#i’ve been in total distress for weeks over why it’s so hard to draw all of a sudden

[infinitegalahad]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

Summary: Eugene was always there to let you that you were beautiful.

Word-Count: 2.3k

Warnings: PLEASE!! READ!!! Trigger warnings for eating disorder, insecurity, and lots of angst. But there is going be lots of fluff and some self care from your’s truly!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Notes: f! reader. uh oh...not not writing a self insert for my bulimia and eugene roe comforting me because my therapist told me to eat more (which totally solves all my problems)? Never! ;DDDD...enjoy!!

Masterlist | Request A Prompt!

Your stomach growled and twisted as you hunched over the toilet, tears spilling from your eyes as you forcefully threw up the mass amount of food you had just eaten. Every bite felt like you were eating copious amounts of a forbidden fruit. It was your favourite, and you used to love eating (y/f/f) all the time-but now, you would barely keep it down.

Soon after eating, the guilt began to overtake your body. It was hard to ignore it as the warm feeling in your throat began to rise. It felt tingly and you had only one remedy on how to make it better-running to the bathroom and sticking a finger down your throat: watching everything come out as deformed and clunky.

Saliva dropped from your noses as you began to wipe it as tears streamed down your flushed face. The pain wasn’t ending, and you knew another round was set to come.

When you're a little girl, you didn’t think much of your body or how you looked. Little girls, or no child for the matter should have had to worry about what they looked like. But as you got older, the social norms and your body began to change. Other girls around you were thin, while you felt indifferent. You were made fun of not looking “thin”, which triggered a whole set of emotions. And so you took comfort in food, since it was the only thing that never judged you.

And yet food would soon become your enemy. You learned how to befriend, and also stab it in the back. Your relationship with food has formed into a minute where you could tolerate them, and then the other you had to get it out of your system. After eating meals, it became a habit for you to do so. Some days, you could tolerate being around it. Others, you would barely see if for days-if not weeks.

Your thoughts were overtaken by a large gulp in your throat, which resulted in the food you had binged coming out. Tears came from your eyes as you cried. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal and pretty? Why was life so unfair to you?

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door creak open and footsteps slowly approach your hunched figure. The pattern of the footsteps was already too familiar to you. Goosebumps went up your spine as you refused to look at him, embarrassed and guilted. Eugene was the last person you wanted to discover your monstrosity.

“Hey…” You managed to say, attempting to sound put together, which was the total opposite of what you currently where.

Eugene sunk down to your level and placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. Tears began to form at your eyes as you looked down, feeling it come again. Eugene grabbed your hair as you threw up, letting out a pained moan.

“I’m here, you’re okay,” Eugene cooed, letting you finish up. His soft accent was reassuring to you, but your heart rate increased. “Did it happen again?”

“Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” You lied, but knew that it was a shit lie and that Eugene was smart enough to see. He was your boyfriend and knew you better than anybody else did in the world-besides you.

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, cher.”

You slowly move your head up to look at him. Eugene looks tired, and so do you. Your eyes are puffy from crying, cheeks red, lips quivering, goosebumps all over your skin, heavy breathing- a total mess. A pig is what you would refer to yourself as. The outfit you had worn today was too tight forming and showed off the parts of your body that you wanted the world not to see. You looked like a ugly rat in your eyes, the vision of a disfigured body clouding your vision.

Instead of using your words, you break down once again. Eugene is there to watch you, pulling you into him as you sob uncontrollably. You act like a child to its mother, clasping into Eugene for dear life as you stain his white shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind this since he loves you, and you know that. But how could he, someone so beautiful on the inside and out, be with someone like you-a slob? Eugene didn’t see you as any of the things you would describe yourself as, and you still couldn’t understand why he has chosen to stick around for four years (and counting).

“I’m sorry,” Is all you could cough through your tears. Eugene is running his hands up and down back, his fingers occasionally getting tangled in your hair as he straightens it out. He pulls you from his chest as he cups your face, tenderly pushing your loose hair behind your shoulders to get a better view of your pretty face.

Eugene caresses your cheeks, getting a feel of your soft (y/s/c). “No need to be. Jus’ wanna make sure your ok.”

“I’m not. I…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, the waterworks come back into play. Eugene, being the angel he is, stays quiet as his thumbs wipe the tears away. Gathering your words, you continue on, “I never have been. Look at me, I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do. I-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Your heart’s racin’, settle down.” Eugene reassured in a calming voice not to shut you up, but to calm you. Your skin is shaky and sweaty and your heart is banging against your ribcage. Eugene feels the guilt tug at his heart-he hates to see you in such a distressed state. “Let me help you. Here,”

Eugene slides his arms under your armpits and gently helps your up. Leading you to the living room, he places you on the couch as he runs to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. He drops it out and pats you on the head before running back to the kitchen. You don’t want to drink, but Eugene would have a hissy fit if you didn’t. Reluctantly, you take a sip and swish it in your mouth before slowly gulping it.

Eugene returns a minute later with a cup of tea in his hand. He places in on the counter, putting a coaster under. Looking down, you can smell the sweetness. It’s your favourite; an orange spice with a dab of honey.

“Drink up ‘dat wata’ before you drink the tea. You’ll fell more refreshed after, and the tea will help with the dryness in your throat,” Eugene explained. He admired you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into them. As you drank your water, you forced a smile and put your hand on top of yours.

“Angé, I’m worried ‘bout you,” Eugene confessed, “You look sad, and when you’re sad-I’m sad.”

“Genie, please,” Is all you could mutter to say. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with this all my life. It’ll go away in a few hours, and I’ll be all smiles again. I promise.”

Eugene still feels guilty. He’s been around sister’s, older and younger to know what your problem is. The vomiting, the excuses, the insecurity, everything was adding up. What had saddened Eugene is that it was a lifelong issue, and it had gone untreated, and had progressively gotten worse.

“I don’t need you to force yourself to be happy. I want to help you ‘cause I love you, ma douce beauté.”

“But-“

Eugene placed a sweet kiss into your hair, “No. You stay ‘ere, docter’s orders. I’ll be right back.”

“Eugene-“

As he began to walk away, he turned around with a smile and pointed fingers. “What did I say?”

You put a finger down in defeat as you laid back, sipping on your tea. Hearing his footsteps fade into the bathroom and the water running, the tension from your shoulders disappeared as the sweet honey in the tea eased the frustration in your body. Doctor's orders, after all.

The sound of the water running in the opposite caused you to look up and see Eugene walking through the door. He came over at sat right beside you with open arms. Gene wasn’t vocal, but he was begging for your consent to hold you and comfort you. Scotting over, you slide into his arms and cuddle into his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to see that.” You mumbled into his chest, drawing little circles into them.

“No need to,” Eugene responded into your hair, planting a lingering kiss, “I just hate to see you feelin’ like ‘dis. You’re gorgeous-inside and out.”

“Gene-“

“No, ‘sha. You are.”

“But-“

A finger was placed on top your lips, slowly trailing down your chin as it was tilted up to look at Eugene. “You’ve got a great heart, soul, and body, ma petite fleur. Why can’t you see that?”

Growing frustrated, you removed Eugene’s hand and sat up, letting out a sigh. “You see something that I can’t see. I want to see it-but I can’t. I’ve never seen it, and when you say that...it just spins out of control.” Eugene sat next to see you, a hand on your thigh, listening to every word. You continued on, “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful but-you’re amazing for being my boyfriend through all of this. I know it’s not easy but...thank you.”

Eugene was the one who first knew about your eating disorder. When first meeting you, he was starstruck. Not only were you a beautiful person, but a beautiful soul. You were enchanting, and Eugene could listen to you talk for ages. But as time flew on, he became suspicious. Behind your smiles, something was terribly wrong. You would barley touch your food, wear looser clothing, say self deprecating jokes to the point where it seemed serious, and numerous concerning comments and actions. It caused Eugene to worry. He didn’t want to diagnose you officially, but he knew you had an earring disorder. So he did what Eugene knew he did best; comfort and beg you to take of yourself.

Babe Heffron, out of all the people, was the one who walked on you violently puking. He freaked out and ran to Eugene, which caused a whole shit show. From that day on, Eugene could no longer stand around and watch you hurt yourself. He made you get help, whether you liked it or not.

And it was the moment you realized that you were in love with him, and so did he.

Yes, you were getting proper help for your issues, but what was it truly helping? Your eating disorder would have food and bad days-and Eugene was always there. But the more he begged for you to eat, the more you couldn’t. One look at your body and it would trigger those horrid thoughts. You were so hungry, but you could barely eat.

“And The thing is-I’m trying to get better,” You responded as your voice cracked, “I see the therapist, I take the medication, I just…”

Seeing your shakiness, Eugene pulled you close and stroked your hair once again, whispering sweet words into your ear. “ ‘Dat’s all you can do, ‘cherie. I know you’re tryin’, you’re the bravest girl I know. I know I seem a lil’ pushy at times, and I’m sorry,” He paused before continuing, “I just worry bout you, a lot. But I need to know; what can I do that will help you? Beggin’ you to eat ain’t helpin. Montre-moi comment t'aider, ma petite colombe. Je veux enlever toute ta douleur.”

A smile curved on your cheeks as you nuzzled into his cheek, “No judgement?”

Eugene shook his head, eyeing for you to go.

Taking a second to think, you leaned back to look at your Cajun boyfriend with his pale skin and pretty dark hair.

“You’re you, I’m me. This path...is one I go down alone. You can hold my hand, but this path is mine to walk. This is my battle to fight. My recovery will take time and patience. I know I seem ungrateful, but I walk down this road alone. The only person that can fix this is me, and me alone.”

Eugene paid attention to the way your lips moved, seemingly understanding every word. Sure, it wasn't what he wanted. If he has this way, he would grab a magic wand and wish all your problems away, holding you close and protecting you from the evil’s of the world.

But even Eugene knew that the world was cruel, but a beautiful place. He couldn’t protect you from all the bad.

He showed you a subtle smile, “Ok.” He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand, “On your bad days, can I ask you what you need from me? How can I support you? How can I do anything?”

“Yes, of course you can.” You shook your head. “You know how amazing you are, Eugene?”

“Says the amazing one. You’re so brave. My brave lady.” Eugene planted a kiss on your lips. It was gentle and soft, just like Eugene. He muttered small saying’s through the small gasps of air, such as how beautiful you were.

“Baby, promise me somethin’.”

“Yes, Genie?”

“Don’t lose sight of the importance your love has on every aspect of our life, especially you. Got me?”

“I got you, genie. Always and forever.”

Eugene lead you away from the couch and into your bathroom. Being the gentleman he was, he asked if you wanted any tea or drinks after your bath. The bath had overflown, the water dripping onto the white tiles as the noise of the water splashing into the tub ran. You noticed the candles lit all over the small bathroom and the magnolias he had picked from your garden, lying lazily on the water.

Eugene panicked, but you walked over and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. It was ok, you were okay-he was okay.

You both we’re gonna be okay.

#eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #carrie writes #tw eating disorder

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER. 

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt could feel what you also feel and he was cursing the Djinn for making you both feel this way because it was a feeling that was certainly irresistible for one man to ever control. You were in heat, and it doesn’t seem to be such a good idea for the witcher to try and resist. 

Warnings: This is just a filler chapter for the smut in the next chapter. Ahonhonhon! Kind of Jealous Geralt too? Lowkey? Hehehehe. A cute bard and Cirilla having the period-syndrome (I’m having it too rn and I’m thirsty for Geralt or any of Henry’s character. DAMN IT) I’ve given a name to the Djinn they’ve found because I’ve tried searching but found no name for every Djinn they find in the witcher? I think? Reader being so needy and in heat. (The animal type of heat for reasons..) Also, reader is...a virgin. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: You probably want to strangle me so hard right now, bb’s. I’m in the phase of a writer where I’m procrastinating stuff but not exactly a writer’s block. Just want to do things besides writing all day or I’m prolly just sleepy with no damn reason since last week. 😅😒 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Well, you're in a greater bad mood right now, rat." Jaskier frankly stated, wiping his lute with a cloth.

The night was serene with your heart strings balled up in a yarn. Your emotions consisting of woe with a face as if you lost a shit ton of money. You sat together with Jaskier in the middle of the vast leigh, knees touching against each other as the bard quietly sat with you in silence.

A bright purple evenfall draws nigh along the sky, stars finally becoming visible as you admired how beautiful their skies were. Less pollution and more aesthetic, though a lot more eccentricity happening around more than earth.

You've exhaled one last sigh, mouth in a tight frown as you took notice of the moon that was in replete. A perfect shape of a circle as it shines bright.

"Is the witcher being an imbecile again?" the bard ceased his cleaning, giving you his sole attention as he watched your face contort in utmost upset. But, you chose to just let the sorrow go for a moment, admiring the stars and skies like it wasn't laughing back at you from how delusional you were for having strong feelings for the witcher, "Don't start, Jaskier."

"Your cantankerous attitude shown in your cherubic face tells me that you are gradually adapting Geralt's crabbiness because you accepted the position in being his lover---," Jaskier has managed to bluntly say, carefully placing his lute on the grass as he narrowed his eyes at you, "---Though, it does seem like a sacrifice, small rat. Your kindness shall be missed. I would like to see you try and let Geralt adapt to your naivity and sweetness. The vision is pretty hilarious, if you ask me!"

Your frown even grew tighter when he mentioned the word 'lover', shoulders falling from how dismayed you were from hearing it.

"I'm not his lover."

The bard couldn't help but raise a skeptical brow back at you, remembering what he saw last night. He knew he wasn't hallucinating nor daydreaming, "Oh, so kissing under the moonlight is considered as a friendly gesture in my era now? If so, then this means you wouldn't mind kissing me too!"

He puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as slowly tried to teasingly close the gap between you both as Jaskier pouted to act as if he was about to give you a kiss on the cheek when you've yelped and immediately had your palms over his mouth, gently pushing his face away from you, "Jaskier! What are you even---?!"

He comfortably sat back down and had his knee over his chest prior to the position he had now, which was in criss-cross as he playfully shrugged. His pretty baby blues looking at the darkening sky, "A shame. I've been told by countable lads and lasses that I do kiss like I take their breath away,"

You tutted at that, shaking your head from his teasing and tried to send a hostile sally, "You suck then. Do you want them dying because of lack of breath?"

Your animosity has been curved by the bard. He seemed like he was acting like he didn't hear you as he let his eyes flicker to you again; going on with his jests, "Thank you by the way. I've been sleeping much soundly since the couple of days and you seemed to be having such wonderful dreams every night,"

Bawdy indications were hinted in between Jaskier's words; making you give him a glare that obviously made him grin like he won the lottery; thinking that your previous rendezvous back in Geralt's room when he wasn't around had some provocative explanations.

He didn't know your symbol was hurting a lot more on those nights where Geralt wasn't around.

You brush off his ribald comment, "I didn't do it for you,"

"I thought you were actually asking for forgiveness by calling me a horse's arse minutes ago? You're knowing the blasphemy of our language but totally naive of every monsters and places we have here. It doesn't seem to be such a thing to be proud of,"

Jaskier continued his blathers without even letting you talk, freely letting you give him death glares because he seemed to be more mouthy as days go by. You turn a deaf ear to exhale an exasperated breath, "I'm taking it back. You're still annoying as heck," before unabashedly laying your head down on his lap.

His yakking has been brought to a halt when he'd felt your head fall on his lap, the bard suddenly uttering quizzical gibbers that you continued to ignore as you felt the bracing wind hit your body; appreciating the eventide in quietude.

"Alright, alright! I'm not complaining...Ughm," Jaskier cleared his throat, anxiously scratching his head as he tried his best not to look at you.

The fullness of the moon has been drawing you in again. In a tranquil night, it was as if the stars began to whisper sweet nothings, lately realizing that their soft whispers has actually been your wishes; albeit, you've broken them down together, your whims willing and having no desire for you to actually come back in earth.

With only one thing in your mind, it was to stay with Geralt and his family.

But, do you really mean it? If you would choose earth or their dimension, were you serious that you wanted to stay?

Though, for him; you weren't that sure if he also wanted the same thing. If Geralt wasn't around, you were probably already dead, have been sold by noblemen or eaten by their monsters.

But, the stars seemed to jump out of the sky when you've heard a loud thundercrack of a door that came from the inside of their house, snapping the bard quiet as the noise tugged you out of your happy place; a place that you hoped Geralt came with.

The night has went slower, time ticking a lot more deliberately when one person is probably upset with another. Especially, when the person you were upset with lived in the same house as you and even was the owner of the bed you sleep on.

You were beginning to feel rickety as seconds pass by while Jaskier tried worming out whatever he had asked to Cirilla whom was feeding Kolby with a basket full of obsolete bread.

"Tell me why the back door is now broken off its hinges?" he asked in incredulity, hands on his hips as he had seen the brown, wooden door hanging with all its life, trying hard not to fall.

Hence, as they continued their talk; you couldn't help but massage that aching part of your chest, the one where the symbol laid upon the valley of your breasts as you heavily breathed.

It was attacking again.

The weight and fiery phantom of fingers grasping your heart more severe rather than the nights you had it felt like a rabid monster wanted to come out of cage. Their cold weather suddenly all swelter; as if you were walking on burnt out coals with one person clouding your mind.

Geralt.

You needed him, wanted him and yearned for his presence.

Cirilla gave a blatant shrug of her shoulders; sounding completely phlegmatic as she answered, "I don't know, bard. I didn't scream if that will make you any less more worried,"

Jaskier had his eyebrows furrowed as he keenly pondered as to why their door was broken all of a sudden, "Has there been a beast?" his slim, calloused fingers moved restlessly; dwelling onto what has raided their own home. The bard looked anywhere, continuing to be in distress while Cirilla patted the Hirikka's head with utmost care as she watched him devour everything in the basket, "You mean, Geralt?" she gave Jaskier a once over before turning back to look at Kolby, thoroughly undisturbed that it was the witcher's doing, "---He went out for a second and then came back, breaking the door off its hinges. But, he promised to fix it,"

Jaskier's head veered to where she was crouched in the middle of the living room, his baby blue eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to tell all his inquiries but was instantly shut closed when he'd seen you hunched in his peripheral vision, palms on your knees as you were breathing like you were being chased by another Alghoul.

The latter took heed of those sweat drops falling on the side of your face as you were heaving deep breaths. Your head was darkening in assailing images of those familiar amber eyes you've grown to be thoroughly fond of; longing to be consumed by those glowing golden aureate.

You've heard someone walking closer to where you stood, seeing Jaskier crouch to give you a scrutiny of his baby blues. Bright azures. You didn't yearn for that. All you wanted was golden. His golden and you couldn't help but whimper, your chest has giving you agony as if you were being pricked in the heart by small needles, "You're sweating like a rabid---rat, are you alright?"

Another deep inhale of your breath; you breathlessly muttered, "I am Jaskier---It's just---" nevertheless, those train of thoughts couldn't be completed by the excruciating pain that ignited a troubled mewl. You straightened your back, making Jaskier stand up as well to scan your face for any signs as to what was happening to you, but only had seen your face painfully contorted in a way that tells him you were in agony.

"It's hot. Too hot," pause. You swallowed the tight knot of confining sensations wanting to be let out, "---Abnormally hot. Hot in two different ways; like I wanna be impaled or something!"

At your most forthright honesty, your statement has made the bard blink rapidly from how blunt it sounded, being taken aback by how outspoken you suddenly become; a thorough change of your bashful self, "You're actually revealing lewd facts that should be kept to yourself. You are certainly not alright!"

You could feel yourself grow hotter, the heat being scorching and aching at the same time. Your legs began to weaken and you can't help but fold like a paper, squat down and the position was utmost impuissant; totally vulnerable with your palms on your ears as you tried to shut down the restless whispering that went on and on; ceaseless as you had no power over it.

Jaskier began to panic; his face brimful of dread, "----GERALT? WE HAVE A PROBLEM DOWN HERE!"

The soughing of breathless whispers were relentless, no matter how you tried to cover your ears; they just keep coming. It was incessant, never ending despite of how they were giving your chest a pain that seem to be unyielding as they went on and on.

Witcher. You wanted the witcher. You needed him, you longed for him.

"Stop saying the word witcher, Jaskier!" you abruptly scolded, sounding too jarring and ear-piercing; void of kindness as you could feel the aggravation going to your head with the additional non-stop rustle of voices. The bard eyed you skeptically as he added, finding your rebuke rather surprising and odd because he never said anything about it, "I wasn't even uttering a word!"

Warm, slender fingers fell on your shoulders; trying his best to comfort you while the witcher wasn't coming down from his chambers yet. Nevertheless, from the moment he'd touch you, the toubadour has received a harsh slap of his hand being pushed away.

"Jaskier!" you harshly spat, your nose scrunched from how discomforting you were feeling.

He was quick to haul his arms up in surrender, stepping a foot away as he looked at you in horror, "Alright---I'm not touching you then!"

Another strained bleat left your lips as you were now fully sat on the floor, holding your chest as you continued to heave, shaking your head from the perpetual torment that tries its best to scream blandishments that sounded abridged. Some were incomprehensible and other words sounded lucid.

Destiny has it's price. It sounded just like a rustle of the winds as the shushed voices continued its onslaught. Two souls, together as one. Bound for eternal rest or a life forever. Zephyr shall protect. You cannot outrun death.

Your whimpers started to gradually increase, mewling in the process when you've exhaled a sigh as the needles seem to turn bigger, "It hurts, I swear it really hurts!" you screeched, body feeling like you were dropped in hot, molten lava as you were hearing foot steps treading in haste, "Geralt's coming, don't worry, rat."

Kolby prowled to where you sat; eternal mewls never ceasing as sexual, pent-up aggression was starting to travel to your head, but you tried to fight them off. Though, it ignited more pain as you struggled. Cirilla suddenly snapped her head to where you were, a tight lipped frown etching her face as she jogged to where you sat.

"Is she okay?" the pretty child asked in worry, watching you battle with something they couldn't see nor feel. Jaskier raised a brow; looking sardonic as he acknowledged, "No, she certainly isn't, Princess Cirilla."

She gave him a lour as she snarled; her riposte sounding a lot like the witcher because of how harsh it sounded, "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic nonsense, bard."

Jaskier was unfazed as he took her retort like it was nothing, "Ooooh, is this how period--is it called period---does to a lassie?"

They're retaliations had them unaware of Geralt's presence who came marching down the stairs with an unfathomable expression on his face; the trepidation never seen in his features as it was emotionless, never giving anybody the panic that Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby has been feeling when you've suddenly began bawling your eyes out from the thumping pain.

The witcher hurriedly crouched before you, his glowing amber eyes thoroughly scanning your features if there was anything weird happening; but to his discontent, Geralt noticed none.

He felt everything. Your frustration, pent-up aggression; venereal desires or not, the twinge of scorching ache that can't be relieved due to constraints given from the latter himself when he'd chose jurisdiction over his carnal wishes that you also wished.

But, he'd been bull-headed for his reasons; Geralt was not bargained for the repercussions held because of having no permanent proof that you were also suffering every night.

Just like him. Hence, the both of you needed relief. Corporeal appetites released for the betterment of both.

"She's in heat," Geralt rasped, trying to hear what you've been begging for and he sensed that you were hearing voices that continues to assault you, paining your chest as you were unaware of his presence that loom before you.

"What? Oh, Geralt! Cease the utter balderdash!" Jaskier exclaimed, eyeing the witcher who squat down in front of you.

Geralt's amber eyes has been searching for yours, but you've never let him see as you continued your hushed begging. He had his chiseled jaw clenched so tight, every breath he takes was also giving his chest a potent congesting pain that he can somehow resist. His medallion was vibrating wildly, alarming him that there was magic surrounding him.

Therefore, he knew the pain wasn't just one to disregard because he knew your pain has explanations that is needed to foresee.

Was the Djinn still in there? Keeping you as a host?

No. Impossible. The witcher thought at the back of his head because there were times that his medallion doesn't vibrate whenever he's around you, it only happened now and back then when you were possessed.

It was impossible that the Djinn was keeping you as its master as well. You could die if that ever happened. The seal was gone and never found back in the swamps, meaning to say it was already gone; broke free from its confinement because you already had three of your wishes.

Jaskier couldn't help but notice how clean and fixed Geralt's hair was. Hence, he'd started to acknowledge the aesthetic difference he claimed, "Also, did you just braid your majestic chalky white hair all by yourself?! Or did you do it, Princess Cirilla?" he bargained, utterly stunned from Geralt and his hair being braided, dubiously eyeing the lion cub of Cintra.

But, she only gave a nonchalant negation, "No."

"Oh, the rat did! She did a great job at making you look so feminine tonight, Geralt!"

Geralt paid no heed to Jaskier's teasing compliments, wanting nothing but to roll his eyes but ceased to do so as your fingers began to shake, his mind now in a perturbed fret as his gaze shifted anywhere to see what was causing your whole situation because he sees nothing. A tight furrow of his eyebrows tightly creased his forehead, "---The Djinn has given her effects for whatever the symbol does to her, bard."

Jaskier crouched beside where Geralt is, receiving a truculent glare that made the bard move away for an inch because his bellicose aura was radiating off him too much, "Symbol? What symbol?"

"I'm not showing you her chest." he bluntly chided as a low growl vibrated through his chest, giving Jaskier a hostile look in his glowing peepers.

The toubadour did a double-take, his mouth turning into an offended 'O' as he held a palm on top of his chest as he gestured to your squatted form, "I wasn't even asking you if I could see her breasts!"

"Then, shut up and stop asking."

Jaskier huffed, sulking beside the witcher because of how he'd suddenly become such a grump.  

You've muttered a soft mewl, tightly closing your ears with your palms as you suddenly talked out loud, "I need Geralt. Where's Geralt?!" it was the only name you could hear, echoing inside your head as the heat traveled through your veins, searing and extremely scorching all of a sudden.

Your heartbeat was loudly drumming out of your chest. Sweat dripping down your face as the pain and heat was starting to make you feel lightheaded, his scent crashing through your senses. Earthy, pinewood and a mix of mannishness.

Geralt.

