#Prone to sneezing fits is how I want my men

[sneezarify]

A horny, shy fetishist who’s prone to terrible unstoppable desperate sneezing fits. I’m talking 10, 12, 15 sometimes 20 sneezes in one go.

Well, today they can tell they’re due a fit. A persistent tickle has plagued their nose all day…. and that’s bad, because with that tickles comes that warm flicker of arousal. You see sneezing turns them on, always has, hell even the tickle turns them on, and after 15 sneezes they’re rock hard every time.

They've been sat at their desk for hours snorting, sniffling, jostling and nudging at their nose, but now it’s getting dangerous. Their nostrils won’t stop flaring! The itch has become their sole focus. Their nose feels, somehow, bigger more inflamed as the tickle grows.

Fuck! their breath catches, “HEHH…HEH-NGGGXT - NGGXXT” they groan after two rapid fire stifles slip out…and their cock throbs in response.

At least no one heard, they think… Getting blessed just adds to the arousal.

They try and stay calm, but it doesn’t take long for their breathing to get unsteady and shaky again, they beg not to sneeze again but “EHHH-NGXT… HEH-NGGGXT-CHEW…ahhh..aaahhh… ahhh!! ...AHHHH-NGGGXX-CHEWW”… fuck! Each sneeze is such a horrible, sexy tease. Especially when they loose control of stifling, and a wet mist coats their arm.

This time they receive chorus of “bless yous” and it drives them absolutely wild. His cock stands to attention.

But they can’t focus on that, because at this point their nose feels itchier than ever, and before they can even achieve a full sniffle … “HAHH!! HHHAARRSHU, HAARRSHHHUU….” 9 back to back sneezes expel themselves from their nose.

The coworker next to him blessing each sneeze in shock! Bewildered and concerned at that almighty sneeze display.

He keeps his dripping wet hands clasped over his nose, before he sniffs, and looks up, sheepishly wiping them on his trousers. As expected he’s now ruby red, his heart pulsing, and sniffly. His rock hard cock straining against his trousers. Of course he’s unable to move for tissues until he’s feeling a little calmer downstairs.

“thank you” he stutters. Eyes on his computer pretending to work as his cock strains against his trousers.

[lovelylogans]

golden light and black clouds

Always keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don’t think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt.

-practical magic, alice hoffman.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: superstition, food mention, death mention, a bit of anxiety, deceit mention

pairings: polyamlamp (analogical specific)

words: 1,501

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is friday the 13th! this also ties into my fic, lavender for luck—you don’t necessarily need to have read it to understand, but it would probably help!

It should not have been necessarily surprising, that his witch boyfriend was superstitious, but this bordered on the absurd.

“Are you sure you’ve got—?” Virgil asks, poking his head into Logan’s bedroom again, his hair messy and tousled and generally untidy.

Virgil’s looked stressed for the whole of the month—he isn’t particularly prone to smiling, but usually, when he does, it’s genuine and soft and sweet. Since they’d all come back to school, he’s been stressed—shoulders hiked up close to his ears, a tightness around his eyes, the bags under his typical eyeshadow growing deeper and darker, and when he smiles, it’s almost like it’s just for their sake. He’s used to Roman doing something similiar to that. Not Virgil.

It still confounds Logan, that a Friday the 13th could really have Virgil that rattled.

“Yes,�� Logan says wearily. “I haven’t moved the mint on the sill and I have the lavender oil in the bathroom.”

“Good,” Virgil says, already distracted, “right, good,” and he closes Logan’s door behind him.

Logan returns to annotating his textbook. He’s only read a page more by the time Virgil sticks his head in again.

“And you—you know a lemonade recipe, right?”

“Lemonade?” Logan repeats skeptically, looking up from the textbook.

Virgil looks abruptly embarrassed, before he scuffs his toe along the carpet and mumbles, “Look, just—if someone irritates you tomorrow, don’t—don’t retaliate too excessively, yeah? Just drink lemonade instead.”

“All right,” Logan says. “Sure. I’ll drink lemonade if I get particularly annoyed with someone.”

He must not sound particularly dedicated to the idea, because Virgil glowers at him a little.

“And you have class at noon, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Virgil says, “that’s cool,” and then he shuffles a little further into the room. “Can I take a look at your ceiling fan?”

“My ceiling fan?” Logan repeats.

“I just want to be sure that it works well,” Virgil says. 

“That’s outlined in your family’s mythos?” Logan says. 

“Yeah, actually,” Virgil says, and flicks on the ceiling fan. He watches it circle a few times, eyes narrowed, before he flicks it off again. “Can I stand on your bed?”

Logan considers this, before he says, “As long as your shoes are off.”

Virgil wiggles his socked toes at him in answer (purple with cartoonish black cats on them, undoubtedly a gift from Patton) and clambers onto his bed. 

That’s the point when turning back to his textbook loses any hope, because Virgil hums thoughtfully, and then Logan’s ceiling fan begins to dissemble itself into his hands.

