#(can you see the vision clearly jeremy)

[thebreadcultleader]

flies in with a jetpack and lands on a metaphorical stage OKAY SO WHAT IS UP BE MORE CHILLERS let me pose to you an idea!! Brand new can't even look it up on the internet sh-tuff. Oh also this is like a comic so imagine it as that. Ahem!! So basically Christine is doing some stuff in the theater and she's all getting silly when she comes across theater (the concept slash word) dead on the floor!! Obviously she's gotta do something about it so she yanks Jeremy and they start solving the mystery together!! And they do like funky detective costume changes and its silly and michael and others make guest appearances and uhhhhhh yeah. Okay concept and parody OVER this is your cue to throw all ur money at me and also for me to fly away on my jetpack!!

[mono-socke]

I sadly do not have anything for Squipril today bc I don't have any SQUIP OCs :(

so instead, take this weird thing, created by me and my best friend

TW: drawn blood

[biblio-smia]

part one | part two | part three

there's a feeling of dread in mike's stomach the second he wakes up. then, he remembers last night and his chest starts aching, too.

mike forces himself not to dwell on it. not on the disappointment in your eyes. not on the way you'd admitted you'd loved him (was it too late to admit he loved you, too?). not on how mike had ruined the one good thing he had.

mike rubs his eyes, blurry vision refocusing until the Nebraskan trees on his ceiling are clear once again.

mike feels more sluggish than usual as he throws clothes on and struggles to tie his tie, almost like he's still dreaming. he catches the crookedness of his tie in a mirror and imagines it's your fingers instead of his readjusting it.

abby is especially cold to him this morning, clearly not worried about mike realizing she had overheard last night's argument.

mike takes it, not even upset when abby calls him a jerk and throws a plushie at him.

he knows it's his fault. he knows he's been living in his own bubble without space for anyone else and he knows you are not going to come back without a little effort from him first; but the idea of telling you what's really going on is so terrifying mike would almost rather you never speak to him again.

it's really quite pathetic, how helpless mike is when, realistically, all it'd take is a phone call. but mike can't even bear the thought of hearing your voice confirm everything negative he's ever thought about himself.

so mike puts it off.

as soon as he gets this done. as soon as he figures out who kidnapped his brother.

then everything can go back to how it was.

though that uneasiness really never leaves mike that day. not as abby angrily huffs as she exits the car, not as mike shares this dream theory with his co-worker Jeremy, and especially not as mike sees an older man forcing a young boy along.

really, mike didn't even remember tackling the man and beating his face in.

but mike must deal with the consequences.

he is home early and abby has learned not to ask why. she has long since caught on to mike's patterned behaviors, though her childish mind does not quite grasp how it all could affect her. but abby does know that she misses you, wishing that stupid mike would just pick up the phone and call you.

max is her babysitter now. she's nice and she lets abby sit and draw in her room, but she's not you.

abby is on a hunger strike again, one that only you could ever seem to get her off of. mike tries one of your tricks, telling abby she'll never get to ride any adult rides at amusement parks, but she does not give in. at least he's sure they're related. mike can only hope abby's anger at him will mellow out - she has not been this difficult since before you and mike started dating and he has forgotten how to wrangle her.

the next day is better - up until the moment mike is handed a stack of papers asking him to give abby up.

a part of him considers it. who the hell was mike to raise abby? he couldn't maintain a job or relationship. abby has barely spoken to him recently (though mike wonders how much of that has been his own fault) and there have been multiple times throughout the years where mike thinks abby might truly hate him.

but then dr. lillian reminds him that children communicate through pictures and mike almost blurts out your name when she asks who's at the center of all of abby's drawings. and then it dawns on mike that, even before you, it's been mike. it's always been mike and now he is forced to think about how deeply abby loves him, pushing out the voice that tells mike this is impossible.

at home, mike sits in front of the phone and considers calling you. he still half-expects you to come in through the front door sometimes, smile bright and arms warm as you hug him from behind, too impatient for mike to stand and properly greet you. mike can almost feel your fingers on his shoulders and your kisses on his temple - and then he remembers he's alone.

mike shakes the thoughts, though he lets himself imagine your reaction to aunt jane's request. you'd say no, god, you'd rip up the papers, an anger on your face that mike knows isn't directed at him. you'd grab his hands and promise you'll find a way to win.

yeah, you'd be there, right by his side.

as if on cue, abby pipes up suddenly, her attention off the television and on mike and the phone in front of him. "are you finally gonna call?"

"what?" mike asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion until abby says your name like you're the only person mike should be calling.

"what? no, abby."

"why not?" abby cries, her frustration with mike beginning to return.

"because," mike stammers. "because it's complicated."

abby rolls her eyes. mike sighs and picks up the phone. he doesn't dial your number (that he knows by heart), not quite ready to let you see him while he's so low. instead, he takes a small white business card out of his pocket and dials steve raglan's number.

yes, mike thinks as he looks at abby, he has had a change of heart.

it's been three days since you've seen or heard from mike. there's a certain kind of disappointment that constricts around your throat, making it hard to breathe when you think about it too much. you hadn't explicitly broken up with mike, but you'd given him a choice that he still hadn't acted on. were you too harsh? had trying to pry your way in been a mistake?

no. you weren't happy with how mike had been acting and you had to let it out eventually before it hurt the two of you even more.

but god, why was it so hard for him to just pick up the phone and call you? all he had to do was say i'm sorry. at this point, you'd take just that. maybe if he saw you...

so you make a trip to the mall after work, but nerves start to set in as you drive and your confidence starts to falter. maybe you won't go up to him, but maybe you could just get a glance...

you've been curious to see how he's doing, anyway. you know mike can survive without you but your anxiety won't quit turning your stomach into knots until you see that he's okay.

you don’t spot mike. but your eyes do land on jeremy, who you’d met a few times when dropping things off that mike had forgotten (like his uniform shirt).

thankfully, the security guard spots you first, sending you a friendly wave that you return. he isn’t really expecting you to walk over, especially now that mike’s gone, but he doesn’t really mind.

but then you ask about mike and jeremy’s expression quickly becomes confused.

“mike got, uh… let go. two days ago.”

"let go?" you don't bother hiding the confusion on your face. if you had known, you wouldn't have been here.

"yeah... didn't he tell you? that's something pretty hard to hide."

"we're not... together. um, i mean, we don't live together... we argued. it's complicated."

jeremy smiles understandingly, a little amused.

"well, i didn't know him for long, but i know he was crazy about you. i mean, i thought he was a real dick until you stopped by and i saw how he acted around you. i mean, he was like a little kid with a crush," jeremy laughs, before he raises his hands defensively. "look, i don't know what happened, but he's probably beating the shit out of himself for it."

you let yourself laugh a little, your cheeks a little warm in embarrassment. "yeah, i'll keep that in mind. thanks." you turn to walk away, only getting a few steps away before another inquiry pops into your head. "do you know... if he's working somewhere else now?"

jeremy frowns as he shakes his head. "no idea. it was all kind of... messy."

you wonder what he means briefly but any chance to ask for more details is stripped as a static-y voice comes through jeremy's walkie-talkie. you decide not to bother the guard anymore, waving your goodbye and walking back to your car.

what did mike do?

that night, max enters the schmidt home to abby's screams. she stands in the doorway curiously, watching mike shut abby in her room as she takes her raincoat off.

"she's all yours." mike grumbles, heading back into his room.

though as sleep finds max on the couch with the tv playing softly in the background, she does not hear the soft padding of abby's feet sneak into the dining room. abby's small hands move the phone to a position that is more comfortable for her to dial in a number she does not know by heart, but has written on a piece of paper that has "in case of emergencies!" scrawled at the top. abby hopes you aren't asleep as the line rings, grinning when she finally hears your voice. it's been so long! abby almost squeals, but remembers she must be quiet.

"hello? who is this?" your voice rings, a little impatient.

"hi! it's me!" abby whispers loudly.

"abby? honey? is something wrong?"

"everything's wrong!" abby sighs. "mike won't take me with him to work and i have to stay here with max and i don't want to!"

you hold the phone to your chest momentarily as you sigh. no real emergency. a part of you is relieved, while another wonders how mike would feel about this. if he'd feel anything at all. (and maybe there's a part that's disappointed you don't have an excuse to see abby and mike).

"max is your new babysitter?" you're a little hurt mike would go so far as to hire someone else rather than just call you - did he really not want to see you that much?

"mhm," abby nods. "she's sleeping on the couch right now - that's why i'm whispering!"

you stifle a laugh at abby's antics, listening carefully as another voice (seemingly still half-asleep), max, asks abby who she's talking to.

"my friends," abby responds, her voice sounding a little more faraway before her attention returns to you. "i miss you," abby whines.

"i miss you, too, abs. so much." and you didn't really realize how much you did until now, an ache in your chest spreading at the sound of her sweet voice.

"can you come over? please?"

"no, abby, i don't think that's a good idea." you sigh. you really didn't want to put more pressure on mike and risk running him out for good, even if he wasn't currently at home.

"mike is a jerk!" abby groans, bringing the phone down to the floor as she lays on her stomach. "and i know he's sorry, he's just being stupid."

