#and almost died twice this session

[parasite-core]

A vargouille is one of the first monsters I ever fought in pathfinder nearly a decade ago. My ranger Vespa shot it through the mouth and it died before it could do any real damage.

The next time I fought a vargouille, it got smashed into a door like an egg.

Tonight my PC got paralyzed straight out of the door against a vargouille and almost died to its transformative kiss.

Oh how the turn tables.

[irlwolfdog]

I fucking love DnD

[chocolilies]

─── SWEAT. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. fushiguro toji x fem!teacher!reader. . .ᐟ

toji comes to pick megumi up from his training, expecting to be met with his white-haired asshole of a teacher, only to meet gojo's newer, cuter replacement.

◟ꪆ୧ slight nsfw (toji stares at reader's tits, reader imagines getting groped by him), au where toji is alive + takes care of megumi, bold yet sneaky flirting, megumi's in middle school. wrote this on a whim bc i need toji BAD.

w.c: 1.6k

also on ao3 + jjk masterlist !

“that’s your dad?”

you’d heard mention of fushiguro toji before, whether it be from his son or from gojo as he had explained how he’d let the “sorcerer killer” live under the promise of taking care of the boy that was now standing at your side. 

“don’t you dare.”

megumi gritted his teeth as he watched you goggle at the man you were approaching, hand wrapped around your wrist as if he was pulling back a dog on a leash, and by the way you were staring at toji, he might as well have been. 

“what!?” you let out an offended gasp, turning to look at your glaring student, tiny face scrunched up in disgust at the mere thought of what was going through your brain. 

“i know what you're like.”

you froze in your place, horrified expression framing your sweaty face as the cicadas roared around you, framing the silence after that comment in an almost comedic manner. 

you watched as megumi continued to walk ahead, a bored look on his face once he turned around to wait for you to catch up at the edge of the tiny wasteland you’d both been training in, letting you wonder as you caught up to him just what gojo had told him before he’d first introduced the both of you.

you started spluttering out a mix of words in disbelief once you reached his side, but whatever you’d tried to say immediately got stuck in your throat as soon as you finally caught a better look at the man that had sparked the short lived argument.  

oh, fuck.

“who’s this?” you watched attentively as the muscles in toji’s arms bulged beneath his tight shirt at the tiniest movement, feeling your mouth water at the mere sight of them. 

god, you felt dirty just staring at him.

“my teacher.” megumi grunted, shoving his backpack off and flinging it into his dad’s chest, walking towards the bus stop further ahead without bothering to say goodbye, knowing he’d see you around sooner or later. 

“I thought that white-haired brat was his teacher,” toji grunted out, flinging the backpack over his shoulder as he turned to look down at you, quirking up a brow as he immediately noticed your nervous demeanour, a drop of sweat dripping down your temple before rolling down your neck and towards your exposed cleavage, green eyes following it’s whole journey and lingering on the spot where it disappeared.  

it’d been a while since toji had stared at someone this way. he hadn't looked twice at anyone, regardless of their attractiveness or willingness, ever since his wife died and tsumiki’s mom left. 

but that amount of time without anyone to touch or kiss or feel would have its toll on anyone, and toji was no exception. 

which is why he initially blamed it on that. 

neediness.

he doesn't feel anything for megumi’s teacher, you’re just too pretty and exposed and worked up to ignore, right? it’s not like he’d actually think of pursuing something with you. 

he snapped out of it once you spoke, expecting to meet an angered expression and an insult about his perversion once he raised his gaze, only to find you straight up ogling his arms and chest. 

the way he stares at your pretty, scrunched up face when you aren't looking, proves him wrong.

initially, you might've been able to attribute your clammy palms and sweaty skin to the blasting summer heat, or to the fact you’d just finished a four hour training session with the tiny grade two sorcerer who gojo had been training for the past few years. 

“I'm his co-worker,” you stuttered out, forcing yourself to look away from the veins that swelled in his arms and up to his green eyes, not wanting the man to see just how much he was affecting you. “satoru’s on a mission, so I'll be taking care of ‘gumi ‘till then.”

toji hummed, taking your gawking as an invitation to do his own, allowing his eyes to trail over your flustered expression and sweaty skin, lingering on the more exposed parts of your outfit, thanking whatever god was up there for the stupid heatwave that had hit their country as of late. 

“mission, huh?” toji snickered, turning his head to look at the boy who was sitting at the bus stop with one of the divine dogs at his side, resting his tired body against its black fur. “how long will y’be around?”

“well, until ‘toru comes back, I guess…” you trailed off, mouth going dry as you watched the man take a tiny step towards you, raising one of those big hands you’d been ogling before to brush against your cheek, a shiver wracking through your whole body at the light contact, his skin burning against yours, making you just how a man that ran as hot as that was able to survive in this weather, especially when he dressed like it was winter.

“y’had some dirt on y’cheek,” toji almost purred out, flicking his fingers to get rid of the grime that had probably stuck to you during the many times megumi’s divine dogs had flung you around. 

“oh, I'm probably covered in dirt,” you laughed out nervously, taking a step back to put the same distance as before between you two, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand while trying to ignore how electrifying his touch had felt. “I always seem to find myself taking an everything-shower after training with ‘gumi, he’s ruthless.”

toji fell silent, watching you as you shook your arms and head, probably trying to get rid of whatever debri that was still stuck to your body, grin pulling at the scar in the corner of his lips. “need me t’clean you up, that what you're saying?”

huh? 

you blinked stupidly as your mind attempted to process what he had just said. were you misunderstanding his words or his tone? or was he really suggesting what your mind had immediately jumped to?

that was not what you were saying, but you certainly would not be complaining if he did. 

you felt your cheeks warm as you imagined what that might look like: big, warm, calloused hands on your skin as you stood under the steady stream of the shower, hot water pouring over the both of you as he dragged a sponge over your skin, free hand resting on your tummy right above where you needed him most, groping and caressing the plus skin, body pressed tightly against his in such a way that you could just feel his growing cock pressing against your ba-

oh, what the fuck.

you imagined punching yourself in the face, snapping you out of the downright filth you were acting out in your mind with a man you had just met, not to mention, the father of your student. 

“jeez, pick your jaw up, ‘m messing with ya.” you grunted as two of his fingers landed under your chin, shoving your mouth shut with a shit-eating grin, clearly enjoying the fact that he had gotten such a reaction out of you with a mere joke. “‘s not appropriate f’me to flirt with ‘gumi’s teacher.”

“s-sorry.” you struggled to even push out that simple word, trying to figure out just what the hell had gotten into you to make you act like this, not even processing the fact that he had just admitted to flirting with you. 

were you ovulating? was it that time of the month already? or was toji’s overwhelming presence truly just enough to get you acting like a bitch in heat?

“old man,” you snapped out of it as you heard megumi shout out for his father from behind you both, “bus is coming.”

toji chuckled, raising a thumbs up to the boy in response before turning back to look at you, taking in your shaky figure with a smirk.

“which means I'll just hafta wait ‘till that blue-eyed brat comes back and you're not his teacher anymore.”

you blinked owlishly up at him, and toji could just see the cogs whirring and moving around in your mind, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. 

“give me y’number once he does. hope that offer to clean you up will still be available by then.” 

god, he was a big fat liar. if he had been telling the truth before, he would not be asking that, he would not be (for once) looking forward to seeing that white haired bastard, as it would mean he would be free to pursue you. 

toji walked away after dropping that bombshell, not having to turn to look at you to know that you were staring at him walk away, ignoring the way his son was glaring at him while he held a hand out to stop the bus. 

“what?” he grinned, pulling their transport passes out as the bus opened its doors, megumi’s divine dog curling around the boy protectively like it usually did. “your teacher's hot,”

“you disgust me,” megumi deadpanned, snatching the pass out of his father’s hand before boarding the bus, dog quickly following up the step with a wag of its tail, phone already out and ready to message tsumiki to complain about their father, leaving toji to do the same. well, not before he turned to sneak a final look at you. 

you had walked away from the field, heading towards a black car nearby he assumed had been sent by the school, phone in hand as you talked into the speakerphone, shaky voice ringing out in such a way even he could hear it. 

“ieiri, how wrong would it be for me to hook up with a future student’s father?”

[bella-goths-wife]

What would have happened if Vs pet made a deal with a different overlord

So basically we know what would happen if Vs pet made a deal with alastor and obviously vox, but what would happen if they sold their soul to Velvette, Valentino, Rosie or Carmilla instead

Warnings: obsessive behaviour, SA mentions, abuse mentions, forced affection, forced cannibalism, reader is uncomfortable, violence mentions

Velvette:

Now we know that even though you’d still belong to all the Vs collectively, if you made the deal with Velvette instead of Vox there would be a large power dynamic shift in terms of your care

Let’s say that Velvette found you first and was the one to make a deal with you, you wouldn’t be working for vox as his assistant in this scenario and would instead be a model or assistant to velvette

In the usual au where vox owns your soul, he is the one who creates your rules and enforces them

He’s the one who decides whether the other two can see you

But if velvette owned your soul instead then that entire dynamic is turned upside down, she’s the one who makes your rules and she’s the one who decides whether or not she’ll let vox spend time with you

This would absolutely infuriate him, and velvette can’t help but smile at that

Your rules would be much less restrictive if velvette was the one who owned your soul

Unlike vox who sees you as a surrogate daughter figure most of the time, velvette only sees you as a delightful little pet and occasional friend

And she understands that sometimes pets need a walk or a new toy to keep them occupied until she’s ready to play with them again

So you’d be able to leave the tower by yourself more often and you’d be able to hookup with people, but there is still a strict ban on forming intimate connections or starting relationships

Velvette requires your attention almost all of the time, and you can’t give her that if your chasing after some romantic partner

She should be enough of a connection for you!

