish that I hadn't had all of the extra distractions. I usually crawl into bed at the end of my work day after dinner and listen without anything else going on.

On to the episode:

First of all, Willy controlling the other dads with the collars is still blowing my mind. It makes sense that he would mimic that from season 1, but it also feels a little bit out of nowhere. We haven't seen or heard from the kiddads since "The Staircase", so it feels a bit out of left field.

And boy do I want to hear that fight and know more about how that went down. Willy overpowered all four of them? I mean, sure, he's a powerful dude, but it still blows me away.

After the opening and understanding that Terry Jr is being controlled, there's mostly just a lot of planning of how they're going to get into this other building with the Papa John people (why are they back??? They weren't in the city before - what the heck is the anchor that's in there???) before we get to the crazy ending that has my brain reeling.

It's a bit of a crazy plan, and it doesn't go well. At the end of all of this, they still haven't gotten into the place they need to get, Grant has killed Terry, and the party is split. Taylor, normal, and Link are all on the ground, and Hermie and Terri are still on the roof. And the Black Parade, which had decided that Terry was their leader, is now leaderless again.

And what was Nick doing this whole time??? Hopefully some awesome subterfuge that helps them all out next time.

The last time somebody (Tony Pepperoni) died on the show, they did a time jump. We can't do that here. (Please don't do that here). That means these teens just don't get any time to process what they just witnessed. Heck, technically the boys on the ground didn't see anything. They just would have heard the gunshot.

While there is a big part of me that wants Normal to cast Revivify, one, he can't exactly do that from his position on the ground, and two, I do kind of want this death to matter narratively. It feels like if he were to cast it, the death would have no weight. I guess that's a problem with the rules of D&D in general.

I don't know where this is headed, and I don't know how they're going to get the next anchor. This one should be the last one, right? Does that mean we're in the end game? Numbers-wise, if they were planning for this season to be as long as the first, we'd only be about halfway there.

Is Willy going to see Terri as she is right now? He still didn't want Terry Jr (or the other dads, presumably) to hurt her. Huh. That's making me realize a couple of things: 1. Willy knows that she didn't actually kill the other teens. Otherwise, how would he know to tell the kiddads to shoot them? So, 2. That means he knows that Scary lied to him and still doesn't want to hurt her. He needs her for something. I've been assuming that he plans to sacrifice her (or some equivalent), so my guess is that explains why he wouldn't be upset by her betrayal.

This episode has truly blown my mind. So many twists and turns with this one. I am excited to see what happens next.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads spoilers #s2ep36 #so many thoughts #still hyperfixating #love all of the art and fanfiction going around that's helping us all process #it's beautiful and tragic and great storytelling

[evbell]

Evannah Potter: King's Cross Station

My first ever published (mini) chapter (1,843 words)!! This takes place after the true beginning of this story, but is the only chapter I wrote that I am halfway satisfied with. That being said, there are a few things that need to be clarified: Evannah was raised away from Harry for reasons that will be explored in another post. Like many muggle-born students, Evannah received a visit from Professors Burbage and Dumbledore to explain magic to her (in her case with a long-lost brother bonus) and is making her way alone to King's Cross. The characters Phoebe and Nancy are originals and orphanage friends.

...

For the first time since she was seven years old, Evannah Potter wasn't sure where she was going when she left the orphanage that morning.

London was engraved in her brain, obvious in her accent. Orphan City stuck to her like a tattoo- literally- and the London Underground system might as well be her playground, and this was all without counting the buses. So, standing between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross, trying to work up the courage to pass a wall, which would (supposedly) take her to a magic school, where her long-lost brother(?) would go to in two years, the girl had never felt more ridiculous or clueless. Evannah was early and exhausted from walking all the way from Soho to King's Cross with a trunk the size of a crib- which she still did not understand, these people had magic, magic, and insisted on carrying luggage around, of all things- not to mention the whining cat she brought with her in a cage on her other hand- oh yes, try opening a door like that. Or stairs. If the tattoo on her finger wasn't already enough of a people repellent, then that vision ought to do it. 

"You're lucky you're cute, Atticus," she whispered down to the grey ball of fur meowing away in a box by her feet. The cat looked at her indignantly, and meowed louder. 

Evannah crouched down in front of the box. "I'm sorry, alright? But what else should I do? Put you on a leash?"

Atticus did not look any less offended.

"What, you think I should've let you free? Atticus, you're scared of balloons, I can't expect you to follow me all the way here."

The following meow sounded like it meant that she very well could and should have, so she reached into the cage slowly, waiting for the cat to press up against her fingers. He did, after a moment, purring softly at her silent apology, until something caught his ear.

The next second, Evannah found herself sprawled over King's Cross' filthy floor, loud, startled cat protests echoing at her side and two red-ish blurs in front of her.

"Oh, by Merlin, are you okay? So sorry about this-" said one of the blurs at the same time the other said, "Ah, fuck, sorry, sorry. We didn't see you."

"FRED! GEORGE!" screamed a woman from far away. Distantly, Evannah thought she sounded like she was carrying multiple bags at once. Like those mothers with three or so small children that go around the supermarket playing with the cart, you know? The mothers that always have those gigantic durable supermarket bags on them.

"Nasty fall, that was, do you think you can stand?" asked someone gently, but casually. Not the blurs. An older voice. Someone that sounded like they wore leather.

"Again, so sorry about that-" said a blur.

"-we really are," added the other guiltily.

Did she fall? That couldn't be, Evannah Potter hadn't fallen since 1986. She had ridiculously good reflexes. Once she even caught a button that flew out of Phoebe's shirt.

One of the blurs made a sound of realisation.The one on the right? "Oh, you need your glasses, don't you? Ginny, can you get the glasses?"

A flash of movement to her left, the soft brush of metal against her hand. "Here."

Christ, she should really say something, shouldn’t she?

"Er, thanks," Evannah finally managed and put the glasses on.

Oh, the red-ish blurs were twins. Gingers. A whole family of fiery-red hair and freckled faces, it seemed. 

The twins still hovered over her, brown eyes checking her for injuries. The older voice, the one that wore leather, was indeed much older and did, in fact, wear a leather jacket. Spot on, she thought distantly. The one who had handed Evannah the glasses, on the other hand, was a girl about Nancy’s age, maybe a bit older, definitely more outgoing. 

“You’re welcome,” replied the girl politely.

“BILL, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH THEM-” came the yelling again. Evannah could see the woman now, a short, less fiery ginger, mother with a kind demeanor but furious glint in her warm brown eyes- who was not carrying gigantic supermarket bags, although she must have at some point, with so many children. 

“Oh, my! Dear, are you all right?” questioned the woman once she saw her.

Honestly, Evannah was still rather confused about how she ended up on a filthy train station floor, and the angry cat next to her wasn’t helping, so her eloquent response was: “I think so, ma’am.”

“What even happened?” asked a new voice. A boy with gelled-back hair behind the woman.

The older one with the leather jacket straightened up. Bill, from what Evannah gathered. “They were running around with their trunks- I know, mum, alright? I’m sorry- and crashed into her.”

“Really sorry about that,” said the twin on the right.

“We were trying to see who’s fastest,” added the other.

Understandable.

Irresponsible, but understandable.

Evannah made to stand, an attempt to help the twins out with their mother. “It’s okay, I think. Really, I’m all right.”

They helped her stand- the twins, that is- and she thought the family’s worry was rather sweet, if a bit exaggerated. Her trunk had probably had more damage done to it than Evannah herself.

“Sorry, kitty. We didn’t mean to scare you,” said a twin to Atticus as he flipped his cage back to the correct position. The cat hissed his opinion on the matter, but sniffed the boy’s hand nonetheless.

“Sorry, trunk,” copied the other twin as he took her luggage from the floor, and Evannah had to laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Fred,” reprimanded the mother.

“But, mum, I’m only being polite,” protested Fred, offended.

The other twin, giving up his luck with Atticus, who had stopped sniffing and was glaring at him, took the cage from the floor and handed it to Evannah. “Here’s your cat. Sorry again.”

“Yeah, sorry,” repeated Fred, more genuinely than when he apologized to the trunk.

“It’s fine, really. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

The twin that was not Fred nodded, “We really didn’t, we were trying to get to the Hogwar- to our train on time.”

“Oh, you’re going there too, aren’t you?” asked the girl. Gina?

“...where?”

“Hogwarts, of couse,” announced a completely new voice, and Evannah was faced with two other red-headed boys- wow, that’s a lot of children- and a tall man that must’ve been their father. “We saw the fall on the way here, hope you’re all right,” continued the voice. The second oldest of the children, a boy with the three top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Oh… yeah.” 

It must be real then. Okay.

“Us too.”

“First year?” asked the father.

“Er, yeah”

The twins straightened up. “Same as us, then.”

“Oh,” nice? Okay? Good to know? What do you say to people who knocked you over and were really nice about it? “-cool.”

“All right, we should start going to the platform, in any case,” spoke the father, ending the discussion, “Would you like to go first…?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Evannah. I’ve never… been before.” the girl gestured to the wall.

“Nervous, are you?” said Bill . “You won’t hit the wall, don’t worry. Did it for seven years, only ever hit my head on the train window.”

“Charlie, go on first, then, show her,” commanded the woman to the son with the unbuttoned top buttons. 

Charlie grabbed his trunk and rushed to the door, looking back at her reassuringly, and just as she thought he would collide face first with the wall, the tall boy disappeared behind the red bricks. The boy with gelled-back hair- Percy, apparently- went next, seeming very proud of himself for being a demonstrator. Soon enough the twins were through as well- the other one’s name was George- leaving Evannah to go next. 

The mother smiled encouragingly at Evannah “Now, off you go, dear. We’ll be right behind you. You’ll be all right.”

“Unless you're waiting for your parents…” offered the father, suddenly realising that the girl was alone.

“Oh, no, no. I’m on my own,” responded Evannah immediately, vaguely. “Right, guess I’ll go, then.”

She shot the family one last look before holding on tightly to her cart and running towards the bricks. Halfway through, Evannah was already regretting her decision. Was she about to be knocked over a second time in the same day? She was ready so splash her head against the wall, Atticus hissing his protests behind her, and then…

The twin that was not Fred nodded, “We really didn’t, we were trying to get to the Hogwar- to our train on time.”

“Oh, you’re going there too, aren’t you?” asked the girl. Gina?

“...where?”

“Hogwarts, of couse,” announced a completely new voice, and Evannah was faced with two other red-headed boys- wow, that’s a lot of children- and a tall man that must’ve been their father. “We saw the fall on the way here, hope you’re all right,” continued the voice. The second oldest of the children, a boy with the three top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Oh… yeah.” 

It must be real then. Okay.

“Us too.”

“First year?” asked the father.

“Er, yeah”

The twins straightened up. “Same as us, then.”

“Oh,” nice? Okay? Good to know? What do you say to people who knocked you over and were really nice about it? “-cool.”

“All right, we should start going to the platform, in any case,” spoke the father, ending the discussion, “Would you like to go first…?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Evannah. I’ve never… been before.” the girl gestured to the wall.

“Nervous, are you?” said Bill . “You won’t hit the wall, don’t worry. Did it for seven years, only ever hit my head on the train window.”

“Charlie, go on first, then, show her,” commanded the woman to the son with the unbuttoned top buttons. 

Charlie grabbed his trunk and rushed to the door, looking back at her reassuringly, and just as she thought he would collide face first with the wall, the tall boy disappeared behind the red bricks. The boy with gelled-back hair- Percy, apparently- went next, seeming very proud of himself for being a demonstrator. Soon enough the twins were through as well- the other one’s name was George- leaving Evannah to go next. 

The mother smiled encouragingly at Evannah “Now, off you go, dear. We’ll be right behind you. You’ll be all right.”

“Unless you're waiting for your parents…” offered the father, suddenly realising that the girl was alone.

“Oh, no, no. I’m on my own,” responded Evannah immediately, vaguely. “Right, guess I’ll go, then.”

She shot the family one last look before holding on tightly to her cart and running towards the bricks. Halfway through, Evannah was already regretting her decision. Was she about to be knocked over a second time in the same day? She was ready so splash her head against the wall- shielding Atticus, of course- and then…

...

#harry potter #character concept #harry potter sister #mind dump #original character #king's cross #george weasley #fred weasley #weasley twins #weasley family #bill weasley #molly weasley #cats are the best

[whimsicaldragonette]

ARC Review: Children of the Black Glass by Anthony Peckham

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Publication Date: March 7, 2023

Synopsis:

In an unkind alternate past, somewhere between the Stone Age and a Metal Age, Tell and his sister Wren live in a small mountain village that makes its living off black glass mines and runs on brutal laws. When their father is blinded in a mining accident, the law dictates he has thirty days to regain his sight and be capable of working at the same level as before or be put to death. Faced with this dire future, Tell and Wren make the forbidden treacherous journey to the legendary city of Halfway, halfway down the mountain, to trade their father’s haul of the valuable black glass for the medicine to cure him. The city, ruled by five powerful female sorcerers, at first dazzles the siblings. But beneath Halfway’s glittery surface seethes ambition, violence, prejudice, blackmail, and impending chaos. Without knowing it, Tell and Wren have walked straight into a sorcerers’ coup. Over the next twelve days they must scramble first to save themselves, then their new friends, as allegiances shift and prejudices crack open to show who has true power.

My Rating: ★★★★★

*My review and favorite quotes below the cut.

My Review:

This was fantastic! Much darker than I was expecting, and such an original story! The harshness of their world was so realistic and felt so immediate and real - despite being so far from the realm of anything I have known. That takes skill. The writing itself was excellent; clear, concise, full of profound truths, and managing to capture the way the children's perspective shifted as they grew used to the city of Halfway and began to leave their Mountain ways of thinking behind. I could almost see their brains expanding and their thoughts blooming. The children, Wren and Tell, and their friends Rumi and Cormoran, were excellent characters. So were the adults, although not many of them were particularly likeable. The children were all so clever and capable, but also the fact that they were children was never forgotten. They made mistakes it was believable that children would make. At the same time, they were able to succeed in a lot of their risky plans *because* they were children and either small or overlooked. I was never sure who was winning or even ahead - or even on which side. And by the end of the book it's still not entirely clear, and I love that. It's messy and so it feels even more real. I can't wait for the next adventure, for Wren and Tell and their found family's adventure on the Mountain and then maybe also after they've regrouped and figured out a way to move forward. I can't really picture what that will look like - will they try to retake the city? Will they try to forge a new path somewhere else? I don't know but I can't wait to find out because I know that, whatever, they do, they will be clever and engaging whilst they do it. *Thanks to NetGalley, Simon and Schuster Children's Publishing, and Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

As sleep crept up on him at last, Tell had a final thought: every rule you break makes breaking the next one easier.

---

Wren sighed. Sympathy didn’t exactly bubble through their veins, but terrible things bond people more than good things do.

---

Tell cut her off. “Everyone thinks we have no power because we’re children. That’s a mistake. And it makes us even more dangerous than they know.”

---

“Being funny isn’t the same as being happy,” Lilit explained, voice suddenly thick with feeling. “Often, it’s the opposite.”

#Children of the Black Glass #Anthony Peckham #netgalley #arc review #shilo reads #book review #best books of 2023 #favorites

[dzpenumbra]

3/7/23

I.... lost another day today.

I had plans, I had momentum. I woke up at a decent hour considering how bad my sleep cycle is. I did yoga, I meditated for the first time with my new mala. I made breakfast. I showered. My plan was to work on the last stone piece today, and I was going to shower first. When I got out of the shower, my mom texted me about money.

She texted me about the car payment situation, looking for an update on the rental car situation from last Friday. If you don't know about it, look it up on here, I'm not recapping, it's way too complicated. I called her and asked directly what information she's looking for. It isn't a thing I can really... sum up in a text. This turned into her correcting nearly everything I said for well over 3 hours straight. No exaggeration. I did everything I could to stay calm, to stay civil, to explain clearly what was happening in front of me. It just... she wouldn't fucking stop. She came to me looking for information... and then corrected everything that came out of my mouth.

I told her halfway through (at around the 3 hour mark) that we were like baking soda and vinegar. That if she was going to take an opposing stance on everything I say, it will ONLY result in conflict, because she is being oppositional. This woman is knocking on the door of her early 70's soon. And I'm explaining to her... that if you decide, for some reason, to take a directly oppositional stance to everything that someone is saying... and reject everything that they are saying... that you... can't really expect to have a healthy conversation. Like... it pains me how my family has normalized this so much that they genuinely don't understand how it's even bad.

I explained the difference between discussion and debate. I explained that fighting someone who is... not fighting you back... is... well.. imagine a boxing match... where the other person isn't fighting back... and the fight wasn't agreed upon... then replace the punches with words and emotions. That's... not good. I think we can all piece together what that is...

Somehow the conversation went over to my career. Again. Somehow it went to me having to make a stand defending my life's work. Again. Somehow she expressed how my career support was on borrowed time. Again. Which, I guess... are... deflections? And threats? I don't know. It feels like... low blows or something. Like... what the fuck does this have to do with the bill for my rental car? That I was swindled into, by some predatory service people at a car dealership. That we've known about for months. Now that the car is gone... you check in with me 3 days after the incident where you leaked my address to these people, so they literally showed up at my apartment building unannounced on a Friday morning. And decided to not just not show any concern for how this affected me... but... somehow find ways to fault me for it?! To make me the bad guy? To put my entire life under a magnifying glass? Fucked up shit, man. And I'm sorry, I'm tired of covering for this. I'm tired of hiding this behavior. Whenever I go into situations like this, I try really hard to act as though I have an audience, as though I'm in broadcast-mode. Like I'm writing here, basically. And I have a lot of practice with that. And this mode is hardly censorship whatsoever, in fact it's nearly flawless stream-of-consciousness, which I'm very proud of. It's taken a while to be able to develop the skill of brain dumping this fluidly. The only edits that really come out are if I'm really going to... put someone's personal identity out there? Which I don't really feel right about. And often when I'm talking about work that someone else is doing or should be doing in therapy, and their reasoning behind it. And I say - that's their story to tell. And I stand by that. So it's less censorship, and more... not telling a story that's not mine to tell. And the name-censoring, more for respect of those who don't consent to being talked about here. So... I really keep that in mind in all of my interactions now. Act like you're being recorded, act like you're broadcasting, but be yourself and be honest. And it has done good things for me, and I leave most of these toxic conversations with very few regrets. The only real regrets are usually... that I stayed in the conversation that long... that I lost so much for so little gain.