"hey," you warn gently. "you know he... tries his best," you sigh. "he's just not that great at talking about his feelings."

"well, he took my vest," abby tells you. "and he wouldn't let me come with him to work."

"he's going to work at this hour?"

"mhm! he works during the night now. at the abandoned pizzeria?"

"now, why would you want to go with mike there?" you laugh lightly.

abby's giggles grace your ears and your heart hurts despite your smile. "it's fun! i wanna go!"

you really can't fathom how abby manages to find a place like that appealing, shaking your head softly through the phone.

and then that other voice, max, speaks up again, less groggily this time. "abby, are you actually talking to someone?"

"no!" abby lies. "i have to go! bye!"

you don't even get the chance to wish her sweet dreams before the line goes dead, leaving you with that sad feeling in your stomach and a lump in your throat that you fear might turn into tears.

the next day, you're barely home when the phone starts to ring. you pull it off the hook quickly, remembering last night's caller.

"hello?"

your intuition was correct; abby's voice greets you on the other side of the line.

"can you come over? it's really an emergency this time!"

"abby? what's wrong?" there's worry in your voice and you're suddenly grateful you haven't even had the chance to take your shoes off.

"i can't tell you over the phone. just come quick, please?"

you don't even ask where mike is before you nod. "okay, i'll be right there. ten minutes, okay?"

you hang up the phone and practically speed to mike's.

your hands tremble slightly as you try to shove the spare key in, twisting the doorknob and shoving it open quickly.

mike's name is on the tip of your tongue before your eyes land on the man himself and abby, both crouched as the clean up spilled items from that stupid, always-stuck drawer.

"wha... what's the emergency?" your voice falters and you're beginning to think there was no real emergency after all (how could you know that the sight of a woman wanting to talk to mike constituted an emergency in abby's little head?).

mike looks at you confused and a little shocked while abby grins. she leaps up to wrap her small arms around you and you bend down to reach her height.

"abby..." you begin, but she's off before you can even finish, the soft shut of her door the only thing filling the silence between you and mike as abby disappears.

you sigh as you straighten, wondering if you should just turn around now. "she... called, said it was an emergency." you're avoiding mike's eyes, only keeping the lower half of his body in your peripheral.

mike sighs. "abby!" he calls, his hands on his hips and his head down, though he knows it's no use.

"sorry," the both of you blurt out, looking up at each other at the same time before quickly glancing away.

"no, i'm sorry," mike steps closer to you now, hands balling up the hem of his hoodie. "for... everything."

you look up at mike now and you can see that he means it.

"i'm sorry for shutting you out. i'm sorry for getting angry. i'm sorry for not calling."

you can tell his hands want so desperately to be on you and you step closer, putting your hands in his.

"i was stupid." mike pulls you closer, just now realizing how much he's missed everything about you: your touch, your scent, the way you fit so perfectly against him. the way he can never keep his hands off you, not even for a second. "and i'm so, so, sorry." mike's voice has dropped to a hushed whisper, his eyes scanning yours for any hint of forgiveness.

"okay," you begin, hands dropping to mike's waist as you pull him in for a hug. "okay," you nod, holding him so tight mike feels like he could cry.

"i'll tell you everything," mike whispers. and he does.

he thought it'd be easier, considering it was the second time he'd told the tragic story of his childhood in the span of about thirty minutes. but sitting next to you, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand, mike began choking up which led to you crying, too.

"you never told me," you said, voice soft.

"i know. i'm sorry."

"no, no," you shake your head. "this is... big. i understand why you don't talk about it." mike nods, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "it's a lot," you continue, wiping your own tears away. "it explains a lot."

"what do you mean?"

"why you suck at opening up."

that makes mike laugh. and there's a part of him that's mended by your words. to you, he's not difficult. not unlovable. he just... sucks at opening up.

"yeah, i guess i am pretty bad at that." mike keeps his eyes down, hands still playing with yours.

you shrug. "you're getting better."

and mike's heart soars.

he looks up at you with nothing but hearts in his eyes, his head tilting ever so slightly as he leans in closer. you meet him halfway, eyes closing once you feel mike's lips against yours again - softly, sweetly. your hands drop and find the back of his neck while mike's land on your hips, bringing you closer as you both feed the hunger you've been fighting off for days.

"finally!" abby's voice interrupts you and mike as you spring away from each other, wiping your lips with warm faces.

"you," mike points, getting out of his chair. "are in so much trouble."

abby squeals as she dodges past mike and straight into your arms, clinging on tight.

"okay, abs, what did we talk about when using the phone?" you ask, pushing a stray ringlet into place.

"that it's only for emergencies," abby recalls a little glumfully, though you're glad she doesn't bring up the little chat you two had.

"and what do you say for lying about an emergency?" mike pitches in sternly, hands on his hips.

"it was an emergency!" abby insists, turning from you to mike and back. "mike was talking to vanessa."

"vanessa?" your eyebrows raise, a little amused as you glance from abby to mike.

"what? abby, it's not even like that!" mike insists, face warm and hoping you won't get the wrong idea. "vanessa is a police officer who comes by freddy's sometimes," mike explains, partially to abby but mostly to you. you try not to giggle at mike's flustered state.

"see, abs? nothing to worry about." and really, you know there isn't. it took mike two months and a direct confession to realize you were into him; there was no way anything had happened between him and vanessa.

"so, you two are together again?" abby asks hopefully, eyes glimmering.

you glance at mike, who's hiding his face in his hands and groaning. "well, technically, we were never broken up," you tell abby, patting her face as she smiles, clearly satisfied. "good," she says. "don't." and then she's off again, back to the comfort of her room and her imaginary friends.

"are you serious?" mike's voice is clear now as his head leaves his palms. "that wasn't a breakup?"

your head tilts in confusion. "well, i never technically said the words, 'i'm breaking up with you,' so no, it wasn't a breakup. more like a break."

"what the hell? that was one of the most awful experiences of my entire life, and it wasn't even an actual breakup?"

mike is so evidently torn you can't help but laugh, standing to pull him in and catch him in a kiss.

"act right and you'll never have to experience one," you whisper in his ear.

mike nods profusely, arms wrapped around you tightly as he pulls you in again and again, lips not leaving your skin for more than a few seconds at a time.

and really, he has no idea how he's been managing to survive without you.

OKAY OKAY... do we want a part 3 that would wrap up the rest of the movie?? (itd have more angst + flluff <3) pls let me know <3

requests for mike schmidt are open!

[wil-dearest]

Anonymous asked: ok 🫣🫣 reader reading a * spicy * book and wilbur seeing them…. hehe

Mhm mhm, i see your point. Enjoy

trigger warning: the book you are reading has explicit smut in it and well its a little filthy at the end. but 18+.

brought to you by wil-dearest, may i present absolute horseshit

Kiss the Cook

In your defense, the book had been gifted to you by an older cousin who gave you a sly wink, telling you to enjoy. Your love for reading wasn't private information and had this been any other occasion and not your birthday, you most likely would've never read it. (Somehow, your relatives never get what you like. So they sit on a bookshelf as they collect dust and you sit on the idea of donating them.) And also because your cousin texted you saying the main lead was your type. And so if he was?

Here we are, three months after your birthday and you're sitting on at the dining table, reading. Your boyfriend, Wilbur, had been sweet enough that he wanted to make dinner by himself. And with the free time that's been so generously given, you give the book a shot.

Big mistake, after the first two chapters, it gets steamy.

Her head tipped back, with Jeremy's mouth teasing her skin, every touch and every bite he leaves spins her vision. "You understand now, what you do to me is torture." Even his voice, vibrating against the column of her throat, her mouth parts with a gasp. She does understand now.

She can't focus clearly but with the way his hands burn as they grip her thighs, wrapping them around his waist and his cock bumping against her entrance, it's as if her nerves had been lit on fire. The first push drives her nails into his skin and he smooths her hair down, hardly biting his moans back. "Ever since I met you," he gasps, interrupting himself as his hips twitch, "I couldn't get you out of my head. You consumed my being, every waking second." Maybe it'd been the wine, maybe it'd been the careless flirting because why would it ever be more than flirting remarks, it doesn't matter. All Nikki knows right now is how good it feels with him inside her.

You had to put the book down for a moment and cover your face, giggling a little bit to yourself. What the fuck had that been? You peek through fingers and eye the book, biting down on a bottom lip. You'll continue, you decided. Picking up the book, though, Wilbur came out to greet you, his hair a little run-through, like he was pulling the edges again. "How's the book?" He asks, smiling as he leaned in for a quick kiss. Your eyes closed as you hummed, not at all hiding your blush and your smile.

"It's not what I thought it was going to be." You answer, not at all wanting to admit that you just found out the book you're reading leans more into the erotic genre.

"Different?" He asks, his hand coming up and cupping the back of your head as he kissed your cheek. You nod. "And not a bad different?" He kisses your other cheek, drinking up your soft laughter. "Good, then you know where to find me," he pulls back, smiling at you. His thumb comes up to graze your cheek, where he kissed it. He kisses you one last time before heading back inside the kitchen.

