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sebyth · 9 months

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Cross-posting this from my twatter (it will never be "x" to me, fuck that fucking jackass). Personal experience anecdotes to give context for why I feel a certain way about Certain Recent Fandom Drama. It's kinda long (didn't even count how many tweets it took up) so putting it under a read-more. Keeping most of the formatting as it was in my tweets, except a couple that were run-on. Fixing a handful of spelling errors and gonna change my on-twitter use of "unalive" back to "suicide".

tw suicide mention, tw bullying, tw mental illness

I have been angry for almost two days and have not been sure if I should say anything about it, or if that would make things even worse. So I am gonna talk about myself for a bit and work up to it. It's gonna start with my childhood and end up with fandom drama, if I finish.

When I was a kid I was weird and didn't get along with people very well. I still am not sure why. There are mental health reason that might be it or maybe it isn't. Maybe I'm just weird and off-putting in general. My report cards always had "doesn't get along well with others".

There is one memory I have when I was maybe 8 and watching some of my classmates be fawned over by older girls (like 11 years old) and hugging them. So I ran up with my arms out for a hug too and they looked at me with revulsion and turned away.

It never really got better from there. Later in jr high (that would be about 13, 14 years old maybe), I had no friends and had learned that I wasn't gonna have friends so I didn't waste my energy trying. I hung out with the other two kids who also had no friends.

This was before the internet mind you, late 1980s maybe early 1990s. One day a rumour started circulating that a letter had been found, which was supposedly us three talking about each other sexually (I never saw this letter so idk the details). It spread over the school fast.

On top of the jeers and scolding from everyone in class at us (nothing we said made any difference), walking the halls to get to the next class had everyone from other grades looking at us like we were monsters. This really affected me for years.

In high school one of the two other kids got friends, the other moved away, and I spent all my time alone. Even though there were new people at the school I didn't try to make friends because I knew people from my school would tell them about me being gross and awful.

In my first year of university my roommate asked to transfer to another room fairly quickly because "I was a witch" apparently. Luckily the rez staff didn't escalate even though it was a religious-adjacent university. At least I got a double room to myself for the year.

Eventually I decided to go full weirdo. If people were gonna treat me like a freak my entire life I might as well do what I want. I cut my hair however I wanted, I wore decorative paint on my face, I started making and altering clothes however I wanted.

I sometimes even smiled when I'd be walking down the street and hear things like "omg is that guy wearing a -dress-?! wait is that a guy…" Though people shouting "freak" etc suddenly from cars passing by never got easier.

I got the idea that maybe it was because I lived in a small town. In a small province with small-minded people. Maybe if I went somewhere big, a city with lots of people, I'd find people like me to be friends with. And surely I wouldn't be so eye-catching in a city.

So I moved to Ottawa and almost the next day started getting people STILL shouting "freak" and "it's not Halloween" at me. I tried to make friends but I still didn't seem to fit in and had a falling out with those people too. That was the first time I tried to kill myself.

Well that made people hate me even more I guess. Every time I started hanging out with a new person, it would end quickly. I started finding out that anyone I hung out with would get phone calls warning them about me. Not to hang out with me.

I'm unstable, I tried to commit suicide, I'm no good, or whatever else they were saying. My current friend S was one of the few people who stuck with me despite his ex gf from ANOTHER CITY who had NEVER MET ME calling him to warn him that she heard I was bad news.

I stopped leaving the apartment. I stopped trying to make friends. Something was clearly wrong with me, and i would never find people like me. Was I the problem? Was other people the problem? I don't know even to this day I struggle with this.

One of the last times I bothered to talk to my mother I was complaining about people yelling shit at me when I walked around outside and her response was "you're just dressing like that for attention aren't you, why are you surprised people do that"

I was like "no you dumb bitch I'm dressing like this because it is ME and i don't know why people need to yell at me for it". But I thought if that is the message people are receiving then maybe I should never go outside in front of people again.

So I was a shut-in for about 10 years with depression and anxiety and my only support was a guy who had problems of his own and we helped keep each other alive until he couldn't anymore for Reasons. And I did finally get help. But I still can't fucking socialize.

So I never really participated in fandoms much and I still found it very hard to know how to make friends or be a friend or anything like that. Every social attempt seems like a failure waiting to blow up in my face and have everyone telling everyone that I'm bad.

And it is with shame that I realize I was kinda doing the same thing when I heard that "mods of the tyk/qy zone might be whalers or anti-cpf" and went to dms to warn someone that it might be the case even though I personally couldn't find any proof of that being the case.

And I'd heard that it was being investigated by reasonable people so to sit tight and wait for more info. It did seem a bit odd to me that given how heavy-handed I've been blocking whalers that none of these people were blocked by me. Then it breached containment.

If you don't know who or what I'm talking about it, don't worry about it, but a big-social-pull person made a post declaring that everyone involved with the zine are "whalers" and that everyone should be aware. But they didn't include any proof. Usually people calling out c>

whalers in this fandom the most loudly and obnoxiously are like "omg look at dez whalerz " And now it looks like we've gone fully into "I said they are whalers so they are whalers" territory.

If the mods of the zine are doing bad shit, that should be addressed (with fucking evidence maybe at least). But "friends with someone who liked a whaler's post one time" is not evidence of wrongdoing. And being said by a person whose words carry weight should have proof.

Especially in the damn fandom where a man's life was destroyed by "he's near a evil place he's secretly evil I heard he had a girlfriend when he wasn't supposed to have one omg look his hand is up in this photo"

I feel like I'm caught in the middle, because i get where fans of the books come from. They don't want to have to keep up with ZZH's case etc just to enjoy stories that existed before he played his role in the show. But I also get that his fans feel like they are taking advantage of his image and the popularity of WoH while disregarding him if they don't keep up with the case. And I get that people deal with this terrible grief-causing situation with ZZH in all kinds of ways, be that moving all their focus onto GJ and looking for every scrap of gesture or clothing as proof that ZZH is okay, or be that being fans of a guy who sorta vaguely looks like ZZH who is doing stuff they can interact with. I was fine with just blocking the people who were excited about "new ZZH" so I don't have to see it. But this whole "rooting out secret whalers" and "everyone is a whaler if they looked at a whaler once and didn't immediately renounce zsj or whatever" bullshit Is really getting out of hand.

And on top of that maybe it's my paranoia but it's a little fucking convenient that this thing has shown up to drive a bigger wedge between book fans and show/actor fans as we get closer to the second anniversary of 813.

And I guess I should state clearly my stance for when the hounds inevitably come for me for being a bad person AGAIN. I don't believe the instagram/zsj. I am not a cpf. I have nothing against cpfs or GJ, he just doesn't spark joy for me like ZZH does and I'm not into RPF/RPS.

But I'm also a god damned adult and a very old one at that so I just don't bother with stuff I am not interested in. People like RPF/RPS and that is awesome for them! I don't wanna fucking see zsj stuff so I block it so I don't have to see it.

And if the mods of the zine are doing shady things, call it out with PROOF. OF THOSE THINGS. Even if that thing is "looked at zsj and didn't turn away" show some PROOF. OF THE THING, IN THE CALLOUT POST.

#angry at fandom #frustrated at whisper campaigns #disappointed in myself for doing the same thing #tw suicide mention #tw bullying #tw mental illness #tw zsj mention #Zhang Zhehan fandom drama

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walkuntilthedaylight · 3 years

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The people have spoken! How can I not give them what they want?

I'm gonna put this all under a cut, since it's a bit long, and also because it's highly interpretative/speculative and not everyone likes those kinds of posts as they can be rather subjective and, I suppose, invasive. I want to give two major caveats to my thoughts below: first is that I tend not to buy the idea that Paul was the "stable/normal" Beatle, mostly b/c I view marijuana dependency and workaholism as addictions and I take them pretty seriously. Second is that I really do love this kind of tabloid/gossip/personal account shit; I think it should be taken with a handful of salt, but I don't think it should be entirely dismissed out of hand either. I read this stuff like I'm piling up sheets of stained glass: I'm intrigued by the places where the colours blend and overlap, and ignore things that fall outside the prism. Anyway, let's dig in:

Okay, so what I found fascinating about 'Body Count' is that it's one of the only sources which observes Paul McCartney's mental health during the period between the India trip and when the band breakup really got rolling. I think it's overall a fairly self-absorbed text that definitely has some lies and exaggerations peppered in there to make things spicier and more dramatic, but its broad characterization - as I mentioned in my first post - isn't exactly libelous or out of left field. Some elements that make me think it's generally if not wholly authentic are: Paul's simultaneously forceful and dorky seduction style, his terrible Liverpool diet and poor housekeeping, the bouts of thrill-seeking recklessness, avoidant adventure crafting, dark moods when drinking non-socially, the occasional hot and cold bouts with the Apple Scuffs camped out at his gate, and the way in which he underplays his drug habit, which is SO "in truthfulness we spent most of the filming of Help! slightly stoned":

These details are so bizarrely specific and have significant overlap with both sympathetic and spurned personal accounts of Paul I've read in the past, so I believe Francie is just telling "Her Version Of The Truth" here rather than crafting a piece of pure fiction. The most important and revealing anecdote in the book is this one.

There's no reason not to believe this is a fairly accurate representation of something that actually happened, imo, since we know that anxious purse strings were an ongoing issue in the unusual turnover rate within the band Wings, and there are plenty of confirmed and rumoured cases alike of extended family members feeling entitled to a "piece of the pie"; this is just like, the kind of thing that happens to working class people who get catapulted into fame and fortune. And Paul in particular already had deep-seated financial anxiety for whatever reasons he'll never fully admit (as is his right, but I think his offhand claim that he "once heard some adults arguing about money and that's why" might actually be alluding to having heard some adults - y'know, like his parents - arguing over money fairly frequently). What esp interests me about the anecdote is the way Paul seems to connect the conflict b/t his dual "identities" with these financial expectations. Perhaps the CAPSLOCK emotional hysteria related in the book is puffed up for drama, but it does bring to mind one of the most revealing comments Linda ever made about their relationship, which is that Paul needed to be told he would still be loved when the cameras weren't rolling. And that's the thing: Francie caught Paul at the exact moment that the pillars of his Smile-For-The-Camera "Beatle" identity were collapsing; the dissolution of his relationships with John and Jane.

Whatever all this could possibly mean re: the breakup of the Lennon-McCartney partnership is a post for another time. What I wanna do instead is apply the level of speculation we usually reserve for that relationship to the endpoint of Paul and Jane's courtship.

So like, Paul and Jane: I know people are resistant to this specific POV, but I honestly just don't... think it was that deep? "Not deep", mind you, doesn't mean "not significant". Paul was obviously Jane's first love (u never forget), but the feeling I get from Paul's side (as a subconscious process I mean) is that Jane's importance was primarily as a lynchpin in his London Socialite persona. He loved her family, he loved the friend group, the artistic scene dating her gave him access to, as well as the leg up he got in the class system, etc. He liked to be the kind of guy who was dating Jane Asher. But I don't know that he was the guy who was dating Jane Asher, you get me? When people describe their "great love" they accidentally tell on them (Cynthia innocently describing Paul as being pleased to have her on his arm like a trophy; John: "it was an ordinary love scene"; Alistair Taylor noting that Paul was humiliated by the breakup). Paul's a serial monogamist who U-Hauls like a lesbian, of course, so he definitely took the relationship VERY seriously, but it's telling that all of his love songs to her were either about hitting a brick wall in arguments (certainly not dreamy, fond, yearning of "sunday morning fights about saturday night"; and occasionally expressing hints of class tension too), or completely non-descript Guy With A Guitar Trying To Get Laid shit. I could extrapolate a lot about Linda just from listening to McCartney I/RAM and the Wings discography, but 'And I Love Her' doesn't tell me a single thing about Jane besides that she's pretty. It could be about literally anyone the same way 'My Love' or 'Maybe I'm Amazed' could only be about his dynamic with Linda. Some of this is obviously the natural result of getting older and gaining emotional maturity; what I'm saying is that Paul's behaviour and self-expression in this relationship does not suggest to me that it was one in which his emotional maturity was able to develop or flourish.

I want to stress again that I don't think this belittles the significance of the relationship or makes it "bad" or "fake". Like, sometimes hot people just date for a while in their teens and twenties and love each other without necessarily unlocking their inner emotional cores, usually because they don't know how to. It's, like, fine. You need to experience relationships like that as stepping stones. I simply believe that this sort of front-facing social importance being prime in the romance is a major factor in why it ultimately didn't work (and probably in Linda's reported lingering jealousy of Jane, who wasn't just an ex, but also a symbol of the life Paul ditched to build a new identity w/ her, and sometimes still pined for). With Jane, Paul was dating the "right" kind of girl (didn't put out on the first date, erudite and middle class, as serious about her career as he was, a good "celebrity" match), but the relationship often wasn't doing what he wanted it to do. Francie's observation is that by 1968 it also wasn't doing what he needed it to do either. This is the overwhelming "mood" in her affair with Paul McCartney: that he needed something very badly from a romantic partner that he just was NOT getting, and Francie couldn't figure out what it was either:

(note that she means "queer" as in "mad", not "gay")

This was an EXTREMELY roundabout way of asking: well, what WAS it that Paul needed a relationship to do for him? And I think this is Francie's big, accidental insight. The most scandalous claim in 'Body Count' is that Paul told Francie that he hit Jane and it "turned her on".

I personally think this is p. absurd absent any real proof to back it up, but like, what is Francie actually saying HE'S saying here? If she's exaggerating or lying, she's trying to make it believable within the psychological parameters laid out, right? It's not an expression of some secret desire to dominate women she's accusing him of, but emotional disturbance and confusion at the idea that the woman he was with might like that sort of forceful, masculine violence more than his softer, feminine side, which he was - yeah, we all know it - deeply insecure about.

Regardless of whether specific details are true or false (and I think there's both in this story, all hyper-magnified to make it, y'know, a ~STORY~), I think what might be true is the emotional undertow of the retelling, that this all taken together is actually representative of the side of Paul McCartney she was exposed to, at a time when his public and private facades had both become unbearable to the point of cracking and the drug-fueled optimism of the Summer of Love was getting scrubbed off of everyone and everything. It's the Paul McCartney who eviscerated frogs because he was worried he was too "soft" for compulsory military service. The Paul who modelled his masculine teen behaviour off John Lennon's fake "Marlon Brando" swagger, but was actually more fond of the velvet "Oscar Wilde" interior.

What's SO FASCINATING about all this to me, is I deeply believe that one of the key factors in what makes The Beatles music so unique and compelling is that both the songwriters experienced psychological strain from the tension b/t their parochial socially-defensive "masculine" pride, and their sensitive "feminine" core, the latter of which they were able to express in the unburdened emotionality of their music. The reason I care about doing these totally unhinged psych analyses is because I do think it reveals something about the underpinnings of the music, as well as the reasons why the band was such a hysteria-inducing phenomenon (the rise of psychology, imo, is almost as important as the rise of industrialization as a defining factor of the modern and postmodern eras; mass psychology can be understood and wielded in precise ways, and The Beatles were one of the first empires built on that). The subconscious drives caused by this tension have been ENDLESSLY picked apart re: John's psyche, but Paul's "mirrored" issues are very under-discussed (mostly b/c he's still alive so people are a little more leery about putting him on the "couch" as a historical figure). 'Body Count', intentionally or not, painted a portrait to me of someone who was drowning in their own ill-fitting celebrity "suit", collapsing under the weight of "Being" "Paul McCartney". A guy who desperately needed some sort of space to be vulnerable without feeling emasculated for doing it. By 1968, there was no one in his life anymore - and maybe there hadn't been for a while, or ever - who was giving him this space.

In other words: the thing he needed to avoid going "stark raving queer and killing himself" was simply someone who would love him 'after the ball'.

EDIT: read the comments for further clarification and discussion! ;)

#/#//#///#////#/////#the beatles #mccharmley #analysis #long post #Talking About Paul The Way I Talk About John lmfao #Taking Tabloid Bullshit Seriously #(if not literally)#*gets out my fake spectacles and jumps into the psychiatry armchair*#idk if i laid out my thoughts v well here but i hope it satisfied all the people who asked #i also tried to warn what genre of post it was for those who hate this kinda thing lol #i feel like i have more to say re: how toxic 'The Beatle' facade got for all of them by this point #and paul and john's mirrored post-india breakdowns #but francie's perspective is specifically on how it felt to be the girl he used to divebomb his relationship with jane asher SO

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nostalgiaruinedme · 3 years

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Hey I love your fics and writing style and well since I've been meaning to start writing fics I wanted to ask you if you have some advice you'd give.

Ohhh advice? Sure, I can do that! I shall bestow all of my knowledge upon you now, but you gotta look below the cut. Shhhh, it's a secret~

Okay really I just knew this was going to be a really long post and didn't want to clog up everyone's dash lol. ONTO WRITING ADVICE

I kind of live by these rules in writing:

1. Know the rules before you break them 2. ANYTHING can be inspiration 3. Remember the doll 4. Use your resources 5. Don’t hold yourself back 6. Practice 7. Enjoy yourself!!

1. Know the rules before you break them

Pay attention in English class (or whichever class for the language you're writing in) and learn the grammar!! I don't always have perfect grammar in my fics and sometimes I consciously choose to ignore grammar rules to make it more impactful, but you HAVE to know the rules before you break them. Study those grammar lessons! Learn how to use the fun punctuation, like semi colons and em dashes and en dashes and all that good stuff. I know they're scary, but they're a lot of fun too.

ALSO PLEASE USE PARAGRAPH BREAKS IM BEGGING that's like, a HUGE problem I see with a lot of new writers. Paragraph breaks are not optional!! Change 'em when the main topic of the paragraph switches or when a new character is speaking. Overdoing it with paragraph breaks is better than underdoing it, I promise.

2. ANYTHING can be inspiration

Have you ever played Story Cubes?

If you haven’t, it’s essentially this game where you roll the cubes, they each land on a different image, and you gotta tell a story that uses all of those pictures. Some are literally just a question mark or a speech bubble and that’s what you have to use. Me and my siblings used to play the game a lot. And you know what? Some of those stories are the most creative ones we’ve ever come up with. When I say anything can be inspiration for a story or a character, I mean ANYTHING!

I based my Donnie design off of the vintage globes and journals I have in my bedroom.

My little sister threw a pillow at me and it inspired a funny scene I wanted to write in another fic

I designed two OCs off of Mars and Pluto and an ENTIRE 40,000 word fanfiction based off of a space documentary I watched

My NaNoWriMo story last year was based off of the concept of shadows and how cool I thought it’d be if they could talk

Me and my friend made an entire dystopian original story commenting on our world today. It was first inspired by a crack self insert Death Note RP we had at 13 years old. Not kidding.

Literally anything can be inspiration. Challenge your mind!! The best ideas come out of completely ordinary and unexpected opportunities, in my experience. You don’t need one of those super detailed and crazy expensive prompt books (though they are fun) to write a great story. Use music, use a color, use the sky, use your favorite food, use anything! Just find inspiration!

3. Remember the Doll

Remember Mulan?

We never got to see the Huns destroy the village and we didn’t get to see them kill anyone there either. But by showing that doll there, the animators took an entire battle full of death and destruction and summed it all up in one, heartbreaking moment. You don’t need to spend ten pages writing about how horrifying the bad guy was and listing everything he did from start to finish, nor do you need to write an analysis on why she’s bad. All you need to do is show one or two very meaningful ways they impacted the world... and you can do that with something as simple as a doll lying on the ground in a burning village.

Because the doll is there; the little girl is not.

There’s a quote that sums this up really well, and I have it written on the dry erase board by my desk.

“You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road.” - Richard Price

And adding onto that, try to write more about what’s there, not what isn’t. Mulan didn’t say ANYTHING about the girl in that scene, but by showing what was there, it told us a story about what wasn’t. Focus on what is in the scene and it will tell your reader about what isn’t.

I do think writing a balance is good though, so I try and keep it around a 3/1 ratio of what is there vs what isn’t. Remember this is art though, not math; you can change the formula as you please just to make it feel right. It all depends on the scene and what you want.

4. Use Your Resources

You know how, in the artist community, there’s this sort of stigma around using references? And some artists have to make posts reminding others that there’s nothing wrong with using references and you even should use them?

It’s the same concept in writing!

There is NOTHING wrong with looking to other writers’ work or keep a thesaurus constantly open or bookmarking a reference page of other words to use than “said”. Nothing wrong with it at all! When I write, I always have two tabs open: my writing document and thesaurus.com. I have a folder on my computer bookmarks of ways to describe a smile and a body language dictionary. Before I write fanfic, I watch a “best moments of *character*” compilation video on Youtube to remind myself of how they speak. I watch fight scenes from The 100 or Avatar or Marvel while I write my own battles!

There are SO MANY resources out there for you to reference. Use them! And if you need some to start with, shoot me an ask. I have a ton.

5. Don’t Hold Yourself Back

One of the scariest parts of writing is the thought of “what will people think?” Creative writing is EXTREMELY personal, and you’re going to find a lot of you inside your work, including the thoughts you didn’t want anyone to know about.

People will discover how often you think about love. People will discover how dark your mind can get. People will discover the morals you hold that even you didn’t know about. They’ll discover that the person you swore you’ve moved on from is still on your mind. They’ll discover that the pain you swore you got over still hurts you.

“you can tell the deepest truths with the lies of fiction” - Isabel Allende

This thought scared me a lot, and still does. I’ve let go of and forgotten about so many story ideas because they were just a little too personal. I could write it and not publish it, but what if someone still sees? Writing, like all art, comes right from the heart and reveals a lot about a person. That paranoia of being known kept me from writing so much.

