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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 4 years

Note

Hello! if its ok how would the demon brothers react to a low self esteem/ self hating MC who excepts any insults with a sad smile?

Content Warnings: Self deprecation (naturally, given the nature of the prompt), verbal harassment/insults, spoilers for later chapters in Belphegor’s section

Just so you know it’s basically gonna be seven different versions of this:

Under a cut to prevent carpal tunnel!

Obey Me: The Brothers With an MC Who Has Low Self Esteem and Accepts Insults with a Smile

Lucifer

Lucifer kind of just... stops for a few seconds. Like, he freezes completely. Doesn’t move, doesn’t blink - MC’s not sure if he’s even breathing. They’re at one of Diavolo’s parties together, and a pretty important demon is coming for MC hard, albeit in a slimy, passive-aggressive kind of way. And they’re just... smiling and nodding along?

Lucifer’s single currently operating brain cell is dedicated to not just murdering this pathetic excuse for a demon. If he wasn’t already in his demon form, he would absolutely transform. With a deep breath, he stalks over in full Avatar of Pride mode: shoulders back, staring slightly down at everyone else, wings puffed up just so.

Anything the demon was saying to MC, he throws back at them tenfold, with just as much passive-aggression, though it starts slipping more and more as he continues on. Eventually it starts turning into one of those lectures of his about The Importance of The Exchange Program and Lord Diavolo’s Reputation and- MC is gonna have to catch his attention to stop him from going full Dad-mode on this bastard.

Once they succeed in doing this, he pulls them aside and, still bristling with indignant rage, asks why MC was letting that wretch talk to them like that.

“Well, it wasn’t like they were saying anything that wasn’t true...”

Wrong. Answer. Lucifer is the Avatar of Pride, even though he has self-worth issues running deeper than the Marianas Trench he would never let anyone talk to him like that, and he wishes more than anything he could lend MC that ability. He’ll tilt their head to look him directly in the eyes and assure them that they absolutely do have value, both in the Devildom and in his family. He won’t tolerate anyone, including MC themself, put down a member of his family. Is that clear?

In the coming weeks, the younger brothers notice that Lucifer’s soft spot for MC is even more pronounced than usual. In fact, he frequently praises them for their accomplishments, flustering them to no end. None of them dare to bring it to his attention, because they’ve all noticed in one way or another that MC is carrying themself with more confidence now.

Whatever is going on between the two of them seems to be working quite well.

Mammon

Mammon... runs his mouth a lot. He says stupid things he doesn’t mean because admitting his actual feelings would be too difficult. Unfortunately, one of the feelings he’s vehemently avoiding addressing is his feelings for MC. This manifests as loud and insistent denial that The GREAT Mammon would never be interested in some stupid, weak human, how dare you suggest that?!

The brothers expect one of many responses from MC: outrage and offence, teasing at Mammon’s clear tsundere attitude, a roll of the eyes, anything other than their sad little smile whenever he insults them. One day, Mammon finally notices their staring and he actually stops and takes a minute to process the acceptance on MC’s face.

He just called them a burden and a waste of time and they’re SMILING?!

Like a horrid puzzle piece, everything clicks together in Mammon’s mind. He’s never heard MC protest any of the awful things he’s said about them. They don’t even tease him about it like his brothers do.

They think he’s being serious and they agree with him.

He changes his tune so fast it’s dizzying. He slips up sometimes, but now when he sees MC’s small smile that doesn’t reach their eyes, he adds, “H-Hey! Why’re you just letting me say all that, huh? Ya gotta stand up for yourself, MC! You better not go around letting lesser demons talk to you like this! If anyone ever gives you trouble, you come to the GREAT Mammon and I’ll shut ‘em up real quick!

“‘Cause... It’s not true, all of that about you being stupid or annoying. You’re my human and I know you really well and you’re- You’re not any of that, MC! So don’t go smiling at jerks dragging your name through the mud okay?”

Leviathan

MC and Leviathan are playing an online multiplayer game together, and MC still hasn’t quite gotten used to Devildom controls yet. They’re not exactly a great asset to their team... Not that Levi minds. He’s happy they’re showing interest in him his games at all.

Some of the demons they’re playing with, on the other hand...

Ugh, stay on the objective you stupid bitch!

Is [MC’s username] afk?

If you feed them any more kills I fucking swear-

Why is a noob even playing this game lmao just go die already

Levi scoffs. Their team wasn’t even losing, these scumbags just needed to find someone to pick on. Still, it wasn’t fair for MC to listen to their insults, he’ll just disconnect and find a better team - hey, why has MC been so quiet?

The Avatar of Envy turns to face MC only to see them staring down at their controller with a shaky smile. He calls their name and they look up, startled.

“I’m gonna find another team for us to play on,” Levi explains as the game warns him that he’s about to lose some in-game reputation points for abandoning his team. “Uh, unless you’d rather play something else?”

“No it’s fine, you pick,” MC says, still avoiding making direct eye contact. “I probably won’t do any better no matter what we play...”

Hey, insecurity is his thing!

“MC, you better not be thinking about what those losers said in the chat!”

“But-”

“NUH UH! You might be a normie, but you’re also my best friend!” MC feels an anime-inspired speech coming on. “Who cares about winning or losing one match? I’d rather lose every match I ever play from now on if it means I get to have you as my player 2!” Leviathan pauses as he realizes exactly what he just said and immediately turns beet red. “...you know... if you... wanted to, I guess...”

Satan

MC is in Devildom History with Satan, and as an exchange student, is having a rough time of it. They just don’t have the same background as the rest of the students, and can’t pick up on things as fast as they do.The teacher hands back the latest test and they cringe as they see their grade. Satan, sitting next to them, glances at the mark and gives them one of his small smiles.

“You know, if you need extra help, don’t be shy. I’d be happy to help you,” he says quietly.

Apparently not quietly enough, because a particularly rowdy pair of demons overhear him and choose that moment to make a nuisance of themselves. One of them snatches MC’s paper out of their hands, and upon seeing their grade starts laughing.

“How did you put the Abyssal Peace Treaty before the Abyssal War?! Everyone knows when that happened!” they continue chuckling at more silly mistakes MC made while very stressed during that test, while Satan’s blood starts boiling.

Much to his surprise, MC just smiles and joins in the demons’ laughter. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid...” they say with a falsely cheerful tone. Satan quickly catches on - they’re just fucking with these demons! He keeps his anger at bay with the anticipation of seeing MC really tear these lowlives a new-

“Wow, not even gonna defend yourself? Why do we even have human exchange students, they’re so boring.” The demon pair scoff and toss MC’s test back, before stalking off, annoyed that they didn’t get the reaction they wanted.

Hm. Frustrate them by not responding to their futile taunts. An interesting choice, but effective nonetheless. Satan expresses his appreciation of MC’s choice, much to their confusion. When they explain that they really were agreeing with what the demons had said, Satan doesn’t take it very well.

If MC doesn’t stop him, he’ll go over to the pair of demons that insulted them and drag their names through the dirt in front of the entire classroom, adding in some colourful suggestions about what would happen to them if they continued this behaviour. Either way, he’s furious enough that his demon form might start peeking out, tail thrashing behind him or horns growing out from his messy hair.

When class is over, Satan asks MC to stay behind.

“I want you to tell me why you feel this way about yourself,” he says. “Because I promise you, there isn’t a single explanation you can give that I won’t argue against. And I’m rarely wrong.”

Asmodeus

Asmo lives in a delightful bubble of flirtation, partying, and being the very best and prettiest being in all three realms. He works very hard to maintain this state, terrified of what he’d find on the other side of the haze.

But all it takes is one look at MC for it to come crashing down.

They’re at The Fall together, sipping on fruity drinks disguising unholy amounts of alcohol for a brief break before returning to the dance floor. Asmo knows MC struggles with confidence, and figured that if he could get them to have a good time, they would forget their insecurities for at least a little while.

And maybe he’s laying it on a bit thick with the flirting while they’re here. He can’t help it! He loves MC in a way he’s never really loved anyone else before. If he’s completely honest, the feeling scares him: he wants to put them before himself, and he’s not sure if he can, because he never has put someone else first before.

A demon notices Asmo’s lovesick staring at MC, and comments as they pass, “Oh my, has the Avatar of Lust sunken so low that he’s making eyes at some plain-jane human?” A long, scaled tail snakes around MC’s face, turning their head in the demon’s direction. “Or are you just a charity-fuck? You certainly won’t be able to hold his interest for long, darling.~”

The demon saunters off, and Asmodeus has half a mind to storm over to them and cause a scene, but the look on MC’s face stops him in his tracks.

They’re looking at him and they’re smiling.

“You don’t have to pretend to be upset about it,” they say, poking at their drink with their straw. “I know I’m not all that interesting. You just want me right now because I’m an ordinary human, right? And once the novelty wears off, well... I’m not powerful like a demon, or a wise magic user like Solomon, and I’m not exactly good-looking, so why keep me around? It’s been nice of you to pretend with me, though-”

He cuts them off with a passionate kiss, threading his fingers in their hair and pressing their bodies as close as possible. The gesture catches MC off guard and their drink spills on the two of them, but Asmo doesn’t even flinch. He only pulls away when MC starts panting from lack of oxygen.

“Please don’t say those awful things about yourself, MC,” Asmodeus says, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re...” One of the only people I don’t have to pretend around. “...You are so special to me. And you always will be.” Suddenly aware that they’ve both been soaked in a cocktail, Asmo smirks. “Oh dear, it seems our clothes are all dirty... I guess we’ll have to go back home and change, won’t we?”

Please let me prove to you how much I love you, he thinks as you tearfully smile and punch his arm before agreeing.

Beelzebub

Beel deals with survivor’s guilt, and if he’s not careful, it can lead to some pretty dark places. He’s also Belphie’s twin and is very familiar with what low self-esteem looks like. So whenever a demon tries to insult MC while he’s around, he doesn’t give them the chance to agree, calmly, but firmly jumping to their defence.

It doesn’t matter who it is or where they are, Beel always has MC’s back. Whenever they’re feeling especially down and that sad little smile is on their face, MC tends to find some of their favourite snacks tucked away into their bag or even their uniform pockets. The Avatar of Gluttony is also always ready to deploy some Emergency Cuddles, and is generally a steady, grounding presence in MC’s life. He starts to stick around them almost as much as Mammon does.

Unfortunately, this attracts the attention of some less than savoury people.

“Hey Beel! Coach wants you to know we’ve got an extra practice tomorrow! It’s semi-finals soon, and he wants to go over some new strategies,” a large, intimidating demon calls out, dressed in the RAD athletic uniform.

MC and Beel turn towards the demon’s voice, and Beel’s teammate makes a face upon seeing them. “You’re still hanging around them?” the demon asks. “Or are they clinging onto ya like a barnacle?” He laughs and MC lets go of Beel’s hand, blushing.

They have been around him an awful lot lately... Is he only doing it out of pity? Should they stop? Oh no, what if he thinks they’re annoying--

“I like MC,” Beel says plainly. “And I like spending time with them. So, tomorrow after classes is the next practice? I’ll be there.” He leaves no room for further debate. The demon stumbles over his words before confirming and abruptly running off.

MC doesn’t take Beel’s hand again.

“Hey,” Beelzebub takes MC’s much smaller hands into his own. “I mean it. I like you. Don’t listen to my teammate, he’s dumber than Mammon. Want to go have lunch together? I think they’re serving fried bats in the cafeteria...”

Belphegor

Sometimes, Belphegor peeks in on MC’s dreams. He never directly interacts with them, nor has he ever told them that he does this at all. Ever since he... ever since that happened, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid creeping them out even further, and he worries that this kind of behaviour would be frowned upon by a human.

But he can’t help it. Especially tonight.

After being woken up by a squirming MC, he decides to look into their dreams and see what is upsetting them so much. Much to his surprise, he finds himself inside one of RAD’s classrooms. MC is working on an assignment with a group of demons whose features keep shifting around. The writing on the books in front of them is illegible, and Belphegor only knows it’s writing at all because of his familiarity with dream physics.

“There they are,” whispers one of the demons. “What do they think they’re doing?”

MC asks a question about something in one of the books, pointing to a scribble that only looks like words when not focused on.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you can do anything useful for us anyway,” the demon snaps. “I’m not even sure why you’re here.” Belphegor frowns. Is this a memory?

MC meekly mentions the exchange program. “I don’t care!” The demon’s voice changes, and Belphegor suddenly feels the pitter-patter of raindrops on his skin, despite still being indoors. MC’s clothes are drenched in the invisible rain. “Fuck, can you not take a hint, MC? No one actually wants you here! You’re just a tag-along!”

“Why don’t you just pack up and leave then? Oh right, you have nowhere else to go!”

The figures of the demons become shadowy and elongated, hands sharpening into talons. MC jumps to their feet and backs away from the advancing figures, whose whispers become louder and interrupt each other.

“Just don’t mess it up again-”

“-never have trusted you! You ruin EVERYTHING-”

“Another disappointment, I see.”

“Don’t LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-”

“Fucking whore!”

The voices continue, growing louder and louder until the figures melt into one familiar silhouette with violet eyes.

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh.” Belphegor’s blood runs cold. “You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”

The Avatar of Sloth watches helplessly as his dream-double wraps its hands around MC’s throat, cooing hideous insults at them all the while. Nonononono, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know, I was just so- Ugh! That’s not an excuse, you idiot!

The dream-Belphegor pauses, grip slackening.

“Get off of them,” Belphegor hisses. “Now.”

The figure dissolves into the classroom, turning the surroundings completely black. Now Belphie finds himself standing in the creature’s place, in front of a confused MC.

“Are you okay?” he asks lamely.

“Why did you stop?” MC asks in return.

“I wasn’t... It was hurting you, and saying- I couldn’t keep letting it-”

MC smiles. “It’s just the truth. You said so yourself.”

MC and Belphegor wake up together, sweating, trapped in the other’s vice-like grip. MC’s pulse flutters under Belphie’s hands, way faster than it should be. It almost feels like when-

He twists out of their grasp, falling out of the bed in the process. He scrambles as far back as his room allows, nearly tripping over his own tail. MC stares at him through the darkness, torn between chasing after him and putting more distance between the two of them.

“...You saw that.” He doesn’t reply. “...Come here, Belphie.”

And slowly, he does.

For the next few weeks, Belphegor never leaves MC’s side unless absolutely necessary, even if he falls asleep next to them. He refuses to acknowledge this unusual behaviour, reacting with increasing hostility to anyone who mentions it. He also accompanies them to bed more often than not, much to Mammon’s chagrin.

“So long as I’m with you, no one else is going to talk to you like that ever again. I’m not going to let them, and I’m not going to let you just take it.”

#obey me: swd #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me: shall we date #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #headcanon #mine #long post #my writing

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sir-sunny · 2 years

Note

(Lavender) Misc headcanons for you!

-Gundham has chew necklace… He doesn’t use it often but sometimes you need a Sensation and monching your scarf isnt great. Yes I am projecting.

-Stronk Sonia with abs actually. She can bench press most of her classmates. She can run in heels. We love her.

-I know the popular idea of a Sonia and Toko friendship is based on Sonia being a Jill fan but consider actually. Sonia is a Toko fan. She owns all her books. She’s got every available translation of each one and she uses them for her language learning. She runs the Novoselic Fukawa Stan Discord. Toko tries so hard to hate her cuz she’s “cheating at life” but it’s so hard to cuz Sonia constantly gushes about her and overloads her with praise.

-I just think Hajime knows One Other Language but like. An uncommon one in Japan. Like idk. Man learns Finnish or smth for funsies and it never comes up until he hears Sonia “30 languages” Nevermind say something in Finnish and he’s like “FINALLY…. all my training… for this moment…”

-Akane. Straight up has gone to the doctor maybe three or four times ever. She doesn’t Not Want To she just. Forgets or doesn’t feel like she needs to. Mikan and Nekomaru lowkey FREAK OUT a bit when they realize this. They really are like “girl please… take care of your health I beg you…” but she makes more of an effort to make it a priority when she realizes they’re worried.

-I just think maybe sometimes Nagito stress bakes. Man feels a panic attack comin on and is like ”Hey Hajime I’m going to the store brb :)” and then a few hours later Hajime enters the kitchen to find Nagito in the middle of a fifth batch of cookies with a cake in the oven and half a tray of cupcakes consumed. He’s not even a good baker he just does it.

-IBUKI BIG STIMS. She’s just full of energy. Her physical stims are a big more subtle, but she def makes. Lots of noises. Not a truly quiet moment with Ibuki.

-Mahiru takes LOTS of pictures of Imposter, especially when they’re real comfortable. She always makes extra copies to give them, sometimes with little notes about things she notices about their appearance or what they were doing when she took it. They hold onto every one. Sometimes you don’t know who you are but the things your friends notice about you and the fact that they recognize you grounds you.

-Also the whole class is SO SUPPORTIVE of each other. Even when they don’t understand each other’s issues fully, they work so hard to help each other. Particularly today I’m thinking of the class being very supportive of Imposter when they’re trying to figure themself out and like. Give themself a name. I feel like for a while they don’t understand themselves enough to even think of one, but everyone in the class has their own kinda Personalized Nickname they have for them.

MMHMM sonia is v strong and buff. i like to imagine she's p good at fighting. i imagine she partook in some kind of training when she was younger ykno. she knows martial arts.. maybe she knows how to wield a sword or oh, i dunno... maybe a bow and arrow....... maybe she knows how to throw hatchets.... maybe she knows some parkour...

sonia and toko friendship.. ur a genius

yea ksajdgjah akane very begrudgingly makes an appointment w mikan and they find out she has terrible sight and she needs glasses, she has carpal tunnel in wrist and really should wear a brace, she passes out a couple times a day cuz she has low iron, she actually has quite a few food allergies and the list goes on aksjdjhas mikan's just like "AKANE!!! whhwhw!!" ykno

aksjhkasjhd hajime walks in on nagito decorating cupcakes to look like cute, colorful, little cats a and he looks up and is like "oh hi hajime! im a having a very bad day :)"

:(( oh my god mahiru and imposter.....

uGH YEs everyone being super supportive of each other,, they all have very different upbringings but theyre similar in so many ways and they are truly grateful they all have each other because they relate to each other and at the same time, there's much to learn about each other and they still gotta work on understanding one another but theyre willing to work together and keep moving towards the future and overcoming their past and they have to learn to forgive not only each other but themselves and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

#loving the imposter appreciation #they deserve all the love #hhhmmhmm i love class 77 #man #asks #lavender anon #dr #sdr2 #dr hcs #sunny speaks

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

November Second

It’s Hotch’s birthday and he’s trying really hard not to let it bother him that everyone seems to have forgotten. (for @therealmadblonde) WARNING: briefly mentions some domestic abuse and child abuse

November 2nd.

