#*horrific puking noises*

[kaiju-krew]

small comforts☀️

[emmyrosee]

hi emmy! congrats on the milestone!! (im sorry for being late 😔) u deserve so much more love <3!! i feel rlly proud for u, even tho i started following u not long ago :) i can feel u being sincere with everybody which is rlly cool! :D and i wanted to do 27 from your prompt list and 4 from the second list on hugs w/ tsukki :) i hope u have a great day and stay healthy and take care!! -anon :)

YOURE SO SWEET, THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS 🥺💖

Honestly I want this to be a place where anyone feels welcome to poke around, so to kinda hear that you get that vibe really does mean the most. ALSOO my first Tsukki piece!! Hope I didn’t do him dirty!!

27 “I swear, I’m not scared”

4 Hugs “Comforting”

—

“Are you sure-”

“Yup. I am perfectly fine with this circumstance.”

Despite your quivering words and tense shoulders, your eyes never leave the screen. Seems to be mistake, as instantly, the monster portrayed in the film hides just in the background, barely in sight. Kei rolls his eyes while yours absolutely refuse to leave the monster that lingers without being noticed by the protagonists.

Next to you, an equally scared but exponentially enthralled Yachi, on the floor are the other three third years who shout at the stupidity of the characters on screen.

Movie nights have always been a tradition, especially on Halloween; like hell you were going to disrupt the fun.

Not like you were scared or anything.

“If you’re scared, I can ask Tadashi to-”

“I swear, I’m not scared,” you hiss. Your body betrays you, as your finger nails dig at your cuticles, anxiously scanning for the monster the movie finally has panned away from.

“But what if it’s real?” Hinata says, popping some gummy bears in his mouth. 

“What if what’s real?” Kageyama asks back.

“Like, what if you were killed in any rage? Do you think you would come back as one of those?” Hinata’s finger nudges at the screen, referring to the horrors as if they’re not fake.

“You keep talking and I’m gonna kill you in a fit of rage,” Kageyama snaps, and a few feet away, Tadashi snickers.

“If I come back as one of those demons, I’m gonna haunt you so bad!”

Next to him, Kei hears you whimper, and he lets out a snarl at the idea of the others making you afraid.

“That’s enough,” Kei finally snaps. “Shut the hell up, or we’re leaving.”

“What’s the matter?” Hinata teases. “You scaaaared we’re gonna haunt you?”

You look away, embarrassed. If looks could kill, Hinata would be buried by Kei’s.

“You already haunt my everyday life, that’s horrific enough.”

Finally, a quiet falls back over the group, engrossed in the rising tension. You look like you’re completely settled in rigor mortis, and you look so scared he thinks you could puke straight onto Yamaguchi’s rug.

With a deep inhale through his nose, sucking up his pride, Kei wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to his side. You make a small, confused noise at the sudden affection, and he noses at your hairline.

“Kei? What’re you-”

“I’m scared,” he says simply, though there’s a total calm in his voice. He conceals you slightly in his frame, the flashing on screen dimmed in his hoodie fabric. “Hate this shit, but I know you want to finish it, so I’m just gonna... hold you.”

An overly wordy, but extremely soothing “I know your stubborn ass doesn’t want to leave, so I’ll keep your cover.”

You blink, surprised at the gentleness in his voice, but you decide to curl against him adoringly, melting in the comforting embrace, the friends scattered around you two being none the wiser to the chatter between you both.

You press an soft kiss to his jawline, feeling immensely better in the bulk of his arms. Your eyes gently flutter close and you take selfish inhales of his scent, mumbling a soft “thank you,” into the meat of his bicep. He nods and settles back down for his own physical comfort, the whole group gasping out as another scare plagues the air surrounding you both.

The scare fades, and you feel your breathing even out as you rest against your boyfriend, mind at ease and-

“Ohhhhh, I get it! Tsukishima wasn’t scared, but-”

There’s a sudden thump and a pained whine from Hinata, quickly then followed by “don’t kick me, Suckishima!” Your laughter gets muffled in the hoodie, mingled only with the other laughter from the other boy, Yachi quickly asking if the middle blocker was okay.

Definitely a tradition.

[asamary]

Special

It contains a bit of gore (i think?) This is angst by the way XD (you have been warned)

It was dark and very dirty, i was sleeping with catnap then… this might be just a dream, yeah! A dream…..

‘Why does it feel so real then?’ I thought as I continue to walk through this long hallway. Some of the lights i past flicked, it freaked me out, this placed looked so abandoned, and the smell, the horrific smell of death. Even covering my nose doesn’t do much.

It was quiet, except for the flickering lights.

I kept walking, as i looked around. It looks like a playhouses in some of the fast food restaurants, just more bigger. It could have looked fun, but with some hallway dark, and some rooms go back to one another, it was scary and hard to navigate.

Yet suddenly at a distance, i could hear a faint but familiar sound. The sound of the mini critters. They were whining, as if hurt or so.

My feet moved before i could think about the danger it might have, i ran to the sound, and as i came to a stop at an open door, i saw a mini catnap, with it’s tail stuck on a pile of rubble. As i tried to calm my breath, its head suddenly bolted towards me, it took a step back, as it started to hiss at me. I crouched down as i held my hands up.” Hey… it’s ok, i won’t hurt you…” I quietly said as i smiled when it stopped hissing. It titled its head as if suddenly curious about me, I slowly came forward, and once i reached them, I slowly held my hands towards its face. It sniffed for a couple of seconds, before nibbling on it. I laughed quietly, it didn’t hurt, just kinda tickled. As it stopped nibbling, i softly said. “ I’m going to try and help you now, ok?”

It stared at me not moving. So i begun to take the rubble one by one, until i saw its tail, now squashed and almost torn apart. As i pet its head, saying “ looks like we need to stitched your tail buddy.. are you ok with that?” I asked as i saw it purring in my touch. I begun to take out my emergency sewing kit, and showed it to the mini catnap. “ it might be a bit painful, but it only take a minute ok?” I smiled as i saw it, climbing to my lap.

I begun to sew the torn part together, as i saw them making biscuits all of a sudden. I chuckled as finished stitching it up. As i took a little something and begun wrapping it on its tail.” There now you look like a cutie!” I said smiling at my little present. The catnap looked at its tail and saw an orange ribbon tied neatly. It waddled in circles as a happy noise came from it.

I smiled as I continued to rub its big head.

As i looked out of the room I suddenly asked “do you know if there is someone i could talk to here, maybe ask them where i am?” I asked the mini catnap, as i saw them stop, then looked at me. It begun to tug my sweater, as if telling me to follow. So i stood up, and they waddled in front of me.

……… :)

For an hour or so, i followed the mini catnap, until we reached a prison like place…..

I could hears someone grunting and breathing raggedly. As i looked at one of the prison cell, i couldn’t believe what i saw.

“….dogday?”

I mumbled, eyes wide at the pup in front of me.

I nearly wanted to puke, his….. his lower body… it’s gone…..his intestines barely held by the belt on his waist.

I was about to say something, but was interrupted when he looked to me and said.

“ .. your…. Poppy’s angel…. Come to save us…. Nothing left to safe. Your in catnap’s home, now angel. Their home.”

He was about to continue, but i moved toward him and tried to get the belts off him. “ wait..what are you doing???

Angel, please….. I’ll only slow you down!” I ignored him as i kept trying.

“Im not leaving you here to suffer!” I shouted as tears begun to fall.

This dogday might not be mine, but I’ll be dammed if i left him here.

As i tried to take the belts off, the two tunnels between us made a noise, we both froze. As we stared at the tunnel.

I looked and listened closely at the tunnel , and could hear laughter.

“Oh,no…OH NO! Angel!! Leave me!! Please!!”

He looked at me shouting, i looked at him and answered “why!!?? I wont let them take you!!”

I shouted back, confusion and worry written on my face. “ angel please…… i don’t have anything to live for anymore.. so please just go!” He shouted.

As i took a step back, i begun to see the mini critters getting out of the tunnels, laughter filled the room as i tried to step back more.

Dogday thought, this was it, his last moments.

At least he got to meet angel. He was truly accepting his fate……. But the mini critters didn’t go to him.. they.. they went straight to angel…

As angel tried to run through the hallway they came, they suddenly fell under the floor, where infront of them, was a tunnel maze.

Dogday looked at the many mini critters running towards angel, until only one remained, sitting in front of him.

It was a catnap, with an orange ribbon on its tail. When dogday looked at it in confusion, its smile widened.

It lured angel here…. Not to help them…but to fed its brethren..

As angel ran into the tunnel maze turning left then right, she heard dogday shouting “ run as far as you can!!” It filled their heart with relief knowing he was still ok, but now they had to worry about the mini critters. Every tunnel they tried to go, is only met with more mini critters, they ran up and down, avoiding the minis that came too close, they entered numerous tunnels, as the go. Even falling in a hollowed platform, scaring the shit out of them, it was until they saw a slide, they did not give any second thoughts as they jumped and slid through it, when they stoped they saw a barricade door suddenly opening, and ran as fast as they could. Through it, they found more tunnels and at the end of the hallway, a bright light with a purple hand print glowing, they ran towards it, butsuddenly, something bit down their leg, causing them to yelp as they trip and hit their face first on the floor, blood dripped from their forehead when they lifted their head, as their sight became blurry, their blood dripping in their eyes. They tried to move or stand up, but all of a sudden they screamed in pure agony, tears and blood dripping and falling to the floor, as they tried to claw the ground. Tears falling nonstop as they tried to move.

The laughter became close and when they looked back, they only saw the many pinprick eyes running towards them. They shook in horror, and when they looked at their leg…… it was already apart. A mini picky and dogday chewed on the leg that was now a few steps away from them, they looked in pure shock, as when the mini critters who was eating their once attached leg looked at them with its wide grin, covered in their blood.

Their breath begun to go ragged as they started to crawl aways, their body all of a sudden became heavy, yet they pushed forward. ‘No more…. No more!!” They thought as they tried to crawl faster.

Yet it was all in vain, the next thing they knew, they were puking their insides out. Unable to speak, and barely breathing.

For a moment, the whole playhouse was filled with noise, not of the sound of children’s laughter, but the sound of one person’s agonizing screams piercing the abandoned daycare.

It felt as if a thousand bugs are crawling inside them. The last thing they saw before it turn black was the clawed paw of something purple…”c…..at…nap…..?” They croaked as they tried to reach to it. Yet it all went dark.

??pov.

‘The angel’s hand was still warm…. Why did they reached out?’ The giant cat thought, as he looked back to the now half human, eyes darken, surrounded in their own blood puddle, the minis crawling inside them eating their organs, tugging their intestines. To catnap, this was normal. Just the mini critter’s feeding time. What he cant understand, was why there is another human? Isn’t that nuisance of an angel the only human to be here? Whatever…

When he looked back to the human, he saw a mini catnap with a heart on its small bloodied paws. When catnap took it, it was still warm. A mischievous grin begun to grow on his never ending smile, maybe a trip to an old friend would be nice..

Somewhere outside the playhouse, stood kissy holding poppy. “ ah!… angel!! Your eye???” Poppy worriedly asked. The angel’s right eye bled, as they touched and looked at it. “That idiot….” They growled. As poppy and kissy was startled by the angel’s dark look.

(I feel no remorse, but don't worry! Angel in sweet home is fine~ just.. traumatized i guess:3)

[mistrdctr]

"---I'm definitely that hungover to be trusting enough, shouldn't have made me master of the mystic arts while allowing me to drink."

Yeah, the whole thing isn't lost on Stephen - the fact that he's really not a good sorcerer at this very moment, one who is supposed to keep earth safe from danger, who stops the universe from imploding, such things. He's drinking odd potions instead, almost puking them back out, but---

Hey, actually, he feels a lot better!

Blinking, with a sigh escaping him, Strange sinks a but further into his seat; And as he feels his headache fading, that pleasing warmth filling him, he also realizes with some sort of terrible dread that there's always a catch, always something that will either be taken in exchange or given back to him in the most horrific way.

So, he blinks again, bright eyes focusing on his other-me.

"---I'm going to suffer greatly in a set amount of time, right?", he asks then, just as deadpan as before, and not at all surprised, really. "Please just tell me it won't kill me, yeah? Got a bit of stuff to do - and, besides that, it would suck if I were to die like this, right here, after that Full Moon Party Wong doesn't even know anything about."

A pause follows, with Strange lifting a brow, head tilting as he continues to take in the sight of that guy...

"---You know, you really don't look like one who enjoys partys, I agree. Bet you were the one at Kamar-Taj who stayed behind reading books while everyone else was having a good time. Perhaps even complained about the noise interrupting your studies, using a broom to knock against the ceiling..."

His cursed looking doppelgänger simply looked amused, head tilting as he watched the man down the potion. “Well, aren’t you trusting? Or just that hungover?” He chuckled, taking another savoring sip of the wine.

The important thing was, despite the taste, the conjured concoction did almost immediately fill him with a warm feeling from his stomach up to his head, soothing and settling. Was there a chance in an hour it would all come rolling back twice as awful? Possibly. That was a problem for Future Stephen, and none of Strange’s concern. He was sure he’d be gone by then anyway.

“Hmm, interesting,” He murmured at Stephen’s report, setting his drink down to pull a small spiral notebook from his robes and summoned a pen with a flick of his hand, scribbling out a few notes. “I suppose there’s another difference. I was personally not really the party sort.” It was usually her that had dragged him out or encouraged him to go to any sort of shindig… and by the time his Kamar Taj days had come about, he was certainly not the partying sort. “Well, you’re not getting any younger. One would think they would learn some self control and moderation at magic school, huh.”

[bittykimmy13]

Hung with Care (GT)

A group of trinkets find themselves displayed for sale on a Christmas tree-- and one buyer is determined to have them all.

Co-written by the ever-fabulous @marydublin5​ / @little-miss-maggie​ (who also made the header image!) <33

(Warnings: fearplay, dehumanization)

Alicia shivered. Although faint warmth hung in the air from the apartment’s heater, the red-and-white lingerie that barely cloaked her body did nothing to protect her from exposure.

She stood as far from the table as she dared, looking anywhere except the dizzying distance to the floor. Although she was tempted to take another pitiful step back from the edge, she did not want James to think she was making a run for it. Not that a trinket would make it very far. If he wasn’t so busy tonight, James would have delighted in the game.

Her heart lurched each time he turned his attention back to the table of trinkets. Alicia could do nothing other than watch as her fellow captives were plucked up one-by-one. Her only option was to dread when it would be her turn. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself when James’ hand barreled in her direction, but there was a squeal of alarm from beside her as the girl nearest was chosen instead.

“Stop squirming,” James said, chuckling as though the trinket was an unruly puppy. “Save it for the customers. I mean it—you don’t want this to be too tight, do you?”

Alicia peeked up to the sickening sight of James using a red ribbon to fasten the fighting girl to a candy cane. Her arms were pinned down securely, but her legs were left loose enough to wriggle. Once he was satisfied she would not come loose, he turned and hung her on the magnificent Christmas tree in the center of the room. The decorations were as luxurious as the apartment itself, but there was no question what the main attraction was: the trinkets tied up on the branches with bows and trapped in clear glass ornaments. The latest addition continued to squirm as much as her restraining ribbon would allow. For all her struggles, the branch barely twitched.

So possessed by the horrid sight, Alicia didn’t even register that she was the final decoration until James’ hand swept over the table and plucked her up between his fingers. She gave a choked shriek, shutting her eyes and panting. Her stomach churned at the thought of being tied to a candy cane, legs dangling helplessly over a deadly fall.

Without warning, the grip of his fingers vanished, and she fell a short distance onto a cold curve of glass. For a frightful second, she was back at the Rendition club, about to have a drink poured over her while huge faces laughed high above at her struggle not to drown. She braced her hands on the tight walls of her enclosure and looked straight up, finding that the glass curved all the way over.

The top of the glass ornament was secured, and before she could stop herself, she looked down. Empty air hung below her. She could pinpoint the spot where the ornament would shatter on the floorboards between James’ shoes if he let go. Her vision swam. She felt like she would faint at any moment.

A laugh reverberated through the glass, drawing her startled gaze up to James’ looming face.

“What’s the matter?” he cooed, giving the ornament a little swing from his pinched fingertips. “Scared I’ll drop you?”

She was too petrified to do anything except stare pleadingly.

He cocked his head, and she had only a split second to register his displeasure before she was falling.

A scream ripped through her throat, but it was cut short. Her descent came to a jolting halt when James caught the ornament in his other hand. She trembled so hard that she could barely push herself to hands and knees. At least she couldn’t see the floorboards now that his palm pressed against the glass beneath her.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you a question,” he said, bringing her back to his face. There was nowhere to look other than his eyes, which glinted with delighted malignance. “Are you scared I’ll drop you?”

She gave a wordless whimper and nodded emphatically.

James clicked his tongue, sighing as he looked her all over. One finger tapped pensively against the glass. “You’re so damn cute when you’re frightened. Let’s hope our friends think so, too.”

Another choked yelp echoed in the glass orb as James turned on his heel and brought her to the Christmas tree. He circled it twice before selecting a spot for her with care in the evergreen branches. His gaze skated over her objectively; a businessman merely staging his merchandise. Somehow, that was nearly as chilling as his malice.

When he was satisfied, he stood and took a few steps back to take in his handiwork. “Try to smile,” James said to them at large, motioning vaguely with his hands. “It’s Christmas, you guys.”

The apartment intercom dinged its cheery note in the overhead speakers. James grabbed a remote from the arm of the couch, turning on cheery holiday music that drowned out the remaining muffled weeping. Alicia watched with growing dread as he strode to the entryway and welcomed two impeccably dressed men inside.

Alicia didn’t bother trying to smile. She doubted she could manage even if she tried. Luckily, James was too preoccupied as a host to make sure the trinkets were following his command. She caught the two men’s names as James shook their hands. The dark-haired man was Pierce. The blond was Finch. It didn’t matter which was which, she decided as James offered his customers some cocktails. Both men had come with the sole intention of possessing a person.

“Hell of a snowstorm brewing out there,” Finch said with a shiver.