You sigh dreamily, wondering how you ever managed to charm him with your tendencies to be a hermit. It cannot be helped, you'll just have to accept you've accidentally cursed him or something. Moving on from real life romance, you turn your eyes back down to the inconspicuous novel. It couldn't hurt to read a little more.

About thirty minutes later, Wilbur decides he's taken long enough and serves two bowls, taking the steaming meals and finding you so engrossed into the novel, you hadn't even noticed him. Now he's not one to be jealous of a book, but just how good can it be when it wasn't your taste? (Yes, he'd been privy to that lovely rant with relatives and their gifting habits.)

He comes around and he had to double-check his eyes were working before he came to terms with the truth. You've been reading erotica.

He starts to mumble the words, "Nikki sobs as she tries to clenches her thighs," you gasp, your head looks over your shoulder, unable to move too much to avoid hitting his head, "overwhelmed by the constant pleasure. His tongue was simply too much, circling her clit and sucking on it before moving the two fingers inside of her again-" you drop the book, covering his mouth even as he tries to read it still, and you had little doubt you look flustered beyond all reason.

"What are you doing!?" You shriek, turning in your seat as you hid your face in his neck, trying to strangle and simultaneously hug him. His laughter is a deep vibration that tickles you while you held onto him, your own nerves lit on fire as his arms circle around your waist.

"Well I came to tell you dinner was ready," he nods to the steaming bowls and then his teasing eyes turned back to you and you dive your head back into his collarbones, "but you didn't even see me. I could see why now."

"Hush." Your voice comes out muffled and you do nothing to make yourself clearer.

"Dinner could always wait and we can recreate the scene in your book." He says pulling away from you and before you can say anything, he's dropped to his knees, his hair falling into his big eyes that stare into you as he nudges his face between your legs. You could hardly breathe with how he gets so close to your crotch, how his smile widens when he kisses your thigh and grips the other one with his- his fingers and you curse yourself for being so sensitive because all you want to do is moan his name. You cover your mouth even when he licks a stripe down the crotch of your jeans. You feel yourself trembling.

"Actually," he says, getting up a dizzying fashion, "I'll make sure to get dessert after dinner." His smile is downright predatory. How are you supposed to eat after all that?

[jeremy-heere]

^^like this but its keanu reeves

if be more chill was animated the squip wouldve turned into a creature by the end btw

[mkaroy]

can you see the vision clearly jeremy? can you? beep bop beep boop?

[purpleprincessonfyre]

OUAT AU Season 2 - Take a look what you've done

Setting: The Enchanted Forest

Main Characters: Maleficent/Liane Felton, Charming/Nikolai, Hook/Jeremy, Belladonna and Joshua

Other characters: Alice Liddell, Sleeping Beauty/Petra Summers

IB: OUAT Season 2, Bad Blood (Taylor's Version)

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

Once again Liane found herself in that fire room, struggling to see as the flames encircled her. It was like hell as she tried to make her way across the glass floor, looking for a door or anything. She tried throwing her own fire at it but her powers weren't working for some reason. The flames burned at her vision, her eyes starting to water in the room, the room starting to fade as she began to hear a voice.

"Don't. Move."

-------

Liane's eyes snapped open to see a dagger pointed at her face, an angry redhead holding the blade, making eye contact with her.

"Hello, Maleficent."

Liane sighed. Of course the first person she'd meet in this land would be the one person with a bone to pick.

"Princess. Pleasure as always."

"Don't even try to use your magic, this dagger will go right through your neck."

"And I thought alarms were a rude awakening."

"Whatever you have planned, we will stop it."

Liane groaned but the realisation hit her.

"Where's my daughter?"

"Your- what?"

"My daughter. Belladonna. Dark hair. Bad attitude. Doesn't smile much."

"Oh uh, I think Alice has her."

"If you lay a finger on her I swear-"

But the Princess didn't even flinch holding her dagger tighter, the blade starting to dig into her skin. Liane stood up slowly, holding up her hands in surrender. The Princess lowered her dagger a little, seeing her not fighting back.

"Good. No fire."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Al! I got Maleficent covered!"

As the Princess led Liane away from the tree, a short young woman stepped out of the shadows, sword in hand, Bella's neck being held under the sword.

"Let go of my daughter."

"Sorry?"

"I said, let go of my daughter.." Liane growled, her eyes changing colour as she spoke.

"No fire or off with her head!" The blonde with the sword replied, holding the flat of the blade to Bella's throat. Liane calmed down, her eyes returning to normal.

"Now let go of my daughter. Joshua put the gun away, that really won't help us here."

"I beg to differ, I have a firearm, she has a butter knife."

"Joshua just put it away."

"Fine." Joshua pocketed the gun and the blonde lowered her sword from Belladonna's neck. But the redhead wasn't dropping her gaze from Liane's.

"Whatever your plans are, Maleficent, you're too late. This land is already a wasteland."

"Look I do have a name yknow? Petra, I know you're pissed I cursed you but that was...years ago! I was a dumb teenager then!"

"Hardly."

"Okay fine it was my early twenties but still!"

"Why are you here?"

"We were trying to banish something called a Balance Knight that came after Alexander and got sucked into the portal with it."

The blonde put away her sword, her eyes widening.

"You brought the Balance Knight to the forest?"

"Sorry but who are you?"

"I'm Alice Liddell. Slayer of the Jabberwock, Protector of Wonderland."

"Wonderland? You know my husband, Ethan, The Ace of Hearts?"

"You married The Ace of Hearts? He was sent to kill you!"

"Yeah about that-"

"Can you tell your daughter to stop staring at me? She's got a very Cheshire stare."

Liane looked over at Belladonna who had her gaze fixed on Alice. She knew that look. She'd seen that look when Bella had requested they watch Twilight. And when she'd watched Edward Scissorhands. And Sleepy Hollow. She sighed.

"Bella honey you're staring."

"Right, sorry Miss Alice ma'am, uh I've just never met someone like you before."

"From Wonderland?"

"Sure."

Petra rolled her eyes. Clearly she was tired of this sidetracked conversation and wanted answers. And moony eyed Alice was not helping her situation.

"Alice! Focus. So you admit you brought the Balance Knight here?"

"Yes. Like we said."

"So you intentionally killed my future wife?"

"Wait what?"

"The Princess of Sunlight?"

"Oh I remember her. No! Of course not, we didn't even know the forest was still here.."

Liane continued, yawning hard. Petra backed off just slightly after hearing that, slightly less threatened by the former Bad Fairy. But she still had questions.

"Where are your horns?"

"Oh uh I still have them I just, they don't really fit in the world we've been stuck in for 28 years."

"And you're still wingless?"

"Thanks for that. Yeah I am. But if I know my husband he'll have stolen them back from Alexander by now."

The two assailants started lowering their defences as they received explanations just as Nikolai and Jeremy returned to the camp. They were just as baffled as Alice and Petra but the Princess seemed to recognise Nik at the very least.

"Your Highness, I didn't know you were here."

"Petra? Oh my God, have you been stuck here?"

"We were trapped here frozen until this past few weeks. I was found by Alice and Ethel when the curse was lifted. But it turns out the land wasn't destroyed by magic. But by ogres."

Nikolai tensed at that name. He'd heard stories about The Ogre Wars his father had taken part in. They had been ugly and brutal, tearing away innocent lives in their time. Knowing that despite the efforts of his family, they had returned brought him no comfort. Liane looked uncomfortable too.

"The ogres returned?"

"With a vengeance. We've been trying to find people who were trapped during the curse to no avail. Many of them must have followed you to the other land."

"True. Alex wanted to hurt people associated with myself and he left no stone unturned."

"The Dark Prince is in your world."

"Aye, but he's a mayor over there."

Jeremy chimed in, inspecting his hook.

"But we're still forgetting something rather bloody important I feel. How do we get home?"

Alice's eyes lit up.

"Oh! I had a friend who had a magical hat that could transport you anywhere! We could-"

"See darling that's how we got here. And that hat is now useless given the power it took to open the portal."

"Oh. Right."

"What about magic beans?" Liane queried, remembering what she'd heard from Ethan about travelling between worlds.

"Well they say its impossible to find them in these times, but I think of at least six impossible things before breakfast to decide they are possible. But we may want to keep moving, those ogres may have already heard us."

There was suddenly a tremendous thudding sound on the ground as heavy footsteps approached the camp ground. There was fear in Petra and Alice's eyes as they knew the sound well. Ogres had indeed heard them. The trees were trampled around them as they started to close in. Nikokai didn't hesitate, pulling a sword and belt from one of the corpses.

"RUN!"

The group ran for their lives away from the camp ground, Liane shot them with her fire to try and stop them in their tracks but only got one down as they escaped. Then she saw Petra's bow on her back.

"Nock an arrow, I have an idea!"

"What?"

"Do it!" Petra did as she was told and as she pulled the bow back, Liane lit the arrowhead on fire, sending the flaming arrow into the ogres eye as they managed to get the two in pursuit down, hopefully dead.

"Good thinking."

"Thanks."