They’ve been preparing for a week.

It’s strangely humorous to think that they know one another inside and out and yet, can hardly manage to throw a party for one of their own.

“He’s O negative,” Emily supplies, legs tossed up onto the edge of her desk. She’s twirling a sucker around in her mouth. It’s made her tongue a deep blue and as she speaks Morgan spots it. He points to her tongue-- drawing attention to it with a surprised laugh-- and then points to his own. A silent inquiry if his own has changed color. She nods her head eagerly, “it’s green!”

Morgan nods his head with a proud smile, “cool.”

Dave rolls his eyes at the interaction-- at the idiocy of his coworkers. He loves them, of course, but sometimes he has no idea how he does this every day. “Emily,” Dave says her name with thick disappointment. “You’re the man’s friend. He trusts you and all you can think to add is that his blood is O negative?”

Emily knows more than just that. She knows how he takes his coffee and his Chinese take-out order. That he won’t sleep without a blanket but he doesn’t need a pillow. In fact, he’s more than likely to just sleep without one. He sleeps on his stomach and doesn’t snore. His favorite snack is gummy bears and she’s never once seen him refuse the offer of an oreo. However, she’s failing to see how any of these things amount to “helpful” right now.

So she rolls her eyes and thoughtfully pulls the sucker from her mouth so that she can clearly dictate the amount of sass and snark needed for a rebuttal. “Sorry, Dave.” She shakes her head and motions vaguely with the sucker. “I just thought it would be a little more important to know his blood type than what his favorite color is. Given that he runs into more medical emergencies than battles with evil kindergartens holding him at gunpoint and demanding to know if he likes blue better than green.”

Dave sits back in his chair, shaking his head and leaning his head heavily on his fist. God help them, he thinks. No, God help him.

“It’s good to see you all hard at work,” Hotch comments, dryly as he walks across the cat-walk. He’s walked the path every day for years so it’s nothing for him to keep his eyes glued to the file in his hands rather than where he’s walking. He also knows his agents, his friends, well enough to know that there can’t be any work getting done if they’re all in the bullpen together. Not that he minds. While his tone may divulge a different assumption, they know what he really means-- “please don’t be getting into any trouble”.

Emily turns herself, feet still kicked up, but head now turned so that she can see him. “Hey Hotch,” she greets, lopsided grin pulled to the side by the sucker she’s placed back into her mouth. “What’s your favorite color?”

He comes to a staggering halt on the catwalk. Dark eyebrows knitting together as he turns his attention to the bullpen, his file snapping shut at his side. He’s just come out of a meeting with Strauss-- the only reason the team had gathered in the bullpen to talk so broadly about him. After sitting with that witch of a woman for the last two hours, his brain is a little scrambled-- overworked. So it’s taking him a moment to process the question.

Emily pulls her feet down and smirks, casually caught off guard by the fact that this is so trivial to him. Surely, Jack has laid this question on him. There is nothing children aged 3-6 love more than inquiring about colors. “What is it,” she asks, growing a little more impatient each second he leaves her unanswered. “It’s gotta be green or blue or something.”

He clears his throat, right-- colors. Those are colors. What are his favorite colors?

Purple. It comes to mind first. His eyes dart to Reid the second it does. He associates his resident genius with purple. Lavender, really. Soft. It makes him think of Haley’s funeral, the scarf that Reid had wrapped over his coat. The only real color that day. Hotch’s eyes kept flickering over to it, the only thing that seemed to ground his racing mind.

The answer used to be red. When he was just a boy and naïve and because it was the same color as a fire truck. The color doesn’t associate with firetrucks anymore. He remembers his mother’s busted lip as she urgently shut him into a closet, seven years old and cowering away at the sound of his mother’s choked pleads for his father to just leave. He didn’t need to do this.

“He’ll learn,” she had begged. “He’s just a boy, Mark. Please, please--” He’d flinched when the door was thrown open, his father standing there in the doorway.

And Haley. Red reminds him of the pain. Haley always got cold so easily and he’d just wanted to hold her a little longer. Keep her warmly tucked against him and try to remember the way she used to play with the hair at the back of his head. Pushing her finger against the way it grows.

“Hotch?”

He blinks once-- twice-- “I, uh,” he shakes his head. Trying frantically to remember whatever color he’d told Jack last. Probably like… “Blue or green,” he says with a shrug, trying to play off his reaction. His hands ache with the memory of that day. He’d broken three metacarpals in his left-hand killing Foyet, set himself up for carpal tunnel and arthritis. A price he pays everyday. A handful of medicine to survive the damage of the stab wounds and another to work against the inflammation.

Shaking his head of the thoughts he keeps heading towards his office. That’s not what he needs to be thinking about right now. If he’s not careful he’s going to end up having an anxiety attack on his office floor and that’s just not something he really wants to deal with right now. Especially, here with no medicine insight and where any member of the team could walk in on that.

That’d be just his luck.

Bogged down by work, he doesn’t even think about his birthday. He gets too caught up in Halloween and the party Garcia throws for Day of the Dead and he’s exhausted. Rundown.

He doesn’t even realize how quickly his birthday is rolling in until the morning of.

November 2nd.

He’s fifty-four. Old.

Hitting snooze, he lets himself sink back into the warmth of his bed. He doesn’t want to go to work. He’d much rather stay here. Catch up on sleep and, who knows, eat something crazy for lunch. Chocolate chip pancakes or eggs and too many pieces of bacon.

But he can’t afford that. The office still needs him. There’s still a job to be done.

Birthday or not.

He’s not expecting anything but typically, by now, most of them have sent him a fond message. Nothing crazy.

Garcia bakes him macadamia nut cookies. A dozen, just for him, and takes the team their own. There aren’t any cookies on his desk when he comes in.

Derek and Dave are nowhere to be seen. JJ’s arguing loudly with someone on the phone. Emily’s ducked into her work and Reid’s spinning in his chair. No one says anything to him. He decides it doesn’t matter. Today’s just another day. Every year he tells them how much he hates celebrating his birthday. He does hate celebrating it but… he doesn’t mind it entirely. He does like Garcia’s crushing hug and having to squeeze Reid so he knows Hotch doesn’t mind their hug. He likes Morgan making jokes at his expense and Emily rising to his defense. Dave shaking his head at them all.

Then, when they’ve all left, Dave pulling him in tightly and reminding, “I’m so proud of you, kid. Happy Birthday.”

He guesses they’re not doing that this year.

He’s searching for where Reid’s ran off with the sugar when Emily Prentiss blows through the break room. “What’s the rush,” he asks. Hotch doesn’t talk all that much. He’s prone to silence and a much better listener but he’s starved for a little adult conversation. Something, even a meaningless conversation, is better than the internal monologue he’s had going since he stepped into the office.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she shakes her head, sighing. “A case,” comes her haste reply. “They’ve got me running front for some case in Louisiana.” An obvious hit at Emily to bother her. Southern states are typically covered by Morgan or Hotch. It’s not to be presumptuous but the more southern the state the less likely they are to want to listen to a woman’s advice on the matters of their murders.

He grimaces in sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

She sighs when she sees the other coffee pot is slowly filling, meaning she’s going to have to wait for a cup.

“Here,” he offers her his own cup. The mug is one Jack had gifted him some time ago. Hand-painted. He and Haley had made it when he was only about a year-old. The colors are horrid but Hotch can’t stand to think about parting from the thing. Ugly as it is, in Haley’s fine print are the words: We Love You Daddy! Sometimes rubbing his finger against those raised letters is the only way he can get through the day.

Emily accepts the mug with a sad smile. She knows he’s partial to the mug but she needs the coffee. She slides him her mug, it suddenly hits her when she does. “Shit!”

He frowns.

“I’m so sorry,” she pours sugar into his mug. She’s clearly overwhelmed, visibly upset. “I can’t go to lunch.”

Every year on his birthday they go to lunch. It’s nothing special. They got to lunch all the time. About once a week. So, it’s not really that big of a deal but he can’t help but feel a little sad. He likes spending time with her but he doesn’t so much as let an ounce of that disappointment show.

Taking Emily’s mug, he shrugs it off. “It’s fine,” he insists, well aware that she’ll know he’s lying if he can’t meet her eyes. He makes a point of forcing his gaze on her, settling a rare smile her way. “We’ll catch up later,” he assures with a nod. “Go on, I’m sure the Louisiana PD are waiting on hand and foot to hear back from you.” She rolls her eyes and he smirks. When she turns to walk away he adds, “and, Emily? If they give you a hard time--”

She shakes her head at him, “I know....” Turning back to hurry out she shouts back to him, “happy birthday, Hotch!”

No one else says anything.

He just… sits in his office. His paperwork is done. There’s no reason for him to be here.

Haley would have remembered. She always remembered.

Every year she’d make him a cake-- something crazy and he’d never know what to expect. For three years in a row, she’d burned the hell out of the cakes and he’d come home to her sobbing on the floor. In her defense, they were both very stressed trying to get her pregnant. Things weren’t going well. Then she got pregnant and forgot about the cake and it burned. Having a toddler around the next year had not helped her case.

He’d never minded. She was also so happy to have him around.

The other side of the bed used to be warm. He’d wake up to her fingers ghosting along his back or her head on his shoulder. Now he wakes up alone and raises their son alone.

He killed her and he’ll never forgive himself for that.

Sighing, rubbing at his tired eyes, and feeling the steadily increasing pain in his back he decides he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday anyway. What is there to celebrate? What about him is good enough to praise? On his watch, Reid had been kidnapped. JJ scooped up by the “Pentagon” and sent to war where she lost a child. Emily died. Garcia got shot outside of her home. Morgan was forced to face his abuser, again. Jason left. He didn’t help Elle.

He doesn’t even deserve it. It’s not even worth the time.

“Hotch?”

He flinches at the sudden invasion, squirting to see who it is at his door. Reading glasses askew and pen hovering in the same spot it has been for the last hour, at least he looks like he’s been busy. He forces himself to liven up a bit, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Can I help you,” he asks hopefully, a smile tugging at his lips.

JJ nods, checking the watch on her wrist. “Yeah, uh, Garcia needs you down in the lair. I don’t know-- Listen, I don’t know what it is but she’s been bugging me about it all day. Can you just go check it out?” She sighs and pushes her hair back from her face. “I’ve got to get out of here. See you later, Hotch.”

He just nods. Throat tight.

It’s stupid. This whole day.

He’d never even celebrated a birthday until he was eighteen. Haley had gotten him a cupcake, just trying to make something of the day. For the longest time, she was the only person who even cared. Then Dave and Gideon had come. On his first birthday with them, they’d gotten him a tie. It had birds on it. Then Derek had come and JJ and Garcia and Reid and then Emily. He went for almost twenty years without celebrating a freaking birthday.

This one isn’t even that important.

He’s just being stupid.

Sighing, he makes his way out of his office. No one’s in the bullpen. The place is shut down for the night.

Hands in his pockets, he’s sulking down the hall. Head down and eyes on the tiles as he walks. Vaguely, slowly he hears the unmistakable banter of Garcia. It’s hushed, quick. At the top of the hall, he can see her door is cracked open. Just enough to allow him to see Reid moving inside, his hand being swatter because it looks like… he’s got icing on his fingers. He doesn’t even look ashamed to have been caught swiping at the cake.

Too anxious now to be excited, Hotch makes his way down the hall. Thankful the motion sensor lights have been turned off now that the building should have officially closed some two hours ago. They don’t hear him coming.

Sticking his head in the room he sees Garcia’s entire lair is covered in gifts, decorations, and stuffed with the members of his team. He smirks at the sight. Morgan’s trying to light the candles on the cake, Reid observing that they’re probably going to set the fire alarm off. Emily’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with the zipper on her boot, waiting. JJ anxiously wraps her necklace around her finger.

“Sir!”

He feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

When Garcia sees him, though, her lower lip starts to tremble. “Oh sir, I’m so sorry!”

He stiffens when she hugs him, completely unprepared. “Sorry,” he repeats, looking over her head to the others for some sort of direction. “What are you sorry for, Garcia?’ It’s clear they hadn’t forgotten. If they had he would easily forgive them. It’s a birthday. It doesn’t matter that much.

She hiccups sadly, pulling away to look up at him. “We made you sad,” she whispers. “It was stupid idea,” she says with a shake of her head. “We just wanted to throw you a surprise party but you don’t even like parties!” With each passing moment, she’s just getting more upset. “So, look--” she goes to the left, to a little table where she produces a plate of cookies. The macadamia nut cookies. “I even brought you cookies--”

She’s flustered enough that when he’s the one to pull her into a hug, she just melts.

“Garcia?” She holds onto him tightly. “Thank you.” He can feel her pulling in a breath to push away the words but he keeps going. “No one, other than Haley, has ever cared enough to even make me a cake. Let alone try and throw me a surprise party.”

She sniffles, “that’s so sad.”

He huffs, smirking, “I guess.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Reid really doesn’t want to break up the sweet moment but the cake has been taunting him all afternoon. “Does that mean we can cut the cake now?”

Morgan rolls his eyes, “you’ve had your fingers in the damn thing all day, pretty boy!”

Hotch nods his head and Reid smirks at Morgan, clearly pleased he’s won this argument regardless of the fact that he has been swiping a finger through the icing. But cake is cake.

“Alright birthday boy.” Emily’s balancing the cake in her hands, bringing it to him carefully. The candles lighting up her eyes in a way that seems scarily mischievous. “Make a wish!”

He frowns at her but the look softens when Rossi places an encouraging hand on his back. He blows the candles out with a smile.

“What’d you wish for?” Reid asks hopefully.

Morgan pushes him, “you can’t say it out loud, doofus! It won’t come true.”

Emily rolls her eyes, obviously mentally scorning them both for their childish natures and for Morgan believing that.

It makes him smile to watch. The three of them hovering over the cake as Emily cuts it and Reid and Morgan try to fight for the first piece she cuts. Reid gets it but that’s not surprising. He smirks at Morgan but the devious look falls quickly when he sees Hotch is watching.

Dave seems to come out of no where. He leans against the wall beside Hotch, “you good?”

Hotch nods, unsure if he can trust his voice right. Very good.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #spencer reid #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #tw abuse

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Sky Full Of Stars - CH02

Sequel to Something Just Like This

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, ex mobster boss, still a little cocky, less ruthless and not at all short tempered anymore. Instead, he thinks he’s hilarious (she doesn’t agree, though). They both try to live a quiet life. And Dean hopes, very hard, that his former life won’t come knocking at their door.

Warnings: Really fluffy.

WC: 3109

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean tries to be quiet, he really did, but as old houses are, the stairs creak underneath his weight when he descends. He flinches, squints his eyes and moves faster, trying his best to make himself feather light, and absolutely fails.

He hops off the last step, walks into the kitchen on his bare feet, makes a cup of coffee. He knows that he needs to get back to work when he wants to finish the house on time but Y/N’s so damn distracting.

Especially when she takes naps during the day because she’s more tired than she’s ever been. In fact, she’s even more tired now than when she was in her first Trimester, which is weird but what does he know, he doesn’t have to deal with the hormones so all he does is shut the hell up and let her sleep.

They’re only at half time, something over five months.

When she feels really tired, she likes to take baths to relax and then taking naps after, and Dean hates that. Absolutely super hates it. Can’t stand how he can’t help but join her. Not always with the baths but certainly with the naps.

It first started two months into her pregnancy when they were still painting her art room. She would start to paint and after a couple of hours she’d ask him if it was okay for her to go lie down. When he checked on her later, she was grinning at him from inside of the bathtub with foam all over her face.

That first time that he discovered her in the tub when she was supposed to go lie down, he couldn’t help but jump right into the tub with her, sat her on his hard cock and let her fuck herself on him. He took her out and laid her down after, ate her out before her body was even dry.

Their sex life was not boring by all means, but since she’s pregnant she became insatiable.

Dean would lie if he said that he minded it.

And if he can’t fuck her with his cock (honestly, she can really wear him out), he fucks her with his fingers (sometimes he thinks that carpal tunnel syndrome is on his horizon), and if his fingers and hands get tired, he eats her out until his jaw cramps up. Like he said, he doesn’t mind. It’s not like they’re going about it like rabbits. They don’t do it every day either but once she starts, it’s hard for her to stop.

So since then, she’s been taking naps and he naps with her. It’s tempting to just stay in bed all day, kissing, cuddling, making love, sleep. And if she wasn’t pregnant and they wouldn’t expect a little baby in roughly five months time, he wouldn’t even care about the house, but Dean needs to get things going if he wants to finish it.

Sometimes, Sam comes around to help. Jess’s pregnant too. Is even ahead of Y/N by a month. So whenever Sam’s over, Dean would drink a beer with his brother and they exchange their thoughts and worries. Dean’s gotten much better at talking nowadays.

Bobby showed up once too, and Gabe whenever he’s free and then Gabe would help Dean out. He gets so much done when Gabe’s here. It’s the ease of having worked together for so many years that makes a difference to Gabe and Sam. Also Gabe is no fucking pain in Dean’s ass like Sammy is.

But most of the time, they’re on their own in their little house with a view to a sky full of stars. It’s never dull around here either. She’d find ways to get on his nerves and he might not even do it on purpose but he apparently can annoy the fuck out of her as well. Dean apparently talks too loud. Or he chews too loud. Or brushes his teeth too loud. Every little thing can be too loud. The hormones are fucking with her senses.

He drinks his coffee, it’s caffeinated. He once tried to sneak in decaf coffee but she just sat there and stared at the mug and started to cry. So he gave up on it, because she limits her intake. She already had one this morning so Dean gulps down his, burning his tongue off, but it’s better for her not to see him drink it. It’s also better for him.

While he’s standing in the kitchen, he decides to make lunch. Cooks up some pasta with homemade sauce and he’ll chop up some veggies to throw it in with.

Dean’s chopping away at a bell pepper when he feels arms coming around his middle, her face pressing into his spine, right in between his shoulder blades.

“Mmh,” Y/N mumbles into his back, he feels her voice vibrating along his spine. Her little bump’s pressed into his lower back. “Smells good.”

Dean grins, but doesn’t stop chopping, “Me or the food?”

“Food.” She says and he can feel her chuckle on his back.

“Not me?”

Her hands brush along his stomach, feathery strokes travel down to the waistband of his sweats, and then she strokes along his clothed cock. Dean holds in his breath. “Baby, I’m chopping something here.”

He abandons the knife though, because he’s not dumb and is not risking chopping his own hand off when she palms him through his pants.

“You always smell good, that’s not fair.”

It’s Dean's turn to grin. He takes her hand from his cock — that grows hard just from her touching it and it's still the same, he can’t not get hard when he’s around her — and turns around, picks her up and sits her on the kitchen island on the other side of the stove.

She’s pouting, just like he thought she would be.

