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scripts4dreamers · 4 years ago

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And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

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You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

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Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler

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leo-gold-hotchner · 3 years ago

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HELLo, Underworld - 1

I decided to just split up cuz I couldn’t continue more with my sleep deprived brain. I just love Greek Mythology and couldn’t keep the idea from my head. If anyone asks my religion, I’m ready to tell them my religion lies with Greek Myth.

My intention was Hotch appearing in the fic, but o well. Foyet. Don’t know about others but definitely Hotch and Reid will be spotted.

G.N. Reader friendship(?) George Foyet

G.N. Reader X Aaron Hotchner (LATER just not this chapter)

Summary: Reader is no longer living and arrived in Underworld. And you decided to make friends with the residents of Underworld.

Word: 1.4k

The void of darkness. That was the name of the place you dubbed as soon as your brain started to function. Despite being in a dark space you could see around you as if there was light. Beautiful white luminescence speckles sparkled like a clear night sky. You blinked. You weren’t scared strangely enough. Curiously, yet hesitantly you took a step and the floor made gentle waves as if a drop of water splashed in the vast calming ocean.

As you walked forward an exit full of bright light welcomed you. You looked back into the darkness, wondering what you were forgetting, wondering why you were feeling you were leaving a very important piece of something in life. But something was pulling you into the light. Despite the unnatural pulling, you didn’t want to enter the light.

You had a feeling that if you entered the light, you’d lose yourself. Losing who you were was a scary thing. You jumped as a voice talked in your head. From the voice, you couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The voice echoed in your head, but it wasn’t scary. It felt more natural.

‘You might lose your sanity if you linger with your mind too long.’

“Who am I talking to?”

‘I am everything, yet nothing.’ The voice replied in a riddle. ‘Many choose to give up who they are, choosing a second chance of life.’

Perhaps you should’ve stayed in the void. Perhaps you should’ve chosen a second chance, forgetting everything you experienced while you lived. The darkness was gentle, like a warm affectionate hug from people you love. But here? You were wondering what you did to deserve this kind of strange experience.

You made a sour face to yourself as you observed your surroundings. The sky was blood red with threatening looking dark clouds hovering above you. The land looked deserted with harsh rocks and dried soils, dead trees and grass withered sadly. Red-ish dried dirt flew alongside with a stuffy wind.

You were not the only one in this terrible place. Men, women, old, young, children, even toddlers were absentmindedly walking -crawling for young ones- towards somewhere in lines. You tried to stop one of them and talk, but they didn’t stop to hear you. Just with a blank face they walked like a robot that was designed to just walk. Their destinations seemed to be the same one. Watching the march warily, you decided to follow them. While following them, you looked at the children and you felt ill. No children shouldn’t arrive in the afterlife before experiencing what the world could offer to them.

As you walked, you saw a beautiful large pantheon on the hill. It looked as if the white pantheon was glowing in hope in this desperate land. You nearly tripped as you bumped into the person in front of you while your eyes were on the glowing architecture.

“Sorry,” you muttered an apology despite the person in front of you didn’t show any reaction.

As you turned to see why the march stopped, your mouth hung a little as you gaped at an enormous ship. The ship was black, emitting a creepy aura like a monster engulfing people. The shade of the dead. People were climbing tall stairs to board the ship with their blank faces.

“Boat?”

“A ship, mortal,” a gruff voice drawled next to you.

You jumped as you didn’t notice a man in a black hood standing next to you. He was leaning on a tall pole that was wrapped around with heavy chains several times. You could see grey peppered hair under the hood, and the black cloak couldn’t hide the sharp eyes of the man. His lips were curled in an arrogant smirk.

“I haven’t seen a mortal who chose to keep their memory for a long time.” The man curled his long bony finger to you. “Unless you want to cross the Five Rivers with your previous life, I’d stop there.”

You looked at the marching people, one by one boarding the ship anchored on the transparent yet eery water. You pondered a little and decided to listen to the man. You took a step away from the marching as you kept your curious glance to the pale man. You were already dead. What was the harm to listen to this man?

“What happens when I cross with my memory?”

“There was one time when they’d gone insane.” The man cackled as if he was telling a funny joke. “You mortals are funny in that way, think you could achieve anything with your little power.”

You scowled but kept your comment to yourself. Apparently, the man wasn’t ‘mortal’ as you.

“Since then, my boss explicitly ordered me not to let any mortals with their previous life cross the Rivers.” He shrugged. “No sense of humour, that man.”

As the man looked over your shoulder, you twirled and noticed you could see the end of the march.

“That’s the portion of this afternoon.” The man explained as if he was answering your curiosity.

“I didn’t know it was afternoon.” You looked around the cloud filled sky, but you couldn’t spot the Sun.

“Helios doesn’t come down as far as here, so Apollo doesn’t reach here. You wouldn’t know if you just arrived here.” He gave you a wicked grin. “Besides, Kronos doesn’t do anything here. I just felt like afternoon. It could be evening.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

You just raised a brow and the man mirrored with a sharp grin. The end was slowly coming as people -though you didn’t know if they were people now- boarded the ominous ship.

“You don’t have any obligation to answer me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m merely bored. It’s not every day I get to speak with someone who can actually have a talk with me.” He glanced at the mindless people. “Without their previous memories, they’re just empty souls crossing the Rivers.”

The man then started to follow the last person on the march. He wagged his bony finger at your face as soon as you started to follow him.

“Haven’t you heard what I said? You can’t go with them.”

“But what am I going to do here?” You snapped in frustration.

“Not my problem. You could always look for my boss.” He scoffed but added the last sentence without a beat.

“Your boss?”

“He’s somewhere here. Wallowing in his misery all the time. But he’s here. If you look carefully, you might find him and tell him you want to leave.”

“Who’s he?”

“Hades,” he rolled his eyes as if it was a matter-of-fact.

You should’ve known when he was blabbering about the Greek Gods’ names. Of course you were in the Underworld ruled by the God of Underworld, Hades. You glanced at the River, and then the ship, then to the man.

“You’re Charon the Ferryman.”

“Half-correct.” The man showed his crooked teeth, and you frowned. “As you took some of my boredom of this tedious and horrendous job, I’ll tell you as a reward.” He peeked his behind to see the last passenger boarding his ship. “The name’s George.”

That was unexpected. The name was just so… mortal.

“I was once a mortal, mind you.” He gave you a pointed look. “This is my punishment for my sin. I guide people across the Rivers and watch them arrive in Elysion to get a chance to be reborn. I was given to Charon, the original ferryman. I do the duty of the ferryman now. Living in this chain of monotonous life without any fun.”

“So, you were a mortal.”

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

“You talked to me as if you were not mortal.” You scoffed.

“I am no longer mortal.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have to go. Both my boss and master won’t be happy if I delay ferrying the souls.” He busied himself by manually moving the stairs.

“Well, thanks for telling me. And bye.”

George stopped himself and looked at you strangely. “You’re an interesting person.”

“I’m sure that’s a compliment from a man who’d met many people.”

The ferryman surprisingly chuckled at you. “Good luck with finding Lord Hades. Or should I say break your leg as mortals say?”

“If I break my leg I can’t find him,” you retorted drily.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want that.”

You blinked as the man suddenly disappeared in black cloud. Then you heard his yelling from the deck of the ship. He pointed his finger behind you. He was pointing at the beautiful pantheon.

“Other Gods visit there sometimes. If you get lucky, ask them, you want to have an audience with my boss.”

His voice echoed in your ears as you fixed your gaze at the pantheon. When you finally turned to thank George, the ship had already sailed, and he was gone from the deck.

To the pantheon then.

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In case anyone who aren’t familiar with Greek Myth

Helios - God of Sun

Apollo - God of Sun and other things -the list is too long- (but I think he’s more like Sunlight rather than the Sun itself)

Kronos - God of Time (sometimes Chronos and Kronos become one, but they’re different gods)

Charon - the ferryman of Underworld

Hades - God of Underworld

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #george foyet #gender neutral reader #criminal minds & greek myth #hello underworld

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kisekinodrabbles · 4 years ago

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helloo! i'd like to request something for the prompt game please :D kasamatsu + band!au + strangers to lovers + dialogue number 14 if that's okay? thanks, sam! and welcome back~

ofc!!! i tried to keep it shorter but im a bit rusty w my kasamatsu hehe hope u enjoy! wc: 2.3k

Kasamatsu admits that balancing his band and college work isn’t exactly an easy task. Between late evenings spent at gigs and all nights at the library, he is on the brink of his sanity, standing right at the tipping point. He yawns as he enters his nine am mandatory calculus class, another mistake made in his overconfidence that he would somehow be able to get his shit together.

You, on the other hand, are a closeted fan of his band, sitting three rows behind him in class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you watch him drag his feet in and his hand lifting to his mouth in a yawn. Quickly, you duck behind your book as if Kasamatsu would ever give you the time of day. The brunette is well-known on campus with his successful group and good looks, not to mention he also dabbles a little in basketball while also maintaining a decent grade point average across all his classes. Triple threat, they call him.

When you first came into class and saw him there, shocked is an understatement. You’ve been following his band his high school from across the country. To see him in the flesh, so real and so human with his tired eyes, it almost feels like a dream. One you hope nobody would ever pinch you awake from. Thus, you made it your goal to be there before him every morning, which is a feat in itself. Kasamatsu may be grinding through the night and falling asleep in lectures, but he’ll be damned if he shows up late to class.

Throughout several weeks, you’ve seen girls come up to him left and right, shot down almost immediately by his intention to focus on the professor’s words. He lets them down easy and makes it clear that he pays thousands of dollars to study, not play IRL Tinder. This man gets sexier everyday.

You take your time packing your things when class is over, mainly because you’re too distracted watching Kasamatsu do the same. He is blind, or chooses to ignore, the whispers and shy glances thrown his way. Perhaps this is why you haven’t approached him yourself. You’re just one of his many admirers, a stroke in the massive painting of his life. Sighing, you pick up your pitiful self and make your way to the dining hall where you’re supposed to meet your friend for breakfast.

When the two of you settle on a table, you begin your weekly rambling about how beautiful Kasamatsu looks in the morning. Moriyama, being the good friend that he is, nods and listens intently.

Moriyama is an intriguing character. The two of you met because he had tried a line on you. In your perpetual state of flustered embarrassment, you had stupidly confessed to him: “Sorry, my heart belongs to Kasamatsu Yukio.”

In another twist of fate, he revealed that he had actually gone to high school with the guy and knew him pretty well.

“You know I can introduce you to him, right? No need for all this pining and drooling from three feet away.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue, “he’s practically a living legend on campus. I’m too intimidated to even breathe in the same air as him.” Your obsession has perhaps taken you too far, but if you expect to continue being his fan, the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“You’re so overdramatic,” Moriyama rolls his eyes. Coming from him, this sentence means a lot.

“What? It’s not my fault Kasamatsu’s so hot. He could bang me so hard backstage then pretend I don’t exist and I would still pay to watch his next show,” you groan, spooning yogurt into your mouth.

In that moment, several things happen. Moriyama’s eyes widen and fly behind you. Footsteps sounding at that same spot suddenly cease completely. You, realizing what possibly just happened, feel the heat flare up your cheeks.

Kasamatsu, in his sleep deprived state and probably completely delirious, had stopped in his tracks. His head whipped around to the source of the comment, finding Moriyama sitting with someone who looks distinctly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kasamatsu—”

Before Moriyama can even finish his sentence, Kasamatsu is already blurting out. “Okay, maybe I’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?”

You want to crawl into your hole six feet underground and never see the light of day again. Ducking your head, you don’t even want to chance a glance up. The utter mortification is chewing away at your bones and you wish you could just evaporate into thin air.

Moriyama quickly interjects with a quick laugh, “Hear what? Also how have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in forever. Come join us for breakfast.”

Kasamatsu’s brows pucker. Maybe he really is going insane. And horny. Which is a very bad combination. Nevertheless, he slides into the empty seat next to Moriyama. He stares at you for a few seconds, squinting, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, I remember now. You’re in my calculus class.”

He knows you? “How do you know me?” you squeak, cursing your fangirl self for losing your voice. You never speak up in class, always choosing to come up to your professor for questions at the end of lecture. You’re quiet and tucked away behind him, so you never expected him to recognize you.

The smile he sends you is blinding. Even with shadows under his eyes, he still looks gorgeous. “You’re always first to arrive and last to leave. Figured you’re a hard worker in class and probably acing it.”

Your mouth dries. Kasamatsu noticed you. He actually noticed you. “Oh, um, I’m okay. I’m okay in class, I mean.”

“The question you should be asking is her name, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama scolds, smacking his back.

Kasamatsu pinks sheepishly. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Kasamatsu Yukio, by the way.”

Idiotically, you blurt out “I know” before your name. When you finally introduce yourself, you also clarify, “I’m a huge fan of Blue Devils. I mean, I’ve been following you guys since like high school. Absolutely love your music.”

The man actually reddens even further, but still he beams proudly. “Thank you! That’s crazy. Have you been to our shows?”

Almost all of them. “A couple, yeah.”

“We have one tonight in an actual venue. Are you coming?”

“Ah, it was sold out before I could get a ticket, actually.”

Kasamatsu blinks, “Oh, you’re more than welcome to come. I can get you a pass. Both of you—if Moriyama’s interested.”

“That would be amazing!” You grin, “Is there anything I can get you in return? I don’t want to just accept a gift from you for free.”

“Well, if you are good at calc, I wouldn’t mind some extra tutoring,” he suggests with a teasing grin.

Moriyama rolls his eyes, “Just ask her out instead of using tutoring as an excuse.” The two of you sputter, face colored a dark shade of red. You’ll kick his ass when you get the chance.

—

That one mistake turned out to be the greatest opportunity of your life. In addition to attending his show that night and meeting all of his bandmates, each one more good looking up close than then other, you manage to have weekly study sessions (you’re holding off on calling it dates) with Kasamatsu. The two of you take turns booking rooms at the library to cram, which mainly consists of you reexplaining concepts to the man. Although he isn’t a bad student, he’s also still struggling a bit to keep up.

“Hey” is what you hear before you feel a warm surface press against your cheek. You look up to find Kasamatsu with a steaming cup in hand. Gratefully accepting it, you catch a whiff of freshly brewed tea. You take a sip and smile. Black tea, no sugar. “Just the way I like it.”

“Noticed you never add anything to your tea,” Kasamatsu says almost proudly.

You raise the cup to him in thanks. Both of you go through your usual routine—you focusing on reviewing material for next week while Kasamatsu pores over his notes from this week, occasionally poking you to ask questions.

Honestly, a big part of you still wonders if this is all a dream. This guy you’ve been crushing on for years is sitting in the flesh right across from you. You peek at him from time to time, watching the way he frowns at his book. His blue, almost grey, eyes shine underneath the flickering lights. Even the way his lips curl unhappily is cute.

When he catches you staring, you quickly drop your gaze back to your laptop, missing the way he smiles quietly.

“Will you come to our show this weekend?” He asks as the two of you pack up.

“Ah, I have a shift at my part-time job.”

He looks surprised, “That late?”

You shrug, “Food never sleeps, I guess. It’s at the burger diner by campus.”

“Oh, are you guys open late?”

“Close at one.”

He nods, “Maybe I’ll see you there after then. The guys usually get really hungry after a gig so we can drive some business your way. I’ll make sure they tip well too.”

Your heart warms at the thought. It’s a thoughtful gesture but you’re even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. “Sounds good.”

True to his word, Kasamatsu brings the guys to your workplace at midnight after their show ended. They order quite a spread, practically everything on the menu. Kasamatsu goes as far as to help you carry orders to their table. You shoot him an appreciative smile.

Over the time your friendship has bloomed, Kasamatsu has been nothing but a gentleman. He walks you home to your dorm if you’re studying late into the night. He meets you in class with a muffin or a cookie from his early Starbucks runs. Surprisingly, he begins placing himself next to you each session. “This is better anyway,” he mutters. “Two birds, one stone.”

His vague words had you tilting your head in question.

“I don’t have random people coming up to me to sit with me and, well, I get to enjoy your company.” It’s a nice thought—him enjoying your company, that is. He had blushed a little when he realized what you said, but chose to direct his attention to the slides pulled up before him, missing the way you hide your smile behind your sleeve.

Now, you hear the rowdy boys chattering on as they devour their meal as if it’s their last. They speak through mouthfuls of burgers and fries, but you find the sight endearing, mainly because you’ve never seen Kasamatsu so relaxed. It’s quite refreshing really. Your attention is piqued when you hear one of them ask: “So doing it tonight huh?”

Kasamatsu retorts with a “shut the fuck up” and flings a fry his way. The way the other guy wiggles his brows suggestively has you freezing. What if he was meeting up with someone tonight? What if he was going to do the deed?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint cracking of your heart. Of course, Kasamatsu is popular. It’s no surprise he’s got his nights covered as well. You sigh dejectedly, feeling the hope inside you crumble into dust. The rest of your shift goes by rather uneventfully, but you try to avoid going to their table too much, lest you hear more details about Kasamatsu’s planned tryst. The man himself steals glances your way, wondering if you’ll be checking on them anytime soon.