So... why did I stay? Let me put it this way. That car bill... it's... gonna be more than the amount of cash I have in my account. It's going to be... several times more. And I currently do not have any source of income. And my mom, who has pledged to financially support me via the family business as I build my art career... she hasn't spoken to me since she screamed at me and hung up on me the night before the car was repossessed. This bill will not just financially devastate me, it will put me into pretty serious debt. Debt that I have no plan whatsoever to pay off. And I live alone in a city where I know no one, and no resume or work history for the past 7+ years. So... kinda in my best interest to not storm off because of an emotional outburst. Kinda not really in my best interest... survival-wise. It kinda feels like being stranded in the woods and getting pissed off that one of your granola bars went stale and throwing it in a lake or something. That's a really weird analogy... um... okay, fuck analogies... My survival instincts keep me rooted in this conversation for over 5 hours... and throw away my work day... and skip dinner... and take all the horrible things she's saying and painful emotions she's bombarding me with that have nothing to do with me or my actions... because if I leave? If I get fed up and say "fuck this"? My life could legitimately be in danger. And there's good evidence behind that. Dark as fuck, right?

So... maybe my way out of all of this... is to tell this story. In a graphic novel form. Maybe that will connect with people. Or maybe I just need to find some grind job near my, shackle myself to it for a few months, grind grind grind XP until I get enough cash to... barely pay my bills? And then... that's my life? Because if I quit, I'm dead or homeless? Or hop to another one if I'm lucky?

This country is a fucking lie. And it has been for a long time. That's as political as I'm getting. I'm just... I'm angry. I feel trapped. I have a life that I can see very clearly, that I want very badly. I trained for it for over 15 years. I literally put my blood, sweat, tears, heart and soul into it, every day. It is... me. It's my soul-work. I do it every day. I have endured every single "supporter" trying insidiously to coerce me out of it, to peer pressure me into compromising my vision, to drive me off of my path. I have remained steadfast. I have remained faithful. Why? Why endure this?

This is my identity. This is who I am. This is my life. My career is not a fucking hobby, it's not a place I go to get away from my life, it's not some gig I got because I didn't know what else to do with my life. It's the way I experience life, it's a lifestyle. This career has been a culmination of every interest and passion I have had since I was a child. It's everything. This isn't "I didn't really know what to do in high school so I just figured... all my friends come to me for advice so... i decided to get a psych degree and get licensed and... here I am!" Or... "my dad worked in economics, so I just... did what he did... and I realized I liked it!" Or... "I didn't know what the fuck to do and I just got a random job one day and realized that I really liked it!" Those are all valid stories. But they are not my story. My life has been this since... as far back as I remember. I have always been this person, I have always thought differently, seen the world differently, been more sensitive, had a different perspective and been an outsider because of it, made connections that other people don't make, shared analogies that others don't understand. I have always felt uncontrollably compelled to turn those messages and images and stories into... something. To share them with others. Their importance is clearly visible to me, even when others scoff, call them nonsense and throw them in the garbage.

But I'm stuck around people who lack ambition. People who lack vision. People preoccupied with fear, self-preservation, money, sex, politics, control, shit like that. My life has been one much more of a... spiritual exploration... of the experience of life. And I grew up in a godless world. And, I say this with a lot of confidence, if I were born to a religious family, I would 100% be a preacher or reverend or monk or pastor or whatever term you have for it right now.

But because I lack... a cohesive theology... And subsequently lack a community from that... I end up here. In a world where my passions and my talents were respected throughout the entirety of human existence until... mass production... until industrialism... made people forget... how valuable it is to have someone lovingly put their soul into something specifically for you. Because I ended up in a world that is content with soul-less things, things that from raw-material harvest all the way to it ending up in your home were never touched by the hands of another human. And that may not mean much to the layman. But that means a lot to me, and I think it's more valuable now than it's ever been. Because you don't know how valuable loving, positive human interaction is... until it's gone.

I guess I know how the topic of my life purpose was brought up. I probably did it, like I did right there. Because I do that when I feel like my life is threatened. My life... of course... not being limited by my fragile meat suit that I ride in like some biomech robot or something. My life not being... my mortality. My life being... my purpose. My identity.

That was a huge change in the way that I looked at life and the soul that came after a long period of mourning after I broke up with my ex and had my first few dealings with Death. Life is more than just... mortality. A life is a story. A life is a routine. My life at 21 is not the life I have now. It's... actually strikingly similar... huh... okay, let's try that again! XD My life when I was a baker was not even close. My life at that stage was waking up at 2:30 AM, showering, going to work, keying in and disabling the alarm, putting my music on in the radio... I think with a CD? Maybe aux cable, but I think CD. I usually listened to The Great Misdirect by BTBAM. I would fire up the oven, I would prep the pastries. I would get ready for the first round of bagels. My first co-worker on morning shift would get there around 5-5:30. I'd have a good chunk of the first few rotations done by that point. Open at 6, I'd keep doing rotations as needed up until my shift ended around... 10:30 or 11? Then I'd go home. And god knows what I did with my time then because all of my "friends" locally were at work then, probably played a lot of Minecraft or watched TV or something. And I'd be in bed by 7-8PMish. That was my life. On loop. That is not even close to my life right now. That's the life of a completely different person.

So... if I look the same and have the same body... but I think different thoughts (because I've given up on my purpose), have different goals, and do different things with my time... am I still the same person? How different can it get?

When my survival, my identity... starts to be threatened - that's what I was talking about, I remember - I will defend it with all I have. I have had my dreams shattered enough times. I have given up enough fucking times. I have lost enough. I am all-in. And I will not give up until I die. Come hell or high water. In a society where I'm constantly hearing people bitch about how "people don't want to work" and "people aren't motivated" and you hear someone like me, with this level of conviction. Where you could throw me in the fucking desert with no supplies and I'd make art in the fucking sand. I would carve the stories into my skin so I could share them with others when I returned to tell the tale. And they try to convince me to drive fucking DoorDash. Go fuck yourself. Go. Fuck. Yourself. Give me fucking pep talks. Help me override my stupid mental health blockers. Encourage me. Help me write grant proposals, help me brainstorm how to talk to gallery owners and shit. Help me meet people. Help me find a connection between spirituality and art, so I can find a happy median and live in there.

I mean this so desperately severely, if I had gotten 1/8th of the effort that was put into coercing and peer pressuring me to abandon my passions into... like... brainstorming who I could talk to? Helping me find connections? Helping me with confidence and self-esteem? Just like... basic friendly supportive shit?! I might have a financially sustainable life right now. Or at least something.

If this sounds like a freak out, it's because it is. And I'm exhausted and tired of doing it.

Survival mode is... e x h a u s t i n g.

All this keeps coming out because I'm trying to communicate that when I feel my life is threatened... meaning... my lifestyle and my career... when I feel that I will have to abandon it... because my family can pull (and has in the past pulled) financial support at any time on a moment's notice... I start to explain. I explain and explain. What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Roll over and fucking die? Give up? Go fold t-shirts at the fucking Gap for $15 an hour when I have important shit to do with my life? Am I really expected to not preserve my life? To justify my life? Its importance? Its value? This seems so... intrinsic to me. If my life is threatened, I will make a strong case for it's survival. Duh.

So... maybe what I'm saying with all of this - and I keep getting distracted by tangents of going into explaining what the reflex is and why I feel that way - maybe I'm saying... It's insanely unhealthy to have to justify your existence over and over and over and over every fucking week, for years and years. To your own family. To your own "supporters". Not even your critics, your "supporters". It's like being in a department in a company that you've heard rumors for years they are just itching to liquidate. They're just waiting for you to fuck up. And every quarter, you have to prove yourself. Every week, you have to justify your department's existence. They come knocking and your head is on the chopping block, and it's on you to talk them out of executing you. It's traumatic.

And the feedback loop? The big-scale repercussions? I'm now getting really traumatically set off by the act of having to sell myself. Having to explain to others what I do, who I am. After having it repeatedly drilled into my head that I have skeptical eyes on me that do not believe me. That assume I am lying. I now... feel that when I talk to strangers. I feel it when I read my dating app profile and see "Artist at Freelance" as the job title. And I hear echoes in my head like "... yeah... " or "when's the last piece you've sold?" or "but you don't make any income". This complex did not exist pre-2021. Back then, I may not have had much confidence in my skill levels, but I never thought I was a fraud. And I never thought people thought I was lying or making excuses or bullshitting them. Now... it's hard to even meet new people. Because the first question people ask you is, "what's your name?" and the second question people ask you... "what do you do?" And it feels weird to even say or hear my real name, I do not hear it out loud very often. And it's been nearly impossible to talk to someone about my work without sheepishly avoiding eye contact and staring at the floor and shoulders going up and stumbling on my words and... I get tense and stumble over my words and feel unsafe and shit - fucking embarrassing high school level social anxiety shit. And I'm supposed to walk into a gallery, alone, with no practice... and sell them on how I'm the most hot-shit artist to grace their premises.

So, the grilling and the skepticism and the negativity... the lack of support... the lack of faith... ends up being a death by 1000 papercuts... to my self-confidence as a professional. And kills my physical capacity to even have a chance at success. It charges the electric fences that prison me. And all I've ever wanted is someone to root me on and vouch for me. To get really excited for me and pep talk me. I never really got that. Very rarely. More often than not, I got people who showed up at the end result and acted like I owed them a thank you or something.

I remember my senior show in college. My mom complimented one art piece I did that was a big step outside of my comfort zone, that was a sculpture combined with a painting, adding dimension. It was a piece about... trauma. And addictions. Being lost in the static, the noise, and being terrified, horrified. It was panic, really, like... near-catatonia. It's hard to really put into words really, it's a long story. Which leads to my main point. While I appreciated the acknowledgement, it was the most recognition and praise I got from that other than like... people signing the sign-in book like a fucking highschool yearbook with generic platitudes and shit. My bandmate and former best friend actually asked me what one of my pieces meant. And... that was... probably one of the first times anyone had ever done that. And... looking back at it... I have no idea what I told him. I have no idea if I even knew what to tell him. Because... art can be really weird like that. Like... I look at that piece that I described above? I see it in my mind's eye? And I can dissect and analyze it now... because I've had over a decade and a half to reflect on where I was in life back then, what that imagery means to me, what other pieces used that imagery, shit like that. But... a lot of the time... I don't know. I don't know at the time what a lot of my work even is about. It's just something really powerful and memorable that pops into my head and will not leave me alone. It's a concept in my head that is emphasized. <- Like that. Like a dream that you just can't let go of, that just sticks with you. But I have tons. Constantly. And they are all important. I just... don't really know why or how at the time a lot of the time. So... it can be really hard to convey that to others. Even if they do show me the incredibly kind gesture of actually giving more than 1/16th of a shit about what my work is about. It's a very important part of my work, because it leaves a huge berth of room for viewer engagement, which... is kinda the point, right? Otherwise, I'd just... keep the images in my head... Duh...

So yeah. I need to go to bed. This... shit got out of control. See what this did to my head? Like... I really don't need an existential crisis right now. I just lost my cat. I'm 100% alone, no other living being with me, for the first time since I was 19. I lost my car. I am in an apartment building in a city where I don't know anyone. And then my mom comes up and just... dumps this shit on me. Because... she's stressed again. And that stress has gotta go somewhere...

I dunno.

Therapy on Wednesday. Thank god. Stone work resumes tomorrow. No excuses, I really want to wrap that project up, I can't keep doing 5 hour beatdowns where I'm just standing in my living room staring at a wall listening to my mother tell me how she's not going to support me forever and this isn't a "blank check" or whatever. Like I'm some shitty used car they bought in 1986 and they're just now having buyers remorse.

Any... good vibes... I can dredge out of today? I watched a MrMoonsHouse stream, I like his stuff a lot, he's a great roleplay actor. He's been streaming a lot more lately. I meditated, and it went well, I just... somehow missed one of the marker beads, which I guess isn't that important. I was going to use them to switch from deep breathing to normal breathing, and it goes 9-marker-9-marker-9-done. And I missed the second marker somehow... But it wasn't a big deal. Just... building habits. Meditation was not as frustrating as its been in the past, doing it right after yoga helps a lot. It was really nice to put the mala to use, it's so beautiful and it serves its purpose very well.

I had ice cream. That was nice. That's about all the good for today.

Here's to a peaceful and prosperous tomorrow.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

[tipsydipsydo]

The laundry hamper [M]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 2.2k 

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut

AU: College AU!; Roommates2Lovers AU!; Friends2Lovers! AU

Warnings: Dirty Language + slight Dirty Talk; sweet and shy but naughty Jungkookie; Mentions of Masturbation in the shower; Scent/Smelling-Kink; Panty-Sniffing; Masturbation; slight Voyeurism; Teasing; Petnames; soft sub! Jungkook & dom! Reader undertones; Mentions of mutual Masturbation; Mentions of 69-Position 

Summary: Jungkook has a crush on you since you moved together for college but the poor boy is way too shy to confess his feelings to you... rather he would search through your laundry hamper to get a shirt which smells after your very personal scent and tries to calm his racing heart... and other nerves. He didn’t thought to get catched by the person who already stole his whole heart in the most embarrassing situation...

A/N: Happy first year friendship anniversary with my dearest @borathae​!! I love you to death my sweetheart and I thought today would be the perfect occasion to finally finish this Oneshot I started 10 months ago and waited to get finished until today on my IPad... especially because you  was the person who gave me the inspiration to write this idea... I hope you like it!! 

Status: halfway edited bc I was stressed I wouldn’t finish it on right time- 

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This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

He knows it's bad and that he shouldn't do it. Well... honestly, already before this thought, which is haunting him since two weeks, he wasn't any kind of "well mannered" anymore. ...before you apologized for taking so much space with your shower untensils in the shower basket and then decided, to take your Shampoo, Conditioner and Bodylotion to your room.

The thing you didn't know was that you took with this decision, Jungkook's one and only opportunity to properly jerk off, with you.

Why?

God, just when the poor boy thinks about it... the thought alone gives him a rosy-red blush all over his cheeks, which almost reachs his ears and leave him completely flustered and ashamed.

How to explain it... your quiet, adorably awkward and super shy roommate, who has a crush on you since two years (or even longer!) tend to use your hair shampoo as a little "fantasy kick". How could he resist the opportunity to smell something so familiar which reminds him of you, so close?

How he used it you ask yourself?

While he was showering, he sniffed on the opened lid of the shampoo bottle like a fucking dog in his rut and jerked off to the smell of English Wild Roses. Yeah, even Jungkook himself is absolutely sure that he reached a whole new level of freakiness. Who else jack themself off while sniffing on a damn hair shampoo bottle?!

Jungkook has simply a thing for scents... especially for everything that smells like you. Whenever something of you comes in contact with his nostrils, he immediately pops a boner.

Really, it's not funny anymore when you feel that your dick is going hard just from getting a whiff of your crush's parfum when they're passing by.

Anyway, not your parfum or shower utensils are giving Jungkook a problem now, it's much more your laundry hamper which suddenly developts a really strong seductive affect on him.

Both of you having a seperate laundry hamper in the shared bathroom and also a laudry bag in your room. It's easier to have these two opportunities to put your laundry than walking always with an arm full of dirty clothes through the whole apartement.

Especially when friends of the other person are over and a pair of Kook's boxer briefs or one of your bra's found their way to the floor, unnoticed. Okay, 'unnoticed' as long as one of your friends are yelling that there is dirty underwear in the hallway. Of course not without dropping some stupid and teasing comments.

Yeah, it's really better for Jungkook's and your own peace to have a laundry bag in your room and a laundry hamper in the bathroom. Even when Kookie wouldn't mind it at all to be the one who would've found your lingerie...

...and that's the point. Since this one incidence with your dessous, Jungkook is haunted by countless absolutely filthy and indecent thoughts. At first he was still able to control them and to shove them away into the last corner of his mind. But after you took your shower stuff with you to your room, these fantasies returned really, really fast and his interest in your laundry hamper grew endlessly.

It absolutely didn't help that he pretty aware of the fact that you showered just a half an hour ago.

You made yourself ready to go to the movies with some of your friends. That means, he would be completely alone for the next few hours with the clothes you've worn before and are now own your very personal scent. How the hell should he survive this silently for him screaming seduction?!

Okay, okay, even when he'd took something off your hamper... just as a hypothetisch thought... it would be definitely only something completely innocent, like a shirt or something else. Really, he just loves to smell your wonderful personal scent. It's calming his wild racing heart... and in some way his unsatisfied desires as well.

Once again he takes a glimpse through the slightly opened bathroom door into the hallway which leads to the front door. Everything is silent, he is indeed completely alone in the apartement.

Now or never. Maybe he should take one of your worn out T-Shirts you always wear for house chores and isn't one of your favourite piece of clothing anymore. Maybe then you wouldn't notice that's even gone... for a longer time.

He shouldn't debate any longer before he reverses his opinion and pull back... he would slap himself if he'd let such an opportunity slip through his fingers unused...

As soon as he opens the lid of your laundry hamper, all his 'good and pure resolutions' are thrown out of the next bathroom window. Hebshould have guessed it, he should have known it... that your underwear is the last thing you take of your body before showering. Well, in conclusion, your panties are the first piece of cloth which is greeting Jungkook's eyes.

He's gulping harshly. Fuck, his brain knows that what he's doing here is bad and dirty, that he shouldn't do it... but his body and especially his dick is literally screaming and begging him to reach out for exactly this piece of lingerie.

Those tiny little wheels starts turning in Jungkook's head when he scans through your latest outfit. He remembers which Sweater and Sweatpants you wore. How could he forget those cute socks with this adorable avocado print on them.

...but no Bra.

Fuck... Jungkook can't explain himself why he finds the thought of you, being so comfortable in your shared apartement and around him, that you decided to not wear a bra underneath and let your tits bounce around freely, so god damn attractive...

Before he even realized it, his greedy hand took your used panties already out of the laundry hamper and lets the soft fabric slip through his fingertips.

It's a plain black cotton panty with a lacey border which has a beautiful flower pattern. Others would say it's boring, unspectacular underwear but for Jungkook it's already beautiful and beyond belief sexy lingerie. To imagine that you walk casually around in those panties everyday... Jungkook feels how his dick is already leaking precum in his boxer briefs.

With every second he holds this pair of panties in his hands, his poor, needy cocks hardens even more in his grey sweats. He gulps again. He shouldn't do it... but your panties are tempting him and his short patience.

Before he can control what he's doing, his nose is already buried in this piece of cloth and takes a deep breath.

