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ivybucky · 3 years

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dog tags and photographs - s.r. x fem!reader

Request from @moonstuffsteve : OK OK BUT CAN I REQUEST A STEVE FIC WHERE READER IS LIKE WASHING HIS UNIFORM AND FINDS A PICTURE OF HER IN THE SUIT AND GETS ALL HAPPY AND LIKE STEALS HIS DOGTAGS AND STEVE THINKS ITS THE CUTEST THING EVER THANK YOU

a/n: this was adorable and just so domestic so thank you Al! I’ve fallen into a nice little writing routine recently and ive been cranking these requests out like they’re NOTHING. as always, thanks for supporting my writing and fics i put out- i really want this blog to turn into something great, but i need to work on it a little bit more.

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author: abby<3

words: 1385

cw: mention of stress, rough mission, domesticity, worry

Y/N smiled to herself as she listened to her boyfriend’s snores echoing through the apartment, something he swore he didn’t do. She had half a mind to record it, but the win wasn’t worth the fight.

She picked his uniform off the ground of the bedroom, shaking off whatever dust she could. His undershirt was thrown across the room next to the bed. She gathered it in her arms before looking towards his sleeping face. His hair had stuck to his forehead, sweat and dirt acting as an adhesive. Her nails picked at it, brushing it away from his face, before laying a sweet kiss to his forehead where his brows were drawn up with whatever dream he was having.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to wash Steve’s uniform. While he was definitely a gentleman, who would never make her do his laundry, Y/N took pride in doing this for him whenever he had a rough mission. He could sleep off the stress while you made sure he woke up to a stress and responsibility-free environment.

She huffed, walking towards the washer, making a mental reminder to set his combat boots out to dry the mud he tried to avoid tracking in. How many pockets does a combat suit need? You don’t see Nat with this many pockets. She knew how Steve was, how he had his own knives, and tools scattered between the fabric of his uniform. Opening every pocket was more of a chore than actually doing the washing, but it was part of the process.

Her hands brushed over soft paper, different from the usual metals that she found from extra bullets to blades. No, this was soft, pliable to her working fingers. She tugged the gently folded piece from his chest pocket. Curiosity grabbed a hold of her, urging her to unfold it and inspect it carefully. It was a photo of the two of them, when they had gone out for her birthday in the last month. He had pulled them to the park, stopping by her favorite store, and then taking a stroll. Y/N had convinced him to take pictures with the self timer on her polaroid, leading to him keeping the photo.

She hadn’t expected him to hold to it like this, folded neatly into the pocket of what he wore whenever he was away from her. She smiled, remembering how he had wrapped his arms around her that day, resting his chin at the juncture of her neck. Happy looked good on him.

She set the photo down in the basket she used to keep his things together, reminding herself to ask about it later. The washer rumbled slightly as the heavy fabric sloshed in the water.

“Sweetheart?” He called through the apartment, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hi sleepyhead,” she wrapped her arms around his middle. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Where’s my-”

“In the wash, don’t worry about it.”

“Wait,” his back stiffened in panic. “Is it already running?”

“Baby, I said don’t worry I got everything out of the pockets.”

He paused again, cheeks going a little bit redder. “Everything?”

Y/N only smiled knowingly, reaching up to press a smile to his cheek. “Everything. Now what do you want for dinner?”

He smiled sheepishly, following her into the kitchen.

----

A couple of weeks had gone by and all Y/N felt was guilt. While she knew that she was caring enough in her relationship with Steve, she had sort of underestimated her importance to him. Important enough to carry a physical photograph in his uniform.

And while he obviously had held onto something of her while he was away, Y/N had yet to find something to bring her own self any kind of comfort. Most days spent alone while Steve was on a mission were spent trying to stay busy, to keep her mind off worrying. The missions where he couldn’t communicate were the worst. The only thing to keep her feet on the ground was their apartment. The way his scent lingers on the sheets, the small stack of drawing journals in the corner of their room, the record player sitting in the living room. While they were all things uniquely him, they weren’t close enough, needing to hold more meaning.

He was gone now, hundreds of miles away, doing what he did best - be a hero. Y/N’s knee bounced as she sat back on the couch, waiting for her boyfriend to return. He had sent a message hours ago, saying he was on his way back, saying not to wait up. She knew she would stay away as long as she could though, just to see him when he returned.

She tried to relax, wearing one of his large t-shirts and listening to a soft record as she waited. Time, however, was not kind and only continued to move slowly. With a sigh, she decided to do some chores, any chores that were left, to pass the time. That is when she saw them.

While Steve had amazing leadership skills, he was, in reality, quite forgetful when he wasn’t focused on doing his patriotic deeds. That’s why when Y/N moved to the bathroom to change out the towels and saw Steve’s dog tags on the counter, she paused. Thin metal was smooth through fingers, save for the imprints of his name and service numbers that her thumb ran over gently.

It was bittersweet, honestly - holding the thing that began Steve’s entire career, and not having him there to bring any kind of comfort. She pushed away whatever sadness remained, clutching the chain to her chest as she walked back to the living room. Without thinking too much about it, she slipped the necklace over her head, letting the tags hang just under her sternum.

Suddenly, she had something. Something with much more meaning than a scent, something tangible, something close enough. Her worried adrenaline left her body, and as she settled into the couch, she was able to fall asleep with ease for the first time since he had left.

Steve was almost worried when he entered the quiet apartment. His return was usually met with some kind of fanfare - a tight hug around his neck, a body scan for any injuries, an interrogation of his mental well-being. Tonight though, the apartment remained quiet as he shuffled through the threshold of the front door. His eyes swept over what he could see, finding nothing too out of place. Of course she cleaned. His ears, those genetically modified ears, however, picking up the slight snore, something she swore she didn’t do, of her sleeping form.

His feet carried him to the living room where she laid against the cushions, wrapped in his shirt, clutching his military tags in her hand. His shoulders dropped as he took in the sight, a new kind of relief hitting his body.

He crouched down, a dirty hand gently brushing the hair away from her forehead. “Y/N?”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, brows scrunching at the vibration of his voice. “Steve? You’re home.”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiled. “Want me to carry you to bed?”

Y/N rubbed her eyes as she nodded, tags falling from her fingers. He swept her up in his arms, thanking a god he had strength in his body. Her head rested against his chest, hand trailing over his heart. His mouth pressed a kiss to her forehead, adoring the sight before him.

“You wearing my tags?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb whatever peace she still held onto.

“‘M sorry. Was missing you.”

“Shh, baby, don’t apologize.” He set her body down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over body. “You look better in them than I do.”

He left her to take a shower, but not before she called out for him, grabby hands sent in his direction. “Steve?”

“I’m coming right back, I just gotta wash off. I’m covered in sweat.”

“Don’t care. C’mere.”

He chuckled, slipping out of his uniform and saddling up next to her under the sheets. He kissed her head again, whispering words of love and comfort as she fell back into her slumber.

He had never been happier to fall asleep in his life.

forever tags: @avengers-do-it-better @maisondumepris @hamiltonwrite12

steve and bucky tags: @fab-notfat @mcueveryday @nanners-the-great @mcubuckyandsteve @captainfile @moonstuffsteve

steve only tags: @patzammit

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #captain america x fem!reader #nomad steve?#i just like to look at him #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve rogers request #captain america fluff #captain america fic #captain america request #marvel #captain america #steve rogers #chris evans

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Words: 5,103 Gabriel x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: This is part of a series! Read Part 1 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

The first door standing open down the long hallway was obviously your bedroom, and Gabriel wasn’t shy about stepping inside. At first, he simply stood in the center and glanced around eagerly, bouncing a little on his feet as he surveyed the space.

Cas followed him in much more tentatively, but curious as to what his purpose was.

“This is it, huh?” He strolled over to the small desk in one corner and picked up an open notebook and some loose papers, studying them closely. Apparently, nothing there really held his interest because he abandoned them quickly and started sliding open desk drawers.

“This is—I think this is what humans would call an ‘invasion of privacy,’” Cas said.

“Gabriel, I really don’t think you should—” Cas tried to argue, but the archangel simply shushed him and opened the cover. He ran his fingers over your handwriting—the impressions were deep on the page and he liked the slanting, hurried cursive. “Ghouls in Minnesota, Vampire in New York, Werewolf in Arkansas… This is nothing but hunting notes,” he said with disappointment, flipping through the pages.

“What did you expect?” Cas asked him.

“Something with a little more insight into who Y/N is, perhaps,” Gabriel said, shutting and typing the journal closed again and replacing it in the false bottom of your drawer, kicking it closed with his boot. “Hopes, dreams, roots, deepest secrets… that sort of thing,” he said.

Cas’s brow drew down low over his eyes again. “Knowing Y/N, I seriously doubt you will find any of that in writing in here…”

“Well, that’s just wishful thinking. Best case scenario. I will just have to get creative,” he said. Gabriel spun and looked at the small bedside table. There was a novel sitting on it and he grabbed it, opening it to the bookmark. “Y/N is an avid reader, hmm?” he said, more to himself than to Cas. “This is an ambitious read.” He studied the bookmark which was a folded piece of paper. When he opened it, it was a printed photo of you, Sam and Dean, and Cas. Sam had his arm draped over your shoulders and all of you were smiling for once. Gabriel stared at it for a long moment and Cas watched his expression soften into a thoughtful, faraway look. Finally, he folded it up again gently and replaced it in the novel, leaving it on your side table just the way he had found it.

Next, Gabriel went over to the dresser and glanced at Cas with a smirk on his face. “You know, it’s strange but most humans keep their delicate underthings in the exact same place—top drawer—” he said, grasping the handle.

Cas slammed his hand into the drawer keeping it closed and Gabriel looked at him in surprise. “I really think you’ve done enough spying.” Cas’s voice and expression were stern now, but it only elicited a mischievous glint in Gabriel’s golden eyes.

“Spying? I’m just trying to get to know this Y/N better,” Gabriel argued, doing his best to sound innocent. “I mean, so far all I know is she’s related to the two meatheads and hangs around with you. And, though it may be a surprise to you, that doesn’t actually tell me anything I’d like to know.”

“If you want to get to know her, why don’t you just go visit her now? Or wait and meet her when she’s back.”

Gabriel gave Cas a skeptical look. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Sam and Dean will have no problem with me sniffing around their Baby Sister. They’re not known to be particularly suspicious or protective.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Especially after all those Dead Dean Days…”

Cas grimaced a little at the thought. “Well… you also saved them by facing Lucifer. They will not have forgotten that. You redeemed yourself, at least in part,” Cas said, tilting his head in his familiar habit.

The archangel looked surprisingly uncomfortable with Cas’s sincerity. “Fine. Enough snooping. Come on, brother,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink and you can tell me all about losing your grace and what mortality feels like.”

Cas frowned, but he didn’t object. He was glad just to get Gabriel out of your room…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Several weeks later

You leaned your head back on the pillows and let out a frustrated groan. “UGH! Where is this doctor?!” you demanded.

Sam gave you a look. “I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said gently, trying to placate you.

You threw off your blankets and climbed out of the hospital bed onto your feet, moving a little hunched over as you rolled your IV stand with you.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey!” Dean jumped up and stopped you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay in that bed another minute or I’m gonna lose it!”

“We’re not even sure if you’re going to get released today, so you might as well get used to the idea that you may have to stay in that bed for a couple more days,” he retorted. “So, get back in bed!”

You vehemently pointed a finger in his face. “HEY. You’re not my doctor! You don’t get to boss me around!”

Dean drew himself up to his full height and gave you a severe look.

You didn’t waver. “I’m not scared of you!”

This drew a laugh from Sam and when you glanced over he was shaking his head. “Y/N, please just at least sit down. I’m sure the doctor—”

“—is in!” As if on cue your doctor strolled through the door, you chart in his hand. He gave you a big smile. “Alright, Y/N. Hop back up on the bed again, would you? Let’s see how you’re doing.”

He hadn’t even examined your incision yet and the words were spilling out of you. “Can I go home today?” you asked urgently.

This elicited a laugh from him and he gave you an appraising look. “As soon as I know, you’ll know,” he said diplomatically.

You tried to be a good patient and sit perfectly still as he checked your incision but you couldn’t help fidgeting and chewing your bottom lip. The doctor straightened back up and crossed his arms. “Well, no sign of infection. Incision seems to be healing nicely, so—” “YES!” you exclaimed.

“SO,” he continued through a smile, “I’m going to release you but with very strict instructions. I need you to really hear me right now, Y/N. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“NO lifting anything heavier than a few pounds—you know what, no lifting anything, okay? Absolutes seem safer with you. And you are NOT to be doing anything physical for 3 more weeks, at which time you can start with some easy physical activity. Long walks, some stretching, that kind of stuff. And you will need to get another post-op check-up around then too.”

You nodded. “Okay. I got it.”

“Now, your brothers here ARE now in charge since I can’t be there to keep you in line,” he said, a knowing smile on his face. He must have overheard you and Dean from the hallway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you argued.

“I’m not kidding. You need to let them take care of you. And you two,” he said, pointing at Sam and Dean in turn, “need to make sure she rests.”

A gruff laugh escaped Dean. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “I’ve been dealing with her for only about a month. You two have been dealing with her for a lifetime,” he joked, shooting you a glance.

“I’m right here, you know!” you burst out. “I can hear everything you’re saying!”

The doctor laughed and held out a hand to you. “Y/N, it’s been a pleasure to watch you recover. Now be well, and rest.”

This time you didn’t have anything snarky to say and just grasped his hand in yours and shook it. “Thank you. For… not letting me die and stuff.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Gentleman,” he turned to Sam and Dean who both shook his hand and thanked him repeatedly. “The nurse will be in shortly to take care of that IV and check you out. Take care.”

You watched him go with a triumphant smile on your face. Sam and Dean both looked a little anxious, however. “Oh, come on, guys! He said I’m fine. We can go home!”

“You heard the doctor though. Seriously, Y/N. You’re on house arrest,” Dean said forcefully.

“Whatever. I don’t even care. Just get me out of here,” you said climbing down to your feet again. Soon a nurse came in and removed your IV. You kicked Sam and Dean out of the room so you could change out of your hospital gown for the first time in what felt like years. Another few minutes and you were stepping into the hallway, a huge grin on your face.

Sam shouldered your bag and gave you an appraising look. “You alright?” You were still a little hunched over. Straightening up completely still made you sore.

“I’m great,” you said. “Look! I’m wearing actual clothes!” You glanced down at the sweatpants and t-shirt you had pulled on. “Sort of.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling at you fondly while shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want me to go grab a wheelchair? It’s a bit of a walk.”

You scowled at him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” Dean said, the gravel in his voice deepening. “You’ve only done short walks around the floor.”

“There is no way in hell you’re getting me in a wheelchair.”

You managed to make it out to the Impala, though Dean had insisted on driving right up to the exit to pick you up. You slid into the back seat and sighed. “Oh, I missed you, Baby,” you said out loud, sinking in to the familiar seat and breathing in that particular smell that always made you remember road trips and hunts and late-night cheeseburgers.

Dean smiled at you in the rearview mirror. He lowered his voice and turned to Sam. “You talk to Cas?” he asked in an undertone.

“No. It still just keeps going straight to voicemail,” Sam said. “But he texted me again… to explain the origins of pineapple,” Sam said, a tight smile on his face. “It took like 30 texts.”

“What the hell is going on with him? He’s been weirder than usual.”

“Well, he has been trapped at the bunker alone for kind of a long time…” Sam said.

“He could have talked with us if he would ever answer his goddamn phone,” Dean countered, turning onto the highway. “Maybe he’s finally cracked.”

“Who?” you asked, leaning forward and resting your hands on the back of the front seat.

“Nobody,” Dean said. You scoffed.

“That’s convincing…” you said under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Why don’t you just focus on getting all healed up and let Sammy and me worry about everything else, alright?”

“You know, it’s weird, but my cells do that part pretty much on their own. It doesn’t require much conscious thought on my part. So, if someone has cracked—”

“Nobody’s cracked,” Dean said gruffly, hands steady on the wheel.

“You just said—"

“I just said nothing for you to worry about,” Dean said finally.

You let out a frustrated growl and changed tactics. “Fine. I’ll change the subject,” you said smugly.

“Thank you…”

“Any news on Gabriel?” you asked loudly, sinking back into your seat comfortably.

There was a long, silent pause from the front seat and you could see that Dean’s grip on the steering wheel had tightened.

Sam turned partially around, one arm on the seat back and looked at you. “You know there isn’t.” “No, I don’t know that. You two are obviously keeping something from me, so I think it is fair to assume you’re keeping other stuff from me too.”

“We really don’t know anything about Gabriel,” Sam said, sincerity written all over his face.

You chewed your bottom lip anxiously. Sam took in your expression. “Have you—seen him again?” he asked.

“No. No, nothing like that but since that happened, I just have this feeling—he said we would be seeing each other again and it’s like, in my core, I know that’s true.” You looked up and caught Sam’s eyes, they were steady on your face and narrowed slightly in concern. “I know that doesn’t make any sense and I know you and Dean said he’s gone but it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. “For now, I guess we just have to wait…”

Many hours later, Dean finally pulled the Impala into the underground garage at the bunker and opened the door for you. Inside, an archangel and a graceless angel perked up as they heard noise in the garage. Cas shot upright and glanced over at Gabriel, who only smiled serenely back at him.