The group looked around, seeing they were no longer surrounded by ogres and needed a new place to hide out. Nikolai was the first to speak up.

"I think I know somewhere we can hide. My old house should still be here in the forest. We can stay there if its not been destroyed."

"And how do you know it hasn't been?"

"I don't. But a little bit of faith might mean it is."

With no other options the group followed Nikolai through the trees until they came across a beautiful cottage that was still perfectly intact, and still looked like someone was living there. Very much so. Especially since there was steam coming out of the chimney. Nikolai drew his sword and Joshua held his gun tightly, unsure what his father was thinking. The group approached the house tentatively and opened the door to see a woman with blonde curls sat at the table, stuffing bread into her mouth, dressed in armour.

"I can explain-"

"Michelle?"

"Nicholas?"

That's all for now and yes @gcthvile I searched your old Tumblr for Ethel's name, tag you're it @ask-missparker for Part 3

Tagging: @jackiequick @askstevella @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @marvelsfavoriteuncle @wizzzardofoz @ethan-lensherr @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @blueboirick @meiramel @cherrysft

[jeanmoreaux]

literally yes to all i could not fall asleep either 😭

i think what's so bRILLIANT about tsc (besides, like, everything) is that nora seemed really nervous that her vision for the story and characters would get swallowed by the HCs the fans have been cooking for years, and while that still could happen in book 2, i felt like while i was reading it her vision was my vision - like i am positive we as fans have influenced her story and maybe jerejean won't turn into anything (i'll eat my arm fr) but that bitch at the very least was like "okay sure fine i'll give you mutual attraction" "i'll give you jerejean friendship and intimacy even if i may not give you sex or romance (just yet)"

and i think the other thing i was so overjoyed about was that even though the og AFTG is definitely (clearly) very queer, nora really stepped up and took it to a whole new level in this one with both the representation and just the overall tone - that like not only are a lot (all????) of the trojans open and together and so incredibly gay, but they're shaping the story and jean and making it less shameful to be gay in exy. like og aftg spent a lot of time being like "don't be gay! this is bad! you can't do this!" and while jean still harbors that (for his own fucked up reasons i'm gonna kms) it's obvious that the tone for this book is so much brighter and gayer.

and! the parallels between neil's story and jean's!!! like obviously we could write essays on that topic alone but in conjunction with that point i just made - seeing the similarities between the house taking in jean and the foxes taking in neil (his lack of possessions, their protectiveness, their attempts to normalize him, their creation of a safe space for him) literally made me want to gouge my eyes out it was so beautiful and sweet and fun and QUEER. like aftg always had aroace undertones and such a huge part of the aro/ace experience is friendship and queer friendship at that and so to get to see this kind of found family play out AGAIN but in a slightly different way with a whole group of gays who are out and proud and happy is just......everything

like it's not that i was *worried* persay because i do trust nora but you never know what you're gonna get with spin-off sequels and this fandom is like a rabid dog and so for her to bravely return to this world after years is amazing in itself but to do it in a way that is.......dare i say.......almost......better than the original.......it blows my mind. and it makes me appreciate the original series in new ways now that we'll have more info on the ravens and all of their bullshit. like i literally am sitting here being like....so....series reread tn queen????

if i wasn't insane before (i was) then i sure as hell am now

~

also. can we talk about jeremy's cheesy af dialogue that makes me squeal? thinking about him saying hecka with his full chest....i love that man

holding hands 🤝✨ felt alive yet so dead once i was done.

also what a glorious ask. i can co-sign all of this and i don’t think i have anything to say that adds value to your points. you’re so right.

nora is so brave for letting us back into that world. because as much as i love and adore this fandom’s passion, it can be intense is a quite negative way at times. so yes, nothing but respect for nora coming back and giving us Her version of the story. the small nods to us (blond jeremy, frosted tips, the cardboard dog etc.) were so very endearing. and i don’t want her to betray her integrity just for the sake of fanservice. i trust her to deliver a great story, even when some of the things i might want to happen will not end up being anything (e.g. jerejean). nora’s vision will feel right because whatever she decides to do and wherever she decides to take this story i know will make sense. it’s very funny to me that you mentioned how you think tsc might be better than the original because i had the same thought. i am hesitant to really settle on it one way or the other yet; mainly because i tend to get very excited about new, shiny things, but also because we don’t have book 2 yet and i think to really Know i have to consider the story as a whole. but you can definitely see that nora improved as a writer in general (which ofc makes sense.)

i fear this will remain THEE aftg year for me. i am already tempted to reread. i don’t think i’ll know a moment of peace from this story in the foreseeable future but i am not gonna complain i’ll just lean into it and indulge.

~

godddd i expected to love jeremy but i didn’t expect to fall for him this hard. several time i caught myself studying his way of engaging with people and made some mental notes. he’s so special to me. i think once we get his backstory it will get even worse. and he does offer a very different perspective and attitude that’s so very refreshing while still being in tune with what we are used to.

[aradiamegido]

Vampire Roommate #3

Nikolai sits me down on the couch. His expression is one of stern concern. “I’m worried about you, Stephen.”

I wave my hand. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not. You’ve been drinking more and more, not to mention the illegal substances.”

“Pot’s legal here, dude.”

“Not on campus.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look. I understand your breakup with Jeremy was rough—”

“Fuck that guy,” I interrupt, reaching for my beer. Before I close the distance between it and my hand, he’s taken the beer and is standing at the sink, pouring it out.

I blink. How did he move so fast? Wait, he was on the track team in high school. That checks out.

“As I was saying.” He finishes pouring out the beer and resumes his spot on the couch. “You cannot spend the rest of your life wallowing in misery over someone who is probably already over you.”

“He’s not over me,” I insist. “He keeps messaging me, asking if we can get back together. I haven’t responded.”

“Good, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

I scoff and reach for the non-existent beer, then stop. “You don’t know that.”

He rolls his eyes—eyes that are dark and mysterious, eyes that almost glow red in the light of the dorm. “I don’t need to read his mind to see that. He treated you like garbage, and you’re better off without him.”

“He didn’t! He didn’t.” My voice trails off as I start to think about Jeremy. “I mean, maybe he wasn’t the most considerate dude on the planet, but he meant well.”

“Did he, or are you just making excuses for him?” Nikolai arches one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows.

“I—I’m not making excuses. He said he loved me.”

Nikolai’s voice softens. “But did he really mean it?”

Silence falls between us. I’m still a little drunk, so it’s hard for me to think clearly. At last, after what feels like a century, I pull my knees to my chest.

“I guess not.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I can feel the tears starting to well up and I inhale deeply, trying to push them away.

More silence. I continue to try not to cry, and eventually, I fail. Tears slowly roll down my cheeks, but I hardly pay them any mind. Maybe I had already known that Jeremy wasn’t a good guy and that I needed to leave him, but realizing that still hurt.

Nikolai gestures to get my attention. I look over. He’s offering me what looks like a square of fabric. There’s some sort of embroidery on it, but I can’t be bothered with the details.

“Here.”

I take it from him and wipe my eyes with it. It’s perfumed—lavender. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Keep it.”

“Are you sure? I could at least wash it and return it to you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really need a handkerchief.”

“I mean, neither do I,” I point out.

“Yes, but this is a gift.”

“Oh.” I look down at the handkerchief. Now that tears aren’t blurring my vision, I can make out the details of the embroidery. The edges are decorated with thorny roses that look like they’re bleeding.

“Hey, Nikolai?” I look back at him. The odd lighting in the dorm room makes his shadow appear longer, predatory.

“Yes?”

“...Thank you. For talking to me about all this stuff.” I manage a small smile. “I probably should’ve been seen by a counselor, but it feels more real coming from you.”

He smiles back. “I’m glad I could help.” His smile fades. “Sometimes I find that hard.”

“What do you mean?” I tilt my head to the side.

“It’s…complicated.” He sighs and settles back into the couch. “Let’s just say that not all of my abilities are put toward helping people.”

I nod. “I get that. You have to help yourself before you can help others. Putting on your own mask before helping someone else with theirs, as it were.”

“Mm, I suppose.” He glances over at me before looking back at the TV, which is off. Something in the air feels different, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, but my head is also pounding, which means I can’t tell if this is nerves or leftover from the alcohol I consumed earlier in the evening. “Do you, uh, wanna watch something?”

“Sure.”

I grab the remote and turn on the TV, putting on Netflix. “Got anything in mind?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never really been a television person.”

I flip through the new releases. “Let’s see. American Psycho, The Big Lebowski, Dracula, Scarfa—”

“What was that?” He perks up considerably, but in a way akin to an animal hearing an alarming sound.

“Which one? Scarface?”

He shakes his head. “The one before that.”

“Oh, Dracula? Looks like some old horror movie.” I look at him and now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a horror movie fan.”

“I’m not,” he replies sharply. “I do not enjoy popular depictions of vampires.”

“Including Twilight?” I ask with a grin.

He looks disgusted. “Don’t even get me started.”

I chuckle. “Alright, I won’t.”

Eventually, we decide on a romantic comedy, one I’ve never heard of. As soon as the movie starts, I can feel myself beginning to drift off.