"Don't touch me!" It felt like you were burning; but also finding some aid to the ache as it soothed your heated skin like ice to the fire. You've felt his thick, rough fingers fall on your shoulder, making you jerk back as you looked at him; completely mortified for a second, "I'm here, midget." before the witcher tightened his hold on you, those fingers clasping around your feeble arm as he gazed upon you in deep concern.

"It's alright. Calm down, it's me." Geralt gently hushed your frantic state, softly grabbing the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

When he did, your eyes were dark and dilated, filled with carnal.

"You're having a hot spell," he roughly forced the words out of him, heavily swallowing whatever you were feeling because he's also having the same problems, but chose to restrain himself; doing a better job than any most men would, "A--A literal spell?" you didn't catch his drift and feel yourself breathing deep, his scent soothing your nerves as it also does the same for him.

Geralt shook his head, his fingers strapped on the side of your neck making his hand feel the pleasuring jolt. You've felt his fingers slightly tremble as your eyes were beseeching, those dilated pupils of yours tormenting him, "No. You're in heat, midget." pause. he lowly growled in displeasure, amber eyes pooling in keen, "---which explains your cravings for touches and the need for coition,"

Your face scrunched in pain and a mixture of pent-up frustration, the voices inside your head slowly dying down as it was now drowning in the witcher's unique, baritone timbre of his that was making you feel giddy before a jolt of pain rose up your chest again, "What am I---an animal?! Geralt, make it stop!"

Jaskier and Cirilla listened in silence. However, the bard fidgeted with the hem of his tunic; his mindless frets seeming to come up with such suggestions that will make everyone's mind boggle.

He raised a hand, not before taking a good look at you who had eyes pure of anguish and need which now focused at Geralt before he'd loudly cleared his throat, turning his head to see the witcher in distress from what other methods he could think of other than the impaling,  "I have a proposal and an utterly brilliant idea to make the pain stop!"

Cirilla hushedly snorted, "His ideas are always nonsense. Don't listen to him, Geralt."

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, pointing a finger at the princess, mouth opening before he was immediately ceased by Geralt himself.

"The princess is right, bard."

The sonneeter noted his lukewarm response, sounding like he actually opposes what Cirilla has reprimanded because all Geralt ever wanted and what clouds his mind is having his way with you, "---Give the small rat what she wants, Witcher. What if the pain carries on as nights go by? Give her the rumpy pumpy since that is always the answer to why an animal is in heat. It wants coitus, or if you've become one soft, romantic witcher; then I suggest to use the word, 'make love'." he emphasized, quoting the word 'make love' with both hands, his middle finger and index one folding as he said the last word with ardor.

Geralt was quick to scowl at that, exhaling an exasperated breath out of his nose as he hummed in protest; giving the bard his meanest glare, "You're saying she's an animal. You want me to take advantage of it?"

"No?" Jaskier quickly shook his head, groaning out; palms faintly hitting his forehead as he tried to act as if he was slapping it from Geralt's unreasonable assumptions. He continued, languidly blinking back at the frowning witcher, "---I didn't even say you would take advantage of the idea, you nincompoop! Then, do you want me to mate with her?"

It took him a second before he'd seen the latter started giving blazing daggers that had fire in it, his words seething as Geralt gruffly barked, "Absolutely not, bard!"

His glowing, amber eyes were boring holes at Jaskier before he lowly rumbled; more so to himself, trying to convince himself that there was another way.

He was dithering the idea of having you; not because he didn't find you pleasant, fetching, alluring or beautiful. Geralt found you in many types of wonderful adjectives he could tell, though mostly was kept inside his mind. The idea of having you, only to himself; ravishing you in ways that he ought to please kept him faltering because of one thing in his mind.

Vulnerability.

The witcher was thoroughly cautious of vulnerability because whenever it happens; once the walls have been broken down, there was always hindrance coming in his way and with the person he'd promised were important, or a person he loved because he knew that once he has you, Geralt was done for no matter how unstable he was.

You'll be seeing things you've never seen nor felt from him as he does the same way.

Especially, that you never came from their dimension and that the feelings he had for you was too strong to even control. But, the voices at the back of his mind was pulling him away from even pouring those emotions down because firstly, he didn't know how to show and second, there was a huge chance that you would also leave.

What if you leave? a person he'd treasured so much begins to leave him again?

Geralt mindlessly gritted his teeth together as he grumbled and grouched, avoiding the bard's eyes as he watched you shakily grab onto his palms that tenderly rested on the side of your face; leaning onto his touch as you looked at him; utterly lovestruck, "We'll find another way," pause. "---There has to be."

Though, it seems like the bard hasn't heard his beseeching and continued with his witful suggestions, "The only way is to impale her to cease the sufferings that the spell has cast upon her by the Djinn," Jaskier promptly stood up on his feet, his anxiety making him blurt out mindless blabbers he could ever think of, "---There is nothing to lose on this one, Geralt. Especially that you're...no offense---"

Geralt cut him off in haste, surly spitting out his words, "There is, Jaskier. Her purity."

Jaskier pointed back at the witcher, completely looking taken aback as he opened his mouth like he was stunned, "Oh." was the only thing he managed to say for the first few seconds before he quietly muttered, "OooooOh. She's a?"

The Ivory haired man gave a brief nod, "Untouched." he frankly informed as Cirilla quietly listened in the background with Kolby howling loudly in the middle of the night like a wolf in disguise, "---Oh! This is an unorthodox for the series of women that you have had, Geralt! Also, she's a rare one indeed!"

Jaskier couldn't help but feel dumbstruck from his suggestions, shamefully scratching the back of his nape as he has given the whole responsibility to Geralt because he could never help. He always never does because of some sorts that he couldn't explain, probably because he wasn't taught with these magical phenomena that Geralt expertly knows.

When the witcher has given you his attention, you've abruptly attacked him in a bear hug, arms tightly wrapped around his thick neck that you wanted to softly pepper kisses. As you were caging him in your arms, his delicious scent wafted through your nose, welcoming how it was indeed mouthwatering for your blazing appetite or carnal greed.

"I want to have you, Geralt. I--I need to have you! These thoughts inside my head...It needs you, I--I need you," you begged, softly pleading like there wasn't anyone around you; not noticing Cirilla, Kolby nor Jaskier as there was only one person in your mind. Geralt of Rivia. Your Geralt. Your witcher. The only person who gives you fluttering butterflies and wild ants inside your stomach and chest.

You've tucked your face in between your arm and his braided hair, breathing the back of his ear like a wild woman as Geralt stood still and heard your whimpers that went straight to his stronghold, his will in finding another method to help suddenly wavering from how soft and provocative it sounded that clouded his mind.

He turned relaxed in your arms, accepting the bear hug and probably loving how close you both were together after hours of not talking to each other. You've felt his calloused palm caress your clothed back, soothing your pained mewls that came after your sensual whimpers as it was unstable. Geralt gently unlatched your arms that surrounds him, his golden peepers meeting your baffled ones before he had no problem in scooping you up in his arms, like newly wed couples.

"We'll think of other ways, midget. Come. Let's help you with the heat,"

Cliffhanger before the smut? I’M SORRY, BB’S. LOVE MEEEE STILLLLLL! 

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​r @carrieannewaywardson @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​

#muse: geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt smut #geralt #geralt of rivia x female reader #geralt x reader #geralt x female reader #the witcher #witcher #witcher au #witcher fic #witcher jaskier #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia fluff #the witcher oneshot #Witcher of the night #witcher of the night series #WOTN #seb-owns-these-tatas #henry cavill #white wolf #butcher of blaviken

[creamypudding]

Excerpt

For the probably four people who enjoy my Clack | AkuRoku mashup stories... I’m gonna feed you so damn hard with the Ocean in Your Veins series. I’m so damn excited to bring it to you XD Mind you... I need to write part 2 first. And then part 3.

I did finish the 1st draft of chapter 1 of part 2 though. It’s got me eager to keep writing more. Have a juicy excerpt!

All the context you need for this is that Zack (going by Zak’kusu in the first chapter) is a fish creature, same as Axel (think Sidon from BotW or the fish monster from Shape of Water). Zack wants to be human so he can make eyes at Cloud (Roxas’ brother, because duh) and Zack’s finally found a way to make it happen and has invited himself over to Roxas’ house where it all will go down.

“Axel. Don’t do that. Not here. Not now.” Roxas tugs on Axel’s arms.

There comes a knock at the door.

All eyes land on it.

“Rox, are you okay? I forgot my wet-suit,” comes Cloud’s voice.

“Both of you, out. Now!” Roxas whispers with a harsh edge at the ch’ta and points to the door with a furious scowl. “I'm fine. It's just the TV. Hang on. I'll turn it down!” He calls out and twitches on the TV before he heads to the door.

Axel makes for the backdoor. He chitters at Zak'kusu. Zak'kusu, however, doesn’t want to go. He’s annoyed at Roxas’ attitude. Roxas would have never talked to Cloud about him. It boils his blood. He will talk to Cloud one way or another. But he still hopes that the magic spell will kick in. And soon. He glares at Axel, takes a step to the wall, and opens the first door that he sees. He ducks, so as not to knock his head, steps through to tiled flooring, and casts a glare behind himself at the other two occupants of the house.

Axel lets out a displeased click.

“Go. Leave him and go,” Roxas whispers and waves in a shoo’ing motion across the living space.

Axel leaves. The backdoor shuts. The bathroom door shuts. The front door opens.

“Hey. Are you sure you left it here? I thought you packed everything after our dive this morning.”

Zak'kusu finds himself in the bathroom. He stays bowed as he’s much too tall for this space. It’s dark in here. The moonlight filters through the diffused bathroom window and paints everything in a cool blue hue. He spots the mirror by the basin, walks over, and leans down until he can see himself in the mirror. Even in the gloom, he can see how his face remains unchanged. Except he’s covered in green goop. He clutches the basin in his hands. His claws dig in and something cracks. Why is it taking so long? He whispers the enchantment to himself again and glowers. It’s even more frustrating with Cloud just outside the door. He hears the two humans talk. 

A tap comes at the window. He leans over and opens it. More light streams in. Axel’s on the other side. His spines are up.

‘What is your problem? Get out of there!’ he snarls.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve talked to Cloud.”

‘You’re insane. Cloud can’t see you like that’

“I’ll turn human in a minute. I know I will.”

‘It’s not going to happen. Aerith told you shit to get you to stop annoying her. That’s all that green goop is’ Axel’s lower half of his face is almost the same red as his forehead. His teeth are bared. ‘Get out’

“I can’t fit through the window. I’m much too—whoa” Zak'kusu steadies himself. He feels weird. His skin’s all tingly. The room looks bigger. Axel’s mouth hangs open. His eyes stare wide.

Voices from beyond the door draw near—

“I’m pretty sure I left it in the bathtub.”

“No, it’s not! It’s down by the boat,” comes Roxas’ frantic response.

“Let me just check—”

The light comes on. Axel disappears from the window. Zak'kusu whirls around. He stares. Cloud’s standing there, hand poised on the door handle and the other on the light switch. Zak'kusu can't see anything but those big sky-blue eyes that stare at him. See him. Finally see him again. It is him. Zak'kusu is sure of it now.

Eyes dart off him. Cloud's mouth flaps. Some sort of sound comes out of him. Zak'kusu forgets to breathe. He tries to chirp in greeting. No sound comes out.

“I’m so sorry!” Cloud flees and shuts the door. 

Zak'kusu’s left in the empty bathroom. The light’s still on.

“I… I… I can explain everything! Please don’t freak out,” comes Roxas’ hasty words.

“Why is there a naked man in your bathroom?” Cloud sounds breathless.

Zak'kusu turns back around to the mirror. He stumbles. He grabs the sink. He startles. His hands! He looks at himself in the reflection. He jerks with another start. Pale! He’s all pink and pale. He touches his face. Smooth. Smooth and flat. He pinches the end of his nose. So squishy and weird. His eyes are so small. His spines… he runs his hand through his… hair! He has hair! Thick. Dark. Black. His eyes are blue. He thumbs over the scar on his cheek with a scowl. He can still hear Cloud outside. With a deep breath, and a grin so big it hurts his cheeks, he turns and takes running—stumbling—steps toward the door. His body feels all weird and uncoordinated. He slams into the door. His grasp on the handle slips. He gets it and yanks it open. He beams and steps out into the living room. A laugh leaves him as he sees Roxas and Cloud.

He tries to say something. His words stick in his throat. He switches to human language. Still nothing comes out.

Cloud’s averting his gaze. Roxas looks as red as a lobster. “Get back inside and put a towel over yourself,” comes the feral shout.

Zak'kusu doesn’t understand what Roxas is mad about. He’s human. Everything is fine. He tries to say as much. 

Roxas continues to point angrily at him. “Towel! Now!”

Zak'kusu looks down at himself. He twitches. He’s grossly pale and pink everywhere. He turns around and goes back to the bathroom. He’s naked. Is that what the humans are upset about? He supposes he’s never seen a human naked. But he’s always been naked in front of Roxas. It’s something he’s never thought about until now. He grabs one of the white towels and throws it over his head. He can’t see but carefully makes his way back, feeling around for the wall. He comes back out to hear—

“What is going on?” Cloud asks, a cautious yet distressing hitch in his voice.

"Look, I can totally explain this—oh my god, Zack, you moron!”

Zak'kusu can’t see anything except for the white towel covering his face. He feels a tug. The towel comes off. 

“Around your waist like this,” Roxas snaps. 

Zak'kusu holds the towel in place like Roxas shows him and watches Roxas walk into the bathroom. He turns back and looks at Cloud. Cloud is right there. So close. So much bigger looking up close. He looks so lovely. Zak'kusu doesn't know why his voice isn’t working. He tries to say something. His throat vibrates. Strangled sounds leave him.

Roxas brushes past again, something dark in his hands. “Here is your wet-suit.” He hands it to Cloud.

“Can you please explain who this strange naked man is and what he’s doing  in your house? Do we need to call the cops?” Cloud keeps a wary eye on Zak'kusu.

Roxas groans. “This is Zack. He’s… he’s…” Roxas stares at Zak'kusu. He looks back at Cloud, the scowl now replaced with a smile. He laughs. “He’s an intern from MU. He’s a lighthouse tech and is going to be living with me and helping me with my thesis. He’s from the north so has some experience in and knowledge about the ecology of colder climates. You know how I’m studying the special properties of plankton and I think I can get more insight about it when comparing findings from the northern pole and how it compares to the warmer climate around Costa Del Sol. Isn’t that right, Zack?” Roxas glares at him.

Zak'kusu smiles with all his teeth. His lips feel funny. He tries to tone it down. Cloud’s giving him a funny look. He nods.

“Why isn’t he saying anything?” Cloud whispers in a poor attempt to be discreet.

“He isn’t a native speaker. He’s… a bit shy about speaking.”

“Oh. Okay… but… why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? I was just here this morning. He wasn’t here,” Cloud says quietly, holding the wet-suit in front of himself like a protective blanket.

“I… uh… I wasn’t expecting him until next week. I was going to bring it up closer to the time. But he came by early. Wanted to get settled in before starting his work. Isn’t that right, Zack?”

Zak'kusu nods again. He can’t stop smiling. He can’t believe it worked. He’s human! He feels the need to trill. A squeak leaves him.

“Okay, well… I’m… going to go now.” Cloud backs up with slow steps, not turning around as he goes.

Zak'kusu waves eagerly. The towel drops. Roxas snaps and yells at Zak'kusu. Cloud turns and hurries out. 

“See you, Rox. Bye… Zack,” he says and shuts the door.

A laugh bursts out of Zak'kusu. Cloud said his name… well… sort of. He could burst with joy. He laughs harder.

The next chapter will be challenging as Zack gets used to human life. It’s going to be so fun exploring things through his clueless lens. Any input/suggestions/bright ideas on what Zack might see or do or experience is totally welcomed as I’m cobbling this together.

#ocean in your veins #excerpt #chapter 1 #zack fair #cloud strife #Axel #roxas #axel as a fish-man #zack is a fish-man #clack #zakkura #akuroku

[joshslater]

Werehick

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I don’t know when it actually started. I had been aware of time slipping for me occasionally. I might have thought it was Sunday and it turned out to be Monday, but I had shrugged them off as a result of stress. The alternative would have been some mental disorder, and you really don’t want to go there in your self diagnosing. It wasn’t until after the “break in” it started to become a regular occurrence. A serious one as well. Best I knew I woke up Saturday morning to a trashed apartment. Well, not totally trashed, but a few items broken, lots of things moved around, empty beer cans on the floor, some money missing.

I was shocked I managed to sleep through whatever had transpired in my apartment, and a little scared to what could have happened, what could have been done to me. Perhaps something had been done to me? Perhaps that was why I slept through it all. I couldn’t figure out any reason for it. Sneak into someones apartment, at great risk, tranquilize the sleeping resident, and then throw a party. Did they use sleep gas, like they do when they rob truckers sleeping at truck stops?

It was when I decided to call the cops I got the chills. The phone said it was Monday morning. The whole weekend gone! I decided the police had to wait, as I hurried to work. I got there enough on time to not be suspicious, but obviously I spent the entire day thinking of little else. As a creative writer at an ad agency my hours are flexible, and as long as I deliver in time and at quality no one cares, but it would still be weird to not show up at all. But I barely managed to do anything useful while there. I felt tired, mentally drain, and sore in my muscles, as if the adrenaline of the morning had a lingering effect. Above all, questions and thoughts kept popping up. Do I need to change locks? Are there now drugs stashed in my apartment? Did they do something else to me? Is that why I feel funny? Do I need to schedule a doctors appointment? What would I say that wouldn’t lock me up?

Cleaning up in the apartment took less time than I had feared, and once done I realized there was even less for the police to do. What was the crime? Where was the evidence? As the days passed, it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Oh, how wrong I was.

A couple of weeks later it happened again, only this time I woke up wearing someone else’s clothes. It smelled like sweat and auto repair shop even before I opened my eyes, and I practically jumped out of bed when I looked at myself. A worn under armour hoodie, filthy, threadbare jeans, and workers boots, splattered with caked mud. There was a light brown outline on the sheets where my body had rubbed dust into the fabric.

I could feel my heard pounding, as I ran through the rooms of my apartment to see if anyone was still there. Only later did I realize I didn’t have a plan for what to do if I had found someone. As before the place was a mess, but I sensed more things were missing.

I rushed into the bathroom and started to rip off the clothes. I smelled like someone else, I looked like someone else, and I hated it. I felt violated, somehow. This wasn’t just drawing a dick with a sharpie on someone drunk. I threw the hoodie on the floor. I tried to pull off the boots, heel against toe, but it didn’t work. I almost felt trapped that I couldn’t just throw off all the shit that was on me. I sat down on the toilet and frantically tried to untie the knots on the boots. It for sure took longer than if I had been calm. It didn’t help that I saw dirt under my finger nails. Once the first boot was off I reeled back from the smell of stale foot juice. Someone else’s warm boot smell, and on my foot, a thick, grey sock. I yanked it off, fast as I could, and did the same on the other foot.

Though the end was near, I just felt more and more trapped. The jeans had a belt with a belt buckle large as my hand. I undid it, and undid the buttons. The worst for last. Under the jeans I wore a jockstrap. Not any of the sexualized neon-pink ones from a pride parade. No, some disgusting, once white jockstrap with a few blue and red lines on the waist band. I got out of the jeans, and then as quickly as possible pulled off the jockstrap and thew it in the heap with the other shit.

My heart was still racing, the room smelled of feet and sweat and diesel, and my sight was transfixed on the pile of clothes on the floor. It took probably a minute to calm down. I looked in the mirror. There was a clear dirt line where the hoodie ended and my neck started. Determined I walk out of the bathroom to the kitchen to get a plastic bag. I needed to put all of the clothes away before I started to shower. I shuddered to imagine what damp air would to do them and the smell they would give off.

It started out brownish and took a while until the water running into the shower drain was clear. Only then did I start with soap. One full body pass with hard soap and one with some liquid soap. Then two thorough shampooings and finally one pass conditioner, something I rarely use. But I felt like I needed it this time.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find that it was again Monday, not Saturday, when I checked my smartphone. I made a deal with my project manager on Slack to work from home. I needed to vacuum and wet wipe the entire apartment to get the dirt out, figure out what was missing, and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

Assessing the damage I could immediately see that my hunch of things missing was true. A few art pieces were gone, and most of my formal clothes as well. It was just bizarre. The state of my apartment didn’t make sense either. It didn’t look like someone had thrown a party, but rather as if they had squatted there. Rifled through my stuff like a burglar, but also lounged around, dragging dirt all over my carpets and furniture. I was trying to think back to the last time it happened, what was different from then. This was like a serial killer story on CSI. They keep getting bolder and bolder after each kill, at least in the show. Did this guy, whoever he was, think his method was perfected enough that he could come and go as he wished. Even mock me by dressing me up. Who knows when he’ll...

I dropped everything and checked my phone calendar. This was the last weekend of the month, and last time it had happened was also the last weekend of the month. I flipped back through the month in the calendar, desperately trying to remember anything about the previous times I had lost track of time. For all the ones I could remember anything about, they had all been the last weekend of the month. So that was his pattern. How had I not seen that before? All I needed was some go pro or something. Motion activated, long battery time. I was doing some of my best work in a long time that afternoon. “Perhaps you should work from home more often” my project lead told me on slack.

It was such a roller coaster of a day, I reflected, as I took my second shower. Despite having thrown away the clothes, that smell of sweat lingered. Probably my imagination, but I had also spent several hours scrubbing floors, so my body was sore all over. I felt like I’ve had quite a workout, which probably was true. As I let the water wash over me I was thinking of all the different places to put cameras in the apartment. I wanted as few as possible, for cost reasons of course, but have as wide and good coverage as possible, yet be hard to find.

Something had not gone according to plan. I had purchased the cameras well in advance, tried them out, and checked the footage. All great. I had put limits on my credit cards. Made backups of my computer. Hid away some of the more valuable items. Everything was set when I went to bed. I was nervous, sure, but fully expected to wake up with the face of my tormentor recorded. At least I had expected to wake up at home.

This looked like a scrap yard, and my bed had been a bunch of cut up cardboard boxes. It took some minutes to get my bearings. My entire body felt stiff. I must have slept here, in the cold, on the hard surface all night, and I didn’t have much clothes on either. A tattered T-shirt, just as distressed jeans, and a pair of OK jogging shoes. I smelled like I hadn’t showered all week. Looking to my left I could see a camera on a rack of junk, looking back at me. It might even be one of the ones I bought and hid. So much for that attempt.

As I got up to get it, I something more than just soreness, and looked again at myself. Since when was I this ripped? My arms were way larger than when I went to sleep. My work is sitting with a lap top, writing almost the same thing over and over. I don’t have veins that pops. There is nothing that bulges when I bend my arms. Apparently I do now. Even without a mirror I could tell the rest of the body had changed just as much as well. What the hell is going on?

I stood up and walked a step to the camera. Everything felt wrong. My center of gravity was somehow off. My pose was different. My gait was different. It’s like my newly gotten muscles forced me to move differently, or they would rub against my body, stopping them. The small camera was recording, but I had no means to view it here, wherever I was. I stopped it, grabbed it and started to look for an exit.

After a few minutes of random turns in the heaps of trash I found a clearing and an open gate. An older man in a neat, but worn, blue coverall sat in a plastic chair, reading some papers and drinking coffee from a cup of out of place fancy china.

- Kyle! Here this early? I didn’t even know you were here.

Kyle? Who is this man mistaking me for? No time to figure that out. I have no idea where I am, what time it is, or how to get home, and I need to get there before anyone gets suspicious.

- The early bird. What time is it anyway? - It’s 5... 48.

I thanked him and exited. Once outside of the gates I started to recognize where I were. This was the industrial park south-west of the city. Lots of small and medium companies have lots there. The other kind of “lots”. God, and I’m a copywriter. It would be almost an hour walk to get home from here. I started to pat my pockets to see if I had any money or anything on me, and almost jumped and yelped.

I have a monster cock. It’s huge! You don’t just suddenly grow a large penis in your twenties. Certainly not while sleeping through a weekend. I just realized that perhaps I was wrong there too. It could be a year later for all I knew. I might not even have an apartment to come back to. I found my keys in my right front pocket and some wrinkled cash in my left.

I managed to find a bus stop at the outskirts of the park, with a bus passing every 30 minutes according to the posted schedule. I reckoned that even if I had just missed a bus, it would still be faster to wait for the next. Thankfully it was deserted. People would be travelling to their work at this hour, and most would come by car anyway. So I got to stand there and be self conscious all by myself. What a crude and obscene sight I must be, perhaps less so out here with literal blue collar workers, but at least pushing it. I couldn’t wait to incinerate these tattered clothes, and scrub myself an hour in the shower to get rid of this stench of man and machine parts. I just realized I would be on public transport in this state. Perhaps walking would be preferable after all.

At that moment the bus just rounded the bend in the distance. It would be weird to not take it now. The bus came to a stop just in front of me, and two hispanic looking men stepped off at the rear and I stepped on. I picked up my wad of cash and asked the driver how much for a single to town center.

- Travel card or travel app only.

I didn’t move, trying to come up with something to convince him to take me anyway. Pay him personally perhaps.

- Just take a seat.

The bus took a depressing sight seeing tour of our declining manufacturing industries before heading back into town. I can see from the time, date and temperature a gas station sign that it is just Monday two days later from when I went to sleep. Whatever had happened, happened during those 72 or so hours. My normally noisy mind was quiet. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for what was going on. Some 24 minutes later, according to the bus clock, I was reasonably close to home to walk.

Predictably my home was in a mess when I opened the door. On the floor were pieces of smashed surveillance cameras mixed with dried dirt, ripped papers, shredded clothes and other parts of my life smashed to bits. At least my laptop was unharmed, sitting on the living room table. I would have to deal with the rest of the apartment later, but my immediate concern was the camera I brought with me. I connected a USB cable between it and the laptop, and the vendor app started automatically.

The software showed the final frame of the video, with me pressing the off button at the junkyard. Fuck, I looked terrible, and almost unrecognizably different. I clicked at the start of the progress bar and the image switched to an interior view of my apartment, from what I thought had been a clever place in the bookcase to hide the camera. Into view walked me, in only underwear. Was I sleepwalking? What was this? The me in the video looked like how I remembered myself from this Friday, but he walked “looser”, for lack of a better term. He, I, looked furious.