James chuckled. “Glad you were able to make it before it got ugly.”

“A goddamn blizzard wouldn’t make me miss this,” Pierce said, sipping from his cocktail.

Alicia was grateful to not be garnishing a drink. At least, not yet. The night was young, and these men did not seem the type to be patient with their purchases. Alicia willed her heart to stop pounding and accept the fact that there was no favorable outcome. Sold or not, there was no escape.

On a lower branch, Alicia spotted a burst of movement. One of the trinkets was in a panic, trying to jump up and find a way to undo the top of his glass ornament. Alicia clenched her jaw, inadvertently glimpsing the faraway ground. Then something equally horrific caught her attention—the customers had spotted the movement too, and realization dawned in their gazes.

“Always a fucking overachiever, James,” Finch said, elatedly clapping James on the shoulder on his way to the tree. “This is really something.”

As Pierce followed suit and made a beeline for the tree, their footsteps juddered straight through the branches. Alicia pressed her palms flat to the glass walls, breath catching at the resulting sway of her ornament.

The three figures filled her vision beyond the lush branches. Pierce crouched down to peer at the frantic male trinket encased in the ornament on the lower branches. Finch stayed on his feet, reaching out an arm. Alicia leaned away, holding her breath.

“You said you had eight,” Pierce said, his chin barely in view. “I only see seven.”

Her back was pressed against the curve of glass—this had put her just far enough in the shadows to avoid detection. Her bare feet slipped, toes curling against the frictionless surface. A moment passed, and then James made a noise of awareness and came over. Alicia cursed, bracing herself as his hand shot in the air and tilted her ornament with two fingers. She slid to the bottom. James’ amused face drew back, and Pierce leaned in. She stared at him, upside-down, and he stared back.

“Is she new?” Pierce asked.

“Hardly,” James scoffed. “I got her secondhand from Rendition downtown. Between you and me… I think she’s just afraid of heights.”

Finch shared a look with James, stifling a laugh that was both boyish and cruel. He knelt next to his fellow buyer, shouldering him slightly so he could get a better look. “That’s too fucking funny,” Finch said. “I don’t know how to break this to you, sugar, but you’re gonna have to get used to it sooner or later.”

She didn’t answer him, trying desperately to compose herself. It was too late. Without meaning to, she had drawn the most attention to herself, and to her horror, it wasn’t going away. Finch was determined to test James’ theory.

“So if I just—” Finch gave the ornament a sharp jab with his finger.

The three looming faces swung, and she caught a brief flash of the ground. She cried out and curled into herself, attempting to hide her face in her arms and block it all out, but there was no escaping their cruel amusement now that she had given them exactly what she wanted.

Chuckles rumbled through the glass. Tears of humiliation and terror promptly spilled onto her cheeks. Another poke at the ornament jostled her out of her fetal position. A sob wracked her shoulders when she was forced to brace her hands on the curve beneath her, putting her tears in full view of her tormentors. In her attempt to look away from their faces, she inadvertently glimpsed the fall once more, and she violently reeled back for safety that wasn’t there, hyperventilating.

Her view darkened with the approaching shadow of Finch’s hand again. Weeping, she braced herself.

“That’s enough,” Pierce said, rolling his eyes. “She looks like she’s gonna puke. But no judgment here if that’s what you’re into…”

Scoffing, Finch still closed the distance with his hand, but he didn’t jab this time. Instead, he ran a tender fingertip over the outside of the glass. Past his hand, Alicia caught a possessive glint in his eyes. Pierce rose out of view to continue circling the tree like a hungry shark.

But Finch stayed. “She’s a cute one,” he told James. “Maybe I’ll take another while I’m at it, but she’s mine for sure.” He raised his eyebrows at her and stroked the outside of the glass again, anticipating the moment he could actually touch her. “Aw, don’t be scared, sugar. We’re gonna have a great time.”

“Good choice,” James said, giving her a smug look of approval that should have been reserved for a prized animal about to be sent off to slaughter. “As for price—”

“I’ll take all of them,” Pierce said, calmly circling back around the tree.

Alicia didn’t think it was possible to catch James off-guard, but he certainly looked rattled. “You mean the rest of them?” he asked.

“No. I mean all of them.” His eyes slid over to Alicia. He gave her a desirous smirk that made her shrink away, a new pit of ice forming in her stomach. “The cute little acrophobe, too.”

“What? No, come on, I had dibs on this one,” Finch protested.

“Dibs? Really?” Pierce shot him a derisive look. He then fixed his gaze on James, his stance one of utter, ruthless confidence. “I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour, so I’d like to move things along. You quoted me at four-hundred per unit. I’ll give you five grand right now for the set.”

Finch was on his feet so fast, Alicia’s ornament was left swaying in his wake.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled. “I came all the way here—”

“Not my problem.” Pierce glanced at his wristwatch, then back to their host. “Do we have a deal or what?”

Finch looked to James as though he might step up on his behalf. “Hey, I’ve bought from you three times this year alone. Repeat business. You just met this guy!”

James chuckled, stirring his drink. “Money talks. That policy hasn’t failed me yet. You gonna outbid him?”

Alicia saw Finch’s hand coil at his side and she shivered to imagine what he would do if he had her in his possession. “How do you know he’s not rebellion or some shit?” Finch insisted. “Or maybe a fucking reaper! How many people do you know buy this many at once?”

Alicia had never seen James hesitate like this on closing a deal—certainly not when he was being offered above asking price. James grew thoughtful and the room waited on his silence. He tucked his hands into his slacks pockets, ambling around the Christmas tree. Around his precious, 3-inch tall paychecks.

“He’s right, you know,” James remarked. “That’s a lot of trinkets for one guy. You equipped to deal with all of them at once? Not as easy as it looks, you know.” They can be awfully needy if you plan on keeping them around.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Pierce said. “I know what I’m doing.”

James stopped walking, an odd look coming over him. Alicia stared, trying to discern the sudden shift in his stance, that touch of a curious smile on his mouth. “Are you looking for a little taste-test?” he asked quietly. “Is that what this is?”

Alicia heard a few other trinkets choke in fear at the implication. Pierce’s silence was hardly a comfort as he met James’ stare head-on. After a moment, Pierce broke eye contact and typed a little on his phone. Shortly after, a notification lit up on James’ phone screen.

“I hope that answers all further questions,” Pierce said.

James rubbed the back of his neck as he scanned the message. His brown eyes glittered with excitement again, and Alicia was only momentarily pleased that this might be the last time she had to look at him.

“I’ll find a bigger box,” James announced calmly.

“Wait, what the fuck was that?” Finch looked between the two men wildly. “What did you tell him?”

“Hey, wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for the little ones.” Pierce smirked sinisterly. “I’ve been dreaming up my Christmas present for a while now.”

Giving an enraged growl, Finch suddenly swept his hand out and snatched Alicia’s ornament from the branch. She screamed, but no one seemed to notice.

“At least let me buy this one,” Finch demanded.

James raised an inquiring eyebrow at Pierce, shook his head. “She’s mine,” Pierce said, matter-of-factly, “or I walk.”

With no more than a shrug at Finch, James strode off. “Better luck next time.”

“As if there’ll be a next time!” Finch pressed Alicia’s ornament so hard into Pierce’s surprised hands that she expected it to shatter. She curled into herself as Finch’s voice rumbled menacingly at Pierce. “Fucking choke on her, freak.”

He stormed off and slammed the door on his way out.

“Hmph.” Pierce looked down at Alicia. “Takes one to know one, right?”

A smarter trinket might have at least cracked a smile to get in their new owner’s good graces, but all she could do was stare like a deer in headlights. The thud of footsteps distracted them both. With Pierce’s hands cupped around Alicia’s glass prison, she could barely see over the top of his fingers as James strode back into the room with a colorful Christmas gift box.

“Should be big enough,” James said, setting the box on the table by the tree. Every trinket in view recoiled as he turned his attention to them, ready to start packing.

“Hope you don’t mind if I help,” Pierce said. The rock of his gait made Alicia’s breath catch all over again.

James snorted. “Be my guest.”

Not a moment after he said that, the top of Alicia’s ornament squeaked as it was unscrewed. She looked up in time to see it fly away. She was so braced for fingers to reach in that she wasn’t prepared for her prison to tilt. Catching a glimpse of Pierce’s waiting palm, she whimpered and pressed her back to the glass.

“No,” she breathed. “N-no, no, please…” There was nowhere for her to go, but her instincts weren’t easily quelled. She desperately scooted back and tried to ground her heels to avoid falling.

“Don’t fuss now,” Pierce hummed. He gave the ornament the smallest shake, proving just how inconsequential her resistance was. With a little shriek, she dropped to his palm and hurriedly scrambled to the middle to avoid the edge.

James laughed outright, and Alicia realized he had been watching the whole time. “I wonder what kind of noise she’d made if you grabbed her by the ankle.

“Trust me, I’ll get plenty of playtime with her later.”

Pierce moved so swiftly that she had no time to even think about how high she was off the ground. He tilted his palm into the box, and she slid onto a cushion of tissue paper that barely noticed her weight.

She was grateful to be free of that spherical death trap, but the knot of anxiety in her stomach didn’t let up. Pierce moved with an eagerness that rivaled James’ as they unfastened each trinket and loaded them into the box. She had a sinking feeling with every glance she stole that, as vicious as James could be, they were about to experience a new level of fear.

With all eight of the trinkets spaced carefully in the tissue paper, they resembled a box of living, shivering ornaments. Alicia wondered how Pierce could smile with all those tiny eyes on him, watching his every move with bated breath. He sighed out through his nose, brushing fingertips over the fronts of a few trinkets nearest him.

“Contact me if you have another haul like this,” Pierce said. “I can always make room for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” James said, practically singing at the idea of his amount of money making a return.

The money was transferred. The buyer shook hands with James, and then the lid was fitted on. Light vanished. The sounds of the outside world became muffled, and Alicia’s own breathing caught louder in her ears.

It was a long journey in darkness. Some of the trinkets whispered their guess on what their new owner had planned for them. Whether he would be worse than James, if that was possible. The most likely discussed, Alicia thought, was that they were meant to be Christmas presents for Pierce’s friends. Stocking stuffers.

Alicia snapped out of her morbid wonderings when she heard a door unlock. She cursed herself for letting her mind drift when she should have been preparing herself.

“You guys holding up okay in there?” Pierce’s voice made her flinch as it resonated through the lid. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you out in a minute.”

Alicia’s heart hitched as gravity became tumultuous. She could sense that Pierce was trying to keep his purchase steady, but a simple movement like sitting down and laying the box on the carpet felt like descending in an airplane shot out of the sky.

At the last second, Alicia had the sense to hide herself from sight. She burrowed into a fold of tissue paper, covering as much of her body as possible. She was still squirming to adjust herself when the lid came off. She glimpsed a sliver of high ceilings and warm lights, soon eclipsed as Pierce leaned in.

She heard him suck in a soft breath, his lips parted with no words.

“What do you want with us?” one trinket, a male, probed him. His boldness could only come from the complete resignation of his fate. “What’s your thing, huh?”

Pierce’s sigh ruffled the decorative paper. “I’m sorry for all the dramatics back there. Had to be done. My name is Lee Rhodes, and I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get you to safety.”

No one said anything. Alicia didn’t have to see their faces to know that no one in that box believed him.

Pierce—or rather, Lee, if he was telling the truth—sighed again, softer this time. The extended silence made her skin prickle, and she could practically feel his eyes scouring the box. Sure enough, he asked, “Why are there only seven of you?” The note of worry in his voice was strange, as though he might actually be concerned instead of upset that he was short of one plaything.

There was no point in hiding any longer. Nowhere to go. Once again, she had drawn attention to herself in the fight to avoid it. But she stayed put all the same, scrunching down lower.

A shadow darkened over the box. Sharp gasps and whimpers rippled among the prints. Alicia trembled, hearing the crinkle of tissue paper as Lee poked around in search of her. The sound drew closer and closer until there was a sudden nudge at her side. The touch was so light, it might have passed her by without notice if she hadn’t loosed a sharp squeak.

“There you are,” he said, sounding infinitely relieved.

Fingers dug deeper into the paper until they looped around her. She kicked and screamed for all she was worth, certain she was about to be the first victim in whatever cruel game he had come up with.

“No!” she begged. “No, l-let me go! I’m sorry for hiding! Please!”

His hand seemed to humor her struggles for a moment, but her flailing was soon engulfed in a secure grip, and he lifted her out of the box. Below, she caught dizzying glimpses of the other trinkets as they pitied her and feared their turn.

“Hey, take it easy.” Lee released her into a cupped hand. As she scrambled to sit up and center herself, his potent blue eyes sparked with recognition. “The little acrophobe. I should’ve known. It’s okay—you’re not too high off the ground now.”

She didn’t dare look, knowing he’d likely lift her far higher into the air the moment she did. She merely cowered under the shadow of his fingers and struggled for air that wouldn’t cooperate with her lungs.

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. You hear me?” Something warm pressed between her shoulder blades and moved in a close circle. “Deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

She whimpered and shook her head, but as his gentle touch persisted, the constricting feeling around her chest began to ease of its own volition. Obeying became easier, and she leaned back to look fully at Lee’s face.

Without the barrier of that damned ornament, she could drink him in more accurately. He was handsome, well-kempt, with dark hair pushed off his face. What threw her off was his gaze—kindness glimmered where there had been malice just an hour before. It felt real.

He smiled as she let herself relax into his grasp. “That’s it,” Lee murmured. “You’re doing great. Do you feel better?”

Alicia bobbed her head. She barely noticed his other hand approaching until a knuckle brushed at her cheek. The lack of personal space was usual for trinkets—the tenderness of this touch, less so. She felt tear trails smear on her cheek and begin to dry in the warm air.

“I’m so sorry for the hell he’s put you through,” Lee went on, a quiver in his voice.

“It’s not your fault,” Alicia answered, sounding small and meek even to herself.

Lee’s smile thinned. “It wasn’t yours, either. No one deserves…” He trailed off, words seeming to stick in his throat like he couldn’t bring himself to be explicit. He glanced away to address the others, too. “All that’s over and done with. I’ve got you now. You’re not playthings, decorations, or anything else those fuckers could dream up. You’re people here.”

A beat passed. One of the girls who’d been tied to a candy cane began to weep in relief, covering her face with her hands.

Lee made a noise of sympathy. He reached for her like he couldn’t help it. “Oh, sweetie…”

She all but clambered onto his palm, embracing his ring finger with desperate gratitude.

And then, it was as though an invisible barricade had fallen. Three other trinkets scrambled over and around the tissue paper to reach his hand. Alicia peeked up at Lee’s face. The soft look in his eyes quickly lit up with endearment—the kind that could be dehumanizing from the wrong person. But he was quickly proving to not be the wrong person. Even the trinkets who warily held back did not seem entirely frightened anymore.

Lee carefully lifted his hand from the box, ferrying the group of trinkets with ease. There was plenty of opportunity for them to hop off with how slowly he moved, but they stayed put.

Alicia found herself being lifted a little higher as Lee cupped both hands together and brought them to his chest. The trinkets were gathered into an embrace—snug, but not stifling. At first, Alicia grew tense again, but Lee’s slow breathing and gentle voice dissuaded her from panicking.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re all safe.”

Although Alicia couldn’t find her voice, she heard the other trinkets beside her murmuring their gratitude. Lee brushed his thumb over their heads and shoulder blades. They leaned into his chest, fears thawing away in the presence of his warmth.

The events that followed were like a whirlwind. The other trinkets were gingerly removed from the box, which Lee promised they would never have to look at again. He ushered all of them to a large, wrapped present under the tree. At first, Alicia was chilled when he said that was where they would stay. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had been tricked into being part of a gift.

But as it turned out, it was not a mere cardboard box. It was a housing unit, built with polished wood and scaled for trinkets. The interior was elaborate, separated into private rooms that contained actual beds. There was even a storage area with clothing waiting inside.

“I had my buddy Will build it for you,” Lee explained. “Depending on where you’re sent, you might meet him sometime. Yeah, he’s a little weird, but ask him to build anything for you, and he’ll ask what color you want it in.”

That was when Alicia realized that Lee was no random good Samaritan. Finch was right to suspect him of being part of the rebellion.

Time seemed to settle back into place when Alicia found herself sitting near the fireplace with a cup of hot cider and a warm set of clothes. Some of the trinkets opted to stay inside their temporary home. After being cooped up in the ornament and the paper-lined gift box, Alicia couldn’t bring herself to be surrounded by solid walls just yet.

She sat apart from the other trinkets who had chosen to emerge like her. They spoke to each other in low voices and sipped their cider. Before long, footsteps thudded through the living room carpet, announcing Lee’s return to the room. The trinkets fell silent.

“Don’t mind me,” he told them. And then, as though he had some sort of gravitational pull to Alicia, he lowered himself to kneel beside her. She gave his steady gaze a few fleeting glances, unsure of what to say. “You don’t like it?” he said finally, nodding at her untouched cider.

“O-oh, it’s lovely, I just… This is a lot to take in.” She gestured around her at the cathedral-sized living room, trinkets wandering freely on the carpet. Like people.

“I can imagine,” Lee muttered, sadness and shadows flickering over his contended mask.

“Who are you?” Alicia asked. “I mean, who are you, really? You went through so much effort to do this. Lying to James… You’re lucky he didn’t catch onto you.”

“Money tends to quell prying questions. I’m just a guy trying to make things right however I can.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Lee gave a nod, barely perceptible. “You'll stay here until my contact gives us a date to transfer you to a permanent location. It shouldn’t be a long wait.” He gave her a fond look. “But I never mind the company.”

Shyly, Alicia smiled back. She glanced at his hand, and it was like he could sense somehow she needed the comfort. She set her cider aside and inched toward him, knowing he wouldn’t deny her, yet dreading that inevitable ascent to dizzying, horrible heights. She shut her eyes and sucked in a breath as Lee’s fingers gently closed around her torso and legs.

“Wait,” he said. His hand flew off her, and she skittered back as the human unfolded his long legs to lay out on his side. “Here. Not so high,” he offered. “Is that any better?”

She gave a startled laugh. “How are you even real?”