“Showtime!”

Cas gave him an apprehensive look and started off in the direction of the garage immediately. Gabriel followed, but at a leisurely pace, seemingly completely unconcerned.

But Cas didn’t know that this was mostly an act. There was a strange sensation in Gabriel’s chest and it was growing the closer he came to the moment when he would see you—meet you—for real this time, not in some mind dreamscape. He couldn’t even explain to himself why but he felt that this moment was going to change everything for him in some way—he knew no reason why that would be true. He had been fascinated with you since he first became aware again and had been thrust into some role connected with you… but he had this feeling, like a heavy block of cement in the middle of his chest sitting on top of his heart which was maddening in its oddity. It was like expectation and something more had solidified and despite all his trying he couldn’t shift it.

Dean pushed through the door into the bunker trailed closely by you, and then Sam hauling your bag and his own. “Cas?!” Dean roared. “Are you alive in here?”

Cas came hurrying around a corner in the hallway and his expression stopped all of you dead in your tracks. His blue eyes were wide and his face was quite pale, further making the shocking blue stand out.

“…what’s going on?” Dean asked. He was immediately reaching for his pistol.

“Don’t panic, but there’s someone here—”

“How is that supposed to make me not panic?!”

“Cas, do I need to get Y/N out of here?” Sam demanded over your shoulder, already trying to move around you to shield you protectively.

You were surprisingly quiet and Dean looked over his shoulder at you. Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Cas, who is it?” you asked quietly.

He only swallowed at the tightness in his throat and opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but no sound came out. You felt like you didn’t really need him to answer anyway. You already knew.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

A second figure now came around the corner and Dean dropped his duffel bag where he stood, his fists clenched.

“Welcome home, Winchester Clan!” Gabriel said cheerfully, his arms spread wide.

There was just a stretch of tense silence between all of you which the archangel finally broke again. “Dean, if you wouldn’t mind just stepping a liiiittle bit to your right so I can—”

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you here?!” Dean demanded, his jaw tensing.

“That’s how you want to start this?” Gabriel asked, a grimace on his face. “Come on, Dean. I’m here to help. I’m not here to kill you over and over again. Not this time. I promise. Scout’s honor.” He made a small cross over his heart with one finger. Gabriel tilted his head, trying to look around Dean to get a better view of you, but it wasn’t necessary because the next moment you stepped around him slowly.

He couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his face. You found the golden light in his eyes staggering, just as you remembered it from your vision.

“…you,” was all you could get out. Sam and Dean exchanged a tense glance.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet and slipped his hands into his pockets, actually the result of nerves, but he was hoping it just made him look nonchalant and nonplussed. “Me.”

“You’re—but you’re… What are you doing here?” you asked quietly.

“I told you we’d be seeing each other again, didn’t I? You didn’t believe me?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at you. You didn’t answer, just peered at him intensely.

He inclined his chin a little as he studied you. “Here—” he said. He moved around Cas and started toward you but was immediately met with loud yells and threats from the Sam and Dean causing him to stop abruptly and raise his hands, palms out. “Guys, guys, guys! Would you two just chill? Really! After all we’ve been through… I’d like to heal what’s left of that nasty gunshot wound if Y/N will let me. Or are you opposed to that? Because she’s in a lot more pain than she’s letting on. I’m guessing she’s hiding it so you two won’t go all crazy protective over her for the rest of her life.”

“No, I’m not!” you argued. Gabriel gave you a skeptical look.

“I can feel it,” he said. When he spoke those words there was something almost desperate in them. “Let me heal you. Please.”

You swallowed hard at the nervous lump in your throat and stepped around Dean again, giving him a small glance. “It’s okay,” you said.

Gabriel stopped right in front of you and gently touched two fingers to your forehead.

You straightened up immediately and breathed in a deep breath, completely filling your lungs, something you hadn’t been able to do without pangs of pain since you’d been shot. Your shoulders relaxed and you gave him a grateful but perplexed look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome home,” he said again, but this time it was quiet, like it was only for your ears. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the fingertips that had just touched your skin. They felt strange, almost like the sensation when your foot falls asleep.

Dean suddenly interrupted the moment by pushing past Gabriel and heading toward the front of the bunker at high speed. Cas turned and jogged to catch up with him, wilting a little under the scowl Dean sent his way.

“Cas, you couldn’t have given us a heads up?” Dean asked angrily.

“You don’t think I tried? He broke every single phone I had and all the new ones I managed to get a hold of. And it’s not exactly like I could just fly over, is it?” he finished bitterly.

Sam stopped next to the two of them and dropped his duffel bag. “So… all those weird texts weren’t from you,” he said with sudden understanding.

Cas looked confused. “What? Weird texts? No. What weird texts?”

The Winchesters and Cas suddenly heard laughter behind them and turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. Their expressions were stern.

“Oh, come on! That series of texts about the fuzzy toilet seat lid covers? The ‘bedtime thoughts’ texts? Pure genius on my part. You have to see the humor in this!” Gabriel simply watched as the muscles in their jaws twitched.

Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Goddammit. What the hell is going on?” He turned and looked to Sam who was still just staring in Gabriel’s direction with somewhat wide eyes.

“It’s really not that complicated, Dean. I was sent back to watch out for Y/N. And that’s really all I know.”

This caused deep wrinkles in both Sam and Dean’s foreheads. “Okay, first of all, your definition of ‘not complicated’ could use some adjustment. I would say a DEAD archangel coming back to life is pretty complicated. Second, why does she need anyone more than us watching out for her?” Dean growled.

“Well, seeing as she was just shot and almost died I don’t think I need to really answer that question,” Gabriel snarked back.

Dean’s jaw and fists tensed and Cas stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from attempting to throttle the archangel. Gabriel only smiled serenely.

“That wasn’t their fault,” you argued, having just appeared behind Gabriel in the doorway, feeling sick again because you knew your brothers were already blaming themselves. “It could have been any one of us.”

“But it wasn’t,” Gabriel pointed out.

You looked suddenly weary. “I don’t know why we’re still talking about this at all. I’m completely fine. Better than fine now that I’m magically healed me up. I feel like there are more important things we should be discussing.”

Gabriel raised a finger, like he had a sudden idea. “You’re right. Chiefly, I need to know everything about you. Your likes, your dislikes, formative childhood experiences, deepest darkest secrets—”

You crossed your arms over your chest and were about to snark something back at the archangel but Dean beat you to it. “Alright. That’s enough!” he growled. “You were supposedly sent here to protect her, not be a total creep. You’ve just met her and you’re already trying to invade her privacy,” he said gruffly, his green eyes piercing on the angel’s face.

“Well, technically I think he already—” Cas tried to stop himself but it was too late and your eyes snapped over to Gabriel as he winced and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. Your mouth was hanging partially open and your expression was incredulous.

“What the hell did you do?” you demanded. When he didn’t answer and only shrugged vaguely, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown, you turned to Cas again who was doing his best to look anywhere but in your direction. “Cas… Cas! Look at me!”

Gabriel spun and locked his eyes on Cas as well. “Brother, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet…” he said through his teeth, keeping a forced smile fixed on his face.

“We all know you aren’t good at lying, Cas. Even a lie of omission. Are you really going to lie to me? After everything I’ve just been through?” You purposely tugged on his heartstrings and walked toward him so he had no choice but to glance at you as you moved closer. “Cas, I almost died. And you’re not going to tell me what this archangel who is supposedly here to watch out for me was up to?”

Gabriel shot you a look that was both a little stunned and impressed. “That’s low,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him and then turned back to Cas again.

You could see the internal turmoil crescendoing until it finally burst out of him. “He went through some of your things in your room. I tried to stop him but—”

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed, his jaw clenching with anger. Dean shut his eyes against the rising tide of rage and his fists tightened. `

Your jaw dropped open again and you turned back to Gabriel and away from a very conflicted-looking Castiel. “What the hell!?” you demanded angrily. “Haven’t you heard of privacy? What exactly gave you the right to go through my room?”

He looked a tinge guilty for a moment before rearranging his features into a questioning expression. “Well, I think I should know a little about my charge—”

You shot a glare at him that was piercing and Gabriel felt his throat tighten. “Your charge? Let’s get one thing straight right now… I’m not your ‘charge’. You do not get to boss me around or make decisions for me.”

Gabriel tilted his head and gave you a peculiar look. “Well… strictly speaking I don’t think that’s true… You see, I’m supposed to protect you which means that I get to decide—”

You interrupted him angrily. “No. No, you don’t get to decide.” You looked at Cas and your brothers who all looked pretty unhappy about what had just played out. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” As you started down the hall, you heard his footsteps following behind you and as you reached the door to your room you spun to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

Gabriel looked around as if he was expecting you to be talking to someone other than him, but he saw no one else. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m just doing my job. You said you’re going to bed so I’m going to watch over you and—”

You angrily bit the inside of your cheek. “No. You’re not. You can stay the hell away from me while I sleep. You’re not setting foot in my room again.”

“Oh, come on! Y/N, please. You’re not really mad about—”

You turned abruptly and slammed the door in his face. Okay, so maybe you were really mad… “You know I can just appear in your room! I’m an archangel. An oak door isn’t—” The door whipped open again and you stood there fuming.

“Go away.” Your voice was quiet but Gabriel could easily hear the anger in it and for now he decided just to back off. You slammed the door in his face again and he sighed heavily, running a hand back through his hair.

Sometime later, Cas wandered down the hall and found Gabriel sitting on the floor, his back up against the wall just beside your shut door, his legs stretched out in front of him. Gabriel looked at him as he approached.

Cas didn’t say anything, just took a seat beside the archangel on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring at his shoes. Gabriel broke the silence first. “Look how far I’ve come,” he said, his tone clearly sarcastic. “I used to lead legions and now I’ve been assigned as some kind of glorified babysitter and here I am, a fallen archangel, sitting on the floor outside her door.”

“You probably wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor if you hadn’t botched that meeting with Y/N so spectacularly,” Cas mused. To his surprise the archangel actually laughed and glanced over at him.

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that, Castiel.” Gabriel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “I have a tendency toward self-destructive behavior.”

“When I was an angel, I mean—with my grace, so did I,” Cas said. “Perhaps there is something about being so-called ‘immortal’ that makes us reckless with our own lives.”

Gabriel sighed again heavily. “Perhaps.”

Cas looked over at him and he could see genuine worry on his brother’s face. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine in the morning. She’s tough. Strong. But kind-hearted. She’ll let you make up for it.” Cas fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I see such a mixture of Sam and Dean in her.”

This only drew Gabriel’s brow down more deeply. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I was sent to protect her, but I do know how reckless the Winchesters are with their lives. And all without a single drop of grace.”

Cas’s lips curved ever so slightly in a thoughtful smile. “Yes. But selfless.”

Gabriel glanced over at his brother and felt a pang in his heart for his graceless friend. “Do you miss your trench coat and suit?” he asked him.

Cas’s eyes lifted in surprise at the question and he glanced down at his sweatshirt, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve. “I do. But… it felt wrong wearing it somehow. Like being in a suit of armor while not on the battlefield.”

Gabriel nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he broke it. “I’m sorry for being such a dick since I arrived. All the phones… all the lying… all the snooping. It’s strange to say but I had a level of-—anxiety,” he tilted his head in a question, not even entirely sure that was the right word for what he had been feeling, “about meeting Y/N. And I still messed it up.”

Cas sighed again and patted a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow is a new day.” He climbed to his feet and looked down at the archangel, a strange sight sitting like a child on the floor during time-out. “Tomorrow. Goodnight, brother.”

#gabriel fanfics #gabe x reader #gabriel one shots #archangel #gabriel series #supernatural #spn fics #spn fanfiction

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nostalgiaruinedme · 3 years

Note

📓 !!!!!!!!!!!

Unwritten Fanfiction I Daydream About:

Actually, I have my own version of TMNT Ive been planning and eventually wanna write and draw about. So Ill talk about that because I really really want to.

However I don't have much of the main plot planned yet so you guys get bullet point format of random scenes and character ideas I have for it!

Age order for the turtles: Leo (16), Donnie (16), Raph (15), Mikey (15)

By the time the story starts, the turtles have actually been working on taking down TCRI for a few months now. The "random labs" being destroyed are them trashing the stuff that the group is having being build for them. However they do not know that that group are aliens or about the Kraang yet

Donnie is really really extroverted in this version and while he likes inventing and building and learning everything, he is also obsesed with human culture. Think Ariel from the Little Mermaid, collecting random stuff in the sewers and geeking out about what life is like for humans instead of mutants.4 He also is not afraid to break the law and has created an ENTIRE fake identity for himself just to enroll himself in online university. He will sneak out to public events with hundreds of humans to spy on them from the shadows and his brothers have to drag him back home on a weekly basis. “Donnie plz stop ur gonna get us exposed!” “but they’re so interesting!!!!”

Mikey and Raph are actually twins. Like, biologically. I spent way too much time researching twinning in turtles for this but when it does occur, one is often way smaller and weaker than the other, and that twin usually dies... but not always. Raph was born the smaller one. Getting mutated kinda put him on a more level playing field to his brothers and he’s a lot stronger now, physically the strongest of them, however he does have some health issues related to that. He will attack you if you mention this and hates whenever anyone mentions that or acts like they exist... which is obviously an issue when he actually needs help.

Leo is the oldest and unofficial leader BUT he is extremely quiet and spends a lot of time in his own head. There comes a point where he kinda steps back from being leader because his team kept getting into trouble because he’d start plans without explaining anything well. He doesn’t talk a lot but eventually learns to let his brothers in on his ideas.

Leo expresses himself way better in writing. He prefers not to talk and will text people in the same room as him just because it’s more comfortable for him. If he has something big to tell his family he almost always writes it down. His room has an entire bookshelf stacked to the brim with journals he’s completely filled out with everything from his messages to his family, stories, diary entries, poems, EVERYTHING

Along with working out and fighting, Raphael documents every single battle and major conflict they have through his sketchbooks (though he’d rather die than admit he has them). He only lets Mikey see those though.

Mikey is a huge theater nerd and loved putting on one man shows when he was younger, and still does that often. He’s very musical and actually good at it.

April is a high school junior who just got an interning gig at Channel 6 News. It's a shitty unpaid "bring me coffee" type of deal, but she is DETERMINED to use it to climb up the ladder and start her dream career early. She decides that if she can investigate and write a news story that will have people talking about it for weeks, then they'll have to offer her a real job. She just has to find that one crazy story no one else but April O'Neil can do...

So what better thing to investigate than the decrease in crime throughout the city, seemingly innocent science labs being trashed, and why the criminals REFUSE to talk about who is leaving them tied up? And why the ones who do talk seem to have been hallucinating or something, with how crazy their stories are.

April is actually a bad guy at first because she does try and expose them on several different occasions and gets really freaking close to it. Eventually she befriends them and redeems herself, but for a bit she is a legitimate "villain" in the story.

I'm bringing Danny (from the 90s movies, not Dastardly Danny sorry Rise fans) back in this. He's the son of one of the reporters at Channel 6. He's quiet and introverted and kinda just hangs around the building all day every day, helping out his Dad or just because he literally has nothing else to do. April, like the proper extrovert she is, adopts this quiet guy as her friend and drags him around on all her crazy investigations while he begs her to have common sense

Irma is April's classmate (and an actual person) and April has a crush on her. Irma is oblivious to everything.

Casey is Irma's cousin and April's childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a LONG time. They come to visit New York one day and follows April around to find the perfect opportunity to surprise her that they’re here to visit. However, April is being stalked and watched by other bad guys at this point, so the turtles kinda assume Casey is also a bad guy and kidnap them- great first meeting!! Casey doesn’t like them at first.

CASEY IS NONBINARY, DANNY IS ACE, APRIL IS BI, AND IRMA IS A LESBIAN i haven't decided what I want the turtles to be yet and this is all subject to change

Okay yeah that's all I got

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #my tmnt #asks #thanks for the ask <3 #ask game

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream II

Paring: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 097

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool; Summary: His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

It's Cool

My escape from everything

Please say you'll be my nothing

And I will give you everything

Man, you are really something else

On Friday nights, Iris spends time alone. She lives in a relatively small apartment near Central City U’s campus where she makes peanuts as a teaching assistant while she completes her journalism master’s. Her weeks are long and arduous, what with attending her own classes and all but teaching the ones she assists. Her evenings are often spent eating turkey sandwiches with one hand and completing assignments with the other. And when those are done, she logs into her blog, What a Life You’ve Lived, and types up the stories people send to her. That part doesn’t make her tired; no, she likes being able to tell others’ stories, likes that they trust a woman they’ve never seen to tell their lives in a way that they might not ever see.

But it’s still why, on Friday nights, she pours herself an overfull glass of wine, fills a pipe bowl with some of the marijuana she gets from the dispensary by Linda’s place, and orders Thai food while she watches something from her Netflix or Hulu queue or sometimes she listens to music. She’s already showered, wearing a pair of green silk shorts and a matching tank top, pretty cream piping along the top of the tank and the hem of the shorts—she doesn't always dress like this when she’s home alone; she just likes the feeling of the silk on her skin when she’s high—and her hair is already wrapped and tied with her scarf when the doorbell rings. She frowns at the door because she’s only just ordered her pad Thai noodles and those spring rolls she likes, and there’s no way the delivery is there yet because she always sets the order for when she’s sufficiently intoxicated.