But I promise you, your most powerful stories are going to be the most personal ones.

I wrote Hated Resemblance based on my thoughts about myself, and I wrote Dagger From the Mirror based on thoughts about myself too. A lot of it is dark, most is painful, and all of it is scary to show the world. But I wrote it anyways and it’s created something pretty amazing.

Hell, even now I’m wondering if I should post that lil anecdote, but I think it’s the best way to make this part of my point stronger. See? Writing about things that affect you is the best way to make them impactful, even for something as simple as advice.

And even if you want to write about light and happy stories- you’re still going to have to get personal.

This all got pretty deep but my point is this: Don’t hold yourself back. Write what you feel you need to and it don’t worry about what anyone will think. Don’t hide that one sentence because you’re scared who will read it because you’re scared to be known so deeply. Add it in even when it’s scary.

That’s something I’m still learning how to do, and it’s a slow process that has taken years... but it’s worth it, I promise.

“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” - Natalie Goldberg

6. Practice

I started writing in 1st grade. I’ve written regularly since then, and this is my word count every month this year:

Most of that is fanfiction. Some are just random thoughts, some are really thought out posts or answers to your questions, and some are made up of original stories. That total words written number is since November.

You don’t have to write this much every month, I promise, I just don’t really have any other hobbies lol. My point is that practice is really really really important. Write a paragraph or even just a sentence every day. You’re gonna improve so quickly, I promise.

“Write every day. Writing is a muscle that gets stronger with use.” - Abbi Glines

But take breaks too!!! Don’t overwork yourself. Burn out is a real thing and you shouldn’t force yourself to write just because you’re scared you don’t write enough! Write at a pace that’s comfortable for you. There will always be writers out there who write more than you and even more writers who write less than you. That’s okay. Everyone has a pace they’re comfortable with, and you just gotta find yours. As long as you’re writing consistently, the numbers don’t matter too much. 50 words a day or 5000 are both good!

7. Enjoy Yourself!!

You’re here to have fun!

No matter what you’re writing (angst, romance, fix-it, AUs, hurt/comfort, fluff, ANYTHING), remember that fic writing is supposed to be fun!! You’re not getting paid to do this. On one hand, that sucks, but on the other hand it gives you the amazing opportunity to write literally whatever you want! Find projects you’re enthusiastic about, meet other writers, do collabs, make playlists for your story, create over powered OCs for the hell of it, ignore plot holes and write without regard to canon, or write the most realistic and in-depth canon-compliant book ever. Create the most self indulgent story you can think of!

Have fun. This is your story and you get to write the rules. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Oh yeah, and one more thing. Be proud of yourself. You can get all of the comments and feedback in the world, but if you’re not proud of what you wrote, it’s gonna be hard to look back on it with joy. Be proud no matter how many reads it gets—you made it!

“I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.” - Steve Martin

#can you tell I like writing quotes #I have a whole pinterest board full of them #asks #writing advice #writblr #fanfiction #meg rambles

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

cake for dessert

Grayson wants a slice of MJ for dessert on a rainy day

4.8k

warnings: badly written smut

A/N: one of the MJ things I promised to upload. It’s storming like crazy here and this is all I want in life rn so I figured this was the one to post.

***

A chilly spring rain has descended over LA out of nowhere, as MJ discovers with surprise when she and her best friend Lainey step out of their final store at The Grove. That Saturday had started off warm and sunny, a perfect weekend day to spend out and about, but the storm rolling in is suddenly derailing her and Lainey’s plans for a chill afternoon at the beach.

“Well, shit,” Lainey remarks, glancing up at the dark clouds looming in the not-so-distant skyline.

“Right?” MJ concurs. She scrunches her nose and watches Lainey pout as they consider what else they might do with their Saturday. With MJ still busy working hard at her new job and, admittedly, being wrapped up in the fading newness of Grayson, she and Lainey haven't had much time to spend together. Especially considering her friend’s own relationship and hectic schedule.

A fat raindrop surprises her by landing on her nose, and both of them giggle as the sudden light sprinkle becomes more steady. They hurry down the walkway to the parking garage until they find MJ’s car, hurrying inside and slamming the doors just in time for the rain to start really coming down.

“Looks like we’re going home, unless you want to fight the LA drivers who have no idea what they're doing in the rain to go to a movie or something,” MJ jokes, selecting her favorite rainy day playlist full of Tame Impala, Bon Iver, Rex Orange County, and the like to serenade them on the way back to her apartment.

Lainey laughs. She’s also from out of state and shares MJ’s anecdotal opinion of the LA natives. “Yeah, as much as I want to stay and cuddle and feed each other takeout, I think for that reason I’m gonna have to head out when we get to your place. It’ll take me an extra hour to get home because of this.”

Now it’s MJ’s turn to playfully but also somewhat seriously jut out her lower lip in an impression of Lainey’s earlier pout. “Who’s gonna dangle pad Thai noodles into my mouth, then?”

“I don’t know, babe. Don’t you have a boyfriend or something now?” Lainey smirks, snatching MJ’s phone from her lap and waving it in her face so her lock screen illuminates, an accidental candid she had captured of said boyfriend with that beautiful smile shining right at her.

“It’s not the same,” whines MJ, entering the rapidly congesting highway. “First of all, he’s busy most of the day. Second, he makes it sexy, whereas you’re just plain cute. I don’t think I’m in the mood to be sexy today.”

That was true, for sure. Her outfit consisted of a pair of black leggings, one of Gray’s t-shirts that hung off her body shapelessly, and a baseball cap to hide the fact that she wore no makeup. Between her stuffy nose from the cold she’s fighting and the lack of sleep from the night before, she couldn’t be bothered that morning to try any harder.

Lainey, who had been listening while checking the visor mirror to see if her mascara had survived the rain, feigns offense. “Wow, bitch, are you saying I’m not sexy?”

“Boo, you’re sooo sexy. Grayson should probably thank you for half of my skills based on your tips over the years, now that I think about it,” MJ grins, causing Lainey to cackle.

Their girl talk continues the rest of the surprisingly short car ride back to MJ’s apartment building. MJ pulls up behind Lainey’s car and hugs her bestie over the console.

“Love you. Text me when you’re home so I know you survived the drive.”

“Will do. Love you, babe.”

MJ makes sure Lainey is in her car before driving into her covered spot. The tiredness had been real before, but the pure exhaustion hit her out of nowhere as her mind processes that she’s now home. She’s suddenly looking forward to nothing more than ordering said takeout, soaking in a too-hot bath, and watching The Hobbit series all afternoon.

She shuts the door to her apartment behind her with a sigh and trudges into her room, tossing her bags on her bed. Desperate to start the second half of her day of relaxation, it takes her all of 30 seconds to strip down and make her way into the bathroom. As the soaking tub fills, she selects a Lush bath bomb and bubble bar from the basket on the counter.

With a last-minute face mask applied, hair piled on top of her head to keep it dry, and New Girl ready to play on her phone, she’s just settling into the water with a light moan when the phone begins buzzing on the ledge of her soaking tub. She dries her hands and smiles when she sees Grayson’s name on the FaceTime call.

“Hi, baby,” she answers once his handsome face fills the screen, scooping some of the foamy bubbles closer to her chest so they fluff out cloud-like from her skin.

Grayson grins and takes a second to admire at her. “Hi, sweetheart. You look so fucking cute.”

MJ rolls her eyes but flushes and smiles appreciatively. “If you say so. How’s filming going?”

He puffs his cheeks and blows out the air slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Good, but it’s been a long day. E and I both decided to call it quits early; we’re both way too strung out on no sleep and anxiety to get much else done, especially now that the weather’s gone to shit.”

“I’m sorry, Bear, I know you both wanted to get everything wrapped tonight,” she laments with him, wishing she could comfort him with a kiss to his plump pink lips. “I’m kind of in the same boat. Lainey and I couldn't go to the beach, and between this cold I have and the fact it’s getting harder and harder to sleep without you, I’m so tired.”

Grayson smiles at her in that way he reserves only for her — soft, crooked, his hazel eyes sparkling in the center and crinkling just the tiniest bit at the corners — especially at the sound of her little pet name for him.

“Can I come over? I’ve been thinking about you all day, but I didn't want to cut into your time with Lainey. I just need to be with you.”

“Yes please,” MJ agrees with a sniffle. “As long as you’re the big spoon while we have a couch day. That’s about all I’m gonna be good for today, I think.”

“Of course,” he grins, getting into his car. “Are you gonna be my little cuddle bug all afternoon, Peach?”

She hears an exasperated ‘oh my God’ in the background and can practically see Ethan’s eye-roll out of frame.

“Yeah,” she coos back to her boyfriend, then, “hi, E.”

“Hi, MJ,” he grunts. As she’s naked underneath the clouds of bubbles, Grayson doesn’t angle the phone towards his brother, but she can still hear his voice. “You know, he’s already a cornball most of the time, but you really bring it out of him in droves, dude.”

Grayson doesn’t even react to Ethan, his gaze fixated instead on MJ through the phone. “Good. I sleep better with you in my arms, too.”

“Ugh,” Ethan complains. “Where are my fucking AirPods?”

She does, indeed, hear rustling, presumably from the older twin, but she chooses to ignore him as well. “Can you pick up Thai or Veggie Grill or something on your way over?”

“Oooh, yeah, either of those sound awesome. I’m starving,” Grayson agrees. “I’ll have to drop E off at home first and hopefully traffic wont be too bad both ways. Be there in an hour?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, baby,” she says quietly with a sweet, content smile.

He winks at her, and his voice drops a couple of notches. “No problem, Peach. As long as you’re my dessert.”

Her body rushes with heat, and not from the temperature of the water she’s soaking in. Before she can answer, Ethan groans louder than ever.

“Oh my God, dude, I fucking heard that! Can you keep your cheesy sex talk at zero while we’re literally right next to each other?” His voice suddenly picks up even louder so she can hear him. “MJ, I can’t believe you still let him fuck you when he says shit like that.”

“He makes up for it with the other things his mouth can do,” she retorts, winking at Grayson. Her giggles join Grayson’s howls of laughter and taunts at his brother, who apparently is very much done with the conversation. “Alright, I love you both. Drive safe, please.”

True to his word, Grayson shows up a little over an hour later with a bag of Veggie Grill in one hand and a Starbucks medicine ball in the other. MJ absolutely despises hot tea, and he knows it, but he also knows she won’t be able to resist the soothing warmth of it — especially considering he took the time and effort to get it for her.

He smiles at the sight of her cocooned in the plush, cozy fabric of her favorite blanket and leans down to give her a quick kiss. He hands her the drink, which she does indeed accept with warm eyes and a soft heart. She takes a sip and lets the hot liquid coat her scratchy throat as he plops down next to her with a sigh and sets the food on her coffee table. Grayson cups her cheeks to draw her in for another kiss — lingering, closed-mouthed pecks this time.

“Hi,” he says, smiling and dropping one to her red-tipped nose for good measure.

“Hi,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from mouth-breathing more and more throughout the afternoon. “Sorry I look so gross. This cold is kicking my ass the later it gets. You’re probably going to catch it.”

“First of all: worth it. Second: are you kidding? This is my favorite MJ,” he assures, peppering little kisses all across her forehead as he draws her in to his chest. Her hair is in the same messy bun from her bath, her glasses are on, and she’s dressed in her old college crewneck sweatshirt, boy-short Calvins, and fuzzy socks… “No one gets to see you like this except me. All fresh-faced and beautiful and undone. All mine.”

“Mmm,” MJ hums, snuggling into him and sniffling. “We’ll see how you feel when I’m snoring like a 300 pound grandpa in a little bit because I can’t breathe out of my nose.”

“Okay, but I don’t see how that’ll be different from any other night.” She draws back and smacks him on the arm playfully, scoffing incredulously. He just barks out a laugh and kisses the frown off her lips before distributing their late lunch between them.

They make comfortable small talk while The Office plays quietly in the background, mixing with the patter of rain on the large windows. A fuzzy warm ball settles in the pit of her stomach that has her feeling almost heady at the simple intimacy of the moment.

MJ finishes first. She takes off her glasses and places them on the coffee table next to her tea so she can curl into a ball and nuzzle into Gray’s shoulder. He kisses the top of her head affectionately and finishes his meal in silence while they watch the antics of Michael Scott and gang for the millionth time. Eventually his empty plate joins hers and he opens his burly arms to gather her in his embrace, lying down and bringing her with him.

Grayson chuckles when she fully climbs on top of him so she’s straddling his hips and hugging him with all of her limbs like a koala would a tree, her nose buried into the five o’clock shadow on his neck. He makes sweeping passes up and down her back. “Needy today, sweetheart?”

“A little,” MJ mumbles, eyelids already feeling heavy, even more so when he fixes the oversized blanket around the both of them. He smells so good, feels so solid and warm, his breath tickling her ear soothingly. They FaceTime every day, but their crazy lives have made it where this is the first time in days that they’ve seen each other in person. “Missed you. We both work too much.”

He lets out a little hum of agreement, sighing when he feels her lips pucker to dot baby kisses on his bronze skin. His hands stroke up and down her back comfortingly. “I missed you, too. E and I should have just one more day of shooting before we’ll be home more to work on editing and stuff with the team.”

“I’ll be in Seattle most of next week for a new client recruit,” she reminds, recognizing the inexplicit invitation. “Otherwise I’d come over and work remote with you.”

“Ugh, that’s right,” Gray laments, sighing. “Kiss me. Please?”

MJ gives him a lazy smile when she feels his fingers tilt her chin up. Their makeout is slow and simple and just what the both need, reconnecting after days and lives apart.

A few minutes go by until MJ groans a little and sits up in his lap with a sigh, a string of saliva connecting their lips before breaking with a snap.

“I can’t breathe laying down like that. Or just out of my nose,” she pouts. One of her hands plays with his hair while the other smooths down his t-shirt over his chest where she had rumpled it by laying on him.

Grayson grips her hips and follows her up, hugging her tightly around the middle with those huge, burly arms. “Since you can’t sleep anyways…” he looks at her, and she cocks an eyebrow, her lips quirking questioningly. “Can I have my dessert now? You can sit up on the couch. And no mouth-to-mouth required.”

MJ chuckles and wraps her arms around his broad shoulders, biting her lip as she considers his request. As much as she wants Grayson in any capacity most of the time, today is one of those days where sex just isn't on the table for her.

That being said, can she really resist that tongue? Those lips?

Before she can answer, he continues. “I know you don’t feel good, so I’ll understand if you just aren't up for anything today. But I’m not expecting you to reciprocate at all. I’ve just been wanting… like, basically needing to eat your pussy all week. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for so days.” He traces her jawline with his nose until his lips reach that little spot right behind the hinge and just below her ear, where he licks and nibbles until her hips start shifting in his lap of their own accord. “Please?”

Well, how the fuck is she going to say no to that?

She can’t, and knows he can sense her giving in when he starts to turn them around so she’s reclined against the back of the couch. Grayson grins while he arranges the blankets and pillows around her to get her as comfy as possible.

She watches him fuss over her with loving eyes, but wants to make sure he really is okay with the arrangement, too. “Are you sure? I don’t want to blue ball you. And I can speak from experience that that rug isn't a fun place to be on your knees for an extended period of time.”

Gray smirks at her and plants one more kiss to her lips before sinking down her body, snatching a couple of stray pillows to cushion his knees. “One problem solved. And don't worry about any chance of blue balls; it’s been way too fucking long since I’ve done this, and I’ll be lucky if I don't cum in my pants before I even get you to your first one.”

“Oh, so I’m in for more than one orgasm today?” MJ smiles back down at him and lifts her hips so he can drag her panties down her toned legs, placing her feet on the edge of the couch so she’s nice and open for him once he had the fabric tossed behind him somewhere. “I’d say that was big talk if I didn't know you could back it up.”

She knows he likes a challenge, and combined with his love for being praised and her bare pussy exposed to him at long last, she feels like she’s got a little bit of an upper hand here.

“Always,” he murmurs.

His lips start at the inside of her knee, working their way up to her inner thigh, across her mound to nuzzle in the little patch of hair she hadn't bothered to trim down between waxes, before trekking down the opposite leg. MJ knows his goal is to build up the anticipation for them both, and he’s succeeding; she can hear his breathing intensify as he tries to take in her scent, and she can feel the wetness beginning to leak out of her without so much as a lick from him.

Finally, he brings his hand up to trace her smooth lower lips, glancing up at her with warm yet lustful eyes as he takes in how his teasing is affecting her. MJ gives it right back, sneaking a hand under her oversized sweatshirt to play with her breast. It drives him absolutely crazy seeing her touch herself, but also not being able to see. If she didn't know any better, she would say sometimes he was more obsessed with her boobs than her actual vagina when they get down.

When his eyes turn dark, she grins and uses her free hand to rake through his hair and pull him towards her pussy while simultaneously pinching her nipple just the way she likes. Grayson growls and turns his attention back where she’s directing him, finally parting her with his middle and index fingers to expose her clit. He places a quick kiss directly to it, causing MJ to gasp and grip his dark locks tighter.

He gives it a more sensual smooch and pulls back to watch more of her juices trickle out of her until he can’t resist really getting to work anymore. His moan vibrates against her when his tongue swipes through the sweet wetness, trailing it to her clit with his mouth and giving the nub a gentle suckle before slipping his tongue back to her entrance. MJ lets out little whimpers of bliss as he makes out with her pussy, his tongue reaching as far inside her as it can, wiggling around and slurping down everything that comes out of her.

She lets him eat her out with no real purpose, thoroughly enjoying the constant stimulus of his lips and teeth and tongue without a driving need to make her cum behind it. Her hands flit between stroking his hair comfortingly, to playing with her breasts, to digging her nails across his clothed shoulders.

“Feels so good,” MJ whispers while she watches him work. Her fingers are combing gently through his hair once again to push the dark strands off of his forehead just in time to see his eyes flit open to meet her own.

“Tastes so good,” Grayson growls back, taking a moment to sit on his haunches and get a thorough look at her spread out for him. Her pussy is swollen and wet, the insides of her thighs bare the faint markings of his teeth, and her face is pure bliss even as she sniffs and coughs a bit. “You okay?”

MJ nods. It’s sweet of him to check, but all she wants now is his face back in her pussy. She bites her lip and one of her heels, still clad in a fuzzy sock, digs into the middle of his broad back to push him in. Grayson smirks darkly and follows her lead, his lips immediately suctioning around her plump little clit.

“Fuck…” MJ moans. Her voice is raspier than usual and, like everything else about her today, goes straight to his dick, which throbs untouched in his grey sweats.

He starts working her over with purpose now, determined to get her to cum in the next 30 seconds. He knows he can do it even if she hadn't started chanting, “like that, like that, don’t fucking stop…”

Her moans reach peak levels, as loud as she can be with her sore throat, and her clit throbs on his tongue. Her back arches off the couch and her hands dive fully in his thick hair now to hold him to her, her heel still pressing against his spine doing the same.

Grayson groans and has to remove one of his hands from her hips to reach into his boxers and squeeze his dick hard enough to stave off his own orgasm. He slips two fingers of his other hand in her dripping pussy to give her something to clench around, which doesn’t help his attempt at not cumming literally in his pants when he feels her walls gripping his digits like a vice.

“Baby…” she whines as he brings her down with little kitten licks on her pulsing clit, her thighs quivering around his head. Grayson hums and nuzzles into that delicate skin until the muscles beneath stop trembling, and the flutters around his middle and ring fingers have ceased. He never takes his eyes off her face — eyes closed, mouth agape, cheeks flushed. Beautiful and dismantled because of him.

Once he feels she (and, frankly, he himself) have calmed just enough to be able to take more, he starts to press and curl the fingers inside her. MJ whines softly as the build picks up again, which turns into shrieking when he wraps his swollen lips around her clit again and sucks the nub sharply into his mouth. Between the sloppy wetness of his mouth and the way he applies pressure just right on her g-spot, it takes all of a minute for her to fall apart again. She marvels, not for the first time, at how fucking good he is at this, how well he knows her body.

‘Always’ is right.

Grayson sits back, removes his hand and mouth from her and growls at the sight before him while he pushes against the backs of her thighs. So much for sitting up, as she’s now practically on her back, but neither of them are complaining or stopping to readjust. She’s perfectly exposed for him, her juices and his saliva coating her skin and dripping down her ass, she’s that wet.

“MJ…”

Her name escaping his lips in that husky voice finally gets her to lazily blink her eyes open until her gaze focuses on him as clearly as she can. He looks sexy as fuck on his knees for her, pupils dilated and the stubbled skin of his chin and jaw covered in shiny wetness.

Grayson’s big hands knead the insides of her thighs until he’s confident he has her full attention. He smoothes his palms to the crooks of her knees, moving her gently until she’s practically folded in half, and without breaking eye contact shifts his head that much further down so he can go to town on her even lower.

MJ gasps and shoots one of her hands to his hair, her first instinct being to push him away, until half a second passes and she’s doing the exact opposite. No one has ever done this for her before, and now she’s wondering how she had gone so long without the sensation of his tongue swiping up her cum from that virtually untouched hole.

If she was in any right state, she would have seen Grayson’s smug, quite literally ass eating smirk at her reaction to his ministrations. He isn’t sure why in their nearly eight months together he had never eaten her ass before; it isn’t the first time he’s done it to a girl. Maybe because he treasures sex with MJ more than anyone in his life before, maybe knowing in his heart that they have a long future of making love ahead of them had caused him to wait. What he does know, is that he’ll never be able to resist doing it again when the desire to rises, especially given her voracious response to it.