Nikolai notices this. “Do you want to go to sleep?”

“No,” I mumble with a shake of my head. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

“Alone?”

I sigh. “I’m prone to having nightmares. And I know that even if I’m surrounded by people in the waking world, they can’t help me while I’m asleep.”

“I see.” He pauses. “May I see that handkerchief again?”

I pass it back to him. He studies it, muttering something that I can’t make out (though I’m fairly certain it’s not English he’s speaking). He folds it in several different ways, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to do some sort of origami with it.

Then he passes it back to me. “Keep this under your pillow. It should help with your dreams.”

“Seriously?” I look down at the folded cloth, which I notice has a small brown stain in a corner.

He nods. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Is that a date?”

“If you want it to be.” He shrugs.

I blink. I had been joking, but he doesn’t seem to be. “I, uh. Alright.”

He pulls out his phone and checks the time. “You probably should sleep, though. A regular sleep schedule also helps with bad dreams.”

“I guess.” I sigh and pass him the remote. “Have fun watching the movie or whatever you end up doing. I’ll see you later?”

“That you will.” He smiles at me. “Sleep well, Stephen.”

“Thanks. You too, Nikolai.”

There’s a slight pause, and then: “Call me Nick.”

I nod. “Then in that case, goodnight, Nick.”

“Goodnight.”

[grianthedecayingbird]

You were always quite the loser, Jeremy

Then I invaded, and you upgraded

Ba-ba-ba-ba

Whoa

Jeremy, it's true that I found you

But look around you

Whoa

All your peers are just so incomplete

You can't see it, but they're all in pain

Their operating systems obsolete

So let's complete the change, and get inside those brains

Let's save the pitiful children

Whoa

Let's save the pitiful children

Oh

Let's teach the pitiful children

Who just haven't a clue just what to do

Help them to help you

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Can you see the vision clearly, Jeremy

Users embracing, and interfacing

Shiny, happy people singing sweetly

Gone is human error and fear

Every issue tucked away sweetly

If you feel a sob or tear, just turn that nob and switch that gear

Let's save the pitiful children

Yeah

Let's save the pitiful children

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Let's teach the pitiful children

Who just haven't a clue just what to do

Help them and soon this will be you

Let's save the pitiful children

Let's save the pitiful children

Let's teach the pitiful children, who haven't a clue

If that's what we do

If that's what we do

Then everything about us is going to be wonderful

We love everything about SQUIPs

Everything about us is going to be so alive

We could never live without SQUIPs

We won't feel left out or unsure

Not pitiful children anymore

'Cause everything about us is going to be cool

When we rule

PITIFUL CHILDREN FROM BE MORE CHIL !!!

[missazura]

I CAN FINALLY DIE HAPPY

[specialagentlokitty]

Elijah x Daughter!reader - rest now

Heya love. May we have another Mikealsons death scene (us dieing obviously cos attention) and it’s more soppy stuff however Elijah is are dad. And it’s just him and us as he cries on to our body as we lose our grip. :) I’m in a sad mood so everyone else can suffer - @genderfluidsanta 💜

TW: major character death

It all happened so fast, you don’t know how happened but as you looked down at the nasty wound on your arm you couldn’t help but feel the worry flood through you.

You didn’t want to go back home, but you didn’t know what else to do.

You wondered the street aimlessly until you finally found yourself outside the Salvatore brothers houses

Padding up to the steps, you lightly knocked on the door and waited.

“Finally, someone who knocks!” You heard Damon yelled.

He tossed the door open and the moment he laid eyes on your he glared at you.

“Why are you here?” He snarled.

“I…”

You looked down and sighed. Shrugging your jacket off, you stretched your arm out.

“I.. I need help…”

“We can’t help you.”

You looked up, tears in your eyes as you looked at the oldest brother.

“Please Damon… I don’t want my dad to see me…” you whispered.

“Who it is?”

You watched as the rest of his crew all walk over, and the only one who came outside to look at you was Stefan.

He took your arm in his hands and inspected the bite.

“Where’s Elijah?” Elena asked.

You shrugged slightly.

“I don’t know… home maybe… please… I can’t let him see me like this…”

“Come in.”

Stefan walked you in and took you upstairs to his bedroom where he laid you down and they all looked around.

“Didn’t Klaus’ blood save Damon?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah… but… I don’t know where he is… it was his hybrid that but me…”

“His own hybrid? You’re sure?” Bonnie asked.

They were confused, why would Klaus order his own hybrid to bite you? His own niece.

They tried everything to keep you comfortable, but nothing seemed to work.

Your temperature was through the roof, and you didn’t know where you were. You were hungry and sick all at the same time.

It hadn’t even been a day since you you’d been bitten, and the pain was spreading way faster than they thought.

It was Damon that came over, blood bag in his hand as he handed it over to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you gulped it down.

“(Y/N)…”

You looked to the door, with your hazy vision you struggled to figure out who it way, but when the haze cleared you saw it clearly.

“Dad…”

Elijah quickly walked over, taking Damon’s place on the bed.

He wrapped you up in his arms, inspecting the wound on your arm.

“Niklaus is coming back… you’re going to be okay…” he whispered.

You blinked, and you tried to get up, you tried to rush for Bonnie who was bringing a bowl into the room for you.

Elijah pinned you down, holding you still.

“(Y/N)! Stop!”

You fought against your dad, trying to break free from his grasp.

“I don’t want to be a vampire! Please! Don’t turn me!” You begged.

Elijah felt his heart shatter.

He remembered that night, hundreds of years ago where you were dying from a sickness and your parents begged him to turn you.

You didn’t didn’t want to turn, but he did it for you parents since he owned them a favour.

He was a man of his word and he kept it for them.

“Let me go please!” You begged.

Grabbing your dad by the shirt, you launched him across the room and quickly jumped up.

You looked at Bonnie before you ran from the room and out into the town.

You were hazy, and you felt like you weren’t really walking.

You aimlessly walked, bumping into people and objects until you finally couldn’t stand anymore.

“It hurts…” you cried softly.

You groaned in pain and rested your back against the wall you collapsed near.

“(Y/N)!”

Elijah was right next to you again, gathering your into his arms as he started to walk.

You grilled the fabric of his blazer tightly.

“I don’t want to die…” you cried.

“And I won’t let you, Niklaus will be here in a few days.”

You carried on crying, begging your dad to help you, to take the pain away.

It killed him to see you like this, to see you in so much pain, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

Getting back to the boarding house, he laid you back on the bed and held you close to him.

As the night went on you got worse and worse, you couldn’t drink the blood anymore, and if you did you threw it back up.

“How long until Klaus gets back?” Caroline asked softly.

They didn’t get along with you much, and they definitely didn’t like the Mikaelsons but to see you in so much pain it was upsetting for them all.

You were begging for someone to stake you, to make the pain stop.

“Please.” You cried, “please make it stop…”

“Just another day…” Elena whispered.

“No! No! Take it away!” You yelled.

Elijah held you tightly against him, letting you cry into his shoulder as you begged and pleaded.

Tears burnt his eyes.

“Why is she deteriorating so fast?!” He yelled.

“We don’t know, I’ve tried everything but nothings slowing it.” Bonnie whispered.

Elijah looked at you, there’s no way you were going to make it until the next day.

As the night slowly creeped by you got even worse, and you went silent.

“(Y/N)…?” Elijah whispered.

He gently shook you, but you didn’t stir.

“(Y/N)….?”

He started to panic, but when you stirred slightly and opened your eyes to look at him.

You gripped his hand tightly.

“I don’t want to die dad…” you whispered.

“I know…” he whispered back.

Elijah leant down, kissing the side of your head as he brushed some hair from your face.

“He’s nearly here, Niklaus can help you.”

“I can’t do this…”

“Please, hold on for a little while longer…”

You shook your head, and tears brimmed your eyes again.

“I can’t… dad… I can’t do it…”

Tears slipped down Elijah’s face as he listened to you begging and pleading.

He wanted you to fight, and he knew you would for him, but to see you in so much pain hurt him.

“I want to… to let go…”

Elijah took a shaky breath, wiping your tears with his other hand.

“Then it’s okay, let go. Just rest, Niklaus will be here soon.. it’ll all be okay…” he whispered.

You looked around the room, eyes unable to focus on anything.

“I can… rest for a bit…?”

Elijah but back a sob, and pulled you into his chest, cradling you tightly.

“Rest… it’s okay…”

You have a weak nod and smiled.

“I love you dad…” you whispered.

“I love you too.”

He could hear your heart slowly, and your grip lacking until your whole body went limp and you stopped breathing.

Elijah buried his face into the side of your head as he sobbed heavily, letting out a pained scream.

The others heard it, and they all shared a look before making their way outside.

They didn’t want to disturb Elijah, and someone had to prepare Klaus for when he turned up.

An hour later a car turned up and Klaus and Rebekah quickly jumped out.

“Where is she?!” Rebekah asked frantically.

“There’s still time!” Klaus rushed out.

Everyone shared a look, and it was Caroline who walked over.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered.

“No…” Rebekah whispered.