- What the fuck is this shit? Yo spying on me now, fucking lib? Making your own fucking government spy program?

He was holding another camera in his hand, and threw it at the wall, showering the room with cheap, Chinese plastic shards.

- Just typical of you people, ain’t it? Can’t stay out of honest folks lives. I’ll fucking show you then. All this bullshit has to go. “Ooooo! Look at mee! I type on a compuuuter for living!”

He spat a large glob of spit somewhere on the floor off camera.

- I’ll butt into your life then. See how you like that? I’ll show you what a real fucking american looks like.

And he reached out to the camera and pressed the off button. It instantly cut to almost complete darkness. He could just barely make out the outline of a man moving, illuminated by the far distant sodium light. The camera then did cuts after cuts, as the motion detection turned on and off recording. As I fast forwarded It became apparent this was the camera setup recording me as I was sleeping on a stack of cardboard.

I didn’t even watch to the end, but just threw the laptop on the table and looked around in disbelief. “Schizophrenic” was all I could think. That was the only explanation that made sense. Somehow I was switching between me and this douchebag on a set schedule. Or was that imagined also? What about the body? Did I imagine that? Or did I imagine my old body and this was the real one? No, schizophrenic isn’t the word. What’s the real medical one... Multiple Personality Disorder! That’s the one! Fuck! I’ve been off my game all morning. Did my mind change too, and not just the body?

I picked through the devastation of my home. Almost all of my clothes were gone, replaced with distressed and dirty clothes that looked like it belonged to a teenager, mechanic and/or farmer. Most of it off brand, but some fox racing and carhartt stuff looked almost new. Where was all this shit coming from? This time I didn’t just dump everything in a trash bag, but tried to sort through the mess. If this really was a Dr. Jekyll and Kyle situation, perhaps it was best to keep as much of this shit as possible, or he would just drag in more. All of my broken stuff had to go though.

As I got rid of the last torn book pages and shredded tie, I realized that I didn’t actually miss all my stuff. I was more upset with how I lost it. I was just about to head out for lunch when I saw myself in the mirror. I’d spent all morning in that shitty T-shirt, jeans and shoes without thinking about changing. Suddenly I felt dirty again. Damn him!

This time the surprise was that there wasn’t any surprise. I stepped out of the shoes and found I had no socks on me, which felt icky to me. As I started to pull down my jeans I found I didn’t have any underwear either. I stopped at the knees and was transfixed with what I saw. My dick and balls where probably twice my old size. The legs looked stronger than before. I undressed the last part of the jeans just with my legs, and could clearly hear them rip further. Then I grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it off in one motion, and got a good whiff of really strong body odor. The upper body was something else. I had abs. I had pecs. Not huge ones, but well defined. My body had never looked this good before, and probably never would if it had been only up to me. I spent a really long time cleaning myself in the shower. How the fuck was this possible?

Andy was the first one to say something, perhaps even the first one to recognize me.

- Wow! What the hell happened here?! - Morning Andy. Just some workout that paid off. - Bulk payment? Well, you look great. I like the hipster look.

I had washed a pair of carhartt pants and a plaid shirt, brushed some boots clean, and managed to dress close to what one of our art directors looked like, but with muscles. As much as I hated all the crap in my apartment, it did fit my body, and it would take both time and money to replace it all, so I gathered I would use what I could. There was no hiding this body anyway.

It was a weird day in many ways. In one way it was like I was a new employee, with looks and outright stares from women, and a few guys, I didn’t know very well. Some people I had barely talked to before, mostly quite fit men, chatted with me to assess if I would fit in their social circle. And those I worked with the most couldn’t stop giving remarks about my body, some flattering, some jokes, many subtly envious, and several hurtful in the line of meathead and jockywriter.

I was obviously self conscious all the time. Even when I didn’t have eyes glued on me, or remarks woven into every dialogue, I could feel my body in a way I had never done before. I couldn’t sit the same as before. My legs were different. My junk was way different. My arms rubbed against my body in a new way. I felt restless as soon as I begun a task. And above all it felt like all my talent had left the building. I was not being very productive.

It pretty much dragged on like that. Perhaps less with the staring and the remarks, but certainly with my confidence and performance at an all time low. It was self reinforcing. The worse I performed the more certain I was that this was my new peak. As good as it gets. I didn’t bother to buy any new clothes. It felt pointless. At least I was always showing up with clean clothes. I kind of had to, because after a day they stunk.

After two weeks Jared, my boss, took me aside for a lunch meeting in his office. I knew things were going piss poor, and that I hadn’t been upfront with him about it. I made the decision to tell him everything I knew. The lost times, the “break ins”, the abduction to the junk yard, the sudden body changes, and my theory of multiple personality disorder, despite it not explaining everything.

He didn’t say a word while I spoke, and carefully consumed his Vietnamese BBQ baguette, making the appearance of almost not listening at all. Once my story was up to date with the last few days. He was just silently nodding and remained quiet for too many seconds.

- Can I meet him? - Who? - Kyle.

I was surprised. Somehow I hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. I could never meet him, of course, but someone else could.

- When’s the next full moon? - The what? - The next time Kyle emerge? - Last weekend of the month. Week and a half from now. - We are way behind on cataloging. Boring and non-creative work, I know, but... you know... - Yeah, I know. - Well, you shouldn’t have any problems lifting the boxes at least.

It felt weird having my boss doing an all nighter binging Netflix content in my living room, while I was going to bed in the bedroom, but he was adamant he wanted to do this. So I fell asleep and strangely nothing appeared to be different when I woke up.

I quickly got dressed, blue jeans and fox racing shirt, and found Jared sleeping in my living room. It was 6:41 Monday morning according to my phone. Had he been here the whole weekend? I had a look around in the apartment. Some things had moved around, but it looked neat and clean enough.

- Hey... Hey Jared.. - Mmmmm - Hey, what happened?

Jared made a big yawn and sat up in the couch.

- Mmm. We certainly had too much to drink. - We? - You don’t feel it? I guess Kyle was right. - Right about what? - Well, it’s certainly more than just a mental thing, but we already knew that. I think I may have brokered a truce. - A truce? - Just trust me on this one. Don’t go to a doctor or anything. Keep his stuff in the apartment somewhere. - And me? What do I get.

Jared had a wry smile. Why was he so stingy with details?

- You get to be the message lead for our Chrysler commercial. - WHAT?! That’s huge. Wait... Why are you giving it to me? If someone asked a few days ago I would have said for sure I would be fired very soon. - I think you’ll do great. I’ll think you’ll manage to craft exactly the right message for heartland consumers. I have it from a good source that you’ll be just the right blend of creative writer and redneck for the job.

[siren1song]

Let’s Go Out with a Bang

Summary: Patton’s got a bit of a double life, and people from both lives end up meeting each other. Well... this should be interesting.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Word Count: 1,360

Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17, @another-sandersidesblog, @strawberryjellystuff, @remusownsmyuwus, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit, @gr3ml1n-loser, @main-chive, @kiribakuandcats, @firey-alex, @orca-iguana, @spooky-scary-virgil, @yalltookmyurlideas

Notes: I’ve been trying to work on this. For ages. And I’m so glad it’s done now. Feral Patton everyone.

Commissions!! | Buy Me a Kofi!! | Join Casper’s Crew!! | Ao3 Link!!

Patton sometimes felt like he led a double life. This was because he had two totally different friend groups, neither one aware of the other or how he acted with either group.

There was his friend Logan, Roman, and Emile. They were great people, and he loved hanging out with them, though he preferred to act more on the tamer side with them. He enjoyed watching cartoons, talking about Disney, and learning about new things scientists were discovering all the time.

It was a fun time! And sure, he may throw the innocent act on a little hard at times, but it was funny watching Roman and Emile stumble around themselves when a dirty joke was made and he pretended not to understand.

Then there were his other friends. Virgil, Janus, Remus, and Remy. All of them knew how he really acted, especially at night when they were partying at some college party or practically taking over a club with their enthusiastic feral energy.

Patton made dirty jokes, he’s had one night stands, he’s gotten absolutely wasted. Hell, he’s also tried some drugs at Remus’ request though those he wasn’t really in favor of.

He even swears like a sailor, and has slept with all four of those friends at some point or another, though it all remained strictly casual because Patton didn’t really do romance. Patton preferred platonic relationships and sexual intimacy over romantic intimacy and actions, and Remy was right along with him in that, providing the label aromantic when he wondered about it idly.

It was a nice label, and Patton wore it proudly in both groups. Which meant he probably should have expected them all eventually meeting each other during Pride.

“Patton?” Roman spoke up, drawing Patton’s attention from the knitting project he was working on.

There was no way he could have predicted seeing Janus over Roman’s shoulder, eyebrow raised at seeing Patton’s more subdued dad aesthetic compared to the feminine punk style he liked to sport when he spent time with him and the others.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?” he asked, smiling as he leaned back in his chair and set his knitting in his lap.

This should be an interesting conversation.

“You know Janus? As in the yellow punk dude who’s been driving Logan insane in his philosophy classes?” Roman asked, stepping inside the room and giving Janus the opportunity to lean against the door frame.

Patton fought back a giggle because according to Janus, Logan has also been sleeping with him for two weeks.

“I’d say we’re pretty good friends, yeah!” was his response, Janus coughing to cover up a laugh that Roman caught.

Narrowing his eyes, Roman looked between the two of them before sighing.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, padre?”

Patton shrugged, shifting his project and yarn to the table by his chair and getting a bit more comfortable.

“There’s a lot I’m not telling both of you, I’m willing to answer questions though, if you have any.”

“Just like that?” Janus asked, squinting at Patton suspiciously.

Patton grinned in a way he usually only did around his feral group of friends, mischievous and sly.

“Of course not, what do you take me for, JayJay? I’m not boring.”

“Woah, what?” Roman interrupted, staring at Patton with wide eyes and prompting the giggles Patton had held back earlier.

“That’s what I thought,” Janus said, ignoring Roman’s confusion, “so what’s the price this time, Fae?”

“Fae?” Roman asked incredulously, getting a little more frantic in his search for answers.

Patton just hummed, tapping his chin in thought.

“You pay for a whole night of clubbing with me and Remus-”

“You know my brother?!”

“-and I’ll answer whatever you want,” Patton continued as if Roman had never interrupted.

Janus nodded, though he seemed to wince at the affect that would have on his wallet.

“Hello? Roman here is very confused and would like some answers!” Roman said, finally pulling Patton’s attention to him.

“Ah, sorry Ro! I’ll answer whatever you want after JayJay, okay?” he said, smiling apologetically.

Roman moved to plop on the couch, staring at Patton with wide eyes.

“I… sure. Okay, why not.”

Patton would reach over to pat his leg, if he wasn’t on the far end of the couch.

Janus cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at Patton suspiciously.

“Why do I have to pay but Roman doesn’t?”

Patton raised an eyebrow, giving Janus a sweet smile they both could tell was fake.

“I dunno, why does Roman know your name when it took me two years to graduate from Dee to Jay and another to Janus?”

Janus flushed, glancing at Roman before looking away.

Ah, he likes him and Logan then.

“Never mind. What’s with the dad get up?” he asked, very quickly moving on and earning a snicker from Patton.

“I like it,” was Patton’s answer.

“Right, and the punk style I usually see you in?”

“I like it too.”

Janus nodded, looking Patton over for a second.

“Lack of swearing?”

“Swearing?” Roman whispered, distressed as he looked at Patton, who was struggling not to laugh.

“Don’t usually do it outside the group,” he answered, crossing his arms and leaning one elbow against the arm of his chair.

“…Give me one swear and I’ll be satisfied,” Janus said, looking at Roman.

And honestly, Patton couldn’t deny Janus the hilarity of seeing Roman witness Patton cuss for the first time, could he?

“Son of a bitch. Happy?”

Janus swallowed noticeably at Roman’s surprised squeak, clearly forcing back a laugh.

“Very, thank you.”

Patton rolled his eyes, and then looked at Roman apologetically.

“Okay Ro, shoot your questions, I promise I’ll answer.”

Roman just stared at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Patton couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, honestly.

“How long? Have you been hanging out with my brother?” he asked, seeming to recover enough to be able to get his words in working order.

Patton hummed, biting his lip and looking up at the ceiling in thought.

“Uh… I think four years? Maybe five? I don’t exactly remember when I joined the group, just know Remus is the one who brought me into it.”

“Four and a half years,” Janus spoke up, earning a thankful grin from Patton before he looked back at Roman.

“There ya have it, four and a half years.”

Roman nodded, then looked at his lap.

“You go clubbing?”

“Every week! Usually Fridays and Saturdays since I don’t have work those days.”

“Right. The days you disappear and we all thought you were volunteering at an animal shelter or something,” Roman said, now pushing his fingers through his hair.

“He’s allergic animal dandruff?” Janus said, clearly confused as he looked at Roman.

“Well, just cats actually. I could probably volunteer at a dog shelter and be fine. Ooh, that sounds fun too, I should do that!”

Patton clapped his hands together in excitement at the idea, trying not to wiggle too much in his chair because his stims weren’t exactly something Janus had seen— at least the ones that weren’t him dancing anyway.

“Fae, focus,” Janus said, clearly amused by Patton’s excited side tracking.

“Right! Yeah, I go clubbing on those days. I also have a tattoo on my shoulder! And I have matching snake bites with Janus! We got them together, it was fun.”

Roman blinked, looking at Patton in confusion.

“I’ve never seen the holes?”

“Do you stare at my mouth often?” Patton teased, grinning widely at Roman’s responding blush.

“Don’t you also have a tongue piercing that you got with Remus?” Janus commented.

Before Patton could answer, Roman made a noise that drew the attention of both him and Janus.

“You were the friend he got that piercing with?”

“Roman, kiddo, I was the friend who did a lot of things with Remus, I don’t really think you want to know the extent of that.”

Patton couldn’t help but feel a mixture of amusement and pity at Roman’s noise of distress.

The conversation clearly wasn’t over yet, but considering how amusing it already was, Patton could not wait for the rest of it.

#casper writes #ts patton #ts janus #ts roman #aromantic patton #mentions of drugs #mentions of alcohol #mentions of sex #patton with a tattoo #patton with piercings #patton just goes off when he's with his feral friends tbfh #we stan

[caffeinetheory]

Everything Stays

Big thanks to @theatreandcomicfreak for helping me work out my idea!! Can’t thank you enough <3<3<3 

This is a Jasonette song fic to Everything Stays from Adventure Time, had this idea like a week ago and I’ve been working on it for almost 2 days now. It is the longest thing I’ve written so i hope you enjoy, and I didn’t check over it to much so sorry if there are many errors, but otherwise I hope y’all enjoy :>

///

Here she stood, it made it all to real. ‘Here lies Jason Todd, may he finally have peace’ A sob wrecked her small frame, Marinette no longer had an excuse to accept the inevitable. Years had past yet she still didn’t want to believe he was gone, it still feels like yesterday when she first met the boy with attachment issues. 

It was a busy day in the bakery, the family was preparing for the massive gala they were catering. Marinette was now 12 so her parents let her help with preparations, they would need all hands on deck, this wasn’t any gala it was the Wayne Gala. Bruce Wayne himself had come in with the request a few months prior, it was to celebrate some achievement the Paris branch had achieved, it was something had gone completely over Marinette’s head at the time, she was just happy to help her stressed parents. The gala was tomorrow and they were finishing the decoration on the treats, everything from cupcakes and small pastries to thousands of macaroons still needed the finishing touches. To say it was hectic would be an understatement but the family had done it, 2 am everything was ready for transport to the venue. 

Mari had dressed in a simple but elegant baby pink gown for the gala, her parents had dressed in formal attire with pink accents to match their branding. After the family with the help of the buildings staff set up Sabine and Tom decided to let Mari enjoy the gala, all the dresses of the high class event was sure to be an inspiration to the little fashion designer. As the doors opened to the massive ballroom a little girl was sitting off to the side to absorbed in drawing designs out of the Gothic architecture to notice. The gentle music was calming and helped inspire her more, once she had filled many pages she looked up and it was then the man himself made his grand entrance.

Bruce Wayne made an extravagant entrance after finally getting his new ward to put on his clothes presentably. Jason was hiding behind him, he had been living with Bruce for a few months now but that didn’t mean he was used to the attention, let alone positive attention.  The large crowds combined with Dick not being there, Jason clung to his pseudo-brother like a lifeline, was getting to the young boy. Blue eyes surveyed the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to hide or sneak out, currently no luck came his way as he clung to Bruce’s leg, the older gentleman lightly petting his head, noting the kid’s distress. 

Bruce quickly looked over the room, remembering that a little girl around Jason’s age was here with her parents who were catering. The parents seemed kind enough so when he spotted their child he subtly pointed Jason her way right as she was getting up. Jason nodded and while reluctant to leave the one person he knew, made a beeline to the wall where the small girl was. She had just finished smoothing out her dress when Jason reached her. Hand on the wall, slightly out of breath, he looked at her. A kind smile graced her lip, her hand already out, “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

That was the start of a beautiful friendship, while it lasted at least, the two were attached at the hip for the rest of his stay in Paris. She made him feel at ease and Mari was more than happy to make a new friend her age. The pair spent hours getting to know each other and became inseparable. It was a pleasant surprise for both sets of guardians, but not an unwelcome one. The call Dick got the night of the gala was not the one he expected, but one of Jason telling him all about the kind girl who told him stories about her life. Dick was happy Jason was able to find someone to be with while he wasn’t able to make it due to classes starting up again. When the Wayne’s had to go back to Gotham tears were shed, but promises to talk everyday and tight hugs were shared. 

It wasn’t until almost two and a half years later that Marinette’s heart broke. She had been trying to contact him for a few weeks with no response, not totally unusual but still worrying, that she finally got a response that broke her. The news was playing in the background, but she couldn't hear it anymore, “Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne has died today as a result of fatal injuries” that was all she needed to hear to break down. She couldn't look at the screen when they showed his face, she didn’t read the letters she got from the Waynes, or acknowledge the invitation to his funeral. The pile was growing on her desk, the dust forming a noticeable layer, she couldn’t, it she did it would be all to real. For over a month she didn’t leave her room, her sobs could be heard from the living room. It took her almost two months before she would return to school, two weeks more before she said a real sentence to anyone besides her parents. Everyone who knew the sunshine that was Marinette was worried about her but didn’t want to make it worse so they just gave silent hugs and support where they could. Three and a half months after the funeral she was more or less back to her former self, though anyone who knew her before knew what things to avoid. 

Six months later, she had caught up on all the work she missed and the new school year was starting Mari saved the life of an old man by the bakery on her way to class. It was later that day Ladybug and Chat Noir made their first appearance, almost 16 and she was tasked with saving the city she loved from a maniac who controlled people with butterflies and bad emotions. It was a good thing she learned how to keep her emotions in check before she was given this mantle. Chat and Ladybug decided to break to rule of not knowing each other's identities after it was clear they would need more help and had to call on other heroes. Fu wasn't happy about it but trusted their decision, it was about this time he started to teach Marinette how to become the next Guardian. 

Six months after becoming heros the duo knew each other’s identities, a year after there was a team of full time heros. It was after they had been fighting for over a year and a half that the team agreed they needed more than themselves, they called the Justice League. At first they were ignored but through persistence they got the back up they needed. Two and a half years after becoming Ladybug Hawk Moth was tracked down and  in cuffs before he could transform. The Watch Tower had been monitoring the Akumas and traced his location down to the Agreste manor, Nathile had put up no fight, and gave herself willingly to the authorities. 

Three years had passed since she had been given earrings that changed her life when a note appeared on her balcony inviting her to the Watch Tower. At 19 years old Marinette was apart of the Justice League, the rest of her team had moved on. They had lives to live, and while they didn’t regret being heroes they had other obligations. Adrien fell off the map with some help, he didn’t want or need the spotlight any more he was done, Luka was Touring with Jagged Stone, Kagami had become a world class fencer and had to carry on her family name, Alya was becoming the next Nadja so she was the face of the Tv network, Nino was well on his way to being a famous DJ, Alix had extreme sports to compete in and street art to make, Cholé had began to take over the hotel business and working to make it international, Kim was an Olympic swimmer and Max was on his way to being a  head engineer at one of the leading technology companies in the world. Marinette was the Guardian and while they all said they would continue to help she couldn’t ask them to do that. 

For the next 2 years she spent most of her time at the Tower, slowly building money from commissions to buy a house of her own. MDC was known around the world and was commission only, you had to know someone who knew someone to even get a chance to get a design. Close to her 22nd birthday she finally started to look for a place of her own, she needed a proper place for the Kawmi after all. After many long nights Marientte decided to move to the last place she knew he was. It hurt but she had put it off long enough, and to Gotham she went.

When she told Batman where she planned to move he was surprised initially but helped her find a place to call home. She ended up settling on a home in the outskirts of the city, isolated enough for privacy but plenty of room and ways to get to the city. When Bruce got a call from the girl about 2 weeks after her 22nd birthday asking if he could tell her where Jason was he was shocked to say the least. ‘Does she know’ was the first thing going through his head, granted it had been almost 4 years since Jason had come back from the dead but as far as he knew, no one outside of the BatFam inner circles and the Outlaws knew that. The fact that she hadn’t gone to the funeral and never mentioned him until now perplexed him as well, what had suddenly changed. Sure both had learned the other’s identity when she joined the League but that was a while ago, why now. The choked sobs brought him back to reality and the young women on the other side of the line, he gave her directions to the former grave. They left it there because they couldn’t bring it in them to remove it, it was a reminder.

Let’s go in the garden

Today was the day Marinette told herself. It had been years, she could do it, no matter how hard it was. She picked some marigolds, lilies and roses before leaving her home. If she was going to do this she might as well bring something to leave there. Marigolds, why did she ever plant those, must have been because subconsciously it was something he always called her. A single tear fell down her cheek before she wiped it away and tried to smile.

You’ll find something waiting

Right there where you left it lying upside down

Marinette’s small bag didn’t hold much; just her keys, phone, some tissues and the letters finally opened. She had finally opened them the day she asked Bruce where she could see him again, but couldn’t make herself read them until the night before. She cried reading about it again, condolences and an open invitation to stay with the Waynes for a while if she needed to. She felt 15 again, crying alone in her room. Only this time she wasn’t alone, she had the Kwamis and they helped her sleep. The tear stains still noticeable on the one she couldn’t bear to open from Jason himself. It was to be given to her if he ever died, she still wasn’t ready to full accept he was gone. She may be older but it still felt like there was a hoel in her heart that she couldn’t fill.

When you finally find it, you’ll see how it’s faded

The underside is lighter when you turn it around

Marinette finally did it, the tall gates towered over her. She hesitated as she reached to open the last barrier keeping her from the inevitable. A hand absentmindedly went to the earrings. She had thought about it once, using the wish, but she knew better. The cost could have been anything and while she missed him she wasn’t that selfish. How was she to know that is even what he wanted, it wasn’t right so she only had the thought once on the anniversary of his death after she found out about the wish. 

Everything stays right where you left it

The metal was cold when her hand finally made contact, this was happening. Almost 6 years after and she was finally going to have to admit it to herself. But it was okay, that is what he would want, wasn’t it? Shaking her head before she went down that rabbit hole again she followed the cobblestone path to the Wayne plot of the cemetery. No backing out now. The whole area was varying states of care, you could tell who had family that loved them and who was the last of the line. Many headstones had vines covering them, clearly older than the pristine graves with fresh flowers and candles still burning. How the candle stays lit in a place where rain seemed more common than the sun she wouldn't know. 

Everything stays 

The sizable plot had a small black fence around it. There were five distinctive burials. The tomb of Martha and Thomas Wayne was white and while simple it was elegant. Not a single crack and a single dying rose laid beneath the inscription ‘May Martha and Thomas Wayne rest in peace, hand in hand forever’, it was sweet. Truly loving parents taken from this world to soon. Next to the tomb was a far more simple Romanian burial, the grass still growing a healthy green. Mary and John buried how they would have been back in their home land, Bruce insisted they rest in the same place his family did. It was the day it was clear how much Bruce really valued family. 

But it still changes

Mari finally brought herself to look at the last grave.  ‘Here lies Jason Todd, may he finally have peace,’ seeing the words made her break down. It was all to real, the dirt was even looking recently moved. Her sobs must have been heard from the other side of Gotham, her legs gave out. Lightly tracing his name she finally let out everything she had been holding on to for years. Her broken heart was allowed to properly feel the hurt it had locked away so long ago. The flowers forgotten by her side, she stayed kneeling on the fresh dirt crying her eyes out for what must have been hours before she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays

Dick Grayson was doing his monthly flower change at the graves when he heard broken sobbing. His slow pace suddenly was a light jog, someone sounded broken, he had to help. Turning the corner he saw the unmistakable midnight hair and crumpled figure of the one person he never thought he’d see again in civilian life, let alone here. The one place he swore she’d never be, on his brother’s grave. He did the one thing he could think of and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair from her tear stained face and pulled her into a comforting hug. “It’s good to see you again Mari,” she held him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this realm. 

Let’s go in the garden

“You want to come back to the manor with me, I’m sure Bruce would love to see you again. Alfred too,” her small head nod and last sniffles was enough of a confirmation to him. Helping her up, Dick took Mari’s hand and lead her to his car. During the ride he brought her up to speed about the new members, (Tim, Damian, Stephine, Cass), about how many pets they had, about really anything in their lives. Throughout she was slowly perking up again, laughing at his anecdotes about his siblings, completely avoiding bringing up Jason. Dick had already warned those at the Manor she was coming with him, and not to mention Jason.  By the time they had arrived everyone was filled in and Mari had a smile on her face and a soft laugh as she heard about Damian bringing a cow home.

You’ll find something waiting

The movement the dark wooden doors opened Mari was engulfed with the smell of fresh cookies and a welcoming embrace of none other than Alfred. “Long time no see,” she patted his back and she returned the hug, the slight guilt in her tone immediately washed away when he held her tighter. 