“Fuck!” MJ wails when he spreads her even more open with his hand so he can have better access, his tongue rimming and prodding her asshole to perfection while the thumb of his free hand presses upward on the hood of her clit. He knows her so well, can sense she’s too sensitive for direct stimulation there, but the pressure right above the bundle of nerves is exactly what she’s craving without her even realizing it.

But he does, and it feels so good — too good; Grayson’s eyes drop closed as he lets her taste and sounds overcome his senses, and it’s like her pleasure is his as his hand finally begins to jerk himself off. He builds up the speed of his strokes with her increased pace of breath, until she cums for a third time, and his tongue is quickly swiping all the way up her crease, from asshole to clit as he stands to his feet. He leans over her with one hand on the back of the couch and licks the last of her off his lips as he takes in her body to fuel him even more, even as clothed as she still is.

MJ starts to come-to enough to realize what he needs, and lifts her shirt to expose more skin to him. She drinks in the sight of her gorgeous boyfriend towering over her with his sweats and boxer briefs pushed down just enough for his equally beautiful dick to be out while he strokes the head aggressively. He’s about to explode and she knows it, just as attuned to his body’s tells as he is with hers.

His face is hovering just above hers, and she watches his mouth drop and his eyes train on her exposed skin. MJ bites her lip and whines, pulling roughly on her nipples while her eyes flit between his face and his cock. “Cum on my pussy, baby, I want it — want your cum all over me, make it your pussy…”

She’s rambling, but it’s all he needed as a deep, relieved groan escapes him, followed by soft grunts as he shoots all over her, exactly where she told him to and then some. MJ moans quietly and knocks his hand out of the way to finish him off herself, squeezing the last drops of the pearly white from him. The fingers of her other hand collect what she can from her skin to keep it from dripping on the couch, spreading it instead over her swollen lower lips.

His chest still heaves when she looks up at him with a tired smile, which he matches with a laugh when her final stroke makes him flinch. He pushes her hand off his cock and tells her, “Don’t move.”

She obeys, and watches him lean over to grab his phone off the side table, unlocking it and swiping up. “Is this okay?” he asks, motioning with his head. “This is too fucking sexy. Need a memento while you’re out of town.”

MJ giggles and nods, spreading her legs a little more as he goes to town. She does her best to coat her pussy in his cum, her long, glittering manicured nails adding a certain aesthetic to the shots. She even scoops some up and let him capture her sucking it off her middle finger.

Grayson smiles tiredly and kisses her sweetly, the gentleness and simplicity of it a little stark after the pure filth of the last twenty minutes. He tucks himself back in his pants and goes into her bathroom to get a wet rag to clean her up with, chucking it in the washer when he’s done. On his way back over to her, he picks up her long-forgotten panties off the middle of the living room floor with a smirk and hands them to her, plopping next to her and dragging her into his lap once they’re back on her body.

“I’m gonna have to insist on you having dessert every day,” she yawns into his chest with a sniffle. “I didn't know you liked cake so much.”

Grayson laughs and squeezes her tight to him, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead as he confirms to Netflix that, yes, they are indeed still watching. “And Ethan says I’m the cornball.”

“If he only knew.”

#idk if i like this or not #but it is what it is #hope its okay #dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #smut #grayson mj

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jmeelee · 4 years

Text

Except at Waffle House

A Sterek AU inspired by that ridiculous Reddit post about the girl who’s BF keeps fighting the cook at Waffle House.

As far as boyfriend’s went, Braeden hit the jackpot when she met Derek Hale. She hadn’t been looking for a partner when she’d stepped into the first class of her Master’s program, but there he’d been, sitting dead-center of the third row in the cavernous lecture hall. Derek was… different. Intelligent, well-read, handsome, driven; he’d weathered tragedy and trauma with elegance, emerging on the other side with a soft-spoken grace. He made Braeden laugh with a wit so dry it kindled a fire in her belly. To other women, Derek’s obscene good looks—chiseled jawline, soft hair the color of midnight, ass you could bounce quarters off of—might have been his biggest draw, but for Braeden, it was Derek’s hard-won composure. When she decided to drop out of the Federal Marshall program and pursue her own independent career, Derek never batted an eye. When she came home from dangerous missions sporting cuts, scrapes and bruises, he didn’t rage over her playing fast and loose with her own welfare. He simply said, “I’m glad you’re home safe.” Derek never yelled, never lost his temper, never fought. He was a dream come true.

Except at Waffle House.

Truth be told, Braeden didn’t love Waffle House, but food was food and a girl’s gotta eat. Derek, however, had some deep-seated appreciation of the greasy chain that stretched back into his childhood, before his parents and older sister died. So while she preferred to eat elsewhere, Braeden found herself at Waffle House a few times a week, feeding Derek’s desire to reconnect with fond adolescent memories.

“Service might be a bit slower today,” said their usual waitress, who’s bright yellow name tag read Erica. She plopped an iced-tea in front of Braeden, and a steaming cup of black coffee before Derek. Erica snapped her bubblegum, pulled a tiny notepad from the pocket of her black apron, and snatched a stubby pencil out of her perky blonde ponytail. “Boyd’s training a new cook. What’re y’all having?”

Sure enough Boyd, the owner of the franchise, stood at the grill, patiently pointing at burners and griddles while the long-fingered hands of the tall, thin guy next to him flew around like drunk hummingbirds. Braeden figured the new cook was replacing Scott, who had quit the line to attend Veterinary school. When you spent several days a week eating there, the Waffle House family became your family.

Braeden was known to make her way through the various menu items. Some people had their tried and true staples, but she preferred to throw tradition to the wind. One day it was pecan waffles, the next, chili smothered hash browns. Today, a cheese steak omelet. Derek however was a creature of habit. “I’ll have the--”

“Steak and eggs,” Erica interrupted, graphite scratching over the paper. “Steak medium-rare and egg yolks slightly runny. Whole wheat toast, well done.”

“You got it,” Derek said agreeably, handing over his flimsy laminated menu. “Thanks, Erica.”

They filled the void between placing their order and receiving their food with anecdotes from work and a fast and furious game of hangman on the back of their paper placemats. Waffle House may be lacking in sophistication, but it’s service was always speedy.

“Here ya go.” Erica plunked plates in front of them and topped off Derek’s coffee. “Let me know if you need anything else.” But the call bell rang in the kitchen and she bustled away, already half-way down the aisle.

Three forkfuls of cheesy goodness passed her lips before Braeden realized Derek was poking at yellow lumps on his platter with a stiff triangle of toast, watching the yolks crumble like a house of sand. She finished chewing, swallowed. “Derek? Is something wrong?”

“It’s my eggs,” he lamented. “They’re super hard. Not runny at all.”

Had she known the repercussions of her next words, Braeden might have given them more thought. But unbeknownst to her, she was about to score red on the Waffle House Index of how prepared she was to weather the coming shit storm.

“Just call Erica back,” Braeden suggested, waving her fork in the air. “The kitchen can whip up another batch. No big deal.”

Famous last words.

Erica flounced over, ponytail swinging behind her. “Sorry about that, honey,” she chirped. “The new cook is still finding his groove. I’ll be right back with the correct order.”

Derek thanked her again but watched with hazel eagle eyes as she brought the plate back to the open kitchen, speaking to the mole-speckled guy at the grill whose bed head hair was barely contained under his dorky paper hat. Derek squirmed in his seat.

Braeden’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a really complex call-in system these employees need to learn. And all that crazy code with the jelly and mayo packets? They’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.”

Derek grunted, watching Erica return with a heaping plate of eggs. This time they were scrambled. “These are scrambled,” he said stupidly, blinking at the fluffy little clouds.

Looking down, Erica seemed to see them for the first time. She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ugh. Stiles.”

“Yeah, it’s a style of eggs, just not the one I ordered.”

“No,” Erica shook her head. “S-T-I-L-E-S. Stiles is our new cook. I promise I’ll be back with the correct eggs in a few.”

But ten minutes later a plate of thinly sliced hard-boiled eggs laid out in a flower pattern was placed in front of Derek. Braeden couldn’t help it, she threw back her head and laughed. “At this point, I think the cook’s fucking with you,” she told him.

But Derek wasn’t in on the joke. He pushed the plate away and threw money down on the table. “Hopefully both his cooking and his comedy routine improves,” Derek grumbled, pulling on his leather jacket.

Maybe now they could finally eat at some different restaurants.

----------

Three days later, they were back at Waffle House.

“There are over 1,500 other Waffle Houses in America,” Braeden said for the millionth time, waving her map app in Derek’s face. “Look, there’s one twelve miles away.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Derek scowled, sending his second plate of eggs back to the kitchen. First, they were poached, then they were part of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich.

The third time a single slice of toast sat on a wide white plate, a perfect circle cut from the center. Inside the circle was an egg. Cooked over-hard.

Braeden took a fortifying breath of humid maple-scented air.

“Okay I’ve had enough,” Derek yelled, standing up from the booth. “You,” he pointed at Stiles the cook, who stared back with a wide insolent mouth and tricky amber eyes. “Take this garbage back and cook my eggs the right way.”

Stiles slowly pulled a dirty apron over his neck, dislodging his ridiculous hat, and sauntered around the counter on long legs to stand in front of Derek, crowding into his personal space. Toe to toe, there was barely any difference in height between the two men, though their body types varied greatly. Derek was built like a brick shithouse, Stiles like a twink.

“Is there a problem, dude?” Stiles asked coolly, with the poker face of an Easter Island head. The only crack in his stone facade was the tiny quirk at the edge of his pert lips.

“Yeah,” Derek growled, pushing a finger into Stiles’ thin chest, “my problem is you and your shitty egg cooking skills.”

“Shitty?” The quirk blossomed into a fully grown smirk. “I’ve made you several plates of superb eggs, dude. It’s not my fault you won’t even try them.”

“Quit calling me dude.”

“Sure thing, buddy.” Stiles winked and stared Derek down like a cowboy in a duel with nothing left to live for. Where had Boyd found this sadist cook?

“My name is Derek. Not buddy. Not dude. Derek.” The words leaked out between Derek’s clenched teeth. Braeden could slice American cheese off his jaw right now.

Stiles smiled like he’d won the lottery, angling his body slightly away from Derek, but never breaking eye contact. “Hey Waffle House, Derek here thinks my eggs suck. Do all of you fine, upstanding people think my eggs are good?” Stiles got several thumbs-up, two enthusiastic whistles, and one wrinkled middle finger from a white-haired man hunched over at the service counter. Stiles gave the guy a thumbs up. “Thanks for your honesty mister. It’s much appreciated.”

“What the hell was that? What are you trying to do?” Derek was snarling, and the look between both men was lethal. Eyes sparked. Lips wetted. Fingers twitched. Braeden held her breath, sure fists would start flying at any second. Derek made muted sounds of rage worthy of an aspiring ventriloquist. They were too close, puffed out chests a hair's-breadth apart.

Stiles shrugged. “My Waffle House, my rules. Rule number one, pull that stick out of your ass, Derek.”

Derek took Stiles by the surprisingly broad shoulders and backed him into the coat rack. “Next time I’m here, you’re gonna make me my food the way I order it.”

As quick as it started, the altercation was over. Derek backed out of the overcoats, and Stiles came stumbling after like two teenagers emerging from a closet after seven minutes in heaven. Derek made a beeline for the exit.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles yelled at Derek’s retreating back. “I'll show you sunny side up!”

The whole thing was made even more ridiculous by the merrily tinkling overhead bell as Derek slammed outside.

_______

“Feeling up for trying Schwarma tonight?” Braeden asked when they pulled into the lot and parked next to Stiles’ run down blue Jeep.

“Not a chance,” Derek replied, practically backflipping out of the Camaro.

----------

“Derek, NO!” she said.

DEREK, YES he heard, and Derek, her Derek, the pinnacle of poise, yeeted himself over the counter, grabbing the yellow crossover uniform tie around Stiles’ neck.

----------

“At least Stiles didn’t spike Derek’s drink with meth,” Erica shrugged. Today the two men were rolling around on the greasy tile floor.

“Are you being ironic?” Braeden asked, taken aback by the seriousness of Erica’s tone.

“Waffle House is an irony-free zone,” Boyd informed her with a straight face. “I’m just thankful there’s no AR-15s or nudity today.”

“Yet,” Erica leered.

What the hell happened at Waffle House?!

----------

“I’ll have an Angus patty melt, and a slice of Aunt Maggie’s Triple Chocolate pie, please,” Braeden ordered as chaos descended around her. “It’s like when I have food in front of me, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.”

“That’s the magic of Waffle House,” Erica said sagely.

“It’s something,” Braeden replied.

----------

She was scattered, smothered, covered in food debris, collateral damage from Stiles and Derek’s ongoing war.

“Don’t worry, Hunny,” a friendly woman in the adjacent booth told her. “Throw a tide pod in with that shirt and the stains will come right out! Just don’t eat it like those crazy kids are doing these days.”

“Who in their right mind would eat a tide pod?” Braeden asked.

The answer was a serious side-eye. “Who in their right mind would keep returning to a restaurant to tussle with the cook?”

Touche.

----------

Waffle House had a special Valentine’s Day candlelight dinner, which Braeden could have happily gone her whole life not knowing about or participating in.

Erica sat them right next to the fancy new digital touchscreen jukebox. Stiles came out, fed the machine twenty dollars, and set it to play “I Touch Myself” by Divinyls two-hundred and forty times on repeat.

Braeden wasn’t sure if Derek touched himself that night, but any guy who took her on a Valentine date to Waffle House and proceeded to fist-fight the cook certainly wasn’t going to be touching her.

__________

Braeden parked down the road and walked to Waffle House, unsurprised to find Derek’s car in the parking lot. She’d quit going with him two weeks ago. To so many hungry, lost, and seriously hammered people, Waffle House’s warm yellow glow was a beacon of salvation. For Braeden, who watched from the peaceful vantage point of the parking lot as her boyfriend grappled the skinny cook into a headlock and proceeded to give him a vicious noogie, it would forever be a reminder that Derek was the perfect guy for her, except when it came to Stiles. Once upon a time, Braeden appreciated the fact that women everywhere were always looking at her man. He turned heads, but none of them ever seemed to turn his. Except at Waffle House, and it wasn’t a woman.

Derek walked out of the restaurant twenty minutes later to find her sitting on the hood of his black Camaro. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” he asked, monotone. She wondered at Drek’s equanimity, which has always seemed so inviting to her before. Maybe Braeden just didn’t inspire passion in Derek, the way Stiles obviously did.

She nodded.

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you can tell me what this is really about. Not unless you can tell me who you are. Because this person isn’t the Derek I thought I knew.”

Lately, she’d been thinking a lot about a proverb her mother used to recite when she was younger. Briseann an dúchais trí shúile an chait. The true nature of someone’s character is revealed through their eyes. Derek’s head swiveled between Braeden and the view through the glass window, where Erica was helping Stiles off the floor, and Boyd was mopping up spilled chocolate milk, and several patrons were still surreptitiously filming the whole ordeal on their cellphones. Derek’s eyes followed Stiles like a wolf stalking prey. “Shit, I—”

“Derek,” she said, sliding down the hood and coming to stand before him, “you were an amazing boyfriend and a great guy.” Braeden sighed. “Except at Waffle House.”

Derek shoved his fists into the front pockets of his too-tight jeans, scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the brick facade of the restaurant. “Yeah,” he relented. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too, Derek.” She gently patted his stubbled cheek. “Good luck with-” she gestured toward the golden fluorescent lights, the black and yellow signage, at Stiles standing stock still and Bambi-eyed behind the counter, holding a chunk of frozen bacon to the top of his head- “whatever the hell this is. I’ll see you around.”

She waved good-bye to Stiles through the window, who raised a hesitant hand back to her, and walked out of the parking lot.

Roughly a year and a half later, Braeden thumbed through a used newspaper while she waited at her local coffee shop for the barista to call her name. She flipped from business to sports, passing the society section on her way, when a pithy headline caught her attention.

Waffle Brawls lead to Wedding Bells.

Huh. So that’s what all the fighting was really about.

Underneath the catchy title was a byline: “Groom learned sixteen new ways to cook eggs during fearsome flirtation.”

“Caramel Macchiato for Braeden!”

Braeden tossed the paper onto the tabletop, leaving it open to Stiles and Derek’s wedding announcement, and left the coffee shop with a laugh on her lips.

You couldn’t make this shit up. Except at Waffle House.

__________

As per usual tumblr won’t let me link to anything so the Reddit post that inspired this story so you can find that in the notes! Thanks for reading hope it made you laugh.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterek fic #please don't take this seriously it is crack #outsider pov #braeden pov #but trust me Sterek always get a happy ending

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re1d · 4 years

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i know, and i love you | spencer reid

→ summary: nightmares haunt reid late at night. nothing is supposed to be there for him. he is supposed to be alone, but you’d never let that happen. → warnings: mentions of drugs, death, blood, and overall sadness → word count: 3.2k → a/n: i just got to the episodes where reid’s in prison n then i just rly rly wanted to write a post-prison!reid fic :’’)) // ALSO the formatting of this fic is kind of strange, the italics are spencer telling the story jic anyone gets confused !!

Blood. Delgado’s blood. Cat’s cloying smirk. The cut from the knife that killed Nadie Ramos. Everything blurs together. Spencer relives each memory and he is brought back to each cognitive interview he suffered through. He feels his hands squeezing Cat’s neck, JJ’s voice had sounded behind him, but all he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears. The sensation of her skin under his fingers, hands digging into her throat floods him with both terror and satisfaction. Pain courses through his thigh as he remembers the shiv that he coerced Shaw to stab him with.

Agony and fear pull him from his nightmare as he bolts up in bed next to you. The covers fly up, allowing a cool gust of air to wash over your body. His ragged breathing is the first thing your hear when you wake. Beside you, Spencer’s chest heaves as he tries to slow the memories traveling through his mind. He still sees the blood, still feels the pain, still experiences the trauma. His own words ring in the quietude of the early morning; they take over his being to the point where he can just barely feel the pressure of your hand on his shoulder. “Because you and I ... we deserve each other. That is the real secret.” Spencer wants to rip out his vocal chords and scrub them down with lye soap; he said those words, they came from his lips and he couldn’t feel worse about them.

“Her ... It was her again,” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as it rides on the thick atmosphere of your small bedroom. You know he has more to say—you can feel it. “No—it was everything. I saw everything. Mexico, Lindsey, Cat, my ...” he trails off into nothingness, but you can tell what he was about to say. His mom. “[Y/N], I ... I told her that we deserved each other, and—and it’s true. You’re so much better than me in every way; you’re sweet and kind and strong, and I’m just a little kid who still has nightmares.”

The bed shakes as you stand up on top of it, stepping over Spencer’s legs to be able to sit crisscross in front of him. As you plop down, bed springs creak. Darkness envelopes Spencer’s hunched over form, but you can see him as clear as day. Reaching out, you place your hands atop his, encouraging him to meet your gaze. “Spence—look at me,” the command is solid, reassuring, “you need to stop and breathe, okay? Sit up straight and take deep breaths with me. It’ll help, I promise. Then, we can get up and talk about it over coffee, sound good?” His eyes dart around the room once before the tension in his shoulders dissipates little by little.

“[Y/N], I-I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” Sympathy is painted on your features as you give his hands a tight squeeze. Shaking your head, you purse your lips, attempting to hold back tears threatening to fall while you’re in the presence of his pitiful state. His upper body moves with each inhale and exhale cycle. In. Out. In. Out. Routine, structure, necessity.

“I know, Spence, but you know what happens when you hold things in. Eventually, it eats away at you. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna put a pot on, you’re gonna join me in the kitchen, and we’re finally gonna talk through this.” He shivers, letting you stand and lead him out of your shared bedroom. Light switches are passed by as you navigate through the inky corridors—the only illumination being the moon’s tender glow. “I talked to Will a couple weeks after JJ had gotten home from that child abduction case in LA a couple months ago. He told me that he just sat there and let her vent to him, so that’s what we’re gonna do, okay? You are gonna tell me—word for word, memory for memory—what happened. In Mexico, in prison, in your mind. Spence, you’ve been through hell and back—and, yes, I know that you’re taking a mandated break every thirty days and that you’ve been through counselling—but you deserve to be able to talk to someone who doesn’t have a solution, or methods, or anything like that. Just please, let me listen.”

With a sigh and a hesitant nod, Spencer takes a seat across from you at the island in your small kitchen. He presses the heel of his palm into his right eye, trying to push away the warped reality that his vision presents. Even being awake doesn’t keep the nightmares at bay; in his life, he doesn’t think he’ll ever go a day without looking over his shoulder, although the hope is always there, buried deep inside of him. The sound of ceramic sliding against the wood marble counter top breaks the quietude, and he forces himself to meet your hazy stare.

“Well,” he begins, taking a sip of the sugary drink, “I guess I’ll start with getting off of the prison bus ...”

Spencer’s breathing sped up as he stood in line with the other prisoners. Each bellow of another person’s name sent shudders down his spine. He could feel his heart beating in his throat; the harsh thrumming sensation made him think he was going to throw up. A shout of his last name pulled him from his stupor, but when he was thrown back into the line, his heart seemed to stop. There was no longer any noise. He couldn’t hear anything—no names, no yelling, nothing.