Logan stares, jaw slightly unhinged, as Virgil seems to investigate each piece, before just—sticking it back on, not with any particular sense of order, but it seems that as long as he puts the pieces back and if he wills it to happen then it would just... happen.

It’s nonsensical. It’s utterly, completely unrealistic.

It’s magic.

Logan’s known Virgil’s magic for months, of course. But when they first came back to the apartment, Virgil was shy about doing magic in front of them, and then they spent a summer parted, but now, Logan supposes, with all the supposed dangers of a Friday the 13th and three more people to look after than he’s used to...

Virgil sneezes once, flicks a finger dismissively in the air, and Logan watches as the dust seems to disintegrate from everywhere in the room—the fan’s inner machinery, which is what seems to have made him sneeze in the first place, the top of the bookshelf, the inside of grates that he can’t reach with a feather duster—and the air immediately smells cleaner, sweeter, like lavender and honey.

“That’s remarkable,” Logan says, before he can help himself. Really, it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep quiet for so long.

“What, cleaning?” Virgil says, but his pink cheeks give away how flustered he is.

“All of it,” Logan says, and squints up at the fan, as if the magic will dispense itself into formulas that will float in the air until he can solve them and figure it all out. “How do you know how to make it work?”

“Well, I’ve repaired a couple over the years, but it’s mostly,” Virgil says, and makes a vague hand gesture. “Intention, I guess? I mean, I have to know my limits, but. Stuff like this, the magic’s mostly wanting.”

“Limits?” Logan repeats.

“Mostly the cliché stuff,” Virgil says absently. “You know, bringing back the dead, love, that kind of thing. It’s pretty individualized, though—apparently Sally’s kid’s resurrected a few sparrows or something, so she might have a necromancy gift. First in the family, we think, but it’s still pretty early to tell.”

“Is there a particular age at which gifts manifest?” Logan said, debating if he wanted to dig out the notebook he’s started to keep about Fae family traditions.

“Eh, not really?” Virgil said. “Apparently mine started showing around the time I started talking, which makes sense, since mine’s communication-based.”

“With cats.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “My—“

He hesitates, clears his throat, and says, quieter, “My dad’s gift didn’t show up until late, I think. He was about eleven or twelve.”

Virgil’s never really mentioned his parents, outside of their deaths.

“What was his?” Logan asks, grateful that, for once, his voice seems to have taken the hint and gentled.

“Prophecy,” Virgil says. “Dreams, mostly, but stuff like tarot and tea leaves.” A pause, and then Virgil shakes himself. “Uncle’s showed up way earlier—he was young, too, he can talk with snakes and he’s got a gift with plants.”

“Even with identical twins, there’s variance,” Logan says. “Interesting.”

He wants to ask more—he always does, whenever Virgil mentions something about magic like it’s a common, well-known fact to everyone and Logan doesn’t know it—but he isn’t quite sure how to ask it. He isn’t Patton—he can’t gently approach the subject of Virgil’s dead parents, who have died from the same thing that Virgil fears might take him and Roman and Patton one day. 

So he changes the subject back to the other slightly more pressing worry to Virgil. “Are Friday the thirteenths really so dangerous? I mean, this seems like a lot of—precaution.”

“I mean, they’re,” Virgil says, and hesitates even more, before he says, “They’re, I mean. You’re more prone to bad luck and everything, but it’s—it’s the August ones that are—“ He fumbles the end of his sentence. Logan disregards this.

“August is more dangerous, really?” He says. “I’d have assumed—October. Or a solstice month, at least, you’ve mentioned the importance of those.”

It really didn’t seem to fit—the heat of summer, the sunny, bright days. Roman taking them all swimming in the pool, Patton making homemade popsicles and the way they melted over Logan’s fingers, Virgil blowing a breath across the back of Logan’s neck and it moving his body from overheated and sweaty and uncomfortable to cooler and more comfortable and sated in the space of seconds—none of it seemed particularly dangerous.

But then—the stress that Virgil’s so clearly been under, since they all moved back to school.

“My parents died in August,” Virgil says, and Logan closes his mouth. Virgil smiles—tight, humorless. Logan hates it. “Well, around this time, anyway. Whenever the curse takes place, it takes into account the—the continuation of the line, or whatever, but most of the time, it’s...”

“In August,” Logan realizes, quiet—from his own research, even months ago, he can remember the number of deaths of the spouses of Fae.

“Right.”

Logan hesitates, before he reaches out and takes Virgil’s hand. He, certainly, isn’t the most comforting boyfriend of the four of them, but he’ll certainly have to try.

“There’s a vending machine in the astronomy building that sells lemonade,” Logan says, as a peace offering. “I can buy one in the morning. Just to be prepared.”

Virgil smiles, and, for the first time since the calendar changed months, there isn’t quite the same tightness around his eyes. Logan leans close, and kisses his cheek, before he digs out the notebook he’s kept for Fae magic, and heads the paper with FRIDAY THE 13TH.