If his other hand wouldn't already disappeared beneath his waist band and squeezed the base of his cock, he would've already blown his load right here in his sweats.

He's panting, his breath fast and ragged, trying to take as much as possible of your intoxicating scent into his lungs when he yanks his sweatpants down to his knees and lays his hand in a firm grip around his red, swollen and angrily leaking cock. He's literally dripping, so it doesn't take long until his whole palm is lubed thoroughly with his own precum.

Jungkook's mind is clouded, he can't built any proper thought anymore, your delicious smell makes him salivating and he knows, he feels it in every fiber of his body, that he already got addicted to the smell of your panties... your pussy.

He can't believe that you smell so good, like that fucking good that he almost blew his load already in his pants. Untouched.

His mind is spiralling, dirty thoughts get exceeded by even more filthier ones, every secret and forbidden fantasies which he hold under control for so, so long are crashing down on him.

God, what would he do to be the lucky person who gets you on top of him, queening him, his whole face buried into your pussy, your juices smearing all over his chin and cheeks and getting a good whiff of your perfect cunt first hand. He would happily die between your legs, suffocated by your thighs which you would've squeeze so tightly around his head that it would literally crushed him. He would die as the happiest man in the whole universe.

To imagine how you'd whine, whimper and growl at him... praising him for doing so good, pleasuring you so well, tugging at his locks because you can barely handle the pleasure you receive from his tongue and lips...

His fist goes faster and faster, his wrist will hurt so bad in the exam tomorrow... but that's Jungkook tiniest problem right now, he needs to cum so fucking bad, his balls are already hard and tight, feeling like they would burst if he wouldn't cum and time soon.

"Tz, tz, tz... what do we have here? I didn't thought you'd be such a naughty boy as someone who's so sweet and shy, Jungkook... sniffing your roommates panties and jerking off to them...", you snicker and smirk, even though bis back is still facing you. The later flinchs noticeably and lets a surprised and equally terrified yelp out, almost jumping around to you.

He's trying to save to situation and his pride, throwing your panties back into your open laundry hamper and pulling his pants up as quick as possible.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I am so, so, so, so sorry, it will never happen again, I am so sorry that you have such a disgusting roommate like me, I am so sorry, I didn't knew you'd come back so early again- oh fuck... I am so sorry, I am a disaster", Jungkook chokes out in a trembling voice and glassy eyes, a tiny little sob leaves him as well. He is truly ashamed and mortified to death.

Your heart breaks when you look at him, he looks so sorry and embarrassed, he couldn't look at himself in the mirror again. Slowly you start to shake your head 'no'.

"Oh Jungkookie, I didn't mean to shame you... I... I just was a little surprised to catch you here in the bathroom... having a little fun time with yourself... I realized halfway to the cinema that I forgot my wallet and I came back to get it... then I saw you and just wanted to tease you a little bit... ah shit- I think I just messed the things up as well... okay okay, stupid question from a stupid person who has a big, fat crush on you since months, if not even years... wouldyoumindmetohelpyoutocum?", you ramble nervously, now are your cheeks equally beet-red.

Jungkook's eyes shoot up to your face, your red cheeks, your big, questioning eyes and your lip biting is sending a new rush of exitement down to his softening cock, making him harden all over again.

"W-What? ...what?? You- you too? I-I am crushing on you since we moved in together and now you're telling me that you- ...oh my god, yes... yes... yes please... please help me. I am so needy and horny right now and your pant- you always smelled so good and it's driving me crazy... I am so horny for you, Y/N."

Jungkook couldn't control his blabbering mouth anymore, everything is just blurting out of him with such a force like the Niagara Waterfall.

You sigh in relieve and a bright smile is forming on your lips as you walk over to your crush and lay both of your hands on his cute and round cheeks, so you can look each other into the eyes.

"Jungkook, I would like to ask you if you're comfortable with the thought of me kissing you before I will... devour you?"

Just to hear the two words 'devour you' out of your mouth made his knees almost buckle. His head is moving by itself, nodding vehemently. But to his confusion you're shaking your head no.

"Babyboy, I need your verbal confirmation. Consent is key, alright?", you say in a gently yet firm voice.

Oh God, you'll be his death... calling him 'Babyboy' alone made a whimper slips past his lips which is why you hum very appreciately.

"Oh God, yes, yes, yes... please... please kiss me and devour me, Mistress- ugh, s-sorry, I- I didn't mean to say that", Jungkook coughs out all flustered again, don't dare to look you in the face.

Such a good, perfect babyboy he is already for you.

"Don't be shy, Baby... I like the title you gave me. When you like it, you can continue to address me with 'Mistress'. ...what about we change our location to your or my bedroom? I'd love to let you smell and taste my pussy... not just through worn fabric. I would take great care of your aching cock... I saw how swollen, red and leaking it was already. What about you eat me out while I take your cock into my mouth and jerk you off with the panties I wear right now. Hm, sounds good?

Jungkook's head is already spinning again when your lips finally meet, your mouth and tongue already taking the control over him and devouring him.

Yes, you'll be definitely the death for him.

#bts jeon jungkook #kpop bts #bts fanfic #bts jungkook panty sniffing #bts smut #purplearmynet #thehouseofbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts fanfic: the laundry hamper #jungkook x reader fanfic #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts college au #bts friends2lovers #rommates2lovers #bts x y/n #jungkook x y/n #fanfic by tipsydipsydo

[nowandajenn]

Can i ask for a fic wich chris and reader had a fight and broke up and chris really want to take her back but can't find her because she was mad and change her adress and number but he didn't give up and finally find her but also find out that she has their new born Triplet ?!

So I’m finally just now getting around to writing this, and I apologize for it taking so long to get done! I did decide to make it twins instead of triplets, because triplets is a fucking lot lol. I hope you still enjoy it!

Not proofread. All mistakes are my own. 

It had taken months to find you. After the break up, you had essentially become a ghost. You changed your phone number, you moved, and it seemed like nobody knew where you had gone, and the ones that did know sure as hell weren’t about to tell him how to find you. He had been a complete idiot; going to lunch with Jenny and spending time with her while he had a girl that he was slowly falling in love with waiting for him. They had such a strong history together though, and so many memories shared together, that he couldn’t seem to just walk away from it all. 

Of course, they had been snapped out at a restaurant together, talking and laughing, and it wasn’t long until the pictures hit the internet and your friends and family had been blowing up your phone, asking what the hell was going on. Your relationship with Chris was still fairly new, as you’d only been seeing each other for about eight months or so, and you were trying to enjoy just being with Chris and being happy while also worrying that you were a rebound for him after he and his ex had broken up a second time.

Chris had come home later that evening with flowers for you, only to find you going around the house packing up all of the stuff that you had kept there. He had recently been bringing up you moving in with him since you spent most of your time there anyway, but you felt like it was too soon, and you didn’t know if he was quite as ready for that step as he said he was. Now you were really glad that you had held off. 

The two of you had stood there and fought and argued, you telling him that you deserved more than to just be a rebound to try and help him get over the girl who he once claimed was “the love of his life” and you weren’t going to stick around if he was going to go behind your back and spend time with her and try and rekindle things for a third time. You told him that he was an idiot to think that the third time would be the charm when it hadn’t worked out the first two times they’d been together. He tried to explain that even though they had broken up, he still cared about her and just because they spent time together didn’t mean that they were getting back together. He told you that you absolutely were not a rebound, and he was falling in love with you, but you weren’t hearing it. You had picked up your duffel bag, and with a kiss to his cheek and hugging Dodger around the neck and stifling a small sob into his fur, you had walked out of his life. 

It didn’t take long to see what a huge idiot he had been, and how wrong he had been to see Jenny and not tell you about it or have any sort of conversation about it. He hated that you had been blindsided, and he hated that he made you feel like he was using you as a distraction or something to fill the void left after Jenny left. He tried to text you and call you, but all the texts were left on “delivered” and you would reject his calls, until one day he tried calling you and a stranger answered and told Chris that he had the wrong number. He finally psyched himself up enough to try and swing by your apartment to see if you would at least see him and let him try and apologize, but when he showed up, your apartment was empty and the landlord said that you had moved out and hadn’t left a forwarding address. He was heartbroken. He had tried talking to your friends, but they were unfailingly loyal to you, and wouldn’t tell him anything. 

It had taken just over seven months, and a lot of failed tries, but he finally had an address in his hand. It was in Chicago, where you had grown up, and he had booked the first flight that he could. He wasn’t sure if you would slam the door in his face or punch him or even open the door to him, but he had to try. If he didn’t, he knew he’d regret it. 

Chris takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, nerves suddenly overtaking him and making his stomach turn itself into knots. After a few seconds, he knocks again and hears a male voice yell “Coming!” His heart drops, immediately assuming that you had moved on from him and he lost his shot. 

The door swings open, and he’s surprised to see an older man, probably in his mid 50s, standing in the doorway. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh.....sorry, I think I have the wrong address. I was looking for y/n y/l/n. I’m Chris.” 

The man steps forward onto the porch, making Chris fall back a couple steps. 

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re the one my daughter wouldn’t shut up about for a few months, and then never wanted to speak about again.”

Chris swallows hard, his mouth dry as the desert and feeling a little scared, because  your dad looks kind of mean and like he could lay him out if he wanted to. Your dad turns around and walks back into the house, slamming the door behind him. 

He exhales hard and turns around to walk back to his rental car. 

“That went about as well as I thought it would.” he mutters to himself. 

He’s halfway back to the car when he hears your front door open. He looks up and his breath catches when he sees you standing there, your arms crossed over your chest. You’re wearing a pair of jean shorts that show off your legs and a baggy Tshirt, your hair thrown up in a messy bun. You look like you’ve gained a little bit of weight since the last time he saw you, but it looks good on you. 

“Hey.” he breathes out. 

Your jaw clenches. “How did you find me?”

“Well, you didn’t make it easy. I had Josh track you down. It took a lot longer than I wanted it to. I would have been here about seven months ago if I had known where you were, but nobody would tell me.” 

You scoff. “Yet here you are. Because Chris Evans just doesn’t know when to give up.” 

He winces slightly, knowing that you’re not just referring to his search for you, but the whole thing with Jenny that caused your breakup. 

You both stand there in silence for a few minutes, unsure what to do next, when you breathe out a heavy sigh and wave your arm towards the house, gesturing for him to come in. 

“Come on. We have a lot to talk about.” you tell him.

Your dad shoots him a glare as you lead him into the house, and he swallows hard and follows you into the kitchen, taking your offer of a bottle of water and sitting at the table with you. He’s so focused on you that he doesn’t really take in his surroundings. If he did, what comes out of your mouth wouldn’t have almost shocked him into a heart attack. 

“I tried calling you a couple times over the past few months, but every time I did, I got your assistant, or a P.A. or someone else. I left a message with my number with someone, but I’m assuming that you never got it, or you just didn’t care.”

He shakes his head almost violently. “I never got it. I don’t know who you gave it to, but it never got back to me.” 

You lean back in your chair and take a deep breath. 

“About a month after we broke up, I found out I was pregnant.”

Chris is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a few seconds, and then he realizes that he’s holding his breath. He lets it out in a deep exhale and his heart starts hammering in his rib cage. 

“You.....we.......what?” he gasps.  

“The doctor said I was 7 or 8 weeks at the time. I......I was due to get another shot but I had been so busy that I forgot about it, and.....well. At first, I wasn’t sure I was even going to keep the baby, honestly. We had just broken up and I didn’t know if you even wanted kids right now, or with me, and it took me a while to come to terms with everything. I tried calling you once I decided that I was going to keep it. I knew you had a right to know, even though I was pissed at you and hurt.”

I look over and Chris is just staring at me, gaping like a fish. 

“So....you had a.....we have a.....” he takes a deep breath. “We have a baby?”

“Uh, well......I guess you must have some really strong sperm because we kind of.....have two.” 

Chris looks like he’s about to pass out, and I shove his bottle of water towards him and he drains the rest of it in one go. 

“Look, I don’t need anything from you. We’ll be okay. We’ve been staying here with my dad and he’s been helping out, and I’m getting help from the state. We never talked about having kids, and I know that this is just being dropped on you out of nowhere. If you want a paternity test, we can go today if you want. I’m not trying to trap you into anything or trick you. You have your own life and you’re.....well, you’re you. And I’m nobody. Nobody outside of your family and close friends even knew we were together.”

I know I’m rambling, but I’m nervous and I know I should just stop and let things sink in. We sit there in silence for a while, and I can tell that Chris’ brain is working to try and digest all of the new information and the fact that he’s a father twice over now. I need to do something to keep myself busy, because I can’t keep just sitting there in silence, so I go over to the sink and start washing dishes. 

Chris gets snapped out of his reverie when he hears a sharp cry ring out. He looks around wildly before realizing that it’s coming from a baby monitor on the kitchen counter. You drop the dish your holding in the soapy water and wipe your hands on a dish towel before turning and running upstairs. 

Chris isn’t even really sure he realizes that his feet are even moving before he finds himself upstairs in the doorway of the nursery. He stands there, feeling like his head is disconnected from the rest of his body, watching as you lean over the crib and lift out an impossibly tiny baby who can’t be more than a month old. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” you whisper, holding the baby against your chest. You turn around and see Chris standing there in the doorway, still looking shocked out of his skin. 

“Come here.” you say softly, beckoning him over. 

He walks over to the crib slowly, his eyes on the infant in your arms and then on the one still sleeping. 

“This is Steven Lucas Evans” you say softly, kissing the baby you’re holding on the forehead, “and that is Christopher Michael Evans.” 

Tears immediately fill his eyes and he inhales deeply, his breath stuttering. 

“How old are they?” 

“Three weeks and two days.” you tell him. 

Chris can’t keep his eyes from drifting in between his two sons, and not wanting to be left out, his namesake wakes up and starts making soft little noises. 

“Go ahead. Pick him up.” you tell him softly. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

You nod. 

Chris leans over the crib and gently lifts Christopher out, holding him gently against his chest. He’s soft and perfect and has that amazing baby smell that drives people nuts, and Chris feels like his heart is about to explode. He walks a few steps over to you and gazes down at his other son, taking note of both babies’ bright blue eyes. 

“How can you love someone so much you’ve just met?” he breathes. 

You give a small, watery laugh. “I ask myself that every day.” 

Watching Chris with his baby sons is everything you didn’t know you needed. You told yourself that even if Chris didn’t want to be involved, you would get through it and you would be fine. But seeing him sitting in the cushy armchair in the nursery with a baby in each arm is more than you could have hoped for. 

“Tell me about when they were born.” Chris pleads. 

“I went into labor on the 23rd of last month, but they weren’t born until about 6pm the next night. I was in labor for about 20 hours. The doctor wanted to go in and get them, but I knew they’d come on their own time. Christopher was born first, and then 15 minutes later, Stevie showed up. He was screaming before he was even fully out.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I could have seen it.” 

“You still can.” 

You pull up a few videos on your phone from different stages of your labor, and one of Christopher being born and then Steven coming along. Tears are running down Chris’ face as he watches, and he’s laughing and crying at the same time, completely overwhelmed with emotion. You flip through a ton of pictures on your phone of you through the pregnancy, and then of labor, and the first pictures of you and the babies. 

“Can you sent these to me? Just....everything you have?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Not a problem.” 

After making bottles and feeding one while Chris feeds the other, a double diaper change, and laying them back down in the crib, you both sit back down. 

“You didn’t get two cribs?” Chris asks. 

“No. I couldn’t really afford two, and when we were in the hospital, they would cry if they weren’t near each other, so the nurses just put them both in the same bassinet and they would calm down. So it all worked out.” I tell him. 

“Come back to Massachusetts with me.” he blurts out. 

He says it so suddenly and with such conviction that I’m speechless for a minute. 

“Chris.....” 

“No, just please.....I love you. I love you and I was an idiot and you had every right to leave me. But being without you has been hell, and I don’t want to be without you. And I can’t go back and not have you or them there with me. I want to be there for everything. I want to see everything. I won’t let you do everything on your own. You don’t have to struggle and get state aid. You can move in with me, or I can get you an apartment close by........just......please come home with me.” 

“Chris, slow down. Listen, you’re their father. You can have as much access to them as you want. I’m not going to take them away from you or keep you from seeing them. That’s the last thing I want. But moving back to Boston......I don’t even have a job right now. I’ve been doing freelance articles for the last few months to get by. And we have all this stuff....and there’s furniture and......” 

“You can write from anywhere. You’re so talented; you’ll find a job in no time. I promise. Until then, I can take care of you guys. That’s my job now. As for all the stuff, I can get a UHaul trailer and we can drive back. Or I’ll get a moving company to move it and we can fly back. It doesn’t matter. We can make this work.” 

I can see the desperation in his eyes and how badly he wants this, and it’s enough to break my heart, and I don’t have it in me to tell him no. 

I sigh heavily. “We have a lot to work out and talk about.....but I don’t want you to miss out on anything with the boys. So.......I guess we’re taking a road trip.....with two infants........halfway across the country.” 

Chris grabs me and hugs me to him tightly. 

“It’ll be our first family vacation. I can’t wait for Mom to meet them. She’s going to lose her mind over them. And you.....she’s missed you so much. You have no idea the verbal ass kicking I got from her after you left.”

You smile. “Glad to know that a grown man is still afraid of his mommy.” 

 The Usual Suspects: @averyrogers83 @wordywarriorwrites @imanuglywombat @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @hlkwrites @reminiscingrogers @mom—nicole @jtargaryen18 @alexakeyloveloki @kelbabyblue @sarahp879 @moonlessnight14 @mojean13 @mrskokitztelford @artisticrogers1972 @southerngracela @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @mybesttobobcratchit @gracethegeek9902 @mdemontespan1667 @marvelfansworld @capslut2014 @dispatchvampire @jamielea81 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @southerngracela​ @what-is-your-plan-today @letsdisneythings​ @theladybiers @lexeeehhh @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @autumnrose40 @donutloverxo​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @jessaywahh-blog​@smediumsmeatbae @before-we-get-started​ @lizette50 @littlegasps @rageshots @what-is-your-backupplan-today @clairebubbles @patzammit @sweet--catrastophe @pandaxnienke @redhairedfeistynerd @hails270105 @syms-things-5 @chezdricks @denisemarieangelina @christ0pher-evans @supersquirrel1996

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #rpf #daddy chris #babies #twins #twin boys #fluff #need some fluffy stuff to balance out the angst #cute #family

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (five)

[Ralph Lamont x Female Reader]

Summary: Ralph apologizes and you've got baby brains, but sometimes life does nothing but kick you down. Previous Masterlist Next

Tag(s): 16+ | 1.7k words | more angst, baby fever, alcoholism, ghostly vibes

AN: GODDAMN Part 5 took me a lifetime to finish. As always no beta readers just poorly side eyeing this by myself and hoping it makes sense

THE NEXT MORNING

You barely stir when you hear the door open. You've all but forgotten last night, and yet you flinch when Ralphie tries to cuddle with you. He sighs somewhere near your ear and hugs you from behind anyways, lips brushing the nape of your neck and breath fanning over your back as he simply lies there, quiet as the grave. 