He trudged behind the others, the shackles around his wrists and ankles feeling more like weights than intended. The bright orange of their uniforms burned his eyes, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to look at. Cool air sliced through the fabric like a hunting knife gutting a fish. He felt the laser-like stares of guards boring into his back. Every step he took sent a pang of torment through his body, and before he knew it, he had changed, showered, and ended up in the dorm.

The box of his things was gone. Terror coursed through his veins as three inmates surrounded him. “It’s party time,” one of them had said. His voice ached from the muffled screams that begged to be released. And it wasn’t until he was being held with a shiv pointed at his eye that the severity of the situation hit him. Thoughts of you, your smile, the way you would hold him after an awful case—everything came flooding back to him. Although he didn’t clamp his eyes shut, he prayed to anything that would listen to allow him to live to see you again.

“Back off,” a voice sounded from the outskirts of the dark bathroom, “back off, now.” Relief spread through his body, seeping into the deepest parts of him. Looking at the man shrouded in shadow, he does what he’s told and leaves as quickly as he arrived. Gratitude. That was the only emotion evident in Spencer when he finally lets himself fall into the arms of sleep.

“Okay, okay, whoa,” your voice tugs him from his explanation, “slow down, Spencer.” Reaching up to his face, he feels the wetness drenching his cheeks. Tears, he realizes. He’s crying. “Spence, honey, this can be enough for tonight if you want. We don’t have to keep going.” Grasping his hand from your spot across from him, you attempt to bring him back to reality. With a shake of his head, you’re given an answer and he launches into yet another prison anecdote. You present him with a tissue and he refuses.

“What’s the point if more tears are just around the corner?” A weak laugh escapes his lips as you lift his hand up to cup your cheek and press firm kisses into his palm. “Let’s keep going,” he says with a somewhat forced smile, “I won’t be able to go back to sleep now, anyways.”

Back. Reid was back and working with Delgado in the laundry room. The white sheets and smell of detergent overwhelmed his senses with the feeling of the countless hotels he’d stayed in for work. But, by God, he’d never let that slip in here. If Spencer had, he would’ve been beaten to a pulp before Calvin could tell the prisoners not to.

His mind wandered as he folded blanket after blanket. It went back to Mexico, going over Nadie Ramos’ death again and again. Spencer was so deep in his daydreaming that he didn’t hear the first call directed at him. And, it wasn’t until a distinct thud pulled him from his thoughts did he realize that Delgado was being gripped in a choke hold, a shiv pointed at the side of his neck. Spencer would never forget the look of panic on his face, in his heart—it vaguely reminded him Ryan Phillips, the first boy he couldn’t save. He tried to shout, to yell, to save his only friend behind bars, but it was to no avail.

Luis coughed, blood dripping steadily from the slit in his throat. Spencer shook off the gang member that held him and rushed towards the man with a towel in hand. He repeated the same words over and over like a mantra.—it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Eventually, he wasn’t able to tell if he was saying it to comfort Delgado or himself. “Help!” He screamed, but no one seemed to hear him. He was alone with a corpse, with Luis’ face having paled to match the cold gray of the laundry room floor.

Days after, he was still waking up in a cold sweat, the image of the viscid, red liquid haunting him more than it had ever done before. Everything was getting worse—his paranoia, his nightmares, his chances of being freed. His thoughts were becoming consumed with murder after murder, but the more his mind raced, the more comfortable the thought of hurting people grew. And so, he poisoned the drugs he was supposed to push—Frazier and his gang deserved a taste of their own medicine. He caused people agony on purpose, and he didn’t feel bad. He liked it.

“I liked it, [Y/N]! I liked it—I liked hurting those people!” His voice is rising, to be honest, it scares you to see him like this, but you’d never let him know that. Spencer stands swiftly, and the sound of the chair scraping against your tile floor makes you jump. He darts to the bathroom with a hand covering his mouth. However, before he can turn completely away from you, you’re able to see the fear in his eyes. It’s obvious to you now that despite being free, he’s never truly left the Milburn Correctional Facility. The darkness that surrounds his past hit you with the force of a thousand elephants as you follow him through the dark corridors of your apartment.

The bathroom door is closed, locked. Pressing your back into the wood, you slide down and hug your legs into your chest. On the other side, Spencer retches into the toilet bowl, his knuckles white from the grip he has on the porcelain. Turning around, you cross your legs and rest your forehead on the board. “Spence,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you, but still soft enough to be tender, “please. What can I do to help? How can I—.”

The door swings open, but your lover is still hunched over the bowl of the toilet, looking solemnly into the water. He reaches up the press the handle, but his hand slips away, laying limply beside him. The sight of him is pitiful; he looks so weak, so frail. It seems that one touch would break him into a million pieces. Spencer glances at you, but his expression is blank, void, even as tears are welling up in his eyes. “Spence,” you’re still, sitting on the other side of the visible threshold, “I-I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have made you talk about it if you didn’t want to. Oh God, I’m sorry. You obviously weren’t ready to go through it again, and I pushed you anyway.” While you’re rambling, he turns away from the toilet to face you. He’s staring into you, at your heart, your soul, your mind.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, wiping the back of his hand over his lips, “I would’ve woken you up again if we hadn’t talked.” It’s your turn to cry. He watches you carefully, slowly beginning to feel again. A tingling replaces the emptiness that once occupied his body.

“Spencer, that doesn’t matter, and it’s not okay.��I’m supposed to know when enough is enough. I’m supposed to love you and care for you, and now, I’ve dredged up your past. I literally made you throw up, Spencer. I’m sorry.” You move closer to him cautiously, eyeing his movement to see if he wanted you to stop. “I’m so sorry. For everything, love. For Mexico, your mom, Luis.”

Your words cause him to scramble away from you, his back hitting the wall of the bathtub with a soft thump. Burying his face in his hands, he claws at the crown of his head and he cries. Sobs rack his body as he folds into himself, his arms clutching at his stomach. Your heart aches as you watch him fall apart piece by piece, but you make no effort to stop him, to console him. Spencer’s face grows crimson, the force of his undeniable anguish stealing away his breath. Rocking back and forth, he attempts to calm down. He recalls your instructions from earlier in the morning about breathing, and he follows them. In. Out. In. Out. InOutInOutInOut. As he’s doing the simple exercise, Spencer registers the feeling of your worried gaze resting on him. It doesn’t make him uncomfortable, like it does when other people stare at him—it makes him even more sad.

His body trembles from the physical exertion it was put through, and he lets his head drop between his knees. “[Y/N].” The broken sound of your name falling from his lips evokes a pang of hurt in your stomach, “I’m so scared.” Your lip quivers at his statement. His voice is so small, yet so sure. Spencer is afraid, terrified even. “I’m scared of using again. I thought about Dilaudid almost every night in prison. But, you know what crushed me? It was the thought of losing you, [Y/N]. I was so afraid of you not being there when I got out that I refused to let you see me at my ... at my worst,” his composure waivers, “But, in reality, I ... have no idea what I would do if I didn’t have you.” He takes a sharp inhale, and it’s clear that the sudden monologue had sucked away any energy that he had left.

“Spencer,” you mumble through tears, “can I—can I touch you? Is that okay?” When your husband nods, you shuffle towards his weak frame slumped against the tub. Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you reach to the other side of his face and gently push so that his head rests on your shoulder. Both of you stare not at each other, but into the abyss that is your bedroom. The sun peeks through the blinds, a pale gold replacing the white moonlight that once reigned. “Spence?” You ask, not particularly looking for him to answer, “You know you’ll never lose me, right?”

As his mind ponders the simplicity of your question, he drifts back to one of the best days of his life.

Cold air nipped at his nose, the sight of Garcia and Luke racing towards him from a black van flooded him with relief. But, something was missing. You were missing. Noticing his relentless searching, JJ placed a hand on his shoulder, as if to tell him not to worry. “[Y/N]’s waiting at the office, Spence. Emily is with her, they’re going over the details of the case. She ... she said that when she sees you, she might explode.” Disappointment coursed through Spencer’s veins, as he climbed into the back of one of the SUVs, but he kept it well hidden.

Soon enough, Spencer realized the way to his old apartment that Cassie and his mother had been staying in. Before everything with Diana had even happened, Spencer was moving into your apartment, closer to Quantico. But, the process had come to a halt because of the personal issues that would only worsen when combined with the stress of moving. He had apologized over and over again, and you had reassured him that none of it was his fault, or his mother’s for that matter. You made sure that he knew that you loved both of them and would do anything you could to help.

“Okay, Spence,” JJ’s voice ripped him from his memory, “you gotta focus now. We’re gonna head into your apartment to get changes of clothes and things like that, but you also need to look for things that could give us new information about where your mom is.” He nods while lifting up the caution tape stretched across his door frame. Truthfully, only half of his mind was focused on finding clues—the other was occupied by thoughts of you. Your face, your smile, the way you used to hug him. He wondered—would you still hug him like that?

He walked alongside JJ, Garcia, and Luke, entering the elevator and riding it up to the BAU’s floor. Spencer’s heart raced; his nerves were obvious because of the way he drummed his fingers on his thigh. Then, time itself stopped. The elevator doors slid open, revealing you, clutching desperately onto Emily and Rossi’s hands.

“Go get her, Reid,” Luke’s words echoed in the back of his mind as he rushed through the doors to collect you in his arms. His hands were splayed against your back, attempting to hold all of you at once. The slight pressure of your hand on the back of his head, rubbing gently into his scalp sent him to Heaven. Spencer inhales deeply, taking in the comforting scent of old books, laundry detergent, and a hint of vanilla. Separating from him, you cupped his cheeks and pulled your lips down to his. It was a kiss that he would replay well into the future. The supple feeling of your mouth moving against his made his whole body light up. He was on fire, passion and yearning seeping into the deepest parts of his body.

At this point, the team had returned to the case. However, you two were far too enraptured with immense longing to notice. Finally breaking the kiss, Spencer pressed his forehead to yours, your breath mingling with his in the best way possible. Words were unnecessary because, as a wise woman once said, “love is a world of its own that lives in the heart, not in the head.”

Your question plays on a loop in Spencer’s head. You know you’ll never lose me, right? You know you’ll never lose me, right? You know you’ll never lose me, right? He knows—of course he knows. He’ll never forget it. But, it isn’t until you ask it again that he gives you an answer.

“Spencer? You know that, right?”

“I know, [Y/N].” The pause he takes is to let the absolute truth of his statement set in. “I know.” He says it like its a mantra, a spell that will keep him safe until the end of time. “I know.” Again and again and again, his words fill the emptiness of that bathroom with warmth, despite the tears drying on his cheeks.

“I know, and I love you.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #cat adams #david rossi #emily prentiss #matt simmons #tara lewis

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possiblyimbiassed · 4 years

Text

The Man in the Barrel

Some excellent observations from @ebaeschnbliah with an addition from @raggedyblue (X) made me reflect a little over the topic of Nelson in BBC Dracula, and the idea of having someone enclosed in a barrel. In Blood Vessel, when they are searching the ship Demeter for hidden murder victims and murderers, Dracula finds the young deckhand Piotr about to open a big barrel on deck, and tells him the following anecdote - apparently to distract Piotr - about Nelson after the Battle of Trafalgar (1805):

COUNT DRACULA: Admiral Nelson was killed at the Battle of Trafalgar. Died of his wounds, they say. And they wanted to get him back to England with all speed. National hero. The British are very keen on that sort of thing. But Spain is quite a way, and it was hot, so what do you think they did? They put the old admiral into a barrel of rum to preserve him.

PIOTR: No!

COUNT DRACULA: True. Trouble is, they didn’t tell the crew. So when they got home to England, they found out that those thirsty sailors had been helping themselves to a drop or two all they way back to Portsmouth.

(Continued under the cut)

Then Dracula digs his hand into the barrel and pretends there’s a monster in there that grabs his arm. He does this apparently to joke with Piotr, but then he scares him away by being creepy.

I can’t help thinking that this reference must have some metaphorical meanings, so I took to read some more about Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson (X).

First of all, the anecdote seemed rather exaggerated to me. Looking it up, Dracula’s version appears very much like a tall tale. According to Wikipedia, Nelson’s body was actually transported ”in a cask of brandy mixed with campher and myrrh, which was then lashed to Victory’s main mast and placed under guard”. Not a barrel, thus, and not rum. If the cask was placed under guard, I very much doubt that any crew member would dare to even approach it, not to mention drink from its content. But there’s apparently a grain of truth in the story; Nelson’s body was preserved in alcohol onboard.

Nelson is one of the most famous British national heroes; a high-ranked naval officer who sacrificed his life for his country in battle and brought Britain to a glorious victory over Napoleon.

By the way; Thatcher, another (in)famous British leader, is in BBC Sherlock rather compared to Napoleon, since The Six Thatchers is a direct reference to ACD’s The Six Napoleons. And Napoleon, as pointed out in @raggedyblue’s addition (X) has resemblances with Jim Moriarty - the ”Napoleon of crime”. In my opinion Moriarty in BBC Sherlock (among other symbolisms, and maybe this is the case also in ACD canon) represents homophobia.

Anyway, Nelson fought many battles and lost an eye and an arm in them, so the pirate references are actually there too. Dracula even puts emphasis on this:

As Dracula also points out, Nelson is a national hero for the British people.

Going by Wikipedia, Nelson was very popular already when he was alive. He’s described as a skilled strategic war leader who cared about his troops, and the Battle of Trafalgar did lead to a great victory for his country. But he also appears as a rather controversial human being (X); his behaviour is described as self-centered and ”vain” (X), he actively supported slavery (X), and he definitely cheated on his wife (X). He also seems to stubbornly have not listened to some advice from his fellow naval officers at the Trafalgar battle (X), which otherwise might have saved his life. One piece of advice was that he should “remove the decorations on his coat, so that he would not be so easily identified by enemy sharpshooters”, but Nelson refused, and was shot.

Another interesting thing about the Battle of Trafalgar is the marine signal flags that Nelson used on the HMS Victory to transmit the following famous message to the part of the British fleet present on site:

"England expects that every man will do his duty" (X)

Flag combinations represent the three last letters of the message. Picture by J.M.W. Turner, (X). HMS Victory still exists, by the way, and is the world’s oldest naval ship still in commission! (X)

I have tried to explore the meaning of signal flags in TFP, BBC Sherlock, in this meta, including the interesting discussion that followed (X).

A statue of Admiral Nelson (X), on a 52 m high column, stands in the center of Trafalgar Square in London, guarded by four sculpted lions that weigh 7 tons each. The square is a large meeting point in London, which is often venue for different kinds of political demonstrations. I mentioned it in this post about the punk rock musician Tom Robinson (X), who was most famous in the seventies for his fight for LGBTQ rights. There’s this photo of Tom and his band at a protest against the prosecution of the magazine Gay News, London 1978 on Trafalgar Square, where Tom in my opinion looks a great deal like Sherlock, coat and all (X).

Trafalgar square also figures several times in BBC Sherlock - once per series in fact. In TBB (S1) Sherlock and John cross Trafalgar Square, talking about codes and ciphers:

In TRF (S2) there’s a scene where the police car carrying Sherlock and John to the court passes Trafalgar Square, while John is telling Sherlock what he ought to remember once they arrive. We see Nelson’s statue reflected in the car window:

And then there’s one moment in TEH (S3), when John and Sherlock are discussing older underground stations via Skype with the nerdy train enthusiast Howard Shilcott. One of the stations mentioned is Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square and the Strand. Hmm...

Last but not least, in TLD (S4) Sherlock and Faith/Eurus pass Trafalgar square on their little night stroll through the streets of London:

Anyway, enough about Trafalgar Square; back to Nelson and his (supposed) barrel. A man being held in a barrel also makes me think of the ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes the Cynic (404-323 BC), who used to live in a huge clay wine jar (X). According to Wikipedia Diogenes “made it his life's goal to challenge established customs and values” and also “considered his avoidance of earthly pleasures a contrast to and commentary on contemporary Athenian behaviors. This attitude was grounded in a disdain for what he regarded as the folly, pretence, vanity, self-deception, and artificiality of human conduct.” Quite the opposite of Nelson, I’d say. :) But doesn’t it sound a little bit like Sherlock’s opinion about marriage and weddings in his best man speech in TSoT? ;)

In art Diogenes is often depicted surrounded by dogs (X):

(X) Diogenes believed human beings live artificially and hypocritically and would do well to study the dog. He also carried around a lamp “looking for an honest man”.

There’s also a dirty joke about ‘being in the barrel’, as described by Urban Dictionary (X). (I suggest you look it up for yourselves if you’re interested, though, because I’m not gonna reproduce it here ;))) )

So, in summary: Nelson is a national hero known for having sacrificed his life for his country. But he’s also pirate-like, he takes foolish risks and seems to care little about his own survival. He’s an old ‘war lord’ (like Dracula), and Napoleon (= Moriarty - or Thatcher in BBC Sherlock) is his adversary. He dies in battle in a war against Napoleon, but after his ‘fall’, he gets preserved in alcohol, and (like Dracula) the legend about him lives on for eternity. He’s ‘Un-Dead’ and preserved for ever, but doesn’t seem ‘real’ any more. But there’s also another side of him, where he is a controversial figure; vain (’posh’?) and extravagant. In BBC Dracula we hear a tall tale about his fate, where he ends up inclosed in a barrel. Going with the Diogenes analogy, the barrel and an ascetic living could also be self-inflicted. And the dogs are a strong theme in his life. ;) @raggedyblue mentioned ‘Reichenbach vibes’ here (X), and I can only agree. :)

@ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @sherlockshadow @shylockgnomes

#bbc dracula #admiral nelson #dracula spoilers #metaphores #reichenbach vibes

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writethelifeyouwant · 5 years

Text

You Got Iced - Chapter One

Pairing: Jared x Reader x Jensen

Rating: M, for language (future chapters will be explicit)

Summary: Inspired in part by the challenge prompt and in part by this convention https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAHS_RJ5Gac (which is fucking hilarious, go enjoy yourselves there). The reader is attending a Supernatural convention during a heat wave and gets her money’s worth out of her ticket that’s for sure.

Word Count: 3556

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: Written for @babypieandwhiskey ‘s Hot as Hell challenge. This is only chapter one of an undetermined number. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the rest of the chapters shoot me an ask! I’ll be posting them over the next couple weeks as I finish them. I’m in the process of moving to a different country so it’s taking me a little longer to write than I’d hoped :) (Also I’ve only been to cons in my dreams so sorry if things aren’t totally realistic in that respect).

The convention hall, also known as the shabby ballroom of the Hilton on Main, was clouded in an ungodly, sticky heat that had descended, seemingly from nowhere, the previous night. Even the oppressive heat hadn’t dampened the palpable excitement of the hundreds of people that were crowding into each other’s personal space, waiting for the boys. A dance, so identical it was practically choreographed, spread throughout the audience as the minutes slipped by. People’s heads nodded up and down as they checked the clocks on their phones and then checked the stage again, finding it still empty.

Then a shocking scream erupted from a corner of the room where a ripple of the curtain had announced the imminent arrival of Rob and his band of merry men. Shouts rang out as the band populated the stage and without introduction, cranked out discordant rock chords.

“How you all doing today?” Rob shouted into the microphone and answering hollers echoed back. “No one melted yet?”

An answering “No!” came back from the crowd.

“Alright well let’s get this show on the road before that happens!”

Cheers erupted as the music started, Rob introducing himself, Michael, Billy and Stephen, and Rich who had popped up from behind the curtain in the meantime.

“So hey,” Rich had grabbed his own microphone, “I saw a couple guys lurking backstage, I think you guys might know them, those two really tall motherfuckers that are on TV all the time?” The shrieks that flew out of the crowd must have made the band glad they had earplugs in. “I’m gonna assume that means you guys want them up here too?” Rich prodded with a smirk. More screams. “Yeah I thought so, everyone give it up for Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles!”

The boys, somehow dressed in flannels despite the god awful heat, jogged out on stage, waving and smiling and lapping up the outcry from the nearly hysterical audience members. Picking up the microphones that were waiting for them on the chairs in the centre of the stage, they settled themselves in, Jared flipping his chair around and earning some extra swooning screams because he somehow managed to make that simple movement incredibly seductive.

To be honest, you were glad you had a railing to lean against as you watched them. Terrified excitement gripped your chest as you stared up at them enjoying the turmoil they had engendered, and you felt sweat pooling at the base of your spine that had nothing to do with the sweltering humidity you’d been standing in all morning. You were in one of the two lines of incredibly lucky humans stood near the front of the room, with your question scribbled on a piece of paper in case you totally lost your mind when it was your turn to talk to them.

Just as the noise finally began to die down Jensen grinned into the mic and said, “Hi guys,” pulling a whole new wave of cheers from everyone.

“How are you guys doing?” Jared asked, nodding along to the answers of “great, amazing, good, boiling” that were making their way back to him. They both laughed. “Yeah, it is pretty hot in here isn’t it?”

“Sorry guys, that’s my fault,” Jensen smirked, and Jared shot him a teasing look and fanned himself wildly.

“Seriously, is this normal for here, did we just totally miss a memo?” Jared asked. The crowd shouted that this was completely not normal, it was some sort of sign of the apocalypse, curse from God, that sort of thing. “Oh good, so we’re not total morons,” he nodded, shaking the front of his shirt to encourage some airflow.

“You know what might help, man?” Jensen asked.

“What?” Jared’s face told the crowd that he genuinely didn’t know where Jensen was going with that question.

“If you took the fucking beanie off.”

Laughter rang out followed by hollers of encouragement as Jared shook his head but pulled off the wool knit cap, shaking out his hair and pushing it back out of his eyes.