“Your check,” you smile as you set the bill on the table, “I got the owner to give you a discount since you guys ordered a good amount.”

All of their eyes seem to sparkle as they thank you in unison, their synchrony almost puzzling. As you move to pick up the bill and change, Kasamatsu catches your hand before you move away. “What time does your shift end?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

The other guys are already packing up their things and giving you little waves as they exit the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone. “I’ll walk you home, it’s late,” he murmurs, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I usually take the bus back anyway so it’s no big deal.” You want to confirm whether he had plans that night anyway. You’d hate to be in the way of that.

He shakes his head, “I insist. Also, um, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Catching up on studying most likely.”

“Oh,” he pauses, “if you have time tomorrow night, do you want to catch a movie with me? Maybe dinner after?”

You blink at him in surprise. Now that you’re looking at him properly, you notice that his cheeks are several shades darker than the red neon glow of the diner sign. He’s shifting on his feet and his other hand finds purchase on the strap of his bag, fidgeting with the material. “Um, like a date?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters slightly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve made that clear,” he coughs, “b-but if you don’t want it to be the we can also go as friends.” Perhaps you’ve tortured the boy long enough but you can’t help but relish in his awkward chuckle as his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck nervously.

Biting back a huge grin, you nod. “It’s a date.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes light up and a pleased grin spread across his face. “It’s a date.”

The hollering outside the building has the two of you whipping to face the window where his bandmates have their faces pressed up against the surface, laughing and smiling to congratulate and embarrass their friend. Kasamatsu flushes, “I’ll see you later to pick you up.”

You nod but he’s already out the door, leaping to kick his friends away. “You stupid idiots!”

Laughing, you watch as the group makes kissy faces at Kasamatsu all the while the man fruitlessly attempts to shut them up. He really is cute.

#kuroko no basket #knb #kuroko no basuke #kasamatsu yukio #kasamatsu #knb drabbles #miffythoughts

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

youtube

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

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saokpe · 4 years ago

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HDLW Sibling Week 2020 - Day 5: Prank War

So I didn’t realize that I hadn’t finished today’s fic last night so please give a warm welcome to my sleep deprived installment to this week’s sibling extravaganza!

@hdlwsiblingweek2020

The Perfect Prank

“Quiet, silent, undetectable, like a predator about to jump on their prey.” Webby whispers, shifting her body behind the expansive cover the living room sofa allowed.

“But we’re the prey.” Dewey corrects.

“Yes, the most dangerous prey, the prey that haunts your dreams, the prey that tugs at the core of your sanity’s strings, the prey that, once eaten, rests uncontrollably in your gut for nights to come.” The still crouching girl continues.

“Wait, so do we WANT Louie to prank us?” The even more perplexed Dewford attempts to reason.

A third voice attempts to break through, reeling their eyes though their ears only catch a muffled imitation of language.

“Dude, we can’t hear you with the pillow in your face.” They look ahead, their control obsessed brother looking back between the cushions that surrounded him.

Through a moment of struggle, an arm, also surrounded by taped together bolsters, raises to push the disrupting pillow down. “I was saying that we can’t be speaking or Louie will realize we’re here!” Huey attempts to aprehess between his silent seething.

The three stealthed ducks duck lower behind the furniture piece, the space limited by Huey’s alternative armor.

“Do you really need to wear that?” A particularly annoyed Dewey aprehests.

“Yes. I do. Especially after last year….” The kid’s eyes slowly turn upwards, his gaze shooting aimlessly as a memory flashes before him. Suddenly he snaps back. “Louie has won these Prank Wars EVERY SINGLE YEAR! He even beat WEBBY last year! And she has spy level training.” Huey explains, still trying to lower his tone to an absolute minimum.

“It wasn’t fair! He said Scrooge had dropped his top hat, y’know how rare that is!? Some people think that it is magically attached and no one can remove it without his willingness.” Webby passionately excuses. Only catching odd glares as doubtful eyes question the validity of her statement. “Ok, I’m people! I think that! And just when I ran out to confirm or deny my theories, I WAS ONLY MET BY SLIPPERY BANANA PEELS AND HARD FLOOR!”

“Hmm…” The belated grunt of Louie echoes over them, their bodies tensing and shrinking quickly after.

“He’s moving.” Huey peeks over the chair. In his short recon mission, he sees his brother in a far from unusual position. Laid parallel to the couch, neck bent angular to the TV as it blared across his half-asleep face. The relaxing sibling, in the moment of view, shifted his body a bit closer to the couch’s edge, still inattentive to the espionage going on 6 feet away from him.

“Did he notice us?” Dewey anxiously asks.

“Ugh, it’s impossible to tell.” Huey assures, watching as Louie attempts to raise his arm, giving up after lifting four to five inches. “But I think we’re safe.”

“Phew….” Dewey lets out a sigh of relief, “Also, can we talk about how Webby slipped on a banana peel-”

“SHH!” Webby’s finger slams over her brother’s still expressive beak. “No we can’t.”

“Alright, it seems like our plan is working.” The pillow adorned sibling lowers behind his cover.

“Wait-” Dewey swats Webby’s still pressing finger away, “ -what’s our plan again?”

“Do nothing! Spend the day doing nothing, hence avoiding all his pranks, as Louie slowly goes insane wondering why no pranks have been done!” Webbigail excitedly finishes on Huey’s behalf. “It’s foolproof!”

Dewey, still as lost as he was prior to the question, looks back to his brother, only welcomed by his self-assured nodding. A personal revel in his plan’s genius.

Still aberrantly shocked by this shared idea, Dewey, in a rustic monotone, responds. “I’m starting to see why we lose every year.”

“SHH!” The girl to his left slams her index back over his lips. “He’s standing up!”

“What?!” Dewey dismisses the arm once more before popping his head over. It’s true, the hoodie wearing, couch slouching, Louie Duck stood from his seat, walking intently to the opposite hallway.

“Aha! It’s working!” Huey celebrates.

“What’s working?” Dewey still proves doubtful.

“The plan!” Webby starts, “He’s clearly getting tired of waiting and is off to see why we’ve yet to be pranked!”

Just as she finishes, the sound of subdued footsteps ring in Dewey’s ear. He peers once more, seeing the previously absent Louie stationing himself back on the sofa, now with a can of soda in hand.

“Uhm, I think he just went to get some Pep.”

“Oh-” Huey admits, “Well it’s just a matter of time before he falls victim to our perfect prank!” The clearly paranoid and cautious boy, dressed head to toe in protective pillow armor, preaches.

“Soon the prey will become the predator!” Webby adds, her mystic whispers aired with an oozing self-confidence.

Disbelief and realization, though juxtaposing, reflect perfectly over Dewey’s mind. “Guys…” He begins, “I think we’re just bad at pranks.”

The trio waited eight more hours for their plan to come into action. Slowly going insane wondering why Louie seemingly has done nothing more than watch TV all day. Louie had actually forgotten that today was the Prank War and as such had no pranks planned. That didn’t stop him from keeping his yearly streak, however, as, in a way, the other competitors pranked themselves.

#hdlw #ducktales #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #hdlw sibling week 2020

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skeletonsloverockcandy · 4 years ago

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When will my Reflection show who I am in Sides

Summary: Thomas gets home late after a day of recording videos with his friends. While walking up the stairs to his bedroom, he sees something strange in the hall mirror. Was that? No it couldn't be, he must be imagining things. He goes to bed only to find himself looking back in the mirror, only it isn't the Him he's supposed to see. Because Thomas isn't wearing glasses. Or an AU where the Sides only appear as Thomas's reflection, at what seems to be the most inconvenient times ever.

Warnings: Thomas fears he’s losing his sanity and Virgil causes him to be anxious but I think that’s it, Oh wait no, there’s some arguing too, but it’s pretty mild, also Remus and Janus are in this but I don’t know if they count as warnings or not.

Fandom: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders

Characters: Thomas Sanders/Character!Thomas, Logan/Logic Sanders, Patton/Morality Sanders, Roman “Princey”/Creativity Sanders, Janus/Deceit Sanders, Virgil/Anxiety Sanders, Remus “the Duke”/Dark Creativity Sanders

Word Count: 6,540

Author’s Note: I don’t generally do one shots, but this is getting me back in my writing groove, so I guess there’s a first time for everything. Also I don’t have a general writing taglist yet, so I’m just going to tag the people who are on my Hitchhiker taglist if that’s okay.

Ao3 Link

***

Thomas closed the door to his apartment, sighing as he set his keys down on the counter in the kitchen. He’d just had a long day of making videos with his friends. Gosh he loved his friends, he thought as he reminisced on the videos they were making today, remakes of old vines. It filled him with a sense of fondness and nostalgia that his little ragtag group of pals was willing to entertain his silly ideas even way back in the vine age.

He sighed again, good times.

He rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn, it was well after dark by now and he was looking forward to going to sleep…which is what he’s going to tell himself as he gets in bed, opens up his laptop and plays video games until 2 AM. But, well, he’s working on it.

He slips off his jacket while dragging his feet towards the stairs, trying to kick off his shoes at the same time.

Now no longer encumbered by his laced nemeses, Thomas can feel confident that he’ll tooooootally put his pajamas on before just flopping into bed. Totally. Yep. Definitely won’t sleep in his clothes.

Not a chance, is what he tells himself as he climbs his way up the staircase towards his room.

He passes the mirror in his hallway between his bathroom and his bedroom, mid yawn when he sees it, just for a moment.

Thomas does a double take, looking back in the mirror, and…yep, it’s just him.

He could’ve sworn for a moment there he saw scales, and a caplet. But no, it’s just him, Steven Universe shirt in all its glory, and not a hat to be found.

He got quite a jump there, wow his heart was beating fast, was he breathing heavy? It was just because he’s tired...he didn’t actually see...did he? No, no, that wasn’t possible. He just needed to make his way to bed, actually go to sleep on time for once, maybe not play video games until 2 AM. Yeah, that sounded good, he’d do that.

He opened the door to his room, very pointedly not looking at the hall mirror again, and set to go to sleep. Feeling that as long as he was actually going to sleep, he might as well put on some pajamas.

He slipped on a sleep shirt and some pajama pants stretching his arms out a little before climbing under the covers.

He checked his alarm clock, 10:02 PM. Wow, he never usually goes to bed that early. It’d be fine though, he could actually be a functioning human being for once.

As he went to turn off his lamp, he caught sight of the full-length mirror on his now-closed door. And he saw him standing there, another him, one wearing a tie and glasses and looking approvingly back at Thomas instead of the Thomas in pajamas and about to turn out the light that was supposed to be there.

“Ah! What the heck!” Thomas shouted, completely calmly and reasonably, he told himself.

He, however, would not deny that he completely uncalmly and unreasonably fell off the bed and took all the blankets with him, as he now lay in a sprawl on the floor.

Consequences of getting spooked while half leaning out of his bed, he supposed.

He carefully peaked up over the edge of his bed and thankfully only saw a normal looking, if rattled him staring back at himself like he was supposed to.

Thomas gulped and took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He was either seeing things, or he was being haunted, and he wasn’t sure either of those two options made him feel any better. Well, at least if it was the first option, it might be remedied by getting some rest. Surely, if he was seeing delusions of different Hims in the mirror, it was a sign of sleep deprivation? Yeah, yeah, that sounded right. But just in case…

Thomas grabbed the thin sheet that went under the heavy blankets and draped it over the bedroom mirror, feeling himself relax a bit.

Now maybe he could finally get to sleep…

***

It had been a little over a week since Thomas’s little doppelgänger encounter of the third kind happened, and he had not had an incident since going to sleep that night. He kept the sheet on his bedroom mirror up for a couple of nights after, but eventually reasoned with himself that whatever had happened that made him hallucinate, or whatever that was, was clearly a fluke of his exhausted mind since it hadn’t happened again, so keeping the sheet up was unreasonable. He had woken up early the day after and had been now coping with a weirdly adjusted sleep schedule. It felt odd waking up early, but whatever he had done to trick his body into going to sleep early that one night had clearly had lasting impacts, because he had woken up early and gone to bed on time every day this week. Well, hard to complain that he was finally getting his body’s act together, and it was a good thing too. He had an audition coming up soon that he was really excited about, and though he knew it was cliché, and like, rookie theater kid mistake 101, he was looking forward to singing a Disney song.

He knew he could audition for pretty much any part, but Thomas had really debated on whether he wanted to audition for the hero or the villain, as that would determine which song he picked and the range of emotion he showed, though in the end it wouldn’t really matter because the director got final say in casting.

He had decided he would audition for the part of the love-struck hero, and was quietly singing the lyrics to “Won’t say I’m in love” as he grabbed a towel to dry off after taking a shower. He pulled back the shower curtain, toweling off his hair with a series of “No chance, no way”’s, before wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing his hairbrush. He hummed while he fixed his still-wet hair with one hand and went to wipe the fog off the mirror with the other.

Then it happened again.

He had cleared off a big slice of fog from the mirror and went to run his brush through his hair more carefully, when Thomas realized he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror.

They certainly looked like him, but he wasn’t wearing a prince outfit, nor was he jamming out and singing at full volume to “Won’t say I’m in love” because he had been humming. Humming.

But now he could hear his own voice with full bravado singing the lyrics back at him, head thrown back, eyes closed, and dramatically leaning on the wall opposite the mirror.

Thomas was also leaning against that wall, but more out of shock and fear than anything else.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. This wasn’t real. He was dreaming. Dreaming. This was just because he was spooked about what happened the other day, he was not seeing himself perform Disney songs in full prince regalia in the mirror because he wasn’t in prince regalia, and he is not singing at the top of his lungs in the mirror, so he couldn’t be seeing his reflection do that, because he wasn’t doing that.

He peaked open one of his squished shut eyelids, to confirm that he was definitely not seeing those things, only to discover prince him, definitely still doing those things and singing in place of where Thomas’s reflection should be.

The Other Thomas was mid-note, when he too opened his eyes, caught sight of Thomas and abruptly cut himself off with a small “eep”.

He looked awkward for a second before looking at Thomas and speaking, “Too much?”

Thomas stared back at the other Him who had just spoken to him. He felt lightheaded. His voice felt weak, but he managed to squeak out a small “...yeah, a bit”.

“Oh, well, I know you need to put a lot of passion into your performance in a few days, best to practice on the regular! Thanks for auditioning for the hero by the way, I don’t think Remus would have ever shut up about it if you had chosen to go for the villain, but brothers will be like that, am I right?”

Thomas was so very confused at the information being thrown at him right now, but, due to circumstances, he found himself feeling kind of out of it at that exact moment. So instead he just thought of his own brother and said “...yeah, brothers are like that.”

“Oh don’t I know it, he has no idea how hard it is being the hot, popular one, and all he talks about is gore and garbage and other gross stuff. You should’ve seen the time he filled our room with feral cats, I had to take care of them for weeks, and he knows we have a cat allergy, but he said the excess of snot and puffiness ‘added to our complexion’, said I could use a bit of mucus to ‘put us on an even playing field since he was the better looking one after all’, can you believe him! The indignity of it all! If he ever does that again I’ll...uh, Thomas, doing alright there, superstar?”

Thomas, who had been slowly sliding down the wall and clutching his head, was now sitting on the floor and very much not doing alright. “...yeah, great, never better, fantastic. Just…dandy. I just...need a moment.”

“Oh certainly, then by all means-” the reflection spoke before Thomas blinked and he was staring back at regular old him again. Thomas exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His head was pounding with his heartbeat in his ears. His brain began trying to process the things he just saw and the words he just heard. Because he had heard words. His reflection had spoken to him. He must have finally cracked. There went his sanity, whoosh, out the metaphorical window. This just...this just didn’t make any sense.

What was the other him even talking about? None of what he said had made any sense. How could his reflection have a brother? Who was Remus? Scratch that, more importantly, how was his reflection talking to him?!

Thomas thought in that moment how he very much needed to lie down, and just as he was thinking that, he blinked and his reflection changed again to that of him in a prince costume, now very close to the glass and looking down at him on the floor.

“So like, how long is a moment for you because that felt pretty long to me, aaaaand you’re still on the floor. You sure you’re doing okay Tommy-Salami?”

Thomas jolted back again and banged his head on the back wall.

“Gah! Quit doing that! Also...ow.” He said as he rubbed the back of his head.

“You good amigo? That looked like that caused a bump large enough to knock out the dragon witch.”

“The what? Nevermind, just, how are you doing that?”

His reflection looked around, looked behind himself, even patted himself down before turning to Thomas with a puzzled look.

“Uhh...doing what?”

“That! All of that! You’re my reflection, how are you...not reflecting me? I’m not wearing a prince outfit, I didn’t say what you just said, and I’m not doing what you’re doing, so how are you?”

His reflection laughed, laughed, at that. Even shook his head a bit as if this was trivial and there was some big misunderstanding. As if it were funny.