She figures that it could be her brother Wally or even Linda because they’ve both been known to drop by without calling. A touch annoyed, she goes to the door and swings it open, ready to go off for interrupting what they know is her self-care night. But then she’s stopped short, the music still playing in the background—you caught me at an awful time; see i just lost my smile—because it’s him.

Iris’s liquor-soaked memories don’t do him much justice because there he is, live and solid. He is tall, even taller than she’d thought as she stands in her bare feet. He’s lean, the dark jeans hanging off his hips and his plain gray shirt showing off the corded muscles in his arms. There’s a tattoo sleeve on his right forearm, a complicated bouquet of flowers that doesn't take away from the masculine energy he exudes standing at her door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She can tell now that his hair is brown and a little bit messy, as if he constantly runs his hands through it. She does a quick scan of the rest of him: dark moles dotting the skin of his throat, thin pink mouth, the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow covering the cut of his jaw. It’s still his eyes, though, that gets her. It’s not only the color of them—somehow blue with hints of moss and gold or maybe they’re like moss with hints of gold and gray—but it’s the way he’s looking at her too. Like they're always searching, and that is what you helped me find; hadn't seen it in a while, looking for what she won't reveal.

She knows that her night set only just covers the swell of her ass and dips down in her cleavage. She knows that she’s scrubbed head to toe in her rosewater body butter. But he, he looks at her like he knows it too. Like he sees all of the tawny brown skin she’s not showing, like he’s seeing something, something more than the wide set of her full mouth and the whiskey chocolate of her eyes.

“Hey,” he speaks, and there’s nothing particularly memorable about his voice, but the tone of it is low, and it sends an involuntary shiver through her.

“I know this is weird,” he continues, “and you can definitely tell me to leave. But I didn’t have your number or even your name, and I’ve been thinking about you all week and…” He tapers off, and Iris lets her eyes travel up the length of him once more.

“Wanna come in?”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to ask—okay, maybe that bit about thinking of her all week helped—but when he nods, a smile easing on his face, her heart starts doing that seizing thing again.

She steps aside to let him in.

He sees the shoes she’d worn to work sitting by the door so he toes off his own sneakers beside them and Iris has to stop herself from acknowledging what they look like next to hers. Instead, she watches as he takes a look around. She’s proud of what she’s been able to do with a consignment shop and limited funds. The focal point is an overstuffed sofa in a light gray and its matching armchair; a multicolored rug with bold hints of sage and orange lies under the dark circular coffee table which is the same color as the bookshelf against her wall, the six shelves teeming with books, as well as the TV stand. She’s got some early artwork by a few Black local artists on her wall, a couple of her favorite quotes printed and framed next to them.

The room feels smaller with him in it. While Iris is no nun, it’s been months since a man other than her brother or dad has been in her home and it feels...strange. The air seems denser somehow, heavy—heavy with the cloud of tension that hovers around them, heavy with the knowledge that the print of this man is still one that she can feel in her body when she falls asleep at night.

She notes that his eyes track the grinder and pipe in plain view on her coffee table and when she faces him again, his eyebrow is lifted.

“Do you partake?” she wonders.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Will you tonight?”

His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more.

He licks his lips. “Yes.”

He tells her his name is Bartholomew Allen.

First, she goes into the kitchen to grab another of the long-stemmed wine glass that the professor she works for had given her as a housewarming gift. Then she eases down onto the sofa before she spreads her arm in an invitation for him to sit too. She pours from the bottle of wine and hands him the glass; he takes it from her, fingers grazing hers where they’re cupped around the bowl.

“My name is Bartholomew Allen,” he says, sort of abruptly.

She blinks over at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Your parents named you Bartholomew?”

“It’s a family name,” he adds, and though there’s no hint of embarrassment in his voice when he says it, Iris sees the way his cheeks flush red.

It makes her smile. All she has are the hazy images of him in her head: the way he’d boldly walked up to ask her to dance, how the kisses he’d pressed into her skin had been sure and all-encompassing. There had been no blush to his cheeks that first night when he’d been whispering into her ear; though Iris does recall how the rest of him had turned this same lovely shade of red, like a tinge of wine under his skin, when she had grabbed his ass to push him deeper into her.

In any case, Iris hadn’t thought of him like this, blushing at something as simple as his name and this dichotomy endears him to her.

“But you can call me Barry,” he says after taking a sip of his wine, almost like an afterthought.

“Well, Barry,” she says, “I’m Iris West.”

He looks at her over the rim of his glass. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iris.”

It’s atypical of her, she knows, inviting this man back into her house like this. Her police captain father would warn her that this is the way that women die. Wally would tsk at her with only slight disapproval, more specifically concerned with the fact that she hadn’t bothered to learn his name before she’d let him climb into her bed. It isn’t a habit of hers, one-night stands (or two nights, she supposes, after tonight) with pale-skinned men from clubs she rarely frequents. But that day, last Saturday, she had gotten an email from the professor of her Feature Writing course with harsh feedback on one of her assignments, and Wally, only in his junior year of undergrad, had canceled their dinner, and she hadn’t updated her blog in what felt like weeks and…

And she’s been in such a space of discontent lately, with the rigid monotony of her days, the school and work and school and work, and she has spent more time than she realizes alone. Her best (and really, her only) friend is in the stages of a building relationship and her dad is too. She’s got people, she does, but they seem so tangential these days. So on Saturday, she’d put on a dress that had shown too much of her brown skin and shoes that had given her more legs than most men know what to do with. And she’d walked down along the aptly named Bar Street, past the uh, I won't love a ho, after we fuck she can't get near me, only bitch I give a conversation to is Siri and the so when are you gonna tell her, that we did that too? until she’d come to the door of something sultrier calling out to her, as seductive and enticing as a siren, and she had answered.

Then, somewhere between her third tequila and her ninth or tenth song, hope that's cool; ‘cause i'm really not trying to, impose but I suppose that, i'm supposed to be here, with you, Barry had come to dance with her, with the long line of his body following her rhythm and the pleasing smell of the lemongrass on his clothes and—for the first time in longer than she cares to admit—Iris had begun to feel.

It explains why she let him come home with her a week ago. It explains why he’s in her apartment now.

“Iris?” She hears Barry call her name, and by the look on his face, she knows it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Sorry about that. I space out sometimes.” She points towards her table. “Shall we?”

He looks at her a little unsure, as if he wants to say more, but he eventually just nods in agreement. “Sure.”

She leans forward and grabs the grinder. The first time she smoked weed, she’d been a freshman in college. As cliche as it sounds, she’d had a roommate from Colorado who’d brought a stash with her and had offered a hit to Iris once at a house party. She’d liked it immediately, had liked how her brain had cleared, as if someone had wiped away all the writing on a chalkboard, erasing the mounting pressure of being the first university college kid in her family, of being the example for her brother who was ten times smarter and twice as reckless; had liked how much lighter her body had felt, as if she was floating, lying upon a cloud or somewhere even lighter, even higher.

She’s not a heavy smoker, the practice delegated to her Friday night routine and only in the couple years since it’s become legal recreationally in Central City. Still, she can’t help but feel a little nervous right now as Barry watches her pull the small canister towards her and open it. She makes quick work of pinching out a couple nuggets of the blue city diesel she prefers and grinding it up before packing the bowl of the pipe. It’s a pretty thing, made of glass in a dark green with blue and orange swirls. There is the flick of the lighter, and Iris brings the pipe to her lips and inhales.

She can all but feel the smoke flowing through her body, unbending her spine and relaxing her legs, curling in her lungs and moving to her head, making the thoughts there—the stress of classes, the constant sting of loneliness, and even the simmering tension she feels with Barry next to her—start to scatter until they’re no longer noticeable.

She passes the pipe over to Barry, who takes it from her gingerly, the tips of his long fingers brushing her again. She shivers, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, instead leaning back onto the couch, her legs crossed in the seat, as she watches him. He flicks the lighter a couple of times before it lights, and then he fires at the weed and takes a hit. His skin shades the faintest hint of pink and then he pulls the pipe away from his mouth and coughs, a deep cough that waters his eyes.

“You okay?” she questions. He nods as he passes it back. They do this, back and forth, until Barry breathes the smoke in easier and Iris falls even deeper into the couch. That’s when the doorbell rings.

“It’s the food,” she says and Barry is on his feet before she can even make sense of it. “Wait, I have money,” she tries, standing, because this is a mom-and-pop sort of pace and they still do their own delivery instead of going through the more expensive, albeit convenient, routes.

By the time Iris has grabbed her wallet from her purse, Barry is grabbing food and saying “Thanks, man” to Tony, the tall bearded college student who normally delivers it to her.

“Oh what’s up, Iris?” he says to her when she peeks around Barry’s shoulder.

“Hi, Tony. Do I owe you the same?”

“Oh, your boy already got it.” He smiles, a dimple winking at her in his bronze skin. “Y’all have a good night,” he adds and then he winks at her for real before disappearing back downstairs. She backs up to let Barry in the door.

“Barry, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I’m crashing your night and I’m smoking your weed. It’s the least I can do.”

Iris hums, looking up at him. He’s sort of pretty, she thinks absently, with his eyes like gems and his pink mouth, his expression soft and earnest.

“Come on.”

Iris always orders way too much food, usually with the intent to eat off the leftovers for a couple of meals. It’s a spread, with walnut shrimp, a green/ginger salad, pad thai, Bangkok chicken, and several Thai spring rolls, so it's definitely enough to share. She inhales several forkfuls of noodles while Barry attacks the Bangkok chicken. They eat in relative silence, the music still playing in the background, with eyes are sad, i smile, i think you'll find, you need me just like i need you, yeah; but it's cool, we ain't gotta be nothing, it's true, i'd actually prefer it, yeah; it's on you, it's on you, it's on you.

It’s when they’re done eating, when Iris has placed the containers in the refrigerator and they’re both snuggled deeper into the couch, wine glasses close by, that their night really begins. Iris has packed another bowl and takes another hit. And with a lungful of smoke, she asks,

“What sort of music do you like to listen to when you smoke?”

“I don’t think that I smoke enough to know.”

She hands him the bowl and grabs the remote to the smart tv, pulling up the playlist she’d made for nights like this. It gets longer every couple of days, songs that catch her fancy, songs with beats that sing as much as the artists, songs that seep in like the weed does, running through her like the blood in her vein does. The song plays—and i'm not even gonna front, at first i was just tryna fuck, but you have got me so in love, so deep in love, so please be love—and Iris closes her eyes, savoring the mellow sound of the music.

She takes pulls from her wine glass as Barry smokes and then the actions reverse. They take turns, back and forth, until Iris feels her lids drop, sees the slight haze that covers everything in her sight. Barry is sitting at the other end of the chair, but Iris swears that she can feel him, feel the solid heat of him, feel the touch of him like prickles on her skin. When she gazes over at him, positioning herself so that her back is against the arm of the chair and her painted toes just miss Barry’s thighs, she finds that he’s looking at her again.

“What?” she asks.

He shakes his head, indicating nothing, and the movement is slow, stilted. But then he asks,

“How do you feel, about my showing up here?”

She shrugs. “Surprised,” she tells him. “That you wanted to come; that you remembered where I lived.”

Barry chuckles, a low, gentle sound. “I only remembered because of the wreath, the sunflowers.”

She doesn’t add this, though a surprise, is not one she dislikes. She likes his company, even if she can’t name why.

“Barry,” she calls, to grab his attention again, and the way he tilts his head in acknowledgment makes her think more intently on the words of this song—and I'm not even gonna lie, i wouldn't mind if we just lie, together 'til the end of time, if that is fine with you, it's fine with me—and she shakes her head at the thought.

“Hmm?” he hums, eyes never wavering.

“What made you come here tonight?”

She’s sufficiently high now. She’d been careful not to overstuff herself with food and both the wine and diesel have done their job. She feels both languid and like she’s soaring, all at once. The music helps and she’s waiting in anticipation as she waits for his answer.

It’s slow coming, his answer. Before he responds, he touches gingerly at her bare ankles, fingers skimming along the bones of one and then the other. His fingers are warm and Iris feels the light callouses there, shocked at the sensation of the roughened skin on hers, how the touch sends sparks up the lines of her legs. He brings one of her feet up on his lap, and it seems so small in his hands. He presses his thumb into her instep, glides it down to the heel, and back up. Iris lets out a moan, the sound inaudible over the music—definitely love, definitive love—but the tiny uplift of the corner of his mouth suggests he’d heard it, and he grabs her other foot and repeats the action. Then he says,

“I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory.”

He trails his fingers up her left calf, still kneading her right foot. “I kept thinking of you,” he tells her, “about the taste of your mouth and the grip of your slick, and I had to know if I was only drunk and making it up.”

It’s the sensations that make her respond the way she does. It’s the easy purr of keyboards she hears behind Jhene’s dulcet voice; it’s his touch, how it seems to reverberate through her entire body; it the smell of him, of the room: the fainting smell of the smoke and the rosewater butter on her own skin and what she imagines it’ll smell like mixed with the scent of him that she remembers, the notes citrusy and bright.

“Me too,” she tells him. “I woke up on Sunday and I could still feel you. You were gone and much of you was a memory, but the feel of you was still there and…”

(and I wanted you to still be here, wanted to make a lasting memory, a real one, that would keep me warm when school and wavering friendships couldn’t)

But she doesn’t say any of that. Barry has all but mentioned he’s come over to sleep with her again and she can admit that the thought does have immense appeal, even if it’s not the only thing she thinks she wants from him.

She leans up and moves her ankle out of his grasp; he raises an eyebrow at the loss of contact, but then she widens her legs and reaches for him, grabbing at his shirt to pull him on top of her. He comes willingly, hovering above her, holding himself up with one arm on the top of the couch. All Iris can think about is the weight of him on top of her, how guarded it makes her feel, how secure.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice quiet against the strain of the music from the television set, though she’d been the one to pull him in. He presses his body down, and her legs part automatically, craving him there again. She can tell that he’s high, in the red of his eyes and in the slow ways he’s talking, weighing every word before he lets it out.

“Yes,” she responds, just as quietly.

This seems like a moment here, one Iris can’t make sense of, not knowing what he’s here for. But he’s looking at her like she’s something, like he sees her, and it’s, it’s electrifying.

So when he leans down and kisses her, she leans up and gives it back, letting his mouth work her over. Barry is a good kisser. He starts out easy, slow, just his mouth moving against hers. His lips are soft and he tastes like wine and, somehow, the sex she knows they’re about to have, and the thought makes her close her eyes as she gives herself over to him. He licks at the seam of her lips, bites down her bottom one, and then licks at her again, demanding entry. She opens for him, eyes fluttering closed as he takes full control of her mouth. He sucks on her tongue, and then her lip again, and then he’s back to working her over with his mouth, the kiss wet and sloppy, increasingly erotic.

He is hard between her warm thighs, the solid long length of him, and she has to touch him. She rubs her hands down his back, over his cotton t-shirt, and then up under, along his spine. He shivers on top of her but doesn’t stop kissing her. She keeps one hand running up and down his back, loving the feel of him beneath her palm, and she fingers along his torso with the other, light touches that make his belly clench, that make his hips flex into her. He hums into her mouth, a sound more like a low growl, and it vibrates through her body, moving until it pulses between her legs. She moans in response, and it is that that breaks the kiss. Barry pulls back to look at her, and she likes that he looks a little bit wrecked. He stares down at her, drinking her in, and she knows what he must see: her thighs parted, with the hem of her silk shorts riding high; one strap of her top hanging off her shoulder, her breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath; her full lips puffy and likely red from his bites; her eyes wide and blown, the dark of her pupils slowly overtaking the brown of her irises. Even her scarf has half-fallen off, and she should care that her hair will be unmanageable tomorrow. But when Barry tilts his head with a question, she lets him take it off and toss it onto her coffee table, and then he leans up, eyes never straying from hers.

“Barry?” she calls but pauses at the look in his eyes.

He fingers at the bottom of her top. “Take it off,” he tells her.

She responds to the slight command in his tone, clenching her stomach muscles as she leans up just enough to pull her tank over her head. He’s kneeling between her legs now, looking down at her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples puckered under his gaze. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and she’s ready. It doesn’t make sense, how responsive she is to him, but she is, even when he’s just there staring.

“Barry?” she calls again, and she thrusts her hips, infinitesimally. It makes him look away from where he’s trying to memorize the weight of her breasts, the smooth tawny brown color of them, the darker areolas, and even darker nipples.

“What are you doing?” she asks, when he doesn’t respond to her.

“Looking at you,” is his too calm answer.

She nods, but huffs out a little breath in annoyance. “Okay, but can you…” fuck me, is the obvious response, but it doesn’t come out as that; instead, it’s another thrust of her hips, her constantly swelling sex rubbing his hard thigh. Barry licks his lips and looks down at her.

“Can I what, Iris?”

“You know,” she says, and squeezes him with her thighs.

“Hmmm,” Barry murmurs. “I don’t know that I do.”