There's no bruise but you can still feel his hand gripping your arm from last night. "You're being a huge dick…" 

"... I know." 

That is not good enough. You roll over to face him and watch his face twist when he notices the tract marks of dry tears on your face. He swallows and almost unconsciously takes your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of your palm in a way that was meant to comfort him rather than you. 

"I'm sorry." He opens his mouth again but he flounders for words. After a deep breath he continues. "We can't call Reagan. Because he won't do anything for us…" 

You wait impatiently for him to explain. 

"Sweetheart, if we called Reagan last night, he would have fucking laughed at us. It is step one down that slippery slope to the couple who cried wolf." He put a hand on your shoulder and looked you in the eye, "do you really think he would have done something?" 

You think about it. If Ralph hadn't stopped you from calling him, what would you have said to Reagan? 

I smelled exhaust fumes. Not an emergency, he would say. 

I think he found us. What do you want me to do about it, too late now, he would ask.  

We're in danger. I'll send a squad upstate, they should be there in 4 hours, he would joke. 

"It was real," you insist. "I smelled fumes." 

"I know. I believe you." 

You squint at him threateningly and he doesn't give an inch. He doesn't seem like he's mocking you. 

Ralph could be an asshole, but Reagan was infinitely worse. At least one of them gave a shit about your safety. The realization Ralph was right scared you more than anything. You were alone in this… 

Well, alone together. 

You sigh and bury your face in his neck. Your hair is tangled as shit and probably tickling his face, but your husband simply wraps you up in a tight embrace and holds you against him. It's all the apology you need. 

END OF THE FIRST MONTH

Adjusting to your new life hit you like a sack of bricks early on a Monday morning. You woke up from a dream where you still lived in your tiny little apartment two minutes walk from everything. In a reality which felt more like a fever dream, Ralph was late for work, donning a tie and tweed jacket and kissing you goodbye for the day. 

You never realized how much space there was in the new master bedroom. In the apartment, a queen sized bed nearly touched the walls and barely left room to creep around two night stands and a dresser, but in the new house you had room to lay on the floor and stretch, maybe put another piece of furniture in here like a bookshelf or something. 

And the whole damn house was like that. You had an entire second floor to claim as your own! There is almost too much space… too much space for just the two of you. 

God there's that thought again drifting into your mind unbidden, unfurling like a fern at the first droplet of sunshine. How many people does it take to turn a house into a home? Three should be plenty, your mind offers. 

You busy yourself with measurements, regrouting the loose tiles in the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the blackened hell out of that downstairs bathroom. It seems to come to life beneath your hands and you can feel yourself getting excited to show guests the improvement. 

The thoughts of turning your little twosome family into three persist over and over until you can't stand it any longer. Maybe it's finally time… 

Ralph's late getting home by 5 minutes instead of 5 hours but he still looks tired. No mud tracks on his pants or hard set eyes. He's halfway up the stairs before you realize he's probably going to bed early. 

"Hey!" 

Ralph stops like it pains him. His head sags and his hold on the railing is tight like he'll fall if he lets go. The way he's wobbling he might. He is barely able to meet your eyes as he glances over his shoulder and when he does he simply grunts. 

"I made dinner," you squeeze your hands together behind your back, "angel hair pasta and that sauce you love." 

Ralph's eyes flicker in thought. "Be down in a second." 

You wait nervously to see if he does come down. What if this is a bad idea? What if he doesn't take you seriously? Oh god what if he hates it, what if he calls you an idiot for even considering it? 

Ralph does come back downstairs, hair wild from running his fingers through it. He seems to gain a small amount of energy while eating, not wanting to talk himself but asking how your day has been going. 

You're definitely rambling right now. Ralph listens and listens, chuckling along but at some point he grows concerned and envelopes your hand with a worried expression on his face. "Jesus, I've never heard so many words come out of your mouth at once, it's like you're writing a dissertation over there. Are you OK, baby?" 

You snap your mouth shut. God, you hadn't even come close to talk about kids for all your rambling. And then there was that weird smell… 

Your blood runs cold as you recognize it. You lean a little closer to Ralph and he almost instinctively flinches away. If there's one thing you are sure of, one thing you could swear on god– Ralph Lamont has never flinched away from a kiss before. So he has something to hide. And that something has a sharp scent and explains his slow reactions and tired eyes better than anything else could. 

"Have you… have you been drinking?" 

It's the way he can't meet your eyes when you ask him. You know. It's beyond out of character, so much so that it's confusing and a little frightening for you. 

A little drink here and there is, to you, to be expected especially considering the wealth of your new company. So why hide it? Is there something else he's not telling you?

You suddenly feel sick and too hot, ripping your hand away from his and getting up to leave the table. 

He knows you get in your head sometimes and practically yells your name to stop you. "I'm… I don't know why I…" 

Ralph sighs and buries his face into his hands, ashamed. All this suspense is twisting knots in your stomach. You sit back down gingerly, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. 

"Ralph," you warn, "you had better start explaining yourself right now before I lose it." 

Ralph stares a hole into the table and worries his lip. The truth is he doesn't know what to say because he doesn't know why he did it. The students are easy, you are easy. Even in the toughest of times, at his lowest, he didn't drink so… what the fuck was coming over him?, he asked himself. 

Something clicked. It rolled like fire in his belly given dry wood, smoking curling to the top of his throat and out of his ears. "They hate me." 

"Who? Who hates you?" 

"Everyone." 

You looked him in the eye for the first time tonight and saw something dark looking in there. It makes you uneasy. "What makes you think they hate you, baby?" 

Ralph's grip on his fork tightens until his knuckles are white before he gingerly sets the dishware down and deflates. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sardonic grin. 

"You wouldn't understand… and how could you? You never leave the house." He looks at you and there's a growing instability rising in his movements. "You… you don't see it. It started out as little nothings that I could ignore because it didn't matter that they didn't like me: I was new.  

"Then it became lots of these little nothings. Staring and whispering and hushed silences. Tip toeing language and poking and prodding and testing me and my limits and it just… it just… it never got better…" 

Rumors. It dawned on you that his frustration seemed intimately familiar to you as you had had to change schools once or twice due to a few terrible rumors that snowballed and got way out of hand. And you can imagine the sort of rumors that accompany a man with little interest in making friends who has a wife nobody knows anything about. 

If you wanted to stay here long, you would need to change a few minds. You set aside your fear for a moment and make him look at you. You can see the unshed tears in his eyes and feel pity for him. 

"I want to do that dinner party," you announce. "With all that's gone on, you probably didn't have the grand introduction you deserve. Let me show them how much you mean to me." 

Ralph's shaking his head but he already knows you'll win this fight. For him it feels like begging for something he doesn't even want. He agrees because he already promised you could when you were ready and you needed to find new friends asap. 

His sleep that night is fitful and the room's shadows seem to reach out like claws seeking his immortal soul. When the haze of whiskey finally dies down in his system he sleeps dreamless and wakes to feel somehow more hollow with despair than before. 

Ralph Lamont has the distinct feeling things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before anything gets better…

@werwulfy @fundamentally-lazy @escape-your-grape @mimiscappinisideblog @go-commander-kim

#three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒ #ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #ralph lamont #black reader insert #1980s au #haunted house au

[ambivalent-anarchy]

You've Got Moves (Part 2)

Masterlist

Part 1

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: None

A/N: Better late than never, right?😂😂 (wow 2 fics in one week that's crazyyy) Also I put one of my favorite comedy tiktoks in the dialogue soooooo oops? Also Harry and Ned are wingmen who share one brain cell and I like it that way

I might make one more part to this but idk

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

It took 7 months for Peter to ask you out.

It took the time for MJ and Asher to become a couple, homecoming to go by, MJ and Asher to break up, winter formal, midterm exams, MJ and Asher to get back together, and Christmas to go before Peter Parker gathered the guts to even consider thinking about asking you out.

Scared wasn't even the word for it.

Harry Osborn, the new transfer student, laughed at how nervous Peter was at lunch. "Asking girls out is easy, Peter. I do it all the time!"

"You say it like it's the simplest thing on earth," Peter dreaded, to which Harry shrugged.

"Because it is! You just ask. How is it that I've only been at this school for 2 months and I've had more chicks than both you and Ned combined?"

"Hooking up is not a hobby of mine. That's why," Peter retorted with a pitifully unintimidating glare.

Harry shrugged with his shit-eating grin. "It's not my fault the girls and gays can't resist these lips."

Ned chimed in as he threw a french fry into his mouth. "Peter, this isn't like Liz last year. You and [Y/N] are already really close, dude. I'm sure you can just ask her. Who knows? She might say yes!"

"But what if she says no?," Peter groaned. "Then I'll just be one of those people she avoids and barely talks to out of awkwardness." He shifted in his seat nervously. "I don't want that."

"But if you don't say anything then you'll always regret it," Ned pointed out.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "Peter, pull out your phone."

Peter raised his eyebrows in confusion, but followed Harry's instructions.

"Go to her in messages and say 'hey let's get dinner'." He smiled. "See? Simple."

Peter opened your messages in his phone and stared at your profile picture.

'You can do this, Peter. You can do this.'

He bit his lip. "Okay but should I say, 'let's get dinner' or 'do you want to get dinner'?" Seeing Harry's impatient face, he explained himself. "I just feel like those two sentences have completely different vibes, y'know?"

Harry glared at him. "Are you really about to have us telling you what to tell your crush like a bunch of girls?"

Peter didn't know how to answer that question seriously. "Uh...yes?"

Harry pondered the question for a small bit before simply shrugging and answering. "Hmm, go with 'let's get dinner', so you'll sound all confident and assertive."

"Okay."

Before Peter could press send without thinking twice, Ned stopped him. "Well, actually now you sound a little aggressive, man."

"Really?," Peter asked with a wince, immediately erasing the message.

"Yeah, I mean the last thing you wanna be like is the guy that's all like 'let's get dinner' like you're some kind of caveman."

Peter groaned. "Oh no, definitely not."

Ned ate another fry. "You want to ask her to dinner, not tell her to dinner."

"I'll go with 'do you want to get dinner' then," Peter said with a nod.

That one didn't sit well with Harry. "No Pete. Cuz now you sound like a pussy."

Peter slammed his phone onto the lunch table. "This stuff is tough!"

Ned turned towards Harry. "No but listen. The last thing Peter wants to do is come off as the overly masculine type that's all like 'let's get dinner cuz I'm the breadwinner, bitch', y'know?"

Harry shook his head. "Yeah but women also love assertiveness. You have to know what you want."

Peter stared at the table, desperately wanting the conversation to be over. Why would he even go to these two for relationship advice? Harry was the king of hookups and Ned's relationships never lasted longer than a few weeks. What was he thinking? For a guy with a 4.5 GPA, he sure did feel stupid.

"I got it!," Ned exclaimed. "Okay. Text her this. 'Dinner would be something that I would enjoy taking you on, but only if YOU were also interested in attending the meal'." He held his hands up for praise.

Harry nodded. "Mhm. Perfect balance. And the more words the better."

Peter just stared back at them, wondering where he'd gone wrong in life. "...no.... I'm not gonna send her that."

Harry shrugged. "Welp,' he sighed. "I guess some people just don't want to be helped."

So close to slamming his head into the table in front of him, Peter felt a tsunami of relief hit when he saw Asher walk into the cafeteria.

Asher was your best friend. If anyone knew the proper way you'd want to be asked out, it'd be him.

The second Asher noticed Peter looking at him, he made his way over. "Hey Peter. What's up?," he asked as he found an empty seat.

Harry spoke up before Peter had the chance. "Hey Ash. Pick one. 'Let's get dinner' or 'do you want to get dinner'."

Asher thought for a second. "Depends on the girl," he said before taking a bite into his apple. "-but 'do you want to get dinner' is nicer. Why?"

Harry slammed his fist on the table. "Damn it!"

"Yes!," Ned cheered.

Asher looked around the table. "Okay, by why?"

Harry and Ned went quiet and looked to Peter, who was staring anywhere to avoid eye contact. He began to mumble pitifully."I....I-i wanna.. I wanna-"

Harry and Ned spoke up, already tired of the conversation not getting anywhere. "He wants to ask-"

"-I wanna ask [Y/N] out!," he blurted, feeling his cheeks start to burn when Asher's smirk turned into a wide grin.

"Well it's about time!," he exclaimed. "She's been crazy about you since you met."

"Really? She has?," Peter asked. That wasn't even in the realm of possibility in his mind.

Asher nodded. "She's always going off to me about how-" he mocked your higher pitched voice. "I've been dropping him hints since, like, foreverrrr!"

"Seriously?! She has?"

Ned laughed. "Well Peter. She has been calling you cute since the day she met you..."

"But I just always thought it was the friendly kind of cute, y'know?," he rambled. "Not the boyfriend type cute!"

"How many girls are out here calling you cute for you to make that assumption, dude?," Harry asked.

Asher sighed. "So this is what it's like to have low confidence." He shook his head and gave Peter a disappointed look. "I can't say I like witnessing this, Pete."

"Just-" Peter groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just tell me what will work, okay? I need to ask her out perfectly."

Asher tilted his head in confusion. "She's a simple girl. You just have to straight up ask her out. What's the confusion there?"

"That's what I said!," Harry yelled.

"You know he's got to make it difficult for himself for no reason," Ned pointed out.

"Okay can we all talk about how terrible I am at this after you help me?," Peter begged.

"...yeah."

"Sure."

"Ugh, fine."

Peter sighed. "Alright. So?"

"What are you going for?," Asher asked. "Like a gift or something?"

"I just want whatever's the absolute best way to ask her out."

Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was gonna set you up with your crush, he wanted it to happen right.

"Okay," he said, staring Peter in the eyes with a new sort of intensity. "Think about your best moments with her. Now pick something special from all those moments and voila! You'll have it!"

Peter nodded and stared at the ground as he thought for a while about everything he'd done with you since the beginning of school. You were truly the most extraordinary, most confident girl he'd ever met.

Every time he'd thought you couldn't get more perfect, you'd just show him another side of you that was better than the rest. He always stayed endlessly impressed and most of all, he felt as if he didn't have to try too hard with you. He could be himself and mess up as many times as he could manage and you still stuck around, showing him that there needn't be any worries.

And your style? Fuck, you could make anything work for him. You were the only one who could get him out of his comfort zone and in front of a camera, for something as frivolous as a TikTok. But he'd always do it, and even find the fun in it, because it made you happy.

"Remember how we freaked out that first time when she called you cute, Pete?," Ned said. "She said that you were cute and that you only had to put it use!"

Harry laughed. "This girl is literally giving you the instructions, Peter. Take them."

"Hmm." Peter looked up with a smile and snapped his fingers. "I got it."

-

You tossed popcorn into your mouth and snuggled yourself further into the blanket. "Ash, how can you even say that? 'It' is a horror movie!"

"Yeah, technically," he retorted. "But there's literally not a single part of the movie that's scary. It's more of a drama than anything else."

"You realize the clown phobia rate skyrocketed when the movie came out right?"

Asher scoffed. "Uh, your point? It's not my fault some pussies couldn't sit through it. Still a drama. The story definitely played with your emotions more than your fears."

"Whateverrrr," you laughed. "I can't deal with you."

"Pennywise literally got up and did this," he said before breaking out into Pennywise's dance. He laughed as he kicked his legs out. "What kind of horror movie has this crap in it?" He stopped when he felt the full force of you throwing a pillow on his face. "Ugh!"

"Sit down and get under the covers, idiot," you hissed. "I wanna keep watching these HORROR films."

"Whateverrrr," he drawled out, mocking you. He sighed and plopped down next to you, grabbing a handful of popcorn after.

When school was getting suffocating, marathoning horror movies with Asher were a must. He had an endless repertoire and all the time in the world for his best friend.

Halfway through 'It: Chapter 2' though, the movie was the least of your focus and instead was TikTok.

What could you say? The app was addictive.

It was a big, entertaining, completely useless collage of everything every no-name had to offer, from stupid debates to cringey POV's to fun dance routines.

You tried to hook every friend you could on it. Asher, of course, already knew about it since it first came out and he, of course, had thousands of followers because most of what he posted was random thirsts traps whenever he was feeling hot, which was always. And thirsts traps are always in high demand for the people on TikTok.

You tried to hook MJ on it, but she'd already decided that she didn't like it before even giving it a chance. Even the messy, political side didn't reel her in.

Of course then there was Peter, who didn't know was TikTok even was before he met you. You made it your sole mission to get him hooked, but you'd since given up on that. It was a lost cause. The only time he probably ever saw TikTok nowadays was when he was doing dances with you before gym started. He let you put the app on his phone but he never used it. You wouldn't even put it past him to have deleted it, but it was whatever. TikTok had started his friendship with you, so needless to say, it'd done an amazing job in your life.

Plus your followers were always asking about him. All of the "omg couple goalssss" and "you guys look so cute together" served as massive confidence boosters. A girl can dream, right?

You shifted over a bit when you felt Ash getting closer and closer to you.

When he moved over again, you scooted away, only for him to get closer again. "Ash, what is your deal?"

"Easy there," he chuckled, backing up a little. "I'm looking at the phone, not you."

"You've been all up in my phone all day, what's up?"

"I can't tell you," he shrugged, a sly smirk stretching across his face. "But," he pointed to your tiny screen. "Some idiot is taking wayyyy too long to shoot his shot."

"Shoot his shot?" You gasped. "Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," he said with a smirk.

"Nooooo," you whined. "If someone has a crush on me you gotta spill! C'mon, please?"

He laughed and repeated himself. "I'm sorry, but I am not at liberty to say!"

"Bullshit! Who is it? C'mon! C'monnnnnn!"

He shrugged and this time you knew that he was dead set on not giving up the mystery guy.

"Ugh," you pouted. "Fine. Let's just finish the stupid movie."

-

"Kids next door, battle stations!!!!"

And now it was sometime after midnight. The popcorn was all gone. The movie was done and now you were watching old cartoons so that the horror movie wouldn't be the last thing on your mind before bed.