“Oh Thomas, I’m sorry, I believe there may have been a bit of a misread of the situation. Of what’s going on here. See, one as beautiful and talented as myself can not be limited to a mere reflection, be contained in something so simple as a mirror. No, there are too many adoring fans, too many stages to perform on, too many lovers to woo and hearts to break,” he paused for a dramatic faux sob, “No, what would I be if I were a mere reflection. A mere copy, nay! A clone. Why, I would not be nearly as complete, not nearly as rich and interesting a person! No Thomas, I am not a reflection of you, I am you. A part of you anyway, and I embody your passion and creativity. It is I, Prince Roman, at your service!” He finished with a dramatic pose.

There was silence for a bit after that, where Thomas just stared at him blankly.

Roman dropped his pose somewhat and cleared his throat, “Eh hem. Thoughts?”

“So you’re...my creativity?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“How does that even work? And that still doesn’t explain why my creativity, I guess, can physically manifest in my mirror, as me in a prince costume. And don’t even get me started on the why part of that question!”

“Woah woah woah woah, what made you think I was physically manifesting, I can’t physically impact the world at all, aside from my dashing good looks that is.”

“So what? This is all just in my head? None of what’s happening right now is real? I’ve finally cracked?!” Thomas said standing up and clutching his towel for dear life.

Roman went still for a second, getting a serious look on his face before responding, “Of course this is all in your head, but why on earth would that mean this isn’t real?” before cracking into a wide giddy grin, “I have always wanted to say that! But seriously yeah, this is in your head, but you’re not going crazy, I’m just as real as you or any of the others.”

“The others?”

“Oh yeah, you didn’t think I was the only one, did you? I’m part of your creativity, but you’ve got other sides to your personality: your morality, your logic, the...other ones, etc etc. I’m hardly the whole packaged deal. Though I totally could be if we were measuring in terms of charm. I mean, I am almost quite literally Prince Charming.”

“Right...sorry this is just, a lot to process. I’m still not sure I’m not going crazy, and...if we’re going to continue this conversation (which I seem to be having with the mental projection of a voice inside my head, wow), I would like to put some clothes on, please.”

“Oh shoot, right sorry, forgot about the whole ‘shower’ thing, go get dressed and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Thomas gave him a strange look and blinked, expecting him to disappear like the last time that he ‘gave him a moment’. He didn’t.

“Uh...okaaaaay? I’ll just...go do that then.” Thomas said as he opened the bathroom door, checking behind him every couple of seconds to see if Roman was still there (he was) and sped into his bedroom, closing the door and throwing on a T-shirt and shorts as quickly as he could. Then he sat on his bed and waited. His full length mirror still had his normal reflection in it. Could Roman see him through it? Or was he still waiting at the other mirror? Was the fact that he could see himself in the mirror a sign that Roman had disappeared from the other mirror? Did...did he have to call out to him? Let him know he was dressed? It was worth a try.

“Um, is anyone there? Roman? One of the...others he mentioned? I’m-” well he wasn’t ready, but, “I’m dressed, if you still want to talk, and you know, explain to me what the heck is going on. I’m here.”

He expected it this time when he blinked and his reflection changed, but he didn’t expect someone that wasn’t Roman to show up.

“You! The guy in the tie! Teacher dude!”

“Yes, hello to you too Thomas. I overheard Roman giving you the ‘lowdown’, I believe is the correct terminology, and thought I should give my assistance in the explanation since this matter requires objective facts and knowledge, and I do encompass your logic.”

“Woah, slowdown, you’re my logical side? What were you doing last week with the whole ‘peering at me before I try to go to sleep’ gambit? And (I can’t believe I’m saying this because he’s probably just a figment of my imagination) where is Roman?”

The him with a tie and glasses, who Thomas was beginning to think of as the ‘Teacher Him’ in his head, sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“I...apologize for startling you last week, Thomas. I was just checking in because you finally, finally, had been planning on correcting your sleep schedule. Which is something that has been quite a lofty goal of mine for quite some time. I was proud to see you finally start to follow through, especially after a...discussion I had had with Janus regarding the situation. So I ‘slipped up’, if you will, and may have been an iota too excited to see you succeed, which, unfortunately resulted in your mental distress, but did conclude with the desired results. Though I apologize again Thomas. I did not intend to frighten you, that is not my primary function.”

“So...What is your ‘primary function’ then?”

“As I stated previously, I am your logical side. I am your common sense as well as everything you’ve ever learned. My main goal is for you to become a more functional, healthy, and productive human being. I have had...mixed success trying to complete these goals.”

Thomas let out a bitter laugh.

“You don’t say? ‘Healthy’ and ‘functional’ while I am seeing personified portions of my personality whenever I look in a mirror?! What part of any of this seems normal? Or okay!? Or remotely like sane human behavior?” He finished with a half shout, growing increasingly more distressed. The teacher him let out a slightly exasperated sigh before softening.

“Thomas, you need to breathe. You are going to be okay. I know it may not seem it right now, but you are perfectly sane. If a bit...eccentric at times. But I can tell you are-” he pulled out some notecards from his back pocket, “‘going through it’ right now, but I promise things will be-” he shuffled through the cards again, “‘5 by 5’ in the future.”

Thomas looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do...do you have flashcards that have slang words on them?”

“Yes, I find it best to be informed on all modern advancements in the English language, and having a list of all new vocabulary helps me keep track of such advancements.”

Thomas blew a slow breath, “Wow, this is uh, this is a lot. That is ah, certainly something I didn’t know about myself. (Glad to know I’m a huge nerd in every iteration of me). But wait, can um...can, uh, other people...see you? In the mirror I mean. Or does this just look like I’m talking to myself?”

“As far as I am aware, I do not think other people can see us. I don’t know that for sure though, because you don’t know that for sure, and I’m your knowledge, Thomas. I only know what you know.”

“Right, great, so there’s no way to confirm I’m not crazy, great. Look, sorry, I keep calling you ‘Teacher Dude’ in my head, but like, the other guy had a name. Roman? He said he was in charge of my creativity. Do you also have a name? Just...What do I call you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Thomas, it completely slipped my mind. Yes, I have a name. You may call me Logan.”

“Logan...right. Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s no problem Thomas I simply-”

“Ah- Tah- Logan! I was going to explain things to Thomas!” Roman could be heard exclaiming before stepping into view behind Logan in the mirror. Logan let out a long, exasperated sigh before stepping back so there was room to view both of them within the frame of the mirror.

“If he wanted to hear from the Microsoft Nerd he would have asked for you.”

“I find that unlikely since until very recently he didn’t know our names or of our existence. Besides, Thomas only asked if anyone was there, including, and I quote, ‘One of the others mentioned’, and since I am in that category, as someone who is not you, I had full reason and responsibility to show up and explain things to Thomas. And! He clearly needed my assistance, because someone wasn’t doing a good job of explaining things.

“You. The someone is you.” Logan finished.

Roman gave an offended scoff, “Well I-! If anyone would be bad at explaining this to Thomas, it would be the person who scared him so bad in the first place! Guh huh yeah! Don’t think the rest of us have forgotten that little stunt you pulled the other day.” Roman said with a sneer.

“First of all, I already apologized for that, and Thomas understands now, don’t you Thomas?”

“I uh-”

“Great, see? And second of all, you’re one to talk, seeing as you just scared him in the shower just now. Or could your sonorous serenade of Disney lyrics not wait, hm?”

“Guys-”

“Oh I’m sorry, are my rehearsals not important to you? You know Thomas has a big audition coming up. His vocal cords need to be practiced and ready for when he’s on stage! Or did you forget to mark it down in your little calendar?”

“Uh guys-”

“Of course I didn’t forget to write it down in my calendar. I’m insulted you would even suggest such a thing. I just don’t know why we have to waste so much time preparing to prance around and play make believe on a stage when, historically, Thomas has done well on average for other auditions, but that is still no guarantee on whether or not we get the part. That is not up to us, it’s up to the director.”

“Guys!”

“Tch- guh- Prance around? No guarantee? Excuse you but Thomas has done well on those past auditions because he practiced! And while the final say may be in the hands of the director, that say is influenced by how well we perform! We cannot simply settle for letting ourselves be second best, Nay! We must strive to go beyond what we have before and reach new heights!’

“Well you’re just-”

“GUYS!”

“What?!” They both shouted back in unison.

“I get that you two are having what I’m sure is really important and serious discussion, but to me it just sounds like you’re arguing over something kinda dumb. And also I have, like, no idea what’s going here, so if you guys could stop for a moment that would be great, because along with everything that’s been going on, you two fighting is just making me more anxious.”

Roman looked up in alarm at that. “Wait, anxious? Then that means-”

“Sup guys.”

“Gah! Virgil! You’re here! Heeeeeeey...”

As soon as Thomas had blinked while Roman had been talking, another him, (apparently named Virgil) who was brooding, wearing dark eyeshadow, and donning a patched purple and black hoodie, had shown up. Thomas would be fooling himself if he thought he still had dignity left after falling off the bed for the second time, but at least he had only knocked loose a few pillows and didn’t bring the whole blanket with him this time. Logan was more composed, only flinching a small bit when the new mirror man appeared.

“Ah, hello Virgil. What brings you here?”

“Seriously? All this unease and unrest, you couldn’t not expect me to show up.”

“Wellllll, I think you’ve made your point, Thomas is more than spooked about the situation, Sweeny Toddler, so I think you can be going now.” Roman interjected. Virgil gave him an unamused eyebrow raise before turning to address Thomas.

“Are you sure you’re not going crazy Thomas? I mean Prince Stink Face and Teach here have already made it pretty clear this is all going on inside your head. How do you know this isn’t you just talking to yourself in the mirror right now, confirming your worst fears?” he said with a slight drawl of the lips.

“Okay, Virgil, that’s enough, he already has enough anxiety as it is.” Logan cut him off before he could go further, “You know as well as any of us that Thomas is not going crazy.”

“Do I know that Logan?” Virgil said in a low voice, still looking at Thomas, a slight smirk on his lips, “all I know is that we seem to be figments of some guy’s imagination, and those figments seem to be really stressing him out,” he said, finally breaking eye contact with Thomas (who had been backed up against his bed on the floor in fear) to look at the other two.

“So I think I, as well as Thomas, would appreciate it if you two would cut it the heck out.”

“Ugh, fiiiiiiiine. Sorry Thomas, and I guess sorry Logan. I got a little toooo...passionate? Back there, and I uh, didn’t mean to upset you Thomas, really.” Roman said while tugging on his sleeve. Virgil then turned to look at Logan, clearing his throat slightly and giving him a pointed look.

“I...suppose I should apologize as well,” Logan said with some disdain in his voice, “Thomas. Roman. I am sorry.”

“Anything else you wanna say Teach?” Virgil said under his breath.

“No, I believe that covers it.”

“Well, I tried, sorry Princey. Okay, well, I think my job here is done. Maybe next time don’t argue like babies and I won’t have to work so hard next time, okay? I’m gonna head out so one of you can explain to Thomas what’s going on, because honestly, being the productive one around here sounds exhausting. Oh and Thomas?” Virgil said, making eye contact with him again.

Thomas looked up and gulped, he didn’t know what to think anymore, “Uh- Uh huh?”

“See you in your nightmares.” and with a final wink, he was gone.

“Ugh he’s so dramatic.” Roman declared with an eyeroll.

“You’re one to talk, but yes, that last bit was rather unnecessary. I don’t think you have anything to worry about Thomas. Virgil is just like that sometimes.” Logan said with an adjustment of his glasses.

“If by ‘like that’ you mean ‘completely terrifying’ then yeah, I can see that.” Thomas said with a shudder.

“Well that does make sense seeing as he embodies your anxiety.” Logan supplied.

“Oh,” Thomas said in a weak voice, “good. Nice to know I’m such a rich and complicated individual that even my anxiety becomes personified. That’s just...peachy.”

“I’m not sure how the flavor of peaches has anything to do with-”

“It’s an expression, Professor Literal,” Roman said exasperatedly.

“Ah, I see.”

Thomas took a moment to run a hand down his face and compose himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“So let’s review so I can get this straight,” Roman snorted at that but Thomas pressed on anyway, “You all embody facets of my personality? And for some reason that means looking like a bunch of different Me’s in costumes, and only appearing in my mirrors when I least expect it.”

Logan cut in here, “Hmm, well yes and no. We do embody different sides of your personality, yes, but we hardly appear when least expected. Mirrors have somewhat intrinsic qualities to them that make it easier for us to appear in them, but whether that is due to unprecedented scientific phenomenon or simply to a mind’s long winded metaphor for ‘self reflection’ I can’t say. But I can say as to why we show up when we do.”

“Okay then, why’s that?”

“We are tied to certain parts of your personality, are we not? And what is a personality but a collection of feelings, thought processes, motivations, etc. So what happens when you feel particularly strongly about something or when your mind leads down a particular train of thought is that those things are linked to each of us. What I’m saying is, your mental state influences how we show up sometimes, and when we appear to you. Sort of like how you did with Virgil a minute ago. You were feeling very anxious, so then the embodiment of anxiety shows up. As straightforward as 1+1=2.” Logan finished.

“So...when I am in a certain mentality I, what, summon one of you?”

“Not quite. We are facets of your personality Thomas, we are always with you, so we cannot truly be summoned. However, when you enter these specific mental states, it makes it...I would say, ‘easier’ to show ourselves in a more visual manner. Sometimes even...unintentionally,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “but that’s neither here nor there.”

Roman coughed a little in what sounded like “nerd” but Logan simply rolled his eyes. Thomas continued to ask questions about the other Sides to himself in the mirror (they had apparently taken to calling themselves that) while Logan and Roman tried their best to explain things.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t lost his mind, but the more they talked and he was around them, the less freaked out he was by their presence there in the first place. He learned the names of the other Sides he had yet to properly meet as well as their functions. He learned that he had a Side named Patton who apparently encompassed his Morality and his Heart, so to speak, though Logan seemed to have some trepidation about him and Thomas meeting because of what Roman referred to as a ‘long suffering battle against an assault of Dad Jokes and puns’. He learned who Remus was, apparently being somewhat symbolically Roman’s ‘brother’, as he encompassed what Logan called the ‘dark side of his creativity’, and Thomas’s intrusive thoughts, (which he was not thrilled about) but Logan insisted it would be fine as there were easy ways to deal with him should he become a problem in the future. There was also Janus, which Thomas remembered having an encounter with before after Logan explained what he looked like, what with the snake aesthetic and all. He supposedly embodied Thomas’s self-preservation, deceitfulness, and denial, which...made sense given he had shown up before when Thomas had been lying to himself about when he was going to go to bed. Thomas still wasn’t sure if he could make heads or tails of what was happening to him, but he felt he now had a better understanding about what he was seeing, even if he still couldn’t grasp the why.

***

It was a few days after his audition and Thomas thought he had done well. He saw Roman on the lobby mirror give him a thumbs up and mouthing the words ‘Let’s do this!’ before he went on stage, which weirdly enough helped in its own way, and now he felt pretty good about his performance. To make things better, he had gotten a call earlier today that confirmed he would be in the play, so he was just waiting to see if he got the roll he auditioned for. Feeling pretty happy and confident, Thomas decided to make himself some celebratory pancakes for dinner with lots of chocolate chips and a mountain of syrup.

He was mixing the batter and looking at the recipe on his phone when the screen faded and turned to black before he could tap it to wake it up. He sighed as he sat down the bowl to pick up his phone and pull up the recipe again, when he saw his reflection wearing glasses.

“Oh, uh, hi, Logan. What’re you doing here?”

“Oh sorry Kiddo, not Logan! Though I get the mix up with the glasses,” he chucked, “I’m your happy pappy Pop, Patton! And yes, the title is...Patton Pending,” he said with a wink.

“Oh right! You’re Patton, my morality right? I was warned about your dad jokes,” Thomas said with a laugh.

“Yeeeah, Roman told me you all did introductions a while ago, but I was just checking in on my favorite Kiddo to see what you were cooking up! I’m so proud you’re learning how to cook Thomas, you batter believe it,” Patton said, grinning from ear to ear.

Thomas snorted through his nose and shook his head at that.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Patton. But speaking of batter, I really should get back to these pancakes.”

“Of course Kiddo! I’ll be right here if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said with a smile.

“Uh, sure. But uh, if you don’t mind me asking, how um, how could you help? You’re in my phone right now.”

“Oh um,” Patton looked puzzled for a second, “I guess if you need help with the instructions or if you just need a friend to talk to, I’ll be right there to help with that,” he said, picking back up that same enthusiasm.

“Okay Patton, thank you,” Thomas smiled in return, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Over the next several months Thomas continued to see the Sides of himself occasionally, usually in mirrors or other reflective surfaces. At first he was freaked out and would get a little jump every time he saw one, but eventually he grew used to them just popping in whenever he was doing or thinking about something that ‘summoned’ them, even though Logan didn’t like him referring to it as that. Thomas got used to seeing them while brushing his teeth, or making breakfast, or in his dressing room before going out on stage, and he wasn’t bothered by it anymore, not as much at least.

He would pass idle conversation with them on occasion, sometimes arguing with Logan about his health habits, brainstorming ideas with Roman, having a small debate with Patton in his computer screen about what was the best ‘nice dialogue’ option in a video game.