Smiling, he rested his cheek down on his wrist and shrugged. “It is the season of miracles, isn’t it?” The glint in his eyes had a genuine yet strangely charming measure of conceit. He beckoned her with his other hand, and she stepped forward to show her consent.

The fingers curled around her again and lifted her fully this time. Her breath caught, but her nerves settled when she was able to look down and still make out the fibers of the carpet. He brought her to his chest, completing the cocoon of warmth around her. The pleasant scent of this woodsy cologne almost began to feel familiar.

All at once, exhaustion caught up. His cozy grip only served to guide her closer to drifting off. However, the rumble of his voice stopped her heavy eyelids from falling shut.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Alicia.”

“Beautiful.” His thumb glided down the back of her head. “Merry Christmas, Alicia.”

She curled snugly against his shirt and closed her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Lee.”

[lesbianjackies]

Hollywood

George Weasley x Reader

Gender: female

House: not specified

Summary: The idea of Hollywood, the American dream, has always fascinated you. It takes talking to someone who doesn’t understand the appeal to make you realize just how messed up America really is.

Warnings: mentions of su!cide and 3ating disorders (PLEASE, if you are easily triggered by mentions of 3ating disorders - specifically bul!m!a - do NOT read this. Just want you to be safe! xx)

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in America?” you ask your boyfriend, George Weasley, as he plays with strands of your hair. “Like… muggle America. Like Hollywood and pop stars and beauty queens, like Marilyn Monroe.”

“Who?”

You laugh. “American actress from the 50s. Killed herself with sleeping pills. Rather tragic life, actually…”

George makes a face, looking thoroughly disturbed. “Why would you wanna be like someone who killed herself?”

You frown, thinking. It’s a fair question, honestly. The commercial of Hollywood, the aesthetic and fantasy of a privileged life in America clouds your vision of the horrible things that really went on. Oh, America is such a mess. A mess that you’re absolutely obsessed with.

“Because America distorts your view of good and bad, romanticizing anything that has to do with beauty, fame, or fortune,” you explain with a sigh. “Even things like suicide and drug abuse.”

“That’s… really dark and awful,” George says.

“That’s America, I guess.” You pause before continuing. “The strange thing is, I know all the horrible things, and yet I still find myself longing for that kind of life, obsessing over the luxury and romance that a Hollywood lifestyle promises. The horrific aspects even fascinate me to an extent, honestly. And I can’t say I haven’t been influenced by the culture at all,” you add with a laugh.

“In what ways?” George asks.

“Well, they’re not all bad, I don’t think. Like my sense of style, a lot of the clothing I wear is heavily inspired by Marilyn Monroe and other female idols from that time period. But there are still bad things, of course. Like I think a lot of my insecurities are rooted in that American idea of perfection. Started making me puke up my meals.”

George makes a strangled noise. “Why would you do that?”

“Keep myself skinny, of course.” You’re starting to get uncomfortable with the subject, and you think George can tell, because he grabs your hand and starts rubbing your palm with his thumb.

You hum softly, closing your eyes as you lean your head against his chest, starting to drift off to sleep from the beat of his heart and the steady rhythm of the rain outside…

“What do you wanna do?” George asks you, tearing you away from sleep.

You glance out the window and grin up at him. “Wanna kiss in the rain like a classic romance movie?”

George laughs. “Sure.” He grabs your hand and you run outside, soaking wet before you get to a large tree.

He scoops you into his arms and you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him as rain pours down your faces and into your slightly open mouths. It’s actually quite pleasant.

He sets you down and spins me slowly as you start to sing softly. He sways with you, interrupting your song occasionally with a few quick pecks to your lips.

“I love you,” George tells you.

“I love you, too,” you reply with a smile.

[adultingautistic]

What does an autistic meltdown look/feel like? I’ve been diagnosed as being on the spectrum, and mostly I identify with it, but I also feel like I lack certain symptoms, like having meltdowns. But maybe my idea of meltdowns are just skewed by things I’ve seen in media? Where it’s always v dramatic. Is hating an environment, feeling that it drains you to the core, trying to get home or be in an isolated space as quickly as possible so the world can go quiet, crying maybe, a mild meltdown?

This is an excellent question!  First, let me start by saying: Not every autistic person has every autistic symptom.  There’s a reason they call it a spectrum; that means we all have differing levels of intensity with each symptom, and we all have some symptoms for which the level is just “none”.  For example, I have very little trouble with eye contact.  Now and then I’ll suddenly notice that eye contact is happening and it weirds me out and I’ll look away, but for the most part I can eye contact like an allistic.  That doesn’t make me any “less autistic”.  So even if you’ve never had a meltdown, that doesn’t “invalidate” your autism.

Having said that, let’s look at meltdowns.

First, let’s read a good definition of a meltdown that I found from autism.org:

“A meltdown is ‘an intense response to overwhelming situations’. It happens when someone becomes completely overwhelmed by their current situation and temporarily loses behavioural control.  This loss of control can be expressed verbally (eg shouting, screaming, crying), physically (eg kicking, lashing out, biting) or in both ways.”

So, in other words, a meltdown is when you have reached Sensory Overload, and your brain can no longer process any new sensory input.  Basically, your brain is so stressed out that it goes into survival mode.

How this manifests is different for every person. I repeat; a meltdown is different for everyone, and can be different each time for the same person, as well.  The reason is that during a meltdown, your brain is basically screaming MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP.  You’ve gone beyond “This is a Bad Input and I am hurting.” to “I am in such complete overload that I cannot function.”

And while you’re brain’s doing that, it’s not thinking critically, it’s not using logic, it’s not able to follow complex thoughts, because it’s busy screaming.  And your body is going to try to do anything it can to get whatever it is to STOP.

So your body goes into survival instinct.  The survival instinct when we are in danger is fight, flight, or freeze.  Now you’ve descended into instinct, where there is no brain, because your brain is nonfunctional.  So your body will do it’s damnedest to get you out of danger however it can.  If it chooses fight, you will kick, scream, hit, fight, to try to get out of danger.  This works if the danger is a tiger.  Not so much if the danger is a Bad Smell.  

Or you might run, as you mentioned, run to an isolated space, try to get home- anything, anything to get away from the Bad Thing(s).  

Or you might freeze, and become totally non-responsive (this is called a shut down).  

When I first started learning about autism, I didn’t think I had meltdowns, either.  But that was because I learned of my autism as an adult, where I have the power to change my environment.  I have already learned how to avoid the extremely overwhelming things that might send me into a meltdown, and I have the power to leave them.  

For example, at my previous job there was some outdoor summer party thing, which the bosses had put together during work hours in the parking lot at work, to thank the employees.  I already knew that the stench of burnt hot dogs and melting asphalt would be horrifically overwhelming for me, combined with the noise and heat of a crowd all around me, and I told my bosses that I would not be attending.  They were upset with me and tried to force me to attend- but being in that situation was More Horrible than anything they could ever threaten me with, including being fired, that they lost that argument, and I did not go.  They eventually realized I wasn’t going to give in, and then they let me stay inside and work (phew).

Had I been a child, and been forced to go, I would have ended up sobbing lying in the dirt and puking my brains out- because that’s what did happen when I was a child.

That’s not to say I’ve completely avoided meltdowns in adulthood.  Most of the time, for me, they involve uncontrollable crying, rocking back and forth, and clinging to some cloth (if a blanket is not available then I’ll cling to my jacket, my shirt, whatever I can find).

One time, I became so overwhelmed in my therapist’s office that I could no longer tolerate being constrained by clothes, and wound up ripping off my shoes and socks and shirt.  Thank God she understands me well enough to not have been freaked out by that.

So I’ve had a few meltdowns as an adult, but for the most part, not really.  Because children are forced to suffer far, far more than adults ever will, because they have no agency and no say about what happens to them.  

So, if you have had meltdowns, they were more likely to have occurred in childhood, because as an adult, you are more likely to take care of the problem before it gets to meltdown levels.  In fact the things you described are precursors to a meltdown:

Is hating an environment, feeling that it drains you to the core, trying to get home or be in an isolated space as quickly as possible so the world can go quiet, crying maybe, a mild meltdown

So, before you reached the disaster of meltdown, you took care of yourself, and got out of the situation, because you are an adult and you can. 

Lastly, I invite anyone else to share your meltdown experiences, because they are different for every person, and there’s no rule that says any of mine need to be anything like yours.

[dilly-oh]

Red Hoodie of Fate

The blaring of the fire alarm woke Kakashi from a particularly good dream about tacos. He bolted upright, cracked his forehead on the coffee table, swore horrifically, and stumbled to his feet, blearily remembering falling asleep on the couch several hours ago. He must have rolled off at some point, maybe when he’d been sprinkling some cheese on those delicious tacos- no, stop. Food later. Fire now.

Thank God the dogs were at Yamato’s for the night, otherwise he might never have gotten out of the apartment. Bisuke was scared of loud noises and liable to hide in the deepest, darkest corner of the flat, while Bull would refuse to budge after laying down for anything less than the apocalypse. Pakkun probably would have just puked in anxiety and made matters worse, while Uhei, Akino, and Guruko would have simply started howling along with the siren. Urushi and Shiba were the only ones who’d have listened, and that was only if he had treats, which he no longer kept in his pockets after an unfortunate incident he didn’t care to repeat. He made a face as he recalled the taste.

Pulling on a pair of sneakers and a frayed red hoodie from the floor, Kakashi stuffed his keys and phone into his pockets before throwing open the door and lurching out into the hallway. He couldn’t see any flames or smoke, but he wasn’t going to sit around and wait to see if this was legit.

Maybe it was the brat from downstairs, playing pranks again. Kakashi had caught him stuffing a cat into someone’s mailbox the other day, so he definitely wouldn’t put it past the little punk. It had better not be those two idiots down the hall smoking weed again. Doors opened all along the hallway as tenants began pouring from their own apartments, hurrying down the hall and clogging the stairs like sleepy zombies. Kakashi shuffled along with them, letting the river of half-awake people drag him down several flights and out the front doors.

Kakashi milled around the parking lot with the chattering crowd, shivering at the cool night breeze and stuffing his hands into the hoodie’s front pockets. With nothing better to do than stand around awkwardly waiting for the fire-trucks, he glanced about, studying his neighbors one by one.

There was the brat, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, clinging to his mother’s long red braid, still half asleep. Near him was the emo kid who never brushed his hair and wore nothing but black – Kakashi was tempted to ask which make-up tutorial he used for his smoky eye. The two pot-heads were in the back, leaning against each other, dozing in place. There were more - the old man who wrote dirty novels and sometimes asked Kakashi for his expert opinion, the married couple from the floor above, and-

There was a man standing in the middle of the parking lot in nothing but a towel. Kakashi did a double-take before it processed.  

He was dripping wet, water dribbling down his shoulders and pooling around his bare feet onto the pavement. Beads of moisture slowly made their way down the curve of his pectorals, glistening in the divots of his collarbone. Goosebumps had broken out over his tanned skin, pebbling his nipples, his long dark hair plastered to his neck and shoulders. He looked like some ancient Selkie come to seduce men to their watery graves, or a primordial God of the sea preparing to smite some mortals. And hopefully date him, dear God please.

Who the hell was that? Kakashi stared in shock, struggling to place him. He’d memorized every face in the building, and he certainly didn’t remember this Adonis, which was quite impossible. He had a whole grading system for every male in the building, and this knock-out would be graduating top of the class, Magna Cum Laud. Then the man turned his head and the light from the streetlamps hit just right, highlighting the faint slashing scar over the bridge of his nose-

Wait. Holy shit. Kakashi recognized him now, but could barely believe it. That was UMINO? Umino Iruka, the stuffy teacher’s aide who had just moved in next door like a month ago? The nerd whose idea of a good time was binge-watching a season of the Great British Bakeoff? Kakashi had given him a barely passing C+, having to dock points for the arsenal of pens in his shirt pocket and that one time he saw him wearing socks with sandals.

Damn. He’d totally misjudged him. This man was a BABE. The white towel only heightened his natural tan, accentuating the deep V of his hip-bones while the shadows played across his toned stomach. He looked…

He looked cold.

Umino stood stiffly upright, head high and without shame. In fact, he glared about, arms crossed, seemingly challenging anyone to make a comment or dare laugh. But Kakashi saw the goose-bumps on his skin, the subtle shiver of his shoulders. Summer had passed and, while winter was still a ways off, fall had begun muscling its way in. Kakashi wasn’t sure the clenched jaw was from irritation or to keep his teeth from chattering.

Kakashi gathered his courage and walked over.

“Hi,” he began, and almost stopped when Umino glared at him, eyes dark and daring. “Umino, right? Hatake Kakashi, from next door.” Umino studied him for a moment, then gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement. “Uh…want my jacket?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Umino bit out with a tight smile, pushing some wet strands of hair out of his face.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably the old man.

Umino slowly went red, the flush starting in his cheeks, then traveling down his neck to bloom halfway down his chest.

“…Yes, please,” he said quietly, gripping his towel in a white-knuckled hand. Kakashi fought back a chuckle and yanked the hoodie off over his head, inadvertently pulling up his shirt as he did so. Blinded as he was, he missed the flicker of Umino’s eyes over his exposed abdomen and prominent hipbones, the flush darkening a degree. Finally free, Kakashi gave the hoodie a shake and held it out, grinning sheepishly.

“Smells a bit like dog. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Umino muttered, quickly taking it and pulling it on. It was a little too big for him but did the job, covering that delicious expanse of tanned skin and muscle. Kakashi stepped back and studied him for a moment, his mouth going dry.

Shit. It didn’t help at all. If anything, it made it worse.

Umino was now wearing his hoodie, which draped over his body but only made it to mid-thigh. The result was even more alluring and provocative than him standing there in a towel. Kakashi cleared his throat and snapped his eyes away, praying for a fire-truck to come peeling around the corner and hose him down so he could cool the fuck off.

“…You have a dog?”

“Huh?” Kakashi’s eyes snapped away from Iruka’s meaty thighs as he realized the owner of said thighs had just asked a question. “Oh! Yes. Dog. Or, rather, dog-zuh. Plural.”

“Plural?” Iruka frowned in confusion. “How many are we talking-”

“Eight.”

“EIGHT?!”

“Yup.”

“You have eight dogs.”

“Yup.”

“How did you even sneak that by the super?”

“Oh, she thinks I only have four. I have a friend who keeps a couple at his place. I just rotate them out.”

Umino laughed. It was a nice sound, even when he snorted a little at the end.

“So, what do you do?” Umino asked. “Other than harbor illegal animals, that is.”

“I work at the gym down the street,” Kakashi said, jerking his head. “I’m a fitness trainer.”

“Well, that would explain your abs...sssolutely horrible fashion sense. What are those track pants from, the 80’s?” Umino cleared his throat suddenly and jammed his hands into the hoodie’s pockets, frowned, then pulled out a crumpled wad of receipts for fast-food takeout. He stared accusingly at Kakashi for a long, quiet moment.

“…I’m allowed a cheat day,” Kakashi said.

“These are all from the same HOUR-”

“Gai bet me I couldn’t eat it all. I had to defend my honor.”

“Did you throw it all up afterward?”

“…I can neither confirm nor deny that. I can, however, confirm that I won the bet.” Kakashi winked cheekily, and Umino rolled his eyes.

“Do you…enjoy your job?” he asked, stuffing the receipts back into the pockets.

“It’s not bad. I mean, it could be worse, I could teach brats all day.” Kakashi shrugged. “What do you do?”

“I teach brats all day.”

…Dammit.

Umino’s grin was mischievous, though, and there was no hostility in his tone, so there must have been no offense taken.

“How’s that go?” Kakashi asked, genuinely curious.

“About as horrible as you’d think. I have them just when puberty rears its ugly head and turns them into angst-ridden monsters. My classroom in a cesspool of hormones and crying.”

Kakashi laughed aloud. Umino wasn’t anything like he’d thought. Both inside and out. It was incredibly refreshing, not to mention incredibly attractive.

Which is why he was quite disappointed when the first fire-trucks started to pull into the parking lot. He’d rather the whole apartment complex burn down if it meant he could stand out here, chatting with the hot teacher all night.

The fire, just a microwavable popcorn-bag gone wrong, was put out in minutes, the complex deemed safe by the groggy super, a busty older woman who was either hung over or still drunk at this unholy hour. Tenants began milling back inside, clogging the entrance in their desire to return to bed. Kakashi lingered in the back of the crowd with Umino, reluctant to part ways.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your hospitality,” Umino said lightly, reaching up to grasp the hoodie’s zipper. “You can have this back n-”

“Keep it,” Kakashi said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, going by the surprise on Umino’s face. “I mean…just for now. Till you. You know. Get inside and get dressed. You don’t wanna catch a cold.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling his ears get hot.

“Oh…alright.” Umino's hand lowered and he gave him a shy smile, plucking at the loose red threads hanging from the sleeves, winding one around his pinky absently. “Thank you.” The quiet words warmed Kakashi, a delicate shiver traveling up his spine. Kakashi mumbled a response, then doubled over as the hyperactive blonde kid suddenly bowled right into him.

“Watch it, old man!” the brat shouted, dodging away.

“I’m not even thirty!” Kakashi barked after him, offended. “Friggin’ kid. Can you believe-” He turned to Umino and blinked.

He was gone.

---

A knock on the door woke Kakashi right as he was taking another big, crunchy bite of taco. He bolted upright, cracked the back of his head on the coffee table, swore horrifically at himself for not getting in the damn bed this time, and stumbled to his feet. Making a mental reminder to just go and eat some fucking tacos already, he lurched towards the door, tripping over the rug and falling against it with a loud thud. He fought with the handle for a moment before finally yanking it open, squinting at the light stabbing into his eyes from the hallway.

Umino stood there, not hot as hell towel-Umino, but pressed khakis and crisp button-up, array of pens and hair in a severe ponytail Umino, fully dressed and ready for the day. Kakashi, rather than feeling a twinge of disappointment, was surprised to find the man just as alluring covered from head-to-toe as he was three-fourths-naked.

“Good morning,” Umino said, horribly chipper considering the abominable hour.