“Yeah okay, the hat was a stupid move today,” Jared admitted, tossing it casually straight into Jensen’s face. “Do you guys like not know what air conditioning is or…” laughs rippled through the audience and a garbled shout you couldn’t make out made its way towards the stage.

“What was that?” Jensen asked, leaning forward as if that was gonna make it easier to hear. You heard the words repeated but you still couldn’t understand them.

“Bring back strip question?” Jared clarified. The boys chuckled as answering shrieks reached a heightened level of hysteria.

“Honestly, I don’t think we’re gonna need the prompting this time, the layers are just gonna start melting off eventually,” Jensen laughed.

“No but, on a slightly more serious note,” Jared interrupted, “Thank y’all so much for being here. We love you guys and we really appreciate it but it is hot in here so, take care of yourselves, drink water if you have some. If you have to get up and go cool off or get a drink, please, please do, don’t feel bad. We don’t want anyone collapsing out there.”

Jared’s thoughtfulness really touched something in you. He was so unendingly sweet it just showed how much he really felt everyone there was his family. You felt like you mattered and that spread warmth through your limbs that was altogether separate from the heat of the room. Lost in your thoughts briefly after Jared’s PSA you noticed that they had started to take questions from the line, and you shook yourself out in time to hear a small girl’s trembling voice ask, “What was the hardest thing you ever had to do for the show? A stunt or something emotionally difficult or scary to film?”

The panel trickled by, and you tried to absorb every second of it. The minute expressions that Jared and Jensen shared, the laughs they broke from each other, the looks of adoration on every fan’s face, the feeling of gratefulness that swelled in your chest at being anywhere near these two and surrounded by such an incredible amount of happiness. The heat was the constant companion of everyone in the room, and Jared and Jensen were frequently leaving their chairs to make trips to the jugs of iced water that had been set up by the band.

As you neared the front of the question line, Jensen got up for another water break while Jared finished answering a question about the mechanics of one of his favourite shots from last season when he was suddenly interrupted by a growl from Jensen.

“Son of a bitch!” Even without the microphone he was incredibly audible, especially since you were very close to them at this point.

Jared turned around, confused and amused, trying to figure out what the hell Jensen was doing. It quickly became apparent as Jensen pulled from a jug of ice a slim white bottle, shaking the condensation off of it. Jared burst out laughing, clapping his hands together and pointing in mocking.

Walking back to his mic, Jensen twisted the cap off the bottle. “Did you do this, man?” Jensen accused Jared.

“No, I swear,” Jared choked out still laughing. Jensen rounded on the band and Rob and Rich just shrugged, with unapologetic smirks on their faces. “Hey man, at least it’s cold,” Jared offered.

“Ugh I hate these things,” Jensen complained, but he sank to one knee to raucous applause and tipped the Smirnoff Ice back, downing it in an impressively short time. Rob and Rich grinned at each other and shared a surreptitious low-five behind Rob’s back. You were right next to their side of the stage now and they heard you laugh at them. Turning they gave you a thumbs up and Rich looked around, leaned in to whisper something to Rob, then pulled back with a pretty evil smile.

On the other side of the stage, Jared and Jensen had returned to answering questions and you tried to pay attention to the anecdote they were sharing but you kept getting distracted and glancing back at the band, because you could feel Rob’s eyes on you. Looking around you realised that Rich had ducked behind the curtain and now he was rounding the corner of the stage on the audience level, sneaking along bent over so his head wouldn’t be seen over the side of the stage. He was coming right at you.

He stopped to check something with the volunteer that stood at your side of the stage, then continued to creep back towards you. You stood there in stunned silence as he approached with a wide, conniving smile and whispered an introduction.

“Hi there, I’m Rich.”

“H-hi,” you gulped, completely stunned that you were standing so close to an actual Supernatural actor.

“So, you’re gonna have the last question,” Rich cut straight to the point, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb the proceedings around him. You nearly choked on your breath.

“That, that means,” you struggled to compute for a second. “I go up there?” You pointed up to the stage where Jared and Jensen were sitting, laughing, looking like giant gods.

“Yup,” Rich popped the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “That okay with you?” You could only manage to nod. “Okay, so, we play the little jingle, the volunteer will walk you up, we’ll have a chair there with a mic, all good?” Again, you only nodded, clutching your question in your hand, eternally grateful that you had thought to write it down, and hoping the sweat pooling in your hands didn’t smudge the writing.

“One more thing,” Rich ducked his body behind yours and brought his face close enough to full-on whisper. “That dress have pockets?” Completely confused by his question you squeak out an answer.

“Yeah, why?” You felt something cold at your elbow and you looked down. Rich was sneaking you another Smirnoff Ice, indicating with his head that you should put it in your pocket.

“Think you can give that to Jared for us?”

“Oh,” you breathed out, understanding now. “Yeah, sure,” you giggled.

“Thanks kiddo,” Rich clapped his hands on your shoulders and squeezed before darting forward and launching himself back onto the stage so he could situate himself with the band.

After an exchange of looks from Jared and Jensen and back to Rob the music kicked in and you were ushered forwards by the volunteer Rich had spoken to a moment ago.

There were no real words to describe what it was like to stand right in front of Jared and Jensen. You felt like your heart had stopped and like it was beating a million times a minute at the same time. Up on the stage with lights beaming down it was even hotter than it had been in the audience, and when Jared and Jensen each placed a hand on your upper arms and guided you towards your chair and mic, it felt like their hands were burning into your skin. You almost hoped you had scars a la Dean’s from Castiel.

As you sat down, the faint buzzing that had stuffed your ears started to dissipate and you realised that Jared was talking to you.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” You were so embarrassed that they were affecting you like this but Jared just smiled gently, practically radiating a safe, warm encouragement.

“What’s your name darlin’,” Jared asked again.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” your name came back to you, finally.

“And Y/N,” Jensen asked now, “what is your question?”

“Okay, um, so my question is for both of you and I’d like to extend it to Rob and Rich too if that’s okay?” You glanced around at everyone’s faces and all four seemed to be nodding their heads that that would be okay. When you looked over at the band you caught Rich’s eye and he quirked a brow at you, a small reminder of your other purpose on the stage. Clearing your throat you pulled out the your question but kept your other hand in your pocket with the cold bottle.

“But, before I ask it, I’ve been asked to give something to Jared by a friend.”

“Oh cool, what is it!” Excitement took over Jared’s face like a puppy dog who heard the word ‘treat’. That joy was quickly doused when he saw what you pulled out of your pocket. “Oh, God,” Jared pulled a hand over his face, scrubbing at his cheek adorably in annoyance.

“Sorry,” you did feel a little guilty, but mostly it was funny.

“Which one of those douches was it,” Jared pointed accusingly at Rob and Rich.

“You’re welcome!” They shouted in unison, giving Jared a big thumbs up.

“You suck,” Jared shouted, but good-naturedly sank to one knee, upending the Smirnoff Ice and draining it as quickly as possible. What made you absolutely lose your breath, and nearly your mind, is that when he dropped to his knee he used you as his brace. His long fingers wrapped almost all the way around your knee, and he squeezed gently, almost teasingly, as he gulped down the icy drink. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way his neck was pulsing as he swallowed, and a small drop of sweat was running achingly slowly down past where you knew you could find his pulse if you just reached out your fingers and touched.

When he finished, he exhaled on an over-exaggerated ‘ahh’ and his eyes locked straight with yours. He maintained eye contact, his hazel irises twinkling in the bright lights beating down on the stage, and he rose slowly back to his feet, giving your knee one last squeeze before reaching out for his microphone again.

“Now, Y/N, since we’ve got that out of the way,” Jared flared back at Rob and Rich, “what is your question?”

The rest of your time on stage was an absolute blur. Jensen answered your question first, quickly followed by Rich. Jared and Rob took a few seconds each to consider before offering their best answer and then before you could process what was happening Jensen was pulling you to your feet and wrapping you in a burning hug. Jared came around the other side and stretched his arms around both you and Jensen, briefly trapping you there between them. Then all the sudden you felt a rush of air as they pulled back and you were being ushered off to the side by a volunteer.

Your eyes took a moment to adjust back to the lack of blazing spotlights, so you kept following the volunteer without giving much thought to where she was leading you. It was a shock when you found yourself being pushed through a gap between a curtain and the wall, moving back behind the stage. A little holding area was filled with everyone who had just been on stage, and a volunteer passing around water bottles.

“Why am I back here?” You whisper shrieked at the volunteer. She laughed at you.

“You want to take a picture with the guys?”

“Oh wow, you’re not serious,” you panicked, smoothing out your hair and patting over your face, hoping your makeup hadn’t sweated off too much.

“You’ll be fine,” she laughed again, good-naturedly though. She must be used to dealing with fangirling freaks, you thought to yourself.

“Hi Y/N,” Jensen called when you were just about level with the group.

“Ready for your close-up?” Jared asked, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“Um, yeah I guess,” you gulped, trying to organise your thoughts as you followed Jared and Jensen over to where a camera tripod was set up against another wall. You were walking between them, the bare skin of your arms brushing against their hands, because they were that much taller than you. “It is so nice to meet you guys, seriously, I just want to say thank you for being like, amazing and wonderful. You’ve made such an amazing family,” you stop talking and try to rein yourself in, knowing you can’t guarantee you won’t say something monumentally embarrassing very soon.

“Well, you guys are all pretty amazing too,” Jared smiled, clapping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, clearly sensing you could do with a little calming down, not that having him touch you actually accomplished that. Your heart felt like it was trying to jump out through your throat.

“So, where do you want us?” Jensen smiled warmly at you, but there was something else peeking out from behind his bright green eyes. Mischief, maybe.

“Oh god, I don’t even know,” you tried not to giggle hysterically, which was your usual defence mechanism when you got nervous.

“It’s okay, just come over here,” Jared pushed you forwards slightly towards Jensen. They stood together, arms slung around the shoulders that were touching and pulled you in front of them. Stumbling a little, like a total idiot you berated yourself internally, you fell back against them. Assuming they’d want a little more space, you started to take a step forward but then you felt solid warmth pressing against your back. Jared and Jensen had both pulled you closer into them and they were pressing you back into their bodies. You felt more than heard a chuckle roll through Jensen’s body, and he slung his left arm around your body, settling his hand against your right shoulder. Jared mirrored him, crossing his arm over Jensen’s to hug you tighter to both of them.

“Okay, say ‘bacon’!” The photographer snapped a few photos of you all absolutely laughing your asses off, because who says ‘bacon’ when they take a photo? But as the laughter settled you felt a sense of incandescent calm spread through you. Jared and Jensen were still pressing you against them, and the laughter had broken the tension you’d been holding in your limbs, allowing you to settle into them without so many nerves.

When the photographer indicated that he was done the boys released you and each other, Jared ruffling his hair mostly to give his hands something to do. You felt more relaxed now, and a little more confident that you weren’t going to start babbling nonsense so you took a chance to ask for a favour.

“I’m gonna ask since I’m here and I know I’ll kill myself later if I don’t… Do you think it would be okay if I got a photo with the band?”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Jensen said, obviously having expected something much more out of left field. He waved over to the guys still milling around in the holding area. “Hey, Rob, get your guys over here!”

When they were in better earshot Jared pointed his thumb at you and said, “Your new minion wants a picture.” His voice was scathing but hid his amusement pretty poorly considering he was an actor. The band plus Rich all crowded around you for a photo, going for a giant group hug approach and pulling loads of stupid faces, helping you chill out even more.

As they released you from the crush you turned back to Jared. “Sorry, again, about that,” you said, referring to passing on Rich’s prank before, and blushing a little.

“Yeah, bullshit,” Jared laughed, his eyes crinkling and fuck, why was that so sexy.

“Well did you want to give her this for your revenge Jared or…” Jensen let his thought trail off, swinging a cloudy white bottle by the neck between his thumb and a finger.

“Jay, we cannot Ice a fan,” Jared laughed exasperatedly.

“Sure we can,” Rob grabbed the drink from Jensen and tossed it at you. You screamed a little but by some miracle you caught it clumsily, clutching it to your chest to keep it from smashing to the ground.

“Y/N you really don’t have to drink that,” Jared insisted, trying to protect you from his ridiculous friends.

“No it’s okay, fair’s fair” you laughed, twisting off the cap of the cold drink, confused as to how this was your life right now. You brought the bottle to your lips, taking a moment to shoot Jared a reassuring smile because he was still looking worriedly at you. Before you managed to actually drink any of it though you heard Jensen clear his throat, and he looked pointedly from you, to the ground at your feet.

“You forgetting something?” Jensen grinned as he watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Of course, you thought, you were supposed to take a knee when you downed it.

“Someone’s bossy,” you chided, but you let yourself fall, landing on both your knees instead of just one like the challenge technically called for. Glancing up at Jensen for permission to down your drink now you saw him exchange a fleeting look with Jared. For just a moment, something had cracked through their smiling exteriors. It was dark; hungry. The change had been infinitesimal and before you could swear it had been there to begin with, their warm, encouraging smiles were back. You tipped the bottle back, keeping your eyes locked with Jensen’s the whole time, like Jared had done with you earlier on the stage.

#babypieandwhiskey #hot as hell challenge #j2 fic #spn #j2 x reader #j2 x reader fic #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #spn family #you got iced #getting iced challenge #chapter 1

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scullyy · 5 years

Text

Always Means Always

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2787

Summary: Clementine has always been there for AJ, always been there to save him. Now it's up to him to be there for her, as well as the school kids. But the one leg is a surprise

A/N: So I have been wondering about this since the episode was released but luckily there was a reddit post that explained how AJ got back to the school, which was super helpful. So this is based on that. That episode was fucking wild. Enjoy :))

@sicpxrvismxgna here is your tag as you asked. @tomhottland you also seemed very excited about this so hopefully you enjoy it :D

Clementine was never usually the type to be wrong, her decisions were clear and precise. Her thinking was logical and centred in truth. When she taped up the holes in his little shoes, that was to protect his feet. They still bled through his socks later that night, but she was always there to soothe him. With a strong hand, she wiped the blood away and used the last of their gauze to stop it. For the rest of the night, she held him close and told him stories, stories of all the good things she had seen a person do.

She would tell AJ about his father, how he gave her a juice box amidst a crisis despite knowing that others within the group wouldn’t like it. Clementine would tell him about another boy, small and brave just like him. His name was Duck and he would tell Clementine stories all day. They were over the top and made no sense, but they got her smiling. In return, she put a bug on his pillow.

But everyone has a limit, and Clementine had reached hers. She wanted him to kill her, to plunge the axe right into her skull. Was this it? All of her fighting had come down to this? AJ didn't have a story of hope to tell her, no anecdote that would change her mind. It was time for AJ to become one of her stories. To be her hero.

As AJ held the axe high in the air, he pondered over everything Clementine had done for him; getting him back from the Ranch, despite all the blood. Finding food for him in unlikely and dangerous places, singing him to sleep on nights where the shadows loomed over them. She was always one step ahead, leading him to safety. Now it was his turn.

AJ slammed the axe down onto her leg instead, flinching at her scream. It made his nerves shake, yet he kept his head clear. Fear would just have to fuck off. He yanked it out of her skin and threw it back down, cutting deeper. Clementine fell back against the hay, passing out to his sickening delight. The blood was never-ending, it slithered out of her leg and along towards AJ, filling in the cracks within the earth.

"I hope you're not mad at me for this."

With four more bone-crunching chops, the leg was gone, the bite was no longer apart of her. Time was of the essence. AJ remembered one of the many, many lessons Clementine had bestowed upon him, about a cot-cau-seal...burning the wound. With the flint from the cave in his grasp, he collected a small pile of hay and set it ablaze as best he could. He ignored the wave of hands stretching out to him from the outside, they weren't a problem as of now. AJ looked back at Clem, her strength had gone dim.

The tip of his knife hovered over the brief flame before coming into immediate contact with her open wound, AJ repressed the urge to go vomit in the corner. "This is gross," His palm dragged along her skin, taking her temperature. Still warm, still alive. His eyes gave way to tears that didn't seem to stop. She looked so barren, nearly lost and gone forever. "Stop that, you're not done."

The rope laying nearby was a big ray of sunshine. He yanked it closer to him and wrapped it tightly around what remained of her leg, the only useful thing he learned from Abel. That and to be more careful around the traps.

AJ gripped the knife as he scanned the barn. Monsters still threatened to spill over. He pushed the wheelbarrow against the small doors, taunting the monsters over to him. "Dummy," One by one they fell victim to the blade. As Clementine had taught him, they're not smart.

We're smarter than all of them.

He heeded her advice and dumped walker guts all over her, mixing with her own blood and grime. The smell wafting from both of them filled the barn and AJ was eager to get out. Pushing the wheelbarrow closer to her, AJ lifted her with all his might, throwing her torso in first before adding her now singular leg. She fell in like a ragdoll, limbs hanging over either side of the wheelbarrow.

"Okay Clem, we're almost there." He hoisted the wheelbarrow off the ground and slowly pushed it through the barn doors. Fortunately, there were no monsters in sight, AJ took in a deep breath and began to run like mad.

He zoomed through the trees like a small ninja, ducking behind bushes whenever he heard a twig snap in the distance. He followed the winding pathway through the forest, eyes on the hunt for the giant school.

AJ ran for what felt like hours, soon every tree began to look the same until he noticed a stone wall behind a thick line of branches. He mustered all the strength he had left and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Aasim's presence on the watchtower was a sight for unbelievably tired eyes. He glanced up from the caterpillar making its way along the floor, noticing a small figure beyond the trees...who was moving a wheelbarrow?

"Aasim!"

Holy shit-

"Guys! They're alive!" Aasim leapt off the tower, almost crushing his ankles. All of the kids followed his calls to the gate and the sight that greeted them was near maddening.

From head to toe, both were covered in walker guts. AJ's eyes hung low, never leaving Clementine's body. He was hunting for any sign of life, a spark of her return. Clementine laid still in the wheelbarrow, her hands hanging lifelessly over either side of the tray. Seeing her in such close relations with Death was enough to make them all panic, but the missing leg rattled each and every one of them.

Louis immediately ran over and gripped the sides of the rusted wheelbarrow. "What the fuck happened?" How did it happen, when did it happen, what could be done to help? Clementine was always the strong one, always the one with a game plan. She couldn't be dead, was she? "What happened to her?"

AJ set the wheel back onto the ground, his hands still clenched by the anger in his bones. "She...she got bit,"

Even the notion made everyone go stone cold.

"I had to cut it off, but she passed out." AJ quickly quelled their worries, noting how all their shoulders fell in unison.

Ruby pressed her clammy palm against Clementine's ghostly skin. "She's still warm, let's get her inside." She took control of the wheelbarrow from AJ and guided it to the school with the help of Aasim and Omar.

"What the fuck is going on?" Violet called out, her arms reaching out for something to hold onto.

Louis offered his arm to her. "It's Clementine and AJ, they're home." It fell so easily from his lips as his fear crumbled away. They were home, they were alive.

Violet fumbled around for AJ before grabbing onto a piece of his hair. "Holy shit, you're okay," It really was him, she would recognise that fluffy set of hair anywhere, even if it was drenched in guts. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up little man.”

The minutes quickly bled into an hour. An hour full of slow marches outside her bedroom, eyes flicking to the door that separated her. AJ wiped away the last of the blood from his face, grimacing at the stained cloth in his hand.

Louis noticed his glare, the slight twitch of his fingers. He knelt down beside him, forcing their eyes to lock. "You did good AJ, had you not cut her leg off she wouldn't be here right now."

"I hope she makes it,"

The shaking of the door handle brought everyone out of their deep thoughts. Ruby quickly closed the door behind her, despite AJ trying to push through.

"She's gonna be fine sugar, right now she's resting. You did the right thing for her," Ruby patted the tyke on the back, but he didn't even register her presence. "Why don't you go off and talk to Aasim? He'll show you what to do once Clem wakes up so we can help her."

AJ stood to attention like a soldier, if Clementine needed protecting he was the man for the job. Aasim led him down the hallway towards his bedroom, where a small pile of medical books were waiting for them to scour through.

"Can I at least go see her?" Louis inquired once the pair were out of sight. This force that kept him and Clementine together was beckoning him, almost taunting him with how close she was.

Ruby scrunched her nose. "Fine, only for a minute. Don't try and wake her." She moved to Violet, eyeing down the makeshift eye patch she had to make. It would need changing soon.

Louis hovered outside the door longer than he intended to, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. So close, yet so far at the same time. He slowly opened the door, wincing at the loud creak. His eyes fell upon the girl laying in her bed,

He nearly fell to his knees right then and there.

She looked so small and frail, blood staining every inch of her skin. Louis couldn't tell if it was walker guts or her own, he didn't care to know. He quickly shut the door and pulled up a chair beside her, immediately reaching for her hand. It was cold to the touch, reminding him of the skin of a walker.

"I can't believe you're alive," After leaving her and AJ behind at the bridge, every worst-case scenario had been running through his head. "And now you're one leg down. Shit."

Would this have happened had he not left them? If he had climbed back over the fence and helped them up that cliff, would she still be fighting for her life?

Louis found himself choking on his words, his throat tightened as his emotions grew into a fully armed cavalry. "Please wake up Clem. I shouldn't have left you and AJ back at the bridge, that was stupid. Please wake up so we can build our house, I'll paint the entire thing yellow for you." He lowered his head against her arm, squeezing her hand. His fingers ran over every line, every speck of dirt, every callus that had formed over the years. She was a warrior, she saved him and every else in the school. Without her...