“You can tell me the things I should do or avoid,” Logan suggests, clicking a pen. “If you’d like.”

Virgil lets out a slow breath, before he starts to speak, like he’s reciting a poem.

“Make certain never to step on one of the crickets that may have taken refuge in a dark corner of your living room, or your luck will change for the worse. Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Crossed knives set out on the dinner table means there’s bound to be a quarrel...”

Logan takes dedicated notes, the whole time. If he’d looked up as he asked his questions of clarification (”this applies to women specifically?”) then he would have seen Virgil smiling softer and fonder, and while he stared at Logan, he wasn’t too anxious at all.

[darkhymns-fic]

Magic Swordsman, Expert Tailor

Lloyd has to come to terms with Kratos being his father... Luckily the detailed cloak he was wearing made this a lot easier to deal with.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion, Colette Brunel, Dirk Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Inspired by @moldy-mold‘s cursed/blessed art. Forgive me...just wanted to make something silly and it’s been so long since I tried writing Kratos. Also since this takes place during the Kratos route, certain deaths can’t be avoided whoops.

---

“Lloyd,” came a voice that lingered in the air. It made him turn.

“Did…Did someone just call my name?” Lloyd asked no one. He had been so distracted by the falling snow outside his window that the voice had made him jump. He felt a little embarrassed about it… but also that voice was very familiar.

So with little time to spare, he left the inn room, walked down the halls and out into the balcony where the stars hovered bright in the sky. Sound felt muted in Flanoir, so hearing that voice so clearly had caught his attention and curiosity.

No one was outside however.

“Huh. Guess I was just hearing things…” Also, it was really cold outside. He hadn’t brought a cloak with him or anything…

“Lloyd.”

He turned, already expectant to find him, and he did. The first he saw was Noishe, his great ears flicking with each snowflake that fell over his green fur, his tail wagging with excitement. Then next to him was Kratos… looking… kind of similar?

Wait… what was he wearing?

“I apologize for calling you out here, but I deemed it was probably the best time.”

Kratos was wearing a cloak, one that was a mixture of light and dark green. That wouldn’t have been so weird if the color hadn’t been arranged in patterns that were exactly like Noishe’s fur. And as if to make sure Lloyd wasn’t imagining things, the hood of Kratos’ cloak was shaped like a certain dog’s head… complete with long, fringed ears, the tuft of dark green fur at the top, and even buttons that served as the eyes and snout…

“Uh,” Lloyd said – it was the only thing he could say.

Kratos seemed to understand his son’s speechlessness. He pulled at the collar of his hood, looking away and giving a small cough. “The snow in Flanoir can be cumbersome. My own clothes are not sufficient enough for it. Speaking of, are you not cold yourself?”

“Uh,” Lloyd repeated, staring at that hood. How did he get it… so detailed? The question finally registered. “Oh! Um, I’m not really cold. This jacket’s good enough! It’s all well-insulated and stuff!” At least that was what his dad would say…

It was so damn weird seeing Kratos look at him with the usual serious expression while basically wearing a cloak version of Noishe’ face. He had never seen Kratos wear this before? Had he always had it?

…Could he get the same kind of cloak if he asked?

Kratos walked up to the balcony next to Lloyd, and started to talk about his reasons for staying with Cruxis, how he knew Lloyd to be his son, and even, with obvious pain in his voice, related the death of Lloyd’s mother. But through all of that, Lloyd still could not take his gaze away from the hood of that cloak.

He got the ears perfect. Did Kratos make this? At times, he had to switch from looking at Kratos to Noishe, who was still standing in the snow, tail wagging and panting, despite it being cold.

“…And then, I killed her,” Kratos said, closing his eyes as he relived the terrible memory of slaying his past love. “After that, I fought off Kvar and his men, but couldn’t find you. I thought there was no way you could still be alive.”

“…Huh? Oh, y-yeah, that’s great,” Lloyd said off-handedly. It was way too hard to pay attention to anything that he was saying right now. “Hey, uh, could I like… how do you have that?”

Kratos raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Like, do you sew or something? You even got the eyes right!” He was pointing straight at Kratos’ head, before realizing he was talking kind of loudly.

That and Kratos was staring at him – still wearing that cloak.

He lowered his hand. “Er, sorry.” Then scratched the back of his head. “It’s uh, kind of cool, I was trying to say.”

He saw a hint of red in Kratos’ cheeks – probably from the cold. The man looked away for a moment. “I’ve lived for over four millennia – much longer than any human should live for – and I’ve learned a few trade skills along the way. It helped pass the time, so to speak.” He cleared his throat again. “So I learned tailoring, and I seemed to have enough of a talent for it. It was something I learned slightly during my thespian days.”

“Your wha?” Lloyd was gonna ask him about that because it was really confusing him… but he shook his head, still pretty impressed at Kratos’ skills. Kind of a coincidence to have another dad that could also make stuff! Dirk could do a little tailoring too but not on this level…

“Thank you for liking my work, Lloyd,” Kratos said then. Was that pride in his voice?