“Mornin’. What’re you doing here so early?” Kakashi mumbled, rubbing his face. Umino stared at him.

“It’s 9 a.m.”

“Holy shit. Really?” Kakashi squinted down at his watch. “I thought 9 a.m. was a myth.” Umino’s mouth fell open. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Your hoodie. I have it,” Umino said quickly, tripping over the words. He was flustered and twitchy with nerves. If Kakashi were a predator, this was when he’d pounce. “I, um, washed it. For you. Here.” He thrust the jacket out, perfectly folded and smelling of lavender. Kakashi was impressed.

“What, did you wash it twice?” he asked, taking it in his hands and marveling at how soft it felt. The rich red color was much more vibrant, almost seeming to glow.

“Three times,” Umino replied flatly. “Then Febreeze.”

“Umino-”

“Iruka.”

Kakashi blinked, looking up to meet the other man’s gaze.

“You can call me Iruka,” he said, sincere.

“…Alright. I’m Kakashi.” Kakashi stuck out his hand, tucking the hoodie under his other arm. Iruka’s shake was firm, his hands surprisingly soft. He must moisturize or something classy like that.

“I want to thank you for helping me out last night,” Iruka went on, two spots of color appearing high on his cheeks. “I was in a rather…awkward predicament and even after I snapped at you, you still helped me despite my rudeness. I…really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Kakashi replied easily, scratching the back of his head. Oh God, his hair must be a nightmare- no, wait. It always was. Nevermind then. “Any time.”

“So, um.” Iruka shuffled his feet a little, clearing his throat. There was that predatory instinct, niggling Kakashi to jump on him and go for the jugular. “I was wondering how to thank you, and I thought I could, maybe…make you dinner?” he finished weakly, glancing up at Kakashi from beneath thick lashes, then looking away again, suddenly shy. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, so, if there’s anything you’d like…”

“Tacos,” Kakashi said instantly.

“…Oh.” Iruka deflated, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Tacos. Really? I was hoping for something a bit more…challenging. Something that would allow me to show off my culinary skills a bit. But, I mean, if that’s what you want-”

“I like miso soup,” Kakashi said after a moment. “With eggplant.” Screw tacos. He could have tacos any day of the week. He’d take a bowl of cold cereal if it meant getting to spend the evening with this full-course meal.

Iruka lit up, his smile warm and inviting.

“Miso soup it is, then. I’ll have it done by tonight and bring it over. Does that sound alright?”

“Sure.” Kakashi waved as Iruka walked off down the hall, then slipped back inside and closed the door. He brought the hoodie up to his nose and inhaled the comforting scent of lavender, thinking how differently last night would have gone had he not grabbed the hoodie. What he would have missed out on. Fate, it seemed, really did exist.

Hopefully he’d be seeing more of Iruka…in more ways than one.

-End-

Months ago, I was chosen as a pinch-hitter for the Kakairuzine (I would step in if someone had to leave), so I completed two fics just in case they were needed. Since it wasn’t, I’m posting it here. Enjoy!

[spinph69]

Idk how to make an a03 account lol i've tried but nothins workin, so im gonna post this here. This was mostly inspired by what master cornflake said, we need more gorey doom fanfics.

Also this is like the first time i've written Somethin and completed it in months so bare with me its not very good lol

TW: Gore, S-icide-?

Vega punched a demon through its stomach, pulling out what he could in one swoop before it fell on its back. Guts and maggots wriggling in his grasp before he dropped it and moved onto the next demon.

He heard a bang before an explosion from his right. "SLAYER-" he called, turning his body in that direction. He spoke calm but he couldnt tell if his voice was worrisome or disappointed, knowing the slayer it was probably his fault something exploded. The pipes behind him popped, some of the wall cracking before exploding. This was probably a result of the last explosion, and the arena was filled with gas and fog.

Vega walked around, trying to listen to groans of zombies or thrown fire balls by imps, pressing onto his helmets speaker button and calling out "Slayer? Where are you?" He let go, waiting for a response.

Soon enough a raspy, gurgled voice spoke "On the top floor, are all the fodder demons down there? I could really go for more ammo."

Vega nodded "i imagine the larger demons rest up top?"

"Mmhm"

Vega shook his head and sighed "i cant see a thing, even the automaps not workin. I'm headin there soon, we'll meet midway."

"Sounds like a plan."

They both were headin towards the stairs, the slayer soon being blinded by the fog, it was rising up.

He heard a familiar noise before looking down from the 3rd balcony, and he called from his helmet as he saw the beams "VEGA, TYRANT-"

Vega turned his body to see if he could find a light, spinning in circles before a blaster soldier ambushed him. Vega grabbed his arm and pulled it out before using it as a bat and wacking the demon unconscious. Soon more demons began circling him, and the slayer jumped down to help. They still Couldn't find one another but they continued to fight as the tyrant shot at anything.

Soon enough a rocket hit Vega, sending him off to the nearest wall and slamming into it. He fell onto all fours before the wall cracked, pipes shooting water and quickly pooling on the floor. The slayer heard it and ran right towards the noise, when he saw the beast tower over his friend.

The slayer pulled out a rocket launcher and balista, setting up both so he could easily switch when he ran out of ammo for the other. He shot the tyrant, trying to derive its attention but it wouldnt budge, he was trying to pick them off one by one, it'd be easier to go after one even if he doesnt survive. He was a child of the dark lord, and so he'd make father proud.

Vega stumbled his way back up, eyes widening as he saw the arm pointed straight in his direction. It felt closer than 5 feet away, freezing in fear as he had no where to dash through. He had the poor boy cornered before setting off his blasters, all 4 rockets slamming into him back to back.

After this the tyrant stumbled, its broken legs growing numb and meat falling off. The slayer jabbed his blade into the demons thick bone, it cracking and chipping like wood as he screamed in pain. He kept pushing it deeper, hitting the bone marrow and deeper blood vessels. He jammed it all the way through, before slicing it down enough to where the rest of the bone folded under pressure. The demon fell to its knees, high enough for the doom slayer to grab onto its horns, crawl onto his face and jab his 12 inch blade straight between the eyes. The vibration hitting through his core as the knife hit his rock hard skull. He did it again, enough for the blade to go through its skull and piercing its brain. Its eyes going blank as blood poured from its nose and wound.

The tyrant fell limp, landing in the water and splashing a wave of water it knocked the slayer down. The rest of the demons in that arena died off burning as their corpses transported back to hell.

The slayer got his balance again and pulled off his helmet as water seeped through, his suit wasnt built for the water.

The fog slowly began to clear up, especially where the water was, and he saw Vega laying limp in his own blood.

The slayer wanted to scream but he knew his already destroyed vocal cords would screw him up even more.

Face laying down in water, the slayer picked him up and laid him on his back. It became abundantly clear his suit was broken, and pieces of it stabbing right through him.

The slayer teared up as he shook vega "VEGA!!" He called before coughing.

Vegas eyes slowly opened but they were only a squint, vegas grip onto him was weak and he breathed heavily. Blood continued to pour from his body, mixing in with the water as his suits helmet fogged up. He didnt know what was worse, 'dying' in the slayers arms or seeing the slayer cry.

He pulled off his helmet and saw his bloody face, nose broken and blood pouring from it. "I'm gonna get you home soon"

Vega shook his head "no.. We're not done here yet"

"You cant take care of yourself alone"

"Which is why im not gonna"

The slayer cocked his head in confusion, Vega continuing with a static and broken voice "I'm gonna die here"

The light his chest bared was slowly fading, it was as bright as it would be when he would sleep. The slayer shook his head "n-" before he could continue Vega pushed his hand against his mouth "you listen to me, take the chip from my suit, bring it back home with you when you're done. We've done this before, i know you can do it again"

The slayer shook his head again and began signing with his hands, throat too scratched up especially when crying. "I can't lose you again, i can't keep losing you."

They both hated watching the other die, even if vegas physical form was just that, a form, and the chip could be transfirmed suit to suit. Even if the slayer had 'lives' an existing boost that would active whenever he was on the brink of death.

Vega pulled the pistol from his side, something the slayer had abandoned ever since hayden shot him back to hell. He put it to the roof of his mouth, it was better to go out this way then to continue bleeding out for what felt like hours.

The slayer looked away as the light flashed, plasma frying every circuit and melting into his core like a fire ball. He dropped him as vega began getting hot, shooting his core the way he did immediately led off to a miniature explosion and his head flying off into pieces. All that was left hanging on his neck was a broken jaw, a few teeth missing and his tongue burnt.

The slayer turned away and puked, it was a horrific sight to see, especially with your husband.

This was one of the hardest moments the slayers had to go through in a long time. His chest no longer heaving with heavy breaths, his light completely gone and body fell completely limp in the slayers grasp. This form had died, and it would take a while for them to make a new one.

But he did what vega requested, abandoned the body, and moved onto the next level.

[jenniferroland]

[starter for @loverot​]

"If you can look at what's there and not eat yourself hollow with shame, you are not human anymore."

Transferring out of Mount Massive to play brain scrambler in the middle of the Arizona desert was hardly a step up. She’d put in a request for leave numerous times and been denied on the grounds that her research skills and capability as a pathologist made her “too valuable an asset” to allow her to be off the asylum campus for any extended period of time. But when a handful of her female coworkers began experiencing hysterical pregnancies from proximity to the Engine, she was suddenly a liability instead. Never mind that she experienced precisely no negative effects from it; if anything, her mind felt sharper when working on location than it ever did in remote labs, like popping a handful of Adderall. 

The segregation came without warning. Experiments and treatments went unfinished; communications went dark; theories withered and died without the proper environment in which to nurture them. Uprooted and shipped away to some toxic waste dump, Jennifer Roland never felt more useless. 

Day in and day out, she sat behind a monitor, watching religious fanatics of varying degrees of insanity fight and fuck and feast and absolutely slaughter one another. The scheduled bursts from the Towers would resound, the crew inside the lead-insulated concrete shelters would shield their eyes, and shortly thereafter, an all-out shitfest would ensue on the screens in front of them. Recovery teams were dispatched to covertly collect any bodies they could, which were promptly tossed onto the slab in the operating theatre or iced in the morgue. Occasionally, they’d get a few on the table who just refused to fucking die, and in more than one instance, Roland would return to her quarters with a black eye or finger-shaped bruises branded into her throat. 

“That’s why you get hazard pay,” she can recall Jeremy Blaire assuring her over drinks. “Relax, Jen. The building is radiation-proof. The radio waves can’t hurt you in there.”

Once rare, those desperately clinging to existence (it could hardly be called life by the time they’d arrived at the lab) were showing up in higher and higher numbers. Their presence always fucked with the medical equipment — due to the high levels of radiation they were exposed to, she was assured by Dr. Ewen Cameron — but more than that, it was affecting people: relief nurses, research assistants, those who had the least contact with them. It was Cameron himself who paged her into the telemetry lab to show her the increase in radio wave blips on the radar, seemingly organic hotspots of radiation cropping up out of nowhere. The “feedback loop,” he’d called it: such prolonged exposure to such vulnerable individuals mutated them from receivers to projectors. 

These unholy fucks were walking nuclear reactors, and they were bleeding it inside the lab.

Between autopsies of lunatics and treatment of her infected staff, Roland accumulated the most exposure to these residual waves, which is perhaps why she held out the longest. While others were rushing to the bathrooms to puke their guts out or sobbing into their workstations, Roland kept the Towers from collapsing under its own weight. Just like she had at Mount Massive, at least in her own mind. Such responsibility, of course, takes its pound of flesh, resulting in a sharp uptick of headaches and irritability in the doctor.

In fact, she kept an iron grip on the facility, even as employee numbers began to drop. Some transferred; some just dropped dead. All were required to vacate the operating sector by 22:00 hours so that it could be “defunked” for the next day. Roland, of course, oversaw this expedition, which usually consisted of hanging out in a hazmat suit and surfing what little internet they were allowed access to while the facility was cleansed. The longer she sat at the computer, the more severe her migraines would become, which she chalked up to blue light exposure. 

But when the urgent email alert – MOUNT MASSIVE ASYLUM STAFF EVACUATION – popped up in her notifications, the pain in her skull went from throbbing to blinding. The computer mouse flew from her hand and shattered on the floor as she dug the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, desperate to relieve the pressure behind them. Searing white heat tears at her retinas and she’s utterly convinced that her brain is hemorrhaging. 

Through that glaring light appear misty shadows of men in lab coats, blurred as if through a foggy camera lens: men with clipboards and scalpels and blue latex gloves. A scrawny lad in his early twenties wriggles futilely on the table, strapped to the gurney by too-tight leather restraints around his limbs and forehead. He’s fully conscious but barely cognizant of anything but fear. She can hear the low timbre of male voices floating around her, murmuring words she cannot or perhaps will not comprehend. Her focus is on the young man before her and the muffled syllables he attempts to utter from beneath his oxygen mask. Cutting through the underwater noise is the sound of her own name, sharp and deliberate, and her gaze falls to the laryngoscope clutched tightly in her left hand. 

Shifting behind the boy on the table, she adjusts her grip on the tool and removes the oxygen mask from his face. He’s drooling quite profusely. With the sleeve of her right arm, she gently mops up his mess before prying his mouth open with her fingers. At this moment, his eyes snap up to hers, pupils blown wide with terror, and though his movement is highly restricted, it’s evident he’s trying to shake his head. The raspy frantic whisper of “no, no, no” does nothing to phase her colleagues. She attempts to quiet him with a soft shushing (to absolutely no avail) and inserts the curved blade into his throat. Tears, mucus, and saliva flow together as he struggles to breathe; his eyes plead for mercy, the lightless gaze of a soul all but relinquishing itself to the higher power of Death. As she preps the endotracheal tube for insertion, Jenny tries to swallow her nerves but they catch in her throat, dry and brittle. Guilt won’t save them now. 

“Oh, God, please—”

Roland’s torn out of the vision by the inescapable urge to vomit and she rolls onto her side to wretch away the venom in her memories. With no recollection of how exactly she ended up on the floor ten feet away from the monitors, she pushes herself up and wipes away the acid from her lips. Just like she had in her memory. 

And she feels sick all over again, but not just for the fate of that patient: for all the rampant fuckery shoveled upon her by Murkoff. Psychological manipulation, radiation poisoning, blatant sexism. She enlisted in this army to study genetics, not to torture the cognitively vulnerable to the brink of insanity. 

Fuck Jeremy Blaire. Fuck Murkoff. Fuck this Project Bluebird bullshit. 

On the way out the door, she flicks a half-smoked cigarette into the server room trashcan to trigger the emergency sprinkler system. Whoops.

                                                     * * * * * * * * *

She never liked the company cars, anyway.

As the frame of the Mercedes rolls into the lake behind her (and with it all traces of her identity), Jennifer Roland makes her way through the Mount Massive Wilderness Reverse to the runoff reservoir. Armed with only an industrial flashlight-stun gun and her unlisted phone, she’s well aware that this mission will more than likely be her last. But when you’ve got nothing to lose and an insatiable hunger for vengeance, death doesn’t seem so bad.

Tucking her hair up under her cap and securing her phone in the zippered pocket of her plastic splash suit, she hoists herself up into the drainage pipe that pours into the lagoon from the sewers. The hospital isn’t even visible from this side of the mountain; according to her map, it’s about ten miles through a sea of blood, shit, and god knows what else to Mount Massive Asylum. If she’d ever wondered how Andy Dufresne felt escaping Shawshank, this is about as close as it gets.

Rats and snakes are her only company for the first several miles but in the last stretch of three, the scent of fresh death hits her like a brick wall. Mutilated corpses litter the pathways, slipping into the murky sewage and compounding the horrific stench. The closer she comes to her destination, the more pungent the odor becomes until she’s stumbling upon half-dead patients and doctors alike, as lifeless and miserable as the Temple Gate victims. The feeling of another impending migraine strikes her but she presses onward. She’s not sure what’s more unsettling: the gut-wrenching screams coming from above her head or the periodic gaps of silence between.

Drenched in blackwater, Jenny navigates her way up into the hospital block, only to be met with the gory sight of her colleagues and former patients strewed about the ward like discarded toys. She stands gravely still listening for anything — a scream, a whisper, a breath — but no sound breaks the stony silence. The only living presence in the block appears to be a few very persistent bees buzzing around her head. The doctor carefully peels away her suit and the clothes underneath, tucking them away in an air vent and replacing them with the least fluid-drench patient uniform she can find. Thank you for your sacrifice, 937. 

Jenny’s exceedingly careful not to cause too much commotion with the beam of her flashlight as she stalks into the hospital security station and logs in under one of her former colleague’s ID. The security footage tapes appear to be highly corrupted, with some of the cameras shorting out completely, but through the hazy grey static, she can just make out a man’s shadow: impossibly tall, grainy, almost translucent, as though it were comprised solely of smoke. Shredding through its victims like razors through tissue paper. Clearly, this storm of fuck is just beginning.

“Ain’t a perdy sight, is it?” 

Hot, humid breath hits the back of her neck before she can react and a spindly hand clamps down on her wrist. 

“Not as perdy as them nails, brudder.”

“Don’t talk ‘im t’death. Get the goat and go.”

“Awful s-sorry ‘bout this, boy, but I gotsta.”

Jenny’s not keen to stick around to find out what exactly it is this dissociative man “gotsta” do. Firing up the switch on the stun gun, she jabs the pointed prongs into his throat and digs in. His grip on her tightens before it releases, the perp collapsing to the ground and clutching his bleeding neck with a frankly overdramatic gurgle. 

Roland flees through a labyrinth of plastic wrap and broken gurneys, but the heavy slap of bare feet limping on the floor behind her soon catches up. And just as she looks over her shoulder to catch sight of him, her ankle snags against a tripwire, knocking her face-first into the bloodied tile. That fall triggers the release of two sheets of barbed wire that rattle towards her, coiling around her legs and torso; clearly, this trap was meant for a bigger monster than her. The barbs easily rip through the uniform fabric to sink into her thighs, calves, stomach. The more she wriggles, the deeper they sink, and the shards of shattered glass on the floor only amplify the pain.