This time, she catches his gaze, noting the glassy look of his eyes, the color grayer in this light. Iris wants to moan at the sight of him.

“Don’t play with me, Barry,” she grumbles, hoping that if she imbues a touch of menace to her words, he’d go ahead and put her out of her misery.

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to play with you, Iris?”

She can’t answer, because then he’s reaching down and parting her thighs wider, enough that Barry can slide the wide leg of one side of her shorts over and expose her pussy to him. She clenches when the air hits her, and then again when Barry slides the tip of his middle finger down the middle of her slit.

She moans, her breath catching at the end of it when she looks down to watch his pale digit disappear inside of her. He dips in and out and in again, and Iris can’t stop watching it. She’s already wet, and his finger is glistening.

“You sure you don’t want me to play with you, Iris?” he asks her, dipping his finger all the way to the knuckle. He brings it back out, and then begins to rub her own wet over her lips. Down the side of her vulva, up the other side. Parting her lips with just that one finger. Sliding in again to gather more of her slick and start his trek over again.

Beneath him, Iris is...a mess. The one finger isn’t enough; she’s too wet for it and she keeps closing around nothing. But her breathing is only growing more labored and she can't. stop. watching. It should be embarrassing; her shorts are soaked through and Barry is still fully clothed, but she can’t be. The look of his long, rough-tipped fingers playing in the pink of her pussy so wholly arousing that she literally thinks that she can come like this.

“No, I,” she tells him, panting. She licks her lips, tries again. “This is…”

“This is what, Iris?” he asks, his cadence still heavy, and honestly, how the fuck does him just saying her name get her off like this. “Use your words, baby.”

“Fuck,” Iris moans.

Barry has the gall to smile. “That’s one.”

“Fuck you,” she moans again.

“Yeah?” Barry questions and he leans down, pulling his dirty little finger out of her and wrapping that same wet hand—wait, how is his whole hand wet—around her waist. He hovers over her, lips just a breath away from hers. “You ready for me to fuck you now?”

She huffs out a surprised laugh. “God, you’re a little bit of a dick.”

“And you’re ready for it now, aren’t you?”

She gives up on trying to be coy. “Yes,” she nods.

Barry has to stand to get out of his clothes, and Iris tries not to whimper at the loss. He pulls his shirt over his head, and Iris sees that his sleeve of flowers extends to his shoulders. He pulls his pants and boxers down, slipping out of his socks too, grabbing his wallet to pull a condom out before tossing it back down on top of his clothes. She watches as he rips open the wrapper and pulls the latex out, pinching its tip and sliding the condom down his length. He’s long and swollen, thicker, maybe, than she remembers, and she finds herself enamored as she watches him touch himself, fingers caressing the thick head and down his shaft.

“Take those off,” he tells her and she didn’t even realize she still has her shorts on. She peels them off, tossing them to the side, and then Barry is between her legs again. He grips her thighs and spreads them, one knee digging into the sofa close to her chest, the other planted high up on his hip.

He rubs himself along her once, making sure she’s still ready for him, and with a hand gripping her waist, he slides into her. She can feel herself opening for him, stretching to make room for him. He pulls out, just to the tip, and then he pushes back in, deeper, harder, and Iris gasps out a long “oohhh.” He rocks up into her, long strokes, slow strokes, like he’s got all the time in the world. She hears herself, she hears them, the wet sound of her pussy taking him in.

“Listen to you,” Barry whispers as he reaches down and thumbs at her clit. “You’re so wet, baby. God,” he groans. “Do you always get like this?” He fucks into her harder, still maddeningly slow, but fuck if it doesn’t make her swell a little more, gush a little more. “Or is it us? Is it me that gets you like this? Dripping out of that pretty little pussy like this?”

“Fuck, Barry, shit.”

He leans down again, until his chest is brushing her. The action plants him deeper, and he fucks into her, steady, persistent. He’s so close that Iris doesn’t know what to do with herself. He’s holding on to her waist, pinning her down on the sofa, and his pelvis brushes her clit with every downward stroke.

“Bar-Barryyyyyy.” Iris throws her head back, eyes clenched tight as she comes with a low, drawn-out moan, her hips bucking frantically as she squeezes wetly around Barry.

He pulls out of her and starts to move the sofa cushions from the back of the chair. It gives them more room and Barry sits down until he’s half laid out, back against the arm of the chair and legs spread on either side of her, one bracing on the floor.

“Lay on your stomach,” he tells her, “and then push your legs under mine.”

She does as he says, still a little sluggish from her unexpected orgasm. This move puts her ass in the air, and Barry grabs at her hips to bring her back to him. She looks back as he’s lining himself up with her again, and then he’s bringing her down on him, opening her up for him again. They both moan at the contact this time, Iris still sensitive from moments before. But he seems even harder now, even deeper when Iris leans forward to grab onto the other end of the couch. He guides her for a stroke, two, three, until she catches onto his rhythm, and begins to fuck herself back on him. He’s so deep she figures she could feel him hitting the bottom of his stomach if she focused hard enough. She bounces on him, keeping up his slow pace, and he gives her a hard squeeze around the waist for her efforts.

“That’s it, Iris,” he murmurs. “Ride me slow just like that.”

She’s always liked dirty talk; there’s something fully stimulating about a man making it known that he’s enjoying being with you. But this, this is different, and Iris can barely stand how much she’s turned on by him talking to her like this.

“You feel so good, Barry,” she tells him.

“Yeah?” He juts up into her, faltering a rhythm, making her fall even deeper into the sofa, making him fall even deeper into her. “Tell me what it feels like.”

She licks her lips, swallows. She’s never…

“It’s just me and you,” he says, sensing her hesitation. He stills her hips and straightens his torso, bringing her up as much as she can. He turns her head so that he can see her eyes. He moves away the hair that’s fallen into her face and gives her a quick peck on the mouth. “It’s just us, okay?”

She nods, and moves back into the comfortable position, back to grinding down on his dick, squeezing around his dick.

“Shit, Iris, that’s it.”

“You feel good,” she tells him again, firmly. “You’re so thick, so hard, I can’t even…” She falls forward again, and Barry gives her one hard slap down her ass cheek. “Barry!”

He soothes the sting with the palm of his hand, rubbing in small circles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet in my life,” she confesses, softly, truthfully. And that must have been what Barry was waiting for. He takes over, holding her hips in a death grip and he pounds into her. The slap-slap of his skin on hers is loud, the squelch of her wet, profane. She can feel her belly tighten again, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is imminent. Barry’s is too, she can tell. His movements are more erratic, slow and then fast and then slow again until reaches out and presses a thumb to her puckered hole peeking back at him. That’s the end for them both. Iris screams out, her back arching deeply, just as Barry stills and empties into the condom, his dick throbbing against her walls as he does. She falls face forward into the sofa, still sitting on Barry, trying to catch her breath. It’s only then that she notices the music still playing from the television—infinite love, yeah; i've been wrong before, but this time I am for sure; it's you; something you did made me feel it deep in my core—and she asks for Alexa to turn the television off.

That throws the room into stark silence, except for the sound of their heavy breathing. She doesn’t know how long they lie there, but Iris thinks she could be almost asleep when Barry shifts up and out of her. She knows that she’s likely gonna have to deep clean the sofa tomorrow.

“Iris,” Barry calls moments later, and she turns her head to the side to see him standing beside her, his soft sex sitting on his thigh. He must have thrown the condom away already.

“Hmmm.”

He chuckles. “Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and we can go to sleep.”

She nods slowly, and sits up, letting him take her hand to lead her into the bathroom. She tries, though she can’t say how much she succeeds, at telling herself that this, that this is nothing.

And it's cool

Think that we're up to something

But it's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, 'cause I'm cool with nothing, yeah

'Cause even nothing is something

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nctsiren · 3 years

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Thank you for turning on anon uwu for the ask game thingy can I ask these for all of the girls? daydreams, caress, ivory, golden, freckles, twilight, poppy, clouds, roses, lollipop, dimples, whisper, pencil, honey, velvet, strawberry, kiss, shampoo, lace, sapphos?

hewwo anon!!! thank u for requesting!! i’m sorry it’s late :(( hope you enjoy, nonetheless!! i enjoyed writing it 🥺

daydream-

hyeyoung: “i think i’ll say joan jett or debbie harry!! i admire them a lot, i love their music, and i think it’d be fun to be a rock singer.”

mila: “i think it’d be nice to be beetle. i’ve always wondered how his mind works. being a dog seems cool”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “seulgi unnie!! i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be perfect ;)”

caress-

hyeyoung: “i love to snuggle... i like when johnny lays between my legs with his head on my chest. it makes me so happy.”

mila: “yes... but i play hard to get with some of the wayv members. i feel at ease cuddling with ten.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “there are hundreds of youtube comps of me being snuggly and affectionate .. i just love my members”

ivory-

hyeyoung: “i wear matching sets. like the pants and the button up shirt? or the silk/satin shorts and matching tank tops. i love cute pajamas, i always have.”

mila: “i usually wear a sports bra and boxers or shorts.”

evie: “big shirt and my underwear.”

jimin: “usually a big hoodie and shorts!”

golden-

hyeyoung: “i cannot choose!! i own lots of stationary, and i scrapbook, as well.”

mila: “i’m not really a stationary person. just gimme some lined paper and i am all good.”

evie: “i love a good pen.”

jimin: “AHH i’m a sucker for the cute stationary cards. i like writing letters and notes”

freckles-

hyeyoung: “honestly, i have a pair of black cigarette pants that i love to pieces. i wear them often- they just go with everything and are so comfortable!”

mila: “i... honestly probably this hoodie i stole from lucas. it’s super big and comfy. if i don’t wear it at certain times i feel like something bad will happen ://“

evie: “i have this big, chunky grandpa sweater that’s striped and i wear it to the point where it might start falling apart.”

jimin: “it’s not really a clothing item, but i’ve worn the lily necklace chenle gave me every day since i got it. and my necklace that’s just my name, jimin, in cursive.”

twilight (this is their best friend outside of the other girls)-

hyeyoung: “i know it’s cheesy, but johnny, for obvious reasons... i’m also quite close to irene unnie, as well as jaehyun and taeyong. it’s hard for me to pick.”

mila: “ten.”

evie: “i legitimately cannot pick outside of the girls... maybe lucas... or yuta... or doyo... i don’t fucking know.”

jimin: “chenle- i’m stuck with him.”

poppy-

hyeyoung: “pink. i’m not even much of a pink girl, but pastel pink is lovely.”

mila: “is... pastel orange a thing? i see it in my mind, but i don’t know if anyone else can.”

evie: “green. green is my favorite color in general, all shades.”

jimin: “lavender and periwinkle are my favorite colors outside of grey and white.”

clouds-

hyeyoung: “it was me alone in a practice room, but the room had large windows in it and it was so light. i was dancing- there was no music playling, but i still was. i felt so happy, and i stopped after twirling because johnny had arrived and he just smiled at me with so much love in his eyes.”

mila: “i honestly don’t remember my dreams, but i remember how i felt during them?”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “all of my dreams are weird and i don’t have a favorite because they’re too bizarre to enjoy.”

roses-

hyeyoung: “red roses... my late grandma, who was the person i loved most in the world, loved red roses.”

mila: “i think... tulips.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “lilies, but not because of my name. my loved ones give them to me because of my name, but i love them because i receive them from my loved ones LMAO”

lollipop-

hyeyoung: “lipstick is my favorite. nice reds and pinks. i never go dark with lipstick- only dark eye makeup.”

mila: “i love ALL makeup”

evie: “i kind of hate wearing makeup, but i guess i’d pick eyebrow stuff.”

jimin: “mascara and blush! i like the heavy blush look.”

dimples-

hyeyoung: “my favorite thing is when i see people’s eyes crinkle when they smile. smiles and lips- oh, lips- are so beautiful.”

mila: “i love the variety of expressions that people can show even in a matter of seconds. i love seeing the range of emotions and thoughts on people’s faces.”

evie: “i love noses. all noses. also, i think facial structures are so lovely and unique. everyone is different.”

jimin: “smiles and eyes. i think eyes are so, so beautiful. i’ve never met anyone with eyes that aren’t beautiful. and smiles are heavenly because seeing a person’s joy written on their face is priceless.”

whisper-

hyeyoung: “i usually get the amount you’re supposed to get. i tend to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. my alarm is santeria by sublime, like johnny’s...”

mila: “i have horrible, horrible insomnia and only get a very little amount.”

evie was answered on my other post!! ++ she also will sleep through ANYTHING even her alarms

jimin: “i either get too much or too little.”

pencil-

hyeyoung: “i bullet journal to plan, and i also write down the things that make me anxious during the day so that i can reflect and see what i could do next time to sooth myself more”

mila: “lined notebooks full of songs that i keep in a specific drawer. if i need to get out anything, it escapes my mind in a song”

evie: “my journals are 10% words, 90% drawings.”

jimin: “i have my song journals, but then i have my jimin journals which hold every intimate thought or emotion i have ever felt.”

honey-

hyeyoung: “baby or love. those are what johnny most commonly calls me. he likes to call me angel, too, and that really gets me :) .. we also call each other chipmunk.”

mila: “i used to hate being called lala, but now i love it. it’s also cute when evie calls me baozi, because i call her shumai. i also like bun.”

evie’s is answered on my other post!!

jimin: “uhh... baby, minmin (thanks, jisung), i like when people call me flower too 🥺”

velvet-

hyeyoung: “my first crush? i saw kurt cobain when i was little and thought he was the most handsome man i’d ever seen- i listened to a lot of nirvana growing up. a lot of people don’t expect me to like things like grunge or rock, but it’s very much my style!! im just shy and don’t dress to reflect it.”

mila: “i watched hercules when i was really little and became obsessed with meg. yup. it was the classic ‘i just thought i wanted to be her!’ but nope. gay.”

evie: “i don’t remember?! i think it was when i was in secondary school, because i didn’t like anyone for a while. just this classmate... and i was a cringe little fuck.”

jimin: “the first notable one i remember was when i was in second grade... i was reading twilight and fell in love with edward. yes, i was reading twilight in second grade, yes when i got to breaking dawn my mom didn’t let me read part of the honeymoon. i also had a crush on bella, and to this day, i would be in a throuple with robert pattinson and kristen stewart.”

strawberry-

hyeyoung: “cherries and strawberries, because they taste best covered in chocolate.”

mila: “mangos are so fucking good.”

evie: “grapes are arguably the best fruit and gumdrop grapes are arguably the best kind.”

jimin: “watermelon, bitchesssss”

kiss-

hyeyoung: “i mean, my first kiss was with a boy i was friends with when i was in america. we had both smoked a cigarette before it (i just wanted to try it) so it tasted bad. the other guys i kissed i weren’t proper friends with, and then johnny.”

mila: “um, ive kissed evie, like, when we were dating. i havent kissed many people to be honest...”

evie: “i kissed mila, i’ve kissed lily (a friendly peck), i’ve ALMOST kissed hyeyoung, i’ve kissed some of my guy friends and girl friends predebut- so, yes, i have kissed friends. and people who aren’t friends. i just like to kiss.”

jimin: “... sigh. renjun, chenle, evie, The Ex We Don’t Talk About, yeri (friendly, like with evie), and probably a few other friends in a non-romantic way? i dunno”

shampoo-

hyeyoung: “my favorite scent is johnny’s versace cologne, his shampoo, and his skin. definitely roses. i also love my perfume smell, clean linen, and i love the smell of champagne.”

mila: “i like the smell of cigarettes... YES i know it’s bad, but it calms me down. i’d also pick the smell of rain, or beetle, because he always smells good.”

evie: “the smell of paint and pencils is so comforting. i also like nature smells. when the air smells cold, it’s so nice. and the OCEAN.”

jimin: “home-y smells? laundry, and warm smells... lavender and florals, my perfume, and the smell of summer nights and bonfires. also any of my members.”

lace-

hyeyoung: definitely a dress person, is definitely in love with the classiness and sleeves of that first one, and is definitely happy about how sexy she looks in that second one.

mila: is NOT a dress person and prefers dresses that she can go braless with and are comfortable

evie: this is just Evie and we all know it

jimin: the first one is cute on it’s own AND with a big sweater/sweatshirt over it, and the second one make her feel like she on a european holiday

sapphos-

hyeyoung: “jiminnie :) she writes such beautiful poetry- i’m very thankful that she chose to share some with me!”

mila: “i don’t think i have a favorite poet, to be honest... i like kate bush, though, and i know she’s a singer, but she’s truly a poet.”

evie: “michael faudet. he wrote a series of poetry books, his first is called ‘dirty pretty things’ and it’s really 18+ but i thought it was gorgeous. i have all of his books.”

jimin: “asking me to pick a favorite poet is like asking me to pick a favorite member- can’t do it.”