You don’t need anyone else

You’d still be shared with the other Vs unfortunately as they share everything, so you’ll still have to deal with Valentino and voxs antics

But at least velvette will draw the line if she thinks they take up to much of your time

Your her pet after all, you sold your soul to her

A downside to velvette being your souls holder is that you’d be the weakest with velvette when it comes to your abilities and fighting skills

She doesn’t want you to improve so you don’t, you only use your power for frivolous purposes and for velvettes entertainment rather than actually using like a weapon like you would with vox or alastor

She doesn’t push you to get better, so you don’t get better

You’d have twice the attitude with half the power because of how velvette taught you and how she spoils you with materialistic things

Rosie:

Rosie would absolutely adore you

She has a soft spot for strays, and she’d heard quite a bit about you from alastor before he disappeared

And she once she met you she thought one thought, what a good friend she’d be if she took your soul in exchange for care and shelter before offering the contract to alastor when he gets back from his extremely long break

So she’d give you a job in cannibal town and she’d give you an entire makeover so you’d fit in more

She’d actually spend time to get to know you and what your life was like before you died

She can’t help but miss alastor when your around, you just remind her so much of him

She’d use your ability to create background music for her gossip sessions and for her party’s, but she’d also encourage you to use it as a weapon and practice with it in your own time

So you’d be more powerful than you would be with velvette but less powerful then you’d be with Vox or alastor

A downside to being in her care is that she wouldn’t be as protective as the others

She’s a busy woman who can’t be with you at all times, so there is a slight chance you may end up hurt while being in her care

She’d do her best to prepare you in case that happens, and you like that she offers you enough freedom to come and go freely enough

Another downside to being in Rosie’s care is that you’d have to adapt to her appetite unfortunately, it’s not like you can find a non cannibal place to eat in a cannibal town

So you’d be practically forced into cannibalism

But Rosie absolutely adores you, so she’ll look the other way sometimes if you want to eat something less gorey

She calls it a nice treat :)

Rosie would consider you a companion more than anything, maybe a goddaughter but she certainly doesn’t see you as a pet or a toy

So you’d be pretty happy with Rosie

But she gets so attached to you that when alastor does return, she refuses to give him your soul no matter what he offers

But it’s okay, because she says he can visit you any time in your home in cannibal town

He hates it but oh well, your her little darling fawn now

Valentino:

Oh god

He’d be the absolute worst choice on the list

If you sold him your soul, your guaranteed a situation similar to angel dusts

Maybe less abusive, but wayyyy more obsessive

You’d be a simple actress in a few of his videos until he becomes obsessed with you, and then you become his personal assistant

And when I say personal, I mean extremely personal

As in the ‘sleeps in his bed every night because he’s afraid you’ll run away’ personal

He wouldn’t see you in a romantic light, more of just a ‘your my possession’ light

You’d be absolutely miserable and constantly in his presence while also dealing with the other Vs

He’d force you to do videos for him and instead of your rules he’d use a ‘reward’ system

Rewards like ‘hold me for a few minutes and I’ll let you be on your own for an hour’

He’d be unbearably clingy and can sometimes get abusive with you, the same way he can be abusive with angel dust

You’d also be extremely weak because he won’t let you practice or explore your abilities at all

If he’s there to protect you at all times, then why would you need to be able to use your silly abilities?

He’d at least allow you to have your friendship with angel dust, but that’s only because he’s using you both to manipulate each other

He’d definitely get you hooked on something so you’ll be relying on him at all times

This would be the worst possible situation for you

Carmilla:

Carmilla would be interested in you because of your ability and how she could use it

She’d find you living on the streets and using your ability to get by and she’d wonder if she could incorporate your skills into making a new weapon designed for people with animal like ears which would be more sensitive

So she’d exchange your soul for her giving you shelter and a job in return

You would stay with her and her daughters and you’d spend most of the day with carmilla helping her design new weapons

It would be during this time that carmilla would become more obsessive with you and start to view you as a daughter

You were so young and so vulnerable, it reminded her of her two young girls and how she’d hate it if it was them

So she’d start acting more motherly with you, but she’d do it slowly so you could get accustomed to it

So she wouldn’t go straight to giving you rules and demanding you call her mom, instead she’d just make it more obvious that she views you as one of her family and that she’d appreciate it if you felt the same for her

But once you do accept her in some form, those rules are coming fast

And you know carmilla will not tolerate back talk or breaking rules

You’d have typical teenage girl rules, stuff like a curfew and drinking rules

But she’s still take the time to respect your boundaries and acknowledge that your an adult in your own way so she can’t act too overbearing

Which is more than you can say for the Vs

You’d also be quite powerful in this scenario because she’d give you training sessions to help with your personal abilities and your fighting skills

So I’d say she’s one of the better options

[dead-boys-club]

†  kisses : shigaraki.

❥ scenario: kissing tomura. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! it is a whole mess.

❥ series: tomura - izuku

✧*̥˚ some stuff *̥˚✧

tomura comes off as a rather aloof person; someone with many walls and deep rooted trust issues. so, if you're kissing me, we can already assume your relationship to him is one build over a good amount of time. it would be a very, very intensely personal experience for him. he's not used to physical touch by any means, so it would put him in an almost awkward mindset. he probably wouldn't fully know how to process being so.. ( god, i use this word a lot, i'm sorry ) vulnerable and close.

kissing him would be soft and slow. he would be hesitant, like you were something fragile, also trying not to fuck something up. he's navigating something new, so it would take time for him to get the hang of it. and, it would make him smile - which is a feat all in it's own. he would show you this small, gentle smile; a genuine expression of warmth and adoration that's incredibly rare.

i can't even put into words how soft this man would be over kisses. and, he's not going to be picky once he gets the hang of it. he would really, really enjoy:

moth kisses

forehead kisses

jaw kisses

slow make out sessions

in the beginning, he would ( idk, is this surprising? ) not be in control of shit. he would actually hand the reigns over to you and enjoy the ride.

the thing is, he's a really good kisser???? because any time he kisses you, he's kissing you like it's the very last time. he's got a hand on the back of your neck, fingers settled against when your hair stops, just.. drowning in the intimacy of the moment. his other hand gripping onto your shirt at your side - he'd have hell letting go.

he's obsessed. and, honestly, unless he's in a foul mood, it's the best way to distract or help him feel better. though, i should add, i feel as though he'd become just a tad bit clingy towards you once you made it to this level of intimacy.

if i keep going, i'm going to go down a rabbit hole of trapping him on the couch and kissing him til neither of you can breathe, SO - i'm going to slide down into a scenario.

✧*̥˚ tiny things *̥˚✧

❥ moth kisses: ( so, do you remember the last time we actually saw him play a game? no? me either but- ) moth kisses are mostly to attempt to annoy him, which.. may only actually work once or twice. the type of kisses you give when interrupting him. when you just cup his face and kiss all over, quickly, not giving him a chance to do anything about it.

❥ forehead kisses: god, please, give him forehead kisses. he really appreciates them in the morning or before bed, the way you brush his hair aside and linger for a moment. i feel like this is a gesture that really makes him understand that you're there for a reason. and you're genuine.

❥ jaw kisses: when he's working on things, you generally know better than to fuck with him too much. so, as you're tucked up beside him, that's when you nose and press little kisses to his jaw. you try not to jostle him too much.

❥ temple kisses +: this is more of something he does for you. because it starts as temple kisses, his eyes closed as he layers kisses over the spot for a few seconds. he'll slowly move down until he's nosing at the spot behind your earlobe, either humming or whispering little things. very much a private moment that no one else sees.

❥ the aforementioned slow make outs: usually when this happens, he's either tired or it started because he was in a shit mood. he likes how it starts as just small kisses and then turns into closing his eyes, lungs clenching, need building but it's still going so slowly, it's nearly killing him.

❥ the one time you almost died: because it was in the middle of a fight. it wasn't your fault that when you caught his gaze, you both seemed to stop. however, when you plant an unexpected kiss on his lips before disappearing into the fray once more, he's briefly distracted and a little agitated. you were being reckless but fuck if he didn't continue on with wanting more of you.

✧*̥˚ first kiss *̥˚✧

withdrawn.

that was somewhat normal but he seemed even further gone than usual. his responsibilities and the pressure on his shoulders, it was starting to wear on him and you could see it. the way he sank into the arm chair, picking at the hem and staring off into space. it wasn't something you enjoyed seeing.

you shift from your spot by the doorway, approaching to settle on the armrest of his chair, lifting his hand into your hold. a few minutes past in silence, neither of you feeling the need to say anything. you could see some sense of helplessness behind his eyes, making you frown and squeeze his hand. he didn't pull away despite how he flinched, fingers curling into the touch.