Her only chance to protect herself is the flashlight that launched no more than a foot away during the fall. If she can just tear her arm free-

The arch of a dirty foot secures its grip on the flashlight handle.

“Just like a coward t’run. That won’t do at-tall, Dennis.”

“You shouldn’ta run, boy. Now you’ll be all bloody fer the weddin’.”

He picks up the flashlight and turns it over in his hand, checking the weight and feel of it; he decides he likes it. 

He likes it even more when it cracks like a Louisville slugger against her temple.

                                                     * * * * * * * * *

Her muscles are stiff and achy when she regains consciousness, somehow sore and numb at the same time. The swelling beside her left eye blurs her vision slightly, but she knows she’s in some sort of chop shop, upright in a DIY-patient restraint system that would make even Hannibal Lecter shudder. Her instinct is to attempt another escape, to writhe her way out of these straps if she has to chew her shoulder off to do it. There’s no telling how much time she has before someone-

...Whistling.

[hypno-egos]

Anti’s Toy Box: The Doll

TW: The following chapter contains themes of: Gore, Brainwashing, Suicide, Cosmic/Psychological/Body horror, Abuse, Alcoholism, possible Chase x Anti, and many other triggering topic. Reader’s discretion is advised. Chapter 1: Chase groaned as he finally came back to consciousness. The hard concrete outside of his shithole apartment scratched deep into his skin as he moved. He pulled himself up, eyes still closed due to a massive headache. Must have been drinking the night before. Once the pain subsided enough, his eyes opened to look up at a pitch black sky. How long had he been out for exactly? He looked back down to the rest of his surroundings. As soon as his eyes glanced at the rest of the city, he felt something heavy drop in the pit of his stomach.

 He stared motionless at the massive green tinted highrises, glitching in and out other buildings like a poorly rendered video game. Birds that were mid flight were frozen in place, their eyes black and physical forms breaking down into pieces, rapidly disassembling and reassembling into horrific amalgamations. He stumbled to his feet in a panic. Trails of small pixels seemed to float off of his body as he moved and then disappear into the ether. He felt a lump catch in his throat. He was struggling to breath as he stared at the strange world that seemed to mock his very own. He clutched his forehead yet again. A persistent hangover it was. He stumbled back into the wall behind him, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey.

“H-hello?”Chase’s voice was timid. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve yelled or remained silent. He wasn’t sure where he was or if he even should be attracting attention but he was desperate for answers. He mustered enough air and decided to let loose.“HELLO!?” He screamed out only to be replied to by his own voice. It seemed to slowly distort and warp over time, getting louder and louder until it suddenly stopped. He gulped and clutched the bottle close. What happened to the world? To him? Was there something wrong with him? He slowly moved to the front door, his footsteps echoing around him. The inside of the building was sort of the same besides the green hue to everything now. Something felt...off about it. The inside was completely untouched. It was as if the building was completely untouched by any sort of dirt or dust or….life for that matter. Beside the standard furniture, there was nothing.

Chase raced to the stairs to his apartment on the fifth floor. The halls were dark and narrow, more so than his dingy halls he knew. His flat was at the very end of the long hall. The far end of it was shrouded in darkness. Chase stood at the other end, frozen as a statue.

‘Come on. It’s just a hall. Once you start walking, just keep going until you reach the door. Okay...three...two...one!’

He didn’t move. Despite him trying to push himself, he found himself frozen in place out of pure fear. What if there was something lurking behind the dark? Something sinister. He couldn’t help but tense up. As he stared deep into the seemingly unending darkness, he heard a crackling noise along with a light high pitch ringing. The pain returned to his head. A light chuckle rang through the halls. A sound that made his blood run cold. The pain began growing more and more as footsteps began approaching him. He fell to one knee as a dizzying sensation took over. He looked up to see a familiar silhouette in the darkness.

“Finally awake...took you long enough.” The sickening voice hissed at Chase. Just hearing that voice made Chase want to puke. As the figure approached, the sound of static became louder and louder as well as the ringing. It caused a head splitting pain that nearly made Chase cry. The figure just gave him a cold smile as it watched him suffer.

Chase after a few moments of silence managed to compose himself enough to formulate his thoughts into words.

“Anti? W-where are we? What...what the hell is going on!?” Chase shouted, sounding desperate. That was the demons favorite sound.

“Oh Chase...you poor thing. Can’t even remember how you got here. Damn dirty alcoholics like you deserve to be here. Unlike your friends, you’re nothing but a waste of life.”Anti growled, kicked an empty beer bottle towards Chase.

Chase’s eyes shot open and he forced himself to his feet, trying to fight off the dizziness.“Look! I-I’m tired of these games, man! You’ve done nothing but torture us...all of us for years! For fucking once, just...just tell me the truth!” Chase cried pathetically.

Anti cocked his head to the side, almost impressed however this wouldn’t last for too long. Before Chase knew it, Anti had teleported himself so that he was sitting in a nearby window sill.

“Oh ho! Pace yourself there, trickshot. Don’t ask questions you really don’t want to know the answer to.”

The green demon dangled his leg out the window. The deep black sky seemed to blend in with Anti’s shirt seamlessly, as though it were physically part of him. Chase backed away slowly from the other. He sure as hell didn’t want to be within swinging distance of this thing.

Hesitantly, he responded.“I-I demand you tell me what’s-.”Before Chase could finish, Anti was cackling loud and hard.“You demand me!? A pathetic worm like you trying to demand ME!? That’s probably the funniest shit I’ve heard in a long time!”He sighed and collected his composure before getting off the windowsill and gestured towards the long and dark hallway. “If you really wanna know, just go and find out.” His voice was almost mocking in a way.

Chase was tired of being patronized by this parasite.“Maybe I will!”

Chase said, trying to sound confident. He took a step forward into the dark before his whole body froze up. He stared down the black maw in front of him. For some reason, his whole being was rejecting, protesting that he went any further than where he was. At first, he thought it was Anti fucking with him again. That is, until he saw another empty bottle roll out from the darkness. Something about that activated the fight or flight reflexes in him. Sweat poured down the back of his neck as he fought his instincts to try and move a step closer. He was so intensely focused on trying to move that he didn’t even notice the other slither up behind him.“Well...what’s holding you back? Didn’t you want to know?”

He whispered. Chase jumped a bit as he heard the voice, unintentionally moving more into the hall. Again, he started moving away, trying to avoid Anti. He didn’t realize he was backing up to his apartment door until he bumped into it. The numbers 89 read coldly on the door. It took Chase a while to process that his door was slightly ajar. A light spilled out. A sort of burning warm light. Somehow, it sent chills down Chase’s spine.

He opened the door, revealing his trashed apartment. Tables were turned upside down, stains of alcohol were stained on the walls and carpet, empty bottles and broken glass were scattered across the floor. The whole scene was illuminated by a deep red light. He opened his mouth to say something, however he stopped himself when he saw the open window. His heart skipped a beat as a breeze fluttered into the somewhat warped room. Anti stepped in from behind Chase, admiring the demolition.

“Hehe...well, what are you waiting for? The truth is right out that window, Chaser.” He cooed in his mocking voice.The pain in Chase's head returned. It felt as though his brain itself was imploding. The room itself spun around him. Anti began to become blurry as tears began to cloud his eyes. “L-leave….me alone…”

He cried, clutching the booze stained rug underneath him.“You were the one who wanted to know the truth. I warned you, but you didn’t listen.”Anti growled.

“And now...you’ll see it through.”Anti lifted Chase up by the collar of his shirt. He practically threw him towards the window. He slumped over, managing to catch himself on the windowsill. This was it. Chase could feel the sense of some sort of impending doom lurking in the back of his pounding skull. He shouldn’t look, but he has to.

Slowly, he picked himself up and began slowly peeking over the wall between him and his fate. Down below the floors of the apartment was his world. Not just that. What he saw was a splattered and mangled corpse in the darkened street. Only some of its features were illuminated just enough by a street lamp. The horror set in as Chase saw the gray snap back he’d grown so accustomed to wearing. A flood of emotion ran through his entire being as he looked down at what used to be him.

He remembered. Finally, the pain in his head subsided for a new sort of pain. The memories of what had really happened last night. Losing the custody battle with Stacy. Getting that eviction notice when returning home. The fight he got into with Marvin and Jackie. Taking out his anger on the Doctor who was only trying to help him. The copious amounts of alcohol he’d consume at the bar, only to get kicked out and stumble to the liquor store. Oh god. Oh god oh god.

The pain had spread all through him. A sort of crushing weight. He fell back to the floor, a trembling and weak mess. He looked up at Anti.“Why? Why did you do this to me!?” Chase shouted, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt every bit of loneliness he felt the night before. It was like a black hole that seemed to consume him eternally. Anti simply scoffed.

“Don’t blame me for your actions. This was all your own doing.”He circled the poor bastard.

“Then why the hell are you here!? I thought you wanted us all dead? Did you come here to rub it in my face?”

Anti paused for a moment before leaning down to his eye level.

“When you jumped...did you really think the pain was going to end? That pain that swallowed you whole?”

“...y-yes….but...it’s worse now more than ever. I...I just...want it to stop.” He whimpered. Anti thought the whole display was pathetic. Maybe he deserved his misery. Maybe he deserved to feel the weight of his guilt in this world forever. After all, unlike Chase’s friends, he was useless. Contributed nothing to the world that chewed him up and spat him out. A waste of life. Anti smirked. Perfect.

“You know...I can make this pain disappear.” Anti managed to speak up after a while.“I can make it so this never happened. Bring you back to life...with a catch.”

Chase just gritted his teeth.“Fuck you…”Anti shrugged and stood up.“Okay. Well if you want to wallow in your own sadness forever, I’ll gladly oblige.” Anti started towards the door of the apartment.

Chase knew that this unbearable pain would just get worse. He didn’t want to be alone. Anti was the only thing keeping it from crushing him.

“W-Wait!”He couldn’t believe what he was saying.“Please...d-don’t leave….” He reached out and grabbed Anti’s pant leg.“Tell me...what’ll happen if I say yes?”Anti smiled and knelt back down.

“Before you died, your life was meaningless. You were nothing. Life has given you very little. But me? I can give you a purpose. A second chance. And I can promise you every once of pain you feel right now will disappear.” Chase stared down at the floor for a moment, considering his options.“What’s the catch?”

“Well...I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. But I can promise that you’ll finally feel some semblance of happiness.”

“...I...I haven’t felt that in so long.” Chase let out a sad chuckle. Before him was Anti’s outstretched hand. Chase managed to delude himself into thinking that it wasn’t attached to a horrible monster for a moment, and rather an old friend. His shaky hand slowly reached towards Anti’s. The two men grasped each other’s hands tightly.As soon as Chase shook it, his whole body felt a tingling sensation. It started from his arm and slowly worked its way up to his head. Static. Static was filling each and every part of his being. It was like he was drowning in it. He slowly began forgetting things. Little things at first. His pet dog. His YouTube channel. But then when the faces of his ex wife and friends began fading, he felt the pain suddenly vanish. He realized how good letting go to this nothingness was. His body fell into Anti’s arms. He wanted more. More blissful nothingness. More of this static. Anti wrapped his arms around the other, slowly rubbing up and down his pet’s back. Chase didn’t realize how touch starved he was until then. But that didn’t matter now. Everything was fading. Even the world around them didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted to give into the nothingness. He closed his eyes, and let the noise carry him into a blissful sleep.

Chase soon awoke. His gaze was hazy and dull as he stared up at the ceiling. He tried remembering how he got there, but ultimately decided he didn’t really care. He felt comfy. He tried picking himself up, but found that he couldn’t move anything below his neckline. Typically, he’d be alarmed by this, however he just couldn’t be bothered to question it. Maybe he was supposed to be still? The last thing he remembered was Anti holding him. Anti...why was that nice so nice to hear in his head. Made him feel all warm and fuzzy. Anti had always been there for him, hasn’t he? Yeah, of course he has!

Chase was having such a hard time thinking with all the static in his head. Warm, fuzzy static. Making him just melt and drift away. In and out of consciousness. Like waves crashing over him. In and out and in and out. He began to drool a bit, as though he were a baby. He was having such a good time, he couldn’t even tell that he was in some sort of decaying bedroom in a decrepit asylum. The bed he was laying on though felt oh so soft. He snapped to attention once the door opened. It was Anti! His brother...no...friend...not right…lover? He couldn’t remember but that didn’t matter to him. Chase felt a mindless smile sliding up his cold face.

“Anti! So happy to see you!” He said in a very soft and timid tone. He was still trying to get a grip on his reality.

Anti smiled in return and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Ah...hello doll. Glad to see you’re awake.”He cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Doll? Was that his name? Yeah! Yeah that was his name! He giggled a bit.“What’s so funny, my puppet?” Anti asked as he cocked his head to the side.

“Nothing. Just sort of funny I forgot my name.” Chase looked back up at the ceiling.“Actually...I’m forgetting a lot of things.”

“That’s because you’ve hit you head, Doll. Don’t you remember who I am?” Anti grabbed Chase’s hand. It was cold, smooth, and hard. Although, Chase couldn’t even tell that his whole body had become this same porcelain material. Something as fragile as his old mental state.

“Do you remember who I am?”

“Uhh...well….sort of. I...know your name is Anti and you’re my-“

Before Chase could finish his thought, Anti finished it for him.“Master. I’m your Master, my dear doll.” Anti caressed Chase’s face. Seemingly by instinct, Chase leaned into his touch. It all made sense now.

“You’re...my Master. Yes…” he purred.

Anti grabbed his new doll and positioned him into a seating position. He sat behind him and began posing his arms.

“Yes...I’m your Master and you’re my doll. Without me, you have no purpose. You’re my plaything.” He whispered in Chase’s ear.

Each word seemed to bounce around in his head, sinking in deeply. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

“Yes...I am your...plaything. Th-thank you for giving me purpose, Master!” Chase beamed.

Anti wrapped his arms around his new porcelain doll’s waist possessively.

“Do you love me, doll?” Anti asked as he placed Chase’s old hat on top of his head.

“Of course I do, Master! I l-love you s-so much!” He said almost without thinking. However, he believed every word he was saying.

Anti posed him so he was sitting cross legged. “Good puppet.” He patted the top of his head which filled Chase with even more happiness.

“Tell me...does this mean anything to you?” He walked in front of Chase, showing him an old photo of him and his kids, ripping it right in front of him.

Chase just stared at the pieces of the photo’s a bit confused.“Um...no Master. I don’t r-recognize anyone in th-the picture. Is it...supposed to mean something to me?”

Anti grinned ear to ear.

“Oh no...it was just a picture of some family. But I’m your only family, doll.”

He held the Doll’s hands.“...only f-family.” Chase repeated and nodded along.

“Very good. Now, I’m going to be gone for a bit. Be a good doll and sit here. Don’t move and don’t think.” As soon as Anti said ‘don’t think’ Chase’s expression went blank and he stared at the wall, the static creeping back into his mind.

With one last chuckle, Anti made his way to the door before looking back and cooing.“Good puppet.”

[aloe-casia]

With the full fury of summer mercilessly descending upon us again, I can't help but think how our mostly northern hero would fare if he was to go further south than he's ever been. What with Geralt's milky white complexion and heavy armour, wonder what would happen? :D

Honestly, I could write a whole STORY out of this prompt, but I had to limit myself to under 2,000 words. Enjoy!!

----

Before Geralt had left Kaer Morhen for the first time, Vesemir had warned him. He had been warned, and yet he had continued South anyways, so really Geralt had no one to blame but himself for the current situation he found himself in. Don’t go past Toussaint, Vesemir had told him. At least not for the first year, while he was still healing and his skin and hair was still adapting to its recent significant loss of pigment as a result of the Trials. And damned if he shouldn’t have been more careful, followed Vesemir’s advice to the letter. But here he was, a Northerner by blood, still healing from his second bout of Trials, all white skin and pale hair under the beating, harsh sun of Korathan desert. He had wanted to see Zerrikania, wanted to experience the legendary warriors and the great sand plains for himself. It was a foolish dream, he had known that before he even set out. But a recent contract to hunt down several werewolves in Cintra had left his pockets heavy with silver, possibly the heaviest they had ever been, and he had thought it was fair to indulge himself, just this once. Vesemir had warned him against indulgence, too. From now on, he would obey Vesemir’s every warning. If he lived, of course.

The air was hot, stiflingly so, and Geralt could feel his chest constricting under his leather armour. He couldn’t take it off, though. Vesemir had warned him against ever taking it off, and after ignoring Vesemir’s previous warnings had led to this shit situation in the first place, Geralt had decided never to ignore the fencing master’s advice again. Besides, he had nowhere to put it. He had left Roach at an inn in the mountains, worrying for her health in the heat. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he should have worried more for his own.

Achingly, Geralt sat himself down against a rock. His pale skin was hot to the touch, burning, boiling, and he felt so ill. He had stopped sweating a while ago, now his skin was just hot and dry, his mouth so dry that it was getting difficult to open, even to breathe. There was a rolling in his stomach that at first Geralt thought was just an illusion; he was probably delirious, until he ended up puking all over the rock before he really even realized it was going to happen. He felt miserable, clammy, and every muscle in his body was pulled taut, like he had been stretched out to dry in the sun. Perhaps he could stop here, rest a bit, take off his armour. Then he could gather his strength enough to turn around, go back to the mountains, get some water.

Geralt’s fingers were trembling and dry; he couldn’t even find the clasps on his bracers, let alone begin thinking about taking off the rest of his armour. He would roast out here, he thought. Like the chickens Vesemir had cooked for him and Eskel during the winter, roasted over a spit with the skin on. Ye Gods, he must truly be delirious to be comparing himself to that.

For a long while, Geralt faded in and out of consciousness. His head ached abominably, and he couldn’t stop vomiting, even though there was nothing left in his stomach except for acid, which made his dry throat and mouth hurt all the more. Every muscle in his body pulled tight and cramped, the way they sometimes did after a hard day training or a difficult fight. Geralt felt as though he was being mummified alive, something he had heard of the Zerrikanians doing with unwelcome travellers. He supposed he was saving them the trouble, as he gritted his teeth and rode out another bout of excruciating muscle cramps. For the first time since his Trials, Geralt wished to pass out, to relieve the pain, if even for a bit. The light hurt his eyes, and he was so damnably thirsty.