He stands between her legs, his hands on her thigh and around the small of her back as he looks up to meet her eyes, cranes his neck to kiss her pout away.

She wraps her hands around his neck and Dean likes how she plays with the short hair there.

“What are you cooking?” Y/N asks and nuzzles her nose against his chin.

“I’m making pasta.”

Her hand comes around his face, fingers scratching at his scruff and then she says, “I was thinking—”

“—No,” It came out of Dean a little too fast, can’t help it because he knows what she’s going to say.

He knows her better than he knows himself, he told her once and it’s still true. He knows that she’s pregnant and has cravings and she really almost never wants to eat the thing he cooks her. Even though she’s okay with it first but then she changes her mind, wants something else and after she takes a couple of bites of said something else, she changes her mind again. It’s driving him fucking crazy is what it is.

The old Dean might have been mad, might tell her to fucking make up her mind but the new Dean is taking everything in with patience and an easiness he never knew he had. The only thing that really annoys the living hell out of him is that she mostly has cravings for things they don’t have in the house and he would have to go to the store to get it. But that’s on him too, because he doesn’t want her to drive in his car with no real seatbelt. She would then argue that they still have her car which is parked in the garage but they haven’t used it for a while and Dean doesn’t even know if it would still start up because unlike the time when she was gone for the year where Dean would take her car for a spin every other week to make sure it’s still running smoothly, he didn’t have the time nor desire to take her car for a spin since they moved, and however, that’s not really the point anyway. The point being, he doesn’t want her to drive at all, because he’s still scared of what could happen if she gets into another accident.

He bought a new car already, thinks of ditching his Baby every time he has to take his family out and about, opted for a big family van but it’s custom made and it takes another couple of weeks to be delivered.

“Hey, you don’t even know what I wanted to say.”

“Baby, I’m making pasta. I’m not going to the store again for your cravings. I’ve been twice this morning already and one time late last night.” Dean says, and it’s true. Last night she wanted her coconut ice cream and when he brought it back, she realized that her hormones made her not like the taste of coconut anymore and she ended up crying. That was a night ruined and Dean wished he didn’t even go out at all.

The next store is twenty minutes out and if Dean gives in every time she craves something, he will never get anything done around here.

Y/N swats at his chest, but her lips curve into a playful smile, “‘M not telling that you should go to the store.” She leans forward then, pulls him closer by the back of his neck and he wraps his arms around her.

“Then tell me, I’m listening.”

“What would you say if I tell you to go out for a couple of hours in the evening.” She mumbles into the crook of his neck and that’s when Dean knows that she’s scared that he’ll be mad because she’s not able to look him in the eye.

He frowns a little, “Why do you want me to go out?” She hugs him tighter and that’s when he adds, “Am I crushing you? Do you need space?”

“No, everything’s okay. I just want to do something and I need you out of the house for a couple of hours. Cas will come pick you up.”

Dean frowns some more, “So, you actually already decided for me.”

She comes out of her hiding and is looking at him, a smile so bright it makes his heart leap. “Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, but only for the dramatic effect. “Okay, but don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“Me? Something stupid?” She gasps with one hand on her chest, “Never!”

Dean begs to differ. There’s one time she drew a bath and forgot about it. They needed to exchange the flooring of the bathroom after. Or that time when she burned the omelettes because she was distracted by her book. Or that time when she came back from the store and placed the milk in the freezer and ice creams in the fridge. The list goes on and on, but Dean rather not list them off, because he couldn’t win the argument.

She once said that she can’t even take care of herself and while that might not be true while she wasn’t pregnant, he thinks it’s true now. It if wasn’t for him, she would have flooded and burned the house to the ground by now.

“Liar,” He only grins at her, kisses her then before she can say anything else.

Y/N’s sitting on the couch and strokes Bubbles while Truffles is lying on the floor when Dean comes down from taking a shower, she can hear him walking down the stairs, it creaks awfully loud under his weight. He told her that he wants to work on that too, so the baby wouldn’t wake up all the time when he’s going up and down the stairs.

Bubbles loves its new home, the cat especially loves the space, loves going out and roaming around, and has already made friends with other cats and of course Bubbles doesn’t mind Truffles at all, would sometimes let the dog lick her and the feeling is mutual.

She’s actually glad Dean agreed on getting a dog. She never knew that he would cave because he told her that he’s not really a dog person. Come to think of it, he’s also not really a cat person. He’s not really any kind of person except of her, he said that himself. Now he has to share her with a baby and he’s slowly working up to it. It’s not going to be easy but that little one will also be half his so she guesses that Dean will be able to work on his issue. That issue still being that he’s afraid someone could take her away from him.

Dean is working on himself, she can see that. Sees it in how he’s much more relaxed and she likes that. Likes how he wakes up with a smile on his face everyday. Likes, how he smiles more in general, how he’s less grumpy. How he doesn’t have to work all night and come home with bloody shirts.

Nowadays, the only stains on his shirts and pants are from renovating the house or pottery.

Yeah. Pottery.

They are sharing an art room now. He’s doing pottery in one corner of the art room. It’s one of Bobby’s friends, Rufus, who’s also Dean’s friend and a closet psychologist who suggested that Dean tries pottery to help calm him down when the storm inside of him takes over.

Sometimes, Dean would come in when she’s painting, sits down wordlessly and starts to do pottery. She won’t say a word either. Will sit there and paint until she can see the crease between his eyebrows even out.

He’s so distracting when he does pottery, though. His fingers and arms work on the clay. Sexy is what it is. It gets her hot and bothered every time.

Dean walks into the living room, dressed in casual jeans and a plaid shirt, smelling good and the scent makes her light headed.

Just when he bends down to kiss her, Cas rings at the gate. That’s right, they have a gate. Dean’s overprotective but she understands, considering who he was when she met him.

He pecks her nose, her forehead, places his hand on her belly and rubs at it. “I think that’s my date.”

“You have fun,” She breathes into the kiss and feels his lips widen into a grin.

“Fun? Without you?”

She rolls her eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Dean leans lower, kisses her belly through the shirt. “Be good,”

She frowns a little, “The baby or me?”

“Both.” Dean boops her nose and gets up, walks to the door and is out.

After Dean has left, she takes a long shower, gets into fresh comfortable clothes and starts to prepare everything she needs.

It’s going to be a surprise. Dean has always done so much for her. He always makes sure that she has everything she needs, and has devoted his life to keep her happy so that she would stay, so that he could keep her. Even though she told him that there’s really nothing that would drive her away from him anymore. Guess he still doesn’t believe it so he does the only thing he knows he can, twists and bends his life around to make room for her in it. To make room for their family.

She orders pizza, places mats on their terrace, sets up fairy lights. She actually wanted to use candles but Dean hid all of them because he doesn’t trust her to not burn the house down.

Two hours has passed and Dean should be home in a couple of minutes. She has an agreement with Cas to get him home as sober as possible.

Y/N moves pillows and blankets from the couch out to the little camping site she created. The pizza arrived a couple of minutes ago either, so she takes it out with her. She’s hungry and takes a bite out of a slice, hoping Dean doesn’t mind that she started without him.

Like she thought, Dean walks in after she has finished her first slice, and he calls out for her. The house is dark, the only light source is out here and she hopes he gets it, follows the source out to where she is waiting for him.

“Babe?” He slips out onto the terrace, slides the screen door shut behind him.

His face is lit up by the moonlight and the little fairy lights. She sees him smile, it’s all white and wide.

“Surprise,” She smiles back at him.

She waits for him to get out of his shoes and join her on the mat beside her. He places his hand on her shoulder, the tips of his thumb circles on the back of her neck as he pulls her in to kiss her temple. “Is that why you wanted me to go out?”

“Duh,” She grins and he kisses the grin away.

They dig into the pizza and she knows that she forgot something, so Dean has to get up and comes back out with napkins and two bottles of water.

After they ate, they lay down, his head on her shoulder, while he rubs at her tummy.

“You see the stars?”

“Yeah,” She whispers.

“Thank you,”

“No, I have to thank you.” She says, tilts her head, kisses his temple, his scruff tickles her chin. “You’ve done so much for me so at least I can do something too, even if it’s just something small.”

“It’s something big, alright,” Dean cranes his neck, kisses her cheek, leaves his lips here, “You’re doing more for me than you know,” He’s about to say more but there’s something happening in her tummy, something that feels like gas bubbles that are locked in there. Like she’s had too much fizzy drink, only that she had none. She felt it a couple of times already but it’s the first time that he probably feels it too with his palm on her stomach.

Dean swallows.

“Is that?” He props himself up on his elbow, leans over her, and there’s one more bubbly feeling.

She smiles at him, nods her head and his smile spreads on his face, the crinkles around his eyes deepens. Y/N cradles his face with one hand, letting the pad of her thumb travel over the crinkles that she loves so much.

Dean kisses her then, still smiling and chuckling.

“The baby’s probably excited to see the stars too.” She whispers into the kiss, wonders how long it’ll take for them to feel a real kick, for Dean to feel it.

CH03

#sky full of stars #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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wangxiangiftexchange · 3 years

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for journalsofagoddess

Happy Winter Solstice @journalsofagoddess!! <3 I hope you like your gift!! this was so much fun to write! I tried to fit as many of the original prompts/"likes" in as possible, so in here you'll find elements of fluff, h/c, horror, humour, modern au, a sprinkling of family!wangxian...

Title is from a fantastic song by No Resolve that is very wangxian, even if it has nothing at all to do with this fic! concept inspired loosely by fleurmatisse's spooky possession fic, minus some of the spookiness? :D

Warnings: light horror, mentions of injuries.

Read on AO3

*****

dancing with your ghost

The snow is just starting to stick to the pavement by the time Wei Ying makes it home.

The sky outside has been heavy and dark with clouds since the morning, but had only broken open as he left the client’s house. He closes the door on their suddenly white-coated and wet front stoop and takes a minute to shake the melted snow out of his hair.

“Hey,” he calls into the empty hall as he scrapes his boots on the mat, “I’m back!”

He bends down to untie his laces and his wrist gives a sharp twinge. In all of the excitement of the afternoon and the unexpected snowfall, he had almost forgotten that he had crushed it beneath him when he fell. He resigns himself to undoing his boots one-handed to not agitate it any further—it’s probably nothing serious, but between regular injuries and the growing threat of carpal tunnel that comes with age, Wei Ying isn’t sure he needs to take the risk.

Ghosts are always bad, as winter sinks into the city. The short days and cold nights make up the perfect breeding grounds for things that lurk in shadows and feed on melancholy.

Wei Ying doesn’t mind the ghosts, of course: as a self-certified freelance ghost hunter extraordinaire, he has been getting more than enough calls to keep busy. His days are longer, brining him home well after dark, but only ever sweetens the coming home. Lan Zhan disagrees, of course—he would rather Wei Ying be home more often, and not take on so much, but as long as they are still splitting bills half and half, this is the best solution.

The thought of his husband is clearly enough to summon him: Lan Zhan appears at the end of the hall. He’s dressed for a comfortable evening at home. Wei Ying waves, and doesn’t quite manage to hide the wince when his wrist stings again. The small smile that had started to grow at the edges of Lan Zhan’s mouth vanishes beneath a larger frown. His gaze is unerringly focused on Wei Ying’s wrist. Wei Ying doesn’t sigh out loud—he’s fine, really, and it was a stupid injury anyway. Nothing to be fussed over.

Lan Zhan does not get his psychic messaging.

“Wei Ying,” he says. Wei Ying kicks off his boots, giving up on the laces entirely. “You’re hurt.” It’s a question, even if it doesn’t sound like one.

“Messy job,” Wei Ying tells him with a bright grin. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff these people were just letting lie around in their attic.” It hadn’t been the worst job he’s ever done—surprisingly few dead mice, and no asbestos--but also not exactly what had been described in the email. Part of the reason Wei Ying is back so late tonight were the—“piles and piles of masks, Lan Zhan,” he complains, unwinding his scarf one-handedly, “and not the nice kind. They all had bleeding eyes or human teeth.”

The actual email had just described an old costume collection and some thumps in the night. They hadn’t been wrong, exactly, but Wei Ying spent an hour clearing all of the clothing debris to the edges of the room before he could actually get a sense for the space. It had been a waste of time, and with the woman and her son standing there and watching him without lifting a finger, it had taken much longer than necessary. “It wasn’t even the masks that were haunted,” he complains. “They were just freaky and maybe a little bit cursed.”

He looks up just in time to recognize the beginnings of actual worry in Lan Zhan’s expression. It’s the face he makes when he wants to volunteer to come with Wei Ying on ghost hunts, despite his students, or ask him never to put himself in harm’s way again. Wei Ying is sure he’d prefer that he were in any other line of work than freelance exorcism, when it so often involves Wei Ying jumping in, at least a little underprepared, and dealing with everything from bathtub water ghouls to cat fierce corpses.

So, Wei Ying shuts himself up, pressing a quick kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Nothing dangerous,” he promises his husband. “I just tripped, I’m not hurt-hurt.”

“Your wrist,” Lan Zhan says, still frowning, the faintest crease marring his forehead.

Wei Ying pats his husband’s chest with the hand that doesn’t hurt, and tells him, “I’ll let you put ice on it, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Lan Zhan looks at him with an expression that says clearly that it should also make Wei Ying feel better, but he ignores it. Today’s job hadn’t even been awful—just weird, and unsuccessful for the most part. He’ll have to go back another day, at least. Just another paycheck.

“You look cold,” Lan Zhan adds as they move to the living room. He offers Wei Ying a hoodie from his collection—not that Lan Zhan wears hoodies, but he owns enough alumnus merch that Wei Ying coopts them for nefarious husband purposes such as lounging around on their couch. Between that and the fact that Lan Zhan has always had a possessive streak that liked seeing Wei Ying in his clothes… well, there’s certainly no reason not to pull it on.

“Nah,” he says, “it started snowing on my way home, though. We might have to shovel tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan hums, “our shovels are in the shed.”

Wei Ying still feels icky with the cloying resentful energy that had swamped the attic. It happens often when the ghosts are particularly resentful: the energy soaks deeper into him—partly his own fault, since he essentially makes himself a conduit, but hardly a pleasant sensation. On his walk home, he usually spends time cleansing himself of the dredges as much as he can, but then it had started to snow…

Lan Zhan presses a quick kiss to his nose, there and gone again. “Come warm up,” he says. “There is dinner, if you are hungry.”

Wei Ying takes stock—he’d had a hot dog from the place around the corner of his make-shift office at lunch, plus a couple of stale cookies the owners of the house had offered him before he started work. They were awful, of course, but you never deal with any hauntings on an empty stomach—that’s just asking to be possessed. His stomach is still turning, though. Probably just resentful residue, but he’s not going to chance it turning into nausea.

“Maybe later,” he says. “I’m going to shower. Choose something for us to watch?”

Lan Zhan smiles—just barely, but it’s definitely there—and Wei Ying leans up to kiss him, barely more than press of his lips against his husbands’. He’s so warm, a furnace, and Wei Ying wants to wrap himself in him and never let go. The resentment soaking him doesn’t like that thought at all-- he can feel it like something oily against his skin, slithering down his spine in distaste or maybe anger. Wei Ying isn’t about to find out, though, so instead, he smiles into the kiss so Lan Zhan can feel it, and pulls away.

Lan Zhan keeps holding his hand, their fingers intertwined. “Not too long,” he says.

“I would never,” Wei Ying jokes, and kisses him again. It’s always a little intoxicating, being in Lan Zhan’s presence, and his love of long showers won’t keep him away.

The resentment starts to slide off in the shower, pretending it was never there. The hot water pounds down on Wei Ying’s skin turning it rosy and wiping away the last bits of lingering fear and anger along with the last of the chill. He can feel his frozen toes again, wiggles them against the porcelain and watches them turn pink. He should probably buy winter boots, he thinks, if his steel-toed ones aren’t going to be warm enough to last through the rest of the winter hunts.

The last of the energy, the cloying bit that hooked its greedy fingers under his skin, swirls away down the drain. It’s invisible to the naked eye at such low concentrations, but Wei Ying can sense it. He can feel the gluiness of these residues, non-Newtonian and sticky, in ways that even most cultivators couldn’t pick out. He’s spent years, after all, figuring out how to manipulate resentful energy as best he can to help other people, and he’s good at what he does, takes pride in it. He knows Lan Zhan is proud of him, too, no matter how worried he gets.

There is a moment after he has toweled off, when he’s pulling on clean boxers and Lan Zhan’s hoodie that he thinks he sees someone in the mirror. It’s the same feeling as when the lights are turned on in a previously dark room, the moment before all the shadows are banished, when eyes can be tricked into believing that there is someone, a figure, standing there and watching you from the corner—

Wei Ying stares at himself carefully, but it doesn’t happen again. His day has been stressful and longer than it should have been-- all that staring into all of those eyeless masks--he’s probably just haunted by the contorted porcelain faces. Besides getting home late, that’s the only other problem that working in the ghost industry brings: a teensy bit of justified paranoia. He towels off his hair and leaves the towel behind.

Lan Zhan is already sitting on the couch, curled comfortably in his corner, though his eyes find Wei Ying as soon has he enters the room. On the TV, the screen is paused on the opening credits of a C-drama that neither of them watch for the plot but is perfect for the kind of night Wei Ying needs. There’s an open box of crackers and some hummus on the table; their massive first aid kit in Lan Zhan’s lap.

Wei Ying isn’t sure he’ll ever stop being struck by just how well Lan Zhan knows him. His husband, his zhiji, has proven time and time again to be the very best thing that has ever happened to Wei Ying, and he will spend the rest of his life thanking him for it. He slides onto the couch next to Lan Zhan, curling into his side, and rests head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan turns the TV on, volume down low, and the opening theme begins to play. Wei Ying lets himself relax.

“Let me wrap your wrist,” Lan Zhan says quietly, pulling a tensor bandage out of the kit.

“Lan Zhan, it’s really not necessary—” Wei Ying starts, even as Lan Zhan lifts his hand onto his lap. He quells his token protests at the look on Lan Zhan’s face. He still looks worried and tense. Wei Ying wonders if they’ll have to talk about it after all. Lan Zhan begins wrapping his wrist.

“You should be more careful,” his husband says.

Wei Ying could protest, as he has many times, that he’s exactly as careful as he can afford to be—that sometimes, sure, he puts his safety to the side, but it’s always for a good reason. They’ve had the argument before, though, and it’s not—they don’t need to have it again, not tonight. Lan Zhan is efficient, wrapping his wrist firmly but not too tightly. He presses a kiss to the bandage afterwards, his eyes warm. Wei Ying can feel his cheeks heat.

“I feel better already,” he says, mostly joking, and gets a kiss to the lips as reward.