Looking over, you saw that Asher didn't need any cartoons like you did. He was already passed out, snoring as loud as ever.

Grumbling in boredom, you stared at the wall, trying to connect the tiny dots in the designs. It was like something was officially keeping you from being able to fall asleep.

*Ding!*

At the sound of your phone receiving a text, you sat up curiously. Who was texting you at this hour?

You smiled when you saw that it was Peter.

Pete: hey y/n

You were about to send him a quick,"why are you up this late" text, but he kept typing.

Pete: pls dont judge me too hard for this

With that completely vague warning, you furrowed your eyebrows, concerned.

Y/n: whats up r u okay

He sent you a link next, which confused you, but not as much as when you actually pressed it.

It led you to TikTok, and the video was waiting to be pressed to start. Peter was standing in the middle of the screen with one of his typical corny sweatshirts on. The caption at the top read: "For [Y/N] Only". Smiling already, you quickly pressed play.

You slapped your hand over your mouth. "Oh my God."

"So he finally got the guts, huh?," Asher mumbled, having woken up from the loud music on your phone but was still half-asleep.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I wake you?," you asked. You turned down your phone.

"Don't worry about me, you just got a boyfriend," he chuckled, moving to lay down so he could get to sleep again. "Text him back for god's sake."

~~~

Y/n: its been almost a whole year and youre still so cute when you make those

Pete: haha thanks

Pete: uh

Pete: i really like you y/n

Pete: do u think you'd wanna go out with me or get dinner sometime?

~~~

"He asked me out," you gasped. "Ash, he asked me out!"

Asher rolled over and groaned. "I thought that was already established? Jesus, you two couldn't possibly be moving any slower."

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck you."

"Nah, you're with Peter now," he laughed. "You're gonna have to fuck him instead!" That comment earned him another pillow to the face.

You looked back at the messages and sent a tiny cute one. You smirked at the new idea of what was about to happen and turned it off before going to sleep.

~~~

Y/n: kiss me at school tomorrow and find out

~~~

Didn't do a third edit cuz I got lazy but I'm pretty happy with the turnout anyway. Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @allegra-writes, @allegra-soleil, @yumings, @hey-its-grey, @spideyyeet, @sunkissedspidey, @tommyunderoos, @chaoticpete, @snarky--starky, @sovereignparker, @thesherlockianavenger, @bubblebucky, @kelieah, @eridanuswave, @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr, @kidney9-9, @gwenvrse

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #spiderman mcu #peter parker fic #spiderman #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker #spiderman fic #spiderman x reader #peter parker is a dork #peter parker funny #peter parker fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x you #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman funny #spiderman x y/n #peter parker tiktok fic #tiktok fic #peter parker mcu #mcu fandom #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n #mcu x you #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 3 - dark though it is

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AO3

Masterlist

(no TW for this chapter, if there’s something you want a warning for, please message me)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Thanks” by W. S. Merwin)

Logan glared at the mug of coffee before him, his elbows propped on the counter and his fingers laced together. He couldn’t get the image of Roman coming home earlier this morning out of his head. Logan had known for a while—going on two months, five days, seven hours, and forty minutes ago. Roman told him there was nothing he could do; the curse was irreversible according to Ursula's letter. Forget the fact that he was risking his life every single day, because Roman had that stupid amulet that supposedly negated all of his fatigue and injuries once removed, as if that also negated any worry that Logan endured. What would happen if the chain snapped, or it fell off while he was fighting? What then?

“Is something bothering you, kiddo?” Patton asked, sliding onto the stool next to him. Logan blinked and muttered something about nuclear fission and thermodynamics, something to keep him oblivious. It would break Patton to see what was happening to Roman, Logan was sure of it. He already took care of the three of them; he didn’t need something else to keep him up at night. Patton didn't seem too convinced of the evasion, but didn't push the issue any further. Instead, he pushed a bowl of cereal and a plate of orange slices toward him.

"Eat up, Logan. Can't be missing out on all that Vitamin Yes."

"What are you talking about?" he said around a mouthful of Cheerios. "Oranges contain Vitamin C, along with minerals like thiamine, folate, potassium, and—wait, was that a pun?"

"Vitamin C is Spanish for Vitamin Yes!" Patton giggled, dancing away from Logan before he could smack him with his spoon.

"That doesn't even make sense! You can't—"

"Come on, Lo! It was funny!"

"—isn't even spelled the same. C is a letter, not a word! Linguistically, they are completely diff—"

"Virgil! Help!" Patton cried from behind the couch and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Logan looked up, still brandishing his cereal spoon like a weapon. Virgil stood at the base of the stairs looking tired. A hint of a smile graced his face at their antics and he shrugged.

"Don't look at me."

It wasn't long before Patton surrendered, allowing Logan a victory tap with the spoon, and returned to preparing breakfast. The oven beeped, alerting them all that the chocolate chip muffins were done. Virgil lowered onto a stool next to Logan, resting his chin on his hand.

"Were you out in the living room last night?"

"What?"

"Last night, I heard someone walking around and voices and stuff. I assumed it was you just studying and talking to yourself, but if it wasn't you... it must be a ghost," he said with a grin.

"A what?" Patton yelped.

"That's preposterous. Don't listen to him, Patton. Yes, I was up last night, but it's nothing to concern yourselves with."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Patton said, putting his hands on his hips. "You boys need your sleep. If you two keep this up, I'll have to charge you with resisting a rest."

Virgil squinted at Patton, "I don't get—oh, wait. Arrest. But, like, with a space. That's pretty good, Patt."

"I'm getting really tired of this," Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Virgil snorted and Patton beamed.

Logan tensed, pointing a warning finger at Patton who squeaked, "I guess you could say we're... exhausting?"

"I swear—" The stairs creaked and they all looked up. Roman rubbed his eyes and yawned as he descended the last few steps, his hair wet and noticeably not matted down with demon blood. He opened his eyes and froze, smiling nervously.

"Why are you all staring? I mean, I know I'm handsome and all that, but really, control yourselves."

Patton smiled, arranging another plate of oranges. "Good morning, Roman. How did you sleep?"

"Well, thank you—Ooh! Chocolate chip muffins?"

"They're still hot! Hands off!"

Virgil sniffed and pulled the sleeves of his jacket halfway over his hands. "Speaking of hot, did you enjoy taking all of the hot water this morning?"

Logan stiffened and glanced at Roman, but he just scoffed, "It isn't my fault it takes time to look this good, Virgil."

"I just don't understand why you have to shower for an entire hour. Our water bill's going to be through the roof."

Logan's brows knit together, "It's a piece of paper, Virgil. How would it be through the roof?"

"Play nice, guys," Patton said, pulling the oven mitt off his hand and sticking a toothpick down the center of one of the muffins. It came out clean.

"So, Logan gets to lecture me about wasting electricity and leaving the lights on, but when Princey over here takes his sweet time—" Virgil ranted, stopping short when Roman's spoon clattered out of his hand and back into his bowl. Virgil paled, a mortified look on his face. Logan looked between them, racking his brain for a quick solution. Virgil might not know the reasons behind Roman's reaction, but he would definitely recognize it for what it was; he was the most anxious of them all. Truth be told, Logan didn't know what had set Roman off either, but if he didn't change the subject soon, they might start asking questions neither of them were prepared to answer.

"Er, Patton!" he blurted, "How would you like to have a picnic for lunch today?" If anything would distract him, it was a picnic. Summer was almost over, and he'd been begging the rest of them to do one before it got too cold.

Patton gasped, "Really?"

Logan shot a meaningful look Roman's way. "Of course. I don't start teaching for another few weeks and Virgil, you're working a grave again tonight, aren't you? I think we could all use a nice relaxing picnic, don't you think? Guys?"

Patton began removing muffins from the metal tin. "We could have sandwiches, and I could cut up some watermelon! I'll have to go shopping later and pick some up. I think I saw some at Mia's for a dollar-fifty," he rambled.

"That sounds nice," Roman said, another spoonful of cereal hovering indecisively between the bowl and his mouth. Virgil opened his mouth, then closed it, biting his bottom lip and pushing away from the counter. Patton turned around with a plate of fresh muffins. His look of content devolved into confusion as Virgil slunk back up the stairs. A bit of an overreaction in Logan's opinion, he didn't think any of them had seemed angry at him, but he wasn't the best at predicting Virgil's reactions.

"What happened?" Patton asked, setting the plate of muffins down. Roman grabbed three, apparently relocating his appetite.

"Nothing," Logan assured him, "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"These are amazing, Padre," Roman said, his voice muffled by the sweet cake.

Patton smiled softly, his eyes fixed on the empty stool where Virgil once sat. "I think I'm going to have a little chat with Virge." He took a single muffin from the plate and excused himself. Logan watched him go, then turned his eyes on Roman, who was stuffing the third muffin into his mouth.

"Care to explain what happened a minute ago?" he asked, standing and carrying his now empty cereal bowl to the sink—well, empty except for the milk. Logan hated drinking cereal milk from a bowl.

"Not really," Roman said, opening the fridge and looking through the contents. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Sweet cheese and crackers, I'm starving. Are these your leftovers? Can I have them?"

"If you tell me what Virgil said to upset you."

"Fine, I guess I'll find something else, then," he said, the playful edge to his voice sharpening. He grabbed the carton of milk and poured himself a glass. Logan watched as he looked through the pantry in tense silence, eventually settling on the jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Not the healthiest breakfast, but Logan wasn't about to call him out on it. Roman sat down on the couch, furiously eating his peanut butter. Logan leaned against the counter, unsure what to do. Patton would know. Of course he would, he always did. Oh, how Logan wished he could tell him what was going on, but he knew as well as Roman that it would tear him up inside.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

"All right, is everyone ready to go?" Roman asked, basket full of lunch fixings hanging off the crook of his arm. Patton beamed and Logan looked around, nodding as he made a silent double-check. Virgil avoided his eye, playing with the strings on his jacket. Roman felt bad. He hadn't meant to react so visibly, but when Virgil had called him Princey, his mind had immediately flooded with images of a giant demon serpent. He knew he sang, loved Disney, and could even be grandiose at times—it was kind of his thing. Many people had compared him to a prince in the past, so Virgil making the connection wasn't exactly suspicious. Now, however, the word had turned sour from fear. Terror had dyed it an ugly color, and he couldn't get it out. He certainly didn't blame Virgil for what happened, but was at a loss for what to say without inviting more questions about it.

"Looks like it! Let's go!" Patton said happily, marching into the garage and clambering into the truck. Logan grabbed a thick blanket for them to sit on. Roman followed Patton with a smile, sliding into the driver's seat as the other two piled into the back.  

The drive was nice. Patton played songs from his favorite playlist, made jokes so bad they were hilarious, and gave Roman gentle directions on when and where to turn. Apparently, he knew of a spacious meadow just perfect for a picnic. Wakeby wasn't very large, so he was interested to find out where it was. Near the forest, no doubt. Roman attempted to swallow the lump forming in his throat. The last thing he wanted to do during the day was spend time looking at the forest. It surrounded Wakeby on all sides, parting only slightly to allow the interstate to pass through town. Roman had tried entering the forest in different places to try and avoid running into the demon, however, the longer it took him to get into the trees, the more painful the curse became. Eventually, he'd settled for entering in the same place and just dealing with whatever the snake had up its sleeve. Not that snakes had sleeves, but you get the point.

Pulling off the road onto a patch of gravel, Roman put the truck in park and pulled out the key.

"You weren't kidding, Pat," Virgil said, gazing out the window. He was right, the meadow was gorgeous, hidden behind the movie theater. Roman couldn't have said if he'd been there before or not. Wakeby looked different with the sun shining. Nearly bouncing with excitement, Patton hopped out of the truck with the basket on his arm. They eventually found a place to set up. Roman found himself experiencing a silent, internal dilemma as he tried to decide whether he wanted to sit facing the forest, or with his back to it. If he turned his back to it, he'd be paranoid the entire time about not being able to watch for danger, and yet, if he faced it, he wouldn't be able to stop glancing over, watching for the glint of golden scales. Come to think of it, Roman had never seen the serpent during the day. This was mostly due to the fact that he avoided the forest like the plague during the only time he had away from it. It was curious, though, what the demon did with the rest of its day. Surely, Roman wasn't the only person to ever enter the forest in Wakeby, right? If so, how come no one had noticed the enormous snake squatting there? Could it leave the forest? Did it stay that big, or just turn into a normal snake?

Hopefully, I'll never have to find out, Roman thought, finally deciding to sit facing the trees. Patton handed out the sandwiches and watermelon, and Roman enjoyed himself. Truly and thoroughly enjoyed the time he got to spend with his roommates. Strange, how not knowing if you'll come home alive every night changes a person's perspective on what's important. He'd easily give up any chance at a college education if it meant getting to see all of his friends achieve their goals before... you know. He died. So, wanting to make the absolute most of however much time he did have left, Roman proposed a game of frisbee. Logan and Virgil politely declined, but Patton whole-heartedly agreed, running to the truck and retrieving the plastic disk from under the back seats.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Logan watched Roman and Patton throw the frisbee back and forth, the faintest of smiles on his face. Patton made up increasingly ridiculous names for the "special throws" he performed, and Roman was laughing so hard he couldn't catch the frisbee—which only made him laugh harder. Virgil seemed the only one in a dour mood.

"Virgil?"

"Hm?" he looked up from picking at the leftover crusts of his sandwich.

"I...I'm sorry, if you felt attacked at breakfast. That was not my intention," Logan said, placing his hands in his lap awkwardly. He wasn't the best at apologies.

Virgil shrugged, giving a half-smile. "Nah, it's okay. I just... felt bad, you know? I don't really like dealing with conflict, and I know it's a bad habit and all that, but it just makes me really nervous. Nothing against you or Patton."

Logan sat up. "Do you have any idea why Roman reacted the way he did?" He doubted it, as Virgil didn't know about Roman's escapades as of yet, but there was a slight possibility it was having to do with something else.

Virgil stiffened. "Uh, no. I—I don't." He went back to picking at his bread. Roman had mentioned something about Virgil acting different since the summer, and at first Logan had written it off as nothing, just Virgil being Virgil. He was always like this after visiting his parents—an uncommon occurrence, for sure, but each summer since they'd all met, Virgil had stolen away into the wilderness to spend time with them regardless of how it affected him when he returned. But this "funk", as Roman put it, was going on a little longer than normal.

Logan went quiet for a moment, thinking. After a moment, he pulled out the book he'd brought along with him and said, "Would you like me to read aloud for a bit?" He knew that Virgil found the activity calming, and hoped it would help somewhat

His eyes lightened and he looked up. "What book is it?"

"Rhetoric and Logic. It's actually quite interesting."

Virgil snorted and reclined onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head. "All right, then."

Logan read to him. It was something he wouldn't have done given usual circumstances. Most people didn't care about the things that Logan found interesting. Virgil, on the other hand, found it calming and would ask him to read aloud whenever he was feeling anxious. Logan had read the book before many times, and found his mind wandering as he read. He could still hear Roman and Patton's game going on in the background. It made him glad to see Roman enjoying what free time he was allowed. Logan had been researching everything he could find on demons, curses, and dragon witches. So far, all he'd found were children's stories and folktales. There were many myths and legends about serpents and demons that took their shape, but from the details Roman had given him about it, there was nothing written about his specific opponent. The closest things Logan had found to Roman's curse were punishments mortals received after death.

If anyone was living hell, it was Roman.

They went on like this for nearly half and hour before Roman and Patton grew tired and returned to the blanket. Logan put his book away, and they all talked about anything and everything. Logan would be lying if he said he didn't notice Roman glancing over at the tree line every few minutes, but it would also be false to ignore the lack of tension in his shoulders, the ease with which he smiled, and the genuine laughter bubbling out of his throat. Even Virgil had relaxed and inserted himself into the conversation more.

Eventually, they cleaned up lunch, and all lay back on the blanket watching the sky.

"So, is college just like how it is in the movies?" Roman asked. "You're the only one of us who's actually gone to school on a campus."

"What do you mean?" Logan looked over at him.

"You know, frat boys, and sorority girls, and parties, and stuff," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

Logan looked back up at the partly cloudy sky. "Yes, they exist, if that's what you're asking." He paused. "I even attended one of those so called 'frat parties'."

Virgil choked. "You what?"

Roman sat up, a mischievous grin on his face. "I can't believe it. Logan was a frat boy."

Logan reddened, "I was not one of them, you heathens. My attendance was a singular, accidental event."

"Sure, Lo," Patton muttered, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

"You all are blowing this way out of proportion, it wasn't—"

"Did you drink anything? Wait, did you get drunk? Oh, I would pay money to see you drunk, teach," Roman laughed.

"Of course not, I only had... a few drinks. I think," Logan trailed off, a look of genuine concern crossing his face.

Roman gasped. "Oh my heck, you got wasted, didn't you?"

"Guys..." Virgil muttered.

Logan propped himself up on his elbow. "I didn't pass out or anything, if that's what your insinuating."

"Just got a bit absinthe-minded?" Patton offered, and Logan ran a hand down his face and flopped back onto his back.

"Guys," Virgil repeated, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Roman glanced over, "Oh, come on Surly Temple, it wasn't that bad of a pun, even for you."

"No, my head..." Virgil managed, grabbing his head and curling in on himself. The group sobered. No pun intended. Logan met their eyes, and they both nodded. Another migraine. Virgil suffered from what Logan had called thunderclap headaches. They came on suddenly, at times without warning, and lasted about five minutes. They were extremely painful, from what Virgil had told them. As quietly as possible, Roman and Patton gathered up the blanket and picnic basket while Logan helped Virgil to his feet and across the meadow to Roman's truck. Patton shot Roman a concerned look, and he tried to give him a comforting smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. He was sad to have to cut their outing short, but he wouldn't dream of furthering Virgil's pain.

The drive home was silent, but not in a bad way. Virgil sat hunched over in the passenger seat, and Patton extended his seat belt as far as it would go and rubbed his back from the backseat. Roman drove as smoothly as he possibly could, and was just glad, for once, he wasn't the one having to be taken care of.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Three hours later.

"I'm just going to take a walk, I'll be back in a bit," Virgil called, already out the door. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he hurried down the street toward the far edge of town. Once the houses and establishments had thinned, he ducked behind a fence, checked once more for any onlookers, then crouched down and muttered a quick phrase under his breath. His entire body thrummed with magic as he felt the familiar feeling of returning to his true form. Unlike most of the shows he watched on the others' television device, consistency with clothing wasn't a problem he faced. It simply shifted with him. He couldn't imagine having to constantly worry about leaving piles of empty clothes lying around, or shifting back completely naked. He shivered, the hair along the back of his spine prickling. Approaching a small puddle on the ground, he looked down.