#nct siren #nct siren;; q&a #nct siren;; misc #just siren things #hyeyoung shon #mila zhou #evie wu #lily na

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autisticlalna · 3 years

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yo thatd be so cool!! atm probably most of karls lore would involve q and sapnap, they can both pull out all the stops on lore and act so well, that would be so amazing to see. i have no doubt that the three of them could do such angst if they all wanted to and put their heads together on it

and like i mean to be honest that does sound like a lot of creative stuff already fhdgs, esp since you also just put out the entire undercover agents pmv and have made more art and have written at least one inbetween fic since then, you have been making and sharing so much cool karl n spau content :o and like dont push or press yourself but if you did wanna write or draw smth or just dump all your thoughts however you can i would be So Down to hear it, im literally just rewatching the inbetween bit of the vod with spau goggles on (and side note the inbetween Literally Transporting karl back to the main room over and over to restart his progress and give him more messages is so cool and chilling)

there is So Much Potential for after the tales, but so far its basically been like. five minutes of hard-hitting lore, and then mostly goofing off ooc except also semi-ic?

although it did also lead to bits like “connor canonically found the library but doesnt give a shit” and dadboyhalo trying to help sapnap w his microphone while karl beat the shit out of his chair yelling PAY ATTENTION TO ME and then deciding they were both banned from kinoko (which was hilarious and relatable) so ! it just kinda wasnt what it was initially advertised as, especially the latest after stream where it had the REALLY good journal and then the rest of it was karl deciding “okay we are now making propaganda for kinoko bc uhhhhhhhhhhh i want to”

OK FAIR,,, i am just kinda forever in Go Mode when it comes to my interests so it feels weird to be in a bit of a slump where like. i havent done any digital art since finishing the pmv, honestly? like i drew a couple dream designs and the #JoinKinoko poster (which i do wanna like. fully render at some point.) and that feels weird bc im usually Always Drawing or Always Writing and lately i havent been able to do much besides ramble

THAT BEING SAID THO I LOVE RAMBLING talking to you abt all this is v v v fun >w< i have. a lot of love in my heart for shadow people au in general, and honk is one of my favourite characters ive written. and i am going to just... extremely pop off tomorrow once ive rewatched the inbetween vod and also after blaseball elections potentially crunch me like a tin can

#shadow people au #dsmp #tales #:D #(ill be ok im just also emotionally invested in blaseball rn and thats made the past couple days interesting HKFXJLHF)#literally like. a major blaseball event happened at the same time tales started . help.#anyway im like a shark where if i dont keep creating content ill implode #Anonymous #meta analysis stuff #leo.txt

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thevirgodoll · 4 years

Note

Im trying really hard not to, but im hating myself so much for how i reacted to those seeking to get a reaction out me in the past+ toxic ppl ive let in. I try not to think about it much but sometimes my interactions with even strangers/ or ppl in my life trigger me. What are somethings i can do to work through it. It hurts that after all these years im still struggling with confidence. Still working through things i wish i was over. Tired of being this version of myself. Its very draining.

Often times, we are so occupied with kicking ourselves while we are down instead of showing ourselves the same compassion we so freely give others. It does you no good to ruminate over past scenarios that you can no longer change. You cannot change the past, you can only use it as a tool to shape your present and your future. You have to work on forgiving yourself in order to open the door to self confidence. In order to forgive yourself, you have to accept what occurred, take responsibility, and vow to repair the damage. At the same time, it’s important to acknowledge that you can’t unfairly blame yourself for toxic people. The trauma you suffered due to an experience with someone else is not your fault, and you have to affirm yourself by admitting it wasn’t your fault. You can’t anticipate every negative outcome, that’s not how life works. You can’t punish yourself for not being past trauma that has impacted your life. Self blame has toxicity, whether you acknowledge that or not. You need to begin to release your trauma in different ways: exercise, meditation, journaling, tidying up your space. Consume self improvement books, videos, Ted talks. Have that journal for when these thoughts surface, because you can effectively break each thought down and release as you write or type. Journaling will help you seek the rationality you desire. Next, get back to your beliefs, strengthen your faith...you need to connect with what you believe in, so your higher power, your God. You need to take better care of your body by getting enough rest, eating well, and making use of routines that encourage good hygiene, but not beating yourself up when you cannot do so. Try again each day, and celebrate small wins. Get back to what you loved before these painful experiences, and slowly reintroduce it all to yourself. The empty space left needs to be filled with the self love you deserve. Instead of asking yourself why you “let” things happen, ask what you can do to grow from your experiences so things can be different next time. Ask yourself what is wounded inside of you that shapes your experiences. Ask yourself how you can better use your energy, instead of using it to hate yourself. Challenge your critical inner voice with a voice of compassion and understanding. How do you want to live your life from now on? What are your dreams for your future? Stop being a stranger to yourself because of a false perception of who you are. Acknowledge your self hatred, but turn it into a reason to get to know yourself authentically, because you are not your past actions, you are not your trauma, and you are not your shortcomings. You get a chance to start over, so do it. Take the journey with yourself, and stop being so harsh. Don’t lose sight of who your inner child dreamed of becoming.

#answered #advice #mental health

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off-in-the-moors · 3 years

Text

TRC rewrite: Never to be finished scene

Part 3 of my K analyses is slowly eating me out, not in the “Oh, I can’t deal with this~“ but more writing block. While looking through material, I found this scene to the rewrite stuff I was doing. Like “You’ll be fine“, this was a removed scene I was writing for fun. It’s noting big but it plays with character dynamics.

Context: It’s somewhat beginning of TDT and the gang (minus Blue) is trying to figure-out something about the Cabeswater problem, until someone is mentioned.

Ronan loved the idea of summer vacations. To stay all night and watch the stars, to races until the engine over heats, to live, to burn, to finally be. Not school to bug him, no Declan to nag him. Just him and his dreams.

But the last thing he wanted, was to stay late into the night and think about the Cabeswater problem.

They sat around their crooked table, covered in the chaotic mess of Gansey's research and plans. Crinkled maps and strings tied and knotted into a web of secrets yet to uncover, crumbling books and tapes holding up their whole world. Gansey's world. Everything was connected and yet, nothing was.

Lighted only by the few small lamps they had moved from their rooms, the only non-artificial glow in the Manufacturing, they seem almost ancient but real. Too real for Ronan’s taste.

Above the scratched wooden surface, Gansey in his old-man's pajamas, tried to draw on the map of Henrietta a straight line for the fourth time. One and erase, two and erase. His fingers banged on the table between each try, just to do something productive.

Ronan's eyes followed the previous attempts, now faint on pale colors from erasing, trying to understand Gansey's thinking. He slouched down in his chair, burying his head and arms inside his oversized sleep-hoodie. He looked up at Gansey, tired and barely standing from lack of sleep.

One more attempt. A smile spread on his friend's face.

- Here. - he finally said, he's voice almost a whisper.

They could talk louder but didn't. Any louder and Gansey's splitting headache would return.

- If my calculations are right- - They probably aren't. - Ronan cut in, leaning back in his chair. He felt Chainsaw moving in his hood. - The main line goes through here. - he continued like he didn't hear anything. - So we need more. - More what? - Power.

Ronan rolled his eyes.

- It has power. - he grunted. - It flows like it should. - But the forest is in half. Literal half. Not enough to be whole. - And how you want to get more from already awaken line? - By fixing it. Fixing the flow. - How?

Gansey blinked. He looked around for something and finally found Adam walking through the room with a mug.

- Adam? - Call Blue. - he walked pass them. - Adam.

He stopped and sighed.

He put down his mug on a cupboard, their drinking station, and when back to them.

It was Saturday night, the eve of Adam Parrish's freedom day. Still in his dirty jumpsuit, half-open and tied around his waist, and his wash-out red shirt, there was the rare relaxation in his posture. Tomorrow, he'll sit in his room and finish one of his borrowed books, or disappear in the morning and return for dinner.

But it was still today.

He pulled himself a chair and sat down. Crossing his arms on his chest, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

No one made any sound, only the distend clock made its quiet ticks.

His body was motionless, frozen in place, with only his chest rising and falling.

Ronan could feel the unease in the air, he moved his eyes from Adam to Gansey.

Dick watched Adam carefully, rolling pencil in his hands, he was as worried as Ronan. Neither of them liked the idea of Adam and Cabeswater being connected in anyway. They didn't know what the forest was and how Glendower fit into it, but it was the only chance they had to find him.

Ronan glanced back at Adam, feeling anxiety building up inside him, slowly over flowing. He breath in, weeks old dust and used books, blooming mint plants and dried coffee stains. All familiar, all safe. But under it, leaking into the room, was something making his heartbeat dangerously pick up. The smell of fresh moss, evergreens and oaks, mushrooms hidden under mulch. The living and the decaying.

He felt Chainsaw climbed up and cuddling into his neck. He gently stroked her beak, shushing her and himself.

Suddenly, Adam's face twisted. Violently straight up in his sit, he opened his eyes and covered his left ear.

- Okay, okay. - he massaged his deaf ear. - That's enough. Thank you. Thank you. I'll tell them. Thank you, now hush.

Chainsaw cawed, moving even closer to Ronan's neck. He covered her with his hand. "Shh" he told her.

- Adam? - Gansey asked, reaching out to him. Adam raised his hand. He stood up, he's legs were shaking, and went to the cupboard. - It's the flow problem mostly, not enough energy to fully manifest. - he turned on the electric kettle. - Correcting it should partly do the trick. - But how to fix it? - We already know this, Parrish. - Ronan rolled his eyes. - Thanks for being late to the party. - I'm only repeating what it, wants to say, I think. - he stressed, massaging his ear again. - Christ, - he muttered. - Nine years of normal life, and now it's full of sleeping welsh men, magic lines and "Dude, my friend is a ghost!". No offence, Noah. - he said to the air.

Noah wasn't there, or he wasn't visible, or he was wondering around Henrietta. It was never sure with him, the only certain thing was: He was here.

- And - Adam continued. He pour some coffee and sugar in the mug. - I'm now a secretary of a talking forest. - Only nine? - Ronan grinned. - You know, - he scratched his cheek, sounding like he didn’t wanted to answer him. - I once believed in Easter Bunny. - Of all things, - he chuckled. - Easter Bunny? - Don't. - he pointed a spoon at him. - Don't tell me you dreamed the Easter Bunny. - Jeez, Parrish, I don't waste my sleep on kid stuff. - Yes, Easter Bunny, - Gansey bugged in. - But did you caught how to fix the line? - Gansey, - Adam said in a tone only a parent would. - Maybe I'll get you on the line with Mr. Waters to talk it over some tea and try to decipher a hive of voices and rustling, I barely understand, yourself? - So, no? - No clue.

The kettle clicked.

Adam pour it into his mug and stir. Without thinking, he stuck his two fingers into a pot of one of the mint plants.

He sighed.

- Gansey, did you water the mints like I asked you?

He paused. Hovering over the maps, he thought for a long bit, just to answer:

- When was it?

Adam shook his head and grabbed a bottle of water.

- Dicky, - Ronan pretended to be offended. - Not even Richard Mentha Gansey IV? How can you treat your son like that? - Ronan. - At least, Sargent Pepper is getting better. - announced Adam. He rubbed a leaf between his finger. - No more sugar for you. - he whispered to it. - So, - Ronan turned to Gansey. - Back to square one? - No, no, we're not. - he protested, grabbing his journal and flipping pages rapidly. - There are still leads we didn't check, like if the type of shells mean anything or the lake- - For fucks sake, Dick, - he grunted. - We have time- - No, we don't. In few days, I'm off to my parent with Adam and you with Blue have your problems. Tomorrow we- - You, Dick, you. - he corrected him. - I'm going to church and to a family dinner. Blue has her family time. Adam- - I'm busy. - Adam admitted. - Adam has "me time". Maybe ask Noah but I'm doubting he wants to spend his time with you in a library. Chill, Glendower is not going anywhere.

Gansey looked him in the eyes, something inside him crashed and couldn't recover. Ronan knew, Glendower was his life work, to find him, to see the magic and mystery. Ever since they knew each other, he never cared about the wish, he wanted to know, why he survived.

He sat down and laid his head on his arms, sighing. Tired and defeated. His King was crumbling before his eyes.

Maybe... he could just dream him a new one?

- There is something else. - Adam interrupted them. - But I don't understand it. - What? - Gansey asked, looking up and grinning like a idiot. - Cabeswater was repeating something. - he continued. - But I don’t... It sounded something like... Ag draenáil? - Ag what? - Draining. - said Ronan. They both looked at him. - It's Irish. - And "se" or "ef". - HE. - Ronan and Gansey shot at once. - So, somebody is draining the power.

Adam and Gansey looked at Ronan. Chainsaw cawed, backing up in the hood.

- I don't know. - he moved his head to the sides. - Maybe. Who knows? It would make some sense, I'm sure it isn't coming from nowhere, but even if, I haven't dream anything in few days. - Ronan. - Adam's voice was flat but yet demanding. - I swear. - Lynch. - The last thing I dreamed was a made up Blink-182 album for Noah. - You never listen to them. - Gansey reminded him. - How did it turn out? - Well, it was a weird mash-up of Twenty One Pilots and Maroon 5. - Dear Lord. - he groan. - It wasn't that bad. - That's all? - Adam pushed. - Mostly yes.

He didn't want to talk about the nightmares, nor the car keys, or the dead bugs and papers. Patches of asphalt between moss and the feeling of burning. Of wanting to burn...

- So, it's not you. Mostly.

Gansey slapped his hands on the table. He and Adam flinched.

- He. - he pointed at a box, standing next to the front door.

Ronan swallowed. The box was full of fake IDs, leather bracelets and campaign badges announcing "They can't lick our Dick" and "We like Dick". Perfect forgeries. They weren't for him, well not in that sense, it was a warning for Gansey. Or rather a reminder, that he only understood a fraction of him and dreaming.

- Kavinsky? - Ronan asked like he didn't know. - And who else? He surely knows his stupid parties are effecting my- our quest. - he corrected himself. - He's doing everything to spite me. - He likes your reactions. - he tried not to smile. - He is a... - he bite his tongue. - Arrogant, doofus, thinking he's the King of Henrietta, like life is just a music video. The next thing I know, he'll be selling his stupid drugs to the police officers- - Gansey, - Adam scolded him flatly. Not even turning to face them, he continued. - Stop talking about Joseph, like he's the devil incarnated. The worst he does, is his parties. All he talks about is cars and races, races and cars, cocktails and surprisingly, classical literature. - he paused. - But anyways, he's not interested in Glendower, I would even argue, he doesn't even know who Owain Glyndŵr is.

Both Ronan and Gansey stayed silent, as their friend drank his coffee.

- You know Kavinsky? - Ronan shot. Something wasn't right. - Know him?

Adam turned to them, slowly sipping his drink. He looked tired, it wasn't something new but Ronan could swear there was something else in his gaze.

- Yes. - You're joking, - Gansey chuckled but smile quickly disappeared. - Right? - How? - Ronan couldn't comprehend it. - Didn't saw you and him be buddy-buddy at school- - Nor you. - Adam rolled his eyes. - Or you're not saying something, Parrish. - Ronan. - Gansey warned him.

Their eyes meet, blue and grey. The boiling water and the rain-clouds. Ronan didn't know why he was getting angry, there was nothing to get angry about. He felt Chainsaw pulling on his collar, trying to distracted him.

- If you’re so... curious, he always comes to the garage at the end of my shift. - he was calm. - His Mitsubishi beat up or missing some parts. Or just wanting to talk. - he shrugged, tacking a sip. - Quite an asshole. I get why you like him. - I don't! - Ronan. - Gansey whimpered, covering his head with his hands. - Please, don't yell. - Anyways, - Adam continued, unbothered. - He's fine. What, Lynch? Surprised, I know people?

He couldn't articulate his thought, they were racing each other.

A blur.

- Not him. Anyone, but him. He's dangerous and fucking reckless, Parrish, what if he gets you in trouble at school? You can already wave your scholarship bye-bye. Or shit, with police? You'll be weight-off all your jobs, have to sell Noah's Mustang to pay off everything and than get kick out of Aglionby. You can't be friends with him!

Adam flinched a bit but remained calm. He raised an eyebrow, glaring at him.

- What a hypocrite. - he slammed the mug down. Gansey groaned even louder. - Listen, Lynch. Let me decide, who I'm friends with. I know, what I'm doing, I know the risk. - But- - But what? - he cut in. - Pissed that Joseph isn't just yours little secret?

Ronan didn't response. Squeezing the table's edge, his knuckles when pale, he could barely sit in place. Chainsaw buried herself into his neck, cawing softly she was doing her best to keep him calm.

He hated that Adam's face didn't change, they could as well be talking about the weather with his melancholic expression. Understand, understand, he didn't understand a thing.

- You won't answer me? - Adam asked, tilting his head. - Fine. - he shrugged, crossing his arms. - As you wish. Don't worry, I won't replace you. - Oh, I don't fucking care! - he exploited, storming out of his sit. He stopped in front of Adam. - It isn't about me! I don't want him near you!

Adam flinched at his outburst. Angered flashed on his face.

- Is that so? - his voice was shaky, but he kept going. - Or do you don't want me near him? - Either way is fine! - Why does it matter? - Because your life matters!

Silence.

They all looked at each other, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Adam opened his mouth but quickly closed it, his eyes glossy. He sighed.

- You also matter.

They all jumped.

Noah appeared on the counter next to Adam, his face serious.

- And he. - he added, looking straight at Ronan. - Don't ever say otherwise.