----

When Geralt awoke again, there was a dappled pattern of light falling across his face, leaving some parts of it uncomfortably hot while others were blissfully cooled by shade. His skin ached and burned, and every muscle in his body was painful and weak. He trembled.

A dark hand appeared above him, holding what looked like a clay cup, although Geralt couldn’t be sure. His vision flickered and wavered in front of him like a mirage. There was a voice, instructing him gently, but he couldn’t understand what it said. He realized belatedly that he was no longer wearing his armour or his clothes, just laying under a blanket made of scratchy, itchy wool. The hand hovered above him, and dripped a little water between his lips, which he licked up pitifully. Geralt felt like his skin was cracking all over, breaking at the seams. Someone was washing his face with a cool cloth, and to his eternal embarrassment he whimpered in relief. His whole body ached, and he felt so very ill. Nausea came on unbidden, and he felt someone lifting his head so he could retch over the side of what must have been a bed. However, he was simply too sick to care, too sick to even really understand what was happening. His consciousness filtered in and out, jolting him back to awareness with every loud noise or strong smell that assaulted his senses. The whole tent, or wherever this place was, smelled strongly of highly aromatic spices Geralt had only ever encountered in exotic markets during his travel in the North. They were abrasive on his sensitive nostrils, and kept jerking him back awake. The cloth ceiling above him shifted and swayed. He wasn’t sure, but he might have been sick again. He was too fevered, too tired. The last thing he thought was that he was never going to take Vesemir’s advice for granted again.

----  

When Geralt awoke again, he was alone. The tent ceiling which had dominated his blurry vision for the uncounted previous hours was gone, replaced instead by a starry sky which stretched for miles in every direction, or at least as far as Geralt could turn his head before his neck began to ache horrifically. He licked his lips, and found someone had left a water skin at his side, which he sipped from gratefully, dragging his sore, exhausted body to a sitting position. He vaguely remembered there being a rock, back when he had first truly become ill, and he was surprised to find that same rock now bracing his back. When he scented the air and glanced around, there was no sign of who had set up the tent, nor left the water skin. Geralt was utterly alone under the canopy of stars.

Normally, Geralt would have wondered what had happened, who had helped him and then left before he could so much as give his thanks. But he was still too ill, his head spun too much, and he was damnably thirsty. Every muscle in his body was trembling and weak, a sign of the many spasms he remembered experiencing. The stars began to fade and the sun rose, and Geralt just lay against the rock, trying to let the cool night air soothe his burning, pale skin. His neck was burnt from the sun, as were his hands, and although they would heal quickly the blistering skin was uncomfortable.

Eventually, he felt a bit less ill, a bit less dizzy, and managed to haul himself to his feet and limp off, back towards the mountains, towards Roach, away from the first and last time he would indulge his own selfish desire to see something more than what he knew.

[michipeachiii]

Panic is hearing your cat do the gagging thing they do prior to puking. 

Horror is seeing your cat running out the kitchen, into the hallway, into your office, still gagging, miserably trying to jump out the window, still making that horrific gagging noise and not being able to get out in time.

Terror is seeing your cat’s puke make contact with the power strip and you start to hear a slight crackling noise from the plug so you quickly turn off SO’s PC before any damage is done. 

Catastrophe is having to clean up the puke in the kitchen, hallway, and office, pun intended as well. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 38

Warnings:  none really. Mark being a dick.  Some profanity.

Tagging: @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

She’s at the door before he even gets a chance to fully open; hearing the scratch of the key card being inserted and the soft click of the lock giving way.  Hair pushed away from her face with a wide fabric head band; eyes wide with a mix of concern and slight panic, face ashen.

“What happened?” she asks, stepping back to allow him into the small foyer.  “I woke up and I saw your note and I started freaking out…”

“I left you the note so you wouldn’t freak out,” he sets the deadbolt, slides the chain into place. “Did anyone call the room? Anyone come to the door?”

“No. No one,” she stands on her tip toes as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? Neither of us are supposed to leave and I woke up and you were gone and I lost it a little bit and…”

He places a hand on the side of her face and silences her with a kiss; longer this time, his lips soft and tender against her own. Still on her tiptoes, both arms circling his neck. he curls an arm around her waist and pulls her tightly into him. Continuing to hold her long after the kiss comes to an end, the hand that was cradling her face now moving to the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest. He needs this.  This moment. A chance to just feel her body against his. To feel the warmth that radiates off her, the way her heart beats against him,  the way her fingertips feel as they softly scratch at the nape of his neck. He’s never realized just how much he actually does need this; to not only hold her, but have her hold in in return. It’s comforting. Soothing. And it helps to alleviate that last bit of rage that had been threatening to swallow him whole.

“Tyler…” she’s the first to pull away; tears sparkling in her eyes. “…what’s going on? And don’t say nothing because I know you. I know your expressions. I know the different tones of your voice. I know how your eyes change colour based on your moods. And I know how  you get. When something is wrong. I feel it in your arms. The way hold me when you’re upset…it’s different. So different.”

That’s what five and a half years and incredibly strong bond can do. He’d become quite adept on ‘reading’ her as well.  Knowing what the different facial expressions mean before she even opens her mouth to speak. Hearing the changes in her voice and her tone.  Able to easily decipher her body language.  He’d never had that with a woman before. Not even his first wife. In fact, he’d never had that with anyone. A bond so powerful and so all consuming that it can be overwhelming. It’s what happens, he supposes, when two broken people actually do succeed at not only fixing one another, but saving each other.

“You have to promise me that you’ll stay calm,” he says. “I need you to keep calm. Not just for yourself but for the baby.  There’s not just you anymore. I need you to stay calm for the both of you.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.  What’s going on? Because my mom just called and she said that you told her to go back to her place. I mean, she was supposed to be gone two days ago after I told her to get the fuck out, but that’s besides the point. And she said that Ovi and Chloe just took off. With the kids. And Mac. What is going on?”

“What did I just say? About calming down?”

“I am calm. I’m not freaking out.  I’m…”

He smirks, then glances down at the tiny fists that have an iron clad grip on the front of his t-shirt.

“Maybe I’m not as calm as I thought,” she relaxes her grip, but the tears that are threatening are raw and bitter and her entire body is trembling.

“Okay, you need to relax. Just relax…” he rubs his hands down her arms; starting at the shoulders and then moving slowly down to her wrists and then travelling upwards again. “…what has been the number one cause of any of problems you had all the other times you were pregnant?”

“Stress.”

“Exactly. So I really need you not to stress. I need you nice and calm, okay? Because we’re in a foreign country and far from home and your own doctor, so…” he presses a kiss to her brow. “…just relax.”

She rests her forehead against his chest, hands entirely releasing his shirt in favour of finding their place on his hips. Eyes closed as she draws in deep, steady breaths and then lets them slowly and smoothly.

“You need to just listen to everything I say. Can you do that? Can you just stay nice and quiet while I explain everything? I need you to that for me. Esme…” he runs a hand over her hair, then tangles his fingers in some of the tresses and gently pulls her head back, encouraging her to look up at him.  “…I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear everything I’m saying. Can you do that? Please?”

She nods.

“I called Ovi this morning. While you were sleeping. To check on things. And he told me that there’s been some weird stuff going on. People have been calling the house. They’ve been leaving photos in the mailbox. Of the kids. Of you with the kids. Of me and you together.”

Her eyes widen.

“And someone showed up. At the house. Looking for me.”

“But…” she begins, and then stops, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Ovi said they had accents. Like mine, but different. Whoever it was, they were from New Zealand. They were definitely related to the Buckmans in some way. Now I don’t know why they’d go there, because I was made the second I got on the plane in Colorado. They knew I was here. Or at least they’d heard I was here. There’s only two reasons why they would show up at the house. One is to make sure that I found out and would go running back as soon as I did, just leaving them to do whatever the hell they want here to the McMann kids.  The second is to make sure that I was really gone. That I wasn’t anywhere nearby when they came after our kids. Because that’s what they’ll do. They’ll go for the kids. Out of revenge. They won’t come after me personally. They’ll go after what they know will make me vulnerable.”

Her teeth are digging hard enough into her lip to nearly draw blood.  Her chest heaving as she struggles to breathe through the flood of emotions threatening to surge through her. Her entire body trembling.

“Listen to me…” he implores, and once more takes her face in her hands.   “…settle down…it’s okay…just breathe, baby. Just breathe. Everything is under control, I promise. You remember what I told you? About the money that I hid in the garage? And the weapons?”

She nods.

“I told Ovi to take the money and the guns. I told him to pack up the kids and Chloe and take off. And not to contact me until he got somewhere safe. I told him to ditch his old phone and get a new one, just in case the old one has a trace on it. The kids are safe with him. You know they are. He’s one of the few people I actually do trust with you and your kids, you know that. Everything is going to be okay. He’s going to get them somewhere safe and he’ll let us know when he does. You have to trust him, Esme. And you have to trust me. You have to trust that I made the decisions I did to keep them safe.”

“I do. I do trust him. And I do trust you. With my life. With our kids lives.”

“It’s going to be okay.  I found out about this before anything bad actually happened. I had time to make things right. I had time to protect them.  This could have been so much worse. Are you okay? You took that a lot better than I thought you would. I thought for sure you might snap on me and punch me in the face. Or knee me in the balls. Normally you’d freak out on me regardless of what I said.”

“I’m…I don’t know…I think…I think I’m going to be sick.”

She rushes for the washroom and he follows dutifully…albeit reluctantly…behind. It’s his weakness; the one thing that makes him physically ill.  Not even the actual act of throwing up itself; but the sound.  It doesn’t matter if it’s her or one of the kids; he mentally can not cope with it.  But at the same time, he knows she needs him.  That it’s partly his fault that she’s like this in the first place:  kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting profusely and violently.  So he briefly lingers in the doorway, taking a few seconds to prepare himself before actually rendering aide.

He turns the cold water on in the sink. Both to effectively block out the retching noises and to soak one of the hotel facecloths; tightly ringing it out and then filling one of the glasses that sit on the counter top.  It’s given her enough time to actually finishing throwing up; and he breathes an internal sigh of relief and turns off the top before joining her where she sits with her cheek pressed against the cold seat, eyes closed and tears streaming down her face.

“It’s okay,” his voice is calm and soothing as he crouches down beside her; ignoring the cracking of his knees and the discomfort that accompanies it. He’s not sure what’s actually caused her to be ill; if it’s everything he’d just dropped onto her plate or actual morning sickness. Or even a mixture of both.  She’s suffered through every one of her pregnancies; horrific bouts of all day sickness, never mind just in the morning. To the point she’s initially lost weight instead of gaining it and had to be hospitalized for dehydration. Which is definitely not what she needs while being in a foreign country so far from him. “Neck or forehead?” he asks, and she cracks on eye open as he holds the facecloth where she see it.

“Forehead,” she whimpers, and he pushes her hand away when she attempts to take the cloth from him.

“I got it,” he says, as he presses the damp, cool fabric to her brow. “I got you.”

She manages a smile.

“You okay now? Got it all out?”

“I think so.  I really hate you right now, thought. Just saying.”

“I told you why I did what I did. That I told Ovi to take off and…”

“Not that,” she gives a small laugh. “I mean this. The reason I’m puking in the first place. You may have really strong and ridiculously good looking genes, but there’s something in them that totally fucks with my system. It’s not enough that all the kids we make have to look and act exactly like you? But I also have to suffer like this first? Like, where’s the humanity?”

“Well, at the risk of you punching me in the face for saying it, I’m not the only one to blame for this.”

“I don’t even get how it happened in the first place. It had to have happened before we actually agreed to have another one.  And you were using condoms. We were being careful.”

“I guess not careful enough.”

“You probably intentionally sabotaged them. You’re probably one of those guys that pokes holes in them on purpose.”

“Yep,” he grins, and presses the facecloth against each of her cheeks. “That’s totally what I did.”

She glares at him. “Tell me you’re joking, Tyler James or I will punch you in the face.”

“Of course I’m joking. I’d never do something like that and you know it,” he presses a kiss to her temple, pushes sweaty strands of her behind her ears.  “I may have forgotten to wear one a couple of times, but…”

“Oh, shades of Dhaka. How cute. Because you didn’t learn your lesson the first time, right?”

“There wasn’t a lesson to learn. We did what we did, you got pregnant, we ended up having a beautiful little girl. End of story.”

“I still remember when she was born. How you cried. When the nurse gave her to you. You had the most amazing, content, peaceful smile on your face and these tears were streaming down. And you were looking down at her and it…” she finds herself getting emotional at the memory. “…you’d never looked so beautiful as you did right then.”

“Normally I’d get pissed that you’d call me that, but I’ll let you have it. Just this once,” he teases, rubbing her back comfortingly as she pushes herself up into a sit and then shuffles backwards in order to lean back against the wall of the of the tub.  “Here…” he offers the glass of water, then tosses the facecloth into the tub and joins her; sitting alongside of her, stretching his legs out and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“That’s your bad arm,” she scolds.

“It’s fine.  Hardly any pain. Well, besides what’s always there. Stop giving me a hard time. I’m trying here.”

“You’re a massive study in contradiction, you know,” she says, as she turns her body sideways and drapes both of her legs over his thighs. “People see this absurdly tall, crazy muscular, intimidating guy and immediately assume that you’re that way all the time. That you’re always aggressive and assertive. Maybe even scary. And you’re not. You’re not like that at all. I mean, you are when you have to be.  But you’re so different when it’s just us. Or when you’re with your kids.’

“What I’m supposed to be like when I’m with you?” he grins, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “Or with the kids? Am I supposed be that guy that kicks ass and impales people with garden rakes? Or would you rather me like this?”

“Definitely like this,” she smiles, and sips her water.  “Although I have to admit, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that the other Tyler turns me on too.  The savage one. The one that is capable of doing things like that. That is bad ass and brutal and would do anything to protect me and his kids. There’s something oddly sexy about that. When I think about some of the things you’ve done to people, I don’t know.  It actually makes me wet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles. “You get weirder and weirder with each passing day, I swear.”

“But here you are.  Still hanging in there. Despite the fact I’m a raging bitch some of the times and I haven’t actually been the model wife over the past five and a half years.”

“We’ve both fucked up.  We’ve been said some things and done some things were pretty shitty.  But that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. If you think about how badly things went the first time either of us were married, we’ve had a lot of shit to get past.  And we did it.  Together. Neither of us walked away even when things got really bad. You could have easily told me to fuck off for good when we separated. And I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. You even could have taken off with the kids and I would have deserved it.”

He’d been a wreck.  It had been entirely his fault; he’d pushed her too hard when it came to choosing the job over her and the kids. He’d kept testing her limits time and time again and eventually she’d just snapped. And it would have been so easy to blame her, to make her out to be the best person.  Paint her as the unsupportive, nagging, overbearing and demanding wife. But he hadn’t. He’d fucked up and he’d known it and owned it. And he had taken the punishment for it.  Living for six months in a shit hole of a motel; throwing himself into the most dangerous jobs as possible and drowning the guilt and the pain in alcohol. And when she’d called him that night, he’d honestly been expecting the worst: that she needed an address to send divorce papers to.  

“I never would have done that to you,” she says. “Taken your kids from you. I would never have kept them from you. Because even when you were a shitty husband, you were always an amazing father. Just because you didn’t love me, didn’t me you didn’t love them. I’ve never doubted that.”

“I’ve always loved you. I may not have always acted like it, but I did. I don’t think the problem is that we stopped loving each other.”

“It’s that we love each other too much sometimes,” she says, and then frowns. “Which is strange to say when you think about it. Is it even possible to love someone too much? Maybe if you blindly love someone and put them on some kind of pedestal and than you’re completely heartbroken when they don’t live up to your expectations. But that doesn’t sound like us. At least not to me, anyway. I mean, I always knew you were an asshole. So it didn’t surprise me when you started acting like one.”

“When I started acting like one? I was an asshole when we first met.”

“You were fine when I met you and bathroom chicken. But you turned into an asshole when you tried to choke me out after that first fight we had in Dhaka.”

“For the record, I didn’t try and choke you out. I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“You were trying to get in my pants?”

“Well not at first. At first you just pissed me off. To the point I wanted to choke you out.”

“And then it became the kinky kind of choking me out.”

“Yeah…” he chuckles. “…I guess it did.”

“We are so fucked up,” she giggles.  “I mean, at least we can admit it, right? That we are two very seriously messed up people.”

“Maybe that’s what makes us perfect for each other,” he reasons.  “Maybe because we can admit it and we can accept it. We know we’re not perfect. We don’t expect each other to be perfect. But we keep working on things. Even when people think we should just give up and walk away.”

She frowns. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you.”

“Believe it or not, she’s not the only person who thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

“No. She’s not. You’ve spent five and a half years thinking that about yourself.”

He nods in agreement.

“And you don’t think I’ve felt that same way? That you deserve better than me? I’ve thought that tons of times. That you’d be better off without me. That it would be healthier for you if you just walked away and never looked back.”

“I never would,” he says. “Walk away.”

“You realize that can be either a blessing or a curse, right?”

“Yup,” he rubs at her thigh, presses a kiss to her forehead. “But I like to think it’s more of a blessing. Because I kind of like the way my life is now. With you. With my kids. With…” he places a palm against her stomach. “…the little bean.”

She smiles. It’s their ‘thing’; he’d come up with the nickname ‘little bean’ when she’d shown him Millie’s first ultrasound picture. He’d still be laid up in the hospital; recovering from knee replacement surgery and still struggling to regain a healthy chunk of his strength and stamina. It had killed him not to be there with her; at her side when she to see the baby…his baby….for the first time.  And when she’d shown him that picture…pointing out where the technician had seen the umbilical cord, the heart, even the spine…all he’d seen was a bean.  The nickname had stuck; being passed down to each of their unborn children.

“Please tell me everything is going to be okay, Tyler. Even if it’s not. Just tell me it will.”