Pointy ears? Check. Two eyes? Check. Whiskers still impeccably groomed? Check. The perfect image of a black cat. But of course, why wouldn't he be? He was a cat, originally, that is—though Ursula's magic had changed him from a normal feline into his current magical self who-knows-how-many years ago.

Being a familiar wasn't all that hard. Being a familiar who was defying their witch? That proved an entirely different matter.

Logan had attempted to diagnose the sudden, debilitating headaches he suffered without any warning with some human explanation. In reality, it was simply what happened when he resisted Ursula's connection to him. His decision to quit being her spy on Roman had been going on for about ten months now, not too long after Roman had been cursed. Needless to say, she wasn't too happy about it. Despite his resolve, every once in a while, she attempted to see through his eyes as she had used to. Defying someone as powerful as her was considered brave by few, and stupid by most.

Attempting to shake the thoughts from his head, Virgil leaped up onto the top of the fence and darted down it. After what had happened at the picnic, he'd become paranoid about the state of the protective "anti-Ursula" border he'd created around Wakeby and hadn't been able to sit still until he'd checked the runes. Ursula had destroyed them the first few times, but Virgil had proved persistent in his efforts to keep his friend safe, and she'd given up for the most part in her battle with him. She had what she needed.

Roman. His friend. His friend that he'd betrayed and then been too much of a coward to face the consequences. Roman, who hadn't done anything to deserve what he'd received simply because he existed. It wasn't his fault that his thrice great-grandmother had been the Witch Queen; the Chosen One. He hadn't asked for this. Neither had his mother before him. Virgil's stomach twisted at the thought of Roman ending up just like his mother, and yet there wasn't much he could do about it.

No. That was a lie. There wasn't much he was brave enough to do. Because he was a pathetic coward who would rather let his friend risk his life every single night than stand up to his witch. His mind dragged him back to that morning. He couldn't believe he'd actually given Roman a hard time about the shower. The truth was, Roman was an actor. An amazing one. So good, in fact, that Virgil often forgot about the curse. About being an imposter. When he was home, he was just a normal guy hanging out with his friends. Nothing more—or so he'd managed to convince himself.

He arrived at the dilapidated gas station at the far east corner of Wakeby, slinking around the back and swiftly locating the rune he'd carved into one of the white painted bricks. It looked largely untouched. Virgil quickly moved on, trotting down the side of the highway toward the next way point, mind rife with conflict and pain.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

Later that night.

"Logan, I thought we'd already been over this," Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I will not be going to bed without knowing you are safe, Roman. Arguing with me on the matter is futile," Logan replied, folding his arms.

He looked up at his roommate, exasperated but internally thankful. It was nice to know that someone cared if he came home each night or not. He shifted the sword in his grip and stepped toward the door. "All right, but you're going to bed as soon as I get back. Deal?"

"Satisfactory. Oh, and Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I may have a way to locate a possible solution to your curse."

Roman froze with his hand on the door handle, his brain still trying to register what he said. "Don't say things like that," he breathed. His voice was soft, and scared to hope. "Don't promise me the impossible." He felt a hand on his armored shoulder.

"At least hear me out?"

The curse tugged at his insides, but he didn't move. He turned. "Fine."

Logan smiled. "Have you tried reasoning with this demon?"

Roman's throat constricted. "Reasoning with it? It's been trying to kill me every night for the last twelve months. How do you propose I reason with something like that?" he snapped. He didn't have time for this.

Logan didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "It can speak, yes?"

"Yeah, but I don't—"

"Does it have a name?"

Roman threw his hands into the air, "I mean, probably. I haven't really had time to ask it since it's been trying to kill me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go try not to die for the next six hours."

Roman turned back to the door and turned the handle. Logan grabbed his shoulder and flipped him around, pushing him back into the door. "Roman, you need to begin thinking objectively and listen to me. I'm trying to save your life. Trust me on this."

"It can't be reasoned with. It's a monster."

"Have you considered the possibility that it's just as cursed as you are?" Logan spat, and Roman fell silent. "That's what I'm saying. Yes, you two have your differences, I can't even begin to imagine, but you can't go on like this, Roman. You can't. You'll die."

Roman swallowed. "We all die, Logan."

"Don't quote facts at me, Roman Kingsley," he said shakily. Roman thought he could see tears pricking in his eyes, but couldn't have been sure. "Just promise me that you'll try. Please. If it doesn't work, I'll abandon the theory, but there's only one way to find out if it will work or not."

"Okay," Roman relented, though it drove a spike of fear straight through his heart. He'd be making himself vulnerable on purpose in front of a beast who wanted nothing more than his blood on its tongue.

"Good luck."

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #LAMP pairing #polyarmory #creatures of the night #chroniclackofselfpreservation #fantasy au #modern fantasy au

[sabineelectricheart]

Overcast Day

Summary: Dante had not spoken to Nicola in months, but when he receives a damning call, he rushes to his aid.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2000

Notes: I’m back on Piofiore. I still have some stuff backlogged, I hope I can post those during the coming months.

He is surprised when the telephone he keeps on his desk, that is usually kept silent, rings sharply, disturbing his concentration on his reviewing of the dry balance sheets in front of him. A grey cloud chooses exactly that moment to pass through the sun, making the noise that much more mysterious.

He is even more taken aback when a familiar voice comes out of the contraption, echoing with a pleading voice.

"Dante…You've…You've got to help me. It's Lili… Something happened… It was an accident, a terrible… We're at the hospital in Bari, on the fourth floor. Please, please, help me."

The line goes silent before he can manage to respond to anything it was said, and Dante stares at the telephone in shock, demanding it to ring again.

That was his cousin. That was Nicola. That was the one person he had not spoken to in months, all because of a stupid argument, and now, his cousin's fiancée was in trouble. Hurt, it seemed.

Dante does not know what to do for a second, just sits in his chair, staring at the dust floating on the claustrophobic air of his office. Suddenly, he jolts to his feet and then he feels himself grab his hat and coat, jumping into the automobile and ordering the driver to speed his way to Bari.

When he gets there to the first floor, he walks straight ahead to the receptionist desk, coming out of his daze.

"Excuse me, my…" Dante pauses for a millisecond.

He does not know how to word it, because she is not exactly family. A girl he knows from church? His God-inducted duty? The person he is in love with? The girl he thought he would marry ever since he was six?

"My… Sister-in-law is here, fourth floor I'm told, but I don't know what room. Could you help me?" He asks the wavy-haired woman with glasses falling off her long nose.

"What's her name?" She asks, popping her tongue.

"Liliana Adornato."

The receptionist looks at the constantly-changing patient log for the fourth floor. "Ah, Adornato. Fourth floor, room twelve."

Dante takes off, thanking the receptionist, and heads to the fourth floor. Once there, he looks up and down the halls, before finding room number twelve. A young man, with dirty blond hair, sits in a chair outside, hunched over, pressing a hand to his head.

Dante approaches with caution, before recognizing the face. "Nicola?"

"Dante! Oh, thank God!” The usually undevout man seemed to be falling back into old religious habits.

“Nicola.” Dante acknowledge, not quite sure how to proceed. “What happened? Why is Lili in there?”

“She was going out for the market, she wanted to bake some stupid pastry.” He spats the word. “A driver didn’t see her when she was crossing the street and ran over. She’s hurt, and in so much pain! They say… T-they say it's l-life-threatening."

Dante does not know what to say as a thought to mention their argument leaves him with shame burning on his face and disgust in his mind.

Don't talk about that here, it's not right.

He murmurs out, then, a timid 'sorry'.

"I'm terrified, Dante. I…I don't even know why I told you about this…hell, how am I going to tell Elena? Sister Sofia? The damn Church?"

Dante does not even know why he came. Maybe it is just for Lili. Maybe he is evil, and wants the assurance that this would not have happened if she had stayed with him. Maybe he is just human, and is saddened and scared for two people he loved more than life itself.

"This is of no concern now.” The younger man said, even-voiced. “It's best to wait for the final results before you panic."

"Right… Yes, you’re right. I knew that." Nicola sighs deeply, in a frantic mood his cousin did not remember he ever having. "They won't let me in… I don't know how long…"

The door opens as if on cue, and a man with shadowy stubble and square glasses steps out, wiping his brow.

"Mr. Francesca?" He asks for Nicola as Dante watches.

Nicola perks his head up and stands to his feet quickly. "Yes? How is she?"

"She's awake and talking a bit. She wants to see you." The medical doctor says.

Nicola nearly barrels him over and enters the room, leaving his cousin and the medic alone. Dante wanders over to the medic, peering into the room to see his underling kneeling down by Lili's bedside.

"How bad is it?" Dante asks him in a hushed tone, looking at the medic in full concern and seriousness.

"Wherever she got hit, it did some major damage to her internal organs.” The man explains with cold detachment. “If you want my honest opinion, I'm surprised she's even lasted this long. Many don't."

"So…” He stutters. “So how long do you give her?"

"Not long. Even less if the surgery was unsuccessful."

She is on borrowed time. Lili is going to die soon. Soon, Nicola's heart will be dead, too. Dread stirs in his body.

"Thank you." The medic leaves and Dante stands, hovering at the frame of the door. Should I tell him? It'll just hurt him more, right?

The argument comes back, nagging at his brain. He's right, you know he was right. You just didn't want to believe it.

"H-hi Dante."

The high, weak voice brings him out his thoughts and he found himself staring at the bed-ridden blonde girl with a smile. She looks absolutely dreadful and Dante feels positively awful, but seeing her still alive brightens his heart.

"Hi, Lili. How do you feel?" Dante tries to manage a soothing expression.

"As if… As if I am dying.” Her breath was wheezing. “I…I could be better."

"You're going get better though, right, Lili? You're going get better and then you'll get out of here and then you'll marry Nicola, and we'll finally have another member in the family." Dante tells her, trying to reassure not only her, but himself also. She'll overcome this, right?

"That's the plan." Nicola responds as Lili nods a bit.

"Great. I just wanted to see you, I'll be outside. See you around, Lili." Dante leaves the room, leaving the two alone.

"Nicola." Lili addresses, with a hint of seriousness. "I…I have to tell you… Something… That I heard."

"Yes?"

"T-they said… I only have… I am not going to make it, Nicola." Lili is on the cusp of bursting into tears.

"You’re not going to? To…to live?" He asks tentatively.

Lili nods her head.

Nicola is speechless, tears brushing the corner of his eyes. "You'll prove them wrong. I know you can!"

"Yes." Lili suddenly coughs and blanches, the small freckles on the bridge of her nose standing out in stark comparison.

"Lili?" Nicola asks, panicking inside. "What's wrong?"

"I-I don't feel good…"

"Do you want me to get someone?"

"No. I'll be…" She coughs. "F-fine. Believe me."

The blond man stands up. "I'll believe you when you get out of here. I'm going to go get someone."

"If it's time, it's time, Nicola. God waits for no one.” The blonde pointed out, as she was used to hear such things on the services held for the departed during the time she lived at church. “I've…I've thought about it all my life, especially with the way my parents were taken away from me, how we have lived our lives, so… S-so there's no way changing it! You can't have life without d-death, just like you can't have day without… N-night."

The colour in her lips suddenly leaves just as quickly as the colour in her face did. Death is just steps away.

If this was going to happen, if this was really near, reality seeping in, then Nicola decides he is going to tell her exactly how he feels.

"A day without sunshine is like, you know, night." Nicola says quickly and perfectly before losing it. "And… A-and you're the… The… S-sunshine to my… Day… To my life. Please, please, Liliana Adornato, don't leave me. I love you."

"I-I… Love you… Too." She smiles, the colour in her lips still fading fast, with a sad look in her eyes.

Her hand reaches out slowly to him and she takes his hand in hers, raising it to her shaking lips. She presses her lips to the back of his pale hand and she smiles again.

"I…I heard that… That your dreams came true… Did they r-really?" She asks, weakly.

"Yes, of course, love. They…"

Nicola stops and looks at her, realizes it is too late. He searches her face with his eyes and finds no life there.

"No, no, no, no, no! This… It… Can't… Come back! Come back!"

His throat is tightening and it's making it harder to breathe. He gulps for air, tears pooling in his eyes and spilling over, squeezing the hand holding his and he screams.

Outside in the hallway, Dante hears it. His heart pounds in his chest and he almost panics. To anyone else, it could sound like his cousin is being murdered, but Dante knows what it is.

It is the sound of a heart shattering into a million pieces.

He races into the room, and stops halfway when he realizes completely what has happened. His eyes look between his cousin's sobbing face to his was-to-be fiancée's, her pale face still with the etch of a smile on it. Dante thinks she looks just as pretty in death as in life.

"Nicola, I…"

"Just go away, will you?"

"Let me…"

"I said go away!" Anger is taking him over, before it was sorrow, grief, worry. His cousin's different emotions are now like an invisible animal farm, multiple feelings penned up in a corral deep in his mind.

"No." Dante takes a deep breath and blurts, "You were right. I spent too much time on work, and I screwed up every relationship I ever had. I'm sorry."

Dante knows this is the most inappropriate time he could ever say this, but now he cannot take it back.

He breathed out, trying to recompose himself into an indoor voice. "And sorry about your loss. Our loss. The family's loss."

There is a silence between them, with only Nicola's sobs echoing in the air and then there are rushed footsteps. The nurses arrive to take away the body, as Giulia, Leo and some other members of the Family come into the room, having rushed from Burlone, too. The matron wails stridently, and the medical professionals try to contain her.

As the nurses are preoccupied with their other duties, Nicola is still in his kneeled position, and Dante knows he will not let them take him away under no pretence whatsoever.

He walks over cautiously and says in a quiet, soothing voice. "Hey… It's time to go."

His cousin does not say anything, as Dante lays a hand on his shoulder gently, bending down slightly and gripping his arm, pulling him up from the ground. Nicola lets Dante guide him up, clinging onto his cousin's shirt, as Dante is half supporting Nicola's grief-stricken body.

"I-I… I told you… I was right." Nicola says quietly.

"Shh…" Dante replies, drawing his family member closer to him. "Not here. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Nicola falls silent again, snuffling a few times, sobbing freshly. "My… S-sunshine's gone…"

Dante feels tears well up in his own eyes, as he and his twin step into the hallway filled with sobbing Family members. She is gone for all of us, he thinks. It is like the sun is covered with clouds and cannot break from the darkness. It leaves everyone down and heartbroken.

He is smart, and he knows his place. He knows what he has to do, and he will perform it famously. No one will ever know that it shatters his own heart to millions of pieces.

No one will know that his sunshine is gone, too.

*_*_*_*_*

Piofiore Masterlist

#piofiore #nicola francesca #dante falzone

[let-them-eat-rakes]

RED REALITY (part 1)

(my longest post yet.)

Item #: SCP-3001

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: To prevent further accidental entries into SCP-3001, all Foundation reality-bending technology will be upgraded/modified with multiple newly developed safeguards to prevent Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole creation. While knowledge of SCP-3001 is available to personnel of any level should they wish to learn about it, research and experimentation with SCP-3001 and its associated technology is strictly limited to personnel of Level 3 and above, with special clearance designation granted from Sites 120, 121, 124, and 133.

Description: SCP-3001 is a hypothesized paradoxical parallel/pocket "non-dimension" accessible through the creation of a momentary Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole.(1) While believed to be an infinitely extending parallel universe, SCP-3001 is almost completely devoid of any matter and has an extremely low Hume Level of 0.032,(2) contradicting Kejel's Laws of Reality with the relation between Humes and spacetime. This phenomenon causes matter inside it to decay at an extremely low rate, and damage that would otherwise prove fatal does not impede any biological/electronic function; simulations suggest an organism can lose more than 70% of their body's tissue and still operate normally, as long as at least 40% of the brain remains. However, prolonged exposure will cause said matter to gradually approach SCP-3001's own Hume Level, resulting in severe tissue/structural damage as the matter's own Hume Field begins to disintegrate.

SCP-3001 was initially discovered on January 2, 2000, at Site-120, a facility dedicated to testing and containing reality-bending technology. Dr. Robert Scranton and his wife Dr. Anna Lang were Head Researchers at Site-120, and were developing an experimental device, called the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer" (LSS).(3) Dr. Scranton was transported to SCP-3001 after unexpected seismic activity damaged several active LSS in Site-120 Reality Lab A.

Initially presumed dead, Dr. Scranton has survived in SCP-3001 for at least five years, 11 months, and 21 days. During this time, he was able to record his experiences and observations within SCP-3001 through a somehow still functioning LSS control panel, which was also brought into SCP-3001 with him through the Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole. These recordings were later recovered upon the panel's sudden return, an unexpected side effect from testing improved reality-bending technology; these logs are the basis of SCP-3001 study. Despite new technologies being developed, retrieval and re-integration of Dr. Scranton has been unsuccessful. His current physical and mental states, if he is still alive, are unknown. [Further information on Dr. Scranton's possible retrieval is under Ethics Committee review.] Transcripts of Dr. Scranton's logs are below.

[No discernible/coherent dialogue can be heard from Dr. Scranton for the first eight days. He cycles through periods of panic, confusion, and anger throughout, and it seems he was attempting to navigate SCP-3001 to find a way out. He finally moved close enough to the recording log on the eleventh day, though did not notice it was operating for several more hours.]

…

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."

Wife… Anna…

Anna…

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."

Wife, Anna. She has green eyes. I love her very much.

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Height, 178 cm.

Weight, 85 kg.

Wife, Anna. Anna, I'm sorry.

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

My wife's name is Anna. We got married August 12, 1991.

I hope she got out okay.

Please let her be all right, please let her be all right.

Robert, Scranton. 39. Anna, blue, wife. Please… please, God, please…

Anna… Anna… Anna bo banna… Anna bo banna…

What the… what the hell is that? [It is assumed at this point Dr. Scranton noticed the flashing light of the recording module.]

What the fuck, this thing's actually recording?

[Metallic clang heard.]

[Voice is highly agitated and panicked.] My name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah, my name, is Robert Scranton, former researcher at Foundation Site-120. It has been… I don't know, actually, I… I can't remember. I… I estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I don't, I can't… Oh God, can anyone hear me?! I-I-I don't know what's happened, I-I don't know where I am, and-and, please, please is anyone there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?!