Virgil would show up pretty regularly when Thomas was feeling anxious, and it was kind of a mixed bag on how he would react to Thomas when he showed up. Sometimes he showed up and just made Thomas more anxious, but on a couple of times when Thomas had it really bad, Virgil actually helped him calm down a bit with a breathing technique Thomas remembered Talyn teaching him once. So he actually wasn’t so bad, though it was a bit annoying when he was trying to sleep and he would look in his bedroom mirror to see either Virgil or Remus.

The first time Remus showed up in person was not pleasant and Thomas had had some pretty vivid nightmares after, but thankfully the next morning, Logan had helped diffuse the situation and put Thomas more at ease.

Janus liked to show up in the reflection of his phone screen whenever his friends texted him wanting him to do something for them when he already had a prior commitment, or if he was particularly stressed out about a dilemma. He would tell Thomas that he would be busy that day, to which Thomas would often reply something along the lines of ‘busy with what? I’m not doing anything that day,’ to which Janus would say something sarcastic but which always led back to the central theme of self-care. Thomas was pretty wary to listen to Janus at first, given Logan had said that he encompassed Thomas’s deceitfulness, but after Janus had gotten him out of a couple of jams that had almost led to near mental health crises, he had given him a shot and started to listen to his advice on occasion. Not too much, because who knew where that would lead, but sometimes, on instances when Janus’s warnings and advice were too pertinent to ignore.

All in all, Thomas began to like his Sides, not minding talking to them and spending time with them. They helped him out in a lot of areas of his life, and hindered him in some others, but that only seemed to happen when he was either ignoring one of them or listening to another too much. Patton had started referring to all of them as a family, emphasis on the ILY, and it was he who suggested Thomas take a family portrait in front of the hall mirror with all his Sides. Thomas wasn’t sure how much that would work, given it would probably just look like a selfie in front of his mirror, but seeing how excited Patton was, he decided to humor him.

Patton had called everyone to meet in the hall mirror while Thomas sat up the tripod for the camera. He ended up standing in the middle while his Sides stood to the left and the right of him. Roman was posing dramatically with a dashing smile while Logan muttered about how unnecessary it was, what with the logistics of showing up on camera. Virgil pulled his hood up and got teased by Remus for being ‘camera shy’. Janus wore a mischievous smirk and was flourishing a cane he had gotten from somewhere, rivaling Roman in who could be the most dramatic. Remus was somehow hanging from the top of the mirror frame upside down and was making a crude gesture with his hands while sticking out his tongue, and Patton was nearest Thomas, debating whether to make a heart with his hands or give Thomas bunny ears, and ended up going with the heart after Logan had made an unintentional pun about it. Finally Thomas finished setting up the camera while all his Sides got ready behind him, and he set the timer. He moved to take his place in the middle and told everyone to say ‘Cheese’.

“Romano-” “Cheddar!” “Nooo-” “Fermented milk solids-” “Rat Bait!” “The worst salad topping, I’m sure-”

And with a Click and a bit of laughter from Thomas at everyone’s replacement for ‘Cheese’, it was done.

Thomas was checking on the film to make sure everything had worked okay, and Logan was already preemptively warning him that it was likely Thomas had done nothing more than take a nice photo of himself in front of the mirror without the others being visible. Thomas turned and nodded at Logan saying he knew and he wouldn’t be too disappointed since that was what he thought was most likely.

Thomas continued to check the camera while the others chatted in the background. Then he scrolled through the photos to look at the most recent one taken. He reeled back in shock before breaking into the widest grin.

“Guys, I have the best news.”

“Ooo what is it Thomas?” Patton asked.

Thomas tried to bite back his excitement and his Sides turned to look at him with various levels of anticipation and curiosity.

“You all can show up on camera.”

***

Author’s Note: I'm not going to continue this, but after that ending imagine Thomas sets up a bunch of glass panes in his Livingroom with a great idea about what his new YouTube series will be. I guess could also be considered a "the sides are real but also actors for the Sander Sides series" AU if you want. Tag me if you write anything with this idea in the future because I'm interested in reading it.

Taglist: (sorry it’s the same one for A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids)

@enby-phoenix

@farflypants

@callboxkat

@skruffy901

@lefaystrent

@ianasha

@delimeful

@scared-ghosthunter

@equations-of-logan

@hiddendreamer67

@alexa-is-fangirl-trash

@momolinia

@thecipherfox

@sweet-razz-tea

@noah-shite

@mothdaemon

44 notes · View notes

wafflewarriors · 5 years ago

Text

Of Daydreams and Realities

Chapter 5: The Truth

You woke up to a ceiling above you.

"Oh, no no no no no," you murmured as you took in your familiar surroundings. This was just your luck. Of course you wound up straight in the middle of—

"Well, hello," said an unmistakable voice behind you. You had no doubt Sherlock's full attention was centered upon you. "You… didn't use the door. Where did you come from? How did you get in here?"

You were sure your sanity was in ribbons by now, one thread barely keeping it all together. "Zip it, Curly. I don't want to talk to you."

"American," he said. He marveled you. "What's an American doing in my flat? You certainly don't look as if you've planned this."

"Trust me, this was not consensual." You scoped the flat. Your hands fidgeted and your heart thrummed.

"Is there any particular reason you are in my flat, then?"

You growled in irritation. "I need you to stop talking. I seriously cannot mentally take it at this moment. Can I see John?"

His eyes were never in the same place twice except your eyes. "Intriguing."

How did John deal with this everyday? "No. No. Not Intriguing. I am not intriguing at all. Where's John?"

He hummed, curious. "Usually people ask for me, not John."

"Sorry if I damaged your pride." Your sarcasm hit the roof. I can't handle this. "I need to speak with John Watson."

"And what would you like to talk about?" John said, leaning against the doorway. He had much more honest eyes, but you could tell he was observing you. He was probably sizing you up while also diagnosing you with severe sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and a form of anxiety disorder.

"Can we talk?" You pleaded, and then eyed Sherlock nervously. "Alone?"

"Yes, of course," John said immediately.

"No, this is my flat—"

John scoffed. "And because Sherlock is unwilling to share his flat currently, we can take a walk instead. Mycroft likely bugged the place anyway."

Sherlock sneered, "I debugged it this morning!"

Both you and John exitted the flat, and Sherlock was wise enough not to follow.

///

The city of London was recovering from a rough rainstorm. The sidewalk was dark, the public benches tripped with rainwater, and the gutters gurgled as you passed them. The air was brisk and the day was clear.

John sighed, "Sorry about him. He's just a bit jealous that I got the interesting case and he didn't. He's been going mental trying to find a good case lately."

"What says I'm interesting?"

John's expression turned amused. "Everything. Sherlock hasn't looked that startled in weeks. Whatever you've done that caught his attention, you have no hopes of losing it. He'll be stuck to you like glue until he figures you out."

Great.

"I need your help."

"May I ask what with?"

You said, "No. I'm sorry. It's… personal," you lied. "I… need a doctor. I need help getting back on my feet. Please?" You scratched your neck. The cars buzzed by. "I'm desperate."

He pondered on that for a minute, working his teeth and setting his jaw. "Why me?"

"You're the best man I know of."

John was clearly not expecting that response.

You both crossed the road, silence awkwardly enveloping the conversation until you spoke. "Can you keep Sherlock… away from me?"

John became suspicious. "Why?" The unspoken 'do you have something to hide?' lingered.

"He's going to pick me apart, John." Your voice wavered. "And I'm terrified."

///

You returned to the flat, and to your relief, Sherlock had gone.

"Finally had enough, then," John tutted. "Probably off to the morgue. Oh, Mrs. Hudson!"

The older woman had a kind smile. "John," she said fondly. "Oi! You didn't tell me you had a guest! Let me go put some tea on." She bustled out of the living room and then bustled back. "Here's some biscuits for you, dear."

You looked to John for help, but he only smiled and shrugged. He mouthed, "Enjoy it."

You weren't a fan of tea, but Mrs.Hudson was such a nice lady you couldn't refuse. Before you knew it, you had a teacup in one hand, and a cookie in the other. "Thank you, ma'am."

Her warm smile was enough to clear your anxiety like a snuffed flame. "Please, call me Mrs.Hudson."

John settled in his armchair, cookie in hand, and frowned. "Can you tell me some of what's going on? I don't know how to help you if I don't have the full picture."

Déjà vu much? You sighed. "You'll think I'm a nutter. It's best if you don't know."

"I've seen crazy things before; I live with Sherlock, for God's sake."

"I know, I—" This explaining bit was getting old. "I know you."

"You know me how? Know my blog?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not why I know you. That's not why I how you had a psychosomatic limp that Sherlock got rid of, or that he knows your whole life story from just your phone, or that—"

"Are you with Mycroft?" John was looking less and less inclined to help. "Because if you are—"

"I'm not."

"You could b—"

"I'm not." You weren't going to cry. You were not going to cry. "God, I just want to go home." You held in every urge to kick and stomp and scream. You were not to throw a tantrum like an eight year old in Sherlock Holmes's flat. No matter how much the familiar decoration annoyed you. Oh, how you wanted to dropkick the skull on the mantelpiece.

"And why can't you?" John's voice was soft and assuring.

You were very close to crying. So very close, but you held your tears. You could toughen up. "Because as of now, it's physically impossible for me to go home. You can't help me with that anyway."

"Physically impossible? I'm sure I could arrange a flight if you're that far away. I could—"

"No. You don't get it. And I didn't expect you to."

"What don't I get?"

Frustration was giving you a headache. You were angry and tired and done. So done. What would he say if you told him the truth? Surely, he would kick you out. You've wasted his time. Despite everything, you said, as flat as you could, "I'm not in the right dimension."

There was silence.

You were expecting that. "That's why Sherlock was so confused. I hadn't used the door. He couldn't figure out how I got in." You couldn't look at him. "That's because I didn't use any sort of entrance at all. I just… appeared. Although not by choice."

"So that's how you snuck in," Sherlock said from the doorway. How did people always sneak in from the doorway? His bright eyes were on you, fascinated.

Your heart sunk.

John blinked. "You believe her?"

"There are theories of alternate dimensions, John. While they haven't been proven, it is a concept still in proposal. Who's to say there aren't countless dimensions?" Sherlock smiled. A gleaming, thrilling grin that signified he was ready for a good case. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

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tournesolia · 6 years ago

Text

Chaos Lineage Yuma Chapter 3 Translation

Several days passed after I began

spending time in Yuma-kun's room.

I don't know if it was sadness or fear,

but I stopped talking to Yuma-kun

about his real memories.

There were some times where I would

be the prey of Yuma-kun's fangs even

if I kept quiet.

At those times, I clenched my teeth as

my heart suffered more than my body.

But the situation didn't change

even if I endured it.

As time went by, there was a greater

possibility that everyone will fight.

And one day, when such enthusiasm

raised, I was called by Reiji-san--

Place : Scarlet mansion – Living room and Dining room

Yui : (Every members are gathered. I'm the only one sitting on a chair... I feel uncomfortable when they look down at me)

(What is about to start from now on ?)

Reiji : Eve. As you may know, we are fighting for the supreme ruler throne

And it is said that you are the key to become the supreme ruler

Yui : Y-Yes...

Reiji : It's been a while since you woke up. Have you remembered anything ?

Yui : I'm sorry, I don't--

*Reiji whips her

Yui : Ugh... !

(A-A whip... !? Since when did he...!?)

Reiji : Will you keep acting ignorant no matter what ?

Yui : B-But I really...

*Reiji whips her

Yui : Hya... !

Kino : Isn't it better for you to talk ? Because there's no doubt that you know something

Yui : W-Why !?

Kino : Eve is the key to become the supreme ruler. If the person themselves doesn't hold the information, where else can we find it ?

Yui : I'm asking you why are you doing this !?

Kino : If you just woke up and don't recover your memories, a shock therapy is necessary, right ?

Shu : … You're also the one who thought of that bothersome thing

Yui : (K-Kino-san suggested it...? But I really don't know anything !)

Yuma : It's something like hurting her so she can remember ?

Reiji : It's better than doing nothing. If I can make you remember with little discipline, I will spare no effort

Yui : That's... ! I really don't know !

Reiji : … Then, let's change the question. Do you remember anything from before you woke up in the church ?

Yui : Before I... woke up... ?

(In that case, I can tell them... But will they believe me--?)

Reiji : It seems you remembered something. Tell us everything

Yui : B-But...

Kino : We won't get angry no matter the story. So come on, spill it

Yui : …

I was in a place called Kaminashi Town... I went to school

Kino : Heeh, and then ?

Yui : I met Yuma-kun there...

Reiji : … Yuma ?

Yuma : She's saying bullshit again...

Yui : Not just Yuma-kun. I also met Reiji-san, Shu-san, Ruki-kun... everyone

Reiji : My my... Is this some kind of fairy tale reference ?

Yui : It's the truth ! But none of you remembers... So I'm confused as well !

Your brotherhood relalionship, your memories, everything has been altered...

Something bad must have happened ! Please, believe me !

Kino : Hmm... Everything has been altered, huh

Reiji : This is not worth considering. Do you have anything else to say ?

Yui : It can't be...

(I knew they wouldn't believe me...)

(But it becomes painful when they actually deny it...)

Yuma : Hey, sow. Repent for your falsehood before you drive us nuts

Kino : What's that nickname ? It's not logical...

Yuma : What are you saying ? It fits her perfectly

Yui : (Yuma-kun...)

(If at least Yuma-kun could remember...)

Shu : – Quiet

Yui : (…!)

Yuma : Ah ? What's up ?

Shu : There's someone outside

Reiji : What ?

Yuma : Shit ! We're spied on !?

Kou : Oops ! Let's run !

Azusa : Y... Yeah...

*Kou and Azusa leave

Yui : (Kou-kun ! Azusa-kun !)

Reiji : They're from the Violets... So they started making moves. Kino, Yuma !

Yuma : Leave it to me ! I won't let them escape !

*Yuma leave with Kino

Yui : Ah, wait !

*someone grabs her

Shu : Hey, you don't leave

Yui : But Kou-kun and Azusa-kun will... !

(… get caught by Yuma-kun and Kino-san)

(Yuma-kun... It's not the same happy feeling from when his brothers messed with him at home. It's different from when they quarreled)

(These glistening eyes... are not like Yuma-kun...)

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Exterior

Yuma : For spies, you really suck

*Yuma draws his sword

Azusa : … Ugh...

Kou : Aah-ahh... Looks like we weren't suited for that

Azusa : Sorry, I got us caught... If I wasn't here, you could have escaped

Kou : Don't apologize. It's not your fault

Yuma : Stop making excuses. You wanna get killed ? Aah ?

*Yuma attacks Kou

Kou : Guh... !

Yui : … ! Yuma-kun !!

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Living room and Dining room

Yui : (I didn't want to see such a situation...)

(They're really against each other now... But this isn't right...)

Reiji : These two will be sent to jail. We will interrogate them there

Yui : (… ! At this rate, Kou-kun and Azusa-kun will...!)

(I may not be able to do anything. But still--)

Please, let me go with you !

Reiji : Why is that ?

Yui : Eh... ? W-Well...

(I must think ! Think of a convincing reason...!)

… I have the feeling I'll remember about the supreme ruler

So please, bring me with you to the dungeon

Reiji : …

Yui : (Please... say yes, Reiji-san !)

Reiji : … I see. Alright, then. You come with us

Yui : (Ah, he believed me... ? No, he must be doubtful)

(But it doesn't matter now. I must meet Kou-kun and Azusa-kun. So I can listen to what they say--)

Scene change : Dungeon

Reiji : Now... Let's have you confess. Did Carla instruct you to come here ?

Kou : No. We came here on our own

Reiji : I see. So in other words, Carla doesn't know you're being held captive right now ?

Kou : I wondeeer. Which one do you think it is ?

Reiji : Is Carla thinking of something ? What kind of trick does he intend to use ? What is his plan ? Tell me

Azusa : … We can't tell you

Kou : We're enemies, duh

Reiji : … I see. Fools like you will need discipline

Yui : P-Please, wait ! Stop using violence !

Reiji : Did I give you the right to speak ? Unless you remembered something ?

Yui : W-Well, that's...

Reiji : This is not worth considering

Yui : (I can't help Kou-kun and Azusa-kun in this situation after all ?)

Kino : Hey, big brother Reiji. Let me do it. Because I do that job well

Yui : (Eh ? Kino-san ?)

Shu : It’s rare that you ask that. What's the point ?

Kino : Nothing particular. But it seems making them confess will take time so I just wanted to help

Reiji : … Alright. I will leave this to you, Kino. Shu, Yuma, we're going back

Shu : Sigh... It was useless to just accompany you

*Reiji and Shu leave

Yuma : Hey, you're coming too

Yui : B-But...

Kino : Now, let's make you two confess... Yaah !

*Kino hits Kou

Kou : Uwaaah... !

Kino : Oh, you won't talk. Then how about this ?

*Kino hits Azusa

Azusa : … Ugh... !

Kino : Quit just moaning... I'm asking you to spit information !

*Kino continues to hit them

Yui : (How horrible... ! And they can't fight back because they're chained !)