“You guys can go in. They’re in my room.” Stefan spoke softly.

Both vampires were gone, and immediately stood in the doorway.

They watched as Elijah sobbed over your body.

“No…”

Rebekah walked over and dropped to her knees in front of the bed, her hand reaching out to take you limp one in hers.

Klaus walked over and inspected your arm.

“Elijah I’m so sorry…”

“Kill the hybrids…” Elijah whispered.

Elijah looked up to face his brother, nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.

“Rip each and every one of them apart aside from the Lockwood. Make all of them pay for this.” He snarled.

Klaus gave a small nod of his head.

“You have my word brother.”

Klaus gently placed a hand on the side of your face, running his thumb along your cheek.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)…”

No one had the heart to kick the originals out, not at this time, they all simply left them to it and let them grieve alone

[cas-kingdom]

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

1)

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

2)

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

3)

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

4)

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

[d3cayingang3l]

can you see the vision clearly jeremy??

This is Michael do you see the vision

[marvelfansince08love]

Hey Neighbour! - Part 8

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader 

Warning: uhh some implications of sex 

A/N: Hi, a big big sorry to you all on the late updates to this. I have no self control and have far too many WIP rn and keep forgetting to update this one as I’ve almost finished it! Happy reading! Apologise for any grammar/spelling mistakes x

Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @creepingwolfberry @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @minavenable @pearplate @r0an0ke @mssallymckenna @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @venablemayfairgoode @chewbacca0805 @pluied-ete @supremeinlilac @nyx-aira @witchxaf @black--widxw @fireflyglass @cordeliafoxxe @d14n4ol @bluevelvetbitxh @amethyst-bitch @lezzzbehonesthere @msvenablezcane @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @mooreashes @violentwavesofem0tion @cordeliass  @women-am-i-right @paulsonpills @goodeday2u @sm0ke-and-m1rr0rs @daisybri7

Hey Neighbour! - Part 8 

You had avoided the Mayfair-Richards home for the past five days unable to face the woman you had fallen in love with. Old wounds and insecurities had opened up causing you to retreat from your neighbours, Amelia had also picked up on your change of mood which caused the guilt to amplify. The two young children still saw each other at school leading Amelia to mention how Oz had told her how sad his mother looked whenever she did the dishes at night, to anyone else they would have been bewildered by the statement but for you it was like a stab to the heart. Ally had tried to call and text you to ask if you were okay, your short texts back and actively declining calls must have given her the hint that you didn’t want to be contacted because after the first three days she stopped trying. You hated yourself for doing this to her but you couldn’t help but fall back into the familiar withdrawal habit whenever you felt this way, no matter who you hurt in the process. 

“Mama, I’m finished!” Amelia announces, smiling proudly at her empty plate. You’re startled out of your thoughts as you look towards her matching her wide smile with a forced one. Your brother sits next to her as his eyes stay fixated on your form, concern evident within his gaze. 

“Well done, Amelia-cakes! Why don’t you go wash your hands and brush your teeth for bed,” you instruct softly, watching as she nods and dashes out of the room. You quickly make eye contact with him as you lean forward keeping your voice low so to not alert Amelia of the intense situation..

“I wish you would stop looking at me like that,” you whisper harshly, he only shakes his head mutely before responding. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re making yourself and her miserable, you clearly like each other a lot. Don’t ruin this just because you’re allowing your negative thoughts to take over,” his voice soft and gentle causing you to falter, expecting a harsher response. Sighing you relax back before taking a sip from the wine glass. 

“Will you please help Amelia upstairs while I clean up here?” you ask instead, attempting to avoid the current topic of conversation. He sighs in defeat before dutifully leaving the room to find his niece. 

You stand from your chair and collect the empty plates before moving towards the sink, as you begin to clean the dishes you notice a slightly dimmed light across the way causing you to tense, slowly you look up from your task and towards the light. Ally stands at her kitchen counter, even from here you can see how tired she looks causing that familiar guilt to creep up into your chest once more. She looks down for a few moments before placing a large piece of paper into the window, words written in black ink for you to read. 

‘I think we need to talk’ The words cause you to gulp as you nod back before searching for some spare paper to write back on. 

‘Garden in ten?’ you try to smile hoping to ease the situation but falter when she doesn’t return it and only nods back in acknowledgment. 

Wiping your hands on a dry towel you hurriedly move upstairs to inform your brother of your plan, he reassures you that he’ll be fine with Amelia while you go to talk to Ally giving you an encouraging smile before shoving you back towards the staircase. Grabbing your thick jacket and shoes you make your way towards the front of Ally’s home, waiting patiently for her to let you in. Your breath catches in your throat as you take her in, the urge to reach out and hold her becoming stronger with each passing second, brown tired eyes scan your face before silently standing to the side allowing you to move in. You head straight for the kitchen and into the garden area sitting down in your usual spot, you wait for her to join you. A hot cocoa mug appears in front of your view causing you to smile sadly as you take it from her hands muttering a quick ‘thank you’. It’s quiet and dark out except for the porch light that glows above you, both sitting quietly as you take a sip of the hot drink.

“Ally I-” 

“Why weren’t you honest with me? If there was something wrong you should have told me instead of practically falling off the face of the earth,” her statement catches you off guard, causing you to falter as you stare at the mug in your hand. 

“After she left me and Amelia I was struggling for a while, I couldn’t cope with working and looking after a baby full time but I had this beautiful girl to look out for so she became my top priority over everything, my job, my friends. It took me years before I could trust others outside of my family to take care of her. I’m not good at having these healthy relationships that are good for me and I am so sorry that I’ve treated you this way, you deserve better than this,” you mutter, tears gathering within your blurred vision.

“I understand how hard it can be to trust people, I mean you know about Ivy and how she betrayed me, betrayed Oz. I get why you got scared when things were looking serious, I’ve had my moments with that too but Y/N I’m not like her and you aren’t like Ivy.” She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. 

“We are good people and I don’t think it was a coincidence that it was you who so happened to move in next door… that night after the fair apart from Oz I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life, I want to be with you and I want this to go somewhere but I need you to speak to me and be honest with me,” Ally tilts her head as if seeking your gaze before reaching across and grabbing your hand. 

“I’m so so sorry, Ally. I should have spoken to you about my worries, I’m not used to someone caring. I just looked at how comfortable we all were in your kitchen that morning, how domestic it all was and my god I couldn’t have fallen further for you but my mind was screaming at me that if I allowed Amelia to become closer to you and you decided to leave… I can’t have another person walk out on her.. On me,” you stutter over your words as you feel your throat tighten, holding back a sob. Ally moves from her seat and crouches in front of you placing your mug onto the table she takes both your hands into her own, squeezing them with reassurance. 

“I love you y/n. This week has been tortuous the amount of times I thought about walking over and forcing you to speak to me, but I knew you needed time to collect your thoughts. I may not have been obvious with it but I could tell something had spooked you that morning but please come and talk to me whenever you feel trapped into a corner, okay?” her dark brows arch, as she waits for your response. As you nod Ally reaches upwards and captures your salty lips with her own, her warm comforting hands cupping your face in place. 

Tears continue to fall between you both as Ally presses gentle kisses along your jaw and cheeks seeking out that comforting touch, you realise that you were wrong. Ally isn’t like the rest of them, she’s kind and caring but most of all she understands you in a way that no one else can relate to. You quickly capture her lips, a heated kiss needing to feel her close. 

“Is Oz upstairs?” 

“No, he’s staying at a friends house,” she mumbles, against your lips. Pulling back you look into her slightly glazed eyes and demand the thing you need most. 

“Take me to bed, Ally.” 

With that, Ally grabs your hand and leads you back inside the house. The moonlight glows throughout the room giving you a clear view of Ally’s face as you allow her to look after you, whispering soft reassurances against your exposed skin leaving trails of wet kisses along your body, closing your eyes you surrender yourself to this woman finally allowing yourself to be loved without restrictions. 

***

Bright light beams through into the bedroom causing you to stir and groan at the invasive light cuddling into the softness of Ally’s chest enjoying her warmth and secure form wrapped around you. Lips graze against your hair as the brunette whispers a ‘Good Morning’ causing you to smile as you watch her fingers brush over your forearm that has stayed wrapped around her waist all night. 

“Good Morning, Honey. Did you sleep well?” your fake-innocence doesn’t pass Ally as she chuckles deeply, her hand moving to tilt your chin upwards causing your lips to brush against her swollen ones. 

“Deliciously actually,” her hoarse voice, makes you shiver before you capture her lips once more enjoying the sounds that escape her throat. 

The sound of the front door opening downstairs and quick footsteps making their way upstairs causes you to part suddenly, blindly reaching for your scattered clothes recognizing those footsteps from anywhere. 

“Mom!!” Oz’s voice shouts from the hallway, causing you to quickly cover up and head for the en-suite bathroom needing to freshen up before the poor boy sees you. Ally’s eyes follow after your retreating form in light amusement as she tucks on the woolly jumper and ties the string around her joggers. 

“Mom I’m home! We had such a cool night! Jeremy bought over his new racing car you know the one with the remote it was awesome!” Oz’s excited voice trails into the room as he runs straight for Ally’s legs hugging her tightly, she places her hands on top of his crazy blonde curls and smiles.