Like this, and in many other ways, they fit perfectly together. Lan Zhan’s hand falls on his thigh, a wide swath of warmth against Wei Ying’s bare skin. He pushes up into the kiss, not urgent, just chasing closeness. He laces their fingers together, pulls back momentarily and Lan Zhan sways toward him. In the low light, Lan Zhan’s eyes are almost golden. Wei Ying traces his features with his eyes, and kisses him again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, moments later. Lan Zhan has dared to bite his lip, albeit gently. “Don’t tease me now. Your husband is too tired.”

Lan Zhan looks skeptical but hums an agreement all the same, pressing one last kiss to his pouting mouth before settling back into the couch. It’s nearing late—Lan Zhan has gotten more flexible, with his sleep schedule, since they got together and since he left his old home behind, but he still starts flagging much earlier in the evening than Wei Ying does. He will probably be asleep by the time two episodes are over. Keeping that in mind, Wei Ying settles more firmly into Lan Zhan’s side, relishing the warmth.

He doesn’t focus on the screen, not really—instead, he spends his time mapping out the well-known lines of Lan Zhan’s palm with his fingertip. Lan Zhan bears this, as he always does, with patience. There is no small amount of fondness in his gaze when Wei Ying looks up at him. There don’t need to be words between them, right now, but Wei Ying asks anyway, “how was your day?”

Lan Zhan hums, glances down at their intertwined fingers, their matching rings. There is a fond look on his face.

“Good,” he answers after a minute. The love theme of the show is playing on screen, but Wei Ying doesn’t look away from Lan Zhan’s face. “Productive.”

“Good,” Wei Ying repeats. It’s been years since they worked together as cultivators—somewhere along the line, maybe when Lan Zhan discovered a passion for teaching only rivalled by his passion for music, or when Wei Ying’s business finally took off, the places where their work lives intersected disappeared. It’s been a long time since work and obligation were the only things they lived for. That’s why he doesn’t press, now, lets the comfort of the end of day settle between them. He presses a quick kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek, and then his lips, lingering and sweet. Lan Zhan is warm, so warm.

Wei Ying eats a couple of crackers. The characters on the screen reunite, long lingering gazes exchanged as the orchestral version of the love theme soars. Lan Zhan slumps a little against his shoulder, breaths evening out into the first stages of sleep. Outside, snow is still falling. Wei Ying gets distracted from whatever dramatic goings-on happen next—a sibling reunion, maybe? A lost identity, being rediscovered?--watching the flakes fall in the light of the streetlamp out their window. It looks like it’s gearing up to be a proper snowstorm. He might have to postpone his appointments, tomorrow, if it keeps up.

Lan Zhan’s breath puffs out against his shoulder. Wei Ying can see their reflection in the glass: Lan Zhan’s relaxed figure, his own, curling into him. Like this, no time has passed at all—Lan Zhan in sleep is timeless, the two of them could still be undergrads. He spends time tracing the sleep softened lines of Lan Zhan’s face, which is why it takes him a minute to realize that something is wrong with the picture. It’s only when he finally looks at himself that he realizes—

While he is looking at his own reflection, it is still staring down at Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying stills his thumb where it was rubbing gentle circles into Lan Zhan’s arm. In the reflection on the glass, his hand keeps moving, gently swiping across his husband’s bicep. His reflection—though there’s something wrong with it, now, something distorted, something in the eyes that is looking less and less like himself—cocks its head slightly and looks back at him. There is a smile, though not one that Wei Ying has ever worn, on its face.

Masks, Wei Ying thinks. False faces. The mirror in the bathroom earlier, the sense that had dogged him all the way home of being watched, the oily slick resentment that he brought home with him--

Wei Ying’s work bag is across the room. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the reflection to go get it. There is adrenaline, sudden and shocking, spurring itself through his veins.

When all else fails, get it talking.

“Good to finally meet you,” he tells it. He can’t be sure it’s actually in his reflection at all—it could be anywhere in the room, choosing only to manifest like this strange echo.

The person in the reflection smiles, but it doesn’t reach their eyes. They’re as hollow as the masks now, just empty void—completely black, not even the snowstorm outside visible behind them. The face is no longer Wei Ying’s at all, rounder and paler with soulless eyes and a bleeding mouth. In the reflection, the blood drips Lan Zhan’s forehead, marring lines on his smooth skin. Wei Ying doesn’t dare look down to check.

The voice is more like a rasp than anything, like the sound of a body being dragged on a hardwood floor. “Give it back,” it says. “It’s not yours.”

Wei Ying casts his memory back desperately. Had he taken anything from the house? Had he left anything behind? He knows better than to do that, he thinks.

“I really don’t think so,” he says, fighting down a sudden eerie chill as the room’s temperature drops, “sorry.”

The shadows in the room are growing, spilling out from everywhere the ceiling light in the hall can’t reach, playing like smoke across the ground. On the screen, in his peripheral vision, the figures are frozen in a loop, jerking like marionettes pulled back and forth. The figure hisses. Wei Ying’s eyes are burning trying to focus—he blinks, and his reflection is his own again. The dread doesn’t leave and none of the shadows recede. They grow darker.

He shakes Lan Zhan awake, gently.

“Sweetheart,” he says, trying not to let his panic run his words together, “we have a—situation.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, a little bit sleep dulled. He blinks his eyes open, slowly focusing. Wei Ying only has a second’s warning when Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide at something behind him before Lan Zhan is pushing him off the couch and onto the floor. “Wei Ying!”

“Sorry!” Wei Ying yelps, scrambling to his feet, “looks like work came home with me!”

There’s no time for regrets, now. He’s not sure what Lan Zhan saw behind him, but he can see and feel the way the shadows in the room are coalescing, turning into something solid, building itself from the ground up. Wei Ying pushes the coffee table away—the crackers go tumbling, but that’s a problem for later, because the two of them need to be standing somewhere without shadows. Whatever this thing is, it’s powerful enough to manifest inside their wards. He thinks bitterly of the lies the woman and her son had told in the emails, how much they minimized the issue, and can only reassure himself that he can charge appropriately. This is more, much more than the measly sounds in the night he went to deal with, and it is growing.

Lan Zhan clearly has the same thought. He is no longer half-asleep, his face stony and serious in a way that makes Wei Ying shiver. He and Wei Ying stand, back to back, in the now clear floor of the living room. Only the hall light and the ghostly jitters of the TV illuminate their positions.

“Give it back,” the faceless shadows hiss. “It’s not yours!”

Wei Ying sees it out of the corner of his eye—a movement on the screen. He drops to the floor just in time for the coalesced fog of dense, dark mist to sweep over him. Its edges are too sharp to truly be vapour, its weight in the air too solid. It disperses like gas, though, sinks back into the shadows around them.

Between one second and the next, the hallway light flickers and turns off with a quiet pop, leaving them with only the flickers from the television. Lan Zhan summons his spiritual guqin—not the one he uses for teaching traditional music, but the one he uses when he night hunts. The chord he strums echoes in the small space and splinters another burst of the coalesced shade before it can attack. Whatever it is building, the shape looks more human now, albeit longer, and still faceless. Probably once an adult male, if Wei Ying had to guess, purely based on the size of all the costumes he had to move out of its room.

Whatever it is—he’s looking forward to the research, once they survive this—its hands are wicked sharp and it has too many elbows. It swipes at them, and it comes from the wrong direction, so Lan Zhan’s next chord goes wide. Wei Ying almost manages to dodge. The sleeve of the sweater is shredded.

Lan Zhan looks grim. He plays a succession of three quick chords which are quickly overtaken as the noise, just a murmur until now, grows into a roar of sound. It sounds like a thousand whispers all layered on top of each other, and it takes Wei Ying a second to figure out what, exactly, it is saying—

“Give it back,” it groans, “give it back, give it back, give it back.”

Wei Ying knows he didn’t take anything from the creepy attic, much less the house. There was nothing there to take, for one—stale cookies and awful tea, moth-eaten robes and rancid makeup, a hundred masks without eyes--but that’s not what this ghost is after. Wei Ying’s heart is pounding. He needs his exorcism stuff—at the very least his flute, or some chalk for an array.

First, liberate, second, suppress, third, eliminate, he thinks and almost wants to laugh. Too late for liberation, since it’s clearly already as free as can be-- he’d make the joke if the situation weren’t so dire. Ideally, this would be the time to offer it what it wants, but since he has no clue, suppression is the best option. He doesn’t even have talisman paper on him, since he’s still wearing Lan Zhan’s sweater.

He’s wearing Lan Zhan’s sweater.

Costumes. All of the masks. Faces beneath faces, bodies under clothes, the makeup chest and the mirrors.

Wei Ying wonders how he didn’t see it before. He should have burned all of his clothes the minute he stepped in the door because if he brought this with him, wearing him like a second skin—

He rips off the sweater, ignoring how it catches on his earring sending it tumbling to the floor—he throws it at the memory of the person, now just a mass of resentment and terror—and the sweater bursts into flames.

It’s a brief fire, but enough to light every corner of the room. As one, the shadows disperse, melting away and sinking into the floor, flying out the window. The figure, at the centre of the bright light, vanishes completely, leaving only an afterimage on Wei Ying’s eyelids. The smoke alarm wails.

Wei Ying’s heart is still beating too fast in his chest, adrenaline still racing through his veins. There is a burn mark on the carpet, to the left of the couch, a large black charred piece, that smells vaguely of burnt plastic. It’s the only sign, besides the burnt-out hall light, that anything strange happened at all. Even the reflections in the windows are normal again.

Wei Ying jumps when the C-drama starts playing behind him.

Lan Zhan doesn’t. He banishes his spiritual weapon with a wave of his hand and moves to the kitchen where he disables the alarm. The apartment is silent, and still.

“What the fuck,” Wei Ying manages. He drags his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’s standing in the middle of their living room, wearing only boxers, because the ghost that followed him home didn’t, what, like him dressing in someone else’s clothes? This has to make top twenty, no, top ten weirdest ghost revenge plots he has ever had to deal with. He looks at Lan Zhan, who is staring back at him across the small expanse of their living-slash-dining room, face blank. “I’m so sorry,” he tells Lan Zhan, “I can’t believe—it followed me home—I should have known—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts. Wei Ying stops talking immediately, looks up at his husband. “There is no need for sorry, between us.”

“I mean,” Wei Ying says, staring at the mark in the rug, “usually I’d agree, but I think this kind of warrants an apology.” He digs at the mark with his toe. It’s not even warm anymore, just charred. “I destroyed the rug, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head and flips on the electric kettle. “I disagree,” he says calmly, as though Wei Ying hadn’t just accidentally invited in a clothing-obsessed ghost and also destroyed one of Lan Zhan’s hoodies. Sure, he has never worn them, but the point stands.

He gapes at his husband. “You were worried, before,” he blusters, “Why-- how aren’t you more freaked out about the ghost in our house?”

Lan Zhan takes two mugs out of the cupboard, and the marshmallows-in hot chocolate tin, too. There is the edge of a smile playing on his lips when he looks at Wei Ying again, made soft under the light.

He says, “this is an opportune time to rearrange the living room.”

Wei Ying laughs. It’s the last of the adrenaline—he’ll be crashing quickly after this—but suddenly it’s hysterical. He laughs until he can’t breathe, and keeps laughing.

“Lan Zhan,” he manages, still laughing, and stumbles into his husband’s waiting arms. They will definitely be having a conversation about the wards on their house, and possibly about Wei Ying’s safety—but that can happen tomorrow. Wei Ying muffles his giggles in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, waits until they subside. He looks up at his husband, keeping his arms hooked loosely around the back of his neck. Lan Zhan’s warm hands are on his waist.

“I love you so much,” Wei Ying admits.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, “and I, you.”

#journalsofagoddess #wangxiansolstice20 #*fics20 #*gifts20

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lihikainanea · 4 years

Note

The other ask was...what would happen if Tiger was in an accident and she had to go to the hospital and Bill was out of town and she didn't want him know and worry about her so she didnt tell him and he finds out later from a mutual friend.

Oh my goddddddddd babes, my soff heart.

Alright look, follow me here, alright? A little while ago, I wrote a small blurb on how tiger once totalled her car. What if this happened at the same time? But like, did he find out from a mutual friend, or did he come home and find her all banged up? God I don’t know let’s see where this goes.

Maybe Bill was indeed away somewhere. So tiger’s car gets smashed and all things considered, she’s mostly okay. Maybe a broken wrist, or at least a really badly bruised one. She’s got a black eye and a split lip from the air bag, the seatbelt left a huge, angry bruise across her chest and hell maybe it even cracked a rib. She’s shaken up and she’s actually hurt, but tiger has a lot of people in her life who love her--her parents, her friends circle. And even in her shook up state when all she wants is Bill, she can’t bear to throw this on him--because she knows how much it would destroy him, how worried he would be for her, how he would drop absolutely everything and come running to her side. Tiger is not alone, and maybe if she was this would be a different story, but she has...other people. And those people are not Bill, but in a time of crisis, they’re still people she loves and trusts and she’d rather lean on them than cause an absolute panic with Bill.

She’s brought to the hospital to be patched up, but when she sees the suture kit come out she breaks down, heaves, panics to the point where the doctors probably have to hold her down a bit, lest she fuck up her recently reset wrist or hurt her ribs even worse. In her delirium she yells for Bill, sobs for him, and the doctors probably decide that it’s better for everyone--including her--if they go ahead and sedate her a bit. Once she’s out they stitch up her lip, and thankfully her wrist doesn’t need a full cast so they wrap it instead and she’s wheeled out to where her parents are waiting. She spends a few days with them, just because she’s definitely going to need some help at least until the pain subsides.

And she doesn’t say a word to Bill. Despite how scared she is, the nightmares she’s getting, the flashbacks, the pain she’s in--every time he calls her, she fakes a happy voice, and doesn’t mention a goddamn thing.

He’s back a few weeks later and thankfully by then at least the black eyes have faded, the stitches in her lip have dissolved. Her torso is still a mess of cuts and bruises from the seatbelt--deep, angry contusions that still cause her breath to hitch every time she moves too quickly. Her wrist still has a thick padded bandage, but she’s wearing a big wool sweater that can mask it a bit. She’s still not sure how--or if--she’s going to tell him, but she definitely needs a plan because she knows the first thing he’s going to do is reach for her, back her up into the bedroom, pull her clothes off. She needs to find some excuse to just hold him off for awhile, until she heals and the marks are gone.

She didn’t anticipate it to work, really, but it was worth a shot.

And when he came in that night, unlocking her door and putting his suitcase down, he beamed when he saw her.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, “I wasn’t sure if you were home. I didn’t see your car.”

“It’s in the shop,” she says without missing a beat, “Needed an oil change and a tune up.”

He kicks off his shoes, opening his arms to her. She smiles wide, tucking in to them.

“Hi,” she greets, and he captures her lips in a deep kiss.

“Hi,” he murmurs when he breaks the kiss, “I missed you.”

And then he presses his chest to hers, pulling her in to a tight hug. Tiger clenches her eyes shut, gritting her teeth when he squeezes her, her ribs screaming in pain. He mistakes her gasp for one full of good emotions--that she missed him, and it feels good to be back in his arms--and to her complete horror he squeezes her even tighter. She has tears in her eyes when he finally pulls away, but thankfully--he misinterprets that too. Because at this point--how could he possibly know?

“You big sap,” he jokes as he swipes her cheeks with his thumbs, “Getting all emotional already.”

She smiles and fakes a bit of a laugh despite the stabbing pain it causes in her ribs.

“Come on, I made you food,” she tries as she turns to walk down the hall--anything to keep his mind away from the bedroom, and trying to take her clothes off.

It doesn’t work. In fact, it backfires. Spectacularly.

“Great,” he says cheerily, “But I’m going to devour you, first.”

And then he grabs onto her wrist--but it’s her bad wrist. And the shriek that tiger let out was the worst sound he had ever heard and he retracted his hand immediately as she clutched her wrist and choked back a sob. But the sudden movement, the deep inhale as she tried to breathe through the pain, also just sent a searing flash through her chest and ribs and she doubled over, clutching at them too. Bill is staring at her, panicked, but he tries to stay calm.

“Tiger,” he says calmly, “What happened?”

She breathes, a sharp inhale through her nose, and tries to stand up straight.

“Nothing,” she said, “Just my carpal tunnel acting up again.”

And she turns away because she can’t control the pain contorting her features anymore, but Bill isn’t buying it for one second. And he quickly moves, gets in front of her, and stops her in her tracks.

Before she can react he grabs her elbow, pulls up the sleeve of her shirt, and reveals the thick, intricate wrap on her wrist. Bill’s blood runs cold. Because like, here’s the thing, right? If tiger just hurt her wrist, she would have told him that in one of their conversations. The kid’s clumsy, she’s always getting little injuries here and there and it’s no big deal. But the fact that she got hurt, and that she didn’t tell him, means that she’s hiding something. It means that she’s much, much more hurt than what he’s just seeing here.

“Tiger,” he closes his eyes for a brief second to try and get his emotions under control, “What. Happened.”

She bites her lip, tries to avoid his gaze, but he grabs onto her chin softly. Her eyes well with tears.

“I got into a car accident,” she mumbles lowly. Bill doesn’t blink, his eyes are just glaring holes through hers, and he doesn’t let her pull her chin away.

“I’m okay,” she continues nervously, “I just got a little banged up.”

“Where else are you banged up, tiger?” he asks, and his voice is dangerously low. He’s not mad, he’s just absolutely terrified.

She sniffles, hesitates for a second, but then she grabs the hem of her shirt. She slowly lifts it over her head, wincing a little when she lifts her arms, and then tosses it to the side. She looks up at him, and waits for his reaction. His eyes are scanning her, widening in disbelief at the sheer amount and depth of the bruises littering her ribs and her chest, and he sucks in a breath.

“Tiger,” he whispers and his voice cracks, “Are you okay?”

She nods.

“It’s better now,” she says. Bill looks like he’s losing it, his eyes well with tears but he blinks them back, bending to get a better look at her ribs. He reaches a hand out, looking up at her for permission. She nods.

“Is anything broken?” he asks, and he softly glides his fingertips over her bruised skin.

“Two ribs,” she mumbles, “And a bruised sternum. All from the seatbelt.”

He bites his lip, but then in a flash he’s upright again, and he’s grabbing her face and kissing the hell out of her. She squeaks in surprise but then kind of melts into it, and I’ll bet the poor bean even cries. She didn’t like hiding this from him. She didn’t like lying. But she also didn’t like that he wasn’t here, that he couldn’t help her, take care of her. She hates that all of this happened. But now she’s just...she’s glad he’s here. Because that accident terrified her, it made her so scared, and even though she’s been surrounded by people taking care of her, all she wanted was him. And now he’s here, and he knows, and he can help. And she finally fucking feels safe again, for the first time a long time. The tears are wetting her cheeks and he’s swiping them away, kissing her harder until she can’t breathe. And when he finally breaks apart and rests his forehead on hers, his chest is heaving and his eyes are still closed.