Choice 1 : Stop Kino (White roses)

Yui : Kino-san, stop already !

Kino : Shut up, don't get in my way. Or you want to get hurt as well ?

Yui : I-I don't want to, but...

Kino : Then stay silent. You're annoying when you scream. Right, Yuma ?

Choice 2 : Ask Yuma (Black roses)

Yui : Yuma-kun, stop Kino-san ! At this rate, these two will... !

… ? Yuma-kun... ?

– End of choices

Yuma : …

Yui : (He's staring at them and doesn't move an inch...?)

What's wrong... ? Hey, Yuma-kun ?

Yuma : Those two...

Yui : Eh ?

Kino : You're deprived of freedom. Come on now, say something. While you keep your sanity

Azusa : … Don't... hit Kou

Kino : Ha ?

Azusa : Hit... only me...

Kou : Azusa-kun...

Kino : Ha... What's that ? Brother's love ? That kind of complicity irritates me

Alright, I'll squish you as you wish !

Yui : Ah, stop !!

*Yuma grabs Kino

Yui : (Eh...?)

Azusa : Ah...

Kino : … Yuma, what are you doing ?

Yuma : … Ah... No, that's...

Yui : (Yuma-kun stopped Kino-san...?)

Kino : They're enemies, you know ? Don't tell me you became attached to them

Yuma : … Those guys really don't know anything. You're wasting your time

Kino : Hmm... Well, whatever. I'm losing interest so I'll leave it to you

I'm going ahead. So be careful about the key to the cell. Okay ?

*Kino leaves

Yui : (Thank godness... They're saved)

Yuma-kun, thank you--

Yuma : Uh... Guh...

Yui : Yuma-kun !?

(He's crouching...!?)

*Yui gets close to Yuma

Yui : Is there something wrong ? You look pale... !

Yuma : … I can see it, now

Yui : You can see it ? What can you see ?

Yuma : I dunno... But some guys told me it'll be troublesome if we have nothing to eat...

So I was taught how to grow vegetables. That's why I began farming as a hobby--

Ugh... Shit... !

Yui : (Are these perhaps his memories with the Mukami family... ? No, rather before that ?)

Did you remember Kou-kun and Azusa-kun... !?

Yuma : … Guh... I dunno. What the bloody hell is that... !?

Yui : (It seems not... But he recovered a little part of his memories)

(His original memories haven't disappeared... They're still sleeping inside him...!!)

(He may remember. If there's a chance, then surely--)

Yuma : Haa... Haa... It finally cools down...

Yui : Yuma-kun, it would be best to lie down today... Okay ?

Yuma : Y-Yeah...

Yui : (Kou-kun, Azusa-kun... I would like to save them immediately, but even if they escape now, they'll surelly get caught again)

Azusa : Eve... Go. You have to make... Yuma-san rest

Yui : Azusa-kun... Okay... Thank you

(Even with his memories rewritten, Azusa-kun's kind...)

(I will definitely save them. And Yuma-kun, of course--)

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Living room and Dining room

Reiji : So no one was able to get any information from these two, in the end

Kino : They're unexpectedly tenacious. Right, Yuma ?

Yuma : Y-Yeah...

Yui : (Yuma-kun still doesn't feel well. I would like him to take a rest quick...)

(I wonder if Reiji-san will give up on getting Kou-kun and Azusa-kun to talk...)

Reiji : I see... This isn't much helpful

Kino : Say, we don't need those guys anymore, right ?

Yui : Eh... !?

Reiji : Indeed. Shu, please kill them both

Yuma : … !

Shu : Me ? Too lazy...

Yui : P-Please, wait ! Reiji-san, why... !?

Reiji : We can't leave those who are a treat to our family alone no matter what. If we do, we will be at risk

If we can't get any informations from them, there's no need to keep them alive

Yuma : Wait !

Yui : (Yuma-kun...!)

Yuma : There's no reason to kill them. They're stuck in jail so there should be no danger !

Reiji : It's better to completely uproot sprouts that can become disturbing elements. Am I wrong ?

Yuma : No, but...

Yui : (If we can't counter them right here, Kou-kun and Azusa-kun will... I-If they can be useful for anything--)

… Hostages

We should use them as hostages. We can also use them as shields to fight Carla-san

Yuma : You...

Yui : We should take time to ascertain whether they're necessary or not

If we really don't need them... Then at that time, we should discard them

Kino : Heeh...

Yui : (That's right, any method is fine. If they live, I'll surely have a chance to save them !)

(There must be something that will shaken Yuma-kun's memories. I won't give up)

(I will absolutely restore Yuma-kun's... No, everyone's memories)

Reiji : Hostages... I see

You have a valid point. It wouldn't be bad to check the situation a little more and think about their use

Yuma : Then... !

Reiji : We'll keep them alive for a moment. Let's think about how we use them and determine an appropriate time

Yui : … !

(Thank godness...!)

Reiji : Well then, our policies have been decided. Let us dissolve for tonight. Please take a good rest

Kino : Okay okay, I'll take a rest

Shu : …

*Shu and Kino leave

Yuma : Phew...

Reiji : … Yuma

Yuma : What ?

Reiji : You must be glad to have a good excuse this time. However... There won't be a second time

Yuma : … !

*Reiji leaves

Yuma : Tch... That Reiji guy... He knows and gave me a warning

Shit... Why... ? Why I'm defending these two... ?

Yui : Yuma-kun... It would be best to rest now. Let's go to your room ?

Yuma : Shaddup ! Don't talk to me now !

Yui : … ! Yes...

Yuma : No... Sorry... It's a mess in my head and I shouted

… You're smart. I didn't think about that hostage stuff

But I dunno if that will save those guys... Why am I helping them... ?

Yui : Well...

… For now, you should go to sleep all night without thinking about it, so you'll feel better

Yuma : Yeah... You're right

*Yuma leaves

Yui : (Even if I say they’re his brothers, it surely won't reach Yuma-kun)

(But there must be something. I'll absolutely find a way to restore his memories--)

Chapter 3 : End

#Diabolik Lovers #diabolik lovers translations #diabolik lovers chaos lineage #mukami yuma #Komori Yui #sakamaki reiji #sakamaki shu #kino #mukami kou #mukami azusa #chapter 3

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thehiddenlawyer · 7 years ago

Text

Stranger Than Kindness Chapter 22 (The Lying Detective IV)

Enjoy on Ao3!

She sat on the edge of his hospital bed, his hand between hers as she rested them in her lap, stroking his skin as tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. He was finally asleep, finally resting, curled up on his side around her. She played with his hair with her free hand, stroking his limp curls away from his face, brushing her fingers against his beard, occasionally bending down to kiss his exposed shoulder or collarbone.

It was over. It was finally over.

He’d told her he hadn’t been able to properly sleep, refused to take any medication that would help him to do so, wanting his body to start getting rid of the drugs in his system as fast as possible. Sherlock’s sheepish smile when he’d said that had made her heart flutter, taking comfort in the knowledge that no matter how hard he’d let himself fall, there had always been a part of him that kept control. She didn’t want to flatter herself and think that the bit of control that had kept him alive had anything to do with her. Molly was just happy he’d had a reason to cling on, to not lose himself the way everyone around them believed.

They had talked quietly about recovery, agreeing that it was best for him to go through withdrawals under supervision, mostly because she was worried about the extent of the damage he’d done to himself. Sherlock had asked, with a gruff and quiet voice, that she stay with him a little bit because he couldn’t sleep otherwise. That he hadn’t slept in weeks because he’d been without her. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she’d murmured “of course” and had been sitting next to him ever since, letting him sleep through the detox.

Of course, she hadn’t told him how she’d had to stop and throw up when Shelby had told her what had happened with him and Culverton Smith. She didn’t want him to know how she’d collapsed on her knees down the hall when Lestrade had told her that Smith had been strangling Sherlock, that his vitals had begun to crash by the time John Watson had kicked down the door. Molly didn’t think Sherlock needed to know about the confusion in poor Greg’s eyes as he’d helped her to a chair, pushing her head between her knees, gruffly telling her, “he’s alright Molly, all a part of his plan or something. You can talk to him now,” Greg had told her, his hand heavy between her shoulders.

She was convinced that Sherlock would never know, would never find out that she planned to go home after she left his side, lock herself in her flat and weep for days, weep until she could no longer produce tears, let all that terror wash away from her. She never wanted him to know how much she cursed the past few weeks, how much she cursed him for putting himself through hell, hating all of it so much that she almost wished she never met Sherlock Holmes. Now that it was done, now that he was alive and on the other side of his self-made hell, she could say that it would have been better for her to be tortured physically than to have to live through the past few weeks again.

She hated him, she hated herself, she hated every damned thing around her, hated the universe and railed against the God she prayed to for putting so much on Sherlock’s shoulders, for depriving them all of a moments peace and comfort. Watching him sleep, his face twitching, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing involuntarily in pain and confusion as the drugs left his system, darkness crashed around Molly Hooper. She wanted to run away from it all, run away from having to watch him struggle with sobriety again, run away from watching him deal with the pain of his daily life until he could finally function again.

The uncertainty of what he would be once he left the hospital worried her the most. He’d become such a different, loving, caring man, no longer the sociopath but someone capable of warmth that reached the universe beyond their home. Swiping away impatiently at her tears, she wiped her hand against her jeans before she continued stroking his hair, somehow not wanting to contaminate him with her tears. A logical part of her brain tried assuring her that the fact that he had fought for his life, had tried to cling on to some sense of sanity even as he played the out-of-control addict was hope for their future together.

But this was her Sherlock, and there was no way she could predict his reaction.

He woke up hours later, somehow Molly had ended up curled up on the bed next to him, his head tucked against her chest beneath her chin. She kissed his forehead, “I have to go,” she told him when she saw that he was awake, “Watson and Greg are on their way with Mycroft, they want to figure out what we can do for you, keeping you sober.”

“Shifts?” he murmured, when she nodded, he glanced up at her with that horrendous eye, “make sure you take the night shifts.”

She smiled for him, hoped it was a convincing one as she pressed a kiss over the cut on his eyebrow, “of course,” she told him, “will you be alright darling? I can try and stay overnight.”

“When am I being released?”

“Tomorrow,” she told him, “I’ll be the one to take you home, worked some magic on Mike and the staff here.”

“Good,” he sighed, settling against her chest again, his breath warm.

“I can spend tonight here if you want,” she murmured, “just ask.”

She glanced down at him, her fingers in his hair as he refused to look up at her, “will you—please Molly, will you stay here tonight?”

“Whatever you need,” she told him, kissing his forehead again, “but I’m going to go home for a bit, grab some overnight stuff, alright? I think Greg needs to question you anyway, and Watson…well.”

Gently she lifted herself away from him, catching herself before she touched her stomach as she straightened up, Sherlock rolling himself on his back to watch her. “About John—”

She shook her head, “don’t even try,” she told him, putting on her coat, running her fingers through her hair. Greg and Watson didn’t know she’d spend the past six hours with Sherlock, Shelby and another nurse having been recruited to warn her whenever they knew someone was coming to visit Sherlock. She managed to convince both the nurses it was mostly for security reasons that she needed their warning, neither of them guessing that they were helping her protect her sweetest secret.

Well, one of her sweetest secrets.

“He thinks I killed his wife, Molly, I did kill his wife,” Sherlock lifted his shoulders off the bed, reaching for her hand with his eyes gray and luminous.

She shook her head, her hand trembling as she gripped his, “you didn’t kill Mary. Norbury killed Mary, she would’ve shot you if Mary hadn’t chosen to jump in front of you darling,” she shook her head when he tried to speak, watching the way he let his shoulders slam back against the bed, “no amount of excuses from you or from him are going to make this ok. None of this is alright.”

With a slow kiss and a promise to come back to him, to spend the night with him, she closed the hospital room door behind her. Greg was leaning a shoulder against the wall just outside, his eyes grave and serious as he waited for Watson. “How’s he?” Greg asked.

Molly shook her head, “he’s made a right mess of himself,” she murmured, “I’ve seen healthier bodies on a slab. I don’t know how he’s alive.”

Shaking his head, Greg sighed, his eyes on the closed door, “was he planning this all along? Was this all just a plan?”

Laughing, Molly stuffed her hands in her pockets, bringing the bulky jacket in front of her to hide her gently growing belly from view. “This is Sherlock, who ever knows what he’s doing?” she asked, watching Mycroft come down the hallway, wearing a three-piece suit with his umbrella in hand. His eyes were on Molly, and she knew he’d guessed how many hours she’d spent with Sherlock without needing anyone to say anything. She was strangely comfortable with his knowledge of their relationship, but she brought her hands in front of her stomach, making the jacket bulge with her hands so he wouldn’t see what was hidden beneath.

“Miss Hooper, Detective,” he nodded at them in way of greeting, “how is my little brother?”

Molly gave him the briefest update, clenching her jaw as she watched Watson approaching them from behind, her words fluid even as anger boiled her veins, the piece of Sherlock she was carrying seeming to unfurl in defense of its planter. The four of them stood together, meticulously assigning times to spend with Sherlock, to help him with his recovery without letting him remain alone long enough to be tempted by drugs. She wanted to tell them that they had nothing to worry about, but she heard herself instead offer to take the night shift. She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, Mycroft’s blue eyes on her, “you’ve got Rosie and God knows Greg you have enough to worry about,” she avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Mycroft’s, “I don’t mind taking the overnights with him.”

The fifteen minutes they spent talking, she couldn’t look at John Watson’s eyes, couldn’t bring herself to even glance at him. And whenever she did, her eyes drifted to his bruised and bloodied knuckles, finding his shoes and wondering if there were traces of Sherlock’s blood on them, inanely thinking that there were probably fibers from Sherlock’s shirt there still. Mycroft and Greg slipped into Sherlock’s room, leaving her to gather her bag from the chair behind her, getting ready to leave. “Molly?” Watson called her name, “are you ok?”

She wanted to walk away, wanted to press her lips over the words that threatened. But she was tired, tired of hiding words, hiding thoughts, hiding her feelings, hiding her deepest joy from the world. She couldn’t say what she wanted to Sherlock, couldn’t express her love and her thoughts, the secrets in her skin, at least she could be honest in this. So, she stopped and turned to face Watson, gesturing to his knuckles, “did that feel good?” she asked him.

He blinked at her in confusion, “what?”

“Or did you get your satisfaction from kicking him when he was on the ground? Funny thing being a pathologist, you can tell these things from a single glance,” she shook her head, “he’s your best friend, John. How could you?”

“He’s—he’s—” John shook his head, “you know what he did.”

Molly tilted her head, “I do. I know exactly what he did, and I know why he did it,” she straightened up, “and you broke his ribs for it. You know, he can’t see out of that eye? He won’t be able to see well out of it for a few days, at least. You slapped him or punched him first, continued to hit him until he was on the ground, and then you kicked him hard enough to break his ribs. One hit should’ve been enough to stop him if Smith was in danger.” she shook her head, “who are you John Watson?”

“He was out of control!”

“Was he?” she murmured, “I think so too, well, he is now anyway because he’s already forgiven you, I think he never held anything against you in the first place. But me?” she laughed softly, “I don’t think I can forgive you so easily. You’ve no idea how lucky you are to have someone like Sherlock Holmes in your life.”

Trembling, she walked away without a backwards glance, not hearing anything that he might have said. Molly kept her promise to herself, going home and weeping until she could no longer breath, until she had nothing to cry about even as she packed a few things before heading back to the hospital. He was asleep when she got there, jerking awake when she entered the room, scooting his abused body to make room for her. She lay on her back, letting him settle his head against her chest and they fell asleep together, finally finding some peace together.

Tomorrow waited for them, but at least for tonight, they were safe in each other’s arms.

#Stranger Than Kindness #My writing #sherlolly #sherlolly fanfiction #sherlolly fanfic #mollock #mollock fanfic #mollock fanfiction #sherlock #molly hooper #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #the lying detective #TLD #sherlolly hidden moments #ish loves you #the gifs hurt my heart

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shewritesfeelings · 7 years ago

Text

Oreos and Milk tea

Mia felt queasy as she finally transcribe everything, including details she never imagined she'd see, that she kept in her heart quite a long time already. It was her melodramatic dream, positively known as her life, that she wished she didn't take part of. But it was her, playing the lead role.

She was skeptical, Do I really have to do this?, she asks. Internally battling with herself. She wrote it, nonetheless.

Completely unsure about everything she feels as she writes. She was advised to write it. To loosen up a little bit.

Mia thought that she deserves freedom from the melancholy he leaves her every time he deems like it. Jake does that unintentionally, that can cost Mia's sanity.

No one planned a friendship, as complicated as a portrait of a panda holding a switch in the middle of a sunflower maze, like the one Mia has with Jake. It doesn't quite resembles a meaning but it actually tells a story, a sad one.

Mia was frankly sure that if both of their old selves could see how badly they needed help from stepping out of the whirlwind of a mess, they would think twice of meeting each other in the future. She wondered for so many nights - she can't quite remember how many - to answer her demanding question meant for herself. What do I really feel for you, Jake? Mia was absentmindedly waiting for her options. The options she was ought to weigh.