“You mean with the baby or…”

“Everything. With everything that’s going on. Just say it’s going to be okay. Even if you don’t believe it. Even if everything is telling you that this is all going to go horribly wrong. I need you to hear you say it. That it’s going to be okay.”

“It  is going to be okay. I’m not just saying it because it’s what you want to hear. I’m saying it because it’s true. The kids are safe where they are. With Ovi and Chloe. And you’re safe here with me. Everything’s going to be fine, Esme. I promise.”

She gives a sigh; it’s content, satisfied. At least for now.  And she nestles her face into his neck; the tip of her nose and her soft breath tickling his skin.

“But there is something I need you to do for me,” he says. “Well not for me. With me.”

“Oh god…Tyler…what now…I love you, but what do you want now?”

“I know you said you were going to call that Billy guy. The bartender. And completely back out on getting together with him.  I don’t want you to do that. I want you to still go.”

“We just talked about this, Tyler. You were the one who didn’t want me to. Because of the baby. You were worried that something would happen. To both of us.”

“I am worried about that. Which is why you wouldn’t be going alone. I’d be going with you.”

She pulls back look at him, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. “How would that even work?  I came here because you’d been made and you needed me to and meet with these people and get info. I wouldn’t have come here if you were able to do it yourself. So why…”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. This isn’t about trusting you or not trusting you.”

“We’re going to walk in there and I’m going to tell them exactly who I am…who we are…and ask him for his help. A business proposition. I’m going to give him a chance to help us bring McMann down. It’s what the IRA wants, right? Revenge? And McMann has information we need. That will lead  us to his wife and his kids.  We need to find those  kids, Esme. I need to get them out of there.”

“And you think this the only way to do it? To trust the IRA? Tyler, that sounds a little…insane.”

“They hate him just as much as we do, if not more. And he’s far more scared of them than he is of me. So why not sic the IRA on him in order to get what we want? They have ways of getting the information we need. We won’t even have to get our hands dirty.  They can get more out of him than we can. So let them do it. Let them get what we need.’

“In exchange for letting them do whatever they want to him?”

He nods.

“That could get messy, Tyler. What stops them for coming back after you?”

“I’ve done nothing to piss them off. But the McMann has. And so have the Buckmans. What if I get the kids out and let the IRA take down the Buckmans? What if that’s the deal? What if all I want is information on where those kids are and I give them both McMann and the Buckmans in exchange.  They won’t turn that down.  And it keeps me out of their shit.  I do not want to be going toe to toe with the IRA. And I know you don’t want me doing that, either.”

“This is risky and you know it.”

“The job is always risky. But this the cleanest way we can go about saving both the McMann kids and our kids.”

“You think the IRA will take it?”

“Why wouldn’t they? They want revenge, right? On McMann and the Buckmans? I have nothing on the IRA. I’ve never pissed them off or stepped on their toes. I’m just the guy that McMann was trying to use to stir up some shit. They don’t care about me. But I can give them what they want.”

“What can they give you? Other than the McMann kids?”

“Protection. For our kids. If the Buckmans can get to Colorado, so can the IRA. If I give them what they want, they give me what I want. They won’t turn that down. McMann is too big of a prize. The Buckmans are just extra incentive.”

“Are you sure about this?  Like are you one hundred percent sure? Because I’ll go along with it if you are. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that this is how you want to do things. That this is going to work.”

He lays one hand on the back of her head, the other on the side of her face, locking eyes with her. “This is how I want to do things. And it’s going to work. I know it’s going to work.”

“Okay,” she says with a sigh.  “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. But I swear to God, Tyler Rake, you can’t ask me for any more favours for at least eight months. Until this baby finishes baking and it comes out safe and sound.  Because I’m not risking anything happening to little bean. Not even for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, and seals it with a kiss.

****

“You realize this insane, right?” Mark inquires, prior to the start of the impromptu team meeting Yaz had called for.  With only two hours remaining before the meeting with William Flynn, there were things that needed to be ironed out:. Someone needed to go into the pub and place hidden cameras in the back room,  a sure fire escape plan and route needed to drawn out just in case things didn't go exactly as planned, there needed to be back up stationed somewhere outside.  It isn't as simple as just sending someone in to get information. Every possible scenario...good and bad...had to be plotted out and considered, along with ways to solve any problems that might crop up.  “This is never going to work.”

“Could you just once try and be optimistic?” Esme counters, as she pours herself a cup of tea out of the carafe that sits in the middle of the conference table. The hotel has been good to all of them during their stay; always offering up one of their rooms for their 'business meetings', providing them with food and drink. Whatever the size of the donation Nik had given them at the start of things, it had ensured both their hospitality and their silence.  

“Could you for once not just look at the bright side of things?” he shoots back, as he prepares a coffee for himself. “That was always one of your weaknesses. Being overly optimistic.”

“Well I'm sorry Mister Negative, if I can't always live under a dark cloud like you can.  Do you have a list of these weaknesses written down somewhere? Did you take notes? You know, so you could eventually throw them all in my face?”

“This is exactly why it didn't work. Why we didn't work,” he says. “You have to always get one up on someone. There always has to be some smart ass comment. You can never just stay quiet.”

“And here I was thinking that things didn't work because you're  a gas lighting, manipulative asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. But go on, Mark. Tell me all about how I'm the only one to blame for things disintegrating between us.”

“You know, maybe if you'd been more devoted to keeping things together...to being more wife like...I wouldn't have had to resort to the things I did.  A man has needs you know. And you weren't always willing to fill those.”

“Oh so now it's the lack of sex that was the problem. That's what caused all of our issues. That's what turned you into a giant narcissistic dick bag. Do you ever just sit back and listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth? You should really record yourself one of these days. So you can go back and listen to the crap that you spew.”

“I admit, I had my issues.”

“”You think?” she scoffs. “You let a stewardess give you a blow job on the flight home from our honeymoon.  Do you really think that could have been one of our issues?”

“But you weren't one hundred percent innocent. I know you like to play the victim. You want everyone to think that I was the bad guy and...”

“You were the bad guy.  I didn't deserve any of the things you did to me and you know.  You don't need me to make you look horrible because you are horrible. You're a shitty human being, Mark. And you were an even shittier husband. I wasn't the perfect wife.  But I didn't deserve what you did. I didn't deserve any of it. You can spend the rest of your life lying to yourself that you weren't the one that caused all the issues, but it will never change the fact that you did.  Get the fuck over yourself. You're not as charming and handsome as you think you are. Get a grip.”

“Who are you going to blame when things fall apart between you and Tyler?” he challenges. “Because they will. Fall apart. And it's going to be even worse than when things fell apart between us. Because now there's four perfectly innocent little kids involved in your bullshit and...”

“Five,” she interjects, and helps herself to a slice of pineapple from the fresh fruit tray in the middle of the table.  “There's five. Well, four and a half if you want to get technical about things.”

Mark's eyes narrow. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Is that all the two of you do? Fuck and make kids? Is that what your whole marriage exists of?”

“Well unlike when I was married to you, I actually like fucking the husband I have now.  That and he actually knows how to give orgasms and doesn't just expect them. He also knows what the g spot is and where it is.  You could always ask for pointers. I'm sure he'd be willing to teach you a few things. You know, so you're not an epic failure when it comes to pleasing your next wife.”

“Next wife? You ruined the entire marriage experience. You ruined other women for me. And not in a good way, just so you know.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by that? Mark, I don't lose any sleep at night over your opinion of me. I have a clear conscience. You know, I thought after nine years apart, you wouldn't be such a massive dick. You were showing so much promise. You came looking for absolution, you actually apologized for your shit, you gave me your help when you asked for it. You even showed up here. Which isn't exactly what I wanted when I asked you for help, but it is what it is.  You start out good and then you just shit the bed and prove you're still the same fuck nut you were when things went to shit between us.”

“And you call me manipulative? He has no clue how badly you're manipulating him.  How you've actually trapped him into staying. He has no fucking idea just how trapped he actually is.”

“Jesus Christ, Mark. You're a real piece of work. How can you even stand the sound of your own voice? Are you honestly that upset that I moved on with my life? You should be happy for me.  That I could even stand another man touching me after some of the shit you pulled. Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you just admit you messed up and that you're glad I could get over it and move on with my life.  And I haven't trapped him. He's free to go if he wants to, and he knows it.”

'Like he's going to leave his kids behind,” Mark gives a derisive snort. “There's no way he'd take off and leave his kids. So you just keep giving him more and more, guaranteeing he won't leave.  That's actually pretty smart, you know. I'll give you credit. That's pretty goddamn devious. You're like some evil genius.”

“Yes, that's my dastardly  plan. You figured it out. I just keep letting him come inside of me and knocking me up so that he'll stick around. You figured it out, Mark.”

“It won't work, you know. The two of you. Not in the long run. Because he's going to wake up one day and realize just how fucked he is and how well you played him and then it's all going to blow up in your face. And he is going to take off and you know what's going to happen when he does? He's going to take those kids from you and there won't be any way to stop it. He'll leave and he'll take the kids with him and you'll be alone. Again. And it will be all your fault.”

“Mark, you are about five seconds away from me punching you in the face.  Do you know how humiliating that would be? To be punched in the face by a woman? And not just any woman. A pregnant woman? So I think you should stop while you're ahead. Because the people in this room? They will wreck you. There's nothing Tyler wants more than to beat your ass into the middle of next week. And it won't take much for me to convince him to do it. So keep pressing your luck. He's kind of in a mood and he wouldn't mind taking it out on you.”

He glances across the room; to where Tyler and Yaz are immersed in an intense conversation.  Tyler has a good five inches on him; and at least twenty to thirty pound of sheer muscle and power. “I could take him.”

Esme can't help but laugh. “Sure. Sure you could. Why don't you go over there and try? I'd love to see you try. Do you realize the things he can do to people with his bare hands? He could kill you with one of the coffee cups. But by all means, if you think you stand a chance, go ahead. Start some shit. I'd love to see it.”

“I don't think I will.”

“Oh of course not.  Because you know you'd be demolished.”

“Nik wouldn't approve. If I beat the shit out of her favourite toy.”

“Okay, now you are really starting to piss me off.”

“Burns your ass, doesn't it? The fact he was fucking her before he was fucking you? I'll give him credit; he's got great taste. First her, now you.  He knows how to choose A plus ass, that's for sure.”

“First off, Tyler and Nik happened long before I ever came along. Second, you're a disgusting piece of shit for even talking about her like that. Nik and I don't always see eye to eye and we've had our issues, but she's still my friend. And she deserves better than you talking about her like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She's on her way here, you know.”

“Nik?” Esme arches an eyebrow.  “Why?”

“Well, two reasons, actually.  The first is, she's pissed. With the little stunt Tyler pulled this morning. Sending the Indian kid away with your bunch.”

“His name isn't 'Indian kid'. His name is Ovi. And you'll call him by his name or you will get a punch in the throat. Even when he was fourteen he was a bigger man than you are now. You would have been crying like a little bitch if you went through what he did.”

“And second, she's coming to see me.”

“Why the hell would anyone come all that way to see you. That's a waste of perfectly good air miles.”

“Because unlike you, she knows a good thing when she has it.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “Are you serious right now? You? And Nik?”

“We kind of have a 'thing' going on.”

“You just met. And you haven't even seen each other in person. How can you have a 'thing'?”

“That's the beauty of technology. We can see each other even if it's not in person.  And you're the last person who should be saying anything about people 'just meeting'. You were fucking Tyler three days after you met him. When you were supposed to be working. I know all your dirty little secrets, Esme. I know how the two of you shacked up in that hotel in Dhaka together and couldn't stop fucking each other while on the job. And I know he ended up getting you pregnant and that's the only reason he asked you to marry him in the first place.”

Her eyes narrow. “That is not why he asked. You have no clue what you're talking about.”

“You're so naive. You really think there was another reason behind why he asked? I'll hand it to him.  He stepped up and took responsibility. He could have easily just told you to fuck off and get out of his life. But he actually asked you to marry him. That's pretty huge. That he'd be willing to take a risk like that, not even knowing if the kid was his for sure. I mean, if you were that willing to fuck him after just meeting him, he probably thought there would be tons of other guys you were fucking too.”

“There is something wrong with you, Mark. There is something very seriously wrong with you. You have no idea why Tyler made the decisions he did. I gave him an option. I told him that if he didn't want to be part of things that I'd leave and I'd never bother him again. That I didn't even expect child support out of him. So...”

“Did you really think he'd go along with that? Come on, Esme. You're smarter than that. You knew he'd stick around.  You knew he wasn't going anywhere. He already lost one brat, he wasn't going to take the chance of losing another.”

“His name was Austin, you sick fuck.  And he was six years old and he had cancer. How dare you talk about a child like that?A dead child. What is wrong with you?”

“Save your outrage for someone who gives a shit, Esme.  You really didn't think he'd let you leave, did you? That he'd let you just walk away and take his baby with you? You knew he wouldn't.  You knew he'd want you to stick around. And it was just a bonus when he asked you to marry him. And now look. Five and a half years later, four kids, another one on the way. Congratulations on that, by the way. You can be a shit human being, but you're a good mother. I'll give you that much.”

She opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut when the door to the conference room opens and three newcomers step in. Two males, one female.  Fairly young; mid to late twenties at the older.  And Mark greets them warmly; handshakes and one armed hugs.

“These are the Marines you asked for,” he address Esme.  “When you wanted my help and asked if I knew anyone around these parts that I could get to watch things. These are three of the best I've ever had work under me. I knew right away they were the ones I wanted on the job.  We've got Zak,  Nathan, and Tanis.  Lieutenant, Staff Sargent, Gunnery Sargent. Respectfully.”

“You were in the elevator that night,” Esme says. “The night I got here. You were pretending to be newlyweds and you were the third wheel.”

“We followed you guys from the airport,” Zak reveals.  “We weren't taking any chances. So we hung back and just let on we were normal people.”

“And was it the two of you...” she looks at Tanis and Nathan.  “...that were outside of our room? I heard you talking. I tried to follow you but...”

“They've been staying right under your nose,” Mark says.  “Right down the hall. In that room the housekeeper convinced you was empty. Yeah, she's on my payroll too. What? You think Nik is the only one that has people she can call to get shit done? It's a booming business, Esme. Lots of pieces of  the pie to go around.”

“Since when does the FBI get into the mercenary business?” she inquires. “I thought the Feds were more interested in stopping mercenaries than helping them.”

“We're not technically mercenaries, ma'am,” Nathan replies.  “But we know a good payout when we see one. You're a former Gunny. You know the corps pays shit. Have to pay the bills somehow, right?”

“And this is just my side gig,” Mark speaks up.  “This is strictly off the books.  A little something to keep me busy when I get bored. And these fellas have a score to settle with McMann themselves, so...”

“Killed a buddy of ours,”  Zak reveals. “Former corpsman we served with. That went into the business. Killed him during an extraction in Guatemala.”

Esme frowns.  “Guatemala? Almost three weeks ago? My husband was working on an extraction in Guatemala. What the hell is going on here? McMann said he was there to watch Tyler. To watch him before asking him for help.”

“He wasn't there to watch Tyler,” Mark says. “He was there to kill Tyler.”

“Our buddy was providing tactical support,” Nathan explains.  “He worked for Nik. That's who your husband works for, right? Nik Khan?”

She nods.

“He'd only been on the job for a few weeks,” Zak adds. “He was super stoked about it, too.  Everyone knows who Tyler Rake is. The guy is a fucking legend. What with the Dhaka job and all that. I mean, you pretty much cement yourself as a fucking king when you can survive that.”

“He's the whole reason Quinn went into the business to begin with,” Nathan says.  “To work with the man. All but had to beg Nik to give him a chance.  He was over the fucking moon when she took him on and sent him into Guatemala. It was his first big gig. First extraction. And when McMann tipped his hand, Quinn found out about what he was up to and he went after him. To stop him.  Which he did. But...”

“Jesus Christ.” Esme mutters, and lays a hand on her stomach; feeling nauseous.

“McMann never wanted Tyler's help,” Mark tells her. “This was all a set up from the very beginning. Both him and his wife are in on it. But the kids are missing. That part is true.  But McMann brought Tyler here to kill him. Because he failed the first time.  And he knew that Tyler would take the bait.  What other way to get him to cooperate? A guy that has four kids of his own? He knew if he brought children into this, Tyler wouldn't say no. So now, here we are.  Caught up in one big shitty fucking mess.”

“But the kids are still missing,” Esme concludes. “They still need his help. Tyler's help.”

“He's the only one that can help them,” Mark says.  “And hopefully we can work together to stop him from dying in the process.”

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Maybe I Am? - Chpt.4

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Steve frets over his growing interest Bucky and decides to take things to the ~next level~. Master list HERE.

Content Warning: Some truly fantastic blow jobs. Steve being neurotic about what this means for him.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I’m really excited so many of you are enjoying this fic so far. I don’t know why, but I just got super invested in these characters from the start even though it’s one of my shorter fics. I was literally screeching to my best friend on daily basis while writing this LOL. So thank you for all the sweet feedback and likes and reblogs. Ya’ll make my day! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Four

They fell into a rhythm faster than either one had really expected. They text periodically throughout their days, just silly things they’d found or something about their day they wanted to laugh about or bemoan together. Thanks to Steve being able to adjust his schedule and Bucky working a basic 9-5, they were able to meet up on Friday nights for a date night and typically one other weeknight when they were both free. Sundays became their farmers market day, when they could wander around the busy market in the warm summer sun and drink entirely too many iced coffees. Despite the routine, labels were never used or brought up. Neither man quite sure how to define what they were doing. They were happy with their little routine, neither of them looking to shake things up, but there had been a few times where after weeks of second base, they both wondered when it might be time for more. Steve was terrified of finding his limit and wasn’t willing to risk what they had. Bucky was terrified of pushing Steve too fast and had bitten his tongue a few times when in the heat of the moment he had almost begged to taste Steve’s cock.

It had been over a month of swapping hand jobs and what Steve had learned was called frottage, thank you Google. Steve figured if he didn’t try to mix things up soon he’d never really know where his limit lied. And with how quickly his feelings for Bucky were developing he needed to start figuring things out fast. He was going to be in a world of pain if and when he reached the limit of what he was sexually interested in. Steve had been in rough shape when Peggy left him but the idea of leaving Bucky seemed a thousand times worse already.