No one can hear me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Why the hell is this thing even working, it can't be working, it SHOULDN'T be working, so what the hell?! I need to — God, I need to, I need to… see, how… long can I talk here, I think there's a-a-a cap or something on the recording log, and I-I-I can't see anything, I can only see the red light blinking on and off, I can't see any of the switches next to it…

I'm really hungry.

Thirsty, too. I think I should be dead from dehydration by now, but… I don't know.

Hi, little red light. Can you talk to me? Can you talk to… Anna, for me? Hello?

I found the controls.

Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Oh… Jesus.

ERROR WITH PLAYBACK, ERROR WITH PLAYBACK. ERROR WITH PLAYBACK.

Wherever the hell I am, I'm pretty sure now that… I don't need to eat to stay alive. It hurts… a lot, but… at this point I don't think I'm gonna die… So… I'm gonna… I'm gonna take my time… I guess. I… Maybe some sort of miracle will happen and I'll get out. Heh. Keep dreaming, Robert. Yeah, I'm… I'm tired, I'm gonna sleep.

Three weeks, four days, nineteen hours.

I have a picture of Anna in my pocket. I almost forgot. Little red light, let me see her face, please? Just a little bit, I just… I just want to see her a bit.

Hi, Anna, I'm still here, I'm still here. I'm coming back, okay?

Two months, four days, three hours.

… Hi. Robert here. Yeah, I-I haven't really recorded much to hear in the past few weeks. Ha. Hahahaha… Hahaha… huh… huh…

Sorry, gotta keep it together. Breathe.

I've been… I've been busy. Trying to learn more about the place I'm in. My prison. My kingdom all my own. Heh, King Robert. God, I stink. Is there even air in this goddamn place? Stinky King Robert, king of GODDAMN NOTHING FUCK.

…Sorry, sorry. I, I gotta keep this professional. I'll… I'll come back when I'm feeling rested.

… Okay, here goes. [Inhales then exhales deeply.]

My name is… Robert Scranton. I am a former Head Researcher of Site… 120, a Foundation facility dedicated to studying various reality-bending SCPs, for the purpose of developing more advanced countermeasures towards such threats.

For the last… red light, speak to me,

Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.

What red light said. I have been trapped in what I believe to be an empty pocket dimension. Alone. Yeah… alone. All alone.

I'm calling this place SCP… I don't know, I can't remember where we are, screw it. I don't know what's happened in the past… red light, please, again.

Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.

But… no one else is around to argue, and at this point… I'm just talking into this control panel to keep myself together. I… I need to keep a record. There might be some poor bastard in the future who ends up like me, and… if this ever actually makes it out… maybe, maybe I can help stop that from happening. That's all I have going for me right now, and I really need something to go for, hahahaha…

…So, yeah, Robert… Scranton… documenting a new SCP for… future research purposes. That'll have to do. Here we go!

- Close.

…

Two months, eleven days, ten hours.

Item number, SCP I don't fucking care.

Object Class, Euclid, I guess, but I don't know, I might update this in time. I need to explore more.

Special Containment Procedures, god I sound so much like a shrink right now… Um… I don't know if we could… contain wherever I am. It's… definitely not on Earth. To be honest I don't know where it is. I… I think it has do something with the Stabilizer prototype… I'll explain that more later. Okay… um… yeah, wherever I am, I don't think it can be contained much as… created. No, no, that's not the word I'm looking for. Um… entered. Yeah, entered is better. I came into this place because of some really bad reality-bending accident and… no, no, Robert, don't be like that yet, you don't know if there's no exit yet. Ooooh… livin' on a prayer… halfway… there. Ahem.

Two months, eleven days, eighteen hours.

So… wait, no, Description, Robert, stick to the format… This place… It's some sort of reality gap, I think. It's dark. Really dark. As in, this little red light that shows my words are actually being recorded is the only visible light in this entire place. I can't see my hands, and I can barely see the control panel here. I've had to basically use the light as a center, and remember how many steps I take and in which direction. I haven't gone past a hundred yet. I'm too… I'm too scared to. Heh. I wonder if my hair is turning white, right now? I can't even see what color it is anymore. Speaking of which, my head has been a bit itchy recently. If I don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but I feel this… tingling all over my face. I'm not sure why.

Two months, fifteen days, four hours.

Okay… hoooo… I-I need to relax for a minute, Jesus, god, shit. Holy… shit, shit, shit… I… just discovered a new property of this place. All this time, I've been thinking I might be walking on… some sort of… flat ground, if you will. I kept eye contact with little red as far as I could see, and it seems I could walk in a straight, flat path. Jesus, my head is buzzing right now, I think the adrenaline is still kicking… But, if my hypothesis is correct, and this really is some sort of reality… void, then there shouldn't be anything to walk on. Now that I think about, the whole time I've been in here, it's felt like… I'm walking, but I'm also swimming through something. And this something is thick, and form-fitting, it has this… pressure, which I know isn't the correct term, but goddamn it, this place makes no damn sense and I'm doing my best to understand it, okay?!

God… Sorry.

So, the best analogy I can come up with is… it's like I'm walking through really thick black gel. There's enough tension to keep me on a… "surface", but if I… imagine myself pressing down hard enough, I can descend. Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I think… I think I need to test this more, I'll be back.

Two months, seventeen days, two hours.

Navigation is largely affected by… conscious impulses to travel in a certain direction. So, this definitely isn't a complete reality gap, at least according to mine and Anna's theories. If-if it were I wouldn't have been able to move at all, since space wouldn't have existed. Holy shit, okay, okay, this makes a lot more sense than it did before, great, great job, Robert, you're getting there. …Come to think of it, I should've realized that sooner when I was able to move in a flat plane to and from little red. It also explains why I'm not dead from dehydration or hunger yet, time barely passes in here. Okay yeah, so, I stood right next to little red, and went straight… "down." Okay, from here on out, imagine little red as the origin of a 3D space. I went straight… down, right, yeah, and then… and then I was then able to come back "up" to little red again. I've also been able to "fly" above red. Movement in here is slow, like I said, gel analogy, best I can describe it by.

Two months, twenty-two-days, three hours.

Reporting back for another update, red, SIR! Hahaha, come on red, lighten up. Ha! Pun not intended… Come on red, crack a little smile, it's funny!

…

… Fine, whatever. Ahem.

This place still seems like it barely follows Kejel's Laws of Reality Parameters. And by barely, I mean, really just barely. I'm pretty sure my math is right, but… hold on, I'm gonna check again…

Jesus. Yeah, yeah, pretty sure it's good still. Okay, this place… if we're using the standard Hume scale, I'm pretty sure I'm in a reality where the Hume Field is… point zero… four… ish. Yeah, really, really, really fucking low, so… Like I said above, space-time exists on a very minuscule scale, so my biology is not getting shot to hell and back because of any malnutrition, but that also means… I… I'm actually not sure what that also means…

…

Adding on from the last entry. I'm… I'm not sure how my biology will react in such a low Hume concentration, actually. I mostly worked with higher than average Hume Fields, and the reality benders we tested never had a Field lower than 0.8. This… this is gonna be a first. An all-time first. I remember Site-133's "Prommel Killer", they called it that because it broke the previous theory about the lowest limit of Hume concentration. Really expensive, really weird machine that brought down a small area to 0.4. 0.05 is… yeah.

I was lying. I was lying, last log… I… I'm lying to myself. My own body, and… little red here too… We're about the realest things in this place. And that means… over time… the Hume field's going to want to… equalize, and… I'm… I'm gonna go for now, I have some… some calculation to do again. Red, Anna, take note I'm using Kejel's Second, Third, and Fourth Laws, got it? Use… use 0.05 as the surrounding, my external field as… somewhere in between 1 and 1.4, use the Second Law's error estimation correction, and my internal as… as… as… shit. I'm not done yet.

I am real. I am super-real. Super duper real. Ultra real, the realest guy in a world of no-real.

You have no sense of humor as usual, red. I'm talking about the LSS, red. When we got sent here, I think… I think our reality got cranked up a notch. Red, didn't you pay attention in class? Hey, don't get fucking smart with me, red. Okay, the point is, the LSS surge got us up to… to…

Two months, eighteen days, seven hours.

No, red, not even fucking close, you must've converted Kejel's Third Law equation wrong. Because of the malfunctioning LSS we got blasted by, we're somewhere in between 2.2 and 3.6. Yes, that's good red, that's very good, because that means we have more time than we thought to… to… yes, red, before we fucking DIE, okay?!

Two months, twenty four days, five hours.

About three years. Four, if… If I don't interact too much. If… If I had had an LSS here, I could maybe stretch it out to… eight, maybe, that's best case scenario… But I have… I have to… I… know… but… but… three years. Three years, then it's past the point of no return. Ha. Hahahahaha. I should… I should definitely figure something out by then. I think I still should be pretty good for a while… At least… no, no, I won't be in here that long… I'll definitely figure something out…

Anna, what would we do with a case like this? I need your help, honey. That… that tingling I've been feeling… That's my Hume Field diffusing… My… my reality fading… Three years. I need to stabilize myself within three years.

I've been thinking… Anna and I, we had this theory… Even though the Hume Field is low, it's still a Hume Field. And precisely since it's so low, Hume diffusion should take quite a while. Now if… if I could… contain… recycle the fields, keep the diffusion from spreading too thin, I could… And I could also maybe… it's only a theory, but… It's worth a shot. But that means…

Hey, red. I… I'm gonna have to go for a bit. I want to test something, and you can't come with me. I… I'm sorry. No, no, red, I'm really, really sorry, I want you to come, I do, but… if we're together the diffusion will increase faster… We both need as much time as possible. I need to figure this place out more, and you need to make sure you keep all that info in your head. It's… red, come on. You- you'll be fine red, I know you will, you're tough. A lot tougher than me… it'll only be for a bit, red, but I need to see if I can find a way to keep us alive a bit longer. Maybe even get us out of here. If I can contain enough field, I can… I can maybe even get us out. No, no I'm not sure, but I need to find out. Red, we're talking about possibly escaping, okay? Yeah, it's a gap. A gap should have an end, like a… like the walls of a canyon, understand? I need to find a wall, and then, and then I can…

…

I'm sorry, red, I hope we're still friends when I come back.

…

I'm… I'm going now… I'll see you soon.

…

- Close.

Six months, ten days, five hours.

Hello again, little red. It's been a while.

You know… thinking back… I don't know what the hell I was so excited about. This place is… god, this place. This place is is fucking… hell.

There's no end. It just goes on. And on. And on.

I traveled in one goddamn direction for two, damn, months. God, I'm so fucking stupid, why did I think I could get out? I'm thinking like those old European shits that thought the end of the world was at the horizon. Fucking stupid, Robert, stupid, just-just- GAAAAAAAAAAAH—

If I let myself fall down long enough would I eventually hit a bottom?

Ten months, 28 days, 15 hours.

There's no bottom. And fuck you, red.

I'm sorry, red, don't go out, I'm sorry I turned you off, come back, come back, please—

… I turned 40 today. Happy birthday, Robert.

I was adopted, did you know that? Yeah, my parents left me in a box on the side of a street. Got picked up by some American couple, which explains my not-so-Chinese names. I don't even know my original last name. Just thought I'd share. How about you, red?

Anna and I met on-site in 1988. God she was beautiful. She still is. It was our eyes. She has beautiful eyes. My eyes are grey, they're boring, but hers… God they're beautiful. Do you think… Do you think she's still worried about me, little red? Is she looking for me?

You know, red, you're a great listener. But I never hear you talk about yourself. Come on, don't be shy, there's no one else around, right? Hahaha, right? Hahaha… hahahahaha…

"I'm sorry, Robert, I'm afraid I can't do that." Hahaha, red, you're hilarious.

Were you married? Kids? Any family at all? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Come on, red, I won't judge, just… talk to me, please. God, my head hurts. And my feet feel like they've been asleep for forever.

I worked at a comic store as a kid. So much cheaper back then, and I got free stuff at the end of each week. I liked Spiderman the best.

I was in a box, side of the street.

I… what the fuck… no. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, red, have you seen my picture? The picture red, Anna's picture, where is - come on, come on, where-where- Anna! ANNA! ANNA! Where did - no, no, no, no, no, please, please no, anything but, PLEASE.

It's fading, she's fading, she's fading, please, Anna, no, please, come on, sweetie, stay here, it's too soon, it's TOO SOON, my math isn't wrong, it's NOT WRONG, YOU SHOULD BE FINE. ANNA, ANNA, I can't hold you, come back, Anna, sweetie, honey, Anna please, I need you, I need you, please, please, don't go, I'm here, I'm still here. RED GET HELP. Anna, please, please, don't go, don't -

Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. [Dr. Scranton repeats this for three hours.]

Anna and I got married in '91. We couldn't really get the nicest suit and dress we wanted because of work, but, damn, we both looked great. Anna looked better, of course. We just danced, and danced the whole night, got the whole week off. Even a job like mine lets you enjoy your honeymoon… So, come on red, open up, put 'er there, high five. Come on. Come on, red.

One year, two months, twenty-seven days.

…

…

AAAAAAA—

[The next recordings only play the control panel's automated voice giving times, with intervals of one to three days, with several month-long gaps in between as well; also intermixed are Dr. Scranton's sobbing, screaming, and mumbling. These recordings continue until the time reading reaches two years, seven months, and 28 days, after which they cease to pick up any sound until two months later.]

#scp #SCP 3001 #red reality #scp fandom #scp foundation #part 1 #posted from a pile of leaves #let them eat rakes

[jackalito]

This is why I personally fight!

2019 was not a great year for me. But to explain why, I must first wind the clocks back to June 2018.

So, here's the thing. My best buddy, someone I loved as though he was my own brother - my best friend for over 25 years, was admitted to hospital halfway through 2018. After experiencing an array of weird symptoms, doctors found there was a tumor in his head. At that time we didn't know whether it was benign or malign, but one thing was clear, he would need brain surgery to remove as much of it as possible. And, since it was located in the area of the brain responsible for communication, he would have to be awake during the procedure.

And so he went through it, and did so like a champ. He showed us all how brave he was at that time. Surgery was a major success - the neurosurgeon in charge couldn't be happier about it, and my dear friend began to recover from the process very quickly. However, he wasn't out of the woods. Not yet.

The results of the tumor biopsy revealed it was indeed malign, and extremely aggressive. As soon as he was feeling strong enough he was discharged from the hospital, and soon after he started his treatment: chemotherapy and radiotherapy at the same time. That's how aggressive his cancer was.

And then, in the following months, it's when he truly showed us how strong and valiant he was -men are brave-. He fought cancer like a Spartan for half a year; being able to spend most of his time at home, with his loving wife and two kids. With all his family and friends. But the disease was relentless and after a few months it was clear to the doctors that the treatment was not working as it should have.

February 15 2019, a day I will never forget: he finally moved on and found some peace away from his pain, as the cancer finally put him to rest. It was devastating for all of us who were lucky enough to get to know him well for years - to share a part of our lives with him, and enjoy his passion for life and how funny, and ingenious, and generous, and kind he was. It was at the same time kind of a relief to know he was not in pain anymore, because in those last weeks before he passed away, even morphine wasn't all that efficient.

I was lucky enough to be one of those people who got to know him well. I was there with him when he first met the love of his life. I was there with him when he met his parents-in-law for the first time (I remember he was so nervous that day he asked me to accompany him).

I was there with him when he got married, when his kids were born... And when he got admitted to hospital with the most terrifying possible news, I promised myself he would not be alone.

I would come to pay him a visit every day in the afternoon, and I would not leave him until the visit time was over in the evening. I would bring him entertainment: movies for him to watch on his tablet, magazines about sport cars or video games, even some simple presents to surprise him. And above all else, I would keep him company. I would also give his wife a lift whenever she needed it. I was simply their friend.

For weeks I went to see him to the hospital every day, until, after having recovered from surgery, he was discharged. Then, I would often come over his place to see him and his family. His wife would ask me to stay with him when she and the kids (still very young) weren't around so that he would not be alone. I'd fix him some food, help him go to the bathroom, walk with him, watch a movie together, just like we had so many times before through the years.

And then, he was gone. And I, who have myself been fighting a chronic disease for a decade -although not in the slightest as fatal and terrible as cancer is-, felt empty. Like a hollow shell. Symptoms of my own condition got worse, and due to a complication regarding a hemorrhoid related issue, I almost bled to death just a month after my brother had passed on. I had to be admitted to ER, and I was given three bags of blood. Doctors and nurses kept telling me I was lucky to have such a young and strong heart. But, at 41, in that precise moment, I wasn't feeling that lucky. And no, I didn't want to die, but it somehow felt like I no longer wanted to live either. Or, at least, I didn't care about whether I lived or not. Yet, I endured and I kept fighting. Because I knew my friend would have wanted me to -he wanted me to-. Just as he had.

After spending a week in hospital, I was discharged. I'd need to see some new doctors, so I did that. And in june, just a year after my bud had been admitted to hospital, I finally got the surgery I needed. The procedure itself was successful, and just a day later I was back home to start my recovery. However, only two days later there was a complication - not grave, just painful. It made my recovery all that more painful because of it. That's all.

But you know what? Now, I embraced the pain. By then I was already taking just a tiny fraction of the painkillers I had been prescribed. Pain was my dark passenger, a reminder that I was still alive, and now I really wanted to live. Pain was a necessary evil for me back then, if you will. I wanted to show my loved ones -including and particularly the one I had just lost-, that men are still good. I needed to show my friend I was going to be resilient, because I knew he was watching over me.

The good doctor who performed the surgery was shocked when I confessed I wasn't taking the dosage of the medication I was given. I just told him that I could cope with it and wanted to keep the pills to a bare minimum. He wouldn't understand, but I did.

I haven't mentioned this yet, but due to my syndrome my pain threshold is way lower than the average. So, yeah, it was hard, but totally doable. Was it worth it? Damn right it was!

So just a few days after that conversation with my doctor took place, I quit the painkillers altogether, and finished my recovery without them.

2019 was also hard because more people close to me suffered some accidents and had to be admitted to hospital as well. I don't remember a single year in my life when so many people around me ended up in hospital.

A good friend of mine fell down from her bicycle and broke her leg in three parts - needed surgery. And that happened just two days after my best friend had died.

And my best pal's mom was also admitted to hospital not long after this with pneumonia and a stroke, so her condition was serious, to the point where I even thought she was not gonna make it. Especially after having just lost a son. But she did, and she's still among us, God bless her. I can't imagine how painful it must be for a parent to lose a child.

So last year I thought a lot about Zack. And little by little I started to learn more about his true movie, the one we haven't seen yet. I learned more and more details about all that ugly injustice surrounding a kind soul and artist when he was going through Hell on Earth.