'tomura..' you said softly, not really know what could be said in the moment, considering he'd never done too well with encouraging talk. 'i'm here, you know?'

it took him a second before his head turned, guarded expression briefly flickering to give way to something softer. he didn't say anything, gratitude seen in his gaze. it wasn't hard to identify the conflict going on behind his eyes, something you knew you couldn't do much to fix or aid in. the most you could do was attempt to distract.

you didn't think about it too much, or at all, when you began to lean closer, the distance between you shrinking quicker than your mind could keep up. you were really leaning far too close into the personal space of one of the most dangerous men you knew and couldn't really stop. your heart felt like it was in your throat the moment your lips pressed against his own. the kiss was tender and hesitant, lasting only for a moment.

when you pulled back, you weren't sure how to act. his eyes were slightly wide with bewilderment, frozen and free hand anchoring him to reality with it's grip to the armchair. 'why...?' he began, barely above a whisper, not trusting his voice. you could hear the confusion, clear as day, but beneath it - there was something else. the smallest note of longing.

his voice completely erased the mild panic that had grown and you just smiled, light and careful. 'because you matter to me? because i adore you. and, i want to be there for you.. in any way that i can be.'

you weren't expecting to make a confession and he surely wasn't expecting to receive one. thankfully, he didn't respond to that. 'thank you,' was all he managed to get out, taking in the words and warmth that spread through him at the kiss.

the room fell quiet once more, though the atmosphere shifted into something new. there was a newfound understanding created from the simple, yet profound, moment of intimacy.

and, it would only grow from that moment on.

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

NEUTRON STAR

real dad!leon kennedy x reader

tags: dddne. discussion of incest and noncon, implied child abuse (one line), spit, vomit discussion, hallucinations, victim blaming, discussion of ptsd and anxious behaviors (from personal experience). reference to my dark vanessa btw.

Session transcript, October twenty-first, 2018. [15:03]

Patient: Kennedy

”Ms. Kennedy, would you tell me why you’re here?” Your therapist asks after five minutes of silence, her pen writing the date and time on the right corner of her legal pad.

[Silence.]

A steadying inhale. “The court ordered me to.”

More scratching. ”And why is that?”

“They say I’m traumatized.” You answer, audible clicking noises as you pick at your cuticles.

“Why is that?” Your therapist asks, eternally patient and blank.

“‘Cause my dad and I had sex.”

The pen stops scratching, then scratches again briefly. “Would you elaborate?”

You scoff audibly.

[Silence.]

“My dad and I had sex. That’s it.”

More scratching. “What led to that event?”

A long sigh through one’s nose. “Um, I came home from college for the weekend. I was hanging out with my dad and doing nothing when I… felt weird. My, my wine tasted salty, I almost spat it out.”

Scratching. Patient’s wine was drugged by father.

“My head… felt fuzzy. Couldn’t move my arms or legs, they felt so heavy. I thought I was gonna throw up and choke on it, like Jane.”

”Jane? Is this a friend of yours?”

”No, um. Breaking Bad. She was Jesse’s girlfriend. She did a speedball with him and Walter rolled her onto her back on accident. When she puked, she choked on it and died.” More clicking. “That’s what I mean.”

”I see.” Scratching as she writes down the events in order. “You may continue.”

”Anyway, uh,” Your voice wobbles slightly. “I was in and out of it. Dad, um.” You clear your throat.

[Silence.]

”He… pulled down my pants, my sweatpants. He… fingered me, and it hurt, cause I was dry. Despite the wine.” Your voice lowers ashamedly. “I came.”

Patient focusing on smaller details outside of rape by her father.

“Then he pulled down his pants and got on top of me.” Sniff, sniff. Rustling as your therapist hands you a tissue box. “Thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

You clear your throat. “Then we had sex. He drooled in my mouth. I was… I was drooling a lot, there was a wet spot on the couch the day after. I threw up the entire day afterward.”

The scratching stops. Insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. ”Was this… a pattern?”

A loud sniffle. “Pattern?”

”Did he violate other women?”

”I don’t fucking know.” You blow your nose and toss the tissue out. “How do I know they didn’t want it, if he did?”

Patient blames other hypothetical victims.

”Did he violate you any more after this initial encounter?”

A derisive laugh from you. “It wasn’t a violation, it was sex. With him. The law says a lot of things are wrong without taking nuance into account.”

A scratch as your therapist underlines insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. “How often did your encounters with your father occur?”

Your voice lowers. ”At least twice a week.”

Violations from father at least twice a week.

“All the specifics.” You snort, blowing your nose again and throwing out the tissue. A soft squelching noise as you squirt some hand sanitizer into your hand and the wet sound of you rubbing your irritated and chafed hands together.

Patient compulsively washes hands.

“Is this the point where you diagnose me?”

“No, that comes after a few more sessions of getting to know you.”

Another derisive laugh.

”Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

”Chickenshit.”

[Silence.]

”I’m sorry?”

“You’re a chickenshit.”

”Why is that?”

“You won't call it what it really is. It’s just sex, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Patient is in denial.

A deep inhale from your therapist. “What you just described to me sounds like no consensual sexual encounter I’d ever heard of. Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

Clicking. Clicking. Clicking. “We went hunting over Thanksgiving break. Mom died close to Thanksgiving. We, uh, went up to the cabin and got settled in before we had sex again. He made me promise not to tell anyone, afterward.” Pause, dead air. “And I didn’t.”

First encounter: Patient was home for the weekend from college and was drinking. Father drugged her wine and raped her on the couch. Patient threw up all day and the day after.

Second encounter: brought patient up to a cabin to go hunting, raped her, and made her promise never to tell anyone. Patient followed instructions.

”We went hunting in the morning and brought home a doe. I thought—“ Your voice breaks and you clear your throat. “When dad slung her over her shoulder, I saw myself. And when he showed me how to butcher a deer and when I was butchering it, I saw myself again.”

Patient hallucinated herself as the deer her father killed and brought home for meat.

“I threw up outside.”

“That must’ve been distressing.”

A snort. “You think?”

Scratching. Patient extremely defensive as a response to long-term trauma—uses sarcasm and humor to deflect.

”Is there anything about your relationship that sticks out in your mind? Did he manipulate you?”

A haughty scoff. “Him sharing his feelings isn’t manipulation. That’s what’s wrong with psychiatry, it pathologizes normal human behavior.”

Patient exhibiting protective behaviors over her father, herself, and their relationship. Cognitive dissonance to distance herself from what happened as a protective measure.

“What feelings did he share with you?”

[Silence.]

”That he was lonely.” Your voice quiets down. “He’s my only family, and I’m his only family. We’ve only got one another, since mom died. He didn’t wanna lose me. That’s why we got so close.”

Use of present tense when describing her and her father’s relationship. Father employed emotional manipulation to groom patient into accepting a sexual relationship after the second rape.

“So your father intentionally isolated you from everyone else and made you feel as though you were the only one who could save him.” Your therapist says patiently.

”No, he didn’t.” You say stonily. “I still had friends and people I could talk to. He never took my keys or anything like that.”

”I mean emotional isolation. Your father very carefully whittled you away from your friends and made you feel as though you only could be understood by him.”

”Well, he didn’t, no matter what the DSM or ABC or whatever the fuck says. He’s my dad, he’d never hurt me.”

Stomping, and a door slamming shut.

Patient has hit a wall when it comes to recovery: cannot fathom her father raping her willfully and has mental walls in place to avoid reality of incestuous sexual abuse.

Session three transcript, November fourth, 2018. [29:58]

Patient: Kennedy

“Before we get started, I’d like to thank you for coming in for another session with me.”

”The lawyers are paying for it, figured I wouldn’t waste their money.” Click, click.

“Right, I see.” Patient is not coming of her own volition. “Actually, I’d wanted to ask you a question before we continue from last time, if that’s alright with you.”

”Uh, okay. Shoot.” Rustling as you adjust yourself.

”Since your father’s incarceration, how have you been sleeping?”

[Silence.]

“Not well.” You don’t speak very loudly, it’s hard to hear over the recording. “I have to down a bunch of nyquil every night just to go to sleep. And even then, um… I don’t sleep well. I have a bunch of waking interruptions and nightmares.”

“Would you be willing to tell me what the nightmares entail?”

Rustling as you shift again. ”It’s dad. Always him.” You clear your throat. “It’s almost always the first time we had sex, too. I… can always taste the wine. And… my tears.” Your voice wobbles. “And… the pain. Like he was gouging at me from the inside. Even after I came.”

A sniffle and rustle as you take the tissue box. “Thank you.”

”What happens after you wake up?”

”I can’t sleep. I don’t. I get up and watch TV or play on my phone, since there’s—“ You cut yourself off, blowing your nose.

Scratching of a pen. Patient has nightmares and acute stress response to said nightmares. Patient afflicted by insomnia.

“Since what?”

”Since there’s nobody else for me to wake up. I slept better when we slept in the same bed.” You murmur, almost inaudible. “My dad and I, I mean. He… it was like having an octopus in the bed. I’d always wake up sweating because he runs so hot and he’d be clinging to me. I didn’t sleep in his bed until after our second time.” Your words muffle as you put your face in your hands.

More scratching. Patient and father codependent, typical of familial abuse survivors.

“Is there anything else you’re experiencing since your father’s incarceration?”

Cracking as you pop your knuckles nervously. “I can’t see police lights anymore. I… they make me hyperventilate. I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore.”