"You...better keep to that,"

Her voice broke him free from his shackles, just as it had done before. Louis quickly looked up at her, eyes flickering back and forth between her eyes and lips, praying that what he heard wasn't just a figment of his mind.

Clementine's eyes flickered open to his delight. "Hey, Lou." And they had never looked so beautiful and inviting.

"Oh my god, Clem!" He couldn't help but throw himself at her. His arms snaked around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest, nearly hiding her from everything.

She gently ran a hand up and down his back. "Woah there, I'm okay," Memories of climbing a cliff-face and a piercing pain within her ankle all came back to her, reminding her of what she almost lost. "Well, as okay as I can be...what happened?"

Louis set her back down onto the pillow, choosing to keep ahold of her hands. "AJ, he cut your bite off." He nodded to where her calf used to be. It was still an odd sight for him, better than her returning with the bite itself.

Clementine could still feel her toes, she still remembered the feeling of wiggling her toes within her socks. "Fuck," It was all gone now. Her fighting days were over.

The weight of a 'what if' came over Louis. "I - we thought you were dead Clem. You've been unconscious for an hour." Longest damn hour of his life, certainly replaced the brief minute they spent apart just the day before.

"Is AJ okay?" Clementine remembered what he did, going against the grain like that couldn't have been easy. She remembered so vividly how much he cried, how he shouted when he threw the axe into her skin. Everything after that goes blank.

"He's fine, a little shaken up but Aasim is talking to him."

She needed to see him and hold him and check his body for any sign of trouble. She wanted to see him smile again and imprint it into her memory, she'd bop him on the nose as many times necessary. "I nearly failed him, Louis. I don't know what would have happened if he left me in that barn."

Louis shrugged. "I don't know what I would have done either." AJ was certainly a much braver boy, hell Louis couldn't even hurt Abel when given the chance. A puddle of guilt dripped throughout his gut. "I shouldn't have left you guys, back at the bridge-"

Clementine squeezed his hand. "You couldn't have known."

"Still, I just left. Had it been me stuck on the bridge you would have come back, I'm sorry." This would only be the first of many apologies he planned to deliver. There were a lot of things in his life he would do differently given a second chance, this ranked as number one. Clementine was a fighter, through and through. She could take people's bones and make them into a crown if she wanted to, Louis would even offer his own bones for her. His Queen Clem. Her moxie was almost gone, he never knew such a thing could be so easily missed.

"Louis there's nothing to be sorry for, who knows what would have happened to you if you did stay. I'm just glad you're safe."

Both of the young lovers smiled gracefully at each other, basking in their reunion. "Me too,"

He danced his fingers along the brim of her stump, wondering if him carrying her around bridal style was out of the question. "That's gonna leave one hell of a scar." The bandage Ruby had relentlessly wrapped around it was already beginning to stain with deep red blood, who knows how long it would take to heal over.

"Scars are way cooler than stumps," Clementine quoted an old friend, smiling at the irony of the situation. Now she'll have an extra scar, with an extra cool story this time.

"You make them both cool," Louis muttered. She could make wearing your clothes inside out cool. "Cool as a cucumber you are, Clementine."

Over the next few days, she didn't feel so cool, laying in bed useless. Omar let her keep the rabbit's foot, she seemed to need it more than him. AJ never left her bedside, not even when Willy asked if he wanted to join him on watch. Ruby checked in on her three times a day, even once Clementine found the strength to protest, she was still checking in.

Louis brought in the gramophone just for her, classical was always their music choice. He would lay in bed beside her and AJ, sharing whatever dad jokes he could remember.

"That doesn't make sense," AJ rebuffed the joke as soon as Louis threw the punchline. "A chicken doesn't know what a road is."

Louis wondered why this kid was so inquisitive and questioning of everything, it was cute but near frustrating sometimes. "He still needs to get to places, the chicken is very busy."

"But he's a chicken, where does he have to go?"

"You know what let's not over analyse a dead joke," Clementine spoke up from between the two, knowing full well that they would have been going round in circles for hours. "How are you feeling AJ?"

AJ wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling, or how to put that into words. "Better, now that you're safe. But I think I'm scared too,"

Louis and Clementine shuffled closer to him. "What are you scared of kiddo?"

"Are you mad at me? Cause I cut your leg off," His big eyes near frightened Clementine, for such a small boy he held so much emotion, so many questions about the world. "Please don't be mad."

"AJ, you saved my life in there, I am so grateful," Clementine wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned against him, burying the tip of her nose within his hair. "You protected me like you said you would."

AJ's mood took a sudden turn, his face immediately glowing once again. "Yeah, I did. I'll always be around to protect you, Clem. Louis too." He grinned up at both of them, the two people who had become so important in his life. He'd cut off either of their legs if it meant keeping them alive.

"We're here for you too little dude," Louis gave the kid a soft high-five. "Always."

Together they were stronger, a mutual understanding that together nothing could hurt them. Not anymore and not ever again.

#twdg #the walking dead game #the walking dead game season four #twdg clementine #twdgs4 #twdg louis #twdg aj #twdg violet #clouis #louisentine #fanfiction #xscullyx

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lostinfic · 5 years

Text

4. England, summer

Summary: Travel writer/photojournalist AU, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff and adventures around the world.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature Word count: 1.5k

Prologue | Chap. 1 | 2 | 3 | Ao3

In Covent Garden, the midday sun flared off the glass roof of the market. Hardy shielded his eyes. He hated London in the summer, hated the tourists, hated the heat, hated people playing bloody Frisbee in parks. He glared at a couple sharing an ice cream in front of him on the street, with a huff of impatience, he walked past them.

He reached the red mailbox on the street corner. He pushed a manila envelope through the slot like one rips a band-aid: quickly and holding his breath. Divorce papers, signed and sent. Time to move on. He rubbed a hand over the tightness in his chest. He knew the perfect antidote was work abroad. But until he received a new assignment, the next best thing was Stanford, the travel bookshop.

An enormous map covered the entrance floor of the shop. A memory struck him: Daisy, age six, playing hopscotch on the African countries. He smiled to himself. He would call her again tonight, even if it meant leaving another sappy voice mail. Perhaps she would want to come with him to New York in October. It would be nice to show her around. And, although he wouldn’t tell her that, he hoped she would be impressed by a whole exhibition dedicated to his work. He hoped she would understand he wanted to make the world a better place, for her.

He almost called his daughter right away, but he was in Stanford for a specific reason. Hannah had said her article on the Mahal Kita resort would be out on July 25th. “You were wrong,” she’d bragged in a text message, “they let me write everything.” He’d replied something that came out ruder than he’d intended, and he didn’t hear from her again.

As he headed towards the magazine display, he mentally composed a congratulatory message, “Let’s have drinks to celebrate”. He cringed. She wasn’t interested in him, she only wanted to have sex at the airport because she was bored.

In any case, first, he had to see this article with his own eyes. Part of him still doubted she’d gotten away with it, or had written it at all. He hoped she had. His own attempts at exposing the truth had come to nothing. Two newspapers had picked up the story only to replace it at the last minute with more pressing news. He was disappointed, but not surprised. He wasn’t giving up that easily. He still talked to Ellie and Kadek. He planned on widening the scope of his investigation by looking into other resorts owned by the same company, Group Peregrine. Meanwhile, Hannah’s article could reach readers he wouldn’t. People who directly encouraged these harmful practices in the tourism industry. She could open their eyes to the human cost of their vacations.

He spotted the latest issue of Elite Travelers. The cover featured a picture of the sea in Pulau Kesuma in oversaturated shades of blue. He baulked at the price and found a seat to read it in store instead.

The lede put him on edge right away. With each paragraph, his face grew hotter and his teeth ground harder.

He called Hannah.

“Hey, Alec! How—”

“You bloody liar.”

“What?”

“You said you would tell the truth in your article.”

“I did!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You know what? It might not be up to your standards of exposing the truth, but it’s not that kind magazine, okay? I did what I could, but the rooms were nice, I had to say it.”

“It’s nothing but praise. Praise for criminals.”

“I get it, you’re a paragon of integrity and I’m a sham.”

“You lied to me. There isn’t a word in there about the environmental impacts or the fishermen.”

“Of course, there is. It’s right there in the lede. And there are at least three more paragraphs about it.”

“I’ve got your article right here, it says: From its unspoiled site to its respect of the environment, the Mahal Kita eco-resort is, simply put, flawless.”

Hannah fell silent. He heard her sniff, and his anger vanished.

“You okay?”

“I didn’t write that… It wasn’t me, that’s not what I wrote.”

“Seriously?”

“Keep reading.”

Hannah slouched down in the hotel armchair, closing her eyes to ward off the dizziness. Hardy kept reading the article. She recognized some of the sentences, but she’d reread the text often enough to identify the missing parts.

She was in Cornwall, covering a music festival, so she hadn’t seen the magazine yet. When Duncan hadn’t asked for revisions, she’d naively thought her article was perfect. No wonder she hadn’t heard back from him about the promotion.

“Baxter?”

“He fucking censored me… You were right.” She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.

She expected Hardy to gloat, but his voice was gentle when he spoke again, “I really wanted to be wrong.”

He stayed on the line with her, in silence, while she struggled to make sense of this betrayal. She hated Duncan so much right now, she could have ripped his head off.

Hardy told her he’d experienced censorship too. Back when Tony Blair had sided with George W. Bush about the Iraq war. An editor had cropped one of his photographs so as to leave only the angry, armed Iraqi men in the frame and remove the children they were protecting.

“I was furious.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I made sure the original photo was published elsewhere.”

“I just… it was important to me, you know? It felt like a big step in my career. Something different…”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“What can I do?”

“You have to get that story out there.”

She could put the uncensored article on her blog and expose Elite Travelers’ dishonesty. But could she afford to antagonize her main source of income? Adios business class and exotic resorts.

“You would want to work for them again after this?” Hardy asked.

“It had never happened before.”

“That you know of.”

The moral decision weighed on her chest, pushing a deep sigh out of her. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. Arctic Monkeys would be on stage in 15 minutes, and she had a VIP pass. All she wanted was put on a flower crown, get drunk and dance with strangers under the sun.

“Would you like to go for coffee. With me. To talk about it,” Hardy said.

“No, thanks. I can’t.”

“Yeah, no, okay. Then—”

“I’ve to go. Bye.”

A week later, Hardy received a message from Hannah with a link to her blog called “Secret Diary of a Globe-Trotter”.

Secret? he texted back.

It used to be a place to write anecdotes I couldn’t tell my father ;)

She had posted her original article, nowhere near as scathing as it ought to be, but critical enough to put off some people. She also described the censorship and her investigation on Pulau Kesuma. She even mentioned him, “Alec Hardy, a remarkable photojournalist”. He thrust out his chest slightly.

So what do you think?

You did the right thing, he wrote.

I hope so. Still not sure about that.

With a fresh cup of tea, he sat on the narrow balcony outside his flat. He typed “I’m proud of you”, but changed his mind. He wanted to keep the conversation going.

I can send you some pictures I took, if you want to add them.

Of course! Will you publish them anywhere?

Expo in NY soon.

She sent a thumbs up, and he assumed that was the end of the conversation.

After a moment, Hardy gave in to his curiosity and browsed the rest of her blog. Among the clickbait-y articles (“Five booking hacks you’ll regret not knowing”, “10 sexy airport looks”) and sponsored posts, he found hidden gems: longer texts describing encounters with all sorts of people during her trips. She made these people talk about their countries and favorite, uncharted places. From a churros vendor with a surprisingly profound philosophy on family to an 80 year-old ballet dancer who aimed to dance on every street of Paris, by the end of the interview, they all opened up to her.

Rain enhanced the scent of fresh-cut grass and lulled him into a peaceful state as he read on. He hadn’t meant to spend so much time on her blog, he had work to do, but her words drew him in every time. As someone who used images to get his message across, he admired her use of language. Funny, incisive. Each paragraph a snapshot of humanity.

He felt on the verge of understanding something about Hannah, like a word on the tip of his tongue. An elusive quality that explained why, on principle, he should be more annoyed by her than he was in reality. She kept proving him wrong. In fact, what annoyed him most was how quick he had judged her.

Over the following weeks, he checked her blog every once in a while. He told himself it was to take stock of the responses to the censorship. And if he happened to look at her latest photos at the same time, well, it was purely out of professional courtesy.

This was how he found out she would be in New York around the same time as him.

_______

FYI I'm going on a trip for 3 weeks. I'd love to post another chapter during that time, but I'm not sure it's realistic. I will try. Thank you for your patience :D

ETA: I managed to write another chapter before leaving, and I scheduled it to post about halfway through my trip, on the 27th.

#Teninch fic #Hardy x Hannah #trying a different banner #which one do you prefer?#travelers AU #lostinfic writes stuff

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silvertip-studio · 5 years

Note

hi can u do a fic where theres a cute irish boy that works in a flower store and theres a rly hot muscular guy that works at a tattoo parlor with his sister next-door and they fall in love over mutual bonding over a certain flower (i like bell flowers)

Ok, this is actually Stryker bc she’s been bugging the hell out of me to finally post some of my OCs. So, here’s a random one-shot that I had written of two of my characters!!! Enjoy :)

Flowers made Ruairi happy. They were Mother Nature’s gift to the world, and were able to bring joy and life in even the darkest of places. Not only that, but there were millions of different variations of them, just like there were millions of different variations of people. It was the perfect system. His shop was brightly lit with large glass windows, and different flowers were scattered across the store. While it would appear disorganized to an outsider, he knew where every plant was and had clearly signed it so that shoppers could find what they were looking for.

Right next door to Ruairi’s shop was a very different store. It was a tattoo parlor. It had clean lines, and was perfectly organized. There was a station where two large, leather bound books of tattoo designs were clearly labeled, the walls had tattoo designs hung in cleanly cut, black frames, and there were tattoo chairs in the back or private rooms along the back wall. It was pristine, and Ruairi couldn’t help but say that he admired the organization every time he walked by to get to his car.

Of course, he had never gone in. No, he had no reason to go into a tattoo parlor, even if he admired the owners organization and the general aesthetic of the store. In fact, he had no idea who even owned the parlor, only that there was a super cute, or could he classify him as hot, tattoo artist that worked there everyday.

Ruairi was daydreaming about the brown haired, broad, muscular, blue eyed tattoo artist when his doorbell jingled, signaling the entrance of a customer. When he looked up he smiled brightly at the panicked looking man before him. He was in a pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt, his black hair was messy and unbrushed, and his green eyes were wide with fear.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” Ruairi grinned, glad that he never had to worry about getting flowers for a significant other since he owned the store, and since he didn’t have a boyfriend. However, he did sympathize with all of the poor souls who had come to his store in panic over the years.

“Uh, yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday and her present isn’t coming for another two days, so I need something to give her!”

“Ok, does she like flowers? A specific type of flower, maybe?”

“No, not really. When we first started dating I got her flowers and she gave them to her mother.” The man sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“So, then why do you think getting her flowers is a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I’m desperate.” he ran a hand down his face. “She’s going to get home from work in a few hours, and I have nothing.”

“Lemme see what I can do.” Ruairi offered, then began wandering through the packed aisles of flowers. He scanned them, hoping to hear the customer that was trailing him make a noise of triumph when he saw one that his girlfriend might like. When he had walked the majority of his store with only one bouquet even slightly catching the customer’s eye, he turned to the man with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I have for someone who doesn’t like flowers.”

“Fuck.” his hands found residence in his hair and pulled. Ruairi watched helplessly as the man all but sank to his knees.

“Does she like tattoos? ‘Cause, there’s a parlor right next door.”

“I mean, yeah, but that’s her brother’s…and she works there. I can’t exactly go get a gift card for her when she already gets the family and employee discount.” he sighed.

“Have you asked her brother what kind of flowers she likes?”

“No, but I’m gonna now.” he turned and left the store without another word. Ruairi shook his head and laughed. It was always crazy watching what people did out of desperation. He was returning to his little counter when he heard his doorbell jingle again. When he turned, the breath was nearly knocked out of him. Beside the black haired man was the tattoo artist that Ruairi had been fawning over for the past year.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “I-I mean hi.” Ruairi raised his hand in a half wave and felt a hot blush rise on his pale, freckled cheeks.

“Hey,” the artist smiled, glancing over at his friend hesitantly before continuing, “I’m Ryan.”

“Oh, I’m Ruairi.” he stepped forward and extended his hand to Ryan, praying that his hands weren’t sweaty. Ryan’s grip was strong, and Ruairi could see the veins of his muscular hands. It was then that Ruairi realized that the tattoo artist wasn’t wearing a sweater, or sweatshirt, or flannel which he usual wore in and out of the shop. No, he was in nothing but a tank top. A tank top that showed off the thickly corded muscles of his arms, back, and shoulders, as well as the tattoos that decorated his upper arms and shoulders. God, how had Ruairi not seen his upper body before?

“Um, yeah, so I’m Matt, by the way.”

Ruairi quickly pulled his hand back from Ryan’s, looking over to Matt who, damn him, was smirking at the two flushed men. “Yeah, so, Ryan, you’re Matt’s girlfriend’s brother, so you should know her favorite type of flower, right?” The red-headed florist scratched at the back of his neck.

“Oh, well, she’s never really been a flower person. No matter what my mother tried, Erin never quite got flower fever, or whatever. No, she always hung out with my dad and I.” Ryan chuckled, his eyes glazing over a bit as he thought back to his childhood alongside his sister.

Ruairi hated to interrupt his reminiscing, but he figured he couldn’t stay away from his shop too long, so he pushed on, “Well, do you wanna walk around with me, and maybe see if I have anything that could possibly fit the bill?”

Ryan nodded, and the two began wandering the store, Matt trailing behind them. Occasionally, Ryan would point out a bouquet with a smile, but most of the time it was about a tattoo he had done and not about Erin. Despite these anecdotes being useless, Ruairi smiled at the brown haired man. It was interesting to learn about how their, oh so different, professions overlapped.

Ruairi was about to lose hope in their mission, when something seemed to catch Ryan’s eye. When he looked at the bouquet that Ryan was reaching for, he was pleased to see that the man had chosen his favorite flowers. So, he took the bellflowers from him, ignoring the way his heart fluttered when his fingers brushed Ryan’s. He quickly rung up and wrapped the flowers, handing them off to Matt with a smile. Then, he turned to Ryan, “So, why bellflowers?”

“Oh, my dad used to always buy them for our mom, and so they were always around the house. I’m hoping they’ll remind her of Dad the same way they remind me of him.” Ryan shrugged, looking at the purple flowers with a fond expression.

“Here, why don’t I throw in an extra bouquet for you? On the house.” Ruairi wasn’t sure where the idea had come from, but it felt like the right thing to say. He definitely knew it was the right thing to say when Ryan’s face lit up with a smile and color flooded his freckled cheeks.

“I couldn’t.” he waved the offer away.

“I insist.” Ruairi was already running off to get the bellflowers, returning through the crowded store to find Matt whispering in Ryan’s ear and laughing. He had to hold back his chuckle when Ryan slapped the taller man on the arm and hissed something back, which only made Matt laugh harder. “Here you go.” Ruairi quickly wrapped the flowers and held them out towards Ryan.

“Ok, but you’ve got a free tattoo whenever you want.”

“One bouquet of flowers is hardly worth the same as a tattoo!” Ruairi protested.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep giving me flowers.” Ryan smiled, then dismissed himself. After all, he couldn’t leave his shop unattended for longer than he already had.

After that, it became typical to find Ryan stopping in at Ruairi’s flower shop to pick up a bouquet of bellflowers and talk for far too long. Each bouquet was proudly displayed on the front desk of his parlor for all to see, not that Ruairi knew since he never visited the tattoo parlor. At least he never visited until one day he barged in with a grand idea.

“I’m gonna take you up on that tattoo!”

Ryan’s head popped up from where he had been studying a drawing a client had sent him. He looked at Ruairi, stunned for a second, before a grin spread across his face. “Finally. What do you want to get?”

“Ok, first lemme explain, ‘cause you’re gonna think it’s weird.” Ruairi said. “They’ve been my favorite flowers for years, and it’s just coincidental that it—“

“What flower is it, Ruairi?”

“Bellflowers.” Ruairi said, flushing red, “They’ve been my favorite flowers since I was little because my favorite color was purple and I thought they looked like bells. I mean of course they look like bells, they’re bell-flowers.” the red-head spoke so fast that Ryan had to strain to keep up, only managing it because of his years listening to Erin speak impossibly fast. Although, the lingering Irish accent put a strain on even Ryan’s skilled ears.

“Hey, dude, it’s totally fine. First of all, I’m not going to judge you for liking flowers, for fucks sake you own a flower shop. Second of all, I noticed when I chose them for Erin that first day that you got really excited about them. So, I kinda already figured they were you favorite.” Ryan soothed, chuckling slightly at the dramatics of the Irish man.

“Oh, ok cool.”

“Also, we can be tattoo buddies!” Ryan laughed, leaving Ruairi to stare at him in confusion. Of course, Ryan picked up on this confusion and explained, “Look, I have a bellflower tattoo too.” He turned his head and moved some of his messy hair out of the way to reveal a small bellflower tattoo right behind his right ear.

Ruairi blushed, staring at the tattoo with a slack jaw. How had he never noticed the tattoo during any of Ryan’s many visits to the flower shop? “I don’t know. Isn’t that weird?”

“Nah, people have matching tattoos by accident all the time. So, what’s the difference?” Ryan waved him off, already standing from the desk and walking over to the leather-bound tattoo design books. “C’mon, I have a few bellflower designs in here from when I got this. Plus my sister, Erin, has one too, so there are a lot of different versions in here from our brainstorming sessions. Trust me, she just couldn’t quite ‘vibe’ with one.”