Before Ronan could say anything, Adam grabbed his mug and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Ronan cursed Niall in his mind. He and Gansey traded helpless stares. Gansey rapidly stood up and announced:

- I'm gonna talk with him. - Gansey. - Noah wanted to say more, but Gansey cut in, already halfway up the stairs. - I'm gonna talk with him. - Fine, but after that, go to sleep. - seeing Gansey wanting to say something, he added. - You had only four hours. - again. - I counted, with naps.

He just nodded and tripped over last steps.

When they heard him entering Adam's room, Noah turned to Ronan.

- Ronan, - he started. - What?!

He shook his head, slipping down with a strangely fluent motion. Ronan often forgot he was a ghost and even more that he was older than them. Now, it was almost like the time caught up to him, he looked and moved more mature, reminding him of his brother. He grabbed his arm, cold fingers biting him even through the sleeve, and sat him in a chair. He moved one for himself and sat in front of him.

- I know what's going on. - he said. - You know shit. - Really? - he snickered. - Ronan, I'm always here, I see and hear everything. I'm trying, trying not to be nosy, to let you guys live your lives as you wish. But, you hormonal dumb-asses. Just wow. Between Gansey's embracing handling of his crush on Blue and your "friendship" with Kavinsky...

Chainsaw picked up and flew through him. Cawing, she made few circles around the room, before she returned to Ronan, sitting on his lap. She puffed up her feathers.

- Tawsheh. - she cawed. - Olk.

"Taibhse olc" Ronan corrected her in his mind.

- Níl taibhse olc. - he scolded her. - Dona. Tá Noah cara.

She made a sad caw. Ronan patted her but still angry, at her and himself.

Noah looked faded, a mist in the air. Broken bones and blooded sweater and messy hair. His expression didn’t exist, like he didn’t exist.

Ronan scolded himself for thinking that. Noah was here. Czerny was real.

He went back to normal. Same kind and tired face.

- Adam's right. - he said. - About what? - But you're also right. - he finished. - Both of you just can't see the other side. Don't you think, him and Adam can be friends without, - he moved his hands close to his head and made "boom" motion.

He didn't answered, patting Chainsaw's back, he knew it wasn't all.

- I don't want Kavinsky to harm him. - he finally said. - Do you believe he can? - No, - he felt offended. - Adam wouldn't fucking let him.

Noah nodded.

- But still, what's the problem?

He didn't say anything.

- Because you like Kavinsky. - it sounded like a question but wasn't. - Because Joe understands. - he stood up, putting Chainsaw on the chair. He started wandering around the room, with the little raven hopping after him. - He gets the dreaming. He gets how I feel. He knows me.

Kavinsky knew him.

Not Niall, but Ronan.

- Didn't you think he might "get" Adam?

He didn't.

- Like what?

He knew the answer.

He looked back at Noah, he wasn't in the chair.

- Go talk with him.

He was on the stairs, faded and smudged.

- Noah? - I... just need time. - he sounded like echo. - Don't worry.

A shadow of a smile appeared on his blurry face.

***

- ... but it sucks, because it's gone and even museums started hunting them for display. Museums, Adam! Museums!

They were sitting on a bed. Gansey was leaning on Adam, head resting on the boy's shoulder, eyes fighting to stay open. Adam wrapped his arm around his sleepy friend, nodding to every word he said, his own eyes puffy and reddish. Ronan looked at them, feeling something he didn't in long time. He felt at home.

- What's he mumbling about? - he asked, leaning on the door-frame. - The Great Auk. - Adam answered, not looking at him. - They're gone, Ronan. - Gansey yawned. - Gone, the great bird of Scottish islands, of Kilda and Elday. No, - he murmured to himself. - Elday is Iceland's. - he frowned his eyebrows trying to remember something, suddenly he announced: - Pen gwyn. - Falcóg mhór. - Ronan nodded. - "He made no cry. I strangled him.", a cruel end. - Ronan. - Adam scolded him. - This is what one of them said. - he shrugged. - Cruel fate with no future. Gansey, go to sleep. I wanted to talk with Adam.

Gansey rubber his eyes.

- Sure, sure. But first, I said, Great Auk is the original penguin and- - You're going with me to church tomorrow. - he interrupted him. - After dinner, we gonna check whatever you want.

He looked at him, like he just show him a new thing from his dream.

- I'm not... - Matthew likes you. - No connection. - he insisted. - And Declan...

- He doesn’t own the church. You’ll just pretend you for a hour or so.

- I did. - Noah said, his voice hanging behind him. - My mother hated when I did.

Ronan turned his head and saw him in the same state. He moved through him and grabbed Gansey’s hand.

- Come on, - he made him stand up. - They need to talk.

- I never was...

- Gansey, - he pulled him in to the hall. - Tell me more about the gwin.

Ronan closed the door and looked at Adam. Heat rising inside him.

- I'm still standing what I said. - That makes two of us. - he didn’t look at him.

And that’s it.

If someone interested, just ask.

#trc rewrite #ronan lynch #Adam Parrish #noah czerny #Richard Campbell Gansey III #TRC #the raven cycle

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dream-journalism · 3 years

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journal entry | 18-12-20 | quick update

I haven’t had much time to write down a fully fledged update but I thought I might give a quick update on what’s been going on.

I haven’t shifted yet, I’ve had some really good days as well as a really bad slump when I stopped feeling symptoms, but I’ll focus on the good stuff for now.

I started recognizing some symptoms and differentiating some stuff that were just unrelated; I tried some new methods and found that the Estelle method worked really well with me and it is with this one that I feel that I’ve gotten closest to shifting.

There were a few times when I was too tired to try to shift but coincidentally had shifting-related dreams and/or semi lucid dreams, most of the time its a mix of them where shifting is mentioned or things that I’ve scripted have happened in the dream but Not Quite and still have that Dream Like weirdness and quality that dreams have where something is just Off. Something that also stood out about these dreams was the fact that during them, I could almost Feel the things I was touching. When I have vivid dreams like these I can usually imagine what the things Im touching feel like, and even though I didn’t manage to actually physically feel them, it felt almost like a ghoting touch, if that makes sense.

A downside to these dreams is that since I never manage to gain full control over them, sometimes they drift into very weird and vivid nightmares that leave me feeling really freaked out and very emotionally drained after a particularly bad one.

The closest time I feel like Ive gotten to shifting was actually relatively recently. A few weeks ago I was doing the Estelle method, like I mentioned earlier, and started hearing things related to my DR, started feeling very detached from my OR to the point where I actually stopped feeling like I was in it anymore and felt like I could almost see someone from my DR. I still didn’t feel like I had fully shifted into my DR, but what hit me the most was definitely was the fact that even though I couldn’t feel any new surroundings, I also couldn’t feel any of my original ones. I’ve managed to detach before but never as effectively.

As a tiny side note for my script, though I feel like it’s great as it is already, I’ve been wanting to edit and tweak it because I realised some stuff is a bit off, and though I know it’ll work itself out as long as I don’t worry about it too much, I still think I should, I just haven’t had the energy.

It’s currently 2:00am so I’m going to go to sleep and try to shift again tonight, I’ll keep you all updated.

#reality shifting #dream reality #shifting #dr- journal

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statticscribbles · 3 years

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My Dearest, My Dead

Summary: Evelyn/Edgar, A look at what they want from The Farm

Evelyn writes; she keeps unsent letters and journals in the records rooms; with everyone’s files. Edgar says it’s her way of coping, the rest of The Farm just think they’re her records of everyone. She doesn’t think back to when she’d been told. She blocks out how she’d gone to Edgar sobbing, inconsolable with pain blurring her entire being. Edgar carefully took her in his arms and they spent days in bed. They didn’t have the Farm; they didn’t have their family to support them as they do now. Edgar talked to her softly, gently explaining how they can build a family, how they can create The Farm. How Evelyn will need to be the first to be harvested. He can’t take her pain of course, he reminds her; but she can help the cause. She agrees and when she wakes up it’s like nothing has changed; the memory of what happened buried under the stitches and bandages.

Edgar sits with her as she recovers, the stitches he gave her barely there, they dissolve within two weeks and she barely has anything more than a faint line on her side. She writes when he suggest it, a way to keep her feelings her own, but not let them fester inside her. He never asks her to read them, but when she wakes screaming and sobbing from nightmares she’ll read to him in her shaking voice until she calms enough to sleep.

In the places before Riverdale they do not dwell on those they had to leave. Evelyn does not write to them, she burns the records, she does what Edgar says. He promised her they’d have their family and as they move on from the last town they’ve taken from Evelyn can’t help but be relieved it’s one step closer. She does not have doubts she knows Edgar will succeed and they’ll have their family, have their farm and everything will go back to how it was. She wonders if they’ll move back to the first town they took from, she decides she’d prefer not to, she likes the idea of Riverdale, of it being their final home; where they started is where they end. She finds it poetic; Edgar agrees. Evelyn is far too excited to start their plan, Edgar reminds her they might still need to move, still need to leave. ——————————————————————————–

In the sister’s of quiet mercy, past the Gargoyle King’s chamber, beyond the tunnel that leads out; there’s a room locked from everyone’s eyes. The only two who have seen in are Evelyn and Edgar. Edgar told Alice it was the room where they’d ascend. It was a way to stave off her curiosity, to hush the reporter’s urge that still bubbled under her skin. Evelyn had caught her trying to sneak down; Alice was understandably confused when all Evelyn did was start sobbing; broken wails and injured animal sounds drowning out any of the farms regular noises; even the pipe system was drowned out under her crushed voice. Edgar was there in moments, snarling into Alice’s ear and telling her how Polly would be punished for her sneaking around, grip on her arm almost breaking it. Alice doesn’t understand where the viciousness comes from, how it vanishes the instant he moves from her to Evelyn; it’s not love she reasons, but something darker. The way Evelyn folds into him mumbling nonsense and dates long past has Alice wondering what exactly that room is meant for. She mentions it to Charles when she sees him next; he promises he’ll look into it.

Charles brings her half used information, snippets and pieces of the past members in the Farm, they all talk of similar doors, similar rooms, and how Evelyn always fell apart at the idea of others in the room The door was always locked, bolted and there was no window, no way to see what was inside. They’d spoken how no one entered and no one left. It was thought to be the records room; until the records room was mapped out. The room big enough to house two people, with bed on either side. Alice shot down that idea; Edgar and Evelyn already had their own room; they had no need for another one. —————————————————————–

Evelyn wakes to Edgar’s arms around her, she doesn’t move wondering if he’s awake as well. “Betty’s staying with us.” “That’s good.” “She’s smart, bound to figure out some part of what we’re doing.” “That’s bad.” Evelyn frowns her headache coming back as she remembers the nightmares she’d had; she can faintly remember Edgar sedating her but she’s not sure if it was last night or months ago. “I had to dear, you were going to start screaming, can’t worry anyone now can we.” Evelyn nods letting him kiss her forehead as he pets her hair. “We’re having another group today, would you like to join?” “Maybe; I know today is; tough for both of us.” He nods nudging her to lie back down so they face each other. She watches the way his eyes track her face, and as he brushes his thumb against the corner of her mouth she knows he’s not seeing her as she is now. She wonders which version of her he’ll see the most today. “We’ll be together; through all of it. Like always.” He speaks softly nodding to her, his hand running down her arm as he pulls her close.

She’s not aware she falls asleep again, just as she’s not aware she’s awake once more. She’s aware she’s sitting in a chair. She knows Edgar helped her, she can smell his soap on her skin and the shampoo he uses in his hair on her own damp locks. She turns her head to see not only her journal, but a new book and a fresh vase of flowers. She reaches for the flowers wincing when the IV tape tugs against her skin. She grabs the book easily enough and starts to read. She glances at the almost full bag, she knows she’ll have hours left.

She’s barely a third through when Polly walks in. She’s reading, thankful she decided to leave her daily journaling to before bed. “Oh sorry.” Polly’s about to back out of the room when Evelyn watches Juniper fussing in her arms. “Tilt her chin up.” Is all she says before she flicks another page in her book; Polly’s surprised when Juniper quiets. Alice asks to talk to her, and Evelyn declines. “Evelyn.” Alice starts and watches how she turns her head, regarding Alice nervously. Alice isn’t sure why she’d been so anxious recently but it seems like every sound had her on the knife’s edge of panic. In the group session earlier some sort of beeping alarm went off and Edgar had to sedate Evelyn. She looked terrified even when she was sleeping. Betty has theories about Evelyn’s guilt, about her knowledge of the organ farming but Alice knows she can’t share it with her daughter, she just hopes she’ll be able to get her and Juniper out before anything else happens. ————————————————————-

Evelyn knows she’s dreaming, she always knows when she’s dreaming after being sedated; everything is too dull or too vibrant. She can smell too much, everything is too crisp, too clear it makes her wan to close her eyes, to turn away; but she knows she can’t. She must look to understand. She watches her husband, her Edgar, always trying to do good, always trying to help people; why he’d become a trauma surgeon in the first place. She knew he was going to help thousands. She didn’t understand why she had to be one of the first. The car had swerved too far out, it had been dark and icy, it would have happened to anyone. She knows this is what the doctors tell everyone, that they never stood a chance in the tiny car against the truck, against the weather and the distance from the town, from the hospital. Edgar saves her, she knows he does, she can smell the soap and shampoo he uses, unchanging since they’d met in school. He knows it comforts her.

She lets the dream happen, she knows she can’t wake herself, she’s tried time and time again, she knows not when this will twist from dream to memory unsure if it already has. She follows the gurney; the ambulance no longer makes sound, she can’t hear the shouts, the screams from the doctors. She knows this is a memory with how everything seems to settle for a moment, the saturation dropping, the sound no longer fogged. Her vision no longer blurry. She sees her own face, blood covered and she can’t help but gag with her memory self and she tries to breathe, she looks up and it’s a dream once more, Edgar rushing over, his hands running up her arms promising her he’ll save her, the fact she can see him the giveaway it’s only a dream again. She knows she’s dreaming and she can feel herself crying already; she watches herself on the gurney, reaching to the other one, Edgar moves them both closer despite that they’re going to different operating rooms, despite that she knows Edgar can only save one. She wonders why he chose her. She can hear screaming from the other room, she knows she’s dreaming but she cant help the panic, the need stop the screaming, she shakes on the gurney, twisting and trying to shout, only managing to choke on her own blood as someone that’s not Edgar pricks her with a needle and a mask is placed over her mouth and nose.

She wakes shaking and gasping scrambling off the bed trying to pull herself free of wires and tubes and IV’s that are no longer there. She sobs, throwing herself from the bed and trying her best to stand and move towards the door. She’s sure she’s the source of the screams, the pained broken animal that bubbles from inside her chest. She can hear footsteps and collapses into the arms that open the door. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry, what about Elizabeth, you need to fix her, she knows; she knows, she knows! You left her; you left her!” She chokes on her own sorrow as Edgar’s arms hold her up. He kisses her forehead once more, not bringing her back to their room, but to the common room, he sits with her; both Cheryl and Polly appear instantly, worry on their faces. Fangs and Kevin bring her a blanket and she sits, confused and blinking in the sunlight filled room as they stay next to her. Cheryl smiles, running her hand up her arm in comfort. Polly braids her hair. Kevin and Fangs start talking about something they saw on TV, a distraction she thinks. Edgar sits next to her and she reaches out for him. “Elizabeth she-“ “It’s alright Evelyn, it’s alright.” He rubs circles on her back as she starts to cry again, confusion on her face. She watches Betty back out of the room, she watches the look her and Alice share before Alice smiles at Evelyn trying to be comforting. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Everyone chorus’ Edgar’s voice, concern and confusion lacing their words. ——————————————————————————-

Evelyn doesn’t need to ask, she waits until its far past anyone being awake, Edgar rouses her she’s still confused about how she ended up asleep on the common room couch, her hair braided and one of Fang’s hoodies around her shoulders, but she lets Edgar wake her and walk with her. She knows he doesn’t need to support her but he does it anyways; the closer they draw to the room the more pronounced the limp she has gets; he can tell she’s nervous. The door opens with a hiss, it’s been sealed to prevent decay; she’s not sure how it works, only that it does. Edgar steps in first, letting the lights flicker on before Evelyn steps through. The door hisses closed behind them, sealing them in with the rest of room’s content.

“It’s beautiful, Evelyn runs her hands along the bed frame, the side table where Edgar’s notes and drawings sit is where she touches next; where he keeps most of his medical supplies from his days as a surgeon is the last she touches, always in the same pattern. Evelyn’s fingers tangle in a blanket, letting the soft fabric run through her fingers. They catch, as they always do on the bloodstains that haven’t been washed out. “What troubles you about today love?” “We’re home; we’re back we- We shouldn’t have come into her room without her.” Evelyn trembles and Edgar’s arms wrap around her. “Dear, she’s here remember? In the hospital, we just have to bring her home, once everyone agrees to ascend, we can bring her back. One human soul has to be given back if we give up hundreds. It would only be fair, of course.” His fingers undo the braids in her hair.