Scratching: trauma responses to related stimuli (e.g., police lights).

”How come?”

”I got to season six in my rewatch. And… Buffy’s almost raped by her boyfriend in an episode. Onscreen, violently.”

[Uncomfortable silence.]

“I couldn’t see, and I was back on the couch with him on top of me. I felt… phantom pain. And I was crying. I couldn’t stop.” Your voice breaks and you pull a tissue from the box, blowing your nose and throwing it out. Wet squelching as you sanitize your irritated hands.

Your therapist adds, patient exhibits trauma response to sexual abuse related stimuli. Beneath your name, she writes Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with anxious facets.

“And all—“ your voice breaks, soft sniffles leaving you as you try to keep it together, “all I can think is that I wanted it. I must’ve told him, shown him, something. I must have.”

Rustling as your therapist stands up, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher.

“Thank you.” Your voice is wet and raw as you take the cup, soft swallows echoing through the recording.

Brief silence as your therapist waits for you to compose yourself. “I think we should have a discussion about personal responsibility.”

A mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure. Isn’t this the part where you coddle me and tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

”It is, because you didn’t. Let’s unpack this.”

A groan under your breath. “Goodie.”

”So, what makes you think you did something to tell him you wanted him to have sex with you?” Patience, must meet the patient where they’re at.

”I… I don’t know.” Your voice quiets like your head dips forward. “Maybe it was unconscious.”

”I see. You wanted your father to have sex with you. But you saying that you wanted it and broadcasted it to him unconsciously doesn’t answer why he had to drug you.”

Footsteps and muffled sniffles and sobs, a door opening and shutting.

Your therapist lets her last client out for the day, locking the practices’ doors behind her and walking out to her car in the lot, heels clicking on the pavement and sidewalk. Her phone rings in her bag and she pauses, pulling open her bag and fishing through the mess in her bag to pull her phone out.

It’s you.

You’d reluctantly accepted her phone number after session eight, for use during emergencies.

She picks up, putting her bag back over her shoulder and walking to her car. She unlocks it and tosses her bag in the passenger seat.

“Ms. Kennedy?” She asks after a period of quiet sobbing on your end of the line.

”He—“ You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a loud sob. “He said he didn’t want to see me. Ever. And I’m no daughter of his. He—He thinks I sold him out and left him to rot.” The last word trails off into sob into your palm, wet and ragged inhales almost painful to listen to.

Oh. You’d gone to visit him today, you’d made a remark about that after the last session.

“I didn’t, I told him I kept the promise, I swore to him.” You’re nearly incomprehensible through your tears. “It was those other bitches who’d made that complaint and got him locked up, it wasn’t me.”

Your therapist listens silently, heart breaking with every sob.

”And he’d—“ A dry sob. “He’d told me that he loved me so much, that what we did was a natural extension of his love for me as his daughter, that he didn’t want to lose me, he needed me like air. Did he lie? Was it all a lie? He’s my only family, he’s all I’ve got.”

You sob between your words. “He’s all I’ve got and he’s cut me off. I have nobody. And I—I felt so small, like I was nine and he was having a fit again, breaking glasses and all that shit.”

A pause as you keep sobbing, making no effort to muffle yourself. “I wish my mom was here. I wish he was here. I just want—“ A pained inhale.

Your therapist cries with you.

“I just want a hug. He’s my dad, and I love him, and I just want one last hug.”

She sits in silence with you, intermittent sniffing coming through the receiver. Eventually, you blow your nose and sanitize your hands.

“If it’s not a love story, what is it?” Your voice comes through, heartbreakingly small and raw.

You know the answer: rape, incest, abuse of power, emotional manipulation and abuse.

“I… I need it to be a love story. It has to be, because I have nothing left if it isn’t.”

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Summer Session II

700 words

CW: N/A

A/N: um, guys Y/N is a lewser and Sana knows it

[Sana x F!Reader] 

Requested: Yes

You texted with Sana sparsely throughout the week. It was a delicate dance for you and your growing anxiety. You didn’t let yourself reply to her more than twice a day, desperate to appear cool and aloof. After enough pain-staking back and forth over a couple days, you had plans to meet her for a drink on Friday night. On the train ride back downtown, your phone buzzed. You nearly dropped your phone trying to pull it out of your pocket to see who had messaged you. 

Chae 🍓: are u ready for your (friend) date, superstar!!! 

You: hi! no! why am i THIS nervous 

Chae 🍓: oooh you liiiike her now 😏

You: say that again and i wont tell you how it goes tn 

Chae 🍓: OKAY okay sorry 

Chae 🍓: but if she becomes your new bestie over me i’m fighting her 

You: NEVER i promise

You tried not to gulp cartoonishly when you arrived at the bar Sana had suggested meeting at. It was a three dollar sign type of bar, and your meager internship wages told you you’d only be drinking a single drink tonight. 

As if reading your mind, Sana insisted the first round of drinks was on her. The two of you sat up at the bar sipping drinks that used ingredients you’d have never found at any of the cheaper college bars closer to campus. Stupidly expensive, but the gold leaf that swirled in your glass was pretty, at least. The conversation between the two of you started out with safe topics like school and internships, but Sana, you found, was fun to talk to. Your conversation with her continued to flow naturally into other topics like music and shows. You were just about to ask her what her availability looked like for next week in hopes of meeting up again, when she turned to face you. 

“So, Tinder, huh?” she asked, a playful smile on her face. 

You felt your face burn. Sana signaled for two more drinks, giving you a millisecond to try and compose yourself before you died of embarrassment right there in the dark, moody bar. 

“Uh, yeah. It– it was mostly to try and make friends,” you stammered. Sana nodded slowly. 

“Mostly, sure,” Sana said. “Have you had any luck? Or– are you seeing someone?” she flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder casually, and the crisp, fresh scent of her hair products felt intoxicating suddenly. “I can never remember who in our cohort does and doesn’t have a significant other.” 

“I haven’t,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. “And no. I got stood up for the first time ever like right after moving here…” you paused to take a sip of the fresh drink in front of you. “Kinda took the fun out of wanting to find someone,” you said. 

Sana frowned. “You’re way too cute to be stood up,” she said. 

You blushed. “Oh, well–” 

“Forgive me,” Sana cut you off. “If this is like, entirely too forward…” she nearly drained her glass as she raised it to her lips to drink. “I know you said you’re using the app for friends and that’s cute, but I think I saw your profile say you’re a…” her gaze found yours. “...service top?”

“Oh god,” you cringed, mentally kicking yourself for putting that on there in the first place. “You saw that?” 

“Yes,” Sana said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Personally, I’d love to see for myself sometime.”  

“You– what?” You almost laughed, thinking she was joking at first. But then Sana gave you a once over and you nearly fell over. She wasn’t kidding. 

Wordlessly, Sana flagged down the bartender. She paid for both rounds for both of you. As she signed her name on the receipt, she looked at you again. “Are you free tomorrow night?” 

You nodded dumbly, moving to stand when she did. She hugged you. Had her perfume always smelled that good? You couldn’t remember now. When you pulled away, you must have had a deer-in-the-headlights expression on your face, because Sana giggled. 

“See you tomorrow,” she said, brushing your arm lightly. “I’m free after seven. Wear something cute.” 

[kinardsevan]

Okay, prompt. Tommy and Buck are having slow shifts and one of them decides to call the other.

consider this as existing in the same timeline as to can’t outdrive pain (someday it’s gonna take the wheel)

we survive

Tommy sighs, pushing a piece of paper across the table.

“Riley, you have to at least try to make your art not be derogatory,” he states in a gentle but firm tone. “Miss Sidney isn’t going to let this fly.”

Riley rolls his eyes, tossing a conte crayon onto the table. Charcoal scatters as it cracks in half, and the teenager crosses his arms. Tommy frowns, reaching out for the crayon and setting it back inside the box he’d brought with him.

He’s no stranger to Riley’s moods six months into this endeavor. What had begun as a way to fill some time after breaking his elbow and having to miss weeks of work has become part of his weekly ritual now, occasionally twice a week when he can swing the extra time. Evan has joined him a number of times when the time off has lined up, but today he’s alone.

Riley Collins was almost sixteen and had a rough background, one Tommy could relate to only too well. His mom had died when he was three, and he was left with an alcoholic father who cared so little that at seven, he’d been found digging in a neighbors trash can for food. That had begun the teen’s childhood in foster care, but it hadn’t been the end of it. He’d cycled through multiple foster homes with while struggling with attachment issues. There was a year-long period when Riley was eleven where his father had gotten sober, regained custody, and things seemed like they might get better. Except, Riley had been the ringer by that point. He’d lived in homes with emotional and verbal abuse. He’d seen parents hit each other, and occasionally hit the children. He’d seen sexual abuse through the tiny window of where his blankets didn’t completely cover his eyes when cries of his foster siblings woke him in the middle of the night. He’d faced some of those situations himself, and by the time he cycled back into his fathers home, he wasn’t the same little kid who had learned to become self-sufficient when his father was lost to the bottle.