Mia stopped writing, looked at the cracked paint on her wall for a good while, ashamed to even acknowledge her bewilderment on the matter, she realized she acted so cruel to Jake unintentionally. It was at that moment that she became fully aware of the fact that she began to up-heave her passivity despite his effort to show her his appreciation from her existence in his life. She was becoming a person she wasn't.

She wrote, Allow me to tell you this, Jake. Once every night you come through my thoughts, allowing me to be with you even in my dreams. I would wake up flushed no matter how strange the dream is because you made it through again, and no one has ever done that quite a long time now. The littlest things you do for me could be so vast when put together. I appreciate every single one of them, that's in all honesty.

She let out a sigh. She was secretly praying that he would believe her. Because it was always her flicker of light from the chaos she was in. I would list them down, Jake. You know I would. She chuckled. Not that he'll remember all of them as they don't denote anything special to him. But she treasures them dearly in her heart - enough to make her fall further, further than she was allowed to go.

She was almost certain that she learnt to listen to her heart, that she was regarding Jake so deeply unlike her other guy friends. After a moment, she thought and asked herself, What's making me so unsure? A tiny bitter laugh escaped from her lips before she came to write again.

Mia's very first doubt about Jake, she remembers, was that they wouldn't get along very well. She couldn't imagine herself befriending him, simply because of the certain dominance he radiates. But he has proven Mia wrong. He went through the thick wall, reached out, and made the girl open up to him in the most effortless way - Mia let out a giggle, took another piece of paper beside her, bit the edge of her pen, reminiscing, before continuing her mission to write Jake a letter. A mission, she spent so much time on; drank overpriced lattes over, just to get him a brief but profound piece - she remembers the question that she intends to answer. Would Jake prove me wrong again with all the lurking doubts inside my head?, she asks herself. She answered, "I doubt it", another doubt, she tells herself.

The tall girl, a little rough on the outside but a total mush inside, wanted to believe herself that she still believes in every word Jake says. Actions speak louder than words, they say. But too much lies were made, just too much to push Mia away. Enough lies for the girl to think that the actions made were done to cover the lies up. Mia could sometimes see the white in his lie every time he make cover stories. She was in denial, and still appreciates Jake's actions. Despite the fact that doubts flood her as he talk. Thoughts she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tries. Tempting thoughts make her irrational, uncontrollably drives her to change moods quickly. Mia hates herself from doing it. She always feel like her mind was cursed, for over thinking. Yet she considers all his actions as genuine, ignoring most of her doubts. A stupid little gesture.

Mia decided she needed a break - writing the letter is bringing her to a turmoil, she concluded - she took the papers with her, grabbed her earphones and walked out of her room. She has no certain destination, she just thought she needed air. She let her black sling bag drop to her side, played A Day To Remember's If It Means A Lot To You on her phone as she strides her way to somewhere.

Jake would always give Mia an I-named-a-star-after-you feeling whenever. She would feel blue every time she had to argue with herself, convincing the other her that everything that Jake has done for her is genuine. She hoped and prayed that someday her doubts would vanish. She hate to feed her doubts as they are mostly right as he slip after a while.

Mia picked out flowers from a hedge she passed upon climbing the curb. She amused herself by asking the santan, Who is he true with? A question, Rev, one of Mia's guy friends, answered for her before she even voiced it out. "No one." So straightforward, Mia was taken aback. "He wasn't honest to his girlfriend, so neither to you," he continues. If somebody is dishonest to someone, being untruthful to another human shouldn't be in any way dependent on a certain degree which we call nowadays as label, that sort of classifies itself as a hierarchy of people depending on the person in charge to put them on their respective positions in his/her life. If somebody isn't honest to someone, like their moms (which everyone should agree to be on top of the "hierarchy"), that doesn't mean they will lie to their friends as well. A thought that Mia have pondered as she waits for the stop light to signal safety to cross. Why am I always defending him?, she asks herself.

Everyone lies, Mia. You're just making a big deal out of it because you have feelings for him, a small voice inside her mind replied. Do I? Frustration is evident on her face. She shakes her head trying to get rid of the thought. It was scary and sad to sum it all up, Mia thought. Because Jake lies too casual. Like, he's done it a lot of times without being caught; he was already a professional liar.

Nobody can own anyone, no one can force someone to always say the right words and do the things that you think is good for the person or anyone involved. No one can change anyone, into anyone that someone has projected of them as better persons than the actual persons' perspective of their own. They make their own selves, addition to their upbringing, they have their own beliefs that make them who they are now.

As she finds her ride to wherever she's going, she wonders, What if I hadn't gone through his life? What if we didn't know each other, we never met. How would my life be? Like in a bus, one wouldn't go unless full, right? Let's pretend I'm the bus, you're the last passenger to fill the vehicle. What if you didn't get into it? Who would have? Will I still go as far as where I am now if other person have filled your spot? Would that person leave earlier than my liking? I wanna know the difference of having you and not having you. But I'm actually scared of the thought.. of not having you.

Her annoyance has started to build up, she already knew better yet she let him do what he wants to the both of them. No matter how much persuasion she does internally, dismiss her self-sleep deprivation tendency, she couldn't unfriend Jake like what she did to their mutual friend, Travis, an acquaintance of Mia she got tired of dealing with.

After listening to five songs and seconds to finishing Coheed and Cambria's Wake up, Mia finally got to the famous coffee shop, she goes to this cafe whenever she feels like writing. The smell of coffee welcomes her as the guy in front of the entrance threw her a smile. She smiled back nonchalantly for a million things are running in her head. She seated herself on the most hidden stool in the corner, took her pen out and started writing again, oblivious of the need to order from the menu. 26 of Paramore is playing through her earphones.

She wrote, I was always honest, or I try really hard to be, hopeful for the favor to be given back. But no one's been sensitive about it. I'd like to say I know you, it's just so sad that I don't. You know sometimes I wish, a rule book for friendships to be made. So I would know if I could still consider things as friendly as people do them with me. I need it to tell me how to be, how they're supposed to be with me. And I will gladly be friends with every body - without a thought every night, am I getting the hopes up of somebody? - because I shouldn't and wouldn't allow people to think such. It's an anomaly in friendships, I consider.

It wasn't at all a secret, Jake, I've been an open book to you, that you are always free to read, you should know by now what my past has taught me in a hard way. A mistake that costed a good part of me, that until now I regret of losing. And it has been repeating itself today, like a loop of Ms. Peregrine. I ask this to myself every night, "Is he worth keeping with all of these things in mind?" That's the part that I have been dreading, would it be the mind or the heart to follow? It's actually depressing that they spoke differently yet in the same body. You were too familiar for me, Jake, it all started when we started talking. You're a soul that I didn't know I have been yearning for company. Like, my Tarzan toy collection from when I was a kid, you're a bunch of familiar things that I couldn't get enough of having and let go of. A familiar being that lets me feel safe, comforts me when your faintest smell come to me. A feeling that you give by just merely being there on the same area.

Mia remembers how much she likes Jake's smell, how much she adores smelling his armpit, and just by being near to his heart when she sniffs him by his neck. She would playfully tease him at times, tickle him on his sides, just to get a feel of him. In the car, Mia would rest her elbow on the small storage located on the space between them just so she could get closer to him while he's driving. And he would hold her hand or kiss the back of her hand once in a while unconsciously.

She couldn't help but feel sad. Mia was thinking where this letter is leading her to, much like her realizations' effect.

"When what they once were, was how she had wished them." A excerpt from one of Mia's favorite books, you'll find underlined. It is how she had wanted the words in order, how she had felt them at the moment.

I wanted to go back. Back to when I felt the familiarity. I should've proceeded with a normal friendship instead. I do not like the complex confusion I am having every time, right after enjoying a day with you. I always feel like I had done something wrong to someone I've never known. Instead, if we didn't go too far, I should be perfectly fine as your friend as long as I am someone whose place in your life is defined. And that I am a friend, nothing more, no complications.

Mia remembered asking Jake a question that left her confused, twice. What am I to you?

She was embarrassed, as if she was exposed naked under the noses of judgmental people. Mia consciously looked around her, checked if anybody's listening. Like, they could hear her thoughts. She shouldn't have asked a stupid question like that, she thought. She shouldn't have sought her place in his life. She shouldn't have thought that from the first place.

Mia took off her earphones and breathed deeply. She lets the relaxing music and soft chattering of the people around her ease the knocking on her head, totally dismissing her thought a while ago.

She continued to write with sad eyes and shaky hands.

Mia was sobbing when she finished writing. She wasn't ready to give it to Jake. But she was eager to set herself free from her thoughts. She thanked herself for seating on a covert part of the coffee shop. Few people can only see her chair and not her. Wiping her tears, she took her phone out to check on Jake. Her phone beeped, indicating a message has been received. Mia's heartbeat quickened.

Jake: Miss you Mia

Mia quickly dialed Jake's number.

"Hey." She murmured. "Hey? Why did you call?" He asks. Surprise is evident on his tone.

"You said you missed me, so I thought I should call you." She was nervously biting her nail as she tries to hide the sadness in her voice. I'm gonna tell him tonight, she thought.

Jake asked her if they could have dinner together tonight. She agreed, willingly. They have agreed a place to go to before Mia dropped the call. She was a little nervous about what she's planning to do.

At exactly 6 pm, they went to this diner that serves decent steak. She hasn't seen him for a week, she realized. Mia have missed him so much. And she still will, for a very long time - unsure on how long.

Jake was on his usual bubbly self and Mia's wondering if this is the right time to tell him. It will ruin his night, that's for sure.

Mia was clutching her sling bag a little too tightly, thinking of a way to start her plan as she pretends to listen to what he's saying. She didn't know what to say, how or when to begin. She was becoming fidgety because of her nerves.

"Are you okay? You look like you cried." He wonders.

"I'm fine," a lie, "Can we go somewhere, somewhere we can walk?" Because I need fresh air.

"Sure," he says with furrowed brows.

They went to his car, while Mia pretends that her heart hasn't been somersaulting inside her rib. She slid her hand in her sling bag to check if the letter is still there.

It’s still there.

Jake continues to tell her about his trip somewhere as they drive to a park. He was really happy to see Mia. Mia, on the other hand, half listens while dropping comments from time to time, half plans on what she's going to say. She stopped when Jake took her hand, intertwined their fingers before kissing the back of Mia's hand. She almost cried by the action, looked at Jake with a saddened look. I will miss you so much, Jake.

Mia can feel the tears forming in her eyes. She tightens her hold, leans her head on Jake's shoulder to hide her tears if they begin to fall.

"I missed you, Mia," he smiles before kissing her hand again. He never let go of her hand on their way to their destination.

"Jake," she starts as Jake nears to the parking lot.

"Hmm?" Mia can see the smile from Jake's voice. She couldn't let it stop her from telling everything to Jake, she had to give him the letter.

"Do you love me?" Mia asks. Both of them were surprised. Mia couldn't quite grasp what she just asked. Jake took the car into a halt and looked at Mia straight in the eyes. "What?" he laughs.

"Do you love me?" She blinks.

Jake realized that she was serious, he stopped smiling.

"Jake, do you?" The third time, she asked.

In his hesitation, she found her answer. She took her hand back and took a deep breath.

"Jake, I can't be friends with you anymore because you're more than that. I beg you for this favor, I wanted to find peace and relive my self worth.. please be fair and let me go if you can't see me the way I wanted you to see me."

Mia took the letter out.

I appreciate you, Jake.

You were like a brother. A dad. A mom that sermons. A best friend. The realest man I could find, out of my family, with a genuine heart. I was the happiest kid to write your name twice in my diary.

You were a shoulder to cry on. A constant patient listener of my blabbering. A man who’s always a milk tea away. You were there to cheer me up. You were always able to make me smile when I’m the grumpiest. You always know how to turn things around when we fight at a stupidest thing. You were there to adore my singing.

Jake, I thanked God so many times because I met you. You were always there to give me life lessons. You were there to shake me when need be. You gave me comfort when I was exhaling my life out with tears. You were there with me holding our breaths when the claw caught the stuffed toy and finally out of the claw machine. You were there to drive me safely back home. These late-night drives that you’ve been through just to get me home; I appreciate every single one of them.

The kindest words and the care you showed. Thank you.

The random I miss yous that I know convey more than what the words have really meant.

I was the happiest when you considered me your best friend.

I wouldn't mind spending on dinners at any restaurants, buffets, cafes that we'd stumble upon just to know how has been your day. Thank you for caring about my day too. Thank you for spending so much time with me, for the snacks, your thoughtful pasalubongs, movie dates, cuddles in your car, for staying up till 2 am, for calling me when I needed someone to talk to, for bringing me to my favorite places, for always feeding me, for always annoying me, thanks for the parked car conversations, for drinking loads of milk tea with me for the past few months, thank you for paying attention, for listening to me and remembering things, for liking the things that I like, for respecting my movie commentaries, thank you for patiently waiting for me at the office, for the hugs and kisses, for the trust, for appreciating me, for teaching me how to drive, and thank you for staying as a friend.

You’ve let me experience a lot of firsts; I will never forget all of them, everything. It means a lot to me.. especially you.

Jake, it took me a while to brave this letter because I didn't know what to do. But now, I guess it's clear that I have to let this friendship go. It will never be just a "friendship" no matter how hard we try. It will always go back to what we used to do, what we're used to doing with each other. I don't always like when I say that, but it's true. In spite of it all, I have so many reasons to want to keep you so bad, so many reasons that kept me hopeful and holding onto it. So many things that I’m grateful for meeting you. But I think we shouldn’t be friends anymore. It's not what I want, it's what we need.

Jake, please be honest with her. Don't lie to her ever again. Nobody deserves to get lied to. Be with her on Valentine's day, on your monthsaries, or whenever she likes to be with you, watch movies with her, spend time with your girlfriend, tell her about your day - the real one, talk to her more, travel with her, take her to nice restaurants. All I want to say is, treasure her, your Regine. You will never know what you're losing until it's gone.

Prove to me that you're not one of the "most guys". Please.

Jake, please think that all the times we’ve spent together, the adventures we had that you thought I spontaneously plotted, the secrets you shared that you haven't told anyone yet, the mannerisms that I began imitating, the unconscious sweet kisses on the back of my hand, will be treasured. Thank you for letting me in and see you. I hope someday, when all is well, when feelings subsided, you will find me and remember what I once meant to you. I will pray for better days, an old friend to be brave and these feelings to just fade away.

I'm always grateful to have met you. Thank you for letting me feel and see the best days with you. In time, everything will be alright. I'm looking forward to that day. I love you, Jake.

The other clingiest, Mia P.S. Just pretend that I am someone you don't like talking to if we see each other in the office. I will do the same. Pinkie promise.

#friendship #love #hope #letter #short story

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moonraisedsunchild · 7 years ago

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Go the fuck to sleep

yo @coffee-randomness here

“Tim… Tim!” Hansa loudly whispers as she tried to get her friends attention. When he glanced at her, she continued “I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and toes!” Tim was kinda regretting that he gave Hansa coffee especially when she promptly continued drinking cup after cup.

She used the energy to play video games on her computer until that moment and hadn’t slept in three days as she tried to play some raiding dungeons. She spent about a third of the time swearing at her raid mates and yelling that they were playing wrong if they wanted her to heal their toon.

She apparently had to deal with multiple dps trying to play tank and stealing the agro before calling her a noob healer that can’t heal when they died. These raids ended with Hansa frustrated and just having her toon farm for gold or up her weapon skill stats.

Tim was considering taking some drastic measures to make his friend sleep, no matter how much of a hypocrite it made him. He, at least, could handle his caffeine and no sleep schedule.

He pulled his phone free before calling Jason. He hated to admit it but Jason was much more prepared to cuddle Hansa into submission while still being firm that she needed to sleep.

“So, i have your overcaffinated and sleep deprived girlfriend here. She just threaten to jump through her computer screen to slap a stupid dps bitch” Tim told Jason when he answered and heard Jason sigh.

“Why is it that when she is like this, she is suddenly called ‘my girlfriend’; but when she is being 'cool’ or 'wicked’, she is 'your friend’?” Was all Jason asked.

Tim gave an almost startled laugh at that but couldn’t think of an answer at the moment. He was too sleep deprived for that. “Just come snuggle her or something” Tim all but demanded.

“Fine, whatever.” Jason said before hanging up. Jason would bet they were at the manor as that was one of the few places that had both a computer for Tim and a computer for Hansa to play her games.

Normally, Tim and Hansa could co-exist in the same space while doing their own thing but when Hansa grew tired she could grow very loud which interrupted Tim when he worked.

Hansa was playing another raid when Jason entered the room. She was on the edge of her seat with her nose almost pressed against the screen.

He could hear her muttering curses at her raid mates and he stifled a laugh when she questioned the sanity of one of the people’s mother that had given birth to them.

Jason walked over and leaned against the back of Hansa’s chair. It took her a moment to notice before she gave a put out sigh and without turning said “Tim, i’m kinda busy so can you move?”

Jason just smirked before answering her “If it was Tim, i’m sure he’d listen. However, it’s not Tim and you, little mix, need to go to bed.”