“Can we visit her?” Her voice is small and Edgar nods, they don’t need to sneak out, but still they do, taking the tunnel the sister’s had closed up. Moving past the hospital security is easy enough, and as they both stand outside the room, Evelyn starts to cry. Edgar wipes his own tears along with hers. They nudge the door open, the room exactly the same as it was two years ago. Everything the same, just as if they stepped out for only a moment. “Hey Elizabeth, how’re you doing sweetheart?” Edgar offers into the darkness, only the beeping of the machines answers him. Evelyn’s grip on his arm tightens, he knows this is too much for her, but he nudges both of them closer. He needs to see her face. “Please.” She whimpers and he nods, sighing as they step back towards the door, a step and a half and they’re back in the hallway. Edgar carries her back to the Farm, back to their room.

“You did so well this time, you got all they way into her room. I’m so proud of you.” “Shouldn’t have to be.” She mumbles upset at herself; Edgar shakes his head kissing her softly. “Remember what the doctor’s said, you can’t blame yourself for what’s happened to her, just like I can’t blame myself for not being able to help her. I saved my wife. I saved the love of my life. You’re safe, you’re alive because of me.” Evelyn nods swallowing. “You should have saved our daughter.” Edgar tenses. “I will. I’m going to bring her back; I’m going to wake her up. I swear.”

Evelyn wakes up alone, she’s told Edgar is performing pain removal on someone and she nods letting him have his peace, she’s seen his notes, his drawings and ideas, to create enough pain to draw his daughter’s soul back to the living; to give up the soul’s from the farm, to trade for hers. She’s fairly sure it won’t work, but she’s foolish enough to let Edgar’s hope and delusions infect her like the pain he inflicts on others. She wonder’s what is worse, living with her pain, or what he’d take away to free her from it.

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#edgar evernever #edgar evernever x evelyn evernever #evelyn evernever #riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale request #the farm #this was written like at the beginning of the farm plot being introduced so its kinda old #the farm riverdale #stattic

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acrobaticcatfeline · 4 years

Text

Of Books, Brothers, and Broadway (Creativitwins College AU) Chapter One!!!

Word Count: 1771

TW: So Remus, obviously, swearing, ocean mentions, sea creatures and reptiles, and I think that’s it!

Pairings: None yet. This chapter is just a ton of platonic creativitwins!

Notes: This is three pages that I wrote last night. I’m now at ten pages of this. I don’t know what I was possessed by but I’m not about to complain. Its a college AU, I mention it I think, but Roman is a theatre major and Remus is a marine biology major with a minor in creative writing. I’m excited for you guys to see more of this!

Summary: “Bro!!! Bro I found a giant ass lizard in the yard look at it bro!!!” Roman and Remus Reyes live together. They figured it would be cost effective to do so while in college. Roman deals with Remus’ reptiles and fish tank, Remus deals with Romans singing at 3 in the morning. They’ve had an interesting relationship, and when Remus reminds Roman of a deal they made years ago, hes ready to start crying. Can a couple of kids from Florida make a Broadway musical?

“Bro!!! Bro I found a giant ass lizard in the yard look at it bro!!!”

Roman was done with his brothers bullshit. He doesn't know where he got the bright idea that the two of them should cohabitate in an apartment during college, but as he panickedly climbs onto the kitchen counters to escape him he knows he must've been on some sort of drug. He released a scream as he backed into the corner of the room as his brother held out a lizard that was definitely going to jump and attack him.

“GET IT AWAY!!! ITS SLIMY AND GROSS AND MALICIOUS!!!”

“This little guy malicious? Nah bro, that's a you problem. He's so cuteeee look at his scales they’re almost a holographic!”

That caught Roman's attention. He stopped panicking to actually look at the critter in his brother's hands. Remus was right, he was almost holographic. Roman gave it a weak smile and Remus beamed.

“See? It's not that scary! I'm gonna keep him! He's gonna be named fred!”

Roman chuckled softly as his brother finally left and brought the lizard to his room. He slipped off the counter and followed at a safe distance.

“Don't you think you have enough reptiles? If you keep getting more you'll need more heat lamps and i'm giving you more of the electric bill”

“Ok fair point but hear me out, have you ever seen a collared lizard quite as colorful as this one? I mean he's such a pretty one aint he?”

Roman took more steps forward, relaxing once the lizard was placed in the terrarium. The lizard was quite colorful, and Roman couldn't deny, it was one of the prettiest ones Remus had captured. It immediately scurried around and dived into the water bowl. Roman laughed at it.

“Besides, he was just begging to be brought in! Like really this time! He kept bumping into my feet, he started climbing my pants leg, it was so cute you should've seen it!”

“I'm sure I would have cried.”

Remus chuckled as he moved to the other wall of his room covered in a giant aquarium that Roman was still amazed fit through the doors. Remus grinned at all the fish swimming around, tipping a good portion of fish food into the tank after turning off the filter. He then made his way to his bed and sat on the twin sized mattress covered with octopus blankets. He grinned at his brother and Roman rolled his eyes.

“When are you finally kidnapping an octopus huh?”

“I'm glad you asked! You know my internship right?”

“Of course, the only time you don't talk about the marine institute is when youre talking about your reptiles”

Remus popped up and grabbed Roman's wrist and dragged him to the whiteboard calendar that hung on the outside of his door, pointing excitedly at tomorrow's date while bouncing on his toes.

“Well they just got an octopus buddy in that needs constant care that they don't have the time for! She's real fucked up, she needs meds twice a day, she needs to be hand fed, its a real fucked up case, they were rescued from a seaworld copycat, the poor thing hasn't been healthy since it hatched we think. There's a chance that she won't even be able to be released cuz she's been so dependent on humans for her whole life. But they opened up for applicants, and I was the only one willing to take her in. they're coming and checking my tank tomorrow and if it is good enough, which i'm certain it will be, and then they'll hand her over and i’ll be her caretaker!”

Roman grinned at the excitement his brother had. He ruffled his hair quickly.

“That's cool rem. I'm happy for you. She got a name?”

“Mhmm! Her name is Cephanie! But I've been calling her Cephy. She's so pretty ro, i can't wait for you to meet her! And she's so friendly!”

“You know every day I get less confused at your choice in major. And more confused about your minor”

Remus grinned at Roman and released his wrist, skipping over to their kitchen, relishing in the fact that Roman followed still. He poured himself a cup of coffee and jumped onto the counter with a grin still plastered to his face. He took a sip from his mug, the one with a tentacle handle, and kicked his feet.

“I don't know why! It's totally sensical to have a minor in creative writing ro! It's not like you can expect me to be your playwright if i don't know what i'm doing! Besides, i can write epic lovecraftian horrors that aren't incredibly racist and who doesn't want that?”

Roman blinked. He had to process what Remus had said and he was still confused. His head tilted like a dogs.

“My playwright?”

Remus giggled, it was funny when Remus giggled, it wasn't a sound that you would expect to come out of him. And yet he did it often.

“Did you forget? Aw ro, you can't back out on it now, you asked me when we were still in middle school to write you a book for a musical, and you were gonna write the music and you kept saying you were gonna get it on broadway. I've held up my end of the deal! In fact, I actually have a story started, I think you're gonna love it! Course, i haven't written it all out yet, it's gonna be my final”

“Wait, you remembered that? Rem we were like 10!”

“And now we’re 21, what's your point?”

“We, we can't get on broadway! We’re a couple of idiots from florida! I’m, i'm not a musician, I'm barely even a dancer, what are you talking about? That was a fever dream from a couple of kids, it's not like we can actually do it!”

Remus frowned. He set his mug of coffee down and hopped off of the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Roman a serious look.

“Do you know when lin manuel miranda wrote his first broadway musical?”

“No i-”

“His sophomore year of college. Who says we can't do the same? Roman you under sell your talents. You're a theatre major, you may not be amazing at any instruments other than your voice but damn bro, your voice is good enough on its own. I've seen you dance, you're one of the best dancers i've ever seen and you're in your fourth year of college. We have potential. I know we can do this if we try, but i can't make it happen alone. I need your help”

Roman looked lost. He wanted, oh so desperately he wanted, to make it happen. It had always been a dream of his to make it to broadway, but he wasn't wrong, they weren't lin manuel miranda, they were some twins from florida, they had no idea what they were doing. And yet. And yet he held out his hand to his brother.

“Ok. ok, we can try this. I can, I can make a score. We can do this”

Remus grinned again and took Roman's hand. He tugged him into the living room. He sat on the couch, pulling out his notebook and flipping to a bookmarked page. Roman sat next to him and looked over at it. There were a few doodles around a plotline that was both gorey and Romantic a la sweeney todd but also quite similar to ella enchanted. Remus grinned at the book and then started explaining.

“Ok so the main character, played by you presumably, is an author”

“Did you just write out your personal fantasy Remus?”

“No, shut up! Ok so he's written several books, like neil gaiman or terry pratchet level several, but those aren't all the stories he's made, he has several stories that have never seen the light of day. He writes his stories in notebooks and journals ordinarily, waiting until they’re fully developed to make them digital. In one of these notebooks there lies a bit of magic. So he writes in this unknowingly, writes of a powerful magician, and as he sleeps it awakes. The magician escapes and brings each of his hundreds of creations to life just the same as him. The characters run amok and the author awakes to see the most beautiful man he's ever met at the foot of his bed. It takes him seeing the magician running through his home to realize that these are his characters. And the man is the protagonist from his most famous novel, one he wrote as a guilty pleasure, writing of a man he had met in his dreams. And he finds that these characters were pulled from different points in their books. The character had been pulled from the early pages, after he had suffered a major trauma and had no clue of the powers he possessed. So now, with his dream man in his living room, in pain from an event he had written, and gifted with emotionally driven powers, he has to fix this mess with the added hurdle of the character creating villains and fiends ready to destroy humanity as a whole with no way to stop. Along the way, some of his characters suffer mortal wounds at the hands of heinous and violent creatures, and all the author has is one magic notebook to fight them off. Romantic plot between the author and dream MC, with angst from the reality of once everything is dealt with, he will have to go back to the book. Thats what ive got so far, what do you think?”

Roman is starry eyed. It's far less violent than Remus’ normal brand of writing, it doesn't inherently include any sea monsters or snake men, and it's something Roman can really appreciate. He loves it, he can already feel the gears turning for songs and dances. Now that he heard the actual story instead of just going on the drawings, he saw far more nutcracker vibes from it.

“Oh, and there's a happy ending or whatever that the author gets to like, marry the other MC, and everyone lives happily ever after. I know you like the cutesy shit”

“Remus this is amazing! I can't believe I hesitated, I already have some ideas for the score! Remus you're a genius. I love you!”

Roman launched into a hug with Remus, which had the other laughing. Remus hugged him back.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It was Roman's turn to turn into a giggling mess.

Taglist: @fivebyfive-finebyfive @tacohippy56900 @analogical-mess @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @angels-and-dreams @fandomloverangel

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing!!!

Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!!!

#roman sanders #remus sanders #duke remus #college au #familial creativitwins #creativitwins #tw swearing #tw cursing #my writing #my fanfiction

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dp-marvel94 · 5 years

Text

Hope Can Be A Heavy Thing To Hold- Chapter 1

Story Summary: " I woke up here, wherever here is, with no memories. He told me my name is Daniel James Masters. He told me I am a human-ghost hybrid, like him. He told me he is my father. But I know that’s a lie; there is no way Vlad Masters, my captor is my parent. I know I have a real home somewhere out there. I have a family and friends who love me. Too bad I can’t remember anything about them." Or amnesiac Daniel Masters fights to discover his past while in the care of his abusive 'father' Vlad Masters. Along the way he discovers surprising truths about both his Father and himself as he questions who he is and where he comes from.

Word Count:3,423

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

I've never really written a journal before, well that may not be true. I don't remember ever writing in a journal before but I feel like I'm not that kind of person. Anyway I thought that maybe writing this down would help me sort out…everything. I woke up here, wherever here is, with no memories. He told me my name is Daniel James Masters. He told me I am a human-ghost hybrid, like him. He told me he is my father. But I know that's a lie; there is no way Vlad Masters, my captor is my parent. I know I have a real home somewhere out there. I have a family and friends who love me. Too bad I can't remember anything about them.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

The first thing I remembered was flying. Well not really flying but dreaming of fly. I floated in the air, the world small below me. As far as I could see stood trees on the rolling hills and a river twisted through the hills and away from me. I had no idea where I was and that scared me. I quickly turned in a circle rapidly searching for anything I recognized but there was nothing! No roads, buildings, or man-made lights. Nothing at all! How was I going to get home?! Did anyone know I'm here?! I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. I needed to figure out what I was going to do, not panic! Finally, I gazed up at the starry sky above me and my mouth feel open. There were so many stars! And the Milky Way! I could actually see it. It was like the sky was so deep, I could look into the edges of the universe. I felt small but strangely comforted.

Suddenly, a rhythmic beeping noise startled me, far away at first but quickly getting louder. What was that sound? And now the sky was brightening, but not like it did at sunrise. Instead it was getting whiter? Like I was in a dark room and the lights were slowly turning on.

I frowned. The beeps were really loud now. Why won't they stop? What was it? The world was getting fuzzy and soft white. I…I think I was dreaming. Was I dreaming this whole time? I slowly woke up, though my eyes remained closed. I was lying on my back on something soft and the beeps were coming from by my head. I suddenly realized it was a heart monitor. Wait! A heart monitor! Was I in the hospital? I couldn't be in hospital! I needed to get out of here.

At this, my eyes shoot open. I was…not in a hospital but in a normal room. My hands were balled in the soft, white sheets. They were really nice, actually everything in the room looked nice. Was I in some rich people private hospital? That didn't sound right. I looked to my arm which had an IV in it. I went to pull it out but was stopped cold by a voice.

"Son, you're awake. Good." The tall man who just came into the room had a white beard and long white hair that was tied into a low ponytail. He wore an expensive looking suit. He smiled, and even though it looked authentic, it was slimy. And his blue eyes were cold and dead, despite the wrinkles from his smile. A chill ran down my spine. I didn't know who this man was but the sight of him made my skin crawl.

At the silence, he frowned. "Can you speak, my boy?"

I swallowed. I didn't know how, but I knew that I couldn't let him know that he had shaken me. For some reason, I knew that that would end badly for me.

Giving him a smile that hopefully didn't look like a grimace, I stuttered. "What's…where…where am I?"

He continued frowning but then his eyes lit up like he realized something. "I thought you might not remember. This is one of my mansions."

He gave me what was probably his attempt at a comforting smile but it just made me panic more. Because I was realizing that I didn't remember anything. I had no idea how I got here or who this guy was. I didn't even know where here was. The rate on the heart monitor increased as my fear increased but I was in a panicked spiral. I didn't remember where I was from or who my parents were. I didn't know if I had any siblings or who my friends were. My heart dropped. I…I didn't…didn't even remember my own name. My name!

The man took a seat in the chair beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. I tried not to flinch but instead felt a tingle spreading from my chest to my arm. As it spread, my shoulder and then my entire arm disappeared and the man's hand fell through! I shrieked! Oh My God! My arm, it's gone! It was completely gone! My heart was pounding out of my chest. I looked up at the white-haired man. Maybe he could tell me what the hell was going on! But he was… chuckling?

That ignited anger in my gut that mixed with the fear. I felt my eyes burn, not with tears but… something else? I couldn't identify the feeling but it was familiar. My voice shook. "That's not funny! What's happening to me?"

The man just laughed anyway. "It's good to see you have the proper fighting spirit, boy." He sobered slightly. "But you don't remember?"

I shook my head.

He continued. "Like myself, you are a ghost-human hybrid. You have extraordinary abilities, powers if you will. Invisibility, Intangibility, flight, Ectoplasmic energy attacks, even duplication and teleportation. We are extremely unique, rare, and powerful my boy."

I marveled at my apparently invisible hand in front of me as it slowly faded back into visibility. My head raced at this information. I was some kind of ghost hybrid? I had super powers? How was this even possible? How did I even get these powers?! But one question overtook all the others.

I quietly asked, my voice wavering. "I don't remember having powers or… anything. Why don't I remember anything?"

"I'm afraid you were in a terrible accident. You must have amnesia from the head trauma." The tone chilled me more than the words. He sounded like he didn't really care, like he was putting on an act. No, it was more like he thought it didn't matter. Like the fact that I didn't remember my life wasn't important. He continued. "Do not worry son. I'm sure it will return and I can inform you of anything you cannot recall."

Suppressing my anger and fear at his reaction, I asked. "What's my name? And who are you?"

The man frowned. "I had hoped you would recall that." He then gave a tentative smile. "Your name is Daniel, Daniel James Masters. My name is Vlad Masters. I am your father." For some reason, he beamed at that declaration, like he was incredibly proud to say that.

My breath caught. That…that couldn't be true; this man couldn't be my father.

He patted me on the shoulder. "Despite the memory loss, do you feel well overall son? Any pain or discomfort?"

He was really going to brush off my memory loss and his apparent parentage of me? I shook my head, deciding not to comment despite how much dread and uncertainty I felt. "I feel pretty good. My head doesn't even hurt." I wrinkled my nose at that; shouldn't my head hurt if I injured it?

Vlad's cold blue eyes studied me, sending another chill down my spine. My palms were sweating. I didn't like him looking at me like that, like I'm some kind of specimen or project. I needed him to leave so I could freak out about all of this in private. Rubbing the back of my neck with my hand, I faked what I hoped was a convincing yawn. "I'm actually still kinda tired though. Can you let me get some sleep?"