The family led her to the living room, she meets the other members of the house she was told about in her way there. Everyone was kind in their own ways, though those who had not heard of her before that day were wary of the newcomer. She livened up the room, it seemed that comfort and warmth followed her wherever she went. Alfred had brought tea and cookies for everyone and they talked about where life had taken them since they had last talked, then the topic came up.

Right there where you left it lying upside down

Damian didn’t mean to make the slip août Jason being a prick, he really hadn’t but the second Mari quieted he knew he said something he shouldn’t have. ‘How you you know’ was all that went through her mind, but quickly brushed the thought off, this could help. Everyone in the room held their breath as they waited to see how she would act, Dick had warned them and they didn’t understand until now. To say they were surprised when she had a small smile on her face after whipping a single tear would be an understatement. 

When you finally find it, you’ll see how it’s faded

Marinette started to tell stories of her and Jason, about their close friendship. Everyone who knew the edgy man in question were in awe that he was once a ‘normal’ kid without problems expressing his feelings. She told them about the late night calls, the constant letters and gifts they would send each other. She spoke so roundly of him they couldn’t figure out why she had never come up until Dick had found her at his grave, what fallout must have happened caused her name to never be said, why were Alfred and Dick so happy to see her, so many questions went through the newer members’ heads.

The underside is lighter when you turn it around

Throughout her stories she had started to mess with the chain around her neck, it was going to need to be replaced soon, the daily wear was getting to it. When Marinette finally took it out to show, Dick’s eyes widened, he knew pendant. Mari gave it a sad smile before exhaling it was the last thing she had of him, it was the thing she valued most. It was the last gift he had sent her, a silver pendant with a warn robin resting on a blossom branch. Dick had helped Jason pick that out so many years ago. She told the group how she never took it off, only to fix the chain or replace it.  Eventually she admitted, both to herself and the people in the room, her still existing feeling, “I think that’s why I couldn’t let it be real, let him go… I always wanted to be by his side, with him through thick and thin.”

Everything stays right where you left it

Everyone in the room heard the helmet thump when it hit the hardwood floors. Standing in the doorway was one Red Hood, domino mask still on with his mouth hanging open wide. Marinette was quickly out of her seat ready to strike should he pose a threat, but Dick’s gentle hand on her shoulder made her relax slightly, still not taking her eyes off of the new comer. “Jay-bird…” Dick wasn’t able to finish what he was saying or stop her when Mari launched herself at Jason, crying openingly again as she held onto him for dear life. 

Everything stays 

After the initial shock of finally seeing her again he returned the hold, just as strong petting her hair lightly, “I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” the pair didn’t care to notice when the rest of the Waynes left the room to give them privacy, nor did they care. They were finally in each other’s arms after so long, the dam broke all over again for Mari but this time her tears were joyous, her Jay was back in her arms. It didn’t matter how what mattered was he was there and he was real, actually here not some joke or illusion but the real thing, nothing would take him from her again if she had a say about it.

But it still changes

Finally pulling back to look at each other they took in the small changes. Marinette’s hair was longer and to her mid back hanging in a low ponytail, her freckles seemed more prominent. She stood tall and confident, it was clear she was built and while the years had been tough she had come out stronger because of it. Her eyes were still the most beautiful blue Jason had ever seen. Jason had become tall and puberty did him many favors. His muscles would show in pretty much any shirt he wore. And while those were big changes the most noticeable to Mari was the unnatural white streak in the inky mess of hair he had and the supernatural green that seemed to move in his eyes. It was still him though, nothing could change the fact he was still the Jason Mari had fallen for and couldn’t bring herself to let go.

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

Mari took his hand, leading him to the couch so they could properly catch up. The helmet forgotten and domino mask on the coffee table. If anyone had walked in they didn’t stay. They talked for hours and hours, the sun was rising by the time Mari had yawned for the first time, it had been a long day. “I could take you home if you’d like,” reluctant to see her leave. “Why would I go anywhere, you’re right here,” she made herself at home on his chest snuggling ever slightly closer. The light breathing lulled Jason to sleep not long after. 

In little ways, when everything stays

Tim was the one who found the pair sleeping, in what looked like the first time in a while, peacefully. Sneakily taking a picture to send to the family chat he left the room to get more coffee, they deserved to sleep.

Marinette woke up to slight nudging and warmth, “Come on Mari, we should eat.” Startled she jumped up, almost hitting the table, forgetting where she was for a second she panicked but seeing his face brought back memories from the night before. “Oh thank god it’s you,” and with that she pulled them both in the direction of what smelled like food. Alfred had left out some food for the two before going out for the day. Marinette left after eating leaving her phone number with him and in return she got a small business card from him.

Do down to the ocean

Two days later and Marinette sat kicking her legs of the dock in the warehouse district. The card just told her to wait on this dock today and to be there by 6 in something casual but flexible. Is here she sat, waiting with light blue jeans, black vans and a dark red hoodie, music played in her ear as she waited. Being early she had nothing to worry about, she trusted he’d show up and it’s not like if something did happen she couldn’t protect herself.

They crystal tide is rising

The cargo ship in the dock next to the one she was sitting on was almost finished unloading its crates. A horn behind her brought her out of her thoughts, a motorcycle was waiting for her expectantly.

The waters’ gotten higher as the shore washes out

Grabbing the extra black helmet Mari held on tight to the person already on the bike. Once she was secure they sped off down the docks and to the amusement park all the while she was having the time of her life. Speed was something she loved and he gave it to her, taking the scenic route so they admire the view of the ocean and enjoy the ride.

Keep your eyes wide open, even when the sun is blazin’

The moon controls the tide, it can cause you to drown

Skitting to a stop in front of the waterfront amusement park Jason took off his helmet, a sly smirk as he watched Mari jump up and down in excitement. “That was the most fun I've had in years!!!” she handed him the helmet taking in the lights of the park, they were like stars on the dark night sky, shining in a rainbow of colors. “Well Cream Puff, we are just beginning, I got a lot of missed dates to make up to you,” Jason slung an arm around her shoulders and lead her into the park. They stayed up all night playing the carnival style games, winning each other prizes until they couldn't hold any more. As the sun rose they ended up back at Mari’s home collapsing on her bed in a fit of giggles, it was just like old times. Their prizes surrounding them as the two as they looked in each others eyes, they felt like they were 14 again. Maybe they could make this work, not maybe they would.

Everything stays, right where you’ve left it

Everything stays, but it still changes

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways

When everything stays

#maribat #jasonette #my writing #song fic #everything stays #long post #he died but still there #not letting go #fluff #angst too #im really bad at tags #cant you tell

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Operation Sweet Surprise (2/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: Cursing 

Inside the store, you began hunting down the items you needed with Lester in tow. He offered to hold the basket for you so you could focus on making sure you got exactly what you were after.

“Okay, Lester. We need: milk, pie crust, vanilla extract, cinnamon, brown sugar, baking powder, and eight apples. So, if you see anything and I don’t just toss it in the basket!” you told him as your eyes started scanning the shelves.

“Yes, ma’am!” Lester said with a playful salute. 

One by one, you found each ingredient, checking them off your mental list as you went. Throughout your expedition, you couldn’t help but notice other shoppers keeping their distance from you two. Of course, you knew exactly why they were acting this way. The smell of roadkill lingering on Lester’s raggedy exterior offended their delicate senses. The way some made a show of holding their breath or how their side eyes were more like dead on stares was not lost on you. It certainly wasn’t lost on Lester. With every murmur and scoff, he would offer an apologetic smile and a wave, but you could see his head sink lower and lower each time. This sort of thing didn’t always bother him, but sometimes it was hard to ignore. People always assumed he was oblivious to how his presence affected them, but he was more than aware. Frankly, he wished they would quit reminding him. Though every part of you wanted to snap at each shopper that passed you by, you elected to focus on lifting Lester’s spirits to distract him,

“Alright, all that’s left is to pick out some apples! C’mon and help me out!” you said with the biggest smile you could muster. You’d rather be glaring daggers, but you knew the other shoppers were hardly worth it. You took Lester’s hand and pulled him toward the small produce section “Which kind of apples do you think Bo would like best?”

“Not sure…” Lester said looking back and forth, checking to make sure no one was staring again, “Maybe I oughta wait in the truck. Don’t wanna bother no one else from their shopping.”

“No, don’t go! I need you!” you begged, “Besides, who cares what they think?”

“Well, I’m used to it. Just don’t want ‘em thinkin’ bad of ya, is all.” He said shyly

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that. I like spending time with you, Lester. I don’t give a shit about any of them. Who needs them?” You said, waving off his concern with a laugh “Now, help me pick out some apples.” The smile reached Lester’s eyes this time as he helped you pick out the best apples out of the bunch.

Once you had your apples picked, something caught your glance over Lester’s shoulder. It was an elderly woman, reaching for a box of cereal that was clearly too high on the shelf for her to get. Lester followed your eyes and immediately handed the basket over to you. He quickly made his way over to the lady. You followed close behind, catching the interaction,

“I can get that for ya, if ya like.” Lester offered sweetly with his signature grin. The woman staggered back, affronted at his proximity. She put a hand over her nose and mouth, her sour expression still apparent. Though she scowled at him, Lester kept smiling back at her. When she remained silent, he pointed to the box he thought she wanted, “This one? Good choice! Ya know, I hear this one’s good for the heart. Supposed to keep ya young and spry.” She didn’t reply, tapping her foot impatiently. He pulled the box down from the shelf and held it out to her, “There ya go. Need help with anythin’ else?”  

“No.” she said shortly, as she ripped the box from his hands and turned away.

“Alright…have a nice day, I guess.” Lester said, frustration showing through, “Just tryin’ to help ya.”

“Excuse me!” You piped in, “My friend just helped you, and I think you’re being incredibly rude to him.”

“Y/N, it’s alright-”

“No, it isn’t. You helped her and she treated you like garbage.” You said angrily. You were tired of watching people walk all over him. He might’ve been good enough to let it go, but you weren’t, “Who raised you? Didn’t anyone teach you anything about kindness?”

“How dare you speak to me like that? You should learn to respect your elders, young lady.” the old woman finally responded, “In my day, helping older folks was expected. Our generation didn’t need a pat on the back every time we did the bare minimum. What do you want? A reward?”

“Well, I grew up at least saying a ‘thank you’ when someone helped me. I don’t think that’s asking a lot. Just want you to treat my friend with a bit of decency.” You snapped, your knuckles turning white as you tightened your grip on your basket.

“Decency? I’ve shown plenty of decency by not demanding you both be thrown out of the store. I don’t usually tolerate uncivilized spoiled brats, like you two.” The woman stuck up her nose and pinched it, “You reek of squalor, so it seems to me you were the ones who are lacking an upbringing.”

“Uncivilized? Lady, you’re the one who doesn’t have any god damn manners! If anyone’s acting uncivilized here, it’s you!” you hissed venomously, taking a step toward the woman. Lester stopped you in your tracks, allowing the woman to turn and shamble away cursing you under her breath, both offended and threatened by you.

“Hey, hey, don’t pay any attention to her. She ain’t worth it.” Lester said, patting your shoulder.

“She shouldn’t be allowed to treat you like that.” You said still a bit heated.  

“It’s like ya said, ‘Who needs ‘em?’” Lester said surprisingly relaxed about the whole situation, “But let’s get goin’ ‘fore she gets us kicked out like she said.”

You started toward the register and got in line. There were quite a few people ahead of you as everyone was out getting their groceries for the week, no doubt. Lester took the basket back as you waited together. You were about to ask him about cleaning animal bones to lighten the mood before he chimed in first,

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“For what?” you asked with a tilt of your head.

“Stickin’ up for me ‘n all. It sure was somethin’.” He said with a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks, “I know I don’t smell too great, so bein’ with me ain’t always fun. But ya never treat me any worse for it, and it means a lot.”

“Aw, Lester, you don’t have to thank me for that. I enjoy spending time with you, it’s hardly a chore.” You said as you rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Still…I know I yammer on and I don’t know when to shut up. Most people can’t stand me, it ain’t a secret. Didn’t make too many friends growin’ up ‘cuz of it and it didn’t get any easier once I started workin’…” Lester explained, “I tried to keep the smell off, but it’s harder than it looks, ya know. And after a while, I figured if people don’t want anythin’ to do with me anyway, I might as well just leave it be.”

“Lester…” you said sympathetically, trying not to knock the basket out of his hands and wrap him up in a hug and protect him from the world.

“’Sides, I love my job. I really do. And if I smell, I can make like that’s the reason people don’t like me.” He added with a half-hearted laugh to take the edge off the truth of it all “Anyway, just wanted to thank ya for bein’ nice to me.”

Before you could respond, it was your turn to check out. Lester instantly starting chatting away with the cashier, going on about knives and the small items for sale at the register. You smiled to yourself, watching him. Even if others continued to put him down, Lester always got right back to it. You had no idea how he kept going sometimes. You attention was drawn away from him as the total came up on the screen.

“Shit.” You cursed quietly to yourself. You counted your money back, hoping maybe you had more than you thought, to no avail. You were five dollars short. You looked over your items trying decide what you could part with. All of them were necessary to the recipe so you not only could you not decide, you were embarrassed that you had underestimated how much you’d need to spend.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lester whispered as he leaned in, also looking at the groceries, “Missin’ somethin’?”

“I don’t have enough…” you trailed off, trying to work through a solution in the next two minutes, trying not to keep others waiting whilst also not drawing attention to your crisis

“Apples?” Lester suggested, “I’ll run on back and get some more, if ya need!”

“Money…I don’t have enough for everything.” You said, unable to stop your voice from shaking from the sudden tears that brimmed in your eyes. Lester snapped to attention at the tremble in your voice.

“Aw, please don’t cry! How much do ya need?” he asked as he scrambled to comfort you. He rubbed awkward circles into your back, moving you back and forth with his clumsy motions. Even in distress, you found his gesture to be sweet.

“Five dollars.” You confessed as your face went hot with anxiety.

“That ain’t so bad! I got it!” Lester said happily, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a crumpled bill. He might have said it like wasn’t a big deal, but you knew money was always tight for the Sinclairs. While Lester did make the most steady income out of all of them, he didn’t have a whole lot of money to throw around, “See, don’t need to panic!”

“You don’t have to do this! You work hard for your money, I can ditch something, I think. Don’t waste it on me.” You said in a panic. You’d already asked so much of him already; you couldn’t let him do this too.

“Well, I do work hard. So, I suppose that means I can spend my money how I want.” Lester said cheekily. He gathered up your money with his and handed it over, “And I wanna give it to ya. ‘Sides, I oughta pitch somethin’ in. It’s for my brothers after all.”

“Thank you, Lester…I really owe you.” you said as your apprehension drained from your posture and voice. You almost cried from his generosity, rather than humiliation.

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Lester said sweetly, nudging your shoulder to help you shake off the sadness that had almost overtaken you. He carried your groceries toward the door and back to the truck, “C’mon we gotta lotta bakin’ to do!”  

You were a bit distracted on the ride back. Lester was chattering on about skulls again, but your mind wandered back to what he said while you waited in line. You wouldn’t say you’d done anything extraordinary for him. All you did was talk to him and treat him like any human should be treated. Still, that was more than he’d ever received from anyone. You couldn’t help but stare at him. Beside you was a man who has always been treated like he wasn’t worth the time. No one cared about what he had to say or how he felt, and they told him so to his face. Despite all that, he still turned out to be incredibly generous, kind, helpful, and by far the most warmhearted person you knew.

And it wasn’t because the insults and the neglect went over his head. You knew he felt the sting of it all. It was because he kept moving along. You had no idea how he was able to let it all roll off his back, but you simply attributed it to Lester being remarkable. Sure, he got disappointed when others didn’t want to talk to him, but he never got too hung up on it for long. He was always able to find joy in other parts of his life. Not only that, he was capable of sharing that joy with others; at least, he was always willing. Lester had a heart of gold and it left a bitter taste knowing that if life had been fairer – or society more kind – he’d might have become something truly special. Not that you didn’t like him just as he was; you thought he was wonderful. It was just such a shame that he had so many wonderful things to offer and you were the only one who could see that. All because his chances were spoiled before he ever really got to living.

“Do you ever get mad, Lester?” you asked, accidentally cutting him off from his rant about knives.

“Sure, I do. Sometimes.” Lester said with a goofy grin still pulling as his face. His smile turned into curiosity and a bit of confusion as he thought over your question a second time, “Wait, mad ‘bout what?”

“I don’t know. Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Different how?”

“Like, do you ever think about what it might’ve been like if you were born somewhere else or into a different life entirely? Like all the what ifs and maybes? Just for fun?” you added

“Hmmm…” Lester thought out loud, “Nope.”

“Really? Never?” you asked in disbelief.

“Naw, I like what I got.” He said smiling once again, never more content, “And ‘sides, I got you now. Wouldn’t know ya if I was born someplace else. Don’t wanna go riskin’ that, do I?” you felt your heart skip a beat and blood rush to your cheeks.

“And they say Bo’s the one with all the charm.” You mumbled to yourself, catching a glimpse of Lester, oblivious and carefree as ever. He really had no clue how incredible he was.

#lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #my writing #operation sweet surprise #tw: cursing #female reader

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

The Zodiac Whumper - Gemini Part 1

So you may have already noticed that this is part one. So um. Yeah. This is already really long so I had to split it into two parts. The second one should be up within the week. Continued from here. If you’re new, start here! 

Tag list (ask to be added or removed):  @whumpallday, @stxck-fxck, @thatsthewhump, @unsung-sympathy, @terriblethrillssss​, @insanitywishes​, @woodenhoneybee​, @whale-whumps 

Content warnings: lady whump (there will be guy whump too if that’s not your speed, more next part though), descriptions of a near panic attack, burning with candlewax

Last of the notes: a huge shoutout to @shameless-whumper​ who requested the premise I used for this piece and the next, and @card-games-and-pain​ for this post which I used a slightly modified version of in these pieces. Big creds to you guys for providing my creativity some sustenance. 

She woke up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes and wincing at a voice above her, gradually floating into her ears. 

“...can’t just skip you; up and at ‘em now, Gemma!” 

“Who th’hell’s Gemma? ‘m I lost? I‘ve never known anyone with th’name Gemma…” she slurs, sleep laden tongue stumbling over the words. Her hands pushed her to sit up, forcing her to look at the person staring into the cage at her.

“There you go, nice and awake. And you’re Gemma, obviously.” Zoran tilted their head in a coy smile as if it had been her name all along.

“Gemma, that’s not even right… aren’t I supposed to be Gemini? I mean, you used the full Zodiac names for everyone else and I think you called me Gemini so I just assumed...” Gemma hung her head slightly. Saying this kind of thing was exactly what would get her on their bad side, but it would be easier to make the best of it later if she knew what they wanted.

“Oh, but I couldn’t very well call you both Gemini, could I?” 

The words took a few seconds to settle in. And then her heart plummeted.

“Wh-what do you mean both?!” There were a million scenarios and theories to panic about in her head, filling it up and drowning her consciousness as her body shut down. Her gut instinct was yelling and trying to warn her, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring waves.

“Yeah! I split it instead: you’re Gemma and he’s Nye!” They gesture at nothing, face falling for a second, “ ...oh that’s right, I almost forgot I didn’t reintroduce the two of you. Nye, get in here! Take her out for me, could you?” Short hair and dark skin came walking in, expression blank as he bent down with a ring of keys in his hands and Gemma gasped in a horrible, shaking sob.

“Brice! Oh god, Brice did they… why?! What did you- what are you doing to him?!” Gemma’s heart pounded at the sight of her twin brother--oh fuck they took her brother too what the hell what the helI--and he didn’t even look up to see the tears rolling down Gemma’s face and the hand clamped over her mouth to quiet her pathetic sobs.

“It’s wonderful how a Gemini breaks, isn’t it?” Zoran comments, not caring to address her distress. “That inherent need to learn and improve put to good use, huh? What a pity it would be to see you go the same way.”

“Don’t-” and sobbed silently, horrified that her first thought was ‘don’t do to me whatever you already did to him,’ “Please, just please let us go…”

“Leaving so soon?” they gasped dramatically, and Nye finally got the cage open. He dragged his sister out with a firm grip on her arm and held her still, facing Zoran. “I had to work so hard to find the perfect pair of Gemini twins! You have to stay for the rest of the party at least, watch everyone else’s turns, and, well, I haven’t even decided what to do with you lot after that!” They laughed like it was funny.

“Brice,” Gemma gave up on them, turning back to her brother with teary eyes, “why are you doing this? Please, let me go; whatever they offered or did to you isn’t worth it. I promise.” Nye twitched at that and she swore she saw just a hint of conflict in his expression. Not all was lost.

“Your brother Nye and I have an arrangement and, contrary to your belief, it is very much worth his while to comply with me. It’d be a shame if I had to-”

“No,” It was a husky, haunted whisper that first escaped Nye’s lips. “Please, don’t…”

“Oh, well if you insist,” Zoran sighed, “Nye, fetch the table I had you bring down. I trust you know well enough not to run by this point, Gemma. You’re not as thick skulled as a few other people here.” Pointedly, they glanced over at Taurus whose eyes glimmered dully with hurt at the comment. 

Gemma stood complacently with hands held behind her back, eyes following her brother as he left the room. Nye came back just seconds later, locking the door behind himself, and wheeling in a long metal table that nearly had her passing out at the sight of it. Torture implements of all types and sizes were laid out in neat rows just begging to inflict pain on an unlucky victim. Amidst the knives, bottles, and syringes she recognized were countless mechanisms she didn’t even want to place, as well as everyday household objects strewn about. 

She couldn’t even comprehend why or how all of this would be used on her and she was trembling uncontrollably and unseeingly when a hand clamped on her shoulder, pulling a flinch and coaxing her head up. Zoran stared, a fond smile spread over his lips, and wordlessly pulled her forward towards the table. 

Gemma suppressed the urge to swat the hand away, or run, or crawl back in that awful, degrading cage to get away. She walked at the guidance of Zoran’s hand, and knelt when it pushed her down, holding hands still when a length of rope pulled them behind her back, and then her ankles just a minute later.

When a length of cloth came around her head as a blindfold, she leaned ever so slightly into it. Then the room was silent until she heard something akin to… the shuffling of cards?

“Nye, you and I are going to play a game,” they started, no room in the statement for refusal, “and Gemma is going to be a good pawn for us. The rules are simple, so pay attention because I’m not repeating them.

“We will draw cards one at a time. Whoever pulls the card must first read it aloud and then perform the listed action on Gemma or, because I’m merciful, you may forfeit and I’ll turn the card’s command on you instead. That card will then not count towards your full six cards. When both of us hit that card total of six, the game is over. Clear?”

“C-crystal,” Nye’s voice cracked around the word.

“And one more thing. To be sure this is as fair as possible, I’ve elected to include a mediator. Take Libra from his cage, Nye, and tie him down over there. Just the hands should work fine.”

At the mention of his sign, Libra went stock still. Some other captives were arguing, trying to protect him, but he couldn’t hear as he felt every muscle in his body locking up and panic coming on quicker than he could quell its effects. Nye’s tall, lean silhouette loomed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t prepared for this. He would never have been prepared for this. He knew it was coming, but he thought he had a few days to collect himself--

“Libra, hey, can you look at me?” A hand holding his chin gently and a soft voice talking to him parted the impenetrable fog just for a second. “Where are you right now?”

He tried to think, but around wheezing breaths and shaky limbs it was impossible. Libra muttered something that got another response out of the voice.

“Listen to me, try to breathe. You’re, ah, you’re locked up in the basement where you’ve been for a few days. You know, the grey stone and cage, dim lights, all that. Smells a bit like mildew. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be hurt right now. This won’t be hard if you follow their instructions.”

The descriptions helped a bit, and he drew himself back to reality with them, pushing the fog and panic away to the back of his mind in favor of paying attention and following instructions right now.

“I- yeah, I ca-can, I can breathe I’m oh-okay,” he muttered, short of breath. Inhaling slowly, he counted out measured gasps as Nye pulled him out. Shaking legs carried him unsteadily to the loop in the floor where Libra was tied tightly, hands in front between his knees, so he couldn’t escape. 

“Libra.” Zoran’s voice was sharp enough to cut, and he snapped his gaze up, wobbling with the lasting effects of his near panic attack. “You will be our mediator for obvious reasons. I trust you to have the values of fairness on your side as your sign should, because you know you’ll pay dearly for any deviance or bias. I’ll ask your opinion if I want it, and otherwise you’re to stay as a silent, close observer. Yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Alright! The boring shit’s out of the way, so let’s get this show on the road!” Zoran’s expression split into a blinding grin, faux professionalism of earlier all driven away by the immediate promise of pure, unadulterated fun. “I’ll take the first turn.”

The room held its breath as they took the first card from the deck, reading it slowly over in their head before revealing it to everyone else.

“Drip hot wax on them.” They enunciated each word with pure ecstasy, “Starting things off with a bang, I see.”

At their feet as they lit a candle furnace, Gemma bit her lip in anticipation. Surely melted wax couldn’t hurt all too badly, she rationalized. She’d burnt herself on a candle before and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could handle this. 

Above, Nye watched on as Zoran melted what looked to be pieces of a candle. It melded into liquid in a basin above the flame, turning translucent and nearly sparkling as it stirred under the lights. It was tantalizing and sickening at the same time to know it would be poured over his sister’s skin, burning and burning until… he didn’t even know what would happen.

Zoran slipped a glove on one hand to protect him from the heat and flicked out a knife to slice open the back of her shirt, thankfully leaving her underclothing intact, and reached back for the melted wax. Gemma trembled under their hand that pulled the t-shirt apart, pushing hard on a shoulder to make her bend further over her knees.

When the wax hit, it felt cold for a few lovely seconds before the nerves buzzing under her skin caught on fire. In a blink, it was searing and pulling at her as it dripped and spread further like a parasite. It was melting her skin, starting at her shoulders, the liquid left of it dripping further and further down her stripped bones and muscles and hardening again, bonding like a shell that protected her from the relief she so desperately craved.

Her teeth were clenched with such force that she feared she would break them as she whimpered and moaned at sluggish agony that felt no better even minutes after most of the wax had dried. 