As he said this, a girl appeared from the back room. Her shoulder length brown hair was braided back, and she was wearing a barely buttoned red flannel and ripped skinny jeans, and her ears were decorated with glinting piercings. “Are you slandering me?”

“What!? Of course not.”

“I totally believe you.” she threw the towel she was holding at his head. Ryan caught it and glowered at her. Watching the sibling’s squabble reminded Ruairi of his sister, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the fond memories.

“What?” Ryan turned back to him.

“Nothing, you two just remind me of my sister and me.”

“Ah, so you know my struggle as well!” Ryan laughed, throwing the towel back at his sister.

“Struggle my ass!” Erin tossed the towel onto the desk, before joining them at the design books, “Since my loser big bro isn’t going to introduce me, I’m Erin,” she stuck her hand out for him to shake, and he couldn’t help but notice the vast array of rings decorating her fingers. He shook it, noting that she also had a firm grip.

“Ruairi.”

“Ah, flower shop dude, nice.”

“You know me?”

“Of course I know the guy who saved my boyfriend’s dumb ass.” Erin laughed, “Plus Ryan hasn’t—” she was cut off when Ryan jumped up and covered her mouth with his hand. The rest of her words were muffled into his hands. Ruairi looked between the siblings in confusion, positive that he was missing some key part of the conversation. When Ryan removed his hand from Erin’s mouth he hoped to be enlightened, but he was almost cast further into the darkness. “Fuck, ok. So, sensitive.” she poked her brother in the ribs with a teasing smile.

“What?” Ruairi finally asked.

“Oh, nothing, just that I of course know the guy who keeps giving my brother his favorite flowers!” Erin waved her hand at the bellflowers on the desk. Up until that point Ruairi hadn’t noticed the familiar flowers, and when he turned to see them proudly displayed, he gaped. He had never expected Ryan to actually put the flowers anywhere in his store, let alone front and center.

Ryan smacked his sister in the arm, but then turned to Ruairi with a smile. “I mean I told you they’re my favorite flower, and they give the shop a bit of color, so, yeah.” he said, turning away from the florist and scratching the back of his neck. When he turned back he said, “Anyway, let’s get back to your tattoo.”

“Ooh, he’s getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah, Erin, that’s why he’s here. What else would he be doing?”

“Well, he could’ve been visiting his—"

“Don’t you have a client to talk through tattoo care?” Ryan cut her off as he flushed red. Erin shrugged, but retreated back to the private room nonetheless. Both men stared after Erin, too scared to look back at each other considering the implications of Erin’s comments.

Finally, Ryan broke the silence. “So, bellflower designs. Of course, I’ve got my favorite design behind my ear, but my second favorite, is this one.” he flipped open one of the heavy books to a page that was covered in various pictures of bellflowers. For a second, he scanned the page, then pointed to one of them. It was two bellflowers with their stems overlapping and twisting together to form a heart. “I mean, we can change what the stems do if you want, but yeah.”

“No, no, I love it.”

“Ok, cool.” Ryan noted the design’s number in a notebook, “When do you want to get it done?”

“Oh, um, when are you free?”

“I could do it tomorrow evening, after closing, that way you don’t have to close early.”

“You-You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah of course,” Ryan hesitated, “you’re my friend.”

Ruairi didn’t quite know why, but his spirits drooped a little. However, when Ryan smiled at him, he felt them lift again.

“One, final, but really important question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where do you want it?” Ryan laughed when Ruairi’s mouth fell open. The florist hadn’t thought about that. So, he made a split second decision, and tried his best to pass it off as having been planned.

“On the inside of my forearm, I’m not totally sure which one though,” Ruairi extended his arms and turned them over so that he was baring the area to Ryan. He watched as Ryan shifted into artist mode, studying each arm and then thinking.

“I think I’d go with left arm.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Once they had discussed some of the details of Ruairi getting his first tattoo, Ruairi returned to his flower shop. However, he found it ridiculously hard to focus on caring for both his plants and his customers, instead daydreaming about the man who was going to give him his first tattoo tomorrow.

**********

Ruairi closed down the flower shop in a hurry. He’d spent the whole day in excited anticipation of the evening. When he walked into the tattoo parlor, he was grinning so hard that his cheeks were aching. However, the tattoo artist was nowhere in sight. “Ryan?” It took a few seconds, but Ryan suddenly emerged from a back room that Ruairi had never realized was there.

“Ah! My favorite client!” Ryan smiled brightly at the Irishman, and waved him over to one of the chairs in the back of the shop. It was already set up for Ryan to give him the tattoo. Ruairi seated himself in the chair and discarded his sweater so that he was in nothing but his t-shirt, arm resting on the armrest. Ryan cleaned off the inside of his forearm with disinfectant. “You ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Good to hear.” Ryan brought the needle to Ruairi’s skin and started the long, painful process. Immediately, Ruairi had to grit his teeth against the searing pain lacing through his arm. When he glanced up at Ryan’s face he was immediately comforted. His tongue was sticking through his teeth and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Ruairi couldn’t help but find it endearing. “We can talk if that makes it easier. A lot of people like to talk.”

“Ok, yeah.” Ruairi agreed. However, what he didn’t expect was for them to end up playing twenty questions. He didn’t expect to learn that Ryan’s first kiss was a boy named Alex in freshman year of high school, nor did he expect to tell Ryan that his first kiss was with a boy named Derek in his sophomore year of high school.

When Ryan finished the tattoo, Ruairi still had one question that he was dying to ask. So, once Ryan walked him through taking care of the fresh tattoo, he asked. “Can I see your tattoos?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.

“Yeah, sure.” Ryan said with a smile, and Ruairi was immediately comforted. “Can I ask why?”

“Oh,” Ruairi blanched, “I don’t know, I was just curious. Just, I don’t know, I’ve never really seen them all and I’m…I don’t know.”

“Whoa, hey, don’t worry, I totally get it. When I got my first tattoo I was super curious about other people’s tattoos too.” Ryan gave him a reassuring smile then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Now, Ruairi could see so much more of Ryan than he had been able to see when he wore the tank top, and Ruairi knew he’d made a mistake in asking. Especially as he stared at the wolf head on Ryan’s left shoulder, then the mountain range on his back, and then the three patterned bands circling his right bicep.

“Wow.”

“You like?” Ryan looked over his shoulder at Ruairi, who was still staring at his tattoos. He smiled, proud to see the awestruck look on Ruairi’s face. When Ruairi saw Ryan smiling at him he nodded, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Do you want to see some of my other ones?”

“You have more?”

“Hell yeah.” Ryan laughed, turning to face Ruairi and lifting up his left arm to reveal four hearts forming a four leaf clover on his ribs. Then, he lowered his arm and turned it over to reveal a tree that appeared to grow from the inside of his wrist up his forearm. Ruairi couldn’t hold back any longer and reached out his hand, lightly touching the tree. His fingers traced up the trunk and then the branches of the tree. He realized what he was doing and was about to pull his hand away when he felt Ryan’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“I-I’m sorry, I got distracted and—“

“No, no, it’s perfectly ok, Ruairi,” Ryan whispered, keeping Ruairi’s fingers pressed to his tattoo. Ruairi instinctually stepped closer, head still bent down to look at where his fingers were tracing the tattoo. Suddenly, Ryan’s hand was no longer holding his wrist, but tilting his head up to look at him. Then, Ryan’s lips were pressed to his and Ryan’s hand was in his hair, pulling Ruairi down into the kiss. Ryan pulled away from him, eyes still closed and breaths coming in pants. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.“

“No, Ryan, I’m—it’s…fuck it,” Ruairi surged forward, one hand on Ryan’s cheek as he bent back down to kiss the tattoo artist. His other hand moved up Ryan’s arm to his bare back, pulling him flush against his chest and deepening the kiss. With the reassurance that Ruairi shared his feelings, Ryan pushed Ruairi against the wall of the parlor. Ryan’s hands shifted from Ruairi’s hair to his shoulders, holding him against the wall as his mouth shifted to Ruairi’s jaw, then neck. “Mm, Ryan, fuck,” his hand had moved into Ryan’s hair and he tugged on the strands when Ryan nipped at the sensitive skin of his pulse point, “Not here.”

Ryan finally pulled away from Ruairi just enough to speak, “What?” he asked, resting his head against Ruairi’s collarbone and nuzzling his nose against the base of Ruairi’s throat.

“Come over to my place. We can have dinner, and continue this more comfortably.” Ruairi breathed, pressing a gentle kiss to Ryan’s cheek and trailing his hand down to rest loosely against the side of Ryan’s neck. After a few seconds, Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Ryan pulled away, then went up on his tiptoes to place a quick, chaste kiss on Ruairi’s lips. Then, he grabbed Ruairi’s hand and dragged him out of the tattoo parlor to Ruairi’s waiting car.

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

“Somebody got laid!” Erin sung leaning over the front desk of the parlor as Ryan walked in, fifteen minutes late.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan scowled at her.

“Oh, c’mon, you guys weren’t even subtle.” Erin came around to the front of the desk, standing in her brother’s path, “The shirt you forgot in the heat of the moment,” she held up the shirt he had abandoned the night before, “And, oh, what’s this?” she pushed the hood of what she guessed was Ruairi’s sweatshirt off of his head, “Hickeys! You and Ruairi sure had a fun night.”

“Shut the fuck up, Erin.”

“Seriously? Ryan, if you’re going to have a make-out session in the shop at least have the decency to own up to it, or delete the security footage!” she cackled, dancing away from his attempt to smack her.

“Shut up, it’s none of your business.” Ryan grumbled. At that moment Ruairi walked into the parlor, a fresh bouquet of bellflowers in his hand. Erin hid a smirk behind her hand as Ruairi came up behind Ryan, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I got you fresh flowers, love.”

Ryan blushed, shooting a glare at Erin before turning to face his new boyfriend. “Thanks, babe.” he took the flowers and swapped them out for the old ones that had still been in the vase. When he turned back around, he found that Erin had approached Ruairi.

“So,” Erin started, and Ryan dreaded whatever she was about to ask, “can I see the tattoo?” Ryan sighed with relief and Erin was already looking excitedly at the part of Ruairi’s arm that was covered in a bandage.

“Oh, yeah. Ryan did an amazing job!” Ruairi grinned, peeling away the bandage to expose the fresh looking tattoo to Erin. She smiled, taking in every aspect of the tattoo, from the intricate petals all the way to the heart that the stems formed.

“I love it! And look, we’re tattoo buddies!” She pulled off her purple flannel to show him the ring of bellflowers that circled her bicep. Ruairi noted that, like her brother, she was cut. Erin also had tattoos decorating her arms and shoulders, and he saw the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the back of her racerback. “Ryan, you’re the odd one out!”

“What? But he has a bellflower tattoo too.” Ruairi protested.

“Yeah, but not one on his arm like us!”

“Wow, if it means so much to you, Erin, I can get one on my arm.” Ryan sighed, leaning back against the front desk. “Where would you like me to get it?”

“Ooh, you’re letting me do this!” Erin was shocked, but she quickly transitioned into smiling with glee at her brother, “Sit down! I’m doing this now.”

“Erin, what about actual clients?”

“We don’t have any appointments for a couple of hours!” she argued, “Don’t worry, Ryan, it’s gonna be great!” Erin tugged on his arm, attempting to drag him back to one of the chairs. He resisted, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I think I’ll leave you two to it.” Ruairi began to back away towards the exit, “I have to actually open up my own shop.” he smiled and gave them a half wave.

“Wait!” Ryan broke away from Erin and raced after Ruairi, grabbing his hand and pulling him into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to Ruairi’s lips, then mumbled against them, “Have lunch with me?”

“Of course.” Ruairi smiled, gave Ryan one last kiss, then left the parlor.

“I ship it.” Erin cooed as soon as the door shut behind Ruairi.

“Fuck off.”

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symphysins · 7 years

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Have any other good fics for us???

sorry this took a while to reply back to. i’ve been compiling this for a while.

since you didn’t specify what kind of fics, i’m gonna give like a smorgasbord of different ut fics i love w/ a blurb of stupid commentary from me :’D

(be warned, snas is my fav so a bunch feature him/are centered around him.)

(also be warned that not everything i like may be ur cup of tea, so make sure to read the tags/warnings.)

longpost under cut. ready? here we gooo~ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Universal Displacement by knowmeknot: A forgotten doctor once theorized that when the same event occurs at the exact same time in two separate universes, they converge for a single moment and something… spectacular happens. A destabilization maybe. Or a merge. Or better yet, a displacement of two similar but different entities.

one of my favorite kedgeup things is when ut!sans or uf!paps lands in the other’s universe, and this fic expands on this idea rlly well.

A Lack of Brotherly Love by Askellie: After a brutal series of genocide runs, Sans wakes up in an alternate universe where the monsters were saved, everyone is on the surface and the future looks bright…except the fundamental difference in this universe is that its resident Sans never loved or supported his brother. As a result, Papyrus is a lonely outcast, unable to fit in and scarred from years of emotional neglect.And Sans isn’t going to let that stand.

i desperately want sans to punch the fuck out of dr.serif. and then go give poor paps all the hugs he deserves.

To Love Yourself by undertailsoulsex: UF!Sans fights with his brother and doesn’t know what to do with himself. He ends up traveling to the Undertale Universe where he meets the kindhearted Sans and Papyrus.UF!Sans has to come to terms with his depression and his newfound feelings for the other skeletons.

this fic emotionally destroyed me… but in a good way i swear! it’ll lead you on a rollercoaster of feels, but it’s worth it.

It’s A Long Story by RiseiTekiSensei: a soriel series detailing toriel and sans’ relationship in the underground and aboveground. i really like how both of them have their own issues, and how they support eachother through those issues. i also love how head over heels sans is for toriel.

A Fortune Cookie For You by Darkhymns: “In bed” jokes are the lowest form of comedy. So, of course, Sans and Toriel love them.

the jokes man. the jokes are the best.

Never a Lovely So Real by Kaesa: The city of Ebott, 193X. The market’s down, the crime rate’s up, and Sans is just trying to make a buck and keep an eye on his brother by working for the Dreemurr crime family. But after the Dreemurrs rescue a human child from their rival gang, the Flower Boys, Sans soon finds himself in way over his head. (Well. Not that that’s hard.)

i love all the research put in to make this mob au fic really authentic. reading the little anecdotes at the end is rlly fun.

Our Skeleton by yastaghr: The people who love him come to realise Sans may be hiding something from them.

this. this is the fic that really got me into sansgoriel. royal goats showering tiny skele in love is the best.

for queen and country by tealmoon: Being the Judge of the Underground isn’t just a job, it’s about being chosen to carry out the infallible will of the Royal Family, to keep chaos and crime at bay, to protect all of Monsterkind.

And for Papyrus, it’s about being helpless, and afraid, and alone.

us!paps suffering: the fic. somebody give this skele a friend. pls, he desperately needs one.

Fired Up and Bone Weary by perniciousLizard: slowburn domestic sansby series. sans is written so in-character and grillby is really fleshed-out as a character. there’s tension and drama here and there, but it still feels mellow overall. reading this fic feels like sitting next to a warm hearth.

These are our Days by Rehlia: Two days ago, you said goodbye to your best friend. Yesterday, you lost your job with no prior notice. And then today, you had a fight with your mom. So that’s your day today. Lonely, fighting with your mom, jobless. Perfect Day for a drink or two, right? What’s that on TV about monsters?You didn’t expect the monsters to accept that application for a social media job you sent them while you were drunk. Now you’ve suddenly moved to Ebott and spend your days hanging out with monsters, documenting your weird new life, and marvelling at how different monsters and humans can be - and how similar.

god, i love all the worldbuilding in this fic. the little things about monster culture are so great. this fic really makes me invested in monsterkind’s integration on the surface. and the build-up to the sans/reader relationship rlly makes it all the more satisfying.

Tend to your memories by Rainbow_Sprinkles: Post-Pacifist after many, many resets. Explores political, social, and personal facets of monster integration into human society. Begins in 211X and spans over many years. Political and social climates have undergone major shifts from those of the present day. Character development and platonic-familial relationships receive the most attention. Major motifs include health, medicine, and science.

realistically, i think a lot of the ut cast have been traumatized in some way, and this fic explores that very thoroughly. i think my favorite part about this series is the frisk, flowey, and chara development.

Kingship, And What Comes Next by CatKing_Catkin: This is the story of the Underground after Sans hung up the phone, after Papyrus took the throne. There’s no one left to guide him, no one left to look up to. Papyrus doesn’t want to let anyone down, especially not Sans when his brother is working so hard to support him. Sans doesn’t want to let Papyrus down, when his brother really is all he has left.They make mistakes, they miss one another, but together, they try to figure things out.This is a story about growing up, moving on, and what’s important in life.

this fic managed to take one of the saddest (imo) endings and turn it into something hopeful.

lest ye be judged by nilchance: in an alternate universe, asgore became something like a parental figure to sans and papyrus. the whole series is wonderful, and i love the relationship sans and asgore have.

Tsum Papyri by BarkingPup: In this world there is only Papyrus and… more Papyrus

the super sweet tsumtsum au made by zarla turned incredibly horrifying.

Overextension by MaxieSatan: Strength and weakness are not mutually exclusive, and neither one always looks the same.

i like reading fics about undyne & sans, bc you really never see them interact in game. it’s interesting to think about how they’d act around eachother.

Late Night Snack by EvilZebra:

Tuesday 3:55 amRUDE SKELETON: did he ask you to help too

RUDE SKELETON: he did i can hear more pots dying

RUDE SKELETON: pls spare my ketchup it does not deserve this

papyrus cooks at 3 in the morning. sans and undyne suffer.

social links by simplycarryon: Friendship’s pretty neat, or so your video games and anime dictate. But you are not an anime protagonist, and you’re not sure you know what friendship is any more.

i love sans and alphys being science buddy friends.

Angels in the Underground by joliemariella: 200 years ago, angels were banished from the surface world after the commander of the heavenly host, Asgore, declared war on mankind. Now, young Frisk has fallen into the Underground and must conquer the angels’ seven trials if she, and the angels themselves, are to have any hope of escape. Along the way she meets Sans, a wounded seraphim who agrees to guide her through the trials at Toriel’s request. Friends are made, history unfolds, and Sans comes to hope again.

monsters with wiiiingsss. also seraphim dad sans is best dad.

Butterscotch and Bones by kaliawai512: Toriel promised herself she would never leave the Ruins. She had to stay there, to make sure that if a human fell, she could care for them - even if she couldn’t stop them from going to their deaths in time. But now and then, leaving is inevitable. The Ruins have only so many resources, after all. This time, before she heads Home from her latest expedition, she decides to stop and check in on the asocial Royal Scientist who was once her good friend.

She doesn’t find him.

She finds two other someones instead.

FLUFF. SO MUCH FLUFF. some sad, bUT THAT ONLY MAKES THE FLUFF SWEETER. this fic is like a balm on the soul from the hurt of the handplates au.

Under the Veil by poplasia: Sans has gotten himself stuck in the void between worlds in a successful attempt to stop the resets of his timeline. He’s not sure how long he’s been chillin’ alone there, but eventually a chance at escape stumbles his way in from the Veil of Death. His name?—Sirius Black.

crossovers are great. crossovers with two of my favorite fandoms are even better. i’m really excited to see what these two pranksters will do next.

Missing Child Case by StoryCloud: Against all odds, the police find the four-year old that went missing around the summit of Mount Ebbot. A story from a child’s perspective has many interpretations.

it’s really rare to see fics that deal with neutral route endings, so this is a nice treat. also the fact that frisk is only four puts things into a diff. perspective.

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times by ABadTime: Set immediately after the pacifist run, the dark history of the skeleton brothers begins to surface when everything that held them together unravels, leading to the revelation of dark and transformative truths.The Best of Times, the Worst of Times sees the rise of heroes of unusual stripes in the face of unusual traumas, and explores the value of relationships in unusual times. The True Labs hold a great many terrible secrets only some of which have been able to reach their conclusion.

leaves you hanging on at the edge of your seat at some points, and has a satisfyingly happy ending. not to mention super cool gb!sans.

a lesson in grief. by ohmygodwhy:

you’ve got pressure dripping off your shoulders.

or: sans tries to deal with some things.

let’s end this off with some of that sweet, sweet sans suffering. one of the first few ut fics i read. the ending was like a punch in the gut.