Either way, Riley’s father made it six months before his sobriety with Riley back home went to hell. There was a DWI, and then an occurrence where Riley showed up to school with a black eye and bloodied nose. Then he was locked out of the house. CPS was still so involved at that point that he was quickly placed back in foster care, but the writing was on the wall at that point. Even though he’d been placed with a family with good values, he was a mess. There were stolen things, broken possessions, a flirtation with breaking the law. Ultimately though, it was a full-on brawl he got into with an uncle which led to his placement in the group home. And the thing was, he was a great student. He could stay invested in his school work and the routine it required without a problem. But when it came to people…he was a mess.

Tommy couldn’t help but reflect that back to his own childhood.

“This is so fucking lame anyway,” Riley bemoans.

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? You seemed to think it was cool three days ago.”

“What the fuck do you know, old man,” Riley replies, scowling at him. He shoves away from the table, and Sidney is up out of her chair quickly, already calling after him, but Tommy raises a hand to her.

“Let me go,” he tells her softly. Their group is usually a bit bigger, but with school being back in session, half of them have signed up for extracurriculars, so there’s only three today, and Sidney has the other two pretty well covered with whatever they’re drawing.

She looks at him with a hint of apprehension, but then nods, settling back into her chair.

Tommy picks up his sketchbook and moves around the table, walks out the back door toward a picnic table where Riley is pushing a stick into the aged wood, trying to peel a piece of loose long grain with it. He dares a glance up at Tommy and then sighs, looking back down at the table.

“Hey kid. You wanna tell me what that was all about,” he asks, crossing the space between them but still staying a few feet away.

Riley huffs but doesn’t answer as he keeps pushing at the picnic table with the stick. Tommy frowns, taking a few more steps forward and sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a tin of Altoid Sours. He pops one in his mouth and then offers one to Riley. When the kid doesn’t immediately take one, Tommy rests the tin on the table between them.

“You know, I used to make a lot of really violent art,” Tommy states. “Still have some of it. Drawings of people getting stabbed, gunshot wounds.”

“Bet Miss Sidney would love to hear that right now,” Riley states sarcastically.

Tommy shrugs. “Probably not. But it was how I dealt. Especially with the people who hurt me when I was your age.” He flips his sketchbook back to the front before setting in front of Riley on the table. The first few pages have older, yellowed paper taped in. It’s been crumpled and some of it is shredded, but Riley looks up at it, skims over the images. He sets the stick down and flips a page over as something that looks suspiciously like comic paneling tells the story of a child and his abusive father. He watches the way Riley runs his fingers over the paper, touches the images.

“What do you know about abuse anyway, old man,” Riley murmurs softly, anger still present in his voice.

“More than you’d think, kid,” Tommy replies. When the teen looks up at him, Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “First of all, I wasn’t always this built or lean. And me at thirteen, on the huskier side and gay? That didn’t go over all that well in my home.”

Riley doesn’t let on his emotional response to Tommy’s explanation, but he keeps flipping through the pages in the sketchbook. A drawing of a war zone. Drawings of mass military graves. Dog tags. Bloodied fists with colored pastels.

“Least you got out,” Riley comments after a few minutes of silence. “Had someone to help.”

Tommy gives a haughty laugh. “I went to the military to get out. I didn’t have anyone waiting at home if I made it back from Iraq. Everything I’ve done, I’ve had to do on my own.”

There’s still a scowl on Riley’s face, but the ire seems to sink out of it as he listens to Tommy.

“I was not cool when I came back, either,” he adds. “I was really shitty to people I now consider friends. Spent a lot of years alone because I couldn’t figure out how to just connect with people.”

“Least you found people who wanted you around,” Riley grumbles, his voice still soft, like he doesn’t actually want Tommy to hear him. “I got two years.”

Tommy sighs. He’s not sure whether saying something is a good idea. There are still too many what ifs and probabilities for him to be sure.

“You know, Evan and I have been talking to Miss Sidney,” he states in a quiet tone. Riley finally reaches out and takes one of the altoids, pops it into his mouth. His eyes slowly raise, though he doesn’t look directly at Tommy. “But we can’t do anything if you keep showing this kind of attitude in program. They won’t consider it a good placement.”

Riley’s brown eyes meet his then, his sandy blonde hair half hanging in them. He stares at Tommy with a bewildered expression.

“Hailey is-..”

Tommy shakes his head, cutting Riley off. Of course the kid would think they’d want a young child. “Hailey doesn’t fit in our home. She’s six. She needs a mom.”

“Dakota-“

“Doesn’t like fire trucks,” Tommy comments, in reference to another one of the younger kids.

Riley looks up at him, brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you two want a baby?”

Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Do you know how long the adoption process is for an infant? Never mind surrogacy.” He can’t help the warmth in his chest at the fact that for all of Riley’s questions, the idea of living in a house with two men in a committed (carnal) relationship isn’t one of them.

Riley is quiet again for a few moments as he closes Tommy’s sketchbook and places it back on the table.

“I age out in 798 days,” he mutters.

Tommy takes a breath and shrugs again. “Well. I guess that leaves us roughly twenty-two thousand more to have you around with us, five of take a few thousand,” he states. “You know, if you want to.”

Riley looks up at him through his eyelashes with an expression that’s trying suspiciously not to reflect any kind of hope. Tommy recognizes it from the one he had when he’d been told he was going back to live with his father at thirteen. He narrows his gaze slightly as he reaches out for his sketchbook.

“You know, Evan makes a mean shepherd’s pie,” he comments, sliding the book back over. “I could probably get him to whip one up tonight. He’s supposed to be off shift soon.”

“T-tonight,” Riley stammers.

“Only if you want to,” Tommy replies. “And if you apologize in front of Miss Sidney. I kinda promised her you’d be a good fit and you’re making me look bad right now.”

The slightest bit of an upturn happens at the corners of Riley’s mouth. Tommy nods, reaching out for the altoids tin. He closes it and pops it back in his pocket.

. . .

Hours later, in the silence of their home, Evan rests his chin on Tommy’s shoulder as they stand in the doorway of what they expect to become Riley’s bedroom. The teen is sprawled across the Queen-sized bed and a pillow that Tommy finds to be suspiciously similar to one from his and Evan’s bed is wrapped tightly in the teen’s arms.

“Dare I say, he’s a little attached to us,” Evan whispers to Tommy.

Tommy chuckles, pointing up to the T-shirts tacked up to a cork board on the wall. “That was his idea.”

Both shirts are worn and faded, one from the 118 and the other from Harbor. The vinyl is half-peeled from the shirts, and only the outline of Tommy’s last name remains on the shirt that belonged to him from how much use it’s seen.

“Who would’ve thought he’d like us that much,” Evan jokes. He tilts his head, resting his cheek on Tommy’s shoulder.

“I think he feels seen. Understood,” Tommy murmurs back. He takes a breath, looking down at Evan. “He asked if he could take both last names.”

Evan smiles wearily at Tommy. “He can have whatever he wants.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, although he stiffens when Riley moves on the bed, only to settle a few seconds later with a contented sigh.

“And this is why you’re not in charge of the budget right now,” he comments. “He’ll have you talked into a car and three gaming systems in under twenty-four hours.”

Evan scowls at Tommy, turns his head and bites his shoulder. Tommy grunts softly, turning toward him. He pushes Evan gently out of the room, across the hall into their bedroom, easing the door shut quietly.

“Let’s not traumatize the kid on his first night home,” he states, framing Evan’s face with his hands before he dives in for a heated kiss. Evan moans softly into his mouth, fisting Tommy’s shirt.

“Well then, I guess you’re just gonna have to drown me out with the shower,” Evan replies, tugging Tommy back towards the en-suite.

And he does.

[the-space-0wl]

Tango's pov this season really is a delight.

He kills Skizz unprocked in session 2. He builds a tower out of woods. He sees it bruning down. He dies the microsecond after asking "where is my snail?". His snail drowns and he goes on red. He tries to kill all of the dark green on the server. Each time he fails, the targets give him items or advice to try again. He tries 2 times the exact same trap on the same people. He almost perma-dies session 4. He almost gets his ally Bdubs twice from his traps. He spawns 5 skeletons and they instantly burn because the day starts right this time.

Truly a man of the people. I hope he gets on yellow again so he can feel confident enough to just go for the kill like with Skizz. Tuff guys!

[tangosyourtek]

Wild Life Spoilers

Tango really almost perma-died this session. He went down to half a heart when pearl shot him twice while he was invisible. My heart cannot take this.

I’m honestly surprised no one perma-died, but I’m so so glad at the same time.

[hopepetal]

My piece in the fourth edition of the @trafficzine! I wrote about Impulse's boogey kill on Pearl :)

(Spot the boatem knights au reference in the fic lol)

Read on AO3!

Enjoy! :)

--

The curse looms over Impulse like storm clouds over the sky, and he thirsts for time like grass for rain. He catches his breath as the curse settles on him, choosing him as the boogeyman. 

He releases the breath through his mouth, quietly forming the words “not the boogeyman” with his lips. It's not the truth, but it sounds enough like it for no one to suspect a thing. He's gotten good at lying, at deceiving and backstabbing, over the course of the life series. He and Skizz are different in that way. Where his friend remains honest and loyal, he weaves treachery and lies into his words. 

Impulse isn't strong enough to be honest. That, in his opinion, is one of his greatest flaws. He's too weak to hold any true loyalty to his team– he supposes that's why the thought of just killing one of them crosses his mind instantly. 