Jason’s smirk grew when Hansa whipped around before muttering a quiet “fuck…. it’s you.” She gave Tim a betrayed look before saying “i gotta finiah this raid” and turning back to her computer.

“No, you don’t” Jason said before he walked over to the plug and pulled it free. Hansa looked at her black screen in shock for at least two minutes. Her eyes zeroed in on Jason before she stood so fast her chair knocked over.

“What the fucking hell, Jason! Do you have any idea how hard i worked on that? You could have just caused me to lose all my experience! I was almost done on that raid!” Hansa yelled clenching her hands onto fists and trying not to cry in frustration.

Jason tried speaking soothingly to calm her but it didn’t work and Tim was looking a bit like he wanted to duck for cover. He hadn’t thought Jason would do something like THAT.

Hansa was shaking with anger and suppressed tears until she suddenly tried to punch Jason. He caught her fist before she could break her thumb from having it beneath her other fingers.

She tried lashing out with her other fist but Jason caught that one as well. He used his hold on her arms to pull her to him when he saw the tears that were leaking no matter how she tried to hold them back.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I should have just pulled you away by your chair. I wasn’t thinking about your game or the effort you put into it."Jason apologized.

"Your tired and need sleep. Tim can check if everything saved, right Tim?” Jason said as he hugged her close and ran his fingers through her hair. Tim gave an agreeing sound though he was a bit distracted now that it was a bit quieter.

“Your still a motherfucking asshole. If we were married, i’d divorce you over this” She said sullenly. “I’m dumping you for Roy” She continued and Jason just rolled his eyes.

She and Roy were good friends and even if she found Roy attractive, she found his rich boy attitude to be infuriating. It had something to do with asshole rich boys that bullied her in school.

Jason, at least, knew what it was like to be struggling to make ends meet. Neither he nor Tim had ever flaunted Bruce’s money and while Hansa appreciated a new book or the like, she liked not feeling like she was worth less just because she wasn’t wealthy or related to someone that was.

“Sure” Jason agreed before shuffling so Hansa was being lead from the room toward Jason’s old room. Jason turned them just before they reached the bed so that when they toppled over Hansa would land on him rather then be squashed by his weight.

Hansa found herself curling up on and against him. He smelled comforting as did the sound of his heart beating while he breathed. She wanted to still be angry, and she was still upset, but she was also too tired to express it now.

She had been so focused on her game to realize she was so tired. She decided that the one that she should punish was Tim for calling Jason; So if all her effort wasn’t saved she was going to change Tim’s coffee to decaf.

If most was saved then she would just cover the laser if his mouse with a sticky note. She figured that would be fair on the subject of Tim. For Jason, she would have to think on it.

#azureriptide #azurehood #redriptide

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sassysweetstories · 8 years ago

Text

Will To Live

Request: “I won't just lose you, I'll lose my happiness, my sanity and my will to live" could you maybe use this in something with Isaac. Love your work ❤️.”

Ship: Isaac Lahey x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, blood, angst, swearing, etc.

Notes: Gifs are not mine, credit to the owners.

Your P.O.V

I ran down the corridor, Isaac, Stiles and Scott, hot on my tale. The beast behind us growled, loudly. The sound echoing throughout the school, I swore it shook. I had never ran that hard in my life. My chest was screaming, begging for mercy. However, I never gave in. I kept running for my life. For my friends lives. We slid into a separate room, locking it before we hid behind a row of tables. The heavy breathing between the four of us was loud but not so, that it was noticeable to the beast down the hall. He ran past us, back downstairs, buying us some more time to come up with a plan. We huff, beads of sweat dripping down all of our faces.

I take a second to look at all of my friends. Scott and Stiles, my best friends, since, I knew what best friends were. We were the three musketeers. You couldn’t find one without the other two. I helped them flirt with girls, study for test, bake, everything. And they did the same for me. Isaac though, he was my everything. The love of my life. Of course, I never told him. I never felt like I could. You would think I’d be able to be up front and honest, considering that I’m an outgoing person but, no. Isaac was funny, smart, quirky and everything in between. I’m not an emotional individual. I never believed in love until I met him. No matter how cheesy that sounds, it was the honest to god truth. I loved him.

But in that moment, looking at his worried filled face, this would most likely be my last moment with him. It was as if he knew death was lurking around the corner. He thought he was going to die. And soon. But I wouldn’t let that happen. I try to remember every inch of his facial features. “Anyone got a plan?” Stiles asked, exasperated. Silence. Though I had one, it was pure suicide, even for me. I take my gaze away from Isaac, regret immediately following. Pushing myself off the floor, I make my way over to the chemistry equipment. The boys follow behind, curious as to what I was up to. I poured the ingredients in, smirking. “A bomb?” Stiles asked, shocked at my sudden chemical ability.

“Nice job, (Y/n).” Scott says with pride. I cock my gun, slipping it into my waist band. “I have a plan.” I say, stocking my belt and jacket with more guns. “Well, what is it?!” Scott said, hurriedly. I stand tall, not daring to look at Isaac. “I take the fucker out with the bomb. You three get out of here.” All three of their jaws dropped to the floor. “You’re joking, right?!” Stiles almost yelled. I shake my head, grabbing more weapons. “No way! Absolutely not!” Scott hissed, taking a step forward. Isaac took my face in his hands. “They’re right! There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this! (Y/n), I-” He doesn’t finish what he was going to say, instead, tears stream openly down his face.

“I have to do this guys.” I say, sighing. Isaac shook his head. “No. No, you don’t. There is always another way. I don’t care if I’m being selfish, (Y/n). I don’t think you understand how much you mean to us, to me. If you die, I won’t just lose you, I’ll lose my happiness, my sanity and my will to live.” I stood there, shocked at what I’d just heard. “I love you, (Y/n). Please, don’t do this..” He begged, quietly. “I love you too, Isaac.” He smiles slightly, as I pull him into a passionate kiss. The second I let go, I cuff his wrists to the table. “I’m sorry-” I croak before running out the door. Stiles and Scott run after me, not as fast. Their shouts echoing throughout the school. I must protect them. No matter the costs.

I run down the corridors, screaming out to grab the beasts attention. “C'MON AND GET ME, SON OF A BITCH! WHAT’RE YOU WAITING FOR?!” All of a sudden, a low growl erupts from behind me. I can’t help but snicker in my, what could be, final moments. “There you are.” I crane my neck, smirking. “Let’s settle this like ladies.” I pull out my guns, firing as the beast ran toward me. I slipped under it, shooting where it hurt. It cried out in pain, holding the places I shot at. He snarled down at me. I shot him again, yelling. “COME ON! COME AND GET ME!” It shakes its head, huffing. I shoot, continuing to taunt him. “YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME?! YOU’RE PATHETIC!”

That was it. The was the final kick before I ran for dear life. My legs screamed for some sort of release. I never gave in, taking the stairs two at a time. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I muttered to myself. I continue shooting from over my shoulder. Finally, I stopped in the gym, scattering to get the bomb ready. The second I pull it out, the beast stumbles in, snarling down at me. I stand tall, despite my fear. One last taunt. “C’MON!!” He runs at me with full force. I run forward, throwing the bomb directly at him. It explodes with a loud boom, erupting around us. I fall backwards at the impact, smashing into the wall behind me. I cough and groan. Something was definitely broken. A lot of something’s, actually. The last thing I heard, was three voices shout my name. And then, I black out.

I bolt up, a burst of adrenaline hitting my body. I breath heavily, hyperventilating. All of a sudden, a little old lady came in, quickly hooking me up to a breathalyzer before talking quietly. “Honey, you’re fine. And so are your friends. They’re in the waiting you if you want me to get them for you. Just take deep, slow breaths, okay?” I nodded, calming down after a few minutes. Before I knew it though, Scott and Stiles barged in, embracing me. “We thought we lost you! Don’t ever do that again, I’m serious!” Stiles said, kissing my hand. Scott cradled my head, moving back and forth like a mother would with her newborn. “You scared the living hell out of us.” Almost as loudly and quickly as them came in, they silenced immediately at the sight of Isaac.

He looked like hell. Sleep deprivation did not look good on him. It made my heart ache. “We’ll leave you two alone.” Scott said before taking Stiles outside to grab food from the vending machine. Silence. We just looked at each other for a few seconds, neither one of us talking. Finally, I forced myself to speak. “Isaac, I-” He stopped me, almost yelling. “Don’t. Don’t you dare. You mean the world to me.. I would die for you a thousand times.. and you ran out there to die! DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT MAKES ME FEEL! I couldn’t do anything to protect you! I felt horrible! I thought, I thought I-” His voice croaks. “I thought I lost the love of my life.. I love you, (Y/n) (Y/L/N)!! And you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Before I could speak, he smashed his lips onto mine. With as much passion as I could fuster, I kissed back. Our lips molded together as if they were meant to be one. His tears fall onto my face as he looks down at me. I put my hands in his face, smiling. “I am so sorry, Isaac. I love you so much. I’m sorry, I did that to you.. You mean everything to me..” He grins, kissing me again with just as much love like before. “I love you too, (Y/n). So much.”

(I hope you liked it!!)

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imagine-that-one-thing · 8 years ago

Text

Say You Do | Chapter Four

Other Chapters found, HERE Warning: Smut included.

Emily:

A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I sit shotgun in Harry’s sportscar. My previous emotions, being brought on at the mere thought of our wedding, enveloped me into a state of sadness and frustration. The moment the cold jewellery touched my fair skin, momentarily, my clouded emotions escaped me. Though my only mode of release was tears, it had to be done. Better done behind closed doors, than in public.

The car is silent, and I sit slightly angled so I am able to look at the scenery — both outside, and inside of the car. Harry was a sight I couldn’t get tired of looking at, even during this period of our life, he remains my salvation.

I can feel myself falling asleep as the car smoothly drives along a soft country road. I desperately am trying not to doze off, currently enjoying my location and my company, I want to feel this way for as long as possible. My body, however, is sleep deprived, from my constant tossing and turning, the overthinking and plotting.

“You can take a nap, if you’d like,” Harry is the first to speak as if he is able to read my mind. “We will only arrive in an hour.”

“I wish I wasn’t so tired,” I sigh, kicking off my shoes and resting my feet on the seat beneath me. “I want to admire the scenic route.”

“We will take this way home, then.” Harry glances over at me, shooting me a smirk. “I’ll wake you when we arrive.” He promises.

I give in, without a word. As I close my eyes, the touch of Harry’s hand intertwining with mine rattles my core, momentarily waking me as I glance down at our connection. It feels nice, and I decide not to decline the contact I had been craving but was too afraid to ask for. His minor action is one so powerful, I sleep soundly the whole way to the venue.

I wake up only moments before arriving and lay eyes on the beautiful church at the end of our journey. Our dear friends are finally getting married today. Today is one of the happiest, most important, days of their lives. For me, and even possibly Harry, the day before us would consist of an abundance of flashbacks, and envy, for the spouses to be.

As Harry parks his car, I can feel the eyes of the guests burning through the windows at us. I glance over, up towards the steps of the church, where a number of guests stand as they wait to enter the building. Some, are people we know, friends we had become distant with over the years and throughout Harry’s success.

Others are simply onlookers, excited to see a man of status attending the same gathering as them. This, somehow, makes me feel important, on a day that is about everything except Harry and I.

“Are you ready, love?” Harry asks me, squeezing my hand before shifting the car into park.

“Ready if you are.” I nod, smiling towards him.

Almost in sync, we open our doors, stepping out gracefully and looking at each other over the roof of the car. Harry smirks at me, now making a joke of us mimicking each other’s every move. We close our doors on the count of three and strut to the back of the car where we meet each other.

Harry’s hand reaches for mine over the trunk of the car, and with that, we walk towards the group gawking in our direction.

“Why are they staring at us like that?” I question, looking around in confusion. “Do I have something on my face?”

As we ascend the steep concrete steps, Harry takes a place behind me and lifts the small train of my dress high enough to enable easy steps on my part. I’m flattered, and in awe, by his actions, and take notice that the people surrounding us feel the same. We stop, momentarily, and chat up a few old friends. They compliment us, with bright eyes and convincing words, but that is hardly enough to trigger a genuine thanks from us.

“Emily, you’re glowing!” Our friend, Patty, chirps to me. She seems far too excited to be seeing Harry and me again, but I must admit, it is fun to play pretend with people you hardly see.

“Thank you! I feel fantastic.” I nod, smiling at her as she sways in her dress. “I have nothing to complain about these days!”

I lean on Harry, and we both laugh at my comment along with those around us. But, different from them, we are laughing for completely alternative, and obvious, reasons. At least we are keeping our sense of humour until the end.

Our interactions are kept to a minimum before the host calls us into the church to take our seats. Thankfully, we have been seated beside a couple we do not know. We have escaped interrogation, although, I must admit, we are good liars.

Watching our friends elope, and profess their undying love for each other, causes tears to escape my eyes. I find myself not being the only one here who is brought to tears, many women around me are patting their tears away with soft silk tissues. For them, their tears are those of joy, the ones you can feel raising up your eyes as you smile at a tender sight. On my part, the tears are bitter and burn as they enter my tired weeping eyes. Harry feels this vibe, wrapping his arm around me as he brings me closer to his side.

“I will be with you forever,” The groom ends his vow, and kisses the hand of his soon-to-be bride.

“I said something like that too, you know,” Harry whispers into my ear, before kissing my temple. “And I still mean it, if you’ll have me.”

I look up at him, a tear travels down my cheek, leaving cold remnants behind. He peeks down at me, his big, warm, hand raises to my cheek. His touch is so soft, as his thumb brushes the heavy tear from my skin. I lean into his palm, closing my eyes as if we are the only people in the room. I nod gently, before looking at him again. His green eyes radiate from my perspective, the high church lights cast down on us, and it feels like I am witnessing an angel.

That interaction was enough for me and, almost immediately, I felt better, and authentically began to clap for the happy couple. I was like them once, I already had my parade and shoved the love I had for my significant other down the throats of my guests. Having said that, the divorce rate in England is roughly fifty per cent, and I hope they come out on the better half.

As they walk out the doors and collapse into their awaiting limo, the guests are all piling up at the door, in a rushed and messy attempt to reach the venue in a timely matter. Harry and I do not hang back, and are one of the first out of the church and darting to our car.

I can feel my dress flying behind me, as Harry pulls me through the parking lot and into the car. We speed off onto the narrow road and follow the car in front of us to the next building. I feel wildly comfortable beside Harry, and for the first time, in a long time, it feels like we aren’t enduring any difficulties. I feel like my old self; I never want this day to end. Approaching the hall, which also doubles as a hotel in which we will be staying, I take in its beauty. The large white pillars out front and tall rounded doors give away the luxury of the setting.

Upon entering, we easily find our table. We sit with our old friends and shoot the shit for almost an hour before dinner is served. The room is packed, and filled with only the most beautiful mood. Harry and I take it upon ourselves to congratulate the newlyweds and present our gift to them as a generous check, encased in an envelope with both our names pressed onto it.

It was the least we would do.

As the night passes on, the tables begin to empty, as the dancefloor overflows. I smile to myself as I observe a few of the other couples dancing, from the comfort of my seat, and little kids gracefully playing and waltzing around like the adults, doing their best to stay occupied.

I’ve always admired the scenes of weddings, they’re continuously flowing with a loving enthusiasm, there’s never a dull moment, between the laughter of children dancing and the smiling sensation of the happy couples.

I take a taste of my wine, Harry’s hand caressing against my leg, his fingers cautiously moving the material of my dress to slip under it.

His warm touch clasped to the tenderness of my skin spontaneously permeates my soul with a sense of clarity. I glance over at him, noticing how he’s smiling with his eyes focused on the dance floor, nonchalantly causing my toes to curl slightly within my heeled shoes. My eyes mirror his gaze, my own smile painting across my supple lips as I witness a young girl and boy dancing, her little white dress floating with each step.

I feel him squeeze my thigh considerately under the table, granting a sudden urge of desire to sweep through me.

I bite down on my lip, taking a small breath as I sense the tip of his fingers rubbing circles against the softness of my skin. At first, I disregard the tenderness and the intriguing touch; I have longed for so long to feel his touch, but I’m sure it’s just in the heat of the moment.

I take another sip of my wine, placing it down as I perceive his hand inching higher, his fingers lacing the outline of my lingerie, immediately driving my head to revolve in roaring circles. I take a breath, my eyes narrowing over to meet a far-flung grin, anticipation becoming something that I’m struggling to avoid.

A shiver radiates down my spine the minute his fastidious fingers continue to grace the touch against the slender column of my lingerie, almost causing my breath to hitch in my throat. He nonchalantly reaches for his wine glass, takes a drink, the delicacy of his touch still enthralling me, moderately, and steadily.

I let out a breath as he stops tampering with my sanity, moving his hand to decline back towards my lower thigh, his eyes shimmering at me with that cheeky shine they have possessed since the day I met him.

“Lose ye’ breath? Hm?” He chuckles like the tease he used to be before things began to escalate into a rocky abyss of insignificance.

I don’t respond as I mildly bear my teeth to sink into the mellowness of my bottom lip, striving not to concede my irate sentiments to leave him of innocence and drag him to the hotel room.