The hand on her shoulder pulled her to sit back up, and at the movement Gemma felt the wax adjusting and cracking, reforming itself and shifting across its own burns. The blindfold was already soaked with tears but that didn’t keep her from crying all over again. 

“Your turn, Nye,” Zoran turned to him and gestured to the stack of cards. Hand shaking, he drew one and flipped it over, breath already caught in his throat.

“Shut… shut them up,” he read, brow furrowing, “and it has a question mark on it.”

“That means you have a choice. You either find some way to ‘shut her up’ using whatever you can find on the table,” they gestured to Gemma, whose harsh breaths were still echoing through the room, “or I find a way to silence you. Your choice.”

“I-I can do it to her,” Nye muttered, walking closer to the table he’d brought in. He could do this painlessly, some way or another. His hand ghosted over a few things on the table, shivering and flinching away from others that he hoped he’d never see used. Or worse, he contemplated breathlessly, have to use himself.

Slowly, carefully, he settled on something. He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of strapping it on his own sister, but it could be useful to her long term. Something to bite down on for the pain… something to help block screams so it was less humiliating…

Grimacing, Nye picked up the muzzle, all leather facepiece and straps with a metal bit, and carried it carefully over to where his sister was kneeling.

“Wow, didn’t take you for that kind, Nye,” Zoran commented with a giggle, “just don’t forget our deal about talking to her.” The man in question fixed them with a fragile glare before turning back to Gemma, putting a gentle hand on her jaw. Slowly, he coaxed it open and met her lips with the metal bit, sliding it in to the back of her mouth.

It pressed down on her tongue and Gemma nearly gagged on it with how far back it reached. She held still as her brother figured out how to fasten and tighten the straps, pulling them only tight enough to keep the muzzle snugly on her face. She wasn’t upset with him, she reassured herself. He had no choice in what he was doing and there were a million worse avenues that prompt could have taken them down. 

When he stood and walked back away from her, she tested the give on the muzzle, working her jaw and finding she could hardly open it. But the metal gave her something other than her own teeth to bite down on. She just prayed it wouldn’t come that far even though she knew, deep down, that it already had.

Next part

#whump #The Zodiac Whumper #Zoran #Gemma/Val #Nye/Brice #twin whump #sibling whump #creepy captor #description of a panic attack #panic attack tw #burning #burning with melted wax #big oww #muzzled #bound #blindfolded #torture #sadistic card game #reluctant whumper #but he smart #big brains to try and solve problems #sometimes

[kenzieam]

I Never Stopped - Chapter Three

Rating: M (smut, language, angst and sorrow)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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Thank you, my lovelies, for your kind words and support XOXO

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Okay.... I know it’s been MONTHS since I updated most of my stories, but I’m making an effort to go back and work on my unfinished ramblings, so please consider reading this newest offering....

Also, since it’s been so long, feel free to catch up here- Prologue  Chapter One  Chapter Two

****************************************************************************

“He blames himself Levi... for you being abducted.”

Levi could only stare at him for a moment, completely dumbstruck. “Why the fuck would he think that?”

Steve didn’t answer, shaking his head and looking away. “I thought we were over that, you coming back must have triggered it again.”

“Goddammit Steve, explain what you mean!” Levi’s pulse was an uncomfortable tattoo in her ears, her skin beginning to feel slick with uneasy sweat. Why would Bucky think that? Had someone blamed him? Is this why he keeps himself distant, some twisted guilt?

Steve sighed, rubbing his mouth in a gesture Levi was learning meant he was particularly distressed. “He... both of us felt responsible for you disappearing, we were supposed to be watching you-”

“We were just kids! It was a freak accident!” Levi was gobsmacked, not once since she’d learned the truth about her past had she ever considered blaming anyone but her supposed parents, her captors. “Tell me that’s not true, did someone say something? Who would blame little kids?”

Steve looked down and Levi reached for him, cupping his face to force him to look at her. She pleaded with her eyes for him to speak, to deny the painful suggestion. He only shook his head sadly.

“I don’t blame either one of you. It never even occurred to me... God, that’s been his problem?” Levi’s voice cracked, pain seeping into her heart. Jesus, what a burden to carry. "Steve, look at me.” She waited until his red-rimmed eyes met hers again. “I don’t blame you, or Bucky. I never have. Please believe me. Please let that go.”

Steve shuddered suddenly, as if the guilt Levi hadn’t even known he was carrying was a physical weight her words just lifted. “Thank you.” He finally murmured, turning his head to kiss her palm; then he took a deep breath. “I thought he had already, he hasn’t brought it up for years; shit, we used to tear ourselves apart when we drank, falling down that rabbit-hole of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘if only’s’...... I’ve been so goddamn happy to have you back kid, I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“I need to talk to him.”

Steve nodded slowly, wiping at his eyes. “I can ask him, but Buck’s stubborn; I mean, look how he’s been so far... I’m such an asshole, I believed his ‘just tired, brother’ bullshit. Didn’t even try to get it out of him.” Suddenly he was pulling away, reaching for his phone. His fingers flew over the screen then he pressed it to his ear, brow furrowed.

“Buck, yeah brother, listen-” He broke off, frowning. “What? For how long?” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Okay, but when you get back, we need to talk. Levi wants to talk.” He bit his lip. “No, you have to Buck, she knows. Yeah. Okay, call me later.” Dropping the phone Steve looked back up and sighed. “He’s taking a few days off, apparently he left a few hours ago. He’s gone to visit his sister in Baltimore, said he’ll be back in a week or so.”

Levi huffed an exasperated breath. She wanted to clear this up now, but she knew that shit like this couldn’t be hashed out over the phone either.

Steve shot her a strained smile, he saw the pain in Levi’s eyes and wondered how he’d missed the draw and energy between his sister and best friend before; but he wouldn’t add to her distress by revealing just how badly Bucky had blamed himself, punished himself in the past.  

“Eat your ramen.” He finally offered.

************************************************************************

“Christ, this is ugly,” Levi grumbled, taking an experimental step forward. “But it’s great to walk again.”

Steve smirked at her, holding out Levi’s crutches, but knowing already that it was useless to offer them to her, now that she was wearing said ugly, clunky, black air boot.

“Get those away from me,” Levi hissed, softening her vitriol with a cheeky wink and grin, eyes flicking to the crutches in his outstretched hands. “Burn them.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Have you always been this salty?”

“I was raised in Alaska, humans aren’t the top of the food chain there; you don’t hobble around, it makes you dinner.” Levi quipped. In an effort to lessen the effects, soothe the lingering pain of her abduction, Levi wasn’t hiding from talking about it, she addressed her childhood matter-of-factly, and by doing so, took away its power over her.

But it still stung sometimes.

Steve shook his head and glanced around. After Levi’s appointment with her doctor he’d pronounced her ankle stable enough to brace, written a note for the style of air boot he’d wanted her to wear and sent them to the nearest pharmacy. Only Levi’s desire to walk again, rather than being confined to the couch, kept her from outright rejecting the boot when the woman brought it out. She seemed to be warming up to it, Steve thought, as her steps became more confident. Levi still had a hell of a limp, but she was upright and Steve knew already, despite the fact that he had only been reunited with her short weeks ago, that he was never going to get her to stay down again.

“Let’s go.” Levi declared, marching past and Steve chuckled.

The next few days dragged. Levi was impatient, itching for Bucky to return; a part of her didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to open this particular door, but a larger part wanted to know, needed to know. The quiet around her because of Steve’s time at work, covering for Bucky’s absence, and her own convalescence afforded her much time to think. Too much time.

When had all this began? When had Levi’s heart reached out and bound itself to Bucky’s? When had his? Had he been as taken with Levi in Steve’s living room as she was with him? Had his breath caught, his heart skipped?

And why had he run from her? Because he blamed himself? How could he think that it was his fault that she’d been abducted? What blame, grief and shame had he been suffering with all these years? Levi ached to know, to take that pain away. These feelings were new to her and, if she was being completely honest, a little scary. They’d definitely be more frightening if she didn’t have this time to be alone to process them, and she wondered if the time Bucky was taking away was helping him to clarify his feelings as well. The way he’d said her name, the way his face had contorted, his ragged exhales and the way he’d clung to her spoke to the depths of his desire, his want for her, but was that irrevocably tainted by his guilt, his unfair guilt?

Levi didn’t know, and it was both exhausting and useless to speculate.

Levi was quiet when Steve returned home that night; although he was tired and worn out from his day, it was easy for him to recognize the strain on his sister’s face when he sat down on the couch with a groan. Soup Levi had started was simmering gently on the stove, almost done, and the table set; but all that could wait until Steve learned what had his newfound sister looking so grave.

“What’s up, kid?” He murmured quietly. Bucky’s absence and the revelation of his guilt had hit Levi hard, and it was difficult for Steve to see her like this, and to know that, hours away in Baltimore, Bucky was probably struggling with the same. He loved Bucky like a brother, Bucky was his brother; and his love for Levi was viciously strong, even though they’d only been reunited for short weeks, and it made an ache settle deep in Steve’s chest to see her like this.

“The house is gone.” Levi murmured quietly.

“What?” Ice trickled down Steve’s spine. What could that possibly mean?

“My house, up in Alaska. My friend Renny just called; it burned to the ground. Looks like a wiring thing; he said it’s a total loss.”

Steve exhaled hard. “Levi, I’m sorry.”

“Saves me the trouble, really,” Levi muttered, pulling at the edge of a cushion. “Don’t have to fly back up there and throw everything away now.”

“You were throwing everything away?”

Levi swallowed hard and raised her head. “It was all a lie, Steve.” Her eyes were red-rimmed. “It wasn’t my life, this is. This is a blessing actually; I was dreading going back, seeing years of fiction, deception.”

“It was still your life, Levi. You lived it, even if it wasn’t truly yours. Those experiences weren’t dreams, they were still real.”

Levi sniffed, wiping at her cheek almost brusquely. “Sometimes... sometimes I wish she was still alive, just so I could ask her why? Why did you take me? But I know, if she was alive, I still wouldn’t know the truth. She never meant to tell me; sometimes I even wonder if she would have found some way to get rid of the key, if she’d had more time maybe before she died, to keep me from ever finding out who I was.”

Steve scooted closer silently and took Levi’s hand, pulling it into his lap and stroking gentle circles on the back of it with his thumb.

“I wondered, though; in the back of my mind. When I was sixteen, we studied blood groups in biology.” She wiped one more time at her cheeks and looked over at Steve, who held her gaze steadily. “I’m AB, and when I asked her, she said she was O. I found an old hospital card of... her husband’s, and his was O too. It didn’t make sense, and it scared me, so I told myself I was wrong, either I’d tested my own blood wrong, or she was mistaken about hers; or even, shit... maybe I was some freak who didn’t follow genetic laws, but.... it was always there, when I was quiet, when I wasn’t expecting it.... this big fucking elephant I was too scared to face.”

For a long moment, they were quiet; Levi sniffed heavily and leaned over, resting her forehead on Steve’s shoulder and he tipped his head to rest on hers.

The jarring clang of a notification startled Levi and she scrambled for her phone on the coffee table, while Steve straightened, wrapping the hand she’d dropped to grab her phone around her shoulders instead.

Whatever the message said made Levi inhale sharply, swear under her breath and scroll back up to the top to read again.

Steve waited patiently as she tapped out a heated response. “What is it?” He asked gently.

“I have to go back,” Levi grumbled. “That was Renny, there’s a few personal items that survived, insurance wants to speak with me, stuff I can’t do over the phone... dammit.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Steve asked tentatively.

“I want to say yes, but no. It’ll be fast, few days.” She turned to look up at his face then sighed heavily. “Can I use your laptop to find a flight?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Levi stood and moved into the kitchen. Steve followed a moment later but occupied himself at the stove, stirring the soup and ladling it into bowls. As he placed them on the table and sat himself, Levi glanced up. She looked calmer, resolved.

“Can you take me to the airport in the morning? There’s a flight out.”

“Yeah, Levi. No problem.”

“Thanks,” Levi returned her attention to the screen, tapping a few more times before closing the laptop and pushing it away. “Done. I’m not thinking about that shit anymore tonight, tell me about your day?”

*************************************************************************

Steve glanced out through the window and smothered a grin. He’d expected this.

A few hours ago, Bucky had arrived home and promptly disappeared into his house. Steve figured he’d clean up and maybe catch a short nap after the drive and it appeared, he had, but now he was walking somewhat hesitantly across the street and towards the house. Steve waited until the door opened and Bucky called out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, c’mon in. I’m in the kitchen.” Nat was coming over soon for supper and he was scrubbing potatoes to bake.

Bucky appeared, bottomless blue eyes roaming the room.

“Hey, bro. What’s up?” Steve offered, looking away to hide his smile. Bucky was looking for Levi, not him.

Bucky grumbled an unintelligible response.

Steve dropped the potatoes and moved to the fridge, reaching in and grabbing two beers he jerked his chin to the table, setting a bottle in front of Bucky when he sat. “How’s Sarah?”

Bucky took a swig first. “She’s good; shit, kids are growing like weeds. Lilly’s like running all around ‘Uncle Bucky! Uncle Bucky, come play with us!’ and little Cooper’s walking, sorta.”

Steve chuckled, swallowing.

“You?” Bucky continued. “Sorry I left you with the site, man-”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m good, Nat’s coming over in a few for supper, quiet night, you know.”

“What about Levi?” Despite his efforts to sound neutral, he didn’t.

“She’s back in Alaska.”

The riot of emotions that flared across Bucky’s face before he closed off told Steve all he needed to know and he took another drink to hide his smile. Try as he might to fight it, to hide it from everyone, including himself; Bucky was hooked. The surprise, fear, sorrow and panic Steve had just seen in his eyes said so. “She left?”

Steve waited a beat before taking pity on the silly, lovestruck bastard. “Yeah, but she’ll be back in a few days.”

Bucky couldn’t hide his exhale of relief and Steve chewed on his lip to keep from snorting with laughter.

“Her house burned down,” Steve added. “Looks like wiring or something, she had to go up and take care of insurance and stuff.”

“Is she okay?”

“Not really, man.” Steve decided to lay it out. What he’d seen in Bucky’s eyes told him he cared, deeply; now he needed to know what his behavior was doing. “She’s confused as shit, you keep messing around on her; there, not there. Ignore her for days then dance with her like that, what the hell?”

Bucky blushed deeply, dropping his head in shame. “She-”

“She knows you blame yourself and she thinks it’s complete bullshit. We talked, I told her I felt responsible too and she shut that right the fuck down; she doesn’t understand why we think that way.”

Bucky looked away, blinking away unexpected tears.

“Talk to her when she gets back, Buck.” Steve’s voice took on a firm edge. “This is my sister, that I never thought I’d see again. I love you like a brother man, and we’ve been through everything together, but I’ll choose her over you any day, no hesitation. No offense.”                        

Bucky nodded, clearing his throat. Although it stung, he deserved it; and if he couldn’t get his shit together enough to stand behind the woman he... loved, he might as well stop fighting the truth and just admit it; then he would expect nothing less from his friend and brother. “I will. When is she back?”

Steve shrugged. “Few days, not really sure. You going to call her?”

Bucky shook his head. “Shouldn’t say what I need to tell her over the phone.”

Steve nodded in approval and drained his bottle.

****************************************************************************

Levi sighed, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. She’d been back, home, for just over a day now; all that mess and shit in Alaska in her rearview. Yesterday was a wash; after Steve had picked her up at the airport she’d collapsed into bed, slept straight through until this morning; waking up, if not refreshed, then at least semi-recharged. Currently she was seated cross-legged on the couch, the air boot still a pain in her ass and Steve’s laptop open across her thighs, scrolling slowly. She looked up in surprise when she heard a tap at the door.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was tentative.

“Hey.” Levi replied neutrally. “Shouldn’t you be out at the site?”

Bucky shook his head. “Wrapped up early today.” He hesitated at the archway into the living room and Levi raised a brow, quirking her lip in invitation to sit. She jostled slightly as Bucky sat near her; as she was sitting in the exact center of the couch, he couldn’t sit anywhere without being closer to her than he probably wanted.

Levi waited for him to speak first and continued to scroll the screen, studying the webpage.

“What are you looking at?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Real estate listings.” Levi replied, equally quietly. “I should have my own place, especially once Steve and Nat get married; I’m tired of wearing ear plugs at night, they make my ears itchy.”

Bucky snorted, his immediate amusement over Levi’s quip overruling the apprehension he felt at the rest of her words, but only for a moment. “You’re moving out?”

Levi shrugged. “Between the insurance and what I’m going to get selling the land to Renny’s friend, I’ll have enough for something small, or ‘quaint’ as I’m learning the real estate world calls it.”

Bucky hesitated; his heart was screaming at him, clamoring in his chest. Move in with me, it screeched. It’s too soon, the pragmatic voice in his head warned; but he’d been listening to that voice far too much recently and it had taken on a definite martyr bend lately. He opened his mouth, not yet sure what was going to come out when Levi inhaled sharply, rolling her head on her shoulders, eyes still fixed on the screen, not aware of how the sinuous movement of her body ignited a flare of reluctant heat in Bucky’s body. “Sore?”

“Yeah,” Levi replied absently. “My neck and back.”

“Turn.” Bucky wasn’t really sure what he was doing right now, his body was leaving the pragmatic voice in the dust.

Levi glanced at him in question before obeying, scooting sideways to give Bucky her back. She was wearing a low-back tank top, her hair coiled in a messy knot, affording Bucky a view of her skin he’d not seen yet, as she turned, he saw the curve of the side of her breast and his heart began to speed up.

“Levi... this is beautiful, I didn’t know you had tattoos.” Drawn despite his will, Bucky reached out, finger brushing lightly along the tribal design that began at the nape of her neck and continued down her spine, disappearing into her shirt.   

Levi shivered involuntarily under his gentle touch. “Aana gave them to me.”

“Aana?”

“My friend’s grandmother, it’s a loose translation of her dialect. She was one of the last women in her tribe skilled at traditional tattooing; when I turned eighteen, she honored me by marking my back. They use a bone needle and thread, darkened with coal and pulled through the skin.”

Bucky was entranced and had to fight to pull his hand away from the stunning design, forced himself to instead rest his hands on Levi’s shoulders, to begin massaging her tense muscles.

“Did you get to see Aana before you left this time?”

Levi shook her head, dropping her head forward. “Aana and my friend died two winters ago, carbon monoxide poisoning. I was invited over that night, but I’d just done a double shift at work and was too tired to drive out to Aana’s cabin. If I had, I would have died too.”

Bucky froze, trying to wrap his head around that. “We never would have learned what happened to you.” He murmured quietly, suppressing a shudder. The thought was abhorrent, striking deep in Bucky’s heart; there was no use fighting this anymore, he was taken; completely and hopelessly given over to Levi; his running and fighting his own heart had only delayed the inevitable.

Before he could stop himself, Bucky leaned forward, closing his eyes and pressed his lips softly, tentatively, to the nape of Levi’s neck. His lips trembled at the blissful contact and Levi froze beneath him.

“Bucky,” she murmured, inhaling sharply.

He lingered a beat before pulling back only far enough to rest his forehead to her back. “Levi,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I can’t fight this anymore.”

“Then don’t.” She breathed.

“I don’t deserve you,” hot shame welled in his heart, the same old guilt beginning to bubble up and overwhelm the warmth of his desire.

Levi moaned quietly, then turned abruptly, making Bucky sit up straight in surprise. She reached up and cupped his face, eyes searching his desperately. “Why do you think that? Tell me.”

Bucky exhaled in defeat, letting his head loll in Levi’s grip. His shame and regret were tangible weights bearing down on him, crushing him.

“James, please?” Levi’s voice cracked and Bucky broke inside.

“I left you.” He choked. “Alone. Steve... he went in the house to get popsicles, and after he left you decided you wanted a purple one. I followed him to make sure he got one, but there weren’t any, just blue. It took a few minutes and when we came back out... you were gone. I left you, baby. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Levi inhaled, a deep shuddering breath. “Look at me.” She ordered, her voice shaking. Reluctantly, Bucky raised tear-filled eyes to hers. “You might as well blame my mom, for leaving three kids alone.”

Bucky winced and tried to look away, but Levi held his face firmly.

“Or the popsicle company for making too many flavors to choose from.”

The ghost of a sad smile pulled at Bucky’s lips.

“Or, how about we blame who’s really responsible?” Levi’s voice gained strength. “How about we blame the people who saw a little girl and decided it was okay to steal her? To take her away from her family? Let’s blame who’s really responsible. Not you, Bucky. Not a little boy.”

The remaining resistance in Bucky shattered at her words and he gave in, let the full wave of his suppressed sorrow crash over him; dropping his face into the crook of Levi’s throat, curling around her like a lifeline. Levi burrowed closer, carding her fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing sounds as she fought her own tears. Bucky’s anguish was a palpable cloud around him, suffocating and dark.

“I don’t blame you. I never have. I never will.”

“Levi-” Bucky choked, pulling back to sit up. He wiped at his cheeks, breathing heavily. Suddenly, he surged forwards, a hungry lunge and his mouth crashed over hers. Their lips bruised under the force, tongues tangling, moaning small sounds of need. Levi fell backwards, pulling a willing Bucky with her and let her thighs fall open. Bucky fitted between them and began to grind against her, his dick burning and raging against his zipper.

The gates had been opened and they were frantic for each other. Bucky pulled away from Levi’s lips only long enough to pull her shirt down and free her bare breast, latching onto it like a man starved. Levi arched beneath him with a cry, fingers tightening painfully in his hair. Her hands clawed at his fly, yanking desperately and parting them, reaching inside to grip his straining length.

“Jesus, baby-” Bucky gasped, bucking into her hand.

“What the hell?” Steve bellowed, the front door slamming behind him.

The fevered lovers froze, heads whipping to look at him. Quickly, Bucky pulled Levi’s shirt back up to cover her.

Steve marched past, rolling his eyes, fighting a snort of laughter. “About time you pulled your head out your ass, Buck. But don’t you dare mess up my couch!” He continued hollering as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Nat’s bringing pizza’s, get up and make yourselves presentable! My virgin eyes!!”

Their eyes, wide with excitement and surprise, met and they burst into laughter, the moment broken; cooler heads prevailing. Bucky dropped his face into Levi’s neck, inhaling her scent greedily even as he shook with laughter. “Virgin eyes, my ass.” He choked, making Levi laugh harder.

The door opened again. “Damn you two, right out on the couch?” Nat quipped, walking quickly past, carrying two boxes of pizza, holding one hand over her eyes dramatically.

“I told ‘em to quit it!” Steve barked from the kitchen, but he couldn’t maintain his serious tone and started laughing; muffled by the sound of cupboards opening and closing.        

Bucky chuckled weakly, relieved and wound drum-tight at the same time, sitting back and pulling Levi to sit beside him. Levi wiped at her lips, not to remove his taste but to savor it; glancing up into Bucky’s eyes before she swallowed audibly and stood. Reflexively, Bucky reached up, steadying her with a hand on her hip and she smiled down at him.

“I’m going to go freshen up,” she murmured. “Then we should join them.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed before he could stop it, he didn’t want to ‘join them’, he wanted to continue what he and Levi had just been doing, only on his own couch this time.

Levi leaned forwards and Bucky sighed as her lips brushed his ear, her welcoming scent enveloping him. “Just for a while,” she turned her head, pressing a deliberate kiss to the tender skin just below his ear, making Bucky shudder. “Then we’ll make our excuses....” She pulled away, her grin both tentative and wicked, widening when she heard the low answering growl deep in his chest.

“Sure,” he breathed, hardly remembering what he was agreeing to, then watched in a daze as Levi disappeared down the hallway. Only once he’d heard a door shut did he startle awake again, standing and smoothing himself down, running a hand through his hair and across his face, stubble rasping.

Nat was sitting on the counter, Steve standing between her legs and murmuring in her ear, making her giggle when Bucky walked in. He considered turning around and walking right back out, but Steve heard him and pulled away, grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Bout time, ya tool.”

Bucky answered him with a middle finger before wandering over to the table, lifting the lids on the pizza boxes to inspect the bounty within. Although his body was wound tight with desire, there was a newfound lightness there too, a relief and warmth; he’d finally, as Steve so artistically put it ‘gotten his head out of his ass’ and found that Levi felt the same, had responded to his desperate, pent-up hunger with equal fever. He hadn’t felt this quiver of anticipation and pure joy in years, if ever.            

Steve reached his side and held out plates. Bucky glanced up, his gaze locking with Steve’s.

You’ve got my blessing, brother; but hurt her and I will tear you the fuck apart, his intense stare said.

Never. Bucky answered silently.

Steve nodded, a quick snap of his head before pushing the plates into Bucky’s hands and turning back, cutlery rattling in his hands a moment later.

Levi appeared then, shyly scooting into the room, pressed to the doorframe. Her cheeks were an adorable shade of pink, like she expected a barrage of teasing, but Steve only grinned at her.

“C’mon kid, pizza’s getting cold.”                                                                                                          

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky barnes #bucky and levi #i never stopped #bucky and lev #sebastian stan #bucky barnes drama #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes romance

[zenithlux]

Cadence Update - 24

Catch up on the story here!

Long lost words whisper slowly to me Still can’t find what keeps me here When all this time I’ve been so hollow inside I know your still there Watching me…

Haunted - Evanescence

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

That night, the nightmares returned.

He’d forgotten how miserable each one was; an endless cycle of torture and almost-death that always ended once he’d healed again. He’d tried to forget them. He’d thought he’d moved on. But on this particular night, this particular set of dreams, he knew that he failed. 

Oh Nelo…

Mundus’ face hovered in the sky above him, but Vergil didn’t dare meet its gaze. He couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when that monster was so close to him now. Over and over he chanted: It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. But that only amused Nightmare Mundus, whose booming laugh reverberated in Vergil’s very bones.

You tried so hard to escape.

Vergil hissed as shards of glass shot through him in so many places his brain couldn’t process them all. He bit his tongue, drawing blood as another one pierced straight through his chest. His lungs collapsed - he’d felt that enough times to know what was happening - and he gasped as air flooded out of him in a panic. 

But this is inevitable, Nelo. 