“Well it certainly sounds like you had fun! So where is Sam’s mom? You didn’t just run from her car without saying thank you did you?” Ally’s tone makes you smile as you peak through the gap of the bathroom door always infatuated with her motherly side. Oz tries to hide his expression but with one raised eyebrow from Ally the boy slumps and sighs before nodding. 

“It’s okay Ally! He was just excited to see you! Oz I’ve left your bag by the door okay,” Sam’s mom shouts from the staircase before the sound of the front door closing reaches your ears. Taking this as your cue you leave the bathroom just as the sound of screeching reaches your ears, a small body colliding with your own making you stumble. 

“Woah! Hey Buddy!” you greet with a groan, laughing as you place you cup your hand around his jaw cradling him close. A sense of guilt lingering within your chest, the realisation what your actions could have done to the poor boy being the same fear you have for Amelia. 

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbles into your stomach, you crouch to be eye level with him and give him the biggest smile you could muster. 

“I’m sorry for not being around much, silly adults and silly work has been keeping me busy. I promise to make it up to you,” you murmur, watching as he nods accepting your apology before turning to leave to grab his backpack from downstairs. You stand from your position and fold your arms across your chest, that unsettling feeling still present, Ally steps towards you and places her hands onto your cheeks before kissing your lips. 

“Stop, I can practically hear the gears turning in that beautiful head of yours. Now let’s go downstairs. I want to see my girl.” Her words cause you to raise a question eyebrow as your lips twitch into a half grin. 

“Oh?”

Ally grins wickedly, before stepping towards the door. “I meant Amelia silly.”

With that she winks and takes her leave leaving you agape. 

“Well I know my place then,” you grumble playfully before running after the mischievous Senator. 

As if on cue the sound of the front door stops you both in your tracks midway down the stairs, Ally moves to answer the door and beams when she sees Amelia stood with her Uncle who has a very dirty grin on his face as his eyes move from Ally to you wiggling his brows as Ally crouches down and fronds over Amelia who seems to be enjoying the attention from her favourite person. 

“Uncle Rupert said you guys had a sleepover without me, Ms. Ally!” she exclaims, a small pout forming onto her lips and you bite your own to stop your laughter. From the shakes coming from Ally’s shoulder the woman seems to be doing the same. 

“Oh sweetheart I’m so sorry, I promise we can have soon okay? Just me and your mom needed to have a grown-up sleepover to talk.” 

“Yeah I bet you did,” Rupert mumbles, amusement evident within his tone. You glare at him from your position as Oz comes running from the living room area, he instantly goes to hug his friend as he drags her further into the house telling her all about his sleepover. Rupert waits by the door as Ally gives him a shy hello before following the two leaving you to talk privately to the smug man.

“Not a word,” you demand, making sure to punctuate every word, it only seems to make him grin further. He shrugs putting his hands up in surrender as he steps through the door meeting you at the bottom of the staircase. 

“So are we back on then? Oh and no need to thank me for looking after the devil's spawn last night, I swear she just knows what to do to make me crumble. I didn’t even know you still owned a Nintendo Wii,” he rants, as you both walk towards the kitchen where Ally sits with the two children all drinking from their respective mugs. Rupert goes to sit next to Amelia as he steals her mug to take a sip as she glares at him. You shake your head at the two before clashing eyes with Ally who winks over her mug gesturing you over which you gladly do. Stood behind her you wrap your arms around her shoulders and listen as they all converse amongst themselves enjoying these rare moments that you will hold dearly, smiling you kiss Ally’s temple before relaxing joining in on the conversation. 

Now relaxed you allow the past to stay at the back of your mind as you look forward to the future, a secret plan up your sleeve you allow the details to rail off within your head excited to show Ally just how much she means to you and how do you do that?

By going official, of course.

[bioshoook]

To Shelter You, Ch. 1

summary:  Nine people down on their luck and desperate for money join a medical study deemed almost too good to be true. What they thought would be just your average advertised trial turns out to be a front for human experimentation.

This is trial 32 and there's no backing out of this one.

pairing: Alfredo/Trevor, Jack/Geoff (later in the story)

word count: 3067

also available on AO3

(Ch.2/?)

(Fic written in collaboration with @shyafwriter)

The waiting room he's sitting in looks normal enough, magazines lay strewn about on tables and the color beige invades every surface around him. The receptionist behind the front desk has a disinterested look in her eyes as she taps away at her keyboard. Maybe this was one of those sleep studies where they hook you up to a bunch of monitors and see how your body reacts. Or maybe something crazier, like what happens if a human consumes too much dish soap. Either way, Jeremy was going to be hidden away from the public eye for a bit, and that he was grateful for.

"Jeremy?" A nurse in light blue scrubs calls his name from the door to the left of the front desk. A clipboard that he assumes has all of his information on it is clutched in her hands. She directs a polite smile towards Jeremy and he follows her as she leads him through a maze of rooms.

After a minute of being led to his room he comes to an unnerving realization; he hasn't seen another soul in this building since he's been here. Where are the other nurses? The other patients? Is he the only one who signed up for this trial?

The pair come to a closed wooden door with a plaque on it reading 'Patient Room 4'. The nurse sets his clipboard in a plastic box on the door and lets him inside.

"The doctor will be with you shortly" she assures him as she closes the door behind him. Before he can manage a response there's a black gloved hand covering his mouth and a sharp pain in his neck. Jeremy struggles in the grip of his assailant as the plunger is pushed down on the syringe, pushing the sedative medicine into his bloodstream. He berates himself for not thinking this through more. How could he not realize how obviously of a trap this was? After all that time spent avoiding the public eye and hiding away in dingy motel rooms he falls right into their hands the moment he lets his guard down.

Anger floods through him as he twists in the arms of his captor. He's able to land a solid blow to the jaw of whoever injected him, but already he can feel his movements growing sluggish. The next step he takes feels like it's moving through mud and his vision swims. Jeremy tries once more to land a blow, but hands push him to the ground. He tries weakly to escape the knee on his back, muttering curses all the while. Black starts to seep into his vision and he realizes his head is too heavy to hold up any longer. With a grunt of frustration he lays his head on the floor, the cold from the tile sinking into his cheek. The door to the room opens and he hears garbled words that he can't understand. A pair of heels fills his fading vision and then just like that- it goes black.

--

His head is a hazy mess, like he’d been out last night and had one or two too many. Only this feeling is much worse. Jeremy tries to cast his mind back to what had happened last night - or what the last thing he remembers at all is - but to no avail.

He can barely find the strength to move, and only when he manages to persuade his arm to stretch does he realize it is bound.

And there’s a sharp, stabbing pain beneath the crook of his elbow.

Unfocused eyes open, then quickly squeeze shut against the bright lights of the room. He can hear people around him - muffled footsteps and conversation - but it sounds like he’s underwater. Whatever knocked him out clearly hit him heavily.

The second time he manages to open his eyes, he has a little more success. The sharp pain is a needle, buried deep into his flesh and connected to a tube that slowly pumps what Jeremy hopes is just saline solution into him but is more likely some elaborate concoction of drugs. At first, he comes to the conclusion that he’s managed to land himself in the hospital somehow. But hospitals don’t bind their patients down to metal tables like this.

Least of all an entire room's worth of patients. None of the others, as far as Jeremy can tell, are conscious. None look injured, either. Footsteps, still strangely echoed, begin to march towards him. Jeremy doesn’t have the strength to look up at the doctor who begins to adjust his IV, but the fluid soon runs quicker, and Jeremy’s consciousness slips away once more.

--

The next time he wakes up, he is mercifully not tied down to a table, and his head doesn’t feel so heavy and messy as before. At least, he thinks he can string a thought together. Like: ‘where the hell am I?’ or: ‘what the hell happened to me?’

There’s muttering around him. “I think he’s awake!” someone whispers.

Jeremy groans, rolls and rubs at his face, then grumbles, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Take it easy,” a new voice tells him.

“No worries there,” Jeremy moans. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“It… might be a little worse than that.”

Jeremy cracks an eye open at the discouraging statement. His head is pounding and he's cold, yet he soon realizes that those are the least of his problems.

For lack of a better word it looks like he's been put in some kind of cell. There's a large glass door in front of him, a concrete wall to his left and a glass wall to his right giving him a full view of the other people that seem to be in the same situation as him. He tilts his head back and sees a concrete wall with a poor excuse for a bed welded into the floor and what looks like a combination toilet and sink. Just like the prison cells he's seen before. But these cells hold far less privacy.

Jeremy bolts up, much to his aching body’s protest, but he doesn’t care. “There’s been a mistake. I didn’t sign up for this!”

“No shit,” the man across the room with curly auburn hair spits harshly. “None of us did, either. Who the hell would sign up to be kidnapped, pumped up with who the fuck knows what, and then thrown in a cell to wait to die?”

“We’re not going to die, Michael,” says the person in the cell to his left. “Don’t try to scare the poor bloke before he’s even come around.”