Steve finally gathered the nerve to turn on his privacy mode search and look up tips on blow jobs. What he got was a horrific amount of bad porn and women's magazine articles. Most were absolute trash but he did find a few good tips. Though in the end, Steve figured he’d just have to assume what felt good being done to him would most likely feel good for Bucky. As long as he didn’t puke the second it was in his mouth, he was going to consider whatever happened progress. The idea didn’t seem too terrible in theory but Steve’s nerves were still running wild. 

They were curled up on Steve’s sofa, Bucky tracing the lines of Steve’s muscles along his chest and stomach. The movie had ended a few minutes before but neither man was willing to move just yet. Steve took a breath and decided it was do or die time. Bucky deserved someone who wasn’t trapped on second base forever. “Hey, Buck.” Steve said quietly, waiting for Bucky to look up at him, “Would it be okay if I sucked your dick? I think I could.” 

Bucky took a moment to replay Steve’s words in his head. Nope, still sounded the same. What in the actual fuck?! “Steve, honey, you don’t have to do that if you’re not ready.” Bucky assured him, “I’m so happy with you, with us. Don’t feel like you have to do this unless you really want to.” 

Steve sighed, half tempted to take the way out Bucky had offered him. “No, I want to. I do. I just… I’m worried. What happens if I don’t like doing it? If I can’t do it.”

“Then you can’t, Stevie. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like I’d ever expect it from you. Hell, my ex probably only did it twice in the year we were together.” 

“What?” that caught Steve’s attention, “Why?” 

Bucky huffed a laugh, “Not all gay guys enjoy sucking cock. And Brock was an asshole, so who knows the real reason. I don’t really believe what he used to say. He, uh, he said a lot of things just to be hurtful.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Steve kissed Bucky softly, wondering how bad his ex really was. He never really talked about it and Steve worried it was worse than Bucky let on. “I do want to try it with you though. You don’t have to reciprocate or anything, I just need to know if I can do this. For me. I’m still trying to figure things out and I need to know.” 

“Okay, we can try. And for the record,” he added with a smirk, “I love giving head.” 

The sound Steve made at Bucky’s declaration was barely more than a high pitched whine and Bucky cackled like Satan himself with delight. 

“Come here you.” Steve cajoled him, pulling Bucky close to resume their kisses. Steve waited until Bucky was making the soft little moans he’d come to know so well. The sign that he was getting impatient and needy for Steve to get him off. Steve loved how easy it was to bring him to that point. Steve pulled back, giving Bucky’s still clothed dick a squeeze before he slipped down onto the floor between Bucky’s legs. Resting on his knees, he helped Bucky get his pants and underwear off, another pair of those silky boxers Bucky seemed to favor that made Steve want to rut up against the silky material like a madman. They had done that once a few weeks earlier. Steve had been completely naked and Bucky in only his silky boxers, they had rutted against one another through the fabric until both their orgasms had snuck up on them before they could help themselves. It had been a little embarrassing but mostly wonderful. 

Steve teased Bucky’s shaft a little, trying to work up his courage now that he was down there. Bucky’s hair was blessedly well trimmed and Steve realized he probably should have afforded the same courtesy for Bucky. He made a mental note to take care of that before the next time. If there would be a next time. A small bead of precome formed on the tip and Steve jumped on the opportunity. Leaning forward Steve lapped at the drip of liquid, waiting to see if he could get past the taste. He’d never minded going down on women but he worried a man would be just too different. To his surprise, it wasn’t awful. Not exactly something he would crave, but the bitter tang on his tongue was manageable. Encouraged, Steve braced his palms on Bucky’s hips and tentatively lowered his mouth around Bucky’s dick.

Bucky wanted to weep at the sight of Steve licking the little bead of precome off the tip of his cock. His beautiful blonde adonis settled so easily between his legs was a sight to behold. When Steve took the head into his mouth Bucky fought to stay still, letting Steve take his time and figure things out. Though much to his delight Steve figured it out pretty quickly. He barely got half the way down Bucky’s shaft with the first few eager bobs of his head but it was enough to have Bucky trembling beneath him. Steve looked up through his impossibly long lashes and Bucky about lost it. He threaded his fingers through Steve’s thick blonde hair, giving him a soft smile of adoration. Steve resumed his tentative sucking, testing how far down he could go comfortably, too afraid of gagging himself and ruining the moment. The more he bobbed the more confident he grew, carefully hollowing his cheeks to increase the suction around Bucky’s dick. He started lapping his tongue along the underside too, reveling in the way Bucky completely lost his composure when he did that. 

There was something powerful being able to bring Bucky to a babbling mess with a few swipes of his tongue. Giving head was nothing like Steve had feared it would be. It was better than he could have expected and he found that the things he’d always loved about going down on a woman, he loved about going down on Bucky. The trembling thighs bracketing his head, the deep earthy scent of being at someone’s core, the trust it took for someone to let him do this, even the way curly short hairs tickled his nose when he pressed in deep. Steve felt himself getting worked up as he continued and he reached down for a moment to push his growing erection down with the heel of his hand. He wondered briefly if maybe next time he could multitask enough to get himself off while going down on Bucky. Because there was damn well going to be a next time at this rate.

Bucky knew he wasn’t going to last as long as he’d wanted to as soon as Steve started experimenting with his tongue. He wanted to give Steve as much warning as he could but all that he could come up with was filthy praise. “God, Stevie,” he panted out, half delirious, “That’s so good, honey. God just like that, yeah. Oh god you’re so good at that. Driving me wild, honey.” 

Steve made a muffled happy noise at the praise and the vibrations in his throat went straight to Bucky’s dick. He keened, trying to hold back his eminent release. “Stevie.” he pleaded, “Stevie wait. I’m gonna. Shit honey, I can’t… I’m gonna.” 

Steve was undeterred knowing what was, quite literally, coming next. He took Bucky in as deep as he could, figuring that would be easiest, and gave one last burst of intense suction until Bucky was coming down his throat, hot and fast. It was startling but after he got past the initial shock it was over before he could really mind. Steve pulled back once Bucky finished, settling back to sit on his heels with a smug grin on his face. Bucky, on the other hand, looked positively wrecked. 

“Jesus God, honey.” Bucky finally rasped out in disbelief. “That was…” he shook his head, “That was perfection.” 

“I did okay?” Steve forced himself to ask, needing to ensure he really had done an at least passable job. He was still a little breathless, his dick half chubbed in his pants and growing as he took in Bucky’s post orgasmic glow. 

“Better than okay. You were amazing.” Bucky reached out and took both of Steve’s hands in his, needing to ensure he was alright.  “Are you okay though? Really? That wasn’t too much or anything? You really didn’t have to swallow.” 

“It was fine,” Steve answered truthfully, “I loved seeing you so blissed out like that, knowing I was the one making you feel that way. And swallowing was over before I could really process it, so no big deal.” 

“You are one in a fucking million, Steve Rogers.” Bucky shifted forward so he could kiss his man, so overwhelmed with affection for him. He pulled him up after a few heated kisses, wanting to feel those solid muscles crowding him in. Bucky raised an eyebrow as Steve leaned himself up and onto Bucky. “Um,” he tried not to chuckle, “It seems like someone really did enjoy himself.”

Steve blushed lightly, hiding his face in the curve of Bucky’s neck, “Mhm. I, uh, I enjoyed it quite a bit.” 

At that Bucky did let out a short cackle, raining kisses down on Steve’s blushing face, “You’re a fucking gem. God, I…” Bucky cut himself off with a sharp cough. “A real fucking gem, honey.” He added somewhat lamely.

Steve was oblivious to Bucky’s misstep, practically preening under the affection and praise, still teetering on the edge of full arousal. He would have been more than happy to continue skirting that edge, Bucky’s hand rubbing against him lightly while they necked like teenagers. But Bucky was not going to pass up the opportunity to get Steve’s cock in his mouth at last. He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d bragged he loved sucking cock. He truly did. Every part of it, too. And because of his enthusiasm he’d had plenty of practice over the years. Bucky was thankful for that practice, too, because even after the newness of Steve had started to wear off, he was still convinced Steve had the absolute most beautiful cock he’d ever seen. It was like going from the minors to the big leagues, he mused happily.

“Hey, honey.” he crooned in between kisses, “Can I return the favor?”

“Hm?” Steve murmured, confused.

“I’ve been dying to get your cock in my mouth for weeks. Please? Let me return the favor?” 

Steve’s choked off moan was answer enough but he forced out his words, “Yeah. God, yeah, Buck. But only if you want to.” 

“Oh I want to. Believe me. I’d have to be crazy not to want you.” 

Steve huffed a light laugh as Bucky drug the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs down, moving himself down the length of Steve’s body in the process. He was fully hard and the head slapped against the hard V shaped plane of his lower stomach, leaving a trail of precome where it landed. 

Bucky had his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock seconds after tossing his clothes to the side. He wasn’t about to waste any time and he wanted to make sure this was a blow job Steve would never forget. He pulled out all his best tricks, alternating suction and speed, letting his hands knead at Steve’s balls while his mouth deep throated him like a champ, even running his nails along Steve’s inner thighs while dragging just the slightest hint of bottom teeth along the underside of his cock. Steve was barely coherent after the last one and Bucky wondered if anyone had ever played with Steve’s ass before. His whole body shook fiercely when Bucky’s hands would glance over his taint and brush over the curve of his ass right behind it. Bucky was tempted, so tempted, and while he was still worried about freaking Steve out, if he played his cards right Steve was in for one hell of a treat.

Bucky started his exploration slow, keeping his mouth busy with a steady holding pattern of torture. Enough that Steve was still making those gorgeous little noises in the back of his throat, but not enough that he was in danger of coming. It gave him enough time to sneak his index finger along Steve’s taint and then slip between his ass cheeks for a quick flick.

Steve’s whole body jerked when the pad of Bucky’s finger ghosted over his surprisingly sensitive hole. It was unexpected but felt too good for him to object. Steve knew if he spoke up Bucky would stop, but in the heat of the moment he wanted to ride it out to see where things went. He trusted Bucky wouldn’t push him too hard too fast, so he just focused on trying to stay in his seat and not choking the poor beautiful man between his legs with an unintended thrust. 

Bucky wanted to cheer at Steve’s reaction and it emboldened him to keep exploring. He let the tip of his finger flutter against Steve’s hole as he continued to suck his shaft down as deep as he comfortably could. He cupped Steve’s balls with his other hand, adding that sensation to the mix as well with stellar results. 

“Shit,” Steve keened, “Buck, baby, shitshitshit. I’m gonna…”

Bucky just nodded as he bobbed his head, fully aware of where Steve was at and what he needed to do to take him over the edge. Pressing firmly with the tip of his finger he pushed ever so slightly into Steve’s hole, not enough to breach that tight ring of muscle inside but enough to be felt. Steve was writhing and then Bucky wiggled his finger, just gently, while hollowing out his cheeks and giving Steve’s balls a squeeze. 

Steve shattered. 

It was too much all at once and he came with a broken sob as his body shook almost violently. He had no control over his limbs or his voice as great sobbing moans broke free from his chest. His body trembled even after his orgasm began to fade and Bucky clamored up onto the sofa next to him. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve from the side, tugging him close and holding on to him tightly. It took a long minute for Steve to compose himself and for the world to really come back into to focus for him. But when he finally did, it was to Bucky holding him, rubbing soothing circles on his back with one hand, and whispering sweet nonsense in his ear. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so protected and cherished. Tears prickled at his eyes and he didn’t dare speak until he was certain he could trust his voice. 

Bucky noticed as Steve became more aware of himself, but he pretended to ignore the little tears that welled in the corners of the other man’s eyes. Steve sniffed harshly, letting out a long woosh of a breath. “That was….” he trailed off, at a loss for adequate words.

Bucky grinned and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, cuddling in a little. “Told ya I love giving head.” 

“You’re like the fucking king of it. My knees are still all tingly.” 

“Aww, honey. It wasn’t too much, was it? I know we didn’t talk about ass play yet but I figured a little tease wouldn’t hurt.” 

“I’m glad we didn’t.” Steve admitted quietly, “I probably would have psyched myself out of it. And it was… okay? Good?” 

“Thank you, for trusting me like that. We should talk about it, though. Figure out what you’re willing to try, and go at a pace you’re comfortable with. It can be so good, honey, you got no idea.” 

“Oh, I got a little bit of an idea.” Steve laughed. 

Bucky chuckled with him, “Yeah, I guess you did. I won’t rush you though, promise. We can take as long as you need.” 

“I don’t-” Steve started and stopped with a frown, “I don’t know how long that’ll be, Buck. I’m sorry. I want to be better for you but I’m still a little scared.” 

Bucky’s heart was bursting at Steve’s admission. “I know, and it’s okay. We’ll go at your pace. And I’m not asking you to bottom for me. I prefer that myself, actually.” 

Steve groaned a little imagining Bucky coming apart underneath him while he fucked the smaller man into the mattress. He was getting ahead of himself but it was a damn nice image. “We’ll get there.” Steve promised to him, as much as to himself. 

They stayed curled up for a little longer until the air conditioning proved too strong and they both pulled their pants back up over goosebumped legs. Bucky begged off after that, to both of their disappointments. It was late and reasonably they both needed sleep but still, Bucky knew it wouldn’t be long until one of them cracked and they started spending the night together. 

Steve looked around his apartment after Bucky headed out, painfully aware of how empty and silent it was. Part of him wished he’d asked Bucky to stay. Not that he could have, he didn’t have overnight stuff with him, but Steve hated going to bed alone after such a nice evening. That had been the hardest part of adapting to life post-Peggy, sleeping alone again. She had never been much of a cuddler, much to Steve’s disappointment, but she at least warmed the other side of his too big bed. 

As Steve curled up in still too big bed, he worried that things with Bucky were all going to be over in a blink. That things were destined to become just a distant memory of the time Steve had tried something different for a while. His heart ached thinking about it. But what was the alternative? He and Bucky actually made it work? He would come out as gay? Bi? To all his friends and coworkers? Explain that no he hadn’t lost his mind, it really just took him thirty years of life to realize he liked men. Would he and Bucky slowly merge their things until they were practically living together? Would his early class day alarm drive Bucky crazy three days a week? Would he bring flowers home after exasperating Bucky over something silly like forgetting to fold his clothes or leaving dishes in the sink? Would Bucky save him a warm plate of dinner on the nights he had to work late? Steve’s mind swam with possibilities he’d never really let himself consider before. He knew it was foolish to dream, that this was a nice fantasy but he’d soon have to get back to real life, as much as it pained him. Still, despite the warnings he gave himself, Steve drifted off to sleep with the dreams of early morning cuddles and quiet late night conversations in his mind. 

[fuck-customers]

Hotel Hell: Sport Teams Edition

TW drunk driving

This is a long one so TL;DR is sport parents staying at my hotel got pissed off at me for doing their job since they wanted to get drunk in the lobby instead of watch their kids.

Working in hospitality was the worst experience of my life.  Worse than when my mom passed away in terms of stress levels.

We'd get sports teams on the weekends and they are the absolute WORST.  All the parents getting trashed in the lobby for all hours of the night while their kids run around and destroy everything and disturb other guests that have the misfortune of staying at the same time.  Cleaning out the breakfast buffet (we do our best to put out enough food but that doesn't stop some guests from piling a mountain on their plate).  Use up all the extra towels and blankets (and then refuse cleaning service so we can't grab the dirty stuff and wash it so we run out).  Play soccer/hockey/baseball/whatever in the hallways and parents were fine with this????  Play ding-dong-ditch on other guests.  Fucking awful.  Especially since weekend staff usually only had one person on desk so you're pretty much SOL once housekeeping and maintenance leave in the afternoon.

Every Sunday front desk and housekeeping would hold our breaths waiting for them to GTFO so we could finally clean up the horrific mess in their wake.

The worst one was last October.  It was a couple different hockey teams staying with us.  Noise complaints were the worst to deal with because by the time you get up there the kids have moved and it's quiet again.  I'd already issued one warning to a guy and his kids because they were being disruptive to other guests and told them next time they'd be asked to leave.  Dude got pissy with me like "so you'd throw a bunch of kids out on the street?"  Uh yes sir when you won't control them and they keep disturbing other people who are paying more than you are to stay here (group rates, gotta love 'em) I WILL ask you to leave.  He huffed and rolled his eyes and went into his room.

Next night all the parents are downstairs in the lobby getting drunk as skunks while their kids are pulling the same fucking shenanigans even though I'd asked multiple times for them to please get them under control.  I get a noise complaint call from another guest and go upstairs to investigate.  I hear noise from a room and knock on the door.  Lady across the hall peeks out and tells me there's kids by themselves in the room.  The parents know they're not supposed to leave kids unsupervised.  I knock again and do the 3-knock rule - knock once, wait for an answer.  Knock twice, announce you're coming in.  Knock third time, announce you're opening the door now and then open the door.  The kids had gone silent when I'd started knocking but I wasn't going to leave them unsupervised so I finished the knock rule and opened the door.  Asked for their guardian, they said there wasn't one with them so I asked them to take me to them so they all get their shoes and we traipse down to the lobby.  I informed the parents that I was getting noise complaints and they needed to supervise their kids.  The parents were annoyed (as they had been all night) but were dealing with them and it seemed ok until the kids told them I opened the door.  All of a sudden I have a fucking SWARM of drunk parents screaming in my face telling me I had no right blah blah blah (actually, yeah I do when I'm getting noise complaints, can hear where the noise is coming from, and they won't open the door), the angry dad from previous night had his finger in my face, spittle flying.  Another mom yelling about how her kid has anxiety and I just fucking asked why she wasn't watching him then and went to the back office to call my boss to let him know about the situation.

They fucking complained to corporate ON TWITTER (my boss told me this, I didn't see it).  I know there was some ass kissing my GM had to do (yay hospitality) but those fucks can eat my entire ass because I didn't even get reprimanded and my GM told me I did the right thing. :)

Also some of these pukes will drive their families to the sporting event while still reeking of alcohol.