No, he rebukes instantly, if I kill too quickly, they might want to do a reroll. He thinks back to the first boogey, how Grian had claimed it wasn’t “entertaining enough”. How Skizz had died twice in quick succession, just because there hadn’t been enough suspense to make things interesting. 

Impulse joins the bad boys and Tango in teasing Grian– he’s well and fully asleep, passed out on the llama– and pretends that he isn’t thinking of killing every single one of them. He thirsts, thirsts for time in a way he knows is just beginning. It will get worse over time, so he’s been told, and that is not something he’s looking forward to.

They have a brief conversation about the bread bridge and gold. Jimmy’s upset with Joel, Joel is flusteredly trying to explain, and Impulse somehow manages to keep a pleasant smile on his face the whole time. He ignores how his fingers twitch, itching to grab onto his sword and swing it right into one of the bad boys' chests. 

Impulse and Tango manage to leave without spilling any blood, leaving the two bickering bad (bread) boys behind. The trek back to their base is mostly silent– Impulse is trapped in his thoughts for the most of it. He wonders once more if he should just get an easy kill on his teammates, or if he should tell them about him being the boogey. 

He almost does tell them. Instead, he innocently asks “anyone the boogey?” and feigns ignorance and joy when they all confirm that they aren’t. He supposes that’s one good thing about being the boogey; he doesn’t have to spend the entire session worrying about whether someone was lying to him or not, watching his back and fearing for his life.

Everything continues as normal. Skizz pulls Tango aside to talk while Etho begins placing red concrete in the water, watching it harden before mining it. And oh, it would be so easy to kill them– they’re not even looking! Their backs are turned! None of them even have their weapons drawn, so lulled into a false sense of security that–

No.

No.

He can’t do this. Not again. He won’t betray his teammates. He’ll just have to find someone better to kill.

There’s Scar, running over the hill and pulling Skizz aside. Impulse draws his sword but the other is too quick to disappear around the tower with Skizz in tow, claiming that it’s a “private meeting.” Impulse looks between Tango and Etho with a nervous chuckle that has no actual anxiety behind it. He knows Skizz is safe. Scar is green, after all, and the only one who could really put Skizz in any danger is Impulse himself. 

“Scar could be the boogey for all we know,” he points out, the smile on his face a contrast to the more serious words he’s saying, “are we sure we want to leave them alone?”

They leave Skizz alone with Scar anyway. If he was in any real danger, they’d get him out of there. There’s a team meeting (“Three quarters of a team meeting!” Tango jokes) and they begin to discuss skynet. Impulse makes his worry over falling off quite clear, and suggests that he goes and grabs some ender pearls. 

He does exactly that– the monotony of mining and healing and trading does enough to take his mind off of the ever growing thirst in the back of his throat. His communicator buzzes in his back pocket when he finishes up, Tango sending an excited response when the notification goes out. The communicator buzzes again as he begins to trade, and he wonders why in the void’s name did anyone ever think that achievements were a good idea. He gets what he needs, though, clutching eleven ender pearls in hand before returning to the surface.

And– oh boy, there’s Bdubs and Scar on the opposite bank, yelling about something incomprehensible. Things usually are that way, with the clockers. Cockers? Whatever they were calling themselves. Upon noticing Impulse, they wade through the water to join him, bringing their dogs with them.

“How are you, Impulse?” Scar asks in his pleasant voice, a smile on his lips as Bdubs helps him out of the water while rambling about something “blasting him all over the place”. 

“I’m doing great, how are you–” Impulse begins, but is interrupted by Tango falling from the sky and crashing into the water with a demonic sort of squawking. 

Bdubs is unphased by this, shouting out an excited “hi, Tango! That was cool!”

Tango clambers out of the water and immediately is staring at the small puppy shaking water out of its fur. “That dog’s head is way too big for its body,” he points out, and Bdubs shrugs and says something about the cuteness factor.

Impulse pulls out the ender pearls stashed away in his inventory. “Since you guys are friends…” He hands one to Bdubs before throwing one to Scar. “...do you want one of these?”

Bdubs’ eyes widen, and he takes his pearl with a grin. “Stasis chamber?” he asks enthusiastically, and Impulse smirks.

“You never know,” he says with a shrug, before turning and handing a pearl to Tango. 

He takes out some of the building bloodlust on the zombies that spawned in the tower (flamboyant, Bdubs calls it, to which Tango exclaims disbelievingly through laughter that it’s stone, one of the most basic building blocks). Impulse makes some joke about how Tango and Etho are competing for best accidental mob farm, and tries to hide how he relishes in the zombies’ demise. 

Monotonous work seems to help keep the murderous urges at bay, so Impulse volunteers to help Tango with the bubble elevator. Tango’s busy explaining to him what the plan is when Skizz drops into the water from above, splashing them both and spooking Tango. “Guy knows how to make an entrance!” Tango yelps, to Impulse and Skizz’s laughter.

“I hate to interrupt, but…!” Skizz makes his way over to Impulse, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Impulse! Do you have any ender pearls, buddy?”

“Oh yeah!” Impulse replies easily, and hands Skizz two ender pearls– the yellow name would need them. 

…not like they help much anyway, because not that much long later, Skizz falls off a ladder and dies. Again. There’s a brief discussion with Tango– how did it happen? Why did he die?– and then Skizz returns, yelling about how he doesn’t even know what happened. 

“Are you the boogey?!” he asks Impulse as they’re climbing back up the tower, and it takes everything Impulse has to keep moving up that ladder, to not freeze at the realization that Skizz thinks he did that on purpose. And, if he had, if he claimed it as a boogey kill– it would count! He could take this and the curse would break and…

No. He wouldn’t.

“I didn’t boogeyman you!” he insists over Skizz’s shouted accusations, “you fell on your own accord! Don’t you be blamin’ the boogey!”

“I’m gonna blame somebody!” Skizz spits, pulling himself up off the ladder. “What happened?! Why is this hole here?!” 

“It’s under construction–!” Impulse splutters– “I tried to tell you that!”

Skizz keeps yelling, and Tango’s laughter echoes from above. “Oh, I love the bickering,” he wheezes, and Impulse shoots him a glare. “Sorry, sorry, not helping.”

“I lost another hour, man!” Skizz cries. “I keep dying so much!”

Impulse gives him a weak smile, chuckling softly. “Okay, okay, but let’s talk. That was my fault, right? Because I’m the one that put the hole there?”

Skizz shakes his head instantly, dismissing Impulse’s concerns. “Nah, dude. Not at all. Of course it’s not your fault!” 

Impulse frowns, tilting his head slightly to the side. “But you just said it was,” he points out, and Skizz winces.

“Ehhh, heat of the moment sort of thing. Ya know?” 

Impulse laughs. “So if I happened to be boogey…” he trails off for a moment, testing the waters, before continuing. “...would that have counted?”

Something registers in Skizz’s brain, and he looks right into Impulse’s eyes. “I would’ve counted it. I really would’ve.” It’s an offer, almost. Skizz is giving him a way out of this. A way that Impulse has decided already not to take, but a way out nonetheless. “Are you the boogey, then?” Another offer. This time, it’s a chance to come clean and be honest with his teammates. 

Impulse hardly doubts that Skizz knows he’s boogey. They’ve been friends for decades now, and Skizz knows Impulse better than anyone else ever could. It’s part of the reason why Impulse is so glad Skizz is on his team and not an enemy; Skizz would be able to see right through him were he to lie or try and deceive anyone. 

“No,” Impulse practically breathes out, and tries not to wince when he sees the disappointment shine so briefly in Skizz’s eyes. “If I was boogey, I wouldn’t be going after you guys.” Relief swells in his chest when he sees Skizz relax and give him a slight smile. At least Skizz knows he can trust Impulse– the nice thing about knowing when someone is lying is that you know when they’re telling the truth as well. 

“I know,” Skizz tells Impulse, before weaving a little lie of his own. “I didn’t think you were boogey!”

Your ‘secret’ is safe. For now. 

They’re immediately distracted by Tango’s noisy complaints about how he built something wrong, his distressed sounds making Skizz laugh. Impulse joins in as Tango laments his mistake with a long, drawn out wail. Skizz’s laughter is infectious, and they quickly begin to tease Tango over the error. For the moment, things are fine, and Impulse almost forgets that he’s cursed. Doomed to either kill or die. 

Well, he’s doomed to die no matter what he does, but the game is all about delaying the inevitable.

When Skizz is gone, Impulse whispers the truth to Tango. He’s the boogey, and Tango laughs a little nervously at that before muttering that he’d figured, that question earlier had tipped him off. They joke about it for a moment before Tango confesses that he’s actually really nervous and Impulse is quick to reassure him that he has no plans of targeting team T.I.E.S. Tango nods, lowering his shield, and begins to figure out a plan. It ends up being quite simple– get TNT from Etho, then drop it from the sky and kill someone. 

They end up meeting Skizz on Skynet, high above the ground with a drop that would spell death for anyone unfortunate enough to fall. It’s dizzying, looking down at the ground, players like ants below them. So small. So fragile. 

Impulse wants to kill. 

“Why don’t you just do it?” he asks Skizz, voice quivering with barely held back excitement when his friend says he wants to blow someone up. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins, his blood turned to fire from the curse’s rage. 

Skizz can’t kill any yellows– that’s fine. Impulse will do it himself.

He lights the first block of TNT and watches it fall.

“...are you boogey, dude?”