“Oh! Yeah, you’re welcome! I want one of those now!” Man, how cool would it be to get a cloak like that to match with Noishe? But he realized he was acting kind of excited for what should have been a very serious conversation. He rubbed his hair, dispelling away any stray snowflakes from it. “Heh, just being silly.”

Kratos smiled at his son, looking probably more happy than he ever did. It was kinda strange, especially with the Noishe-cloak on him…but Lloyd was finally starting to understand the man who had been his mentor, and now father.

“It is no trouble at all, Lloyd.”

---

After their conversation, Lloyd had gone back to his room at the inn, a little tired, and actually pretty cold. He had a feeling his jacket wasn’t supposed to be that insulated, more meant for chilly nights back home and not a snowstorm. So with a sneeze, he waved goodbye to Kratos and instantly collapsed on his bed.

When he woke up the next morning, he found a letter enclosed with a pendant – one that housed pictures of Kratos… and his mom, along with himself as a baby. He stared at the important item in silence, feeling so moved that Kratos would give something this valuable to him.

Then his eye caught the sight of something else to the right of him that was on a chair… something green.

"Whoa..." Lloyd breathed as he instantly went over to grab the Noishe-cloak in his hands. Did Kratos actually make more than one of these?!

Lloyd worried it might be too big, but when he put it on, fitting the hood just over his head, he found that it was the perfect size for him. But how? That was when he saw another letter placed beside the cloak, and quickly went over to read it.

Lloyd,

I must confess to you that I had worn this style of clothing on what you could say was a hunch. This design I had made while living with your mother. I would wear this while letting you ride on my shoulders and you always seemed to enjoy it. You were particularly fond of the ears and kept pulling at them. It put my stitching skills to the test so that they should no longer be prone to tearing. I made one for your mother as well, but it was unfortunately lost on the night of her death.

I also once started working on a similar cloak for you when you were young. I have adjusted it accordingly to fit you as you are now. Please accept this.

Sincerely,

Kratos

After reading the letter, and carefully putting the hood to fit better over his head, Lloyd had only one thing to say.

“Man, this is the coolest thing ever!”

And of course, right after getting it, he had to show it off to everyone as he made it down to breakfast. Sure, it made people wonder just where he got it from… but he couldn’t just hide this away! Also it was still kinda cold in Flanoir!

“Lloyd! That looks so cute on you!” Colette was saying, starry-eyed, hands clasped as she looked over the cloak. “Did you make that yourself?”

“Well… I’ll tell you later!” he said quickly as Genis stared suspiciously. “And this makes me look cool, not cute!” He politely corrected her on that, hands on his hips, chest swelling with pride as the wind tugged at his Noishe-cloak’s ears.

“Oh okay! Yeah it does look cool on you!” Colette was hopping on her toes. “I wish I had one too…”

Hm, maybe Kratos could make one for Colette? But he’d have to find him again… “You can borrow this one later if you want!”

“Bud, that looks awful,” Zelos was saying, his tone a little harder than usual. “Where’d you even get something like that?”

“It’s not awful! It’s really cool!” He stood proud, the wind pulling at his cloak dramatically, or so he thought it must have.

Presea was tugging at the hem, looking at it curiously. “There are no paw pads,” she simply stated, then turned away.

“I think paw pads would be weird on this,” Lloyd tried to explain. Noishe came up from behind to bump his large head against his back, whining slightly, but tail wagging at rapid speed. “Yeah, you also think it’s cool, don’t you, Noishe?”

And though he would never admit this out loud ever… sometimes, he thought Kratos could be really cool too…

---

In the Tower of Salvation, Zelos laid in a puddle of his own blood as Lloyd knelt to his level. He was panting after the fight, having long ago let go of his swords. “Zelos…”

“Hurry and get to Colette,” Zelos was struggling to say. “You don’t have long… Heh, neither do I, I guess…”

“Come on, don’t talk like that!”

Zelos faced Lloyd again, at the friends that surrounded him… then glared sharply. “You really had to keep wearing that during our fight, didn’t you?”

Lloyd blinked, absentmindedly tugging at one of the ears that flopped against his face. “Well, you didn’t give me time to take it off! And Colette liked me wearing it earlier…”

“Uh huh…”

“Also, it really matches well with my jacket, doesn’t it? It’s not even that heavy! Were you wanting one too?”

“…Bud…”

“You kept staring at it before! Is that what this was all about?” He looked expectantly at Zelos who now decided to not answer at all this time. “Hey! Zelos!”

“Uh, Lloyd?” Genis said, standing next to Lloyd. “I think he just died.”

“…Oh…”

---

In Torent Forest, the group came upon Kratos who was seated on the ground, looking deep in thought, clasping a bright red sword between his hands. He looked as somber as ever, and it set the air with a tension that Lloyd could feel all around him.

Raine sighed, saying in a whisper to an equally frowning Regal. “Is he really wearing it too?”