To my surprise, he fell for it. "Of course son. Get some rest." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm very glad you are here, Daniel. Call if you need me. I plan to have some food for you when you awake."

I gave him by best smile, trying to act grateful. "Thanks… dad? Father? Ummm what do I normally call you?"

Another creepy smile. "Father will do. Sleep well, little badger."

Little badger? He left me to my thoughts. I swallowed. I didn't know who that man was to me but he was NOT my father. When I thought of that word, father, though I couldn't picture a face or even the outline of a person, it did bring images to my mind of big arms wrapping around me and deep boisterous laughter. And the color orange? A father was someone who worries about me when I'm hurt and comforts me when I'm scared. But that image doesn't match Vlad at all. I couldn't even imagine Vlad hugging me or laughing authentically. If he's supposed to be my parent, shouldn't he have been worried that I was hurt and didn't remember anything? If I was in a 'terrible accident' shouldn't he have hugged me when he saw that I was at least physically okay? I put my head in my hands. But what did all that mean? Why was I with Vlad and not with my parents? Did something happen to them or did…did Vlad do something to my parents?

I sat back, feeling anger grow in my stomach. Ugggg Why couldn't I remember anything? Maybe….maybe Vlad did something to me? I just wished I had some idea of what was happening. I let out a long exhale. Well whatever was happening, I would figure it out. The one thing I did know was that Vlad wanted me to think I was his son. So I would play the part; I'd act like the loving son he probably wanted me to be. I would get more information and figure out what's happened, what and who I've forgotten. And I would get out of this…somehow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At some point after those musings, I must have fallen asleep since the next thing I knew, that man, Vlad, was sitting by my bed again. Seeing me awake, Vlad smiled at me. "Are you feeling better son?"

I suppressed the urge to groan. I did not really want to deal with him but needed to at least act kinda happy to see him so I smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm not tired anymore."

"Good. I brought you some food." He placed a covered tray on my lap. With a flourish he removed the fancy looking metal dome. Looking at Vlad, I raised my eyebrow on confusion, though I'm not sure if it was because of the combination of white rice and apple sauce or expensive china plate that the 'meal' was on.

Vlad chuckled at my reaction. "I decided it would be best to act gently on your stomach, seeing as you've been unconscious for a while."

I looked at the food; I did feel very hungry, like my stomach was completely empty. Huhhh? How had I not notice that before? Though I was a little distrustful, I was fairly certain Vlad wasn't going to poison me or anything. Taking the spoon, I slowly scooped the rice into my mouth. I felt the bite with my mouth for a while before swallowing. Ummmm. Okay this was actually pretty good. I noticed Vlad had taken a seat and was watching me with a grin, but I ignored him, focused on shoveling food into my mouth.

Vlad grabbed my wrist a little roughly. "Slow down, little badger."

I blushed. "Sorry."

I ate more slowly for a few minutes in silence. But in my head, I debated- Vlad made me uncomfortable and I was pretty sure he would lie to me. But he was the only person I could get some answers from. But could I do that without making him suspicious? After I finished eating, I decided to risk it and I looked at Vlad. "So..uhhh…"

Before I could utter a question, he put his hands together. "Now that you have eaten, I shall show you your room."

"But…"

Vlad's eyes fell to my chest. He tissked. "You must put on some proper clothes first." I frowned, finally noticing my hospital gown. Vlad handed me a polo, kakis, boxers, and a pair of shoes from the closet and then also frowned. "Do you feel well enough to stand?"

"I think so. But I have some ques…"

"Good. Chop chop." He motioned me to stand.

"But Vl..Father"

I was cut off…again - by Vlad rebuking me. "Now Daniel. Stop being difficult. There will be time for questions later."

Clearly he was not going to listen to me right now. Playing the obedient son, I answered. "Yes sir."

Vlad patted my shoulder. "Good boy."

He offered his hand to help me stand. Sitting up more fully, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and took the man's hand. Slowly I put my weight on my legs. Though my legs were wobbly like a baby deer, I managed to get to my feet. I clearly hadn't stood in a while. Once I felt stabile, I let go of Vlad's hand and looked at him. He grinned, incredibly proud for some reason and I titled my head questioningly. It wasn't like I did something really impressive.

"Very good son. Now get dressed. I'll be outside." Vlad then left the room and closed the door.

I took the clothes from the bed and put them on with little trouble. They fit perfectly and were surprisingly comfortable, though I felt like this wasn't something I would normally wear. But it was a little disconcerting that Vlad had clothing in my size. I shook my head; I could think about that later. Clearing my throat, I called. "I'm…uhh dressed."

Vlad opened the door and motioned to me. "Come son." I quickly followed after as he continued talking. First he pointed to the door we came through. "That is my personal medical room as you know." After turning right, we walked by several doors. "This is one of my smaller mansions. Most of the rooms on this floor are parlors and guest bedrooms, which you are free to explore later. There is also a rather extensive game room and arcade you may find enjoyable." He then stopped at a door at the end of the hall. "This room however is my personal office. If I am inside, you may nock and ask permission to enter. However you will not enter when I am not present. Is that understood?"

He looked very serious, with crossed arms. I swallowed. "Yes sir."

Vlad nodded. "On the floor above us is an extensive library which you may peruse when you desire. On the floor below is your room." He then turned towards the stairs beside his office. He hurried down the stairs with me quickly following after. When we came to the bottom, I noticed the hallway was L shaped. Vlad walked forward and opened a door a few feet down the hall. "And this is the kitchen. You will see it is fully stocked. If you desire anything, assemble a list and I will order it." He then pointed down the hall. "The entrance to the dining room is the next door on the right. You will attend breakfast with me at 7:30 am and dinner at 7 pm. Though of course the times will be adjusted to accommodate alterations in my work schedule."

My head was swimming at the onslaught of information. Vlad noticed my confusion and paused. "We can continue with the schedule and rules later. You did just wake up." He turned around and motioned me to walk towards the stairs. "We will continue to your room then."

I nodded and started walking but Vlad quickly stepped in front of me. He turned right at the stairs. We then pass a set of glass doors which present a view of the gardens outside with a row of tall trees behind it. And was that a pool? Vlad didn't stop though but continued until we come to a door that actually has my name on it. "This is your room. The door to the left is my room. As with my office, you will not enter without permission."

I nodded. "Okay."

Vlad frowned. "Speak properly Daniel."

I straightened to the rebuke. "Yes sir"

Vlad then opened the door and entered the room. "There is a washroom attached with all the toiletries you should need and the closet contains a pletera of clothes in your size." He checked his watch. "It is 4 pm now. Dinner is at 7. Feel free to explore your quarters and rest until then. However do not go outside. I do not want you exhausting yourself." His voice then lowered and he glared at me seriously. "Do not use your powers. I need to assess your health and stability first to assure you will not accidently injury or unduly tax yourself. Do you understand?"

I swallowed. "Yes sir."

Vlad then smiled his normal creepy smile, and clasped his hand on my shoulder. "If you need anything, I will be in my office. In fact, meet me there at 6:45 so I may escort you to dinner." He left the room still smiling. Man Vlad really creeped me out.

After Vlad left, I let out a sigh, relaxing. I looked around the room. It was fancy like the medical room from earlier but space themed. The walls were covered with murals of swirling blue cosmic clouds and brightly colored celestial bodies. The ceiling was a diagram of the solar system-a light blue background with different sized planets hanging. All of the furniture- the bed, desk, book shelf, drawer, and side table- were futuristic and sleek, all silver metal and white plastic with blue accents. A bed with purple and dark blue galaxy prints sheets sat in the center of the room, across from a TV with a video game system. As a whole the room reminded me of a space ship from some sci fi movie or TV show. It was really nice but spotless, tidy, and impersonal, like it had never been lived in. There were not pictures, no posters, not papers, no personal items anywhere. The bookshelf was full of various space themed books but nothing else- no nick nacks, well-read novels or childhood picture books. I knelt to look under the bed; there was nothing there either, not even dust bunnies!

I checked the bathroom which was huge with a long marble counter, free standing porcelain bathtub, and shower with a rain shower head in the corner with two clear walls. It was also somewhat space themed and futuristic with a spacious dark blue nebula rug and towels. The white and blue walls with a hexagonal pattern, angular fixtures, and soft blue mood lighting made the room look very futuristic and sci-fi. And again it was very clean and un-used looking though that's probably good for a bathroom.

Exiting, I walked to the closet. Maybe there was something personal in there. But no, just neatly hung and organized suits, polos, dress pants, and a few sweaters with dress shoes and pairs of clearly expensive and unworn tennis shoes and sandals. It looked like none of these clothes have been worn.

I looked in the drawers- some silk and fleece pajamas, some boxers and socks. I even found a few pairs of expensive jeans and a few t shirts. But again nothing looked worn. There also weren't any personal papers or nick nacks in the side table or in the desk- although the desk had unopened packs of pencil, pens, eraser, color pencils, and markers. There was a new pencil sharpener and some unused spiral notebooks. I found one interesting thing though. There was a bound journal at the bottom with a leather cover. The pages were white and blank. I opened the journal, smiling as an idea hit me; I needed some way to collect my thoughts. I sat down at the chair and began writing.

Note: Welcome to my second multi chapter story! Thank you to everyone who read Double Discovery. If you liked that story, hopefully you enjoyed this one. Again a thanks goes out to my sister for helping with proof reading and brainstorming new ideas. The title of this story comes from the song "So Be It" by My Epic. I choose that title because the song and the album it is from is about the place between certainty and doubt. It is about questioning yourself and what you believe. In this story, Daniel spends a lot of time in that metaphorical place as he wakes up in a unfamiliar place in uncomfortable circumstances but slowing finds the familiar and comfortable as he searches for answers. He constantly struggles and questions who he is and where he comes from. The theme of hope is also really important as Daniel struggles with not remembering who he is and dealing with an abusive paternal figure, while fighting to believe that he will find what he's looking for and eventually escape Vlad's abuse I really recommend checking out the song; it should make what I am talking about more clear and hopefully make the read more enjoyable.

#Danny Phantom #Vlad Masters #Daniel Masters #my fic #HopeDPFic #amnesia #self discovery #self reflection

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skrillahead · 4 years

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Ten years ago, when I was 23 an old friend introduced me to @taylorswift music. I had just gone through a horrendous breakup to a guy named John and she mentioned how she felt I would appreciate the song “Dear John.” To my surprise it resonated every thought and feeling I was going through. It didn’t take long before I begged her to let me borrow her Speak Now album. I’ll admit here and now that it was one of the fundemental albums I listened to help me recover from one of the worst relationships I’ve ever been in.

Two years later in 2012, history repeated itself. The relationship wasn’t as dramatic or eventful but it still hurt like hell. I mean, how could it not? when no matter how many times you put your love out there they never want to stay. To my surprise Taylor Swift put out her singles for her Red album that fall and I can’t even begin to describe how therapeutic it was to listen to “I knew you were trouble” but also how much I cried every time I listened to “Red” because it really did feel like driving a Maserati down a dead end street *cries even now*

Two years after that in 2014, Taylor’s 1989 album was released and at the time I hadn’t really cared to date anymore. I was happy being on my own and wasn’t looking to detox of any sad emotions but I bought the album because “Shake it off” was just super fun to listen to and I’m so glad that one song convinced me to buy the album because that year I had a falling out with the very friend who introduced me to Taylor’s music. So one can only imagine what song I had on repeat that fall. You guessed it “Bad Blood” it was almost as if she had premeditated my life. Like she knew what was coming before I did and said, “here. This might help”

In 2015, an ex bf from 2006 (my first real bf) sent me a text one night after not speaking for about six years because he was in a new relationship and wouldn’t stop messaging me. Keep in mind, I had never gotten over this guy because he was my first everything. It was hard to forget him (up until this series of events of course) but as hard as it was to ignore him i knew it wasn’t right to talk to him while he had a girlfriend because yes, I believe in karma. The night he textd me we talked for hours. He says “we broke up” and “she wasn’t you” I fight it for a bit but eventually I bite. Not long after, I see him and get to kiss him again. It felt like magic all over again, he even mentioned going on vacation together and getting married but as fast as he came he left. Turns out he was still seeing his “at the time ex” (you can see where this is going) I eventually put all the pieces together and tell him to never speak to me again. I felt so broken and stupid for believing every word he said and for thinking that I could even mean anything to him when he had been with this other girl for 7 years at that point. So what did I do to heal? Like most people I hung out with friends and kept busy but honestly, none of that helped as much as listening to “You’re not Sorry” from the Fearless album on repeat. It was the one album I hadn’t listened to in its entirety yet and when I heard that song I cried like someone spilled onion juice in my eyes but I kept moving forward and eventually got out of my depressive state. So again, thank you for that. Btw fast forward to present time and they’re now married. So, congratulations Mr and Mrs Muir. Side note: there are so many details missing from this but I don’t want to bore anyone with that in the middle of an already long post.

Flash forward to 2016, there wasn’t a new Taylor Swift album. Which almost felt odd considering there had been 2 year gaps between her albums before but I did read a lot about her in the tabloids that year so I figured her absence might’ve been related to it. Regardless, my own personal and very unrealistic agenda for Taylor made me angry with her that year. 2016, was the year Trump ran for President, and as we all know he won. For some crazy reason my head went crazy. I strongly believed that Taylor could’ve kept that man from winning had she used her voice because of how strong her following is but we couldn’t find her until voting day. I conjured up this idea in my head that she was more concerned about losing followers over where she stood in politics than what actually happened to us as a nation. I really don’t know what I was going through that year to be so delusional. It probably didn’t even have to do with Taylor Swift but I did become angry. There was just so much uncertainty by the end of that year that maybe I used her as a scape goat and just started believing all of the negative things that were being posted online about her which in retrospect, wasn’t right and wasn’t fair. She’s still a person with not only her own thoughts and feelings but also her own struggles. So if by any crazy chance you happen to read this I want to say I am deeply sorry.

Okay, so now it’s the year 2017 and I am celebrating one year of living with my awesome new roommate, who legitimately has been one of the bestest if not thee best friend I have ever had and Taylor has released her Reputation album BUT I do a personal protest to not listen to it (because remember? I’m still angry) but it was inevitable. She was everywhere! and while I may not have been a huge fan of the first single, I have to admit when I heard “Ready for it” in that one commercial it got so hard to not want to just listen to it on Spotify because the whole song just sounded so good. Yet, somehow I kept strong.

Flash forward to 2018, and what is this I see? Taylor Swift finally voiced her opinion on politics? Let me tell you, when I say I ran so fast to the Spotify app so fast it felt like my life was depending on it. I relapsed the second Taylor Swift announces her political stance because I may have been wrong about her but I was wrong for a good reason. She showed what she truly valued and it wasn’t numbers. Thank you by the way because I was aching to listen to “Ready for it” on repeat for about a year at this point. Not only that! But she released her 2 hour Reputation Tour documentary on Netflix that year and now I was upset that I let my emotions get the best of me because it looked like such a fun tour to be a part of.

2019, wasn’t too eventful from what I can remember. Well, with the exception of Taylor fighting for the rights to her music which by the way, what the hell is up with that? Just give her work back! Still I hoped that regardless of that her and her boo Joe Alwyn were doing well. I personally loved the story I read somewhere about how he told you he wasn’t giving up that easy or something along those lines. I’m personally a hopeless romantic and like cheesy stuff like that even though I may come across as tough ogre. In the words of Shrek himself, I’m like an onion. I’ve got layers.

So now we’ve finally reached present year 2020, a whole 4 years since I got irrationally upset with a person I’ve never met before except through her work. It’s 6 days before my 33rd bday and the Miss Americana documentary is released on Netflix. I felt angry once again but this time at myself. I was upset with this artist I had admired for so long who had helped me mend wounds and collect broken heart pieces. All while she was dealing with her own family issues, her breakups, sexual abuse, body image issues, scandal, and finding the strength to voice her political opinions. I really had the nerve to be upset? I’ll admit another thing on here at the risk of someone I know reading this and thinking I’m overdramatic for doing so but I cried. I genuinely felt terrible. How she’s been able to keep such a strong and wise head on those shoulders after everything that’s been thrown at her is admirable. I can only dream of being that damn strong and I find refuge in the fact that while everything may not be perfect in her life at least she has a good support system whether that be in the shape of her parents, her brother, her boyfriend, or her friends (yes, that includes fans.)

Anyway, I wrote all of that to show you guys that while we’ve been in quarantine I’ve found solace in bullet journaling and had added a bunch of my favorite Taylor Swift lyrics from the last 4 albums she’s released. It helped me let go of a lot of old thoughts and emotions to rewrite them myself. Your music, your words, and your values have helped me and so many others so much Taylor. I know it’s selfish to ask but please keep writing even when you get married or when you have kids and they need their diaper changed (shoot I’ll babysit if you need me to) or til you get old lady fingers and they’re all spotty and wrinkly. I’ll even send cookies as a thank you. If you’ve read this far I hope Ive made you laugh even a little. Stay, stay, stay, safe and quarantined guys :)

#taylorswift taylornation #taylor swift #i love you taylor #taylornation #taylortoldthetruth #bullet journal #journal #lyric quotes #lyrics #music #quarantine #heartbreak #relationship #evil exes #friendships #self healing #life #boyfriend

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