Impulse is silent.

“You’re boogey.” 

“You knew that,” Impulse murmurs, and Tango and Skizz erupt into laughter.

“You are!” Skizz crows triumphantly, and Impulse can’t help but grin, expression turned maniac from the bloodlust. 

His eyes shine red.

The want becomes a need. 

“You’ll help me, right?” Impulse breathlessly asks his teammates, ignoring how his hands won’t stop trembling as he peers over the edge, gazing down at the drop that would sate his thirst, that would give him what he needs. All he has to do…

Skizz smiles, and he would’ve wrapped an arm around Impulse’s shoulders were they not in constant danger of falling to their deaths. “‘course, dippledop. What are friends for, if not to help a guy kill someone?”

…is kill. 

“Who do you want to kill?” Skizz asks, and Impulse considers his options. They’re allied with the clockers, and team T.I.E.S stays true to their allies. 

The bad boys, however…

“How about Joel?”

It’s perfect. He’s right beneath them, too caught up in his own duty of protecting Grian to pay attention to the sky. Impulse can hear his own heart beating, can feel the sweat dripping down his neck, can taste the blood as he bites down too hard on his cheek, can–

Footsteps that don’t belong to any member of T.I.E.S are picked up by ears far more sensitive than anyone else’s, and Impulse looks up to see Pearl running over Skynet with her diamond hoe in hand. “Pearl’s coming,” he warns, “Etho’s behind her.”

Now this…

This is his target.

It’s not every day the universe presents him with the perfect opportunity and means for revenge.

(Deep down, Impulse doesn’t really blame her for what happened in Double Life. But the boogey curse changes a person down to their very core, at least until they kill.)

“Let me shoot her,” Skizz whispers, and Impulse has to bite back a cry of frustration when he shoots. He misses, thankfully. Impulse has to do it, has to be the one to kill her. Otherwise, and this he realizes with growing certainty, he’s going to die. And soon. 

Pearl yelps as the arrow flies by her, wings fluttering behind her as she comes to a halt a few feet in front of them. “What’s going on here?” she demands, smiling, not taking her near death seriously whatsoever. 

“It’s not safe here,” Impulse tells her, and he knows the softness in his voice is only because of the bond they shared in their home server, only because he still considers her family. 

Family is not enough, and Impulse realizes this as bloodlust washes over him once more, the curse reaching its peak. He carefully steps forward, keeping an expression of concern on his face. Tango realizes what he’s doing and gives him the space to move around so that he’s face to face with Pearl. She still suspects nothing, her words lighthearted and posture relaxed as she banters with Tango and Skizz. 

It’s perfect.

Impulse takes the ground out from under her feet, and Pearl falls.

Maniacal laughter erupts from him as he watches her fall, listens to her rapidly fading scream of terror, and finally sees her die. “Boogey!” he cries, to the laughter and cheers of his teammates. “Done!” 

The curse recedes, Impulse taking a shaking breath as a weight is lifted off his shoulders. His hands still shake slightly as he continues to laugh, more out of relief now than from excitement and glee.

And Impulse…

Impulse killed Pearl. 

Maybe, in a world different from this one, he would've seen her fall and know she'd be caught on wings as strong as their owner's love for her. But not this time. Not in this world. 

As he drinks in the time– Pearl's time, ripped from her dead hands, quenching his thirst and soothing his parched throat– the vice grip of the curse over his heart fully lifts, and Impulse realizes what he's done. 

It's a necessary evil, he knows, and Pearl will forgive him eventually. She always does. But as he thinks back to the kill, back to Pearl's scream and broken, useless wings spreading in an attempt to catch her fall, Impulse feels... more than a little guilty. 

He doesn’t have time for guilt.

“Ohhh…” he breathes out, leaning against Skizz, “oh, that– I feel so much better. That feels so much better.”

Skizz helps support him, keeping him steady. “You all good, dippledop? Is the curse gone?”

Tango and Etho step closer as Impulse nods. Now that the bloodlust and adrenaline have faded away, Impulse feels tired, exhaustion settling in fast. “We’re all good,” he gets out, smiling weakly. “Though I think I’ve made a new enemy today.”

Tango waves him off with a grin. “Hey, whatever happens, team T.I.E.S will have your back.”

Skizz lets out a cheer, Etho nodding along to Tango’s words. “Yeah, man. Don’t worry about it. You just did what you had to do. No harm in that,” the masked man points out, and Impulse finally relents.

“All right, all right. Let’s get down from here, though– I still don’t trust myself up here.” 

Later, Impulse will apologize to Pearl and say that it wasn’t really him. It was the crazed boogeyman version of himself, his mind driven mad by the ever growing bloodlust and need to kill. He won’t truly mean it, and she won’t ever accept his excuse for an apology. 

In the end, that’s not what matters. The betrayal, the lies, the deceit and the fake apologies– none of it will matter at all. In the end, they will both fall. Nothing they do can stop the ever flowing river of time.

Time keeps ticking. Sand continues to fall through the hourglasses that measure their lives.

Impulse lives today, but tomorrow he will die.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Let's keep twlkimg aboit the House of Black cause I'm obsessed with them too! Mgl it makes me kinda sad that there are almost mone left after the 2nd war, I think born Black there's only Narcissa and Andromeda left, and because they're women they don't get to keep the name. Idr now if this is canon or Ive reas too many fics, is Harry the new owner of Grimmauld Place now? I think Sirius left it to him am I right? Does that mean he's also the head od the house now? Is he head of both the Blacks and the Potters now?

Have a nice day!

Anonymous asked: About the post on Black family (which I truly loved😍) I've few questions: 1. when Sirius died did Harry inherit every penny that was in the black vault and every manor they had? Or just what Sirius' uncle has left to him? 2. Do you think Harry when he gets older sits in the wizengamot and has a title?

Hi, thank you both so much! 💓

I'm answering the asks together as they're kinda similar.

So, I mentioned in the Wizengamot post that I think the Potters also have a Wizengamot position since at least two Potters have been mentioned to sit on the council. So, Harry should have that position from the Potters anyway. Well, he gets the seat, he doesn't have to use it as it seems you can opt-out from what little is written about the Potter family on Pottermore:

Occasionally, a Potter made it all the way to London, and a member of the family has twice sat on the Wizengamot...

(From Pottermore)

It seems the Potters opted out more often than not. I guess the Blacks, who had a house in London for the parliament season (the social season for the aristocrats in London in the past was for the season the Parliament — in our case, the Wizengamot — was in session) probably involved themselves in the Wizengamot more.

As for what Sirius inherited from his family, well, I'll say all of it. He wasn't officially disowned, it seems, since after he dies, Harry gets Grimmauld Place and Kreature, both not left to Sirius by his uncle:

���Yes,” said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. “Our problem,” he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, “is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

(HBP, 49)

The house and Kreature weren't Alphard's to give, therefore Sirius was likely never disowned and as the last remaining Black by name (very sad), received all of it. I always headcanoned it as his mother burning him off the family tapestry as she did Alphard without officially disowning him since she didn't have the authority to do so. Also, I think Walburga never really stopped loving Sirius in her own way, even after he ran away. Like, I think she burned him and Alphard off the tapestry in a moment of anger and made it permanent magically, but she tried to return Sirius a few times. Like, I truly think she didn't really mean to disown him when she did that. I think Walburga's and Sirius' relationship was a very complicated one and as much as they both claim to hate each other, they don't.

As for whether Harry is the head of both Potters and Blacks and gets two Wizengamot seats... I'll guess no. Like, he got all the money and houses and while we don't know much about Wizengamot law if it indeed has seats for certain families, I think there would be some rule in place that won't allow a single member more than one seat. There isn't really evidence for it, just my personal headcanon. So, in my head, Harry gets the Potter seat and the Black family gets replaced with a new family, which probably happened to other families in the past. I mean, if Hufflepuff had a seat, I assume in the books the Smith family got that seat through marriage at some point in the past. Same with Slytherin and the Gaunts, where the seat passed through the female line. Then when the Gaunts fell from grace they were voted out and replaced by another family (at least in my headcanon). So, in the case of the Black family seat, the Malfoys (the books mention Lucius isn't on the Wizengamot) might get it through Narcissa or a completely new family would get voted in (like what I headcanon happened with the Gaunts). Like, I have a lot of headcanons about how the Wizengamot works, but not much evidence, unfortunately.

[all-pacas]

DIAGNOSTIC OLYMPICS, SEASON 1, EPISODES 1-5

Hi! I was curious about who on House (besides House) gets the most diagnoses right. Other folks have already run a tally (it's Chase), but I was curious how other factors would influence the tally — whose ideas get run with, who manages treatment, who screws up… So I thought I'd keep score.

1 point for getting the answer. This is almost always going to be House.

.5 points for Valuable Contribution — stuff that isn't the final answer, but either is thought to be the final answer or is valuable to the solving of the case. Stuff like "noticing something on the MRI" doesn't count; things like "figuring out how to treat" does.

-.5 to -1 for Mistakes — stuff that delays or prevents diagnoses, injuring or killing patients, etc.

PILOT

DIAGNOSES: Ham Worms

+1: HOUSE. Final diagnosis and most ideas. +.5: CHASE: Comes up with a way to prove the diagnoses and convince the patient to treat.