“For old time’s sake,” Kratos said, hearing the whisper clearly with his attuned hearing. He got up to his feet, the cloak shifting in the breeze, along with the long ears. “I see you had a similar idea, Lloyd.”

“Well, yeah! Why wouldn’t I?” Lloyd was saying, shocked that Kratos thought he would be any different! He turned back to his group that was full of confused faces. “Everyone, leave this to me.”

“You’re going to fight alone?” Kratos asked, face half hidden in his hood, the sun catching the beady eyes of the cloak.

“Lloyd won’t lose!” called out Colette, eyes bright now that she got to see two of the coveted Noishe-cloaks! “Especially not when he’s wearing something so cute…”

Lloyd had long ago came to terms that at least to Colette, the cloak looked cute on him, but he still stood tall, as cool as he felt! “And while I’m wearing this, I’m gonna show you just how much I’ve improved since last time!”

Kratos said nothing at first, merely readied his sword, eyes narrowed. “I’m not gonna hold back this time.”

Lloyd readied his own weapons, his expression also serious and tense. “I know… I won’t either.”

Genis groaned. “Guys, are you not worried that you’ll tear these up during your fight? I thought these were important for some reason!”

“But we have to!” Lloyd turned to his friend, looking more sure of this than anything.

Kratos nodded once more. “Please respect our choices.”

Raine facepalmed. “They are so goddamn similar it’s giving me a headache. How did I not see it before? It’s so obvious.”

Colette clapped her hands excitedly at now seeing two of the cloaks in action. “You got this, Lloyd!”

Noishe, who happened to be beside her, barked at seeing the familiar attire, while whining at the upcoming fight.

Few of the others could bear to watch…

---

At Dirk’s home, Lloyd carried the weight of his new sword set; one of the deepest azure, the other a bright crimson. A gift from each of his fathers.

“I’m sorry for putting everything on you,” Kratos said, feeling small as he stood next to the dwarf named Dirk. But Lloyd looked at each of them proudly.

“I have great dads. One made a ring for his son using the lost arts, and another risked his life to protect his son in secrecy.” Lloyd closed his eyes somberly as he thought on his words, then opened them with brightness. “That and now I not only have two cool swords by both my dads, but also two outfits! I’m so lucky!”

As he was, of course, wearing his usual red outfit – originally made by Dirk, numerous buttons and all – with the Noishe-cloak right on top of it.

Dirk looked at Lloyd with amusement, then shook his head with soft laughter. Kratos had long put away his own cloak (Dirk had offered to wash it with the next load of laundry), but he was sure Kratos probably wished he could wear it right now. “Yeah. You’ve got great parents!”

Now with two swords and two treasured outfits, Lloyd truly felt he was twice as strong as before!

---

And yet, after everything, it had been time to say goodbye. Lloyd looked to the sky where he had sent Kratos off for a long time before he headed back home, wondering on his decisions before he could finally settle with it.

“Are ya alright, Lloyd?”

Taking a deep breath as he turned around, leaving the grave of his mother to face Dirk, he smiled. Colette was standing next to him, with a similar look of concern on her face. face.“ I’m fine now.”

“I’m glad Kratos got to leave you a present in the end,” Colette commented, referring to the cloak he still wore. There was also the sword, Flamberge…. But she was totally talking about the cloak. He didn’t mind. It really was so cool!

“Heh, yeah! Me too.” Fixing the clasp to be a bit tighter, he stopped in mid-action. “Oh, I forgot some other stuff in my room. I’ll be right back and then we can go!”

“Okay!” Colette said cheerfully, while Dirk shook his head with a gruff smile. Lloyd went off in a flash of red and green through the door and up the stairs. He even felt faster with this cloak on! Well, Noishe was as fast as the wind, after all… maybe some of Noishe really was in this cloak.

When he went into his room, seeing the pack he had missed bringing back downstairs, it was then he saw something else – something that was placed on his bed.

Something that was a familiar green.

“No way…” Eyes shining, he reached for it to confirm it was real. And sure enough, it was another Noishe-cloak, just as well-made as the one he wore! But he could tell right away that it was a bit shorter? Not by much, but…

He saw a letter on the bed too, which he went immediately to read.

Lloyd,

I will have most likely left to Derris-Kharlan by now. But I wanted to finish making this for your partner during your journey in gathering the Exspheres. I’ve seen Colette stare at your cloak… Forgive me for assuming, but I had wanted to present this as a surprise.

Take care of each other. And don’t die before I do, my son.

Sincerely,

Kratos

Lloyd held both letter and cloak in hand, already imagining a certain familiar blonde-headed figure within the hood. She always seemed to love the ears specifically, and they had just the right amount of fringes on it – just like the real thing.

Hearing Noishe’s bark travel up the stairs, he was reminded he needed to hurry. He had the perfect reason to do so now.

“Colette! Look what I got!” he was already shouting, rushing back down the stairs, excited to see Colette’s happy smile on her face.