The shards retreated. His body healed. Air rushed back into his lungs, painfully filling in where the holes had once been. It wouldn’t be long until another series of something impaled him. Glass. Swords. Bones. Yamato. 

Yamato… That is an interesting idea. Mundus whispered. I wonder if I’d be better off discarding your pesky human emotions altogether. 

Vergil wished he could fight back. He prayed for some kind of snide remark that would prove he was still fighting. But nothing came to him but cold, hard dread. He would not survive a second break. His human form would vanish in an instant. His demon half would follow its new master. He would cease to exist. 

Vergil!

Mundus growled. That foolish girl interrupts what she does not understand. 

“Leave her out of this,” Vergil said. 

Vergil! Wake up!

Mundus chuckled. I’m afraid that’s just not possible. But how fun it will be to tear her to pieces in front of you. Maybe I’ll start with the familiars…

“Enough!” Vergil shouted, stretching against the chains that dug further into his skin. “You will not have me.”

We shall see. 

“Wake up!”

Vergil snapped upright in a panic. A yelp of surprise caught him off guard as his hand found flesh. A blast of cold smacked him in the chest. He recoiled as his vision finally cleared. Roxy hit the ground, gasping for air as she reached for her neck. A bruise was already forming, and Vergil realized what he’d done. 

No…

No. No. No.

“Leave!” He yelled.

“No!” She snapped back as she dragged herself to her feet. 

“I said…”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Silence fell. Kuro retreated, his energy slipping back into Roxy. The bruise vanished, leaving Vergil to stare into her furious gaze instead. 

No… not furious. 

Terrified.

“I hurt you.” 

“It was my fault,” She said. “I shouldn’t have tried to shake you awake like that.”

 “You didn’t have a choice.”

“It was Mundus, wasn’t it?” When Vergil said nothing, she sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“You…”

“Dia won’t be back for at least a week. She’s working with Nico as we speak and has Dante and Nero watching out for more unusual portals. Our Yamato thief has not reappeared, but the chances of them finding this place are slim to none.”

“There’s still a chance.”

“That is why we need to figure out what we have to do,” She said. “The moment Dia comes back, we have to make the pact or this will all be for nothing. I’ve located some of my father’s work, but I’ve only found some information on his transplants.” She paused for a moment then, quietly, she said, “Have you always had nightmares?”

“I assumed you were aware of them.”

Roxy blinked. “Why? I sleep pretty soundly when I actually fall asleep.”

“When you actually…?” Vergil trailed off as his gaze hardened. “How many days?”

She looked away. “Since?”

“You’ve slept a full night.”

Still, she didn’t look at him, but her fingers tightened on the blanket. “Three or so.” She mumbled. “I’ve gotten about eight hours total. I think. Maybe less.” She shook her head. “This isn’t about me.”

“If you’ve needed help…”

She snorted. “With what, sleeping? And how are you going to help with that? Sing me a lullaby?”

“You need to rest.” 

“I can’t, Vergil.” There was a hint of anger in her tone, but she clearly didn’t have the energy to express it. “And I don’t appreciate you turning this conversation on me.” When she met his gaze again, it was with a soft, warning glare. “How would I know about your nightmares?”

“Aki,” Vergil said. “He’s always been there when I have one.”

She stared at him, and Vergil was absolutely positive she had no idea what he was talking about. “But why?” She muttered, more to herself than him. “How would that even help?” She went silent for a moment as her eyes closed. Vergil could imagine her reaching deep into her subconscious, searching for Aki’s soul. Maybe she would summon him. Maybe she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter as long as she got answers. When her eyes opened again, they were Kuro’s pale blue. “Aki says he could feel your distress and wanted to comfort you.” She shook her head. “I never considered that my own familiars could help you.” 

“How?”

“Kuro’s magic is primarily healing,” She said. “And Aki has likely absorbed plenty over the years…” Her eyes brightened suddenly as if a literal lightbulb had gone off in her head. “I can help too!”

“What?”

“Proximity,” She whispered. “Maybe if I sleep in the same room…”

“Absolutely not. I’m not risking your life to make myself feel better.” Vergil said. 

Her anger flared up again. This time, she had no trouble showing it. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I’m not an idiot, Roxy.” He said. “I saw the bruise.”

“I bruise very easily,” She said. “And, as you can see,” she waved her hand near her neck. “It’s gone.”

“Roxy,”

“Please, Vergil,” She said. “Let me at least try.” 

“... You’re not going to give this up are you?”

“Nope.”

Vergil sighed. “Fine.” 

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

After three days of near-perfect sleep, it was Kuro who woke Vergil up. 

“Come,” The dragon said, his snout incredibly close to Vergil’s face. “Leave her here.” He hopped off the bed and sauntered away, leaving Vergil to stare at the ceiling. Roxy was asleep beside him, as her heartbeat was a gentle thump that had miraculously kept most of the nightmares away. He’d had a couple, but she’d always been there to soothe him back to sleep. In fact, Roxy had barely left his side since her promise, constantly finding ways to distract him when his mind wandered too far. And Vergil didn’t mind the constant companionship, though he was very aware that he was much less her caretaker now than she was his. But, considering how quiet the rest of his family had been (which he hoped was a good sign), she was the glue holding him together. 

Of course, none of this helped him figure out what Kuro could possibly want on a morning like this. The dragon had been rather quiet as of late. After they’d been forced to give Roxy some of Vergil’s blood to keep her functioning without the extra demons to help, Kuro had all but disappeared. Roxy said he was keeping track of her “from within” (though she had sounded a bit skeptical about that). The dragon had claimed he was giving them privacy, but the two had both agreed they weren’t doing anything that necessarily needed it. Sure, the two had been more open about their feelings toward each other, but they still had a lot to figure out before anything… drastic.

Honestly, that was the furthest thing from Vergil’s mind at the moment. They’d have plenty of time to figure things out once Mundus was taken care of. 

Aki appeared on Vergil’s chest and gave a series of chirps as he tilted his head in what Vergil assumed was a “what are you waiting for?”. Then, the bird ran up Vergil’s arm and curled up in the small space beside a sleeping Roxy. Vergil sighed as he absentmindedly ran his thumb along her arm. Dia hadn’t returned yet, though he had no way of knowing how time worked between her world and theirs. He didn’t have the mental energy to stress over that too. 

A low growl is what finally got him out of bed, and he wasn’t surprised to find a very irritated, and rather large Kuro sitting outside. He towered a good few feet over Vergil, tongue flicking in pure frustration.

Vergil was not impressed. 

“Slow as usual,” Kuro said.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, don’t bother,” Vergil replied.

“You are not ready.”

“For?”

“To be her familiar.”

Vergil’s eyebrow shot up. “It is temporary, is it not?”

“You don’t know how long that might be,” Kuro said. “What if Mundus’ hold on you does not immediately break? What if his mark remains and he comes after her? What if my power is overused in the process and she needs yours to keep her going?” Kuro’s head rose a bit higher. “You are wholly unprepared for the possibilities, and I am going to teach you.”

“I know how familiars work,” Vergil said. 

“Summoning is a lot different than being summoned.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Kuro huffed. “How do you maintain balance between her energy and yours?”

“I…” Vergil trailed off, realizing the ruse was up.

“How do you keep your thoughts from flowing freely into her mind?”

“I’m sure that’s…”

“How do you keep your nightmares from terrorizing her?”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” Kuro said. “Do you know how to summon yourself in any form she needs you in, regardless of the strain it puts on you? Do you know how to channel your demonic magic where she needs it instead of yourself? Do you even know what it’s like to put someone else’s safety entirely above your own?” The dragon’s muzzle was uncomfortable close now, and his voice only got louder. “This isn’t some game, Vergil. It’s her life. And I will not allow you to undo the sacrifices I have made to maintain it.” 

“It isn’t my intention to hurt her,” Vergil said. “Nor am I so foolish to risk her life.”

“You’re afraid.”

Vergil’s eyes drifted closed. “Not of her.”

“Of what could happen.”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Which is why I ask that you learn what you can while you have the chance,” Kuro said. “If something goes wrong, you need to be the one in control, understand?” 

Finally, Vergil nodded. “I do.”

#zenni-writes #vergil #dmc #fan fiction #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #angst #nightmares #mundus #familiar lore

[arcanalust]

Aphrodisiac Incense Porn starring Asra and male!MC part one, coming up!

I don’t know what Asra is planning. We’ve been in Drakr for three days and so far, it’s been a typical trip. I’m enjoying my time with Asra immensely but Asra said he had something planned. The longer we go without this surprise, the more wary I am of it. I love Asra dearly, more than I thought it possible to love someone, and I usually love his surprises, but he’s come up with some real stinkers. We always have a good laugh over a flop, but usually when it takes him this long to get on with it, it’s because he’s not sure of it himself. 

“So,” I say over breakfast, “do we have any particular plans for today?”

Asra picks at his meal. “Actually, we do.  We’re going downtown. There’s a particular store I want to visit, but it’s...”

His voice trails off. “Yes?” I prompt gently. 

“It’s of an... adult nature.”

It takes me a second to catch his meaning. I feel heat rise in my face when I do. “Oh.”

“There’s something in particular that’s rumored to be there. Incense that makes people... amorous.”

I almost laugh. “Do you really think we need that kind of assistance, of all people? We make love more nights than not.”

“I’ve never been under the influence of an aphrodisiac before. I’m curious.”

I have to admit, I am too. “Well, your curiosity is legendary,” I say with a grin.  “When do you want to go?”

“I was thinking we can go as soon as we’re done breakfast. There are other stores I’m sure will catch our attention. I plan to spend all day shopping, then a nap, if we’re both tired enough- then the real fun begins.”

His tone is suggestive, and I can’t help the smirk that crosses my lips, nor the renewed blush across my face. “I see. Sounds good to me. Remember, though- you promised we’d see a play while we’re here. We’re not leaving until I get my play.”

“I planned to stay for another week. We’ve got plenty of time to see a play. Is there anything else you want to do while we’re here?”

I shake my head as I shrug. “I dunno. I’m not as familiar with Drakr as you are. I’ve never been here.”

Asra gives me a look that usually means I’ve touched a nerve, and I’m about to apologize for whatever it was when he mumbles something under his breath. I can’t quite catch it, but it sounds a bit like, “Yes you have...”

“I’m sorry,” I say, pointedly ignoring what I thought I heard. I know my memory is a sore spot with him sometimes. “I didn’t catch that.”

“It’s nothing.” The bright smile is back on his face, even if I can see the regret in his eyes. “Are you almost done? I want to get going.”

“You barely touched your breakfast.” I emphasize the remark by spearing some scrambled eggs and eating them. 

“I’m not very hungry today.” He starts eating despite his words.

We continue our conversation as we eat, and I try not to show that I’m worried about this funk he seems to be in today. Asra’s been more open with his emotions the longer we’ve been a couple, and I’m discovering that he can be very moody. I don’t mind; I love him, and he usually shakes himself out of it on his own in a day or two. Still, it’s distressing to see him so downtrodden- especially since we’re here to relax.

So I turn the conversation back to the adult-themed store he wants to visit. “You said that it’s just a rumor that this place has this aphrodisiac incense. You’re not going to be too disappointed if they don’t have it, are you?”

“No,” he says, drawing the word out. “I’m sure we can find something to make the trip worth it even if that’s the case. Maybe even if it isn’t the case.” He grins at me suggestively, and it takes all my willpower not to ask him  if he wants to work out some of the sexual tension already building. He’ll say no. He does love delayed gratification, and I know he’ll want himself nice and worked up for whatever treasures we find at this shop.

It’s nearly mid morning by the time we leave the inn and head downtown. We walk hand-in-hand, mostly window-shopping, although a few times something catches our eyes and we go into shops. By the time we reach the shop Asra planned this whole trip around, he has a set of gold wrist-cuffs that go beautifully with his choker, I have a new sweater, and we’ve picked up some delicate treats for Faust. We see several items that our friends back in Vesuvia would love, and resolve to go back out to get them before we leave for home.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find the adult shop immaculately clean, well-lit, and smelling delightful from a candle burning behind the counter. The woman behind the counter nods to us with a friendly smile as we enter, and Asra goes right up to the counter, greeting her cheerfully- and innocently, as if we’re not here to buy a mind-altering substance that should make us even more eager to ravish each other than we already are.

I wander over to a wall adorned with various toys and whatnot, trying to ignore how my face is alight with embarrassment as I look over the wares. A pair of handcuffs lined with brightly-dyed fur catches my eye, and I grab them, glancing over at Asra to see if he’s done yet. He apparently is, because he sees me looking for him and comes sauntering over. “See something you want?” And then he sees what’s in my hands. “Oh.”

“I definitely see something I want.” I wink at him.

He looks surprised for a second, before a sly grin takes over his features. “It’s nice to know my desire is reciprocated,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, as he draws close to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Who exactly are you planning for those to be used on?”

I give him a smirk. “Who do you think, Asra? Really now.” 

He snickers, burying his face in my neck. “Tomorrow. I want your hands free tonight.”

“Then they have it?”

“They have it.” He pulls away from me after planting a kiss on my cheek. “See anything else you want?”

We browse the shop for a while, gently teasing each other, although I can’t say that our verbal teasing isn’t getting us both wound up, but we don’t agree on any other toys, so Asra takes my handcuffs to the counter, where the clerk already has a small paper bag ready. “You two are adorable,” she remarks as she rings up the sale. “How long have you been together?”

“A little over two years,” Asra answers. That question always makes me uncomfortable, because I’m aware that we were together before my death- I just can’t remember it. We had to talk about it last time Asra was honest about the total time we’ve been romantically entwined. He eventually agreed that, since I don’t remember them, the years before my death don’t count. I know it’s been hard on him, having to distance himself from the years and years he’s been in love with me, but I make a point to let him know just how much I love him now. Now is what matters, a sentiment he agrees with wholeheartedly.

Asra finishes paying for the incense and handcuffs and we take our leave of the shop. “I’m hungry,” he declares with a wicked grin, and I suppress a groan of anticipation. I want to go back to our room at the inn, but he’s going to draw this outing out as much as he can. “Oh, don’t make that face. You know I’ll make it worth the wait. I always do, don’t I?”

“I can’t argue with that.” We start to wander the streets, looking for a restaurant that looks appetizing, and I take his hand as we walk and lean into him. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I say softly.

Color sweeps across his face. “Ah, sorry about that,” he replies. “I don’t know why I was so mopey this morning.”

“You can’t  be a ray of sunshine all the time,” I reply. “You’re allowed to be in a bad mood. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Thanks.” He smiles at me and bumps shoulders with me.

After that, though, he spends the rest of the afternoon teasing me. A less-than-innocent remark here, a suggestive touch there, pulling me into alleyways to pass his lips over my neck and throat in a ghost of a kiss before letting go, interlacing our fingers again, and pulling me back onto the street before I have time to react or reciprocate. 

The teasing gets unbearable when his fingers innocently brush the front of my trousers, and I bite my lip hard to keep from reacting. “That’s it,” I say, somehow managing to keep a growl from my voice. “We’re going back to the inn and you are in so much trouble when we get there.”

“Oh?” His tone is playful, challenging. “And what do you plan to do when we get back to- ack! Hey, slow down!”

I halt to give him a chance to catch his footing again before tugging him insistently as we start walking again. He laughs, a joyful sound, as he picks up his pace to walk beside me. “Maybe I should do this more often,” he murmurs to me. “I think I like it when you’re so ready to take charge.”

I consider backing off. Mercilessly teasing me in public is a habit I don’t know if I want to encourage. That thought is shoved to the back of my mind, though- I’m desperate for him at this point. I don’t even think I want to give him a chance to light that incense. 

I decide, as we get back to our rooms, that I don’t want to. The moment the door is closed, I push Asra against it, my lips seeking his throat. A low groan escapes him as he presses against me, fingers scrabbling for the hem of my shirt. My teeth scrape gently against his skin as he gets a grip on the fabric and I let him tug it up over my head. We work his clothes off as well- scarf, coat, sash, shirt. “I never realized how overdressed you always are,” I breathe against his lips. He chuckles and kisses me hard, running his hands across my shoulders and down my chest, gently pushing against me. 

I let him guide us to the bed before twisting us around and bearing down on him, forcing him down onto the mattress. He gasps my name as I trail kisses from his neck down his chest, my hands going for his belt. He gently puts his hands on my wrists, guiding my hands as I undo the belt and work his pants off. Breathlessly, I sit up, straddling his waist as I deal with my own belt and pants. His fingers wrap around me the moment I’m free of my undergarments, eliciting a gasp and a moan from the back of my throat. I lean over him as he strokes me, nipping at his earlobe. “What do you want?” I murmur in his ear.

“You.”

I give a breathy chuckled as his stroking gets more insistent. “I’m going to need you to be more specific,” I inform him, unable to hold myself back from thrusting into his hand.

“Fuck me.” The words carry the weight of a command, even if his tone is begging. 

I sit back and rummage in one of our bags for the oil we use for this, a thrill of delight shimmering through me. Asra rarely asks me to fuck him; we’re both just more comfortable with it the other way around. But we both thoroughly enjoy it either way, so I scoot off him and stand at the side of the bed, between his knees as his legs dangle off the edge. I slick up my fingers and ease a digit inside of him. He hisses and grasps the sheets beneath him as I start to move. “More,” he demands, his voice harsh. I add a second finger, and his head falls back onto the mattress with a gasp and a groan, grinding his hips down on my hand.

I work him over for several minutes, relishing the noises he’s making, until I can’t stand it any longer. “Are you ready?” I ask breathlessly.

“Yes, I want you inside me, please, please-“

Without wasting any time, I pull him so that he’s a bit off the bed, using my other hand to slick myself up, then push into him gently. His head falls back to the mattress again as a low keening noise comes from him as I bury myself completely in him, and hold still to let him get used to the feeling. I bend over him as he’s panting, lifting his free hand to my lips and trailing kisses down his wrist. “You okay?” I murmur against his hand.

“Oh gods, yes,” he replies, breath and flushed to the tips of his ears. I take it as permission to move, gently at first, sliding out of him and back in, eliciting a loud groan from him as his other hand fists the sheets, his knuckles white.

I breath praises and encouragement as I move, telling him how good he feels, how much I love it when he lets me fuck him. As far as I can tell, though, he’s practically senseless, groaning and gasping with every thrust.

On impulse, I take his hand and lick two of his fingers. His eyes open, surprised. “What’re you-“

He doesn’t get the whole question out. It collapses into another loud moan when I put his fingers in my mouth and start licking and swirling my tongue around them, giving him an idea of what I plan to do for him if I finish before he does. 

He gasps my name again and disentangles his free hand from the sheets to stroke himself eagerly, and I consider telling him to stop, that I want him in my mouth when I’m finished. Then a wicked thought crosses my mind. “Think we’ll be up for round two after this?” I pant.

Asra grins at me, just as breathless as I am. “You didn’t let me light the incense,” he informs me, needlessly. “Light it and see if it works?”

“That sounds like a-oh gods, Asra, I’m so close-“

My words melt into a breathy moan, one that Asra echoes. I feel him tense up beneath me, and he all but shouts my name as he comes, spilling all over his hand and abdomen. The sight of him like that and the feel of him clenching up in his orgasm drives me over the edge, thrusting deep inside him as I come with a sharp cry. The force of my orgasm makes my knees buckle, and I drop to the floor, gasping and panting.

Asra says my name again, this time concerned, as he slides off the bed to join me on the floor. "Are you okay?"

I breathe deep, trying to calm my racing heart. "I'm fine. I just couldn't stay standing." Asra pulls me into his arms and we hold each other as we catch our breath in the afterglow. I can feel his heart beating in tandem with mine, the feel of his heartbeat in his chest soothing me. 

Once our hearts are beating at a more reasonable pace, Asra kisses my temple and helps me to my feet. "I light that incense, and we go get cleaned up while it works its magic."

"You're awfully sure that it's going to work."

"I'm not sure at all it's going to work. It smells nice anyway." And then a thought occurs to him. "I need to make sure Faust isn't in the room. She usually leaves us to it when we get going, but I don't want her breathing in a mind-altering substance."

"Right. Check on Faust, light incense, clean up, and see what happens?"

"That's the plan." He kisses me again, this time on the mouth, tongue slipping against mine. "I love you."

"I love you too. So, so much. Let's get going before we decide we're too tired for round two." He laughs heartily and helps me stand, and I feel his magic reaching out as I head to the bathroom to clean up.

[haxballfan-blog]

When You're Sad, Your Skin Is Sad

Correlation doesn't prove causation, but I can't help but notice that both times I’ve lived in my teenage bedroom I’ve felt especially sad. In high school, it was an angry sadness that sought attention. But when I came back to my parents house in March to ride out COVID, the sadness became deep and dull—about everything and nothing. I go to bed dreading the next day like it holds a big test I haven’t studied for. In the morning, I alternately jolt awake while it’s still dark, or tether myself to my comforter well into the workday. I’ve been very privileged in the ways I’ve experienced the past few months, but also very anxious. And actually, the CDC estimates that 40-percent of adults exhibit symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorders as of this past July. (In 2019, that number was 11-percent.) So, yes, I’m crying a lot more than usual; maybe you are too. I’m also breaking out more than usual—and you?

“Yes, stress causes you to break out,” says Dr. Amy Wechsler, who, as one of only a handful of doctors in the US board-certified in both dermatology and psychiatry, is uniquely qualified to answer questions about this kind of stuff—she even wrote the book on it. Dr. Wechsler cites a well-known study done on a college campus during exam week, where researchers found a strong correlation between stress and the severity of acne. “But exam period is like two weeks long, and when the exams go away the breakouts go away. Imagine if you had exam period for five months, you know? That’s like what we’re going through right now.”

According to Dr. Wechsler, the root of stress acne lies in a molecule called cortisol. Cortisol is a hormone that’s pumped out by the body to fight illness, control blood sugar levels, regulate metabolism, and influence memory formation. In general it’s anti-inflammatory, but when you’re stressed, your body responds by producing more cortisol than it would normally as part of the fight-or-flight response meant to keep you alert when you need to be. If that stress is prolonged, and you don’t have the proper coping mechanisms to deal with it, cortisol starts to act very inflammatory.

“Inflammation is the root cause of acne, and eczema, and psoriasis,” says Dr. Wechsler, who also adds that high levels of cortisol over a long period of time will break down collagen, the molecule in your skin that keeps it looking plump. “That’s why when people are really stressed out for a while, they look like they aged overnight.” For a good, obvious example of this phenomenon, take a look at a photo of President Obama in his first year as president compared to his last. Cortisol also weakens your skin’s natural barrier, so you’ll start to experience more transepidermal water loss. Several months of anxiety may leave you with a totally different skin type: even if your skin is normally oily, it will start to dry out and get more sensitive. Dr. Wechsler notes that when your barrier is compromised, your skin is more likely to react to something that normally wouldn’t cause a problem. “That’s when people say things like, ‘I’ve been using the same product forever, they haven’t changed their ingredients, but now I can’t tolerate it.’”

The tricky part about cortisol is that once levels are high, it can be difficult to bring them down on your own. At minimum, you need to make sure you’re getting an adequate amount of sleep each night, which can be difficult when you’re feeling anxious. “Cortisol is at its lowest for everybody during sleep, and healing molecules like beta-endorphins, growth hormones, and oxytocin,” a mood enhancer, “are always at their highest,” says Dr. Wechsler, who compares the molecules’ relationship to a see-saw. If you’re not getting much sleep, you’re not giving the anti-inflammatories a chance to catch up to the cortisol.

During the daytime, you can sort of hack your body chemicals by engaging in activities that directly trigger a release of those happy molecules. Completing your skincare routine floods your brain with dopamine, otherwise known as the “feel-good neurotransmitter.” So would cooking a complicated dinner, or organizing your bedroom, or finishing a book. A workout can help balance too-low endorphins, a fact I always felt was fallacy until I experienced my first runner’s high a few months ago. Not into exercise? Pop on a John Mulaney stand up special—any will do!—for a rush of endorphins you don’t have to sweat for. And to raise your oxytocin levels, turn down the lights and grab your vibrator. Sex drive can lower when you’re depressed, but each time you orgasm your body releases cortisol-lowering, calm-inducing oxytocin.

Of course, these things won’t stop you from feeling anxious, but they might help you feel a little bit better on the day-to-day, and you also may see a difference in your skin. “When people are very anxious, they feel this loss of control over what’s going on in their lives, and normal routines fall by the wayside because they feel unimportant,” Dr. Wechsler explains. “A skincare routine gives you back a little control,” she adds, conceding that, at the very least, 10 minutes of caring for yourself will feel better than reading the news, or scrolling through Instagram.

The absolute easiest, low-effort way to help balance cortisol? For a sad person at least, it’s crying. Scientists aren’t quite sure how or why, but studies show that a good crying session decreases cortisol levels. It was once widely believed that tears were a way to expel excess stress hormones, but now, most researchers think that the benefits of crying have to do with social signaling: just getting out the message that you’re in distress seems to help alleviate some of that distress. And, if you’re crying to somebody, they’re likely to give you a hug, rub your back, or stroke your hair—all triggers for oxytocin.

But while crying is good for the skin internally, it can leave your face feeling… not so great. Which is the reason I called Dr. Wechsler in the first place—I wear my recent crying obviously, and am left frantically icing my face before morning meetings and check-ins with family. Beyond how I look, my post-crying face hurts. My eyes get incredibly puffy, and I often find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place when I cry at night. It happens, without fail, after I do my skincare routine, and I wasn’t sure whether the salty tears left on my skin were further contributing to breakouts. To make my outsides match my insides after a solid catharsis, I wanted to figure out a post-crying best practice—a sad girl beauty routine, if you will.

What I’d learn is that your eyes work overtime to produce tears, which draws an abundance of blood to the surface of your eyelids. If you cry at night, that blood doesn’t have anywhere to go—it pools in your face when you’re lying flat. “If you’re crying during the day and you’re standing up and walking around, gravity will take the swelling from your eyelids, bring it down your face, and flush it out,” adds Dr. Wechsler. For those particularly concerned about morning puffiness, you can stay upright until the swelling subsides, or try Dr. Weschler’s favorite method. “Put a teaspoon in a glass of ice water, let it get really cold, and then take the back of the teaspoon and put it on your eyelid with a little bit of pressure. Both the cold and the pressure really help those blood vessels calm back down,” says Dr. Wechsler, who learned the tip from one of her model patients. Doing that right away will probably help prevent morning puffiness, but if you aren’t feeling up to it, just go to sleep and try to keep your head elevated with an extra pillow. You can always try the spoon trick (and some vertical action) in the morning.