It has been months since the sensation of his touch being pressed to my body pervaded my senses. I was freezing and fragile, now I appear rekindled and swelled with an intensity I can not fathom to detail. My eyes take intimation of his cut creased jawline, down to his crimson red tie, and the way his white shirt is rolled up his sleeve, exposing a few of his youthful tattoos engraved into his surface like a permanent cascading waterfall.

I subtly lick my lips, savouring the aftertaste of my wine, beginning to wish to taste what his sweet lips provide, something I have not sampled in a while — something I crave — like a bee covets luscious, rectified honey.

I catch him off guard when I caress my hand to relax on his inner thigh, his eyes immediately diverting their full attention to me as I smirk in a spontaneous manner. He swallows the last bit of his wine with a hard gulp, pressing the glass to the table.

“Be nice,” He raspily clears his throat, eyeing a couple as they pass the table, oblivious to the devious shenanigans leisurely taking place under the table, out of view.

I inch my hand further up his thigh, gliding itself skillfully over his package, his jaw clenching as he gulps.

“Em,” He breathes, my hand allowing itself to stay positioned to tease his delicacy.

“Breathless?” I tease him the same way he did to me, entertained by his darkening eyes, and his trembling lips as he attempts to battle the same desire I am caving into. “Hotel?” I whisper, his eyes closing for a split second, his head descending in a nod.

“You’re going to have to move your hand, first.” He comments and I raise a brow, just now noticing his hand gripping my thigh mildly, but enough to make it known he is caving.

With a smirk, I cast my eyes between his own and his hand settling on my groin still, “So do you,” I remind him, his hand releasing itself from my thigh, mine doing the same, setting him free as he stands to his feet, he grabs his suit jacket from its position overhanging the chair, driving it up his arms before extending me his hand — the hand that executed an enthusiasm — a burning in my soul that I have neglected to welcome in a while.

Like a pair of giggly children, we subtly find our way departing the scene of the reception, managing to disappear without being observed by the main people of the wedding.

The tour from the elevator to the doorway of the room was a brisk walk permeated with a pang of intense lingering hunger. The moment Harry thrusts the door open, I enter, turning around and mounting him against the door as it shuts, his hands spontaneously clasping to the material of my gown embracing my waist, our tongues caressing and binding like two ships.

He groans into our kiss, carefully pushing off the door, guiding us towards the bed, my hands brushing off his suit jacket, enabling it to drop to the carpeted flooring of the hotel room. I begin to press my agile fingers to the buttons of his shirt, shakily undoing them in a hasty manner, his own hand unzipping the back of my dress.

When I get his shirt wide open, his bare chest staring at me in the face, I force the shirt down his flexed arms, another article of clothing making its way to the floor. He helps with tugging off my dress, my feet slipping out of the heels, my body now only clad in a pair of my black, skimpy lingerie.

I struggle to keep my hands to myself as the raging desire to feel every inch of his body infuriates me while he kicks off his shoes, my hands now vigorously drawing at his pants as we flounder our way towards the bed.

I decline against the fresh coverings, his body surging to hover over mine, the cloying sensation of his kisses weighting to the slender column of my neck hitches my breath in my throat.

The enraged desire and anticipation rise with every rich, sensational kiss his lips allow being caressed to my once cold and bitter body. My fingers tangle themselves within the silkiness of his short hair, the ends just beginning to curl.

My fingertips haven’t run through his hair in a long time, they almost misremembered the way it felt to have his smooth hair glide against each fingertip.

I am taken back as I feel the stroke of his tongue glide over my collarbone, his hands wandering my body like a map with no destination. I move my hands to release his soft hair from my grip, moving to feel every dip and curve his body has to offer, gliding over his abs like rocky mountains covered in dripping honey. My hands and eyes honouring the full power of his physique.

“I want you,” I feel him whisper swiftly against the edge of my skin, lifting his head slightly to allow the shade of his eyes to gleam into my own. I bite my lip, feeling the cold chain of his necklace tapping my warm skin, all thoughts becoming superfluous but one.

I nod, not managing to mumble my words, instead, I wrap my leg around him, surging his body closer to mine, a deep primitive tug that signals that I want him. My mouth takes bold possession of his lips, my tongue exploring the texture of his, the feathery strokes of his tongue causing my hormones to percolate furiously, bouncing against the seams of my skin, humming through my veins, igniting a hunger that has been caged for so long. As we kiss with promises full of fulfilment, his delicate fingers begin to slide down the lacy underwear clasped to my body, my head twisting frantically as I kiss him deeper, ready for what’s to come.

He surges himself closer to me, his hard thighs crowning my hips, pressing me against his arousal. I haul in a breath, my body closing tightly around him as he enthrals me with his entry, an engulfing emotion hitching my breath, the slowly repeated motions bringing back memories that have felt so distant. I haven’t felt him this close to me in a long time — I have not felt him.

Heat and power radiate between our bodies, both of us working together to create a fulfilment of passion and love; the long, gradual, ride of delight silencing the deep hunger inside me. Wildness beginning to brew beneath the gentleness he surging. I relentlessly move my hips against his, my nails gliding against the skin of his back in the passion onslaught of his desire, denoting a reckless savage lust, unlike anything I had ever felt before. Our tongues dip and swirl in sweet motion, his strength throbbing inside me at a faster pace — transcending physical pleasure. An urgent need and want flow in a commanding way between us as I arch my back to better accept him.

The stirring of primal needs hits its towering peak, his groans becoming more powerful, my lips forcing themselves not to pull away from his kiss, my teeth wanting to bite into the skin around his shoulder, but I divert the frustration to my hands on his back.

Ripples of pleasure make itself distinguished, molten waves melting inside me, a keening sound escaping my lips as I throw back my head, my eyes narrowing to half-mast.

It was potent — he was damn potent.

His sweaty body falls beside me, nothing but our deep, heavy breath fills the silence around us, my legs quivery and moist, his chest rising rapidly as he gazes up at the hotel ceiling.

“Fuck, that was great.” He breaks the silence, reading my own thoughts, it was not great, it was fucking euphoric. “I love you,” He breathes with a short breath, tilting his head to look at me.

The narcotic power of his deep voice draws a smile from my honey tasting lips, tampering with my sanity again.

“I love you,” the words effortlessly slip from my lips, “Please, don’t leave me.”

my thoughts escape through words, a craving that was fulfilled now revealing a vulnerability that I am not sure whether I want to be exposed.

I feel his hand reach over and press softly over mine, “I’m right here, Em. I’m not going anywhere.”

His husky voice sends shivers down my spine, my body moving closer to his, my mouth skimming the edge of his lips, allowing him to take control of rained, silky, kisses.

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stories-of-undetermined-quality · 8 years ago

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"Terrors of the Night"

I have no memories of a paradise. This world I dread, this world I fear, this realm of unspeakable horror. It baffles me that others call this paradise.

I lie awake in bed, trying to drown out the sound of my alarm clock’s urgent beeping. Ever since I was ten years old, my nights have been far more mentally taxing than my waking moments. I was told by my parents, after I experienced my first nightmare, that these dreams could be controlled. Blink, and you have an axe. Breathe, and you become a dragon. Speak, and the world obeys. I was told that it was the most glorious thing to experience, to wave a hand and reshape an entire landscape.

I was given three rules: 1. Do not expect to be able to use your powers from the world of dreams in the waking world. 2. Do not sleep for more than 8 hours at a time. 3. Do not, under any circumstance, put your own life on the line within the world of dreams.

When I asked later in life the meaning of the rules and the repercussions for breaking them, I was met with odd stares and uneasy misdirections. Nobody cared enough to question the rules. They enjoyed dreaming too much.

To shape an entire world for one’s own purpose, be it pure or putred, was the topic of conversation daily. Some friends of mine fulfilled their own lustful desires. Others made this realm into a punching bag to vent their waking woes. Others still practice creativity and hone their imagination to better perfect the art that they’ve taken as their trade.

I never understood this. I never had the control to become a dreamscaper like some claim themselves to be. Yes, I had control, but it took effort and concentration, and my subconscious mind kept me busy with other things. I could conjure weapons, or will into existence a vessel of transportation. Hell, I could manifest minor control over various elements of nature, but I had very limited control over the world of dreams beyond that. Mostly because a world was conjured for me of the darkest and most twisted imagination that I felt less sane every day and often used self-induced insomnia as a means to give myself solace from the horrors that haunted me at night.

I learned quite quickly how little sleep I needed to live, and how to function with chronic sleep deprivation. Many that I talked to didn’t understand. They were confused as to why I avoided such a paradise, and didn’t believe me when I tried to explain what I suffered every night. I eventually just dodged the subject altogether if it ever came up. That is, for a while at least. My breaking point happened on the night before my eighteenth birthday.

I allowed myself some sleep that night in an effort to actually be able to function the next day, but I learned quickly how big of a mistake that was.

I stood on a wooden raft in the middle of the dark ocean that sealocked the only continent I’ve known to exist within this realm. My instinct was to keep still. To make as little noise as possible. Should any sound other than the rising and falling of the waves and creaking of the bindings that held the raft together be heard, then my world would become hell. I knew this ocean all too well. I knew what was contained within. There was the occasional normal fauna. A school of fish, the common shark, and even a blue whale are reasonable finds within these waters. None of these were a fortunate find, however. Something that lurks within this realm seems to like to fool me into letting my guard down before twisting my surroundings into horror-filled perversions of the human imagination.

Today, the fish showed up. They circled the raft in a vortex that seemed baffling for a natural phenomenon, but this was my nightmare, and that left me uneasy. I recognized what was going on when the raft started to rotate due to the current being created by the school of thousands of fish. Focusing a great deal of my energy, I concentrated on the air around me. I sensed the static electricity around me rising, and with a flick of the wrist, a bolt of lightning struck from the grey cloudless sky and ripped through the school of fish, killing or dispersing them. The whirlpool created by the fish then sucked my raft away and I plunged into the deep. Focusing more of my energy, I enhanced my vision and modified my breathing so that I could see and breathe underwater. The swirling current made it impossible to orient myself, but I was able to spot the fin of a shark nearby. Not having many other options, I willed the shark to swim by me, and I grabbed the creature’s dorsal fin as he swam out of the whirlpool. As I did so, something sharp grazed my right arm, opening a wound and spilling a bit of my blood into the waters. This made holding on to the shark much harder as it entered a feeding frenzy. It shook violently, trying to tear at my flesh. As I began to lose the grip, I saw a whale in the distance in front of what most would mistake as a cave.

Panic gripping me, I willed as much control over the situation as I could. The blood cleared from the water and the shark stopped thrashing about, and I willed it to swim as fast as possible towards the shore. The creature’s mouth took up even more of my field of vision as the whale was swallowed whole. I closed my eyes tight, trying to will myself awake.

I sat upright, awake in bed. My heart was racing, and I was sweating profusely. Breathing heavily, I looked around my room. Everything seemed to be in place. Did it work? Was I actually awake? I shakily got out of bed and walked to the door. Beyond it was the hallway I expected. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I had more power than I thought.

I went back to bed, laying awake, staring at the ceiling. This was too much, I thought. I shouldn’t have to live in fear of falling asleep, knowing I’ll be locked in a world of horrors until my tormentor, whomever he is, decides to release me.

I decide that I need more information. Surely someone out there knows what’s going on. I reach over to my night stand to grab my phone to start doing some research.

My phone isn’t there.

The night stand melts away, as does the rest of my furniture, and the walls shift to a dark room lit by a single fixture. I sit in the middle of the room, under a spotlight, and I hear a low growl from the darkness. I begin to shake a little. As the growling seems to recede into the darkness, I brace myself for the scare. The torture. The attack. Something.

I jerked my eyes awake. Light is filtering through my bedroom window. It feels like I’m awake, but that last scare left me uncertain. I hear my mother calling from the kitchen, telling me to wake up.

I shakily get out of bed. I look out my window and see what should be there: my backyard. It felt real, and I was more certain that I had actually woken up, but there was still some doubt. I stumbled with weak knees into the kitchen. My mother saw me and looked concerned.

“Did you have another nightmare? You look pale.” she asked. I only nodded. I could barely even hear her over the sound of my own breathing and the pounding in my chest. After thinking, I realized that I probably wasn’t going to know for certain if I was awake any time soon. I had no tells. No signs to tell me this isn’t the doing of the demon that haunts me while I sleep. I finally croaked out a sentence.

“I don’t suppose you could prove that I’m awake?” I sighed.

“What do you mean, Jack?” she replied with a tinge of concern mixed with a hint disbelief.

“Nothing, nevermind.” I decided to say. My mother gave me an odd look and hesitantly returned to making breakfast. I felt exhausted, and it felt like it took all I had to remain on my feet. I wanted to sleep. So badly. But I didn’t want to close my eyes from the fear that opening them would mean more fear-fueled horror shows. With a sigh and a slight whimper, I got ready to face the day. Awake or not, I might as well hope for the best.

Since it was Saturday, assuming I was awake, I only had a couple of errands to run before I could do whatever I wanted. Again, assuming.

Looking back on that day, the errands I ran were a bit of a blur, but I do remember very specific occurrences.

The most vivid memory I have of that day was at the grocery store. As I was checking out at the cashier, I looked up to see a twisted ghoul take the place of the clerk. I blinked once, and it was gone, but it left an impression. At that point, I began to question my own sanity.

The entire day, in fact, seemed to be a foggy existence. I couldn’t think straight, and I felt like I was on autopilot. It wasn’t until I got home that my head started to clear.

“Welcome home, honey!” my mother called from the den. I heard five other voices chatting idly. One of them was my best friend, Sam. She was the only one who would listen to me without thinking, at least out loud, that I was insane. Maybe I was insane. Maybe she was insane for listening. I didn’t care.

There was a party celebrating my birthday. I had trouble appreciating it due to my mind being plagued with rampant worries and fears. I was dreading going to sleep tonight. I was dreading not getting any sleep at all. I was dreading the dark in general. My friends would ask me what was wrong, and I would dodge the question. They would persist, I would insist that I was fine. It was a system built on lies. They pretended to care, I pretended to be fine. It worked.

We had cake. I opened presents. I remember genuine appreciation for having people in my life that cared about me, or at least pretended to. The night wore on, and I’d like to say that I enjoyed myself. I don’t remember a smile, but I remember being distracted enough that I didn’t dwell on my demons.

But still, night came.

I stood in a dark, silent room. My heart was racing, and I was sweating bullets. I don’t remember how I got here. My breaths were shallow and shaky, and my body refused to stop shivering though I wasn’t even cold. The demonic wails of my deepest fears howled beyond the door, leeching on my sanity as I tried desperately to calm myself.

Crossing my arms closely against my chest, I looked to the wall opposite the door. Featureless with no windows, the wall was like everything else in this world: blank and malleable. I close my eyes for a moment, and reopen them to a glass wall overlooking a city highrise. I stood in what looked to be the thirtieth floor of one of the taller buildings in the city, and with a marvelous view of this realm. To my left was the coast: leading to a dark sea that was teeming with leviathans that could swallow entire continents. To my right were the wastes: where misshapen titans stomped around, moaning with every breath and driving the listener mad. The howls came from beyond the wall as well as from behind the door now, and I saw the streets were like pulsing tides of horrors I had no name for, and the height I was at made me feel weak.

I’ve heard rumors about death in this world. They say that it kills a part of you in the conscious world. Or that you cease to be able to experience this world. Most couldn’t understand the terrors I faced every night here and were concerned as to why I would think of offing myself within. But they didn’t know. How could they? They were blind to my suffering.

With a deep breath, I placed a shaking hand against the glass, and it dislodged from the wall and fell away, crashing seconds later to the streets with a sickening sound that I wished to never hear again. The sounds grew in volume, and the smell returned. The smell alone almost pushed me from the edge, but I was determined to end it. Without a second thought, I leaned into the fall with closed eyes, letting the breeze on my face and whistling of the wind be my last experience here. I felt a sharp pain, then nothing, and then I gasped, awake in my own bed. I looked at my alarm clock: it read 2:30 AM. I sighed.

Maybe I can actually rest for once.

I had a dreamless sleep that night. I remember drifting off and then suddenly being woken up by the light drifting into my bedroom through the window. I remember a smile creeping across my face as I woke up.

I had an average day that day. I went to work, and nothing eventful happened. I rejoiced in the blandness of that day.

I saw Sam on that day. She noticed that I was unusually happy, and asked what had happened. I explained that I ended my dreams forever. I expected her to be happy for me.

She wasn’t.

“What do you mean you killed yourself in your dreams?! Didn’t your parents tell you never to do that?” she asked. I was confused.

“What was I supposed to do? You of all people would have understood what I’ve been going through.”

“There’s a reason they tell you not to, Jack.” Sam said. I remember asking her to elaborate, but she wouldn’t. That was the last time we talked, but at the time I didn’t realize. I was too high on my own relief and happiness. When I went to bed that night, I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.

I wasn’t even bothered by the figure standing over me when I closed my eyes.

#horror #suicide #story #fiction #prose #dark #dreams #lucid dreaming #death

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