“Tiger, why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. And it’s not accusatory in the least. He wants to be angry, wants to be so mad at her for keeping this a secret because if he had known then he could have helped. He wants to be furious, but he’s just....terrified. He’s so scared for her, and it’s so strong that it’s the only emotion he’s capable of feeling.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she sniffles, “I knew that if I told you, you would've dropped everything and come home. And I didn’t want you to do that.”

He’s silent, still just breathing her in, trying to absorb everything she’s telling him.

“Are you mad at me?” she mumbles. He opens his eyes, kisses her deeply again.

“I’m a lot of things right now,” he tells her honestly, his voice cracking, as he cups her cheeks again, “I’m angry that you hid this from me, yes. But more than that...I’m thankful that you’re only a little banged up, and that it wasn’t worse. I’m worried, because I know that you’re in pain. I’m scared, because I can’t even imagine how scared you must have been. And I’m glad that I’m home, so that we can figure this out together.”

She nods softly, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his chest.

“Tiger are you.....are you okay?” he asks again, and she nods.

“It was a lot Bill,” she says quietly, “And I’m glad you’re home.”

God, my soff heart, I’ll bet the sex is so goddamn sweet and gentle. Because let’s face it, tiger is banged up to high hell but there’s no way they’re not going to do it, because both of them need that closeness. Tiger needs to feel good again, needs to be reassured that he’s home now, and that everything will be okay. And for his part, Bill needs that closeness with her too, needs to make sure that she’s okay and just needs to feel her. His mind gets away on him-and you can’t blame the guy--he wasn’t there for the accident so he can only imagine how fucking bad it was, and how scared she was, how hurt she really was. He needs that closeness with her because it reassures him that she’s okay for the most part, she just needs some time to heal.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #angst

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agentwallflower · 4 years

Text

Supernova: Chapter 12

I just finished 17 all of 20 minutes ago, so writing is happening lol...

Anyway, so... I might need to take hiatus in October. My dominant hand is hurting pretty badly from work, and I don’t know if that’s going to get better. I might need to rest it for a while to make sure I don’t develop carpal tunnel (or push it even further if I do have it) so we’ll see. If I have to take hiatus, I’ll let you know at the start of the month.

If I’m not taking it, you’ll see me on... October 3rd, which means I am going to be hyped up on Nijigaku energy and useless to everyone. Get excited for that I suppose...

Anyway, thank you as always for reading and I’ll see you when I see you. Think happy thoughts for my poor, sore hand...

“Having fun yet?”

“Shut up, I hate you.”

A few hours had passed since the two had begun their training. Angel got a front row seat to it all, and in the end he found he wasn't too impressed. What sat before him was hardly a force of nature waiting to destroy anything that stood against it. Instead, she just looked like a frustrated 20 year old who didn't know how her powers worked.

Which... was pretty on the nose, he supposed. Hey, it wasn't like he was an English major or anything.

He had managed to get through a few chapters in the time it had taken Andy to go from standing to laying face down on the floor. It was a position he knew well from long nights of cramming during finals week. It wasn't a good look on anyone, but when your knees – did she even have those? - bent in weird ways, it took something familiar to the level of a rather pathetic horror movie. Honestly, he kind of felt bad for her.

Kind of – it was helping him get his homework done after all.

“Do you want to wrap it up for the day?” He closed his book to get a better view. Andy wasn't moving. She wasn't even breathing, not that he knew where to look. “Uh... you're not dead are you, cause you're not b-”

Andy's response oozed through the floor. “I don't.”

She rolled over onto her back, face blank. “And if I was dead, you'd be vaporized. So I guess you wouldn't be worrying about your homework.”

Maybe it was because they were spending time together, but Angel was starting to get the hang of figuring out her moods even without the tone behind them. This one, he figured, was clearly pissed off. That was something he knew well too – dare he say she was sulking over not being able to figure it out?

For an alien, she was being very human.

He shrugged his shoulders as he rose from his sitting position – oww, sitting in his work pants on hard floor was never fun. “You had a bad first session. It happens.”

“Did it happen to you?” Oh, there was some spite there. She was definitely acting rather human. He could only imagine what that would've sounded like had she been able to regulate tone. It would've probably been something fantastic to hear. She was a young 20 for sure.

He shrugged again. “No, but I was trained by Paladin and we shared a skill set. Just keep doing your weird Goku stuff, something should -”

In the blink of an eye, Andy was standing too. She was suddenly way too close for comfort. If she had been human, he would have picked up on her aura. The fact she didn't have one still set him off. He took a half step back – probably shouldn't have. She had him against the wall now, with very little distance between them.

“That's easy for you to say, you know what you're working with!” She grit her teeth, far too hard for any human without breaking something. Maybe the cover wasn't that fool proof after all. “I'm flying blind and all people can tell me is-”

Before she could say more, the door opened. Angel looked past Andy's solid shoulder, relief mixing with shock. There was an old man there, leaning on a cane he hadn't needed months prior. He was thinner, but his smile was still the same as he entered the room.

It had been three months since Paladin had come back to base.

“Are you two having fun?”

Andy let him go in favor of all but running to his side. “Uncle Leo, you're out of the hospital!”

“And you're out of the big house, I see.” He was smiling at her like she was his favorite grandchild. Something about that made Angel's stomach roll as he regained his bearings and defense aura. It was setting him off in the worst way.

Focus... his mentor could be friendly with anyone he wanted to be with. That was one of the perks of being an old man with cancer.

Andy's tone never changed, but her movements weren't as jerky. “Almost didn't get there. They actually shot me this time.”

“Well, they must've had a nasty surprise when that didn't work.” One eye focused straight on Angel. The psychic straightened under the gaze of his mentor. “Did they try to shoot you as well, Sky Rider?”

The man felt his face color under his helmet as he looked to the side. “They had a psychic, didn't really need it...”

Ah, projectiles. They had never been his friends, especially when he was stressed. Luckily Leo wasn't his teacher anymore, so he couldn't get a lecture over his piss poor control. Still, standing there with the feeling seeping over him, Angel very much wished he could vanish into the floor. That wouldn't happen of course; it wasn't in his skill set, just his wildest dreams when he managed to embarrass himself.

He did that a lot – it came with the territory.

“So, why are you here Uncle Leo? Did you need something?”

That monotone did wonders to drag him out of his pity party. It was as good a question as any, he figured. Maybe the old man was getting bored hanging around the hospital? It wasn't exactly fun, even when you were a psychic. In fact, being able to read minds tended to just make things worse.

“I figured I would stop by to see how you first day of training was going before you left.” He was gripping his cane pretty tightly though “And to encourage you to keep at it. We all have our rough beginnings. No doubt Sky Rider could tell you plenty of his if mine wouldn't suffice. After all, hovering a cow is hardly interesting now.”

The old man laughed, but it was weaker than it had ever sounded. It didn't take a genius to see just how pale he was, or how much he needed to lean on his cane. The only thing that had never changed was his smile. That was always like a thousand suns, no matter how sick he got.

Ever the hero... did he ever worry about himself?

They locked eyes, briefly. The smile that Leo wore on his face didn't quite reach his eyes, which were just so... exhausted. Angel's stomach fell at the sight of them, but he said nothing as he watched the two interact.

So... it was getting worse then. Then why let him out of the hospital?

“Kid, we gotta get you back before your mom gets home.” PT's voice called through the room. Andy was soon waving goodbye to them both – mostly Leo, he noted – and then it was just the two of them in the room. There was a tension there that he hadn't felt before. Maybe it had been there all along.

Shit.

Angel bent to pack up his books, very much aware of the man behind him. He swallowed hard as he stood, bag slung over his shoulders. He was the picture of a normal college kid if you took the gear out of the equation. With it... well, he was never known for being fashionable out of costume. Why worry about it when he was geared up?

“I see you were getting some work done with Andy.” There was humor in Leo's voice as he took a seat in the only chair. Briefly, his hand touched his side. However, he stopped the second he realized his protege was watching.

His face heated up under the visor. “I can't really help her. She's...”

His words fell as he made a vague gesture at the door. Leo nodded in time with his motions, face knowing. At least the two of them were on the same page. Lately, that was happening less and less as he grew into his own form of hero. It was nice to call back to it at least one before...

He shook his head. Wasn't going to put that into the universe.

“She needs a friend too, you know. You're probably the first person out of a lab coat to know.” He smiled again, and it came close to his eyes but missed by a metaphorical mile. “That'll help more than anything else.”

Angel shrugged his shoulders as he crossed the room to be with his former teacher. “Be nice if I understood the mechanics. I don't get anything off her. It's worse than being around you.”

“Welcome to what the rest of the world deals with!” Leo let out a short laugh, but then it turned into a brief, hacking cough that made his fellow psychic's stomach fall. He eventually had to grab a tissue from his pocket to cough into for a long couple seconds. Whatever it contained, he stowed it in his pocket before Angel got to see. “Sorry about that.”

He finally stood, but his footing seemed weak. When Angel offered his arm, he took it. Together, they entered back into the main room. Here, the mood was somber. Scanner was at their rig, but something about the set of their shoulders and the way they were typing gave the psychic pause. Not only that, Ember was there, smiling in a way that reminded him of glass that was about to shatter. When had she gotten back, and why?

Andy and PT said their brief goodbyes, and then headed towards the door. The moment it slid behind them, the room dropped five degrees as the boss lady sat down on the couch. Summer had turned to winter in the span of seconds, and he could feel the chill in his mind rather than his flesh.

Leo noted the shift and sighed. “I'm sorry to have upset you all.”

“Upset is putting it mildly.” Ember's voice cracked. “You're-”

Angel's stomach dropped into his shoes as he watched her lift her mask to dab at her eyes. It didn't work. Hot tears rolled down her face at a rapid pace, and her chest heaved with the effort. Scanner's shoulders were shaking now, and he was pretty sure he heard the tech choke back a sob.

Leo sighed as he leaned harder on Angel's arm. “Jocelyn... Sam...”

“No, Leo, we're not going to be ok!” Her golden eyes were burning with more fire than Angel had ever seen from her. “We thought you would be coming back after the chemo!”

Angel's stomach turned to pure acidic ice. A thousand possibilities flitted through his mind, landing on the one suggestion he had never wanted to give to the universe should it be listening. A cold swear formed on the back of his neck.

For a moment, the world stood still.

“You'll be ok without me. You're doing fine now.” Leo looked so much smaller than he had in the previous moment. “Jocelyn, you've become a wonderful leader. Have faith in yourself.”

The old man let go of his arm to reach for her shoulder. The two shared a moment, one that Angel an Scanner couldn't see. A thousand unsaid things passed between the two, from leader to leader. The set of her shoulders sagged, then straightened under the permanence of her new burden. Yet tears still trickled from her eyes.

He should've realized the whole 'not in the hospital' thing wasn't a good sign... but there was difference between bad and... this.

How much time did the old man have left anyway?

---

“I was studying, mom!”

“You were studying all night?!”

Andy could hear the argument through the floor, even though she was on the bed with a pillow over her head. It was more the symbolic concept than the fact that it could do anything that helped her – it was the sort of thing you were supposed to do when upset, right?

Well, she wasn't upset... but it was certainly aggravating.

Her sister and mother were going at it again. Since both could argue until the metaphorical cows came home, both would probably go until they were hoarse. With any luck, the older of the two wouldn't be able to talk tomorrow.

Of course, that just made her glances nastier. It was kind of a lose-lose situation they found themselves in.

“Hope Jen's ok.” Andy frowned as she pulled the pillow off her face. She technically wasn't banned from leaving, but she was pretty sure she was still grounded. Should she have disobeyed, that was definitely at least another week under house arrest.

But...

Her hand found the door that would open up to the ladder below. The arguing covered up her descent, and her heavy feet were masked by scream of where her older sister had been and whether their mother wasn't being a little too overbearing about things. For once, she was grateful for it as she crept to her younger sister's room and carefully knocked.

Jen all but pulled her in.

“You're going to get in so much trouble if mom finds out.” Anxious eyes darted, but Jen sighed in relief as she closed the door. “I hate when they get like that.”

Andy settled into a spot on the floor. “Me too. You going to be ok?”

Her sister took a spot back on her bed, where her phone was charging. “Yeah, I had my music playing. I didn't realize they were arguing until they overpowered the screaming.”

Well, Aunt Miri would be pleased in her niece's taste in music at the very least. Andy's shoulders shook at the thought as she lay on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Here, at least there were more things to look at. Jen liked putting star stickers on her ceiling. They were pale now, but tonight they would be absolutely glowing.

She had done a good job with the Big Dipper, but Sirius looked a little suspect...

“Are you feeling better?” Jen's big eyes were on her as she texted on her phone at supersonic speeds. “You were in the hospital for a long time again.”

Andy shrugged her shoulders as she vaguely pieced her cover story together. “Yeah, I'm doing better now. They have me going back for checks regularly though, so I'll be gone in the afternoons a couple days a week. You going to be ok with that?”

“I have practice, I'll be fine.” Jen frowned. “You're not getting sicker, are you? Uncle Leo hasn't been looking good lately...”

That got Andy sitting up as she waved her hands to dispel the thought. Her cover story was decent, but that was the downside. Go to the 'hospital' enough times, and someone's bound to wonder how far you were from death's door. She had definitely wracked up the hours and then some to say the least.

But damn, as bad as Uncle Leo?

“It's fine, just part of my condition.” She stopped waving. “Yeah, he's looking kind of rough. He stopped by to see me before he left.”

Jen's cheeks puffed slightly. “No fair, he didn't mention he was getting discharged! I was planning to go see him.”

Had she been able to, Andy would have laughed at her sister's puffed out cheeks. Instead, she felt her insides bubble happily as she sat there in the house's one safe area. They may have been screaming downstairs, but it was ok here.

“Sorry, I'll let him know to give you a call if I see him when I go back.” Her shoulders sagged. “Which... yeah I'll be back there a lot. They have me on a new process and the guy monitoring my process is a real a-.”

She paused. “He's a jerk.”

“I know the word 'asshole', Andy.” Jen's matter of fact tone gave the alien pause as the teen kept scrolling. “Whatever it is, you can do it. You're awesome.”

A thump downstairs meant Andy didn't get a chance to answer. Out the window, they could see that Sara had left the house and was rapidly heading to her car. The argument was over for now, which meant her mother would be on the war path.

The two exchanged glances. Jen spoke first, quietly. “I thought they would be arguing for a few more hours.”

“Guess even big sisters have a breaking point.” The alien winced as she heard footsteps. The afternoon was about to get a lot more annoying.

Better make that two extra weeks of house arrest at this point... but at least it had been worth it to help Jen feel a little better. Andy would have to remember that as she steeled herself for the fallout that was soon to come.

Maybe she should've let the FBI take her after all...

---

If you liked what you read, I have a ko-fi here!

#Supernova Collision Trilogy #writing #novel

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dubersbutt · 5 years

Text

Let Me Put Something In Your Life Pt. 3 - Tyler Seguin

A/N: So Tumblr is still stupid with links so If you wanna read the first two parts then go and look up the title on my blog, or check my masterlist

Summary: sugar daddy segs, that’s all

Warnings: Smut, Threesome

(Booty, booty, booty, booty)

You were sitting in Tyler’s office with your nose deep in a textbook when the door is abruptly swung open.

“Babe, I’ve been calling you for 10 minutes,” he says walking over to you and pressing kisses to your shoulder.

“Sorry, I was busy,” you reply as you turn your head to the side to lightly press your lips to his.

“You should come down because the food is here.”

“But it's only-“ you look at the clock and see that it’s almost 3 meaning you’ve been sitting here since Tyler left for practice at around 9.

“Shit, I didn’t even realize. I didn’t even know you came home.”

“I figured. But come on, you need to take a break and eat,” he doesn’t really give you much more of an option when he spins your chair around and practically yanks you out of the chair.

He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you on the lips.

“Hi, he says in between kisses, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sir.”

Your hands move down to rub him through his sweatpants so he gets the message.

“Right now? But there’s food downstairs.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

You continue to slip your hands in his sweats and lightly give him a few pumps, feeling him get harder beneath you, “Seems like you’re not either.”

He moves you to the small couch inside the room and pulls you onto of him. Knowing Tyler doesn’t like to do much work, you remove him from his pants and then take off your shorts. You slowly lower yourself onto his dick while letting out a moan.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice much deeper.

“Yes.”

You feel a light tap on your ass, “What was that?”

“Yes, sir.”

You pant as you move up and down, “Fuck, you feel so good, sir. I love when you fuck me.”

“Shit, baby.”

It doesn’t take long for both of you to reach your climax and redress yourselves to go eat lunch. Sex works up quite the appetite.

After lunch, Tyler leaves the kitchen and comes back with a small box in his hand.

“Another gift? Pour Moi?” you say batting your eyelashes. At some point, you had stopped trying to refuse Ty’s gifts.

“No, it’s for my other girlfriend.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just go ask my other boyfriend to get some something” you laugh at the annoyed face he makes.

“Careful, or I’ll spank you.”

“Promise?”

“Shut up and open it.”

He slides the box over to you and you lift the lid.

“Is this-“

“A vibrator? Yeah. I figured when I’m away I don’t want you getting carpal tunnel.”

“How thoughtful of you, sir.”

“Easy babe, I just ate. I need a nap.”

“Then go take your nap and I’ll take care of my self,” you start to put the vibrator in the pocket of your sweater when Tyler holds your wrist.

“Yeah about that, if you want it then you only use it when I’m gone.”

“Excuse me,” you raise an eyebrow. He can’t be serious.

“You heard me,” he smirks and puts the slim silver object in his own pocket.

He’s almost at the stairs when he turns back to you, “hey how do you feel about Jamie?”

“Is this a trap? Because you know that I think he’s good looking”

He laughs, “No. He was just asking about you, I think he has a cruushhh,” he stretches out the word crush and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Are you 13?”

“And a half,” he starts to go back up the stairs.

“Are you coming? I need to try this thing out on something.”

You’ve never run up stairs faster in your life.

~~~

The worst part about dating Tyler was having to say goodbye to him before road trips.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says with his arms around you and kissing you softly. The two of you are standing in the foyer with the dogs waiting patiently for their turn to say goodbye to their dad.

“I’m gonna miss you too. Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

“And we’re gonna have to put your gift to good use later, ”you say as you give him another kiss.

He lets out a small gasp, “(Y/N), the children.”

“Shut up, you goof.”

When he finally lets go of you the dogs come rushing forward to say goodbye. He takes his time giving each some love before he leaves, closing the door behind him. Marshall and Cash leave to go to their normal doggy routine while Gerry stares at the door, still young enough to miss Tyler every time he leaves.