As for the tears themselves, Dr. Wechsler recommends rinsing them off to abate dryness. If you’ve cried within a half hour of doing your skincare routine, you can rinse with a gentle cleanser (or water, if you think another wash will be too drying) and re-apply your skincare products. Otherwise, just rinse and moisturize again.

Remember how I mentioned cortisol is difficult to lower on your own? If you’re experiencing symptoms of anxiety and depression, you might also consider seeking out the help of a trained therapist. While it’s easy to ruminate on how we look on the outside, it’s important to emphasize that this skin issue is indicative of a larger, internal problem. Aside from the auxiliary benefit of helping balance your skin, talking to someone can help alleviate the feelings of loneliness, grief, and uncertainty you might be feeling right now. Therapy for Black Girls, the National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network, and Open Path Collective all offer remote therapy options at accessible price points. You might also check out Psychology Today’s list of therapists, which is quite comprehensive—you can filter results by things like specialty, sexuality, and race. If you’re a Black woman, you can also apply for a grant from The Loveland Foundation to subsidize your sessions.

Knowing that my skin is feeling as vulnerable as I am right now, I’ve been taking it easy with my skincare. And the benefit is twofold: nixing breakout treatments lets my skin actually heal, and using fewer products means I’m more likely to actually do my routine (even when I don’t feel like it). I’ve noticed new pimples subsiding after fortifying my compromised skin barrier with products rich in ceramides, natural moisturizing factors, and lipids. I’ve also been chasing opportunities to feel good as often as I can, masked and tiptoeing around the border of my own shrunken comfort zone. Still the breakouts, and the tears, come in waves. But then again, they always have.

[wildcard47]

green pastures (pg); fitzier

prompt: James proposes to Francis; Francis misunderstands and thinks he’s being officially asked to marry James to someone else a la that scene in The Vicar of Dibley.

I promised @full-of-terrors this adorable little prompt fill ages ago and finally get to post it! Hope you enjoy!

When the knock sounded at his front door just after three bells, Francis could find no reason to avoid answering it, even if he had meant to go to bed within the next few minutes.

He’d been so damn dispirited since James’s stupid bloody boyfriend came into town. Not that he would have admitted this to another soul.

Not as if Le Vesconte was actually James’s boyfriend, either. By all accounts they were only mates; Henry never seemed like the type to go bi all of the sudden, given how much harping on he’d done about his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

But James did keep mentioning all these hot bumbly dates he’d had while he was down in London – whatever that meant – and since Francis did not drink anymore, the only way anyone could find out he was depressed about this turn in events was if they came to his living room and stopped him eating bagfuls of crisps while watching a bunch of old Frasier episodes.

What did it matter if his ex-boyfriend was going on other dates? They’d only gone out six and a half times, more than three years ago. And now he’d moved back to town all of the sudden. The man was free to go anywhere he liked.

Expecting it was Jane Franklin come to complain about Neptune, Francis was startled to see James standing there when he opened the door.

“Hi.”

James smiled at him; it looked strained and unnatural. “Hello.”

“So, er.” Francis’s mind was full of questions it was probably rude to voice, especially to someone you’d been avoiding for nearly a week. “How – how are things?”

“Actually,” James did not even hang up his coat, just turned by the rack, one hand now tracing over the spine of a closed umbrella. “Can I – I’ve something important to ask you, if you don’t mind. Well. Obviously I can ask you questions without you minding them, only this pertains to the type of question rather than the principle of the thing.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Not here to give a lecture on forms of the interrogative.”

“Er. Yeah, obviously. You can talk to me about whatever you like.” Francis narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

You seem…. anxious, he wanted to point out.

“Me? Fine. A bit jumpy, you know, but had a lot of caffeine today, so that’s understandable. Four flat whites. Can you believe – sorry. I’m rambling now. Suppose I may as well ask this right out. Francis, have you ever thought about, er, marrying anyone?”

“Oh.” Francis could not have said why this question left him so disappointed. He didn’t think topics as boring as Naval protocol would bring James to his front door at eleven thirty at night. “Well, yeah. I mean, strictly hypothetical, mind. Not had reason to yet.”

Most of the people he’d served with so far were already married or far too young to try. And barring that, none of them had wanted to be married on the ship. Or by Francis.

“Yes. Not as if you’re imagining it daily. You’ve always been a practical sort. Aren’t given to flights of fancy.”

“No,” agreed Francis.

“No.” James swallowed hard, bit his lip. “Anyway, you’ll remember from – I mean, the conversations we had – that I have always admired marriage. As an institution. Even before I actually aspired to be part of it. You know? It’s a, ah, very good thing to my mind. Or it should be, given the many benefits.”

“Time can change even the most stubborn man, I suppose.” Francis tried to smile. “So, you’re, ah, ready to take the plunge at last, hm?”

“Yeah. Yes.” James seemed to steel himself. “I mean. Not just for the sake of it. I want to. Have wanted to, really. For a long time.”

“Makes sense,” said Francis, in an attempt at being neutral.

“Does to me, as well.” That brief, strained smile was back.

“Well, that’s – great news.”

He had not decided what the rest of his sentence would be, but it apparently didn’t matter, because James blurted out something very loudly.

“Francis, would you – do me the honor of marrying me?”

Francis’s heart sped up, and his stomach twisted with distress, but he tried not to showcase any of these feelings to James. Can’t hurt him.

“You… want me to marry you?”

Christ, he could picture it now: James blindingly handsome in his dress blues, in the local church or outside in the park or even aboard Battalion, standing hand-in-hand on the quarterdeck with some stupid blonde blockhead while Francis stood between them, a borrowed, well-worn Bible in his hands, thumbing through the chaplain’s notes on love and honour and duty and wanting to pitch himself off the crow’s nest instead.

“Can’t imagine asking anyone else,” said James, voice hitching slightly.

Oh. Damn it.

“Well, ah – I don’t mean to make you wait for an answer, obviously, it’s just – I’m a bit – surprised, is all. No one’s ever – asked me before.”

“Really?”

Why was James looking at him like that, as if he were afraid taking his eyes off of Francis for even a second meant he might disappear? The man seemed to be one sentence away from a total nervous breakdown.

“And it’s been a long time since we’ve. Er. I mean, of course it would be – wonderful – ”

“Yeah.”

“Let me just have a look at my diary,” Francis said, by way of stalling, hoping against hope that James had his heart set on a specific date and time and that he was going to be out of the country on that blessed morning. Or perhaps dead. Dying would get you out of marrying your ex-boyfriend to his new boyfriend, wouldn’t it? “Knowing you, you’ve already got your heart set on a specific month.”

“God, no,” answered James in a rush. “Honestly, Francis, if it helps, you can pick any day of the year you damn well please.”

“Right.” Francis turned another page, then another, with no clue as to what he was bloody reading. “Well. Er. That’s….a lot to choose from. Plenty of options.”

He meant to say something about how most people liked summer weddings, or that all the good reception places would be booked years in advance so James shouldn’t get his heart set on having it done anytime soon – the sort of vapid, oddly-prophetic comments Sophia used to say to him all the time when she was turning him down. Course, Francis was actually asking her to be his wife, then, so it was different.

When James spoke again, after a long, agonizing silence, it was in the quietest voice Francis had ever heard. As if he might weep.

“You don’t want to do it, do you?”

“What?” At James’s raised eyebrow, Francis deflated. “James, it isn’t – obviously, I don’t want to rush into an answer if it’s the wrong one. You – well, you’re important to me.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m really touched that you’d ask me after all this time. Truly I am. But I – should probably think about it, before I answer one way or the other.”

James’s expression slammed closed, then, almost as suddenly as it used to whenever Admiral Franklin walked aboard.

“Don’t tiptoe around it. Not with me.” He cleared his throat, gave Francis a jerky nod. “It – if that’s what you feel, then your answer’s already no. Which is all right. Erm. Silly of me to have thought…”

It was as if Francis were reliving the day they broke up, three years before; he could not understand why saying I’ll think about it would provoke such a fierce reaction.

“I should go,” murmured James.

Oh, god, why was he going so soon? Was he angry? James couldn’t be angry when the words he was saying were so kind and understanding.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. I really do.”

They had reached the door; James opened it, clearly ready to step out without another word. He’d leave forever and it would be all Francis’s fault. Fucking hell, why could he not agree to put his own bloody pride aside when it came right down to it?

“Stop – bloody walking, damn it!” Francis squeezed his eyes closed, summoned every last ounce of strength. “I’ll do it, all right? James, I’ll – if you want me to perform a ceremony, I can do. For you. I – owe you that much. I want you to have that.”

A terrible silence settled over the room as James turned away from the open door.

“Perform the ceremony?”

“Yeah.” Francis opened his eyes, tried to tamp down the avalanche of curse words that were building in the back of his mind. He would not stutter. He would not weep. “Ship’s captain, powers that be, whatever. I’ll do it, you’ll be married, and then you’ll – well. Be happy.”

Without me.

“Francis, no.” James opened and closed his mouth, threaded the distance between them before taking Francis’s hand in both of his. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. I – good god, man. Who the bloody hell else am I in love with? I’m saying I want to marry you. I’m asking for your hand, Francis.”

“Mine,” was all Francis whispered.

James peered closely at his baffled expression. “I – you know how I feel about you. Don’t you?”

Francis was now so shocked he couldn’t speak.

“Why d’you think I’d come here in the middle of the night and ramble on about marriage if I didn’t want to propose? For Christ’s sake, I’ve not stopped thinking about us for three years. Every day I wanted to call you. Write to you. Just – see you getting coffee on the way to work. And then we end up living in the same town again, going to all the same events, and it – I mean, you’ve no idea how terrified I was, to think you’d moved on with your life. And now….Francis, I honestly can’t imagine being anywhere without you at my side. I want to marry you. I want us to get – old and fat and weird together. Think we’d be rather good at that last bit, actually.”

“So you,” Francis could hardly draw air into his lungs. “You mean you’re – ”

“Marry me, Francis.” James squeezed his fingers, encouraging. “Please.”

Unable to say anything else, Francis sat right down on the carpet, because his knees would no longer hold him up, and covered his mouth with a shaking hand to suppress the high-pitched squeak trying to claw its way from his throat.

“I’m all right,” he kept whispering, although he was not: he was swiping big fat tears from his face with the back of one hand, and James was hovering at his side, still babbling away although Francis couldn’t hear any of the words; meanwhile, Neptune was barking like a bloody demon dog, rushing in and out of the open door in obvious confusion, wagging his tail and licking Francis’s salt-damp fingers every so often, and Jesus bloody Christ.

James wanted to marry him.

“Francis.”

Glancing up with a very unromantic snort, trying to swallow the knot of tears in his throat, Francis met James’s concerned gaze and finally – finally – managed to say something.

“Okay.”

James’s face brightened. His grip on Francis’s shoulders tightened. “Oh my god. Really?”

“Yeah.” Francis was grinning now. “I’ll marry you, James.”

Squealing in delight, now peppering Francis’s face with kisses and hugging him tightly, James eventually pulled away and let out a victorious howl of a cheer. Hearing this, Neptune decided to join in, baying joyously at the open front door before trotting forward to see what was going on on the front stoop.

James had already jumped to his feet to join him, calling out to the entire neighborhood with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Francis is gonna marry me!”

“Jesus Christ. I have neighbors!”

“Francis is gonna marry m – oh, Neptune, no!” A black blur darted out of the doorway, running pell mell toward the street. Cursing, James took off after him, now sounding much less cheerful. “Come back here this instant – no! Right – now!”

Judging by how fast James was now sprinting down the driveway and toward the curb, as well as the yowling, Neptune was probably after Mrs. Franklin’s tomcat again.

Laughing hysterically as James tried and failed to capture a boisterous Newfie with nothing more than his bare hands, Francis watched with faint pride as his fiancé – a romantic, dashing hero of a man – stumbled and fell into the side of next door’s recycling bin, knocking it backwards onto the lawn. A delighted Neptune stopped his mischief to come back and run circles around James and all the now-visible rubbish, occasionally stopping to look back at Francis and bark loudly.

“Well, he’s killed me,” James called theatrically from his prone position, as a very happy dog decided the best thing to do was sit in James’s lap. With a huff, Neptune sat down, then flopped sideways, draping his chest directly over James’s ribs. Four enormous paws splayed out around James’s middle. James groaned and winced as he absorbed the full weight of this gift. “I might die before we get to celebrate.”

“Yeah, you’re stuck now,” offered Francis as he walked closer. On an impulse, he tossed the jacket in his hand onto the damp ground and lay down next to them.

“Nnngh,” whined James, but he was grinning.

Francis leaned over, pressed a kiss to James’ forehead. “See? Completely stuck.”

#prompt fill #full-of-terrors #fitzier #francis crozier/james fitzjames #this is the small-town vicar of dibley AU of our dreams

[dawnbutterfly]

Pariah

Let’s start off with a classic, and one that I actually finished: The “how I would have done it” scenario.

This one is named “Pariah”, and takes place in an alternate timeline where my character is present for the events of Tweek X Craig, and decides to intervene like the nosey little brat they are. Hope you enjoy.

“Hey Tweek, hold up!” Tweek stopped, as per the plan, as Craig called out to him, turning to face him. “Listen, it's just not going to work.” Craig said, his voice dripping with bad acting. “What!? Why not!?” Tweek asked anxiously. “I'm sorry Tweek, but we can't lie to ourselves anymore.” Craig said, dramatically moving his arms. He turned to face the accumulating crowd. “Yes, we are gay, but we do not belong together.” “We don't belong together? W-What's suddenly changed, Craig?” Tweek asked. “It's just that people are different, that's all.” Craig said. Tweek's eyes shifted. “Uhuh, and who the hell is Michael, huh? You wanna tell me that!?” He asked angrily. Confusion played across Craig's face at Tweek's sudden improvisation. “Wha-What are you talking about?” He stammered. “I went through your phone when we went out last night, Craig! I saw your texts to Michael about hooking up with him!” Tweek said. By that time, Grant had joined the crowd. “Uh oh...” He mumbled to himself. He had quickly put together what they were planning, but Tweek was getting caught up in the moment. He knew that at this point it would end badly for both of them in the long run without some kind of intervention. He quickly tried to think of something that he could do. “Wait. Uh, that-that's not what happened.” Craig said, off balance. “Oh, it's not!?” Tweek shot back. “No!” Craig said definitively. “L-Look, we both know this is for the better.” He said, still stilted. “Oh, don't use that lame shit on me, man!” Tweek said indignantly. “You don't wanna feel bad, so you try and tell me what I want!?” “Tweek, don't make me out to be the bad guy here.” Craig said, subtly pleading that Tweek tone it down. Tweek summoned up tears in his eyes. “No, you're not the bad guy. You're never the bad guy, are you!?” He said accusingly. “You-you just step on people, and you use them!” “You're going too far, dude. This is, like, totally not necessary.” Craig said, still trying to talk Tweek down. Tweek turned to face away from Craig. “I'm going too far!?” Tweek asked. He turned back to Craig dramatically. “What is wrong with you!?” He shouted. Craig's eyes finally showed anger. “This wasn't part of the plan!” He said. “Well guess what, Craig! Love doesn't follow a plan!” Tweek retorted. “Yeah!” Butters yelled from the crowd. Grant could see it was ending, and he became flustered. He didn't know how to defuse the situation without outing it as a farce. All he could think was to introduce a new factor to change the focus. He desperately hoped that he knew humans as well as he thought he did… “I was totally wrong about you…” Tweek said sadly, tears still in his eyes. “I opened myself up, and let you in, but you've got spikes, man. You've got spikes…” “That's enough!” Grant shouted, putting on his best distressed voice. All eyes suddenly fell on him, even Tweek looking surprised. “I can't do this, I just can't! I sent those texts!” Everyone looked shocked. “What?” Craig asked, still totally caught off-guard by all of the improv. “Your name is Michael?” Kyle asked. “No, that's a fake name I used!” Grant said. He looked Tweek dead in the eyes, begging him to play along. “Why would you do that!?” Tweek shouted. He either took the meaning in Grant's eyes, or was still so caught up in the moment that he simply rolled with it. “I…” Grant stammered. “I wanted to break you two up! I couldn't stand seeing you together!” “Wow, New Kid. I never took you for a homophobe…” Stan said. “I'm not!” Grant pleaded. “Then why!?” Tweek shouted. “Because if he was dating you, then I… then I couldn't…” He stopped dramatically, biting his lip. Everyone stared at him in disbelief. “I made up 'Michael' and started hitting on Craig over social media.” He said. “He didn't want to, but it's so easy for me to convince…” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh god, what have I done!? I screwed everything up, and I hurt you!” He shouted through his fingers. “What kind of manipulative monster am I!?” He removed his hands from his face, tears stuck to his cheeks. “I'm so sorry!” He shouted, turning and running down the hall. Everyone stood in shock for a moment. Craig finally organized his thoughts, and took the opportunity that was presented to him. “I'm so sorry, Tweek. I let him get inside my head.” He said, drawing everyone's attention again. “Can you ever forgive me?” Tweek looked back to Craig, tears still in his eyes, partially due to Grant's performance. “I… I don't know…” He said in an unsure tone. “But you were right about one thing… this isn't going to work…” Tweek turned away. “We're through…” He said, walking away. Craig watched after him for a moment, then looked down at the floor and walked in the opposite direction. Everyone else stood stunned. Emotions, betrayal, a love triangle. It was all so overwhelming, they didn't know what to feel, or who to feel it about. As soon as Tweek was out of sight, he got a determined look on his face, and ran off towards where Grant had run to. ⁂ “Why would you do that!? Are you insane!?” Tweek whispered loudly. He had managed to find Grant. Craig had had the same idea, and they both dragged him into a supply closet so they could talk without being seen. “Because you got caught up in the moment, and you were going to turn Craig into a pariah.” Grant said plainly. “What's a pariah?” Craig asked. “Social outcast. Hated person. Object of scorn. Take your pick.” Grant said. “Ok, but why would you put yourself in that position instead?” Tweek asked. “It was going to end badly for you both. I couldn't just watch as my friends got screwed.” He said. “If I'm right about people, and I usually am, this whole thing will be set up perfectly.” “What do you mean?” Craig asked. “The way I've set it up, I've created a tragic love triangle. Tweek is the innocent one, I'm the treacherous awful one, and Craig is the one caught in the middle, who had his feelings toyed with.” Grant explained. “It leaves our options open, and takes the heat off of Craig.” “But it puts it onto you.” Tweek said. “That's-” “Way too much pressure?” Grant asked with a smirk, making Tweek blush at his predictability. “Trust me, I can take it. I've been under a lot worse stress for a long time.” There was a moment of silence. “Thanks New Kid…” Craig said. “Yeah. I wasn't thinking. I didn't want to put Craig in that position…” Tweek said. “It's no problem.” Grant said. “But there is one thing you should know.” He continued. “What?” Craig asked. Grant's face went serious. “This whole thing isn't over…” He said. “It isn't!?” Tweek asked. “Nope.” Grant said. “If there's one thing I know about yaoi shippers, it's that they enjoy pain just as much as pleasure.” He explained. “If I know them, they'll still be drawing pictures. They'll just be about the misery of the breakup rather than gay love between you two.” He said. “Oh god…” Tweek groaned. “It can't be helped.” Grant said. “But they won't be nearly as embarrassing, so that's a plus.” “You actually set it up perfectly, Tweek.” He continued, making Tweek look surprised. “You gave me the opportunity to place all the focus on me.” “I was 'hitting on Craig', but because I was in love with you.” He explained. “Because of that, the artwork will mostly feature me selfishly tearing you guys apart, rather than any of us being intimate with each other.” “You guys should also probably act like you hate me, or at least avoid me like you're ashamed to see me.” He said. “We have to keep up the illusion.” Tweek and Craig looked at each other uncomfortably. “I… I know we said thank you, but…” Craig said. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Tweek asked. Grant smiled. “Hey, you do crazy and stupid things for the person you love…” He said with a chuckle, heading for the door. Craig raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that a joke?” He asked. Grant looked around absently, seeming to take in something about his surroundings. “Who knows…” He said. He cracked the door open, confirming that nobody was there. “Whether it is or not, I'm not right for him.” He said, heading out of the closet. “I'm not the one who made him stop shaking…” Tweek and Craig looked at each other, then Tweek looked down at himself. He wasn't twitching at all. ⁂ Sure enough, in the following days, people stopped drawing yaoi of Craig and Tweek, and began creating depressing artwork of their breakup, usually featuring Grant either manipulating Craig through his phone with a vicious expression, or looking at Tweek lustfully from afar. Grant couldn't even walk down the hallway without most kids looking at him angrily. Some even pushed him on their way past. It was harsh, and hard to have everyone hate him, but he remembered who he was doing it all for, and kept on going. Meanwhile, Tweek and Craig were excited to finally not have vaguely pornographic pictures drawn of them, but as the week went on, they became less and less enthused as they saw how miserable everyone was. Not only that, they couldn't help but feel bad for Grant, who had taken on the role of villain in Craig's stead. After four days, Tweek couldn't stand it anymore, and went to Craig asking him to pretend to be back together. Craig refused at first, but after a night of thought, and a talk from his dad, he finally agreed. And so, the two boys met with Grant at the same closet as before. “What's up, guys?” He asked. “They haven't started drawing yaoi again, have they?” “No, but they might after this…” Tweek said. Grant raised an eyebrow. “We're going to pretend to get back together.” Craig said flatly. “What!? Why!?” Grant asked. “Because everyone hates you, and they're all miserable!” Tweek said. “We can't just let everything go south like this over us.” Craig said. “So, what? You're letting them socially extort you into pretending to be gay?” Grant asked. “That isn't right!” “Neither is letting you take the fall!” Tweek said. “It's either this, or leave things as they are and let the whole town mope around.” Craig said. “It may not be right, but it's our choice.” “Besides, what's the point of being happy if someone else has to suffer for you?” Tweek asked. Grant was taken aback to hear his own sentiments echoed back to him. He looked between the two pensively for a moment, then sighed. “You're really sure about this?” He asked. Both of them nodded. Grant sighed again. “Alright. But if we're going to do this, we should make it believable…” ⁂ “Hey Tweek, hold up!” Tweek stopped, in the very entry way that he had five days ago. He turned around to face Grant. Everyone around them stopped to look, anger coming to their eyes. “What do you want?” Tweek asked, agitation in his voice. “Yeah, what do you want, New Kid!” Butters yelled, stinging Grant more than anything that had happened the past four days. “Tweek, I…” He started. “I can't just leave things as they are now.” “Oh yeah? Well how should we leave them!?” Tweek asked angrily. “Look, I screwed up. Badly.” Grant said. “I was an awful person, and an awful friend. I don't expect you to ever forgive me, but…” “I realized something these past four days.” He continued. “I have feelings for you. But you were in love with someone else…” “I tampered with that, because I lost sight of what really mattered: I want to see you happy.” He said. Tweek's eyes shifted from anger to wariness. “I let jealousy get the better of me, and I hurt you.” He said. “I'd rather spend the rest of my life alone than do that again…” Tweek's expression softened. “Do you really mean that?” He asked. Grant looked at him with sincerity that went beyond the act. “I do.” He said. “I won't ask for your forgiveness. I don't deserve your forgiveness. But please…” “Don't blame Craig.” There was a long silence, a mix of emotions playing across Tweek's face, before he finally fell on determination. He turned around and headed down the hallway silently, everyone following except for Grant. Once everyone was gone, Grant smirked. “Who would have thought. My Tweek, an actor…” Everyone walked behind Tweek as he marched his way down the hall. Soon, he approached Craig at his locker, just as he closed it. Craig looked over at Tweek, what he thought was a look of surprise and regret on his face. Tweek just stared at him for a moment, before holding out his hand. Craig looked at the hand for a moment, and then took it in his own. Everyone's faces lit up with joy. “Craig!” A voice called from behind everyone. They all turned around to see Grant standing there. Everyone was wary. Tweek and Craig began walking towards Grant, the kids getting out of their way, but Grant took a single step back, turning slightly as though to leave. “You'd better take care of him, you hear?” He said, a single tear running down his right cheek. “I'm trusting you!” He turned on his heel dramatically and walked away, leaving everyone once again in a nebulous emotional state. Craig and Tweek looked at each other, still holding hands. They both smiled at each other for the first time in four days. ⁂ The yaoi production soon resumed, some even still having Grant in the background, either smiling with tears in his eyes, or simply walking away from the reunited couple. Somehow, it didn't bother Tweek and Craig so much anymore. They knew it was just the way things were for them right now, and at the very least, they had become better friends because of it all. Grant, meanwhile, was still looked down on by some for, at least as far as they knew, causing Tweek and Craig so much pain. But many people looked at him better for having given up his own love for Tweek for the sake of Tweek's happiness and love for Craig. None of it was truly right, but it was what it was. And ultimately, things worked out, in a way.

And that’s all she wrote. She being me. This is one of the more cohesive ideas I had for alternate timelines, hence why it’s actually finished.

#Greater South Park Multiversal Area

[taeheyhey]

Close to Normal

Chapter 13 - Not Today (Part Two)

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 3.5k words

A/N - Hi everyone! Hope you have all had amazing weeks and are looking forward to an even better weekend. Me, I'm just trying hard not to get stupid giddy over the fact that Taehyung has dyed his hair dark again just in time for me to see him next week!! I mean, our Taetae looks incredible however his hair is but something about dark-haired V makes me WEAK!! Anyways, I apologise in advance for the angst which is about to follow! Thank you as every for all the lovely feedback and support, I really don't deserve it and I am so grateful for all your kindness!! Enjoy!!!

One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

Not really knowing the reason why, you stood in the street and watched Taehyung’s cab get smaller and smaller as it drove away. It was as though you couldn’t bear to go back inside the bar, as if that would be drawing a line under the time you’d spent together, officially bringing it to a close. Kind of like the in-person equivalent of “you hang up first”.