I don't know what it feels like to lose a child. But I do know pain. So I'm now here for him, for his whole family who have been going through something hard to imagine for most people.

Now I'm on the trenches along with all those who have been fighting, longer than me, to get him back where he belongs. To make sure Justice is served for him, his family, and all the cast and crew members who worked their asses off on Justice League.

You guys from the #ReleaseTheSnyderCut movement have become kind of a family to me too. And I look after those I care about.

Moreover, Zack Snyder's movies, particularly Man of Steel and Batman v Superman, became an anchor for me to cling onto when everything else was falling apart. And I know I'm not alone - I've been reading heartbreaking stories, similar to mine, for a while now.

My best friend, Damián, never watched the true Justice League, and I know for a fact that he would have loved to. He was a fan of Zack's movies and so am I.

However, I'm hopeful that, one day soon, when it's finally released and I get to see it, he'll be right by my side, smiling at me, and so will Autumn at her loving family.

#ReleaseTheSnyderCut

#ReleaseTheSnyderCut #HereForZack #WhyIFight #ZackSnydersJusticeLeague #2020Vision

[jlpat82]

Not Our Home

Chapter 3

"Elise, I'm telling you, he is real. I've seen him, and I've talked to him. Look." I glanced around the empty stockroom and pulled a vial out of my pocket.

"What is that?" She asked, as I handed it to her. She shook the vial and watched the brown powder bounce back and forth.

"It's soil, dirt, earth. It's from outside." I told her excitedly. She glanced at me wide eyed, ducking her head just lightly.

"It's what?!" She almost shrieked, I shushed her and looked around panic stricken someone heard her. "Sorry, but what do you mean it's soil. This is forbidden, punishable by death if they catch you with it."

"I know."

"I know you know but I don't think you understand. This isn't like one of your other many trinkets. This is a contamination breech. This, this tiny bit of soil, could be down fall of our entire existence. And here you are happy as lark showing it to me, and if I don't report it that's death for me." She pushed it back into my hand, I felt like I had just been kicked. I trusted Elise with my life, she knew about my underground lifestyle. She knew everything there was to know about me.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just thought." I trailed off.

"That being said, that's kinda awesome." She gave me a wicked smile, I let out a deep sigh of relief. "I wonder what else is out there."

"A whole world we know nothing about." I exclaimed full of excitement.

The day seemed to pass by slowly. Every hour was agonizingly slow, very little product came in for us to stock and we had very few customers in the building.

I watched the clock my last hour, the minutes slowly ticked by. Finally the clock struck six and we could leave. I rushed to my locker grabbing my things quickly. Elise sprinted to catch up with me.

"So are you going to come with me?" I turned to look at her, apprehension filled me.

"Jules, I love that this is happening to you and I'll listen to every word you tell me but I just can't. I can't take the risk of getting caught on this one." I nodded, I knew where she was coming from. She had other people that depended on her well being, the risk was too high for her.

"I understand. Have a safe ride home." I turned and just about sprinted out the sidedoor, not going to lie I was disappointed. I could understand her fears, her worries, if my life was different then maybe I wouldn't do what I doing but it wasn't.

The tube was utter darkness, there was no moon out to guide my way. I ran my hand against the cold plexiglass wall to guide me. I listened to my foot steps echo as I walked home. I was deep in thought, wondering what it would be like to cross paths with menacing creature that the watcher had described. Would I be fast enough to escape? Would I be cunning and be able to outsmart them?

It was then at this point it dawned on me, I could hear another set of foot prints. It was walking a few steps faster coming from behind me. Could it be the watcher? I turned my head slightly to hear better, and I heard foot steps coming from ahead of me.

I reached into my pocket, only to releaize that my pepper spray must have fallen out when I stumbled the other night. I slinked, backing up to the tube side, my heart thumped hard in my chest. The foot steps were close as the sound of metal on plastic started to get louder.

If I stood not moving, whatever they were dragging against the wall would surely find me. If I dropped in a crouching position, there was still the possibility of being caught by the metal and then I would be at a disadvantage. I was screwed, I was maybe halfway through tube, and no way to get help.

I reminded myself to breathe easy, as my heart threaten to burst from my chest. Two on one, and I had little doubt what was in the tubes with me. They had me at disadvantage, if it was who I feared they lived their whole life's in the darkest parts of the underground. I crossed my fingers I was wrong.

I heard one scrape past on the opposite side of me as the other was quickly approaching. I stepped forward quietly, and turned placing my back against the other wall. I heard a the scratching noise pass by just where I had be standing seconds earlier. The foots step began to quiet down as they got farther away.

I felt a sense of relief wash over me, only to be filled dread knowing they hadn't left the tube. Surely they had heard me enter the tube, as I hadn't heard them exit. I was stuck in here, with two people I couldn't see. They had weapons and I had, I had my brain. I would trade that for my pepper spray in a flash.

I slipped off my heavy work shoes, and left them on the side of the tube that the person going away from my building had walked. Hoping if for what ever reason it came back this way the individual would be tripped. I cautiously continued walking the direction of my home. Without my shoes it was deathly quiet, I could only hear my own breath.

I felt something brush up against my arm, it was cool and sharp. In an instant, I heard the individual start to turn, I dropped down. I listened as metal connected with the plexie, I brought my elbow up as I stood, it connect with air. I missed.

However the blinding pain in my ribs told me that whoever it was did connect with me, I dropped to the ground. Attempting to remember how to breathe again when I felt a sharp pain hit me in the ribs again.

"Eh, we got us a girl this time!" I heard him yell down the tube. I pushed myself to my feet as I threw a half ass punch in the inky black night, holding my side. Nothing again as it struck out into the air.

Pain exploded across my cheek and I fell to the ground. I guess I can safely say that the violence in the tubes wasn't just a rumor. I could hear the second set of foot prints rapidly approach.

"Ain't she something, you got her good too. Busted her cheek wide open." I felt something touch my stinging cheek. "She'll still fetch for a good price."

Great, it was just as bad as I thought it would be, they were underlings. They were the worst of the worst in the underground network. These people had no morals and would do anything for quick buck. Ruthless killers, if you happen to have a bounty on your head. They are also quite adept at being able to see in little to no light. I had picked the wrong night to take the tubes home.

"Think she's carrying any?" I felt hands on me in an instant searching my pockets first, looking for money. Then one of them got handsy and started to cop a feel. I lashed out kicking, landing it somewhere on one of them.

He howled in pain as his fiend of a friend started laughing. Something scuffled toward me, he landed another blow on the side of head.

"Bitch!"

"Watch out, Roy. She's a feisty one." His friend got out between laughs, an earthy smell filled my senses.

"Boys, I think you best to leave the girl alone." That voice, I knew it. Visions of him sitting on my couch, I knew it was time to make my escape.

"Back off, yulo. This is our paycheck." A remark echoes through the air. I was crawling away when the scuffle broke out behind me as I crawled to my knees. Pain coursed through my side as pulled up.

I pushed myself to my feet and ran the rest of the way through the tube, I found the door just as I heard screams echo from the darkness behind me. I didn't stop running till I was in my apartment, slamming the door behind me once again.

"Julianne, what are the clothes in the bathroom? You had a boy over and..." She came around the corner and saw me. "What happened?"

"I was cornered by underlings in the tube." I winced as Sasha came up to me and touched my cheek. "As for clothes I can totally explain."

"Well, let's clean you up first." She led me to the bathroom, Sasha poured some alcohol on to the towel and pressed to my bleeding cheek. It stung to the high heavens. "I would say sorry but, it's your own fault taking those things at night. You're lucky you got away, very few escape underlings, and you of all people know that. So how did you do it?"

"The watcher, he showed up." I winced, as she bandaged my cheek.

"What?"

"If you would stop, I'll explain." I said pulling away, she crossed her arms waiting. "The man from the outside of the tubes, he was here last night. Those are his clothes, I was going to throw them in the wash but someone would of seen me. So I hand washed them and hung them up to dry. After I was jumped in the tube he showed up again. That's how I got away."

"So your mystery man saved your skin?" She asked, giving me a look that said she wasn't believing me. "How'ed he get in then?"

"I don't know!" I almost yelled. "You can not believe me all you want, but these are his clothes."

I frantically searched my pockets for the vial of dirt to show her. It was gone, I became more panicked at the realization that one of the underlings must have pocketed it thinking it was drugs. If they knew what they had I was in bigger trouble then I was in already.

"Oh no, it's gone. Shit." My voice was high and tense.

"What's gone?"

"The dirt, it was in a small glass bottle, it's soil from outside and they must have taken it." I ran to the door.

"You are not going back out there!" She argued following me. I turned to face her at the door as I was opening it.

"I have to get it back!" I stepped out while still facing my sister and ran right into the watcher. I stumbled back clutching my side as pain seared through it, he caught my arm before I fell back on my butt.

"Are you okay?" Concern in his face.

"Uh, yeah. I think so." I winced, holding the ribs that had been kicked.

"No, you're not. You're hurt." He walked in and closed the door behind himself. Shielding his eyes he walked me to the kitchen. He pointed to the table. "Sit."

I did as I was told, I watched him walk over and turn the lamp on. He flipped the over head light off, my sister stood by the door her jaw gaping open in shock. He came back to me and attempted to lift my shirt up. I fought to push it back down, his face became stern.

"Let me see your ribs." He ordered, something in his voice told me not the argue. I took my shirt off, heat rose to my face.

He placed his large hands on the light blue purple bruise starting to form. I looked at him, he wasn't this close before. His skin was pale, and his face held the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow. Blood was lightly smeared on the his cheek but I didn't see any wound. His hands were also covered in someone else's blood I presumed.

He smelled of earth and the coppery smell of blood, a whirlwind of other scents I didn't recognize. He pressed lightly on the spot, I pulled away as a sharp pain followed. He reached around pulled me back toward him.

"Stop moving." He mumbled, I flushed up as he pressed his hot hand against my side again. Instinctively I pulled away, my face knotted with confusion and pain. He put his hands on the table, looking back up at me from under his brow. "If you don't stop moving I can't fix your rib."

"It hurts when you press on it." I replied softly, making eye contact. They looked golden this evening with ivy flecks streaking through them.

"You have a broken rib, I know it hurts but it will keep hurting if I don't set it." He reached back around, pulling me back towards him.

"How do you know she has a broken rib?" Oh look, Sasha finally found her voice, I thought.

"I can feel it." He placed his hand on my side again. Slowly his hand started to heat up as he applied gentle pressure at first.

"How can you set it? Doctors can't even set them, they just tape you up and send you home." She bulked at him.

"Cause, I'm not a doctor. I'm genetically modified." He replied cooly, his hand became very hot, and the pressure started to hurt immensely. I managed to stay still, not to pulling away this time. "Good girl."

"What are you doing?" My sister asked again, watching in horror as she could see the pain through soar through my face.

"Fixing her rib." I saw him roll his eyes this time.

"Yeah, I got that but how?" He looked up at me again, I could see the annoyance on his face. A sudden wave of pain hit me like brick, knocking the breath from my body. I became light headed, he was quick to reach around and keep me in place.

"It's almost over, kid. Just hold on a bit longer." He murmured, heat spread out in my side as I felt a crawling sensation. "I pushed the bone back into place and  now I'm accelerating the bone growth."

"How can you do that? That's impossible." She admonished, the crawling sensation eased up. My side was warm, and he removed his hands from me.

"All done, kid. Just take easy the next day or two." He told me me softly, and smiled while I took slow deep breaths. I pulled my shirt back on as he turned to face my sister. "What part of genetically modified didn't you hear? I'm not like any of you, I can see, hear, smell, and do things you can't. Example, I can tell you broke five of the small bones in your left foot, probably around the age the seven. It was never set right, it gives you problems after you get off of work because swells and hurts."

"You're right. We were pretending to fly in our bedroom, Sasha jumped off the top bunk and land on a toy house. The doctors said nothing could be done and taped her foot." I replied sliding off the table clutching my tender side. Sasha's eyes widened as she brought her hand to her mouth. "What happened to the underlings?"

"The what?" He asked, turning to me.

"The guys that attacked me."

"They won't be bothering you, or anyone else, any more." His voice was cold and flat. His face was stone, no emotion this golden eyes changed to bronze in an instant as he looked over his should to me. In my gut I knew, being on the wrong side of this man was a very deadly place to be.

"Who are you?" Sasha whispered.

"They called me Reaper." He walked slowly to the door. I rushed past him, not ready for him leave. I wanted to know more, I had to know more. I slammed my body against the door and pain burned through my ribs. "Damn it, kid, I told you to take it easy."

I slid down the door, the pain was unbearable this time. It was hard to catch my breath, Reaper lifted me off the ground. Shaking his head he took me back to the kitchen and laid me on the table. Placing his hand on my side again, he look me in eye the storm in those eyes had vanished and they were golden again.

"You're lucky you didn't break them again. You can only fix someone's bones so many times." His eyes were tired, not like ready to sleep tired. Tired in away when you've seen the world collapse and die, and every one you is know and have care about has left his earth. Where fighting for your life is a daily struggle, I could of been reading to much into it but I could only imagine. "No more slamming yourself into stationary objects, I have to go. The lights are killing my head and the walls are closing in around me. You need to go to sleep."

With that he turned and left, I didn't move from the table. I watched him as he closed the door behind himself. The room was quiet, I slowly sat up and looked around. My sister seemed as confused as I was.

"Well, you finally brought a boy home, I think we should celebrate."

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[pbandjesse]

Im real tired. I somehow lost the last hour. Just laying here. I am going to try to go to bed very soon.

I did not sleep well last night. I just couldn't turn my brain off. I think I fell asleep around 2. So getting up at 8 when my alarm went off was not going to happen.

I sort of half slept until 10. A little before 10. I got up and took a shower. I tried to not feel miserable. I had really wanted to work in my studio but I just couldn't shake it off.

I had a small breakfast. And I packed a lunch. I mostly just hung out on the couch. And then I decided I would just go to work. I left the house at 11. And got the bus pretty quickly. I was at the school by 11:30.

I spent my time there making some posters with our daily schedule and with some jobs. I made a whole new system which ended up working out really well and the kids seem to very much respond to. I did some cleaning and organizing. I'm mad at a few of the kids pieces that had accidentally gotten left behind. It was a nice morning.

Fitsum came around 1 and I got a little annoyed because he had made a lesson plan and just didn't send it to me for whatever reason. So even though I wrote one I wasn't going to argue. I'll just save it for later. But then Tiffany talk to him and we are going to possibly be switching teachers. I'm going to stay with 4th grade and fitsum might be moving too 5th. While Liz will stay with 5th and Mister Dee will come to 4th grade with me. That could go either way. I like Dee. I'm just hoping that it'll be a positive change for everyone. We'll see what happens.

But today would be the same. I went and collected the kids and then we went over our new rules and we made a class agreement and it was really good. They were really responding to us and being very respectful today. It felt pretty awesome.

We went out to recess and was cold out but I have some nice conversations with the kids. Couple of them confided in me about how they knew I would listen to them. And it was really nice.

Dinner was fine. They had french fries and they let me get some french fries too. So that was exciting. The kids cleaned up the tables and then we headed to the classroom to do art.

We decided that on our schedule 3:45 to 4 would be quiet instruction time. And only gets stuck to that basically. There was a little complaining and grumbling. About when we would start actually making art. But I think being consistent with the schedule is going to help them with some of the behavior issues that we tend to come across.

And having the 45 minutes of solid art time really seemed to work for them. They never really seemed to get bored in it. And even the ones that finished a little too fast I was able to redirect them a bit. We just drew and it was really good.

Cleanup could have gone smoother. My new system for who's in charge of cleaning up what got a little Askew. I think it's just going to be repetition of explaining what the cleaning groups me in. But in general it went really well and I'm very happy with how today went.

I took the kids to pick up. And there was a couple issues because one of my students had a watch it went missing. And the mom was saying that the kids were thieves and all the stuff and I promised I would shake them down tomorrow. And then 20 minutes later she comes back because they were halfway home and my students covered the watch was in his pocket. Which is what I said. That it was probably in his backpack or something. But whatever. And then we spent the next hour and change hanging their work for the show next week.

Honestly it all looks great. Me and fitsum we're basically done hanging all of our stuff at around a quarter to seven. So after some fussing with the tape and putting sculptures in the case in the hallway we headed home.

I got in the door right at 7. I that sweet pea and I have a sandwich. And then I messed around with my 1998 Furbys. I put batteries in Pascal, the baby oh, and he has the sweetest voice. He's calls me Mama and giggles and sings. His ears move which I was excited about. And I was hoping that he would communicate with Pongo but she was having issues turning on. So I had to do some vinegar wipe Downs of her battery pack to get her to turn on and then because she doesn't talk they didn't really communicate. But that's okay.Lil John will not turn on. I think I have to take the skin off and manually restart the motor. Because she's in a down position and not sleeping position? At least that's what my research has shown. I still don't feel completely comfortable doing that but we'll see what happens. I might try that on Saturday when I have the day off.

I played with those for a while and then watch the video. At 8 I went down to the basement to work on some art finally. I traced all of the watercolor flowers I have made and cut them all out. And I'm very pleased with how they look. Talking to Jess I think a tentative plan is that we're going to do one wreath a month. So this will be a much smaller scale project. But I want to be able to spend more time on the research and the sketching and all of the parts that go behind this project. So this one will be for the month of January even though it's mostly done at this point. I want to get some more research done for one's going forward and not rush. And if I can make more than one a month that's fine. But Jess is also doing it actual Hands-On part and she works differently than me. So I don't want to rush her either. Or make her feel like it's homework. It's supposed to be a fun thing.

I went and checked the mail and the Magnetic eyelashes I had purchased came. They are very silly. I cut them in half because I felt like they were too long. And it's definitely a look. Maybe for like a special event or something but I can't imagine actually wearing them for more than an hour or so. It's a very bizarre product.

I've been laying in bed for a while now though. Trying to get this post done trying not to be distracted by sweet pea. I really just want to get some sleep.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to wake up and work on some art again. Maybe clean something. Teaching all afternoon. Finishing hanging up our art. And then I'm supposed to have dinner with James. I have Friday and Saturday off. We were going to go to DC to go to the National Gallery on Friday but the government is still shut down. So I probably am not going to see that Rachel Whitehead show. But that's okay. I think we're going to try to do something else on Friday and then we might go ice skating. I hope it's just a nice day what's my favorite guy. Sleep well everyone. Stay warm.

#ootd #work #furby #good day #wensday #in progress #art #drawing