And as they both traveled down the road later on, donned in flowing patterns of green as Noishe followed along behind them, Lloyd couldn’t help but think, Kratos really can be cool sometimes…

[fanahannah]

A Mind Unraveled

I had never experienced a psychotic episode before. No one told me Vyvanse could cause them. I was already in the thralls of it before I or my partner could do anything about it. Lots of inventing new “math”. Sleep became secondary. That time is all a haze to me at this point, almost a year later. I’ll skip most of it, and save it for a later date. I will talk about how I was treated because of it. We’re going to start on February 2nd, groundhog’s day.

I’m wearing a crop top, and sweats that a friend and neighbor gave me. She convinced me to put on pants and begged me to stay inside while she went to work. I couldn’t listen. I walked outside in the snow with no shoes on. I flagged down a car and begged them to take me to the hospital. A short time later, I was in the back of a squad car, surrounded by at least a dozen police officers. I admitted to taking substances which I hadn’t, and I was arrested without confirmation of my story. They would believe me, when I was making absolutely no sense as long as it fit their beliefs. Only drugs could cause this. I couldn’t explain that the drugs I were on was prescribed by a doctor. Public intoxication was my charge. They took me to the police station, a large toddler sitting in their backseat. I tried desperately to take the hat from the front seat because I really wanted to wear it. It was resting on the barrel of the officer’s gun.

The officer trying to book me had the same tattoo as me. He tried to make small talk, and all I could do was say “I’m going to pee my pants now. I’m sorry.” I tried to sleep in wet pants until I was transferred to county jail. I was placed in a cold room and tried to sleep on the cold floor. It was a room filled with telephones and I tried to figure out how to call home. A guard came by and angrily replaced the phones on the receivers without really acknowledging my existence.

They attempted to book me several times. I wasn’t hostile, but I also wasn’t cooperative. I was in the mindset of three year old. I would wander off as they were trying to pry information out of me. I thought they were aliens and I had been abducted. If I could be polite and just not give them information, they would let me go. They tried at least 3 times to get my information. Then they would send me back to my cell, 120. All concrete. All cold. The last time, I took interest in the plexiglass sneeze guard at the central desk. I poked it with my finger to test the simulation I was trapped in. A guard bellows “Don’t touch that”. I found a flaw in the game. I have to exploit it. I touch it again.

I’m slammed against the wall. My hands are forced behind my back. I’m attempted to shove my hands through what they call the “bean door” a little slot in the giant metal door. It doesn’t work. I’m shoved in the cell. I’m bodyslammed to the floor. Here comes another guard. I later learned it was his 3rd day on the job. He seemed energetic and scared. They desperately want me to go on my back. I do not want that. I don’t want to suffocate in the prone position. I can’t vocalize that in my psychotic state. They try and try. They have two sets of cuffs on me, but still no budging. I start to laugh. It’s still a game. I’m fighting off two full grown men with ease. I feel no pain. I feel no contempt. No anger. I feel like I’m doing the right thing, self preservation. The man who body slammed me starts saying “I’m going to tase you” over and over again. He unhoslters, and unloads his stun gun into my leg. No effect. He does it again. And again. And again. I don’t budge. He has this look of immense fear on his face. He goes for my stomach as the rookie tries to get a better position in front of me instead of beside me. I lurch forward as taser meets just below my belly button, and my face lands into the shoulder of the rookie. I feel the electricity for the first time, but in my mouth as I tase the rookie with my open maw. They seem pleased with this. “You’re gonna get it now, you were just here for a misdemeanor and now that’s a felony. You’re in it now. You drew blood. That’s it for you. It’s over.” The blood was from my ankles and wrists from being repeatedly slammed onto the concrete and having cuffs tightened over and over again. The evidence photos don’t even show teeth marks. They back off of me since they got what they wanted, and I go limp. The lights are bright. I close my eyes while laying on my back looking up at the fluorescents. Even with eyes closed it is blindingly bright. They leave me alone for a while still cuffed.

Time passed, they uncuffed me, and I curl up in the corner of the room. I stay there for hours. The food they shoved through the door sits motionless. I think they’re trying to trap me with it. I don’t eat for a few days. I repeat nonsensical words over and over because I think It creates a force field protecting me. I try and create a transportation whistle from my hair and some foam from the metal door. It worked through whistling, and I whistled so hard and so loud. I felt the first taste of freedom since going in. It doesn’t last.