“Something tells me they won’t care too much if one or two of us drop dead because of whatever they put into us,” Michael growls.

“Can somebody please explain what’s going on?!” Jeremy snaps far harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t care. Not knowing what is going on is somehow worse than the feeling of being imprisoned.

“You signed up for a drug trial, right?” the girl in the cell at the end of the corridor asks. When Jeremy nods, she says: “Us too.”

“Your head is going to be a little foggy for a little while, but you’ll remember soon,” says a man with dark hair.

“There’s not much to remember,” adds another, who looks similar to the last. “We went to the address they gave us for the trial, and they took us. That’s about it.”

Jeremy tries to remember what happened before he got here, but the black-haired man is right. He can't seem to discern his memories from the fog hovering over his brain. Pushing the concerning loss of his memory to the back of his mind for the moment Jeremy pushes himself off of the floor. He lets out a shiver from sitting on the cold tile and notices that whoever put them in here didn't bother to give him any socks. His toes curl trying to alleviate some of the coldness in his feet.

Looking around the large room he sees that there are 8 other people in here with him, including the curly-haired man from earlier. Each of them seem to be wearing the same drab gray uniforms, and each uniform has a number on it. His own bears the number ‘305’.

“This is some real fucked up shit, isn’t it?” Jeremy asks.

“Most probably,” says the guy in the cell beside him. This one has shaggy brown hair with a striking blue streak through it. He’s sat slumped forward against his knees on his bed, yet despite the situation, he gives Jeremy a small smile. “My name’s Matt. I’d shake your hand or something, but...” he reaches over and drums lightly on the glass separating them. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Well, at least his closest fellow-captive isn’t an asshole, Jeremy thinks, though the jury’s still out on the auburn-haired guy. From the look of them all, this kidnapping situation has nothing to do with the fights and the debts Jeremy still owes. Well, at least, if he was kidnapped because of that, most of the others certainly weren’t. Matt doesn’t strike him as someone who would ever be caught within a mile of one of those pits.

“Jeremy, the name’s Jeremy,” he says finally. What does it matter if he gives them his real name? He probably had all his IDs on him when he was taken anyway - there’s most likely little he can tell these guys that his captors don’t already know about him. “Does anyone have any idea what they’re doing with us?”

“Nope,” the young woman beside the blonde-haired person says hopelessly. “They put something in us, and now we feel like shit. That’s all we’ve collectively managed to piece together.”

“I’ve been thinking, though,” says the paler dark-haired man on the other side of Matt. “Normally subjects for trials have something in common. I mean, in animal trials, the animals are often genetically identical to one another. When trials come to humans, there’s usually plenty of variables that they share. But we all don’t share much, at least as far as I can tell. They didn’t even keep sex controlled. Aside from all of us being relatively young and healthy, there’s not much we share.”

“No, but I can think of another thing,” the auburn-haired guy says with a grumble. “We’re all fucking broke.”

“Which just supports my conclusion here,” the dark-haired man says with narrowed eyes. “They don’t care - they’ll take anyone they can. Anyone desperate.”

“And this helps us how?” says the girl at the far side of the cells.

“I don’t think it will help us. I think it means we should be worried.”

Michael scoffs. “You must be fun at parties, Trevor.”

���I’m just trying to be realistic. Isn’t it better to be forewarned?”

His question hangs in the air as everyone in the room thinks over the possibility that they may be in a far worse situation than they could imagine. The girl next to the blonde lets out a sob and puts her head in her hands. Jeremy can hear the person next to them trying to comfort her. He lets out a sigh, his mouth thinning into a line. He places a hand tentatively against the glass door of his cell and looks around it to see if there are any breaks in the glass or any mechanisms that could possibly be picked. It looks like there are two hinges on the left to allow the door to swing out and one locking mechanism on the bottom right to hold the door in place. Without closer examination he doesn’t see any holes for screws or bolts, it’s all smooth metal.

The girl's sobs have quieted down, now she just sniffles occasionally. The silence is too much for him, he needs answers.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Jeremy asks, gesturing with his chin to the gangly guy across the room from him.

“Me?” the said gangly guy asks, “the name’s Gavin. And that guy over there,” he points to the auburn-haired man, “Is Michael.”

“I can answer for myself, dumbass,” Michael says hotly. He’s pacing back and forth in front of his cell door and rubbing at his head in an absent-minded manner.

“So, you two know each other?” Jeremy asks.

“No, he just wouldn’t shut the fuck up from the moment we woke up,” Michael answers.

The individual next to him gives a small smile to Jeremy, “I’m Lindsay.”

“Ky,” says the smaller woman next to Lindsay. Her voice is still raspy from crying, but Jeremy can detect an edge underneath.

“Well since we’re doing some fucked up version of ice breaker, I’m Fiona and apparently I get to be over here by myself,” the woman at the end of the hallway says with mock enthusiasm. Jeremy can see what she means now. Though everyone else in the room has somebody on one or both sides of them Fiona seems to be isolated with just her cell against the far wall.

“My name’s Alfredo and I would- uh like to leave now,” one of the two black-haired men says, tilting his head up as if saying it to some hidden microphone or camera.

“Yeah, you and everyone else in here pal,” Michael says from his cell.

“Hey man listen-” Alfredo shoots back but is interrupted by the man in the cell next to him.

“Well, my name’s Trevor and I think if we all would like to leave wherever the hell this place is, we need to start being nicer to each other,” he says with his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Be nice- be nice to each other?! We’re locked up in who the hell knows where and they’ve been pumping shit into our bodies and you want us to be nice?” Michael yells as he jabs a finger at Trevor.

“I’m just saying-” Trevor words are cut off as the door to the cell block is opened. Everyone’s heads whip towards the door to see a blonde woman in a lab coat and two, assumedly, guards dressed in black behind her. From where Jeremy is he can see that the guard closest to him has a gun tucked into their hostler and what he hopes isn’t a stun baton, but just a regular baton attached to their belt.

“Subjects,” she says, speaking clearly, “Welcome to trial 32. My name is Dr Rhodes; I am the director of the hybrid program. We’ll be getting to know each other well.”

Somehow, Jeremy isn’t so sure he’d like that.

Alfredo raises a hand, cutting the doctor off before she can say more. “Um, yeah, lovely to meet you. Listen, about the whole consenting to take part thing? I take it back - I want out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Diaz. You signed your right to withdraw away when you formally agreed to join the study, and unfortunately, the first phase of experimental work is already underway.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?!” Michael hisses.

The doctor turns to him. “I’m glad you asked. It’s a marvel of medical engineering - I helped develop the process personally. You see, before you were placed here, each of you received an infusion of a viral vector - enough to target every cell in your body eight thousand times over. Each vector contains several thousand strands of DNA. As we speak, this DNA is being spliced into your own.”

“You’re altering our fucking DNA?!” Michael shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What’s it doing to us?!” Jeremy adds with a growl under his voice.

The doctor smiles. “If your bodies adapt to the change well, then these new sequences will make you superior beings, Dooley. They’ll improve your hearing, they’ll enhance your perception of your environment. They might even make you fly.”

“Fly?! What the hell does that mean?!” Michael growls.

“She thinks she’s trying to make super humans,” Trevor chides. “If they’re fucking around with our DNA, they’re going to kill us all. What kind of back-alley university handed you a doctorate?”

“The same one that spat you out, Collins. At least one of us achieved something with our qualifications.”

Trevor's mouth snaps shut and glares at the doctor. "Now as I was saying," the doctor continues on, "Over the next 24 hours you will experience phenotypic changes. As a result, you may feel a slight discomfort in certain areas of your body. Some more than others." As she speaks, her eyes gloss over and then linger on Gavin for a moment too long for his liking. He swallows his fear, but the dread must be clear on his face, because the doctor has the audacity to smile at him.

“Rest assured, we have the best medical team available to us, should you begin to suffer any adverse or unexpected symptoms.”

Michael slams the wall of his cell, startling the other captives, but the doctor doesn’t even flinch. “Bitch! You can’t do this to us! We have rights - people will know we’re missing!”

She just shrugs. “Everyone has a price for their silence.” And with a final smirk at Michael, she rounds on her heels to leave. “Try not to distress yourselves too much. It could cause unforeseen outcomes. I’ll be seeing plenty of you all in the hours and days to come. Until then, try to get comfortable.”

The door slams behind her and her companions, leaving a room of stunned, terrified test subjects. Lindsay sits on their bed with their hand on their stomach like they’re nauseous. Beside her, Ky covers her mouth to stifle a sob. Alfredo and Trevor look to one another with wide, horrified stares. Matt all but collapses against the wall.

"This is fucking insane," Fiona says to herself as she bites her lip. She's shaking her head back and forth as she paces in her cell.

Michael watches as Gavin recoils away from the door, looking at his own body and shuddering in fright. He grits his teeth, slams the cell again and retreats to the far wall. He’s never felt so angry, so afraid, and so helpless in his life.

“What do we do?” Jeremy asks.

Michael’s forehead falls against his arm, supporting him against the wall. He squeezes his eyes to stop the tears. “Nothing,” he says bitterly. “There’s nothing we can do.”