#paperbeanbag #ultra mega long fic rec post!#hope you like it?#i could scream on and on about how much i love fic #there's even more fic i have bookmarked but this post was getting too long #if anyone wants a more fontcest/skeleton centered list i could probs make one

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canaryatlaw · 6 years

Text

alright, let’s get going with this. Today was fine, not particularly exciting, but it was my last day of classes, potentially for the rest of my life, so that’s something at least. I woke up to my alarm at 11:10, ten minutes earlier than usual because I wanted to do my make up and look nice for my last day. Got ready, walked to the train, and took it down to school. Dumped stuff in the PAD office then went up to class. It was all review, so we went over some topics and example questions, and how to best answer them. I’m not particularly worried about this final because it’s in a class I do actually have interest in and paid more attention to than my other classes, plus it’s open book/notes, and I’m just generally good at answering essay questions on tests, I just get going and I’ll just keep writing and writing. And I did really well on the midterm for this class (it was when the prof was like “I graded it out of 8, most everyone got 6′s, but if you said something really brilliant and mind blowing you might have gotten a 7″ and of course when I opened my envelope the assignment was in there was a big 7 on the top, so that was encouraging) so I’m feeling pretty good about this one. After class I went back to the PAD office and decided to focus on Remedies for a bit since I had my last class for that tonight. It’s not in the bar review books, but I was able to get a pretty solid outline from the PAD outline bank, it was from a class with another professor, but honestly it’s just the basic concepts it’s really not gonna differ that much. It was set up in a format so that I could largely copy and paste from it onto my flashcards, so that helped on time. But yeah, I worked on it from like 2:30 to 5, and I got through 14 pages of the outline (out of 24 total) and 156 flashcards done, so that was good. I grabbed a slice of pizza from the little market place that just moved in next to the school because I wasn’t feeling a salad today, lol. Went to Remedies, it was a pretty good class period, we did finish up on some stuff then went to review. There was a really funny moment when the prof was talking about what the test would consist of and he accidentally said “33 essay questions” instead of 33 multiple choice questions” and we pretty much all died of laughter. I also raised my hand at one point, because I mean, I knew the answer so why not, and I probably haven’t raised my hand in that class in like, 6 weeks (it was hard to pay attention during the LOT season because I’d end up glued to twitter for the hour), and the prof like, flipped out and was so happy I raised my hand lol it was sweet, and he was like “you know, I like you” which is always nice to hear. That’s gonna be my one closed book final, which is fine, I think I can get enough of that info in my brain to be able to regurgitate it onto a final. it’s also nice that my final dates are in the same order of my confidence in classes, so my easiest one is first, then the middle, then the hardest, giving me more time to study for them, so that worked out well. We got out around 7:30 (an hour early) and I was home by 8:30. Decided I’d watch Supergirl, and I don’t think it was too bad really, the Kara/Mon-El stuff was mostly cringey (but what else is new) though at least she got to tell him off at one point, that was immensely satisfying to hear that she does at least know just how much of an asshole he had been. All the J’onn/Myr’nn (they keep changing the location of the hyphen in his name, from like M’yrnn to My’rnn to Myr’nn and its quite annoying) was sad of course, so that was kinda rough to watch. The Sam and Lena stuff I thought was pretty good though, there’s definitely something distinctly Luthor about keeping someone in a secret medical facility until you can find out what’s going on with them, and I mean I’m sure Lena did it with the best of intentions, but it’s something that I can totally see Lex doing too, maybe under different circumstances but still. Seeing Lena push Sam until she broke was hard, as was Sam’s meltdown afterwards, all of which was sooooo reminiscent of season 8 of Smallville with the Davis/Doomsday situation, with Lena now being in the place of Chloe trying to stop this from happening, even though it’s probably out of their control. Listening to Sam call Ruby and have to tell her she can’t visit her was rough though, honestly I’m at the point where Sam and Ruby are the only characters I even care about (I mean, maybe Lena sometimes, mostly because she can give me Tess Mercer vibes and I love Tess oh so much) because they’ve made most of the other characters either just not having a plot or making them super obnoxious. I still love Winn, but he really hasn’t had much to do this season. but yeah, overall not bad, so I’ll take it. After I finished that The Resident had finished recording, so I moved over to that. Man, what an episode. The pacing was very good, intermingling the hospital drama with the patient anecdotes with Dev in the ER. Things are obviously escalating very quickly in terms of going from “this doctor is giving too much chemo to patients” to “this doctor straight up murdered her patient to keep her quiet” quite quickly, but I mean that’s basically what happened so I guess we’ll have to deal with that now, though idk how they’re gonna go forward from here with Nic out of her job and Bell now the CEO. I found the fire storyline slightly amusing because afterwards they were like “what happened?” “the patient caught fire” like that’s something that happens all the time 😂 this show continues to make me extremely nervous about going into surgery for anything ever; when I was in the ER over spring break they were like “oh this surgeon is great, he has a lot of experience and is well regarded” and he walked in and had gray hair and I was like FUCK I’M GOING TO DIE 😂😂 but thankfully I was able to avoid getting cut open so I lived to see another day 😂. After the episode I watched the news for a few while I finished up a few things (mainly finishing scrolling through the tumblrs I check every day) then started getting ready for bed, and now I’m here. DV clinic tomorrow for my last shift for the time being, depending on what I end up doing over the next few months I might be able to pick up some shifts over the summer, but I know I do need to focus on bar prep, with the rule of thumb being 8 hours of studying a day for 6 weeks (literally a full time job) if you want to pass. So we’ll see how that plays out. and yeah, not a bad day. Hopefully tomorrow will be good, and then I’ll probably be in finals study mood for the next few weeks, when my finals start on May 2nd and go to May 9th, then I’ll be graduating on the 13th. It’s so close, but it feels so far away right now because it’s on the other side of 3 massive tests I have to pass to get there. It is so close though, and soon enough it will be here, just gotta get through these last few hurdles. Alright, I’m done talking for the night (on this blog at least, I’ll probably make a post on my personal after this). Goodnight dearies. Love you lots.

#daily journal #April 2018 #Rachel watches Supergirl

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defunctblogtobedeleted · 4 years

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11/7/19 3:27am - Three Dates, Three Girls, Three Days

So after me and Jill had a nice night out and fucked again I had to go home to play poker with Velli and get ready for my date with Maria that day.

We had a score to settle, after the night we spent watching kakegurui he was obsessed and wanted to get her as a waifu from me in the stupid discord waifu game if I’ve mentioned that. So I told him I’d give him the main character for all of undertale and he said I was on some shit. I told him we could gamble for it, since that’s what yumeko would do. So we made these plans to play texas hold’em until someone lost.

Of course he did. It kind of came down to the first hand, tbh. He hit a pair off the flop but I hit a three of a kind and he didn’t want to believe I’d have a 4 in my opening hand and bet on it, so he started raising ME and gave me almost all his chips right off the bat. So I won waifus. And we watched more kakegurui until it was time for Maria to come pick me up for a date that we’d arranged.

We went out to raleigh times and got tacos, and went to boxcar and played some games. She’s pretty competitive, but I kicked her ass at galaga :3 turns out she likes the same arcade games as me. We played some air hockey, and she fucking railed me at skee ball. We played some space invaders and then bounced out to karaoke. Skylar finally sang for the first time! but I missed it and he said he was pumped to do another though, so I ended up singing She Bangs by Ricky Martin with him lol. Also sang Maria by green day because I wanted to embarrass her a bit. Or make her heart flutter. Same difference, right? we’d already kissed a few times before we made it over to Neptune’s, so things were going swimmingly. We had already discussed going back to my place to drink after bars before she picked me up for the date, but it was locked in after she met all my friends.

This cutey was saying this stuff on the walk back. She proclaimed that I was the male version of her, and I loved that because we’re both narcissistic as fuck. She was also telling me how she loved seeing me interact with everyone and that I was so cute and that if I had gone home with someone else instead of her she wouldn’t have even minded just as a friend. And I was like wow. Man. Perfect! Wow. That’s a lot but I dig it. And then we talked about having a threesome with her guy friend that doesn’t wanna do anything more than kiss a dude. She said she loves how open I am and how willing I am to experiment with things. We made it back to my place and she loved my room and my house and we fucked. Real. Hard. It was great. Started nice and slow, warmed up everything, ate her out for a while, fucked for a bit, came, explained how I could go for a round two without refractory period and she was like “wow. You’re woman’s best friend.” Then she wanted me to actually pound on her for a while which felt exxxxcellent, but eventually we needed to take a food break lol. I damn near set my house on fire trying to bake these sammies in the oven and pick them up with a paper towel. I was drunk enough that I touched the heating elements or some shit and just lit the shit on fire and was like flapping trying to put it out until I threw it in the sink lmfao. Luckily no harm no foul but I’ve gotta use spatulas more hahaha. Why the fuck don’t I have a pair of tongs in my house. She actually wanted me to fuck her in the kitchen while I cooked the sandwiches. Perfect. Checked that one off, but had to cut it off pretty quick since they were done fast. Watched some parks and rec naked on the couch. Went back to my room when the sandwiches were done and fucked more until I could finally get off again and then we collapsed in a hot sweaty puddle and curled up to sleep for the night.

Woke up in the morning at like 11, was maybe supposed to meet Elyse at 11 or 4, so I was like oh shit, but it turned out she didn’t want to hang until 2. So me and Maria fucked again, “2 for 2″ she said. Not sure if it was sexing or her cumming, but seemed approving lmao, and she left me to enjoy her day off and let me get some sleep before work.

Instead I took a shower, tried to get a new CRT from my buddy, it wouldn’t fit in my car.

Then I met up with Elyse at Umstead Park and we went on a run together. I haven’t exercised with someone in fucking years, but I’d do it for her. We kept pace together pretty well, had a nice little 3 mile run, then hung out by these cabins touching each others’ arms and backs and hair and chit chatting about each other. I kissed her a little, but she seemed very tentative. Though she did kiss me back a second time. We rode off and got a beer down the road from the park, talked about some ideas for fetish stuff and our interests and how things have developed a little bit. I really wanna see what her take on primal play is; that’s where she says she gets her kitty nature. Its pretty sexciting.

We went off to target to try and get me some pore cleanser (pork rinds? Pork lenser? lol) but couldn’t find it, and I had to run off to a JKCF scholarship meetup dinner, so she kissed me goodbye and we parted ways.

Not quite as exciting as my date with Mariah, and a lot less moaning involved. Though I did hear a lot of the same panting noises during the run. Jogging with someone definitely is kinda sexy lmfao. I’m just glad she got me off my ass and exercised this week, because I’ve been slacking. I’m stuck at 165 because I keep eating and drinking too much. Apparently it’s not hurting me much though ;)

But yeah still a good date though. Excited to see what’s to come!

Also it was a pleasure seeing all the cute JKCF people. I almost wish I could tell them the weird shit I’m into now. Some of the ladies who work for them have known me since I was in like 8th grade. Pretty fucking wild.

How things change.

So BOOM! here I am, all caught up. Eventually I’ll post some goofy stories from Hawaii, but that’s not gonna be too hard or long. hehehe Seems like things are just gonna keep being crazy for me though, so maybe I’ll blog more frequently so I don’t really fall behind as much.

Though Weilin’s really vested in me trying to work for Google, so that’s a project I have to actually do some work on. And there’s a handful of work assignments that I’ve been putting off for the last month and a half to finish this project lolol.

So maybe I take another month break and catch back up? We’ll see. Just know that things have never been better.

I am slightly in debt from drinking too much and fixing my car and getting a brand new phone and buying too many clothes and sex toys. But it’s hella manageable. Really the only reason I’m a Little behind is because I’ve been pressured to take some days off work to use up my PTO so I haven’t been seeing as many patients. Which also means spending a little more. And I’ve had a lot of no shows. So it’s no big deal. I’m making so much more money now I don’t even need to worry about it, it’ll sort itself out over time. Feels so fucking good man.

We’ll see about my goal weight. I would like to crush this last 10-15 pounds and get rid of the tummy and maybe even get a six pack on. That’d be dope. Kind of a goal by next lake week.

Last I wanted to talk about how I talked to my dad before slosh on monday. He asked about my facebook post so I talked about how I came out as bi and he wanted to tell me that he supported me and wanted me to be happy no matter what. I love him so fucking much lol he had this little anecdote about how he had a trans mtf mechanic and he was just like “well you’re still gonna work on my motorcycle, right? Then you’re all good by me.” He also told me the BDSM polyamory stuff I’m getting into is wild and that I’ve officially one upped him on that. SO BOOYAAAAAAAAAAA WE’RE IN THERE, FAM. <3 love ya daddy-o

So I’m. Fucking. Goooood.

Love you guys <3

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darrilshrugged · 7 years

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The Thin Man & The Ranger - Ch. 2

I enjoyed writing that first bit of the Vex/Percy - 1930′s murder mystery mashup that I kept going.

I had plotted out some of the fun scenes, and then realized that I actually had to put in some explanation of the plot. So this is a lot of exposition, but sets up some story, and has a few little moment to toss in.

It’s just a lot of fun to write again and play with these characters, about whom I care so much.

Enjoy if you wish, or not.

It is also posted here, if you like.

The bar where they met Lyra was in the flashier part of the Duskmeadow, among several similar establishments that created a more festive environment than one would expect for an area associated with Vax's Matron of Ravens. They slid through the crowd of lively patrons to join Lyra at a table near an open window, which allowed the cooler outside air to balance the humid warmth of the crowded establishment.

Lyra appeared even more agitated than before, rubbing at an area of the table that must have been stained or sticky. Whatever substance she was attempting to get rid of had begun to stain cuffs of the cloak she wore over her earlier outfit; the cream wool becoming a gummy brown. She continued to fidget as they sat down. They exchanged greetings again, and ordered a round of whiskeys from a prompt dwarf attendant.

"I've been thinking since we met before, and I feel really, really, bad for assuming you were here for me, and dumping all my problems on you. You probably have other important things to do here and while I'm happy to see you, and catch up on what you've been doing - you don't have to help with finding Uncle Randy and proving that he couldn't kill anyone. It's not your concern and I shouldn't have assumed - "

Vex stopped the rolling boulder of words with an raised open hand. "Lyra, we told you we would try to help. We are here already. Tell us what's happening, and if we can be helpful, we'll do what we can." Percy nodded as well, and Lyra took in a deep breath, a sip of her newly-arrived drink and filled them in on the situation.

It seems that Uncle Randy, as a trade representative to Vasselheim from Emon, had taken a leave of absence from his post a few weeks back, leaving notes for her, his only relative in the city, as well as some business associates, that he would be visiting several other settlements around Issylra, to help reset terms of trade agreements to those more favorable for the rebuilding capital of Tal'dorei.

"Is his leaving the city and traveling on his own unusual?" Percy asked as he rolled his glass in his hands, active fingers indicating his active mind.

"Yes and no. He hasn't traveled much these past few years, since coming to Vasselheim, but before that, he was a very successful traveling merchant."

"Sounds like a very patient and practical negotiator." Vex remarked, with a hint of admiration.

Lyra shrugged, her cloak falling off her shoulders and draping onto the floor, wet with mud and spilled drinks. "He does have a bit of a reputation for driving a hard bargain with other traders, and being less than friendly sometimes. I mean - I love him, and I'm sure he loves me, though he never says it - but I don't think he has many friends amongst the other trade guild members here. . ." She took another large gulp of her drink and coughed around her next words "or maybe friends at all. He can be a little temper-y".

"That's totally understandable, dear. Now this dead woman, is it possible she did something to make him lose his temper?"

“No! No. At least, I don't think so. No" Lyra had sat back, straighter now than she had been in quite a few minutes as she told them about her uncle. Vex leaned in with a more concerned tone.

"Don't get defensive, Lyra. We have to ask questions if we're going to help."

Lyra looked between their faces, Vex's open and leaned forward towards her. Percy, who nodded, and tracked his eyes to meet hers, as scanned the rest of establishment, arrayed past her shoulder. "Yes," he said, meeting her look, "Who was this woman to your uncle. A subordinate, you said?"

Lyra coughed out a laugh, a somehow unpleasant sound from the usually pleasant and upbeat, if unsure, wizard. "I don't know if Wilfrieda Wolff was every subordinate to any man, at least not for very long."

She told them, over another round of drinks, about the dwarven woman who her uncle referred to as an assistant. From the sound of things, and Lyra's own unsubtle inferences, Wilfrieda Wolff was many things: A wily negotiator, a personal assistant, a book-keeper for the guild, and possibly Uncle Randy's lover.

Lyra's descriptions and anecdotes about the woman, made it abundantly clear that she held a mix of dislike and grudging appreciation for "Ms. Wolff" as she called her. Harsh feeling or drink turning the title in to an emphatic, buzzing "Mizzz Wolff". Her depiction left them with the impression of a heady woman, skilled at working with all types of people, and relentless in pursuit of an objective.

She was also more than free with intimating that Wilfreda, while not what she would have called classically attractive, possessed an inviting and sensual nature that she had seen used on more than her Uncle. "She has - had- this effect on people, especially men. Not magical, I'm sure, but it might as well have been sometimes. I didn't really like her - mostly how she seemed to have a close relationship with Uncle Randy, and I feel a little bad about that I guess - but she did what she had to in order to get what she needed done, and I guess I liked it sometimes that she was this small women outfoxing overconfident men?"

Both women at the table tacked their eyes to the man sitting with them, who finished another long sip of his drink. "Don't you look at me. I have long known well enough to be respectful toward, or terrified of, very capable women."

He felt his wife's hand give three quick squeezes to his own under the table. A private signal of theirs, of wordless affection and reassurance. "If this Wolff woman was as assured as she you make her sound, than possibly she had made enemies?"

Lyra's brows closed together in thought for a moment. "I'd more than bet that she made some people mad in negotiations, or making cuts at the trade guild warehouses when work was slow, but she always seemed to keep things from getting too personal, even when she was charming the actual pants off of that elf merchant that visited from Kraghammer - wait! She did have some things that got personal!"

She went on to tell them about a rough-dressed man that she had seen with Wilfrieda a couple of times near the Quad Roads area of the city. She had seen this man, a stocky human with wide, heavy features, grab Wilfrieda around the shoulders, talk with her intensely, and walk with her to the former location of the Velvet Cabaret, now an establishment with a less-than-stellar reputation in the Duskmeadow. Another time, just last week, according to Lyra, she had seen Wilfrieda and the man, and Wilfrieda had dismissed him by shoving a satchel into his chest and walking away.

Lyra denied several times that she had been following Wilfrieda, though it appeared that she sometimes did. When Wilfrieda had left the man this last time she had almost run headlong into her, and that Wilfrieda had seemed less composed than normal, although she didn't have an opinion as to the other woman's mood - she may have been scared or angry.

Lyra was continuing on that she suspected this man may be a criminal of some sort, and the Wilfrieda may have had a lawless history of her own, when things began to happen around them, all at once.

Percy had been keeping his eyes on the general area, paying special attention to the busy bar and those milling about nearby. He was aware of a dark-skinned man in most of the uniform of a Bastion of the Quad Roads approaching the table. The man's gloves and helm were absent, revealing a weak jaw with a prominent knot on the left side, as if it had been badly broken and healed poorly. It made his already ugly features even more uneven.

By the time he had made his weaving approach to them, Percy and Vex had already tensed for action; feet pulled back and flat under their chairs, ready to move. Vex's left hand slipped from her husband's toward the dagger in her boot, as his right flowed to the butt of the pistol in the cross-draw holster on his left hip. The off-duty Bastion placed one hand on Lyra's shoulder, more to steady himself than threaten the woman, and he stared across at Vex'ahlia and Percival, his eyes darkly lidded.

"I know you." He slurred, tongue either heavy with drink, or positioned oddly in his rearranged jaw. "You're friends of that criminal Goliath, the blonde fancy lad and the red-haired monster that did this to me." He gestured generally at his face. "You're gonna take me to 'em, or you'll answer questions in the oubliette".

He had barely finished his drunken threat when a meaty hand fell on his own shoulder, making him the middle part of an odd chain, with a startled Lyra the bottom. The Bastion tried to step back and turn his head, but found a large body pressed against his, and whined in discomfort from what was obviously increasing pressure on his shoulder.

''Hello there, Tjarks. You using your off-duty time bothering these friends of my mate Phillip?'' The half-orc pit-fighter gave a tusky smile to those at the table and began steering the quickly sobering bastion back into the crowd of patrons. He called back them over his shoulder as he shoved the interloper toward the front door. ''You can put your steel away, this one will bother you no more, and next round's on me.''

Vex and Percy sheathed their respective weapons, which Lyra finally noticed with some dismay. Kern returned shortly after, followed by another round of drinks. After exchanging niceties and getting an update on the successes of their friends Pike and Grog at the Crucible, they asked Lyra to describe her mystery man that she had seen with Wilfrieda Wolff. Kern thought over his drink a minute, then asked for a more detailed description of the man's clothes and mannerisms before excusing himself to "Ask a few people worth asking".

"How do you know him?" Lyra asked, confused and more than little intoxicated.

"He's fought Grog in the Crucible the first time we came to the city. They fought a second time, and maybe flirted some". Vex answered without looking at her, watching along with Percy as Kern circulated around the end of the bar, talking to a few men and women hunched over drinks.

Percy scoffed. "Grog bit most of his lip off and pummeled his groin repeatedly, if I recall."

"That's how Grog flirts, darling."

"Remind me never to flirt with Grog."

"If you start, I may be the one pummeling your groin."

Percy slipped his hand back into hers. "I love you too, dearest."

By the time Kern came back to them, a few minutes later, Lyra had hit her tipping point, and had gone from tipsy to drunk. She looked as she was trying to follow the conversation, then dropped her head to the sticky table. Kern told Percy and Vex that the description matched a somewhat-known small-time hustler known as Relli. He was known to fence stolen goods, and sometimes go in on a blackmail scheme, but from what Kern had gathered, wasn't much of a danger, unless cornered or truly desperate.

Kern said that he would continue to ask around for them, if they wanted, and they accepted, letting them know the location of the inn where they were staying, and if they could not be found, to leave a message for them or for Lyra at the Slayer's Take guildhall. They parted with handshakes all around, except for Lyra, who Percy half-walked, half-carried to the Take, and left in the care of the attendant on duty.

The Lord and Lady of Whitestone then strolled slowly back to their rooms, full of love and drink. Neither wanted to admit to the other the hint of guilt they felt; that working on a problem like this together was as much, if not more, fun than any quiet honeymoon they could imagine.

#percahlia #perc'ahlia #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #vex'ahlia #fanfic #critical role

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