The lights never turn off. I’m still in the underwear I pissed myself in days ago. I sleep on the floor, wrapped up in tattered scratchy blankets with an eye slit always watching the door. Around day 3 or 4, they start bringing me some kind of antipsychotic. I start to come out of my psychosis, and I feel sore. I feel broken. I’m in a haze. I finally get to talk to my family. They sound depressed and disappointed. My partner sounds so happy that I’m alive and guilty that he couldn’t help me. I finally get a plastic bed that they call a boat. I’m promised new underwear, but it never comes. I’m given a pencil and an envelope that I unravel to write what happened to me. I’m also given a bible. I read the Samuel chapters and learn that David was in a gay relationship with a man named Johnathan. Two days before I’m scheduled to be bonded out, I get a shower at midnight. Time doesn’t mean anything to me at this point. I leave my underwear on to have them be at least a little bit washed. I don’t really wash because I’m convinced it’s a gas chamber that they’re going to use to kill me with. The sounds outside of my cell sound like people laughing and loading guns over and over again. I’ve slept in 2 or 3 hour increments for almost a week. The lights never went off except for the last night that I’m there. No one would tell me the time, and they would close my viewing door to prevent me from being able to see the clock. I had to learn the guards names to ask them what time it was. Other people on the ward would scream all night incoherently.

My first moments out of the jail, I hug my dad for what most likely will be the last time. He hasn’t spoken to me since I transitioned. My partner took me home, and I sang all the way home at the top of my lungs. I tickled my son while he was sitting in his car seat because his laughter was immediately a healing sound to hear. I feel disheveled and broken, but I escaped and made it out alive. We crest a hill while driving and I can see for literal miles. The open blue sky is foreign. It’s completely breathtaking, and not in a good way. I felt like all the air was being sucked out of my lungs. I cried and cried and cried. I did my hormone injection and showered for real. I start to feel some semblance of normalcy. I lay in my california king bed with my partner, my dog, and we watch TV.

The normalcy fades in the coming weeks, and I have to start dealing with the trauma that I suffered. I had nerve damage in my thumbs from the cuffs. I had bruises from the walls and floor I was slammed into. I had burns on my legs and stomach that had to heal. The part that has taken the longest to heal is my mind. I was agoraphobic for months. I had to stop watching my favorite shows because I had been convinced they were killing me through some government white light death ray. I still can’t watch some of them because it’s too triggering.

I’ve come so far from that time. I feel alive. I’m reminded of the events that took place every time I go to my probation visits. I can never fully distance myself from those memories and experiences. I’m still not okay, but I’m getting there. All the misgendering and dehumanization almost made me detransition. I’m so glad I didn’t. I feel more comfortable in my skin now than ever before. The reminders of that time are cold and sting. One day, enough time will have passed and I’ll have progressed far enough that I won’t have to feel the pain of those things. They’ll be distant. I’ll still be here. I love myself. I was tested to my breaking point, and I made it out.

[thepackratchronicles-blog]