~~~

The call comes at around 6 pm. You were sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover pasta when your phone starts buzzing. You call the dogs from the next room over so that Tyler can talk to them. When you pick up the phone Ty is shirtless, surprising, and the dogs are practically mauling you to try and see their dad. “Hey, Ty,” you try to say under the mass of fur.

“Hey, babe, you wanna move from under the dogs.”

“I’m trying,” you yell. You manage to run up the stairs so you can get away.

“Okay, I am away from the children,” you pant.

“Out of breath? Maybe I should take you to the gym to do some cardio.” “Or we could just have more sex.” “I don’t know if I can handle that, you already wear me out.” You laugh, “Getting old there, Ty?” “Oh you girls and you multiple orgasms, you think you’re so great.” “I have to say Tyler, it is pretty great.”

He lets out an annoyed huff of air.

“I left you a present in the closet.” It takes you a while to find it. First, Tyler said that he wanted you to find it all by yourself, but then, after watching you run around the closet for 10 minutes trying to find it, he tells you.

“Behind your dress shirts? Why the fuck would I look there?” You take the cardboard box, wrapped in duct tape, into your room and sit on the bed. You prop Tyler on the pillow and open it.

“Why is this one like this? I can break a nail on this box,” you complain.

“Sorry, it was supposed to come a few days ago so I didn’t have any time to make it nice.” “If I break my nail then you owe me head. But if you don’t then you still owe me head,” you look at him as you manage to rip it open.

“Deal,” he laughs.

You do eventually end up opening the box, thankfully all 10 nails are still attached to your fingers. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t what you found in the box.

“Is this a-”

“Dildo of my dick? Yeah, made just for you.” You thought it looked familiar. It was a dark green colour, the same colour as the Stars jersey. Long and thicker at the base like you’ve grown accustomed to over the past few months.

“They didn’t have anything bigger?” “I swear to god, if you make fun of that stupid interview one more time,” you can tell that he just sounds annoyed. He doesn’t mind your playful banter. “Hey, you’re the one who outed yourself, not me, flat ass,” you raise your hands in surrender and laugh at him.

“Well, I was planning on letting you use it, but now…” he trails off with a small smile.

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” You say as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Atta girl. Take off your shirt,” he says and you see him settle himself back on the couch.

You do as he asks and you hear him let out a groan, leaving you in just your bra and pants.

“You have the most gorgeous tits. Let me see them.” You reach behind you and let your bra fall down your arms, “Let me see you too, Ty.”

He moves the camera down and shows his semi-hard dick in his sweatpants. He grabs himself through his sweatpants and lightly strokes himself, “You get more when I get more.”

You take that as your cue to remove your pants and move your hand in your panties and rubbing circles on your clit. You prop yourself on your other arm call and ask Tyler what he wants you to do next.

“Fuck, grab either the dildo or the vibrator and take off your panties,” he finally takes off his sweatpants to show you his dick, hard and turning pink with precum starting to pool at the tip. You grab your new toy because it’s closer. “Take it and just rub it against you, but don’t put it in. I’ll know.” You follow his instructions, rubbing the fake dick along your folds, feeling yourself become wetter.

“Please let me fuck myself, sir,” you pant.

“Shit, you look so perfect like that. Fine, fuck yourself. But slow,” his voice is low and gruff and you can’t help but whimper at his request.

You slowly slide the dildo inside you, throwing your head back with a moan. You start to move it out again, “Fuck, Tyler. I miss you” “I miss you too baby,” you can see him start to move his fist faster, “say my name.”

“Tyler,” you moan out again, “Let me fuck myself faster like you would.”

“Ask nicely.” “Please, sir. Please let me fuck myself.” “Fuck, I love when you beg. Yes, baby, go ahead, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You start to move the dildo faster. You lie back on the bed and spread your legs so Tyler still has a good view. You start moaning out more when you get closer to your orgasm. “Fuck, Ty, please let me cum.”

“Yes, baby.” Those two words are all you need before you let yourself fall over the edge and explode into bliss. You hear Tyler call out your name and you’re brought back to reality and lift yourself up to grab the phone.

“I miss you,” he says.

“It’s only been one day.” “I know, but I miss you.” “I miss you too.”

You hang up and stay on the bed for a while before getting up to clean yourself up.

~~~

When Tyler returns home you can tell he’ll probably be upset considering the fact that the Stars lost 3 out of the 4 games on their last roadie. You hop into the shower before Tyler’s plane lands, expecting him to be upset. When you step out and check your phone, you see that you have a missed call from Tyler. Pressing the phone to your ear you started to get ready in a style you liked to call semi-causal sexy. Which, this time consisted of Tyler’s favourite shorts, they barely covered your ass and were soft and fluffy like regular pyjama pants, and a tank top.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Wassup, babe. You gonna be home soon?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to ask you if you minded if Jamie comes over. We’ll bring food.”

Well, shit, that meant you had to wear a bra.

“Ty, it’s your house. You don’t have to ask me.” “Well I just thought I’d warn you in case you were planning a sexy surprise,” you can hear Jamie cough in the background.

“Are you sitting right next to him, asshole?”

“Yeah, and you’re on speaker,”

You hear a weak hello from Jamie.

“Hey, James. Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t answer the phone the way I wanted to.”

Poor Jamie coughs again while Tyler laughs.

“Alright babe, I should go before Jamie has a heart attack from embarrassment.”

You blow dry your hair and when you’re finished you can hear the garage door open and the dogs scurrying to see who has arrived. You put on a robe, leaving it untied, and go downstairs.

When you get to the kitchen Tyler’s pulling out for from a bag and Jamie is nowhere to be found. You walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Hi,” you say as you press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Hi,” he replies and turns around slipping his hands around you and under your tank top. He leans down to kiss you again and you melt into his touch.

The two of you forget about the food until you hear another cough from Jamie. You pull yourself away from Tyler and the blood rushes to your face when he gives your ass one last squeeze.

“Hi, Jamie.”

“Hi, (Y/N),” he replies. You had met Jamie a few times after your first meeting the bar, and the two of you had gotten along well enough.

“What’s for food?” you ask.

“I got Thai from that place down the block,” you have to keep yourself from showing your disappointment, Tyler loved that Thai place and you did not, “Relax. I know you don’t like it so I picked you up tacos from the Mexican place next to it.”

“Oh you know me so well,” you say as you jump up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

The three of you eat while chatting a little. You try to keep the conversation light since the comments bashing Jamie specifically had just arose. You also didn’t want to remind them of their frustrating road trip either. They tell you about the prank they pulled on their rookie.

“So we took Miro’s laces out of his skates and then used them to tie his gloves and his sticks together,” Tyler recalls red-faced from laughing.

“He was 7 minutes late for practice so coach made him skate 7 laps,” Jamie adds on also laughing.

“That’s so mean. Leave him alone,” you say lightly swatting Tyler on the shoulder lightly.

“That’s nothing. My rookie year the guys ordered a stripper at the place I was staying at when my mom was visiting,” Jamie said.

“Really?”

“Yo, I didn’t know about this,” Tyler says.

“Because I don’t like talking about it. But they didn’t know my mom was there.” You can’t help but laugh at the image of a young, 20-year-old Jamie Benn, probably just as socially awkward as he is now, red-faced because of a stripper visiting his house while his mother was in town.

“What did you do?” you manage to say in between laughs

“I couldn’t move or say anything. My mother was one room over and she asked who was at the door and I froze.”

“Did she find out?” “Considering the fact that she had “Naughty Girl” by Beyonce blaring, I think my mom figured something was up.”

“So she didn’t see you two together?” Tyler asks, the two of you very invested in this story.

“Oh no, she did. Seeing my mother was the only thing that made her stop stripping.” “Of course that happened to you,” at this point, Tyler’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it and he’s laughing so hard you’re not sure that he’s getting oxygen.

“Maybe we should ask Miro when his family’s visiting,” Tyler finally manages to say once he’s controlled himself.

“No you won’t,” you say, “the poor kid goes through enough with you guys making him skate laps.”

“Trust me, I would have gladly skated a thousand laps then go through that,” Jamie says shaking his head and sipping his beer.

~~~

Eventually, the three of you decide to watch a movie in Tyler’s media room. Tyler sits in the corner of the couch and you snuggle up next to him. Jamie’s about to sit on the couch next to you when you call out to him.

“Hey jam jam, come sit with us,” you say and pat the spot next to you with your foot.

“Jam jam?” he asks with an eyebrow raised.

“You need a nickname. Why don’t you like it?” you bat your eyelashes at him.

“I can get used to it,” he smiles at you.

Tyler whispers in your ear, “you know he doesn’t like it. He’s just trying to make you happy because he liiikes you.”

You just roll your eyes.

Ten minutes into the movie you notice Jamie’s hand is kind of awkwardly hovering above your leg like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. You take his hand place it on your knee.

“You know you can move it higher, chubs. I don’t mind sharing,” Tyler says unexpectedly.

“Fuck. You sure?” Jamie breathes out.

“You good with this (Y/N)? We won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Tyler asks.

You nod your head.

“I need to hear words, baby.”

“Yes, sir.” you hear another soft fuck leave Jamie’s mouth.

You feel Jamie’s hand move up your thigh and it stays there for a while. You can tell him and Tyler are having a silent conversation, but you can’t see what’s going on since your head is still on Tyler’s chest.

Eventually, you feel Jamie pick you up and move you so your head is on his chest. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy being manhandled. His hand rests on the waistband of your shorts for a moment before slowly, hesitantly making their way inside.

“You know, Jamie, if I didn’t want this I would have said it already,” you say trying to urge him along.

It seems to work because soon he’s slipping his hand underneath the band of your underwear and rubbing circles on your clit. You let out a soft sigh to let him know to continue.

“She likes when you rub the heel of your palm against her and finger her at the same time,” Tyler says from across the couch. His eyes are still on the TV but you doubt he’s paying much attention to it.

Jamie follows his instructions and you moan loudly, throwing your head back a little. You look Jamie in the eye and say, “so you can finger me in front of my boyfriend, but you can’t kiss me?”

“Oh, she’s a feisty one isn’t she?” Jamie asks as leans down to kiss you. While you're distracted, he slowly adds a second and then a third finger.

You hear Tyler agree and laugh. Your chest starts to rise and fall faster as you get closer to your climax.

“Excuse me, (Y/N), did I say you could come? Just because there’s a guest doesn’t mean that the rules have changed,” Tyler says knowing you're close to your orgasm. He’s no longer looking at the TV but he tells Jamie to move his hand faster. Jamie listens and now the shocks of electricity begin to build even more.

“Fuck, sir, please-fuck- let me come,” you plead.

“Mmm, no,” he says but Jamie continues to move his fingers in and out.

“What? You asshole,” you yell and you hear Jamie laugh from above you,

“You’re an asshole too.”

“I really don’t think you should be saying that,” he says and stops all movement.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m just horny.” you beg and he restarts.

At some point during your conversation, Tyler has moved in between your legs and has started to pull down your shorts and panties. He doesn’t even bother to take them off, just leaves them pooled at your ankles.

“Okay, now you can come.”

As soon as the words leave his lips you fall over the edge, and let out a loud moan. You stay with your head pressed against Jamie’s chest panting, as he slowly pulls them out.

“You should taste her,” Tyler suggests. Jamie lifts his hand and sucks his fingers clean. You whimper at the sight but Tyler scoffs, “I’m surprised you did that ‘Mr. I don’t box munch’”

“Okay, shut up. That was years ago. I’ve had girlfriends that changed my mind,” he rolled his eyes.

“Jam jam, you said that?” you questioned in shock.

“It was a long time ago. I’ve changed,” he says exasperatedly.

“Prove it,” if you were being completely honest, you didn’t care what he said or didn’t say, you just wanted to get your pussy ate.

He picks you up again easily and lies you down on the couch where he settles in between your legs. Your head is now in Tyler’s lap and he runs his fingers through your hair. You feel Jamie’s tongue on your pussy, slowly licking a long stripe up. He circles his tongue around your clit and inserts a finger. Meanwhile, Tyler, not wanting to be left out, lifts your tank top above your breasts to reveal your bra.

“Why are you wearing this,” he says as he reaches around you to unclasp it and pull it off.

“‘Cause you said, Jamie, is gonna-fuck-come over. I didn’t-shit-wanna be rude, fuck,” you manage to pant out somehow through sex hazed brain.

Tyler starts to pinch your nipples, rolling each one between his fingers.

“Do you feel good, baby? Do you like Jamie eating your pussy?” Tyler asks.

“Yes, sir.” “But you remember that you’re mine, right?”

You don’t get to answer because your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and you’re screaming something, you’re not even sure what at this point.

You’re limp from your back to back orgasms but you feel Tyler pull you off his lap. When you come back down to reality you realized that Tyler has left the room and Jamie’s still lazily lapping at your core, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Where’s Ty?”

“He went to go get something.”

You eventually have to remove Jamie’s head from you because you can’t handle the over stimulation. You sit up and look at Jamie, there’s an obvious tent in his sweats and he’s still fully clothed.

“Thank you for that,” you say kissing him. You moan when you taste yourself on him. You start to raise his shirt off his body but he stops you.

“Not right now.”

You pout but get down on your knees in front of him, “at least let me return the favour.”

He doesn’t stop you when you lower the waistband of his sweats and pull him out, fully hard and leaking at the tip. You lick your lips in anticipation as you move your thumb around the tip and spread the little bead of pre-cum. You put your mouth around the tip and start to take Jamie’s dick little by little. He was a quite a bit thicker than Tyler, longer too, so you had to relax your throat some more.

As you start to slowly bob your head you slip your hands under his shirt and run hand your hands along the taut muscles that lied underneath his shirt. And then raking your nails down his abs and along with his well-muscled thighs. As you suspected, Jamie is quiet both in bed and real life, but you did manage to get a few moans here and there and one very soft whimper noise.

“Well, I went to go get a condom because I thought Jamie would want to fuck you, but he’s already busy.”

You pull of Jamie’s dick long enough to say, “you can still fuck me, sir.”

“You just had two orgasms and you already want another?” to which you just nod, “God, James, if she keeps this up then I’m going to need you to come over more often.”

“I’m okay with that,” Jamie says softly.

Tyler crouches begins you where you’re sitting with your hands and mouth on Jamie’s lap, and your bare ass in the air. You feel Tyler run his hand along your ass cheek and giving it a light slap.

You let out a small yelp and jerk forward on Jamie’s cock a bit, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“She’s so good at this,” Jamie says just barely loud enough to hear.

“If you think her mouth is good then you should feel her pussy.”

“Next time.”

You can’t help but get excited for next time, even though this time isn’t over yet.

Tyler lines himself up with your folds and just runs his dick along them a bit, “you good with this, (Y/N)”

Unable to speak due to the dick in your mouth you just give Tyler a thumbs up and you hear him chuckle but he starts to slowly push himself into you. By the time he’s half ways, you cannot contain yourself anymore and moan around Jamie’s dick. He, in turn, lets his head drop over the back of the couch in ecstasy.

You move your hands back to his shirt and start pawing at it to get it off.

“She likes to run her fingernails up and down your chest when she’s blowing you. Take off your shirt, you won’t regret it,” Tyler says slowly picking up the pace.

“If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could have just asked,” Jamie says as he finally takes off his shirt and throws it god knows where. You take the opportunity to scratch your nails a bit harder, enjoying the faint pink lines you leave behind.

Despite wanting to laugh at his comment you couldn’t really because of your current situation. But you do pull off Jamie long enough to tell Tyler to fuck you harder.

Tyler does what you ask, the sound of skin slapping on skin obscene, but you moan around Jamie some more. You can tell he’s getting close by the rapid rise and fall of his chest and you bring your hands onto his thighs, digging your nails into his the hard muscle there. He wraps his fingers in your hair as he climaxes, shouting your name. You try to swallow all of his cum but a little bit dribbles out onto your chin.

Now that you could focus on Tyler fucking you, you called his name urging him on. Your third orgasm of the night was fast approaching and Tyler reaches around your wait to rub at your clit.

“Come on baby, come for me. You’ve been such a good girl.”

“Ah, fuck, TYLER!” You scream as you come, your orgasm hitting you like a train. You can only hold yourself up on your forearms as Tyler pounds into you. His thrusts are much sloppier now meaning he’s almost finished. Soon you feel the familiar warmth of his cum fill you up, yelling your name as he finishes.

When he slowly pulls out he flips you onto your back as you start to come down from your high.

“You got something on your face,” Tyler says as he wipes the little dribble of Jamie’s cum from the corner of your mouth and making you suck his thumb clean.

After a few minutes, Tyler tries to nudge you with his foot.

“Come on, get up. Last time you slept on the floor your back was fucked.”

“If you think I’m in any state to walk right now then you are very sadly mistaken, sir.”

You can hear Jamie laugh and then all of a sudden you’re being picked up in Tyler’s arms.

“Let’s go, princess.”

As soon as Tyler places you on the bed you’re asleep. You vaguely feel him wiping your thighs with a wet washcloth between your thighs. You assume Tyler leaves to say goodbye to Jamie and let the dogs out but when he returns he presses himself against your back and the two of you sleep peacefully.

#nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #hockey smut #tyler seguin #tyler seguine imagine #tyler seguin smut #mine #series #let me put something in your life

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orangeoctopi7 · 5 years

Text

Liars

Spider Stan AU Chapter 5 Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been distracted by other fandoms. Also trying to apply to Grad School again. As such, don’t expect the next chapter until after November.

It had only been a couple of days, but already Fiddleford was about ready to smack these brothers. They barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was clear they were walking on eggshells. Every so often, either Stan or Ford would take a bitter tone with the other, and McGucket hoped they were on the brink of actually talking about their issues, but each time, it just resulted in a heated argument. Twice now, Stan had driven off in his car, and Ford had stormed out into the woods. Ford came back first, worrying that Stan had left for good this time. Each time Stan had eventually returned, murmuring that he knew Ford wanted to run more tests.

That was another thing that had been bothering McGucket. The tests they’d run the first day had been interesting, to be sure. Stan’s nervous system, his immune system, all of his senses, were faster than any normal human’s. But there was nothing to indicate that his mutation was continuing or that it had any ill effects on Stan. If anything, Stan was healthier than he should have been, considering his living conditions. But Ford insisted on running more each day. Testing the extent of Stan’s strength, his flexibility and reflexes, whether he could see in the dark, how he stuck to walls, anything, it seemed, that Ford could think of. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think this went far beyond just checking to make sure Ford’s brother wasn’t negatively affected by his mutation.

McGucket decided to air his grievances while he and Ford were alone, looking at some X-rays of Stan’s hands.

“Incredible! Look at this!” Ford pointed to some faint lines running between the phalanges and metacarpals, “Normally, in a human being, these muscles are vestigial, useless. But Stan’s mutation somehow enlarged and invigorated them. That must be how he can hold himself up just by sticking to a wall!”