As the cab finally turned out of sight, you stared at the empty road it had previously occupied and envisioned a car bringing Taehyung back to you the same way later that day, hugging your arms around yourself and allowing a smile to take over your face as you thought about the past few hours and speculated what future hours together may involve.

Finally turning to push open the bar door, you could see Ronnie examining an imaginary smudge on the window with a level of faux-concentration so intense that it made it glaringly obvious he had been keeping watch on the two of you as you said your goodbyes.

“Everything okay there?” You pushed the door closed behind you and hopped on the stool facing the one Ronnie perched atop. You sighed dramatically in response to his heavily loaded question and rested your chin in your upturned palm, grinning widely at him. “I’ll take that as a yes then, should I?”

“I just honestly didn’t believe that people like that existed.” You knew that if you could see your own behaviour you’d most likely be sticking your fingers down your throat and making pretend gagging noises. As it was however you simply sighed again and touched your fingers to your lips, as though to seal Taehyung’s touch to them, only partially noticing Ronnie's offended facial expression.

“How can you say such a thing,” he raised his hand to his chest and pressed just his fingertips to it, the very image of affronted “when you know I exist?”

You leant forward and tapped the top of his hand fondly. “Of course Ronnie, that’s precisely why: you’ve given me such unrealistic expectations.”

“Understandable.” He seemed content with your answer and shifted in his seat, his face serious again, eyeing you questioningly with unspoken worry lining his face. “So...is this guy going to be around for a while?”

You sat back in your seat, turning your gaze to stare out of the window, the smile on your face becoming wistful. “No,” you began, and in your periphery you could see his shoulders relax. “He has to go home in a couple of days.”

“And where is that?” You noticed for the first time that he was drinking coffee rather than beer as he lifted his mug to his lips and peered at you over the rim.

“I’m not really sure.” You answered honestly and forcibly bright, reluctant to admit to yourself the gravity of the truth in your reply. Of course you had managed to work out what country he was from and the language he spoke, but that didn’t necessarily mean that was where he was travelling back to.

Ronnie had been a positive force in your life for as long as you could remember. You knew this inquisition was coming from a place of love and a desire to protect you after you had been failed so often in the past, however you could feel yourself becoming tense as he struggled to keep the relief from his expression at your answers to his questions.

He placed the mug back on the high table and rested his hands flat on the surface either side of it. It was obvious he was trying to formulate a sentence, one that you were unlikely to want to hear, as he inhaled deeply before opening his mouth. “How much do you really know about him, y/n?”

You huffed and rose from your stool to pour yourself a coffee from the pot Ronnie had left on the end of the bar by the phone. Your eyes lingered on the handset in the cradle as the dark liquid filled the cup and remained there as you brought the drink to your lips, wondering how the last couple of days would have gone had you not used it to locate your own phone. Your musings were broken as the bitter drink hit your tongue, and it suddenly became apparent why Ronnie usually opted for beer. “You are not good at making coffee,” you informed him as you tipped the contents of your cup and remnants of the pot down the sink at the back of the bar and set about brewing a fresh batch.

Ronnie followed your movement away from the window and handed over his own mug, silently acquiescing to the poor quality of the drink, still keeping his eyes on your face through the mirror behind the bottles lined up on display. The only sound in the room was the gentle clinking of the crockery as you poured out two mugs, pushing one across the bar’s surface towards Ronnie, still avoiding his question.

He sipped the drink and made a light smacking noise with his mouth in appreciation for the improved taste. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, y/n,” he tried to explain. “I saw you with that idiot for four years and it literally ended the day before yesterday. And this...this boy appears out nowhere and – well, you would have to be blind to not be able to see how taken you are with him.”

You could feel your heart sink a little at his words, but hearing the genuine concern in his voice reminded you of how important his opinion was to you, and that he had always had your best interests at heart. “Do you think I’ve read more in to this than there really is?”

You saw his eyebrows draw together as he shook his head emphatically. “No, not at all, I – God, Hannah is so much better than me at this stuff.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his head, clearly frustrated at his lack of eloquence. He took a deep breath and waited for you to meet his eyes. “He looks at you the way I imagine I looked at Maggie.”

You softened at the mention of Hannah’s mother’s name. He rarely mentioned her, and the slightly pained look which crossed his face was confirmation of the weight of his words. You stepped around the bar to wrap your arms around him, ashamed that your actions had somehow caused him distress at the memory of her. “Ah, I’m sorry Ronnie.”

He returned your hug briefly before clearing his throat and checking himself for his minor display of vulnerability, patting you on the back in both reassurance and as an indication that the moment had mostly passed. “Listen, I think whatever is going on between you two is more than just a bit of a fling. Really, I do. But you’re not stupid y/n, you know as well as I do that sometimes things just can’t happen, no matter how well-intentioned the people involved start off. I can’t see you be let down again, okay?”

You understood perfectly why he was worried, you had already told yourself the same things dozens of times since you met Taehyung. You knew that if you tried to explain the sheer intensity of your feelings for him you would only cause Ronnie more concern. Instead, you decided to attempt to express how good you had felt about yourself in the last couple of days, despite everything that happened with Mark and all the upset there. You tried to explain how easily you could make each other smile and laugh without even really speaking the same language, and how – given the amount of lies you’d been subjected to throughout your life – being able to speak the same language may not always be as much of a benefit as it was perceived to be. “And honestly Ronnie,” you began to feel the butterflies flutter around in your stomach as you spoke about Taehyung, and you felt the smile on your face grow wider and wider with each word. “He just makes me feel totally, ridiculously and unbelievably happy.”

He seemed at least partially satisfied with that, apparently convinced by the blatantly ecstatic look on your face as you spoke about your new-found romance. He held his hands up in mock-defeat. “Alright, alright, I’ll lay off. For now. But if he does anything to hurt you – ”

“I know, I know,” you cut him off and mimed a throttling action with both your hands, before kissing him on the cheek and heading back to your room to prepare for your visit to Mark's, confident that not even your ex could ruin this feeling for you.

 ~~~

Taehyung stood motionless in the doorway, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he could feel the blood drain from his face. He clenched his fists at his side and shifted his gaze between Sang-hun and Seong-min, the eyes of the latter of the two trained somewhere above the top of Taehyung’s head.

“What do you mean, home? We haven’t finished the shoot yet. There’s two more days scheduled. That’s right isn’t it hyung?” He directed his questions to Namjoon, desperately seeking reassurance from their leader.

Namjoon stood and moved next to his dongsaeng and placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling sympathetically as he did so. “They said they can finish it in post, Taehyung-ah. They already changed the flights.” He squoze his hand around the top of Taehyung’s arm in an attempt to comfort and placate him.

Taehyung whipped his head round to Seong-min. “Why are you doing this?” He tried and failed to blink away the petulant tears he could feel beginning to well up in his eyes.

In the corner of his field of vision he saw Jimin rise from his seat and start to make his way over. Seong-min held up a hand to halt his movements and spoke for the first time since his return. “Come and speak with me.” He was evidently surprised by the vitriol present on the young man’s face as he walked towards the door to the bedroom and opened it, gesturing for Taehyung to enter. “Please, Taehyung-ssi.”

Before deciding to comply with his manager’s request he looked over to Jimin, who remained motionless stood in front of his seat, who nodded with a pleading look in his eye as a way to urge him to follow Seong-min.

Sighing deeply, he walked towards the other room, sensing all the member’s eyes on him as he passed. He began to feel guilty at any trouble he had caused for his brothers through his rash decisions over the past few days. This fear was rapidly assuaged however when he felt a soft pat on the back of his leg, and he was surprised to find Yoongi smiling up at him warmly in a clear attempt at consolation; and as he vaguely heard a low “hyung, fighting!” somewhere from Jungkook's direction.

Taehyung perched on the end of the king-size bed as Seong-min closed the door. His eyes followed the manager as he leant his weight on the dresser that was facing him. The older man looked down to his shoes for a moment as he began to try and explain. “I didn’t want for it to happen like this. I need you to understand that, okay?” Taehyung didn’t respond and simply stared at the strangely patterned rug beneath Seong-min’s feet. “When I found that girl in here, I thought we’d had a security breach. I thought someone had broken in to your room and that your safety was at risk. By the time Jimin explained some of what happened everyone was already on alert. I tried to play it down as a misunderstanding after the...erm...footage from the CCTV but there wasn’t a great deal I was able to do about it, the company had already started putting things in place to wind the visit up.”

Taehyung considered the amount of stress he must have put everyone, particularly Seong-min, under by allowing you to sleep in his room and the events that followed as a result of that decision. He was more than aware that – in retrospect – he obviously had not been thinking clearly in your presence, so taken was he with the fantasy of normality with you by his side. He chewed on his lips and raised his eyes contritely. “Hyung, I’m –”

But Seong-min wasn’t finished, and his expression was as determined as it was regretful. “I need you to give me your phone, Taehyung-ssi.”

He placed his hand over the pocket where the device rested reflexively and sat with his mouth agape, blinking dumbly at the manager’s outstretched palm. This couldn’t be happening, could it? The thought of having to leave without saying goodbye was hard enough, but at least he could have called you to offer some semblance of an explanation once they had arrived home and he had some privacy. “Hyung...” he trailed off quietly and felt frustration burn behind his eyes.

Seong-min’s voice lowered to match the softness of Taehyung’s, and he stepped forward to crouch in front of him. “I’m sorry, it’s not my decision. You’ll be given a replacement when we get home but I have to take your phone right now.”

He couldn’t understand how it had gotten to this point. He knew he had acted impulsively since they got here, but they had all done that at some point, they were human after all. Was it really just because you had slept in his room? He tried to remember if that had ever been explicitly forbidden in any of the multitude of agreements he’d had to sign over the years.

As though reading his thoughts, Seong-min spoke again, walking towards the window and pretended to be taking in the view. “After you disappeared last night, everyone was trying to get a hold of you. You vanished alone in a strange country and no one could reach you. The company has decided that allowing you to maintain contact with this girl is too...problematic.”

“Y/n.” Taehyung muttered under his breath as he felt a combination of rage and impotence at this turn of events.

“What?” He was clearly devastated to see his charge so obviously in distress, and even through his anger Taehyung could tell the words the manager spoke were not truly his own.

He walked towards the window to stand beside the man and touched his arm to encourage him to look his way. “Her name is y/n, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t even know who we are, who I am.” He swallowed thickly and licked his dry lips, and he felt his voice crack under the strain of his words. “I’ll give you my phone, okay. I’ll go home and I’ll do everything I’m told to. But...please, hyung, don’t make me leave without saying goodbye to her.”

 ~~~

Something Taehyung said must have struck a chord with his manager, or maybe he had decided this would be the best way to get them all back to Korea with as little resistance as possible, either way his plea was heeded. This was how he found himself – not two hours after he had left you – speeding back towards the bar, this time with Seong-min in tow rather than Jimin, as the rest of the members and staff made for the airport.

His head throbbed and his pulse raced, his heart in his throat. He could see Seong-min glance over at him occasionally, worry etching his face, and as angry as he was he knew he could only really hold himself responsible for this eventuality. His mind alternated between replaying the time you had spent together and presenting him with alternative outcomes based on a variety of different actions he could have taken throughout that time.

When the driver pulled up to the front of the bar, it occurred to him that he didn’t have any idea what he was going to say to you. How on earth could he explain his sudden departure, and for it to make sense, without telling you absolutely everything? Seong-min had told him in no uncertain terms that he had two minutes and not a moment longer, when two hours wouldn’t be enough to explain the whole situation.

He swung his long legs out of the car and quickly strode to the front door, not wanting to waste one second of his brief opportunity to say goodbye and to tell you how wonderful it had been to spend time with you. He squinted through the glass and saw movement behind the bar. He rapped lightly on the door and waved at the figure on the inside, who he immediately established to be Ronnie as he approached the entrance.

“Where is she?” he asked breathlessly as he stared up at the large man opening the door.

“She’s not here.” He simply informed him, before elaborating in response to Taehyung’s blank expression. “She’s gone to get her things. Her clothes and...her other things. From Mark’s.”

At the mention of Mark’s name he understood and he sighed at the poor timing. He nodded rapidly, his eyes darting back and forth as he attempted to formulate a solution. His eyes fell on the phone resting on the corner of the bar and his face lit up. “I can call her?” he asked carefully, walking over to the handset and pointing to it.

“What exactly is going on?” Ronnie saw Taehyung’s line of sight shift to the man leaning on the car parked outside the building looking at his watch, and he felt a twinge of compassion towards the panic-stricken young man, despite not having a clue what was happening. He waved his hand in agreement. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

A grateful yet strained smile spread across his fine features and he lifted the handset from the cradle and held it mutely for a moment before realising he didn’t know your number, and he held the phone out towards the puzzled looking older man who was switching between watching Taehyung and Seong-min outside as though spectating a tennis match. “Please will you...her number?”

As confused as he was, to his credit Ronnie stepped forward without asking anything further and punched your number into the keypad. There seemed to be an odd anticipation also present on his face as he watched the younger man lift the phone to his ear, his foot tapping restlessly.

The phone rang and rang and each time Taehyung heard the sound he felt his heart sink a little bit further, and as your voicemail message clicked on Seong-min approached the large window and lifted his left arm to display his watch through the pane of glass.

Taehyung exhaled loudly as he hung up, before beginning to turn on the spot to look around the room for inspiration. He turned to Ronnie who still stood dumbly in the middle of the room, looking utterly bemused by the strange young man spinning around behind his bar. “Do you have a pen?” he asked frantically as his eyes landed on a pile of napkins, immensely thankful that 'pen' was one of the words that didn’t require any translation.

Ronnie reached in to the pocket of the apron he wore tied around his waist and produced a pencil, handing it over to Taehyung and watching as he leant over the napkins, the pencil motionless in his hand as he frowned and tried to work out what to write.

A persistent tapping began from outside and a frustrated groan left Taehyung’s lips. So far he had only managed to write your name, having already practiced the letters and spelling when he left you the note back at the hotel.

Further than that however, his mind refused to cooperate, and – not for the first time – he wished he had paid more attention in the numerous English lessons he had been subjected to. He reached behind his head and unhooked the necklace that rested there most days and slid one of the pendants from it, securing the chain back around his neck once he had done so. He took hold of the pencil again to complete the note, before pressing the red tiger pendant in to the paper and folding it securely inside before handing it to Ronnie, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

He had wanted desperately to tell you much he regretted leaving you. He wanted you to know just how insanely grateful he was that you had pressed the wrong button in that lift. How he wished he could stay here with you and make you understand just how much your time together had meant. Lastly and most importantly, how - no matter what might happen - all he wanted was for you be happy, even if it isn’t because of him.

But there was simply not enough time and he lacked the necessary knowledge to articulate everything he wanted to say. Instead, he had written two words and one letter:

“I’m sorry. V.”

A/N Chapter 14 to be posted next Friday!!

#bts v #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #bts smut #bts fluff #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung scenarios #bts imagines #bts taehyung #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #v x reader #bts angst #bts v fanfic #taehyung angst #bangtan boys #taehyung imagines #v fic #v fanfic

[village-skeptic]

on “having it both ways”: thinking about S2 and looking ahead to S3

So apparently once a year I end up latching on to Riverdale pre-season promo and having WAY TOO MUCH to say about it.

Image analysis, pop-culture riffing, S2 criticism, meditations on resistant reading, my own discomfort with “wrongfully accused” narratives in this particular historical moment, and some hopes on the literal eve of the S3 premiere, below the cut...

So, last week when this piece of promo dropped, the very first thing that I thought of was the visual reference to Chicago and the Cell-Block Tango.

(I didn’t do it! - but if I’d done it? - how could you tell me that I was wrong?)

HOW perfect is that homage? The red lighting, the raised arms? The promo still just FEELS like a snapshot from a Fosse dance routine. (A little more on legendary choreographer Bob Fosse here.)

It’s a defiant pose, right in the center of the frame, but a slightly vulnerable one at the same time. There’s nothing hidden here; everything’s on display. The pose draws the viewer’s eyes inescapably to the body - a muscled body, but one which here seems like a gymnast or dancer’s body: lithe figure, tapered waist, power that is channeled into performance.

(this is tasty; this is plenty; this is hungry work)

So, on a first pass, insofar as it puts this demonstrative male body on display, it’s a little bit of a subversive image, I think. And that’s well in line with the way that Riverdale so often courts the female (and/or gay male) gaze, and at its best does some really unusual stuff with masculinity. 

I thought about all of this - and then, silly me, I saw that this piece of promo was NOT a still, but is, instead, a short clip. 

Archie doing pull-ups on the prison bars, as another heavily muscled dude saunters behind him, reads to me like a completely different type of performance! To the degree that it invites the eye, it sends the message: don’t fuck with me. In motion, we have purely the pursuit of greater strength, the purging of weakness in favor of the means of self-protection. 

Instead of Chicago, my mind jumps to 3x01′s title source: Fortune and Men’s Eyes. Dominate or be dominated. 

Realistically, I’m willing to believe that the ambiguous interpretation here between “still” and clip is just a quirk of how it happened to be uploaded to Twitter by a social media intern. 

Still - the interpretative gulf between the still image and the image in motion got me thinking how often Riverdale seems to want to “have it both ways,” and what that does to the audience’s experience and expectations of the show.

For instance:

Other people have written at length about how Riverdale’s pursuit of aesthetic homage or plot contrivance has created character inconsistencies that occasionally baffle. Cheryl is alternately a tragic Gothic heroine and a lacquered, ruthless Mean Girl; Jughead is both a sensitive loner writer and also a bad-boy gang leader; Betty is both Betty and Dark Betty. (GOD.)

Other folks have discussed how the show needs to really play out the consequences of conflicts between the characters. It’s not that the show shouldn’t drop bombshells like the Bughead breakup(s) or the conflict between Betty and Veronica/Jughead and Archie, but it seems all too willing to reset back to milkshakes in a booth at Pop’s without doing enough work to explain WHY things are okay again. (See also: resolving major conflicts between characters literally with a song.)

The desire to “have it both ways” also really shows up in the show’s tendency to engage complicated issues (racism, sexism, colonialism, the prison-industrial complex) on a shallow level - thus getting credit for mentioning them, without really taking the time to explore them meaningfully or to explain the characters’ investment in them. 

The result of this, in terms of storytelling, is that you leave a lot of room for resistant (even combative) readings of the text to emerge. To name a few of my own:

frustration with Jughead’s acceptance of what feels like a suuuuper patriarchal role as “the Serpent Prince” (and later King)

the fact that it’s really hard to sympathize with Veronica throughout entire swathes of season 2

a profound opposition to a storyline that sexualizes Betty’s mental health issues in a really exploitative fashion

And then... there’s Archie.

In the “Cell Block Tango,” the murderesses of Chicago (bar one) get to justify their crimes. Conversely, as we open the third season of Riverdale, the audience knows that Archie’s being blamed for something he didn’t do. Despite bragging about it (!!) to a bunch of mobsters (!!!!), Archie is not guilty of the murder of Cassidy Bullock. 

...but he IS guilty of so! many! other! things! across Season 2. I’m sure I’m forgetting some, but aiding and abetting a criminal, covering up a murder, blowing up a car, and forming an extralegal vigilante militia group - TWICE - all come to mind. 

The last bits of S2 offer us a version of Archie’s amends-making that comes in the form of defending the Serpents, turning on Hiram, supporting his father, et cetera. And then the very last image of S2 - Archie being clapped in cuffs right at the moment that he’s supposed to be sworn into office - is meant to distress us.

But a season of watching Archie embrace fascism leaves some marks, y’all. And a not insignificant portion of the audience, still frustrated with the character’s choices, couldn’t help but say - well, he had it coming.

So, yeah. It’s been a few months between the close of S2 and the open of S3, and in most cases that would be enough time for me to sit with the story in and of itself, to consider more broadly where it had failed or succeeded, and to allow some of that “resistant reader” response to drain away.

But real talk, you guys: I’m finding it really hard right now, at this moment in American history, to connect emotionally with the story of a young man trying to fight the charges of which he has been wrongfully-yet-ever-so-plausibly accused.  

[Please note, I am NOT trying to say that RAS is somehow trying to weigh in explicitly on the SCOTUS debacle. The S2 finale laying the groundwork for this plot aired this spring, and S3E1 has (presumably?) been in the can for a while now. And, to its credit, Riverdale has in both seasons explicitly criticized a sexual culture that objectifies young women and reduces them to “points” (the football team’s playbook) and to prey (Nick St. Clair).]

But, for me personally, I can’t help looking at this plot and hearing echoes of “It's a very scary time for young men in America when you can be guilty of something you may not be guilty of.”

Here’s the interesting thing: I think RAS knows this, and I think the promo around this plot is partially designed to try to dispel these connections. 

(For me, at least, it’s having mixed results.)

(source)

For instance, I can’t look at this still (young man, formal suit intended to project good character and youthful vulnerability, sullen face, flanked by counsel) without thinking, “Wow, this feels....Brock Turner-y.” 

I don’t know if anyone’s written about courtroom photos and sketches as a genre of visual composition, but I feel like I’ve seen variations of the Riverdale still a million times, often printed on the front page of the local university newspaper, discussing the controversy over the conviction (or NON-conviction) of a promising young athlete accused of something awful that no one who knows him EVER would have suspected he would do. (Nice boy, nice family, so many extracurriculars, such good grades!)

Of course, there’s a major difference between the photos above: Archie’s defense team is entirely female. 

Obviously this makes sense because Mary Andrews and Sierra McCoy are both major supporting characters who are also lawyers - but it also makes sense in trying to dismantle some of the potential gut reactions to this visual framing. There’s some “innocence by association” going on here, I think. And after all, Archie IS innocent of this particular crime!

This still lands with mixed effect for me though, because any defense strategy that suggests the intentional composition of a visual tableau feels inherently cynical, even when the character is sympathetic or innocent. 

For instance: I just watched The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, which features a scene where the main character shows up in the courtroom in full Upper West Side respectable regalia to try to get the obscenity charges against her dismissed - she fails and ends up having to plead guilty, because she mouths off at the judge. Anyone who’s familiar with Amy Sherman-Palladino’s work will recognize this bones of this plot point in the courtroom scene in Gilmore Girls: Rory’s grandparents’/lawyer’s attempt to portray her as a naive little angel backfires, and she ends up getting a ton of community service as penance for stealing a boat. It’s important to note that the characters are both guilty of their charges - although, as another favorite show of mine might note, “the situation’s a lot more nuanced than that.”)

(source | source)

Another way in which the pre-season promo is distancing Archie from both his actions last season, and the present context external to the show, is to emphasize his profound contrition. In this teaser from Riverdale 3x01, we get Archie declaring that “whatever happens to me in the courtroom on Tuesday - that is what I deserve.” This a statement of universal guilt and responsibility (one might say martyrdom?) that goes well beyond the scope of his actual infractions.

Now - I really, really appreciate that we’re getting a sad Archie rather than a mad Archie. And I want to acknowledge that he’s so definitely a kid here, trying hard to “man up” and to grapple with the fact that he screwed up big time and that there are consequences for his actions. After a season of doing the wrong thing over and over and OVER again, he’s trying to do the right thing. 

But here’s the thing: Fred responds to this confession of near-universal guilt with what (in this snippet) feels like a pair of universally-exculpatory statements: “You are a good kid. You got manipulated by a mobster.” (Mary is more nuanced: “You do not deserve to be framed for murder.”)

Archie does not deserve to be framed for murder, and he certainly did get manipulated by a mobster. In fact, I would like to formally start a petition to have Archie not fall under the control of an unscrupulous adult in S3!

However. 

Instead of accepting guilt for anything and everything and being immediately absolved for non-specific sins because of his inherent “goodness,” I really want to know that Archie understands what he actually DID do last season. He climbed wholeheartedly on board with the plan to Make Riverdale Great Again, and in that process, he did things that were NOT AT ALL commensurate with being “a good kid.” I think both the character and the show would benefit from a more explicit meditation on exactly why Hiram’s manipulation was so effective, and why Archie moved so quickly past being merely Hiram’s pawn, and voluntarily embraced the role of Hiram’s very ambitious accomplice. 

One of the specific preconditions of restorative justice is that the offender has to acknowledge their actions and the hurt that they caused. Reconciliation and vagueness are incompatible for so many reasons, but one of them is because a BIG part of learning from your mistakes is thinking precisely about what you did so that you can choose not to do it again.

I read a bunch of the new Archie comics over the break, and I think I now have a greater appreciation for the trope of Archie as a schlemiel. Despite his best intentions, the Archie archetype keeps making the same goofy, klutzy mistakes over and over again. This is fine, even funny, when it means that Archie just keeps accidentally ending up with a bucket on his head. Whoops! 

It is super not okay if it means that Archie just keeps finding himself supporting fascists. ...whoops?

(At present, my entire country is being “manipulated by mobsters.” Clearly, I have some feelings about this.)

I don’t actually know how to wrap all the loose ends of this analysis up meaningfully and coherently at the finish here - but then again, that probably puts me into good company with our showrunners. Optimistically, I’m going to hope that that’s intentional - that I’m judging in media res, and that plotlines and character arcs in S3 will weave together in a way that will surprise and delight me! 

But mostly, I’m going to reiterate my hope that S3 makes meaningful choices. That the people in charge don’t waste their actors’ time filming oodles and oodles of material that gets sliced and diced to ribbons. That they make choices EARLY about major plot points; that they stick to them; and that they let the rising action and falling action of your narrative reflect those choices, and the consequences that naturally accompany them. 

I hope that the people in charge of S3 will resist the ever-present temptation to “have it both ways” - which ultimately works out to really no definitive way at all. Telling a sturdy story is risky in a totally different way than courting controversy - but it’s so, so worth it. 

#riverdale #riverdale meta #riverdale spoilers #archie andrews #us politics #scotus #the urge to overanalyze this image feels like the tug of a Portkey behind my navel #was already a tag #spoiler: resistance was futile #chicago #marvelous mrs maisel #gilmore girls #village-skeptic: back on her bullshit #if you made it through this whole thing I love you to bits!