Ch3

I don’t traffic in anything have to do with dark magic. Black stuff, the sort that requires blood rituals and deals with demons. Beyond my own, staunch morality, I’m rather allergic to it.White magic, fae charms, and everything between doesn’t even make me itch, but dark magic? My eyes water, my sinuses fill, and my throat feels like sandpaper.This is exactly what happened to me not five minutes after calling Iris. I sneezed in rapid succession and scrambled for a hanky. This would be a long day, I could already tell. Turning the dial of my radio, I picked up a police scanner and listened to all the words fit to broadcast. There had been an attack at Enoch’s store. A struggle, and a man dead matching Enoch’s description from two bullet holes in the back of the head. Very nice. Very professional. I felt my blood boil. I am not, by practice, a man prone to rages. But when someone not only kills a valuable sort of magical goods. Someone I’ve known for a very long time, well I can’t say it doesn’t get my dander up.Blowing my nose, I struggled to pull on my parka, beanie hat, and gloves. I had to do some thinking, and doing it holed up in my pack was not the most productive. I needed fresh air. Salt air.About two hours later I was at the docks. It’s my favorite place to mull things over. Also, like most ‘rough places’ in any city or town, it’s where you’re more likely to find some magical inhabitants.Glamours are expensive you see. Oh sure it’s easy for a thousand year old vampire to pay to keep themselves looking and seeming human. But when you’re a down on your luck Troll trying to feed a brood of kids, a halfhearted masque is the best you can manage.One being in particular, a Hill Giant named Larry, was the one I was after. He ran a seedy little bar at the docks, which catered to the lost and found of magical beings. Especially those who could afford no manner of glamour. And thus had  to keep out of the eyes of ‘normies’ lest the MPD (Mystical Police Department) swoop down and lock them up.Larry was massive, and likely eight feet tall when he stood upright, which he never did. He hunched like most of his kind, and was cleaning massive iron mugs when I entered. He snorted his greeting, and I slipped onto a barstool.“You ain’t wanted here, bub,” “Now now Larry. You know quite well I paid my tab last we-” “Ain’t about the tab. You got yerself a price on yer head.” I blinked once. Twice even. A price? How was that even possible? What could I have done to warrant such an over-exaggeration of a reaction.“Come again?” Another snort. “-y’heard me short-stack. Some.. high end lawyer wit’ a bit of dark power behind him put it our on th’magic radar a half ‘n hour ago. Says anyone who brings y’in gets a hefty price. Gotta be alive tho’, so there’s a comfort,” A half an hour? I had been safe and snug in my little abode a half hour ago. This was ridiculous. But I felt the proverbial weight of a target being draw on my back. I scratched my beard and pondered.“Any chance you won’t tell anyone I’ve been here, Larry?” There was a long pause. He of course was waiting for the reason to not be telling anyone. Digging into one of the many pockets of my parka, I slid him two gold coins, which he took. “-Course not, we’re friends ain’t we?” I didn’t stay much longer at Larry’s place. When you’re prey, you move. As I stepped onto the docks once more, I was spotted. Men in suits... same as the sort that had shouldered me outside of Enoch’s shop appeared on either ends of the long shore. “Ah... feck,” I muttered to myself. I myself, am not one for fighting. In a one-on-one brawl, I can handle myself alright. I’ve watched countless hours of professional wrestling. I know that a good thumb in the eye, or kick in the jewels halts most any fights. But four buff men in suits? No thank you.I weighed my options. I doubt I could run. I didn’t have time to dig into my pack for anything proper. I only kept simple things in my accessible pockets, anything heavy got cataloged away. That’s when I thought of it.A month ago, a mermaid had needed some help getting her children out of debt with a rather disgusting goblin. He was using their songs to get people into his establishment of ill-repute. Abused them rather severely. Normally I’d have taken such a task without charge, but she insisted I take something. So she had given me a pearl. One time-use. Apparently it would allow me to ‘Swim like fish. Fast and true. Much fast’ (she was in fact, a Russian mermaid.)I had never had a chance to test it, do to it’s single use, so I couldn’t organize it in my collection. But now seemed as good a time as any. In a flash, I sunk my hand into one of the pockets of my pack, and heard the splintering of wood. Those bastards were throwing hexes at me!I made a mad dash towards the edge of the dock. Popping the pearl into my mouth, I swallowed and jumped into the icy waves below.My muscles screamed in agony. My chest pounded at the shock. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay under for long. Not a chance. That’s when it happened.I felt my clothes loosen. My arms shrank... my legs seemed to.. melt together. For fuck’s sake. Swim like fish. Swim as a fish. I’m a fucking fish!A marlin to be precise. Thankfully a large enough animal to where I could still carry my jacket and pack. The only two items that mattered and swam as rapidly as I could towards salvation. My pack hanging off a fin, and coat perched on my spear-like snout.I had no idea how to get where I needed to go, I was never a boating sort of person. But the further I got away from those goons, the better I’d be. I kept to the coastline, until I was able to pop up to recognize the lower half of the city. That’d work. I didn’t know how long it’d take to revert back to myself. So I huddled under a dock near the city, and tossed my pack and jacket onto shore. Both hidden by shadow and planks. Then swam aimlessly until I felt the change take place.Once I had the appropriate amount of appendages I scrambled out of the water. I shook the beaded water off my parka and pulled it on . Both my pack and coat had been jinxed to be VERY weatherproof. I thanked that leprechaun, wherever he was.I popped into my bag long enough to dry off. Change into warm dry clothes, a sturdy pair of boots, and a few more layers to keep the hypothermia out. I also grabbed a flask of Orcish Spirits, and after a gulp I felt the feeling rush back to my fingers and toes.Once I was back into the real world, I slung my pack onto my back, and started on foot. I had no idea where I was going. I was very sure that I couldn’t go to any of my usual haunts. They’d likely be watched. And I refused to put anyone in danger recklessly. I did text Iris. Not because I was concerned. She is definitely a woman who could take care of herself. But because I told her I’d be off the grid for a while, and gave her some vague details about why.I received a reply of “Right”. Which was clearly a disguised statement of love, concern, and admiration. I decided then and there that I would in fact be safest among the normies.Magic is a very well kept secret. And the people who enforce that secret are some of the strongest and scariest people you’d never hope to meet. No matter how much power this strange, Warlock... Lawyer.. Lawyerlock had, he wouldn’t dare risk exposure en mass. I went to a mall, for I love the mall as it’s filled to the brim with people determined not to pay attention to you. There I spent a useful hour doing research on my now third cellphone of the day. Devouring a side of “Left Side Moon’s” lovely orange chicken. Iris had installed an app that let me read the “Magical RSS Feed”. Which apparently announced all the goings-on in our world. And true to his word, Larry was right.“Bounty - Packrat Moe - Vast Gold Reward - Alive - Any Information Paid - Contact 555-8392″ “Well Well... this is interesting,” I whispered to myself, the only council worth a flick in times of crisis. I forwarded it to Iris, and asked her politely, if a little vaguely to see if she could find out who had posted it. Her answer came not twenty minutes later.-Someone trying to keep hidden. Lots of magic loopholes. Burnt out computer tracking it down. Bought new one, sending you invoice.- I rolled my eyes, but continued reading.-Law Firm, Ghul & Associates. Nothing on the man who runs it. Doesn’t exist.-I thanked her. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had had before. I at least had a starting point. I stocked up on supplies, food, odds and ends, and once more set out. I had an appointment with a lawyer to keep.