“Well, that certainly is fascinatin’.” McGucket agreed. “D’you think it’ll lead to overcrowding with his other muscles? Arthritis? Carpal-tunnel?”

“Mmm, no. Stan’s hands are rather large and meaty. There should be plenty of room. And it actually lessens the stress on his joints.”

“I see....” McGucket nodded, making a mental note to try and replicate the effect on a robotic joint later. “Ford, don’t ya think this is beginnin’ to go well beyond jus’ lookin’ after yer brother’s health? It’s pretty clear he’s fit as a fiddle, heck, even more fit than yer average athlete!”

“Well… yes, but… there’s still more to do… to, uh, study the long-term effects…”

“Stanford, please, you gotta start bein’ honest with yerself. And with him!”

Ford flinched. “Him who?” he asked nervously.

“Your brother! Who else?”

“Oh. Of course. I-I mean…” the researcher huffed a short sigh. “I know, sooner rather than later, he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can from him until then.”

“Well, he’s already left twice, and ya spent a good hour or so worryin’ he was never gonna come back.”

“Be-because if he leaves, we’ll lose a great research opportunity!”

“But he’s come back each time. Supposedly because he knows ya wanna run more tests on him.”

“Fiddleford, if you’re trying to make a point, would you please just get to it?”

“Alright, fine! You two keep dancin’ around yer issues, pretendin’ like yer jus’ here fer the sake of science, but it’s pretty obvious yer both hopin’ that somehow bein’ in the same place long enough is gonna somehow make everythin’ right. But it ain’t! Nothin’ about whatever bad blood you two got betwixt y’all is gonna get solved unless ya both sit down an’ talk. An’ I mean really talk, not jus’ yellin’ or bein’ passive-aggressive all the time.”

Ford was taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. He spluttered for a solid thirty seconds before finally shouting, “It is incredibly presumptuous of you to make assumptions as to why I choose to keep my brother around, let alone deem yourself qualified to offer me advice on how to conduct my own family matters! And while we may be old friends, I shouldn’t have to remind you that while you are here you are technically my employee. As such, keep your overly-large nose out of my personal business!”

“Personal business!? I’m the one who has to live with both of ya!” Fiddleford retorted, then stormed out of the lab.

“I’m not forcing you to stay here!” Ford shouted after him. “You could get a room at the motel if it bothers you that much!”

McGucket’s raging mood quickly dissipated as he took the elevator back up to the main floor. He hadn’t had an angry outburst like that in a while. He wasn’t nearly as short tempered as those Pines twins, but even the mild-mannered inventor just lost his cool sometimes.

“Good to see I’m not the only one he has shouting matches with.” Stan commented from the chair sitting in front of the TV when McGucket passed. Oh right. Enhanced senses, including hearing.

“How much did you hear?” Fiddleford asked.

“Eh, more the volume than actual words.” Stan shrugged.

McGucket briefly considered telling Stan how much Ford had worried each time he left, telling him exactly what he’d told his brother. But Fiddleford had a feeling Stan would have a very similar reaction, except the con man’s temper was even worse than his brother’s.

Instead he settled for a beleaguered “You two’re gonna drive me off the deep end.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ford to regret his words. Sure, he was mad that McGucket would try and wheedle his way into the brothers’ issues when the inventor clearly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, or the extent of the betrayal Ford still felt. But the inventor’s heart was in the right place, and he was the one who had to live with the feuding twins. And while Ford had been truthful in telling Fiddleford he was free to leave, that certainly didn’t mean Ford wanted him to go. Just the opposite, in fact.

Stanford had never felt lonely after moving out to the woods of Gravity Falls, oh no. He’d kept far too busy exploring and studying for that. But after Fiddelford had moved in, the researcher found he preferred his friend’s company to solitude.

Of course, if McGucket were to move out now, Ford would not be returning to solitude. He’d be sharing his cabin with Stanley.

Stanford decided he really needed to apologize to Fiddleford.

The researcher hastily put away the x-rays and the other print-outs he’d be going over and rushed into the elevator. He hummed impatiently as it creeped back up to ground level. Once he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the pantry until he found a can of those baked beans McGucket liked, heated it up over the stove, and began searching for his roommate so he could extend the peace offering.

He found McGucket just as the researcher was finishing a conversation over the phone.

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.” He hung up the phone.

“You’re leaving?” Ford asked, trying not to sound hurt. He’d known his harsh words would probably come back to bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!

“Uh, that’s right…” Fiddelford began awkwardly. “I jus’ spoke with Emma-May an’--”

“Fiddleford, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled, and I certainly shouldn’t have insinuated you might be fired, or insulted you. But please, don’t leave!” Ford pleaded. “I’ll admit, the situation with Stanley is volatile, but that’s why I need you here now!”

“Calm down, calm down!” McGucket placated him. “I ain’t leavin’ fer more’n a few days. I was tryin’ to tell ya, Emma-May’s sick, an’, well, she needs me to come take care of Tate ‘til she gets better.”

“O-oh.” Ford squeaked out once his mind processed what his friend was saying. McGucket was leaving, but it wasn’t because he was mad, it was because of a family emergency. That was almost worse. Ford could try and apologize or talk his friend out of it if he was mad, but the researcher couldn’t, wouldn’t, try and stop his friend from taking care of his family.

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan peeked into the hall, checking to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, uh, I was just tellin’ Ford I gotta head back home to help take care’a things while my wife’s sick.”

Stan scrutinized McGucket carefully, taking in his expression and stance, before glancing at Ford briefly. “Uh-huh.” the con-man grunted.

“So, I’ll be leavin’ soon as I get packed. Are… are you gonna be fine here, just the two of ya?”

“Sure, mom.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Ford folded his arms defensively.

“That’s not really what I’m worried ‘bout.” McGucket muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are those baked beans?” He exclaimed, like he’d only just noticed the pan Ford was carrying, “I think I’ll go eat these before I pack.”

With that, the inventor made his way to the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone, with the fact that they were about to spend a lot more time alone together hanging over them.

Stan shook his head. “He’s a bad liar.” he said as soon as McGucket was out of ear-shot.

“What!?” Ford spluttered. “He’s not--”

“Just callin’ it as I see it.”

“He’s coming back!” the researcher insisted, even as his own thoughts doubted “He wouldn’t just leave…” He wouldn’t just leave me like this.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Stan agreed. “But his wife ain’t sick.”

“Oh, and is that another thing your ‘Spider Sense’ can detect?” Ford asked sarcastically. Ever since Stan had interrupted one of his visions with Bill, the researcher didn’t have a high opinion of that particular ability.

“Nah. You lie enough, and you get pretty good at tellin’ when other people are doin’ it. If his wife was really sick, you’d think he’d be a lot more concerned. I mean, you’ve mentioned he has issues with anxiety, but he doesn’t seem all that anxious about it. He did seem keen on gettin’ out of here before we could ask him more questions about what’s wrong with her.”

“I think that if you lie enough, you start to assume everyone else must be lying too.” Ford said icily. Although he couldn’t help but remember a time a few years back when Fiddleford had gotten news his mother was sick. His poor friend had been so worried, he’d barely eaten the day he got the news.

“Whatever.” Stan harrumphed and turned back down the hall. “Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for wantin’ a break from all of this.” He gestured back and forth to himself and his brother. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see if there’s any of those baked beans left.”

* * *

That night, Ford had a hard time falling asleep. Stan’s wrong. He kept telling himself. But a part of him couldn’t help wondering, But what if he’s right? What if all this tension with Stan is driving Fiddleford away? What if he doesn’t come back?

When he finally did fall asleep, Ford was glad to find Bill waiting for him. He could really use a little help from a friend right now.

“HUH, YOU’RE LATER THAN USUAL. I DON’T THINK YOU’VE HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP SINCE THE HAUNTED CABIN.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed right now, what with everything that’s going on with Stan and McGucket.”

“HEY, I WARNED YOU BRINGING YOUR BROTHER BACK HERE WOULD BE BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU COULD CHEW.”

“It’s not.” Ford said defensively, “I mean, yes, I’m a little more stressed than usual, but I can handle it.”

“OH SURE.” Bill rolled his eye, “THAT’S WHY YOU’VE KEPT WORKING ON THE PORTAL, OH WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T! AND NOW THE GUY WE NEED TO ACTUALLY START THE BUILDING PROCESS IS LEAVING!”

“That’s unfortunate, yes, but it’s not McGucket’s fault. His… his wife’s sick.” Ford explained, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“YEAH, NO. YOUR BROTHER MAY BE AN UNTRUSTWORTHY LEACH, BUT HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. FOUR-EYES WAS LYING TO YOU.”

“Hey, Stan’s not--”

“OH, ARE YOU SAYING I’M WRONG? ME? THE ALL-SEEING EYE?”

“No, of course not!”

“HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU!”

Bill’s yellow bricks flickered like a television screen, and suddenly Ford was watching McGucket’s conversation on the phone earlier, from the perspective of one of the many effigies of Bill he had hanging in the house.

“Hey sugar, it’s me!” Fiddleford began the conversation. “Yeah, things’re, uh, things’re goin’ great here. But, you’ll never believe what happened last week! We were in Portland, doin’ some, er, some research, an’ guess what? Stanford ran into his twin brother!”

He paused and listened to her reply. “Yeah, he don’t talk ‘bout it much. They ain’t seen each other in over ten years. Anyway they, uh, need some time to re-connect, So I’m gonna head home, jus’ so’s I can give ‘em some space fer a bit.”

Another pause. “Aw, naw, Ford said it’s fine! I don’t think it’ll be a problem! And besides, this way I’ll be home fer Tate’s first spring break!”

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.”

Ford shook his head in disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say…”

“WHAT’D I TELL YA, FORDSY? I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST!”

On one hand, he was hurt that his friend would lie to him like that, but on the other, it was clear that poor Fiddleford just wanted to spend some time with his family, and Ford could hardly begrudge him that. All the same, there were those same thoughts that had been keeping him up earlier, only here in the Dreamscape, they echoed around him in surround-sound.

It’s my fault. I’m driving him away, all because I can’t get along with my own brother!

“AW, DON’T FEEL SO BAD, SIXER!” Bill patted him on the back comfortingly. “IF THIS IS ANYBODY’S FAULT, IT’S YOUR DUMB BROTHER. HE’S THE ONE WHO BARGED BACK INTO YOUR LIFE JUST WHEN WE WERE ON THE BRINK OF CHANGING THE WORLD.”

“I know you don’t like me spending so much time studying Stan’s mutation. But it’s so incredible! We’ve only just scratched the surface of what he’s capable of! I know with just a little time and training, he could even help us build the portal!”

Bill didn’t look convinced. “FORGIVE ME IF I’M NOT SOLD ON BRINGING THE GUY WHO SMASHED YOUR SPIDER HABITAT TO SMITHEREENS INTO CONTACT WITH THE DELICATE WORKINGS OF A TRANSUNIVERSAL PORTAL.”

Ford frowned. “I know, but… but ever since I learned that Stan’s the Spider Man, I’m beginning to think… maybe he’s changed.”

“HA!” Bill laughed sharply. “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A SENTIMENTAL FOOL, STANFORD!”

“I’m serious!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO HILARIOUS!” But Bill noticed Ford wasn’t taking this not-so-good-natured ribbing well. “HEY, DON’T LOOK SO SERIOUS, IQ, IT’S JUST THAT YOUR HUMAN SENTIMENTALITY IS SO FAR OUTSIDE MY PRIORITIES. IF YOU’RE SO DEAD-SET ON IT, GO AHEAD AND INCLUDE YOUR BROTHER IN ON THE PROJECT. EVEN IF HE DOES MESS THINGS UP AGAIN, YOU’VE GOT ME FOR DAMAGE CONTROL THIS TIME.”

“Thank you, Bill, I’ll do my best to make sure Stan doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

* * *

Once again, Stan woke in the middle of the night, his Spider Sense twinging. He was really getting tired of this. Not wanting another wild goose chase like his first night here, the conman tried just sitting quietly and concentrating on the unfamiliar sensation. It was so unlike his usual Spider Sense, and yet… somehow he knew it was the same sense.

Maybe this was a newly developing power, like Ford had predicted. Unfortunately, waking Ford in the middle of the night seemed to have ticked him off so much that now Ford didn’t want to hear anything about the Spider Sense. And McGucket had left earlier that evening. So Stan was going to have to figure this out on his own. Ha. That wasn’t any different from his other powers.

As Stan sat focusing on the strange sensation for a few minutes, he finally though he could place a direction to it. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, but there was definitely one direction where it was the strongest. It was coming from downstairs.

Stan followed the sensation as quietly as he could, which was pretty darn quietly. It led him to Ford’s bedroom.

“Oh no, we’re not doin’ this again.” Stan muttered to himself. Ford had been mad enough the first time. Twice in one week, and he was sure to be kicked out. But still, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was Ford in some kind of danger? Or maybe… Ford was the danger?

“Great, now my Spider Sense is trying to protect me from emotional harm.” Stan grumbled to himself as he climbed the wall back up to the attic.

* * *

Dbae’k rwou se apfleqnx dtirj. Swt tyw xwrv jpisff ew gvl cqd fx sqm. Sme pon lz oek Ktfei lz bhigh bhzk mqg Dsnseiww jatc tvtf lsm svs?

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Spider Stan AU #My Writing

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thechekhov · 6 years

Note

how would you recommend an artist make themselves better known on tumblr and in general? ive been drawing and painting almost my whole life but its hard to get people to notice me, any advice? thank you, you're my fave artist

Thank you so much! That makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside…

As for your questions… hmm… it’s for sure a good one.

I’m going to get a bit… strategical on that one. Hope you don’t mind this approach.

Tumblr and real life are definitely alike in a lot of aspects, while in others they’re polar opposites. For the sake of keeping things neatly shelved, I’m going to focus on tumblr in this post.

＊*☆HOW TO GET ART NOTICED ON TUMBLR☆*＊

by chekhov

1. We have to understand how the tumblr sharing system works.

I know this sounds a bit too obvious. I mean, we all know HOW. It’s by reblogging!

I know that there’s a BIG opinion on tumblr that we should share and reblog art as much as possible to help artists get noticed. And that’s TRUE. It’s absolutely correct.

One thing I don’t agree with on that front is the guilt-tripping factor of it all. Like somehow people are responsible for the downfall of less popular artists because they didn’t reblog stuff enough. People are really quick to point at their followers and say “I GOT 100 OF Y’ALL HERE AND ONLY 3 ARE REBLOGGING ANYTHING”.

I get it. It’s frustrating!

But the fact of the matter is, you can’t force people to reblog stuff.

Instead, I recommend we harvest the power of the sharing we already have. We have to be smart about this. What I’m going to go into is a bit less concrete. We have to think about the PEOPLE who are doing the reblogging.

Artists aren’t the ONLY ones with motivations for getting their stuff seen. And because they create media they are, for lack of a better word… a vendor! The buck STARTS with them, but it doesn’t stop with them.

They have to also think about what the people are going to do with their product once it’s reblogged. Once someone buys from the vendor, they don’t just keep it forever. They distribute it to the others. And sometimes, those others distribute it again. We have to think about the bigger picture, and think about how FAR your art has the potential to go!

So, to get started we need to know… WHO are the ones buying from the vendor… and why?

What kind of rebloggers ARE there?

I’m going to give my own opinion here, and feel free to disagree. But the 3 biggest rebloggers most important to the artist are these:

1. The Pleaser

Sounds sexy, right? In fact, the pleaser comes in many different forms. But essentially their goal is the same - they reblog stuff like aesthetic posts, and other pleasing things. They themselves tend to like a lot of stuff and reblog mostly beautiful photos, nice designs, and lots of fanart of whatever they’re into at the time. Comics and story-like posts are good here (although if they’re too long, people tend to lose interest.)

How to get reblogged by a Pleaser?

Appeal to their fandom, their interest, and make something that moves them. Pleasers are most active around the time when the new episode of their favorite show comes out, or when their favorite holiday comes around. Drawing fanart during its peak popularity will usually catch a Pleasers’ attention, as will drawing aesthetic Halloween posts around, well, Halloween.

2. The Teaser

The Teaser is the class clown and the shitposter, and they reblog memes and jokes voraciously. In the Teaser’s audience are other teasers - and they also tend to be very generous rebloggers. The fact of the matter is - memes sell reblogs faster than any aesthetic art will. We’re social creatures and getting a laugh out of our followers is worth a LOT of fake internet points.

How do I get reblogged by the Teaser?

Memes. I mean, you knew this was coming, right? During the height of some new tumblr joke, people usually welcome any unusual spin, or any funny variation of an old joke.

My meme redraws have consistently been popular and have ‘boomed’ very quickly. For example, this redraw of sapphire from Steven Universe doing ‘the scroll of truth’ jumped to 5k almost within a day.

Many people peek at my page ‘for the lols’ but end up staying for the art, or because there’s another thing I post they’re interested in. Either way, memes are a gateway drug… to your blog.

3. The Librarian

The Librarian is a bit more rare, but they’re still important, because they tend to reblog a lot. They’re a bit unusual in the sense that they do this for themselves, instead of for an audience. The blog of the librarian is mostly just a replacement for bookmarking interesting stuff. These people tend to reblog tutorials, reference posts, and things they want to read later on.

How to get reblogged by a Librarian?

Make things that people want to keep around. Charts, references, tutorials. Chances are, the librarian will snag it up eventually.

Of course, these 3 aren’t the ONLY type of tumblr blogger. In fact, many of them are a mix of these 3. But the main point is…

2. What do most of these (and other) people on tumblr have in common?

Just like you, many people (although not all) want to get their stuff SEEN. You might be creating the original product, but they choose whether or not to distribute it to their audience.

Everyone is playing the same game, no matter which part of the chain they’re on.

You, as an artist, have the biggest responsibility to think about this long-term. Not only 1 reblog down the line.

For example, let’s return to one of my meme-posts that I did about wrist pain (carpal tunnel). When I made this, I had a vague idea of who would consume it. Obviously… other artists. But the reason that this got so popular? Is not only because fellow artists follow me. It’s because the artists that follow me also have followers who are also, conveniently, artists. That’s why despite the fact that many people reblogged the post directly from me - even MORE of them reblogged it from @sergle (shoutout to sergle! u rock) who is also a popular artist and also has an audience who were prone to want to reblog the post.

See that orange dot? That’s me. See that bigger blue dot? That’s sergle.

In a way, this is a game of chance. Will something you reblog be seen by someone with a large enough audience to keep it going? The thing is, we don’t know until it happens. And oftentime, the only way to achieve this is to keep trying. Stubbornly.

But you can’t just headbutt the wall in the same place and hope it eventually crumbles. You have to look for a door.

3. So what’s the door?

Take a look at your art. Is it consumable BEYOND the surface level of your followers?

Sometimes people get discouraged because their fanart is way more popular than their original art. Although I share their frustration, there’s a good reason for this, and your followers aren’t to blame.

The thing is, fanart is consumable at deep reblog levels. If you post fanart, there’s a good chance that even 3-4 reblogs down the line, there’s going to be a person who sees it and thinks ‘hey, I know Steven Universe. My followers know Steven Universe. I’ll reblog this!’ Fandoms are efficient because they already have a lot of context for the consumption of the art. They have a story (humans love stories), they’re invested in it, they’re interested in it, and there’s a good chance that sharing more stuff about it will get them more interaction with their mutuals, even if they’re not consciously thinking about all this as they reblog.

Unfortunately, that’s just not true for your original art. Many of us have beautiful, wonderful stories - but they’re not available to a wide audience. They’re not easily consumed, they’re not easily accessed (in comparison to being on netflix, for example). If you post a picture of your OC - maybe your immediate pool of followers who know that OC will reblog it. But their own followers who aren’t directly following you will not have any connection, emotional or otherwise, to that character. They simply don’t have a reason to care, and they don’t have any means to. Even if they visit your blog - will it be easy to find similar content? Have you got your links available on desktop AND mobile? Is it easy to find the beginning of your story? Is it free of mistakes and easy to read?

Large companies that make shows or comics funnel tons of money into making their media consumable. There’s a LOT of effort that goes into advertising, too. You, as an independent artist, simply don’t have that kind of manpower. That’s not your fault - but it’s also not your followers’ fault. Why are they supposed to reblog things that their own followers will never understand and connect with?

4. Back to square one: how do I get noticed?

I’m gonna keep this short and sweet because I feel like I already took up a lot of your time. After everything I’ve said, hopefully this will make sense:

Make content that has a connection to your audience somehow. Make it relatable to their life. Make it relatable to what’s currently going on. Make it worth their while to look at it.

Make content that’s easy to understand. Super detailed drawings, with nothing to focus on are difficult to digest. Simpler, sharper drawings that someone can understand within 3 seconds of looking at it are the most digestible of all. This isn’t a museum.

If you’re creating content that goes with a story, MAKE THE STORY. I know it’s tempting to create just a whole bunch of character sketch sheets and leave it at that, but you can’t complain about not getting an audience when your audience doesn’t have anything to consume in the first place.

Make the story AVAILABLE. Organize your tags. Make sure those tags are easily accessible. People will never like 100% of your art, so many it easy for them to find what they WILL like.

Don’t be afraid of fanart. Fanart gets you connected with people who like stories and content similar to yours.

Don’t be afraid to follow and reblog people that you want to connect with. Don’t be afraid to make them stuff and @ them.

Post your stuff to a LOT of places! Your audience is somewhere out there - probably not only on tumblr. You have to spread yourself thin sometimes, but make sure the account can all lead back to your main hub.

And last but not least…

Critically re-evaluate your art at least once a year. (I’m personally working on this.) Just because you’ve been drawing for years, and just because your art might be incredible doesn’t mean it’s appealing to people. Sounds weird, right? But think about it - there’s TONS of people who are not that amazing at anatomy, or coloring… but they still have a huge audience, and people connect with their art. A lot of times, it’s because their art is straightforward and easy to read/understand.

Ask a friend to critique your art. Ask them if they understand your work, or if it’s difficult to make out. Ask them what your work inspires in them. Ask them what they DO like about your work - and exaggerate that!

There’s a LOT that goes into art… no matter it’s a whole industry! Doing it all on your own is HARD and it’s a bit unthinkable how much artists have to do to compete with industries. But it’s not impossible, and it’s definitely worth it. :)

Hope I didn’t bore any of y’all who made it down this far.

Thanks!

#reblogging #art #artists on tumblr #arting #Anonymous #long post

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sluttyfluffartist · 3 years

Text

Rational Fear

As she watched Jim finish another sermon Kassidy released a sigh of relief

“Finally” she thought, as the crowd grabbed their things and left Kassidy felt a hand grab her arm so focusing her attention on who grabbed her she saw the very man who she was trying so hard to leave

“Follow me” Jim said, Kassidy knew, for some reason, that when ever Jim needed something the world had to stop and bend to his will, at least that’s what the church taught her,

“Make it quick.” As Jim lead her to down a hallway and then into an office Kass noticed a bunch of files and papers sprawled out on the desk

“Did you know anything about real estate”

“Yeah I mean my mother is a real estate agent”

“Great” pulling up a chair for her to sit in Jim placed a stack of papers in front of her and then handed her a pen and pencil

“While you do the paperwork I’m going to check to see if Marcy or Carolyn needs any help alright”

“Sure thing” watching as he got up and left Kassidy began to feel anger bubble in the back of her mind

“Do this Kassidy do that Kassidy why do I have to put what I’m doing aside just to please him” as hours passed Kassidy didn’t even notice the sun going down or the fact that she had been working for about 4 hours by herself.

“Ow ow carpal tunnel” dropping the pencil then massaging her wrist Kassidy finally knew this was the last straw in the haystack

“Hey working girl I brought coffee” Jim stated cheerfully

“That’s it Jim I can’t keep doing this” Kassidy said, as she angrily stood up

“What do you mean” Jim asked while putting the coffee on the desk, far away so it wouldn’t spill

“I’m tired of you pulling me aside, forcing me to stay here after hours, and waste my time doing frivolous things when I could be in the comfort of my own home with my roommates” crossing her arms to further emphasize her anger Kassidy kept telling herself that no matter what happens she can handle Jim’s unpredictable anger

“I’m sorry.” Standing there dumbfounded Kassidy attempted to process what she just heard to which it only confused her even more

“What”

“I’m supposed to be behaving the way the lord intends, but not even taking time to wonder how you feel makes me believe I haven’t been behaving correctly and I want to apologize for my misdemeanors”

“Uh…I…guess I forgive you” smiling Jim thanked her before giving her a hug

“Great now if you want I made coffee and I made your cup just the way you like it” sitting in the chair next to her Jim grabbed his mug then took a sip

“I uh thanks” grabbing her mug Kassidy smiled at the familiar taste of hazelnut with the perfect mix of sugar.

“Hey Jim I must ask how do you get the creamer and sugar to be a perfect amount of mixture” expecting a reply Kassidy was surprised to hear a slight snore

“Jim” turning her attention to the pastor she saw how the man was slumped in his chair head hanging lowly as snores emit from his throat

“Jim wake up” she said, next shaking him to make sure that he actually wakes up

“Huh…oh sorry I must of dozed off”

“I understand if your tired but if you’re that tired why don’t you just go to bed”

“Oh it’s just these sleeping pills Marcy put two in my drink, but I guess we underestimated just how strong they were” putting her mug down Kassidy got up and started to pull Jim out of his seat

“What are you-

Jim you’re clearly to tired so I’m going to bring you to bed” pulling him out of his seat the two adults made their way to the pastor’s bedroom.

“Ok now here” carefully placing him in the bed Kassidy headed toward the door only to feel a hand pull the hem of her blouse

“Come lay with me” he pleaded,

“Jim I have to get home it’s awfully dark and I’m sure Ben and Cheyenne are worried about me”

“Just tell them that you’re staying back again to help me”

“Jim I told you that I can’t stay back anymore I want to go home and relax” visibly shrinking when Jim stood up, anger evident on his face, Kassidy held in a breath

“Why are you so insistent on leaving me”

“Jim it’s not like that and you know it”

“Well it feels like you don’t like being around me” not taking his childish behavior seriously Kassidy simply rolled her eyes

“DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME” he shouted, roughly grabbing both her arms and shaking her a little

“Jim please calm down”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN”

“Jim you’re scaring me” she said, tears flowing down her cheeks. Hearing her said those words and watching as those tears fell made him instantly retract his hands

“I’m so so sorry I don’t know what came over me” he stuttered out, taking a few steps back fear sat like a pupil in Kassidy’s eyes

“Kassidy please don’t be scared of me”

“I have to go” Kassidy stated, so quiet that it’s a wonder how Jim heard it

“Please don’t leave” he begged

“I really think I should”

“Look how about you and I just talk”

“No Jim I’m just gonna go” watching as she ran out the room a feeling of guilt began to sink deep within in Jim’s stomach

“Oh fuck.”

(Bonus)

Finishing the last bit of his sermon Jim bid his followers a farewell and then packed his stuff up

“Hey Jim you might want to look at this paper” Larry offered,

“I’m little tired Larry, I might just get Kass to-” not even finishing that sentence Jim remembered the situation that happened last night between him and Kass then in a quick glanced at said women from across the crowd. As their eyes met he could see the flicker of fear in her eyes and that exact same feeling of guilt returned

“You know what never mind just place it on my desk”

“Sure Jim.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #James warren Jones #Jim Jones #Jonestown #people’s temple #cult

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sierrabinondo · 6 years

Text

summer tour 2018 - days 1 - 4

welp tumblr i am back again with a new tour recap!!! people liked this last time so here i am i guess

this tour recap is mostly for my own reasons. there’s something different about documenting something life-changing and important to yourself on a social media site you’ll probably be subject to visiting again without trying, as opposed to writing it by hand which hurts after a while or in a word document that you’ll never open.

my band with sails ahead just embarked on our longest tour ever. 11 shows, no off days. we somehow still got sleep, ate well (and went broke for it), and didn’t get sick. it wasn’t perfect every night, but it was still rewarding even in the smallest possible ways.

i decided to recap this across several posts as an easier way to read everything instead of one long one that would serve as a painful, arduous read. so here are days 1-4.

day 1 - asbury

our tour kicked off in asbury, so we were home for our first day. it was sort of difficult to get in the mindset for tour but once destination dimension arrived i was good.

in asbury i always passed this storage trailer-looking building with palm trees all around it. it turns out it’s called outpost city, and it’s an oasis for touring musicians to come hang out while on the road. it’s invite-only (i think?? PLEASE check me), and we were contacted a week before tour started to go check it out. i already promised work i was going to work a full day my last day but hooooly we could not turn this down. this place had a lounge area, a small demo studio, free wifi, and a general store with product placed in there by brands that you could grab FOR FREE. as long as we tagged the brands on all of our social media the stuff was ours. we spent a few hours there before the brewery show and it was really fun. i had to do work the whole time as a result of leaving work early haha, but i still enjoyed it a lot.

Photo: Julie Yi Photography

the brewery show was awesome. i didn’t play the greatest set so i was super bummed haha, at least i don’t think, but we had a great turnout. the line-up was awesome and we got to see a lot of friends. sound was amazing and as always the brewery is just the coolest venue. really grateful we could finally play here. i was so glad people showed up early to see destination dimension so that they at least had a crowd. a lot of my friends cared about making it in time for them which was nice of them. it was incredibly weird to have ryan watch us while another drummer was playing with us, we all felt so bad. we were so distraught leading up to this tour about him not joining us due to his carpal tunnel, but we had no choice. our friend and fill-in drummer matt shindle killed it and the show made us excited for the rest of the run. i think i said a cool and inspiring thing that made everyone yell very excitedly but then i followed it up with some lame shit so it ruined the moment lmao.

Photo: Julie Yi Photography

i returned back to my house in brick with destination dimension and jeremiah came with so that we had one more night together before i left. i was feeling a little better about leaving but i wouldn’t actually be excited until we were finally in the van.

day 2 - falls church, va

after waking up mad early on like 5 hours of sleep only, i got ready to leave as julie was dropped off at my house to drive up to bandago together. i cried as jeremiah said goodbye to me because i’m a big dumb baby and never ever spend time apart from him haha.

the drive to virginia took forever. i was so exhausted but for some reason it was impossible to sleep in the van. and then i led us to the wrong holiday inn; our actual hotel was so far that we just had to check in late and go straight to the show. the vfw was actually a pretty cool spot. it was nice to be in falls church again; the last time i was there was when i was a kid and my aunt and uncle lived in an apartment way before they had my cousins.

Photo: Julie Yi Photography - us with pulses, destination dimension and a couple members of timberbrooke!

turnout wasn’t huge at all (a pattern that would repeat itself lmao) but all of the bands were super nice. of course, we were extremely stoked to play with pulses. i felt bad because i kept screwing up faces, names and bands at first but it ended up being fine. our friends said i played more confidently this show than the night before but it didn't feel like that. i felt like i sounded like shit and i looked like an idiot lmao. on stage, there’s actually a million things going through my head while i'm singing. i almost wanted to throw the microphone at one point but can’t do that!!! i also apparently sounded better but i still have issues believing people when they say i sang well, because people lie to other musicians all the time and tell them they're great just to be polite. i warm up before every show and do diaphragm exercises but if my throat fucking feels like shit from my allergies and tight and dry there's nothing i can do. the humidifier doesn't help. there's not a day where i don't practice. i wish my body wasn't so unforgiving haha.

well the korean BBQ spot next door was cool lmao and there was a dog at the show. our hotel room was nice but the furniture was so oddly arranged. it was difficult to make room for the air mattresses but we made it work. i shouldn’t talk though because hotel rooms on tour are a luxury haha.

day 3 - greensboro, nc

the drive to greensboro was just a little stressful because of the torrential downpour, and a car accident happened right in front of us at one point lmao. but mostly, the drive was so serene and beautiful. we drove through the blue ridge mountains and listened to the new anthony green album. this is what i love about touring, getting to see these beautiful sights. i think i almost cried hahaha.

we arrived to greensboro and the block we were on for the gig had some sick spots. we got vegetarian food at this place called boba house. the food was incredible. and then the venue, new york pizza, had $3 craft beer!!! insane. i didn't drink the last tour and i said i wouldn't this time but i remembered we were going to be in a position to try some region-specific foods and beers, so i let myself have a sunshine gose from birdsong brewery after our set. it was soooo good. yeah funny thing was, i actually drank A LOT this tour. last tour i was super sheepish about it, but this time i was going to be in too many new places to not try local beers. it didn’t affect me as much as i thought it would but i believe it still did to *some*extent. i also couldn't resist the touch tunes juke box and helped myself to playing santana again like the last tour hahaha.

the turnout was decent but everyone the headlining band brought (and the band themselves) stood outside for every band. at one point joe went outside as we were about to go on and yelled at everyone saying “hey guys we drove a long way to play the show come inside” i was mortified lmao. sadly, you cannot make people care about you, they have to show interest on their own. BUT, obviously he was saying what we were all thinking. listening to a band play from outside the venue does not always mean you are paying attention to the bands. they didn't even come inside for one single song for any band. if you can’t make the people you bring stay for the bands, fine, but why play the show at all if you don’t care about the touring bands?

Photo: Julie Yi Photography

chris, the vocalist of destination dimension, was a huge huge help to me on tour. he gave me really great honest criticism and it helped me work on some bad habits i have while performing. i know i’m a big baby and all but i can take critique and i wish more of my musician friends were more honest with me. it shows they care because they don’t let me blindly wander around just repeating the same awful habits. for the first time i also wore both earplugs in while singing but it only lasted two songs. i know it’s foolish to not wear them, but i cannot stand how i sound with earplugs in, it fucks me up just as bad. i used to use earasers but i was sick of pissing away $40 everytime i lost them. and i'm not capable of not misplacing something, i know i'll lose them again. i wasn’t too happy with my performance this show either but the people watching us were cool and attentive. wes was so kind to hook the show up for us, and we loved the dudes in impersona. really fantastic band.

later that night shindle realized he left his laptop charger at the venue. we were using his laptop for interludes and his click tracks. it was too late to go back so we decided we’d go back in the morning before leaving to go back to charleston. but sadly the venue didn’t have it and we absolutely had to move on to the next city. i felt so bad. however we were able to make our tracks still work on my personal laptop that i brought.

day 4 - charleston, sc

charleston was a little rough lmao, but still fun. as always we arrived just in time to check in to our hotel, get food and pull up to the venue for load in. we stayed at a holiday inn, and we were hoping since it was a hotel that the room would be nice and big but it wasn't. the beds were huge though. after checking in we noted that a counter service-type grits restaurant was across the parking lot. i was going to try to only buy one meal per show day but it looked like the next day i'd be buying grits for breakfast haha.

it was an insanely hot day. in fact, the hottest day on tour. it was bad. it was at least 90 degrees or more out especially with the humidity but whatever, we were heading to the venue soon so we would hopefully find relief there. something i was ABSOLUTELY adamant about was that we ate cookout. for anyone who doesn't know, cookout is a chain based in the south that serves southern food and super cheap, filling meals. you can get a “tray” which is like one main meat or dish, two sides and a drink for $5.29. the tour package met there to eat before load in. stopping made us late, but there was no way in hell we weren't going and i was making sure of that lmao. and it was worth being a lil late i think, i think everyone liked it. santino bought twice the amount of the tray he ordered hahaha.

so we finally get to the venue, which is tua lingua - and

there's no

air

conditioning

we had zero idea this place had no central air. i had no idea the place didn't have it!!! but otherwise the venue was a very sick spot. like out of the blue in cambridge (rip), but much much bigger. they had numerous amazing art pieces, a dark room and an interactive bubble exhibit. the staff was very nice. we did our best to play the best set we could with the heat. at certain points it was even cooler outside the building because the hot air just wasn’t moving out. we almost cut our set short out of fear of not being able to handle the heat but we made it through. we also had to play without our tracks but that was fine. a couple people named jesse and fianna came to the show because they heard about it from the hemisphere facebook group!! so awesome. zacoma also made us a custom copy of their CD based off our tour marketing it was so fucking sweet of them!! i don’t have the photo of it otherwise i would have shared it but when i get it i’ll post it. them and hollow notes made the show a great one, i highly recommend both bands. i bet tua lingua is sooo sick to play in cooler weather just not in the summer haha.

photo credit: julie yi photography LOOK AT HOW SWEATY I AM.

because the show ended massively early (THE DREAM), i suggested going to the charleston waterfront since we had time to explore! santino was wary because the poor guy was starving, but he agreed to spending 30 minutes of walking around. so the tour package drove out to the waterfront/rainbow row and we walked around for a while. it was sooooo beautiful out, i was so happy to see the town again. a guy jumped in the pineapple fountain as we were dipping our feet in to dig for change and he was in there for an hour HAHA. we also ended up staying an hour because we were having so much fun. there was another fountain nearby you could actually walk through. maybe it wasn't actually allowed but there were no signs so whoops!! we went from just sticking our hands in the jets to santino and jaime sticking their whole fucking heads in i was screaming laughing hahaha. it was a very happy and pure moment.

on this tour i learned a lot of new things about santino, one of which is that he apparently really likes milk LMFAO. and we had to like run around to try to find somewhere open that would have milk and cookies but everyone settled for taco bell. we went back to the hotel to watch aggretsuko but netflix kept glitching and the screen would black out whenever subs were on the screen i was so pissed. but we enjoyed a very wonderful night of going to bed early.

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