PATERNITY

DIAGNOSES: Brain Measles

+1: HOUSE. Final diagnosis. +.5: FOREMAN. Is the one to figure out how to treat the patient, twice, House deferring to him entirely with treating the measles. +0: CAMERON. Comes up with neurosyphilis, which is the only non-House diagnoses to get tested/treated (+.5). But also took a really bad history of the patient, missing that he was adopted and more significantly that he'd had recent head trauma. (-.5) BONUS POINTS: +5 to Chase for sheer asskissing. Sucks up to House in the differential (1), guesses what House wants to hear while looking at MRI results and guesses correctly based on House's response (2 and 3), later reads House again and decides there's a third option for treatment because House does (4), and lastly is the only one of the named cast who didn't bet against House on the patient's paternity. (5).

OCCAM'S RAZOR

DIAGNOSES: Pharmacy Error; gout medication.

+1 House, as ever in these early episodes. +.5 Foreman, impresses House and his idea is taken as correct in the differential. Also takes charge of Cameron and Chase and gets them to pull all-nighters doing testing. Leadership!

MATERNITY

DIAGNOSES: Echovirus.

+1 Team: there is no one eureka moment by one person, so everyone gets the win here. Individual merits: +.5 Chase: I'm giving him an extra half point: he suggests virus first, even if it's initially knocked down, and his suggestion of VSRA ends up being partially correct. He also spends most of the episode in NICU acting as the primary physician and keeping the babies alive. +.5 Foreman: Suggests Echovirus in the final brainstorming session. Doesn't count as a full point because it was brainstorming and not his only suggestion, but he still nailed it. -1 Cameron: Not a good episode for her. Fails to communicate with the parents, then fails to accurately explain the risks of treatment later. When their son dies, she also is unable to break the news, and tries to get Chase to do it (Wilson eventually does). Kind of a bad look. -1 Cuddy: She's scouring the hospital for sources of the illness, and misses the openly coughing and sick old lady handing out stuffed animals? I'd give her a pass if she wasn't actively looking for just that.

DAMNED IF YOU DO

DIAGNOSES: Copper allergy.

+.5 House: There's really not a lot of diagnosing in this episode: the nun is suffering an allergy, and House gets it in the first minute of the episode. I'm deducting points because I think this episode actually shows a downside to House's way of diagnosing: when she has unrelated symptoms, he immediately abandons allergy and jumps to what rare illness is it instead of trying to figure out other causes. He saw a zebra, not a horse. +.5 Cameron: She also suggests an allergy right away, although it's shot down and House calls her out later for not sticking her guns. RAT COUNT: Foreman is the first of the series, running to Cuddy and getting House kicked off the case because he disagrees with the diagnoses.

SOCRATIC METHOD

DIAGNOSES: Wilson's Disease

+1 Cameron: First non-House diagnoses, and it's Cameron suggesting Wilson's disease at the final differential! +.5 House: Unusually nice this episode, and he's the one who both took an interest in the patient and realized her psychosis was a symptom and not a diagnoses. +0 Chase: doesn't let it get in the way, but his insistence/dismissal of the patient as an alcoholic means he's pretty useless this episode. Doesn't screw anything up, but no points either. -.5 Foreman: Loses his temper with the patient and sedates her against House's direct orders, also affecting her mental state/clarity and ability to communicate. House lectures him, and if House thinks it's a screw up, who am I to argue?

Running tally:

HOUSE: 4 TEAM: 1 FOREMAN: 1 CHASE: 1 CAMERON: .5 CUDDY: -1

[blackdiamond1038]

Secret Life Secrets

Session 7

Red- Failed

Green- Successful

All players who are infected have their task changed, so instead of having the same task at the end of almost everyone’s task, it will just be [infected]. This means their task then changes to Gem’s, which is stated below.

Gem: You are infected with the boogeyman curse. You must kill a non-red to infect them. Once you have infected them, show them this book. Their task (if they have one) is replaced with this. Yellows cannot call out this task, and you cannot re-roll for hard. You succeed when all non-reds have the curse during the session. All infected players can work together. Anyone infected can kill a non-red, but the most recently infected player must be involved. If you turn red, you can choose to be free from the curse by hitting fail early.

Scott: You must ask other players what you can do for them in exchange for diamonds. They set the amount and the task. You succeed when you have made a total of 10 diamonds from at least 3 other players. You must accept their first offer of  diamonds, and cannot convince them to give you more.

Grian: The next mob (aggressive or neutral) is now your pet. You must properly  take care of it by feeding it and taking it for walks. You fail if it dies or yellow calls out your tasks.

Pearl: You must actively break the fourth wall during conversations. You must turn to the camera and provide your inner monologue to the audience and return to the conversation without missing a beat. You can mute to break the fourth wall. You pass if no one has called you out by break time. You must actively participate in conversations. [infected]

Joel: Whenever you talk to another player you must be at least one block higher than them, even if you place the block yourself. You fail if you speak to someone while on the same level or lower. You pass if you successfully do this all session. [infected]

Etho: You are ZombieCleo’s Devil on their shoulder. You have to convince them to do bad and harm others. ZombieCleo has to choose one to act on. You can tell them about this task, but no one else. [infected]

Skizz: You are ZombieCleo’s Angel on their shoulder. You have to convince them to do good and not listen to the devil on their shoulder. ZombieCleo has to choose one to act on. You can tell them about this, but no one else. You pass if you have convinced them to take your advice more than the devil by the end of the session. [infected]

Cleo: Skizzleman and Etho are the angel and devil on your shoulder. You must pretend that you do not know when they tell you their tasks. You must alternate between taking the angel and the devil’s influence on decisions without them getting suspicious. [infected? idk it was messy but they didn’t press the succeed or fail button]

Tango: At the start of the session, announce in chat that you are a Genie and can grant 3 wishes. Only one wish per player. You succeed if you grant 3 wishes, however, you must get some part of the wish wrong (how much wrong is up to you). [infected]

Scar: Become the villain of the server. Grief. Steal. Seek server world domination. You pass if you are actively disliked by the majority of the other players. [infected]

Impulse: Pretend to be the “Boogeyman.” Fake swing at people, place lava behind them with no intention of causing damage, etc. If at least 3 people accuse you of being the boogeyman, you pass. [infected]

BigB: Make everyone believe you failed your task, but when you are asked what is was, you must make up something. You cannot use the same fake task twice. You fail if you are called out and pass if you successfully tell each player a fake task. [infected]

Bdubs: Everytime someone asks you to do something, you have to repeat back what they said in a high-pitched, sassy voice. You pass if you are not called out by a yellow half way through the session. [infected]

Martyn: Task 1: Punch another player into lava. It can be lava you have placed. Task 2: Cause any amount of damage to a non-red using an anvil. Task 3: Summon a mob using an egg to deal any damage to any green. Task 4: Strike a deal with a non-red to cause at least 3 hearts of damage to another non-red. You succeed when they have dealt the damage. Task 5: Mine a big hole underground then spleef a player into taking damage into it. [Unfinished this session]

I’m pretty confident no one succeeded before being infected, but I could be wrong. I also know that not everyone presses the fail button who was infected, but they all technically failed. Idk, this session was a nightmare for me.

On a different note, Jimmy’s whole canary curse with everything exploding after he dies is still very much working. He may not have died first, but his death was still a symbol for chaos to come.

lemme know if something’s messed up!

[neewtmas]

Nightmares // Part II

A/N: this was so hard to write omg I struggled so bad with writer's block. I hated it pretty much all throughout the writing process, but now I think it might be not as bad as I thought. I hope everyone likes it! thanks to the anon for the request <3

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 4k

request: hey bae, love your work i was wondering if i could request a pasty two to nightmares pretty please <333 maybe where reader starts going to hunt ghosts cause she’s fully trained and george just freaking out all the time !!! thanks so much - by anon

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @lockwood-lover @givemea-dam-break

part I masterlist

"I want to become an agent."

The conversation around the dinner table died down immediately, and Lockwood, George and Lucy simultaneously turned to you.

"What?"

"I said, I want to become an agent", you repeated firmly, "I want you to train me so I can join you in the field."

"Y/N, I don't think that is a good -", George started, but Lockwood interrupted him immediately. "No, it's a great idea! We do need reinforcement. I thought about hiring another agent, but training you - that would be much easier."

George huffed, and you felt a pang in your chest. Did he think you weren't good enough? You thought back to a few days ago - when you spent the night in his bed, wrapped in his arms. Were you wrong to interpret this the way you did?

"George, she'll do just fine", Lucy said, and he sighed. "I don't doubt that, I just - I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N." His eyes met yours, and for a second you forgot how to breathe. The way he looked at you had your heart beating faster, and you reached over the table to where his hand laid on the wood. But in the last moment, your courage left you and so your hand came to rest right next to his, fingers almost touching.

"I know, but I just want to be able to defend myself. And I don't want a repeat of…", you trailed off, but the unsaid words hung heavy in the air. You and George hadn't talked about what exactly had happened that night, and your nightmares had mostly subsided, but you hadn't forgotten how you felt when you thought he was in danger. Lucy cleared her throat. "You know we're still here, right?" Your face flushed red and you pulled your hand off the table with lightning speed. "I just want to be more than a measly assistant. I have the talent, and I'm willing to train and do everything you ask of me."

Lockwood nodded, satisfied. "I'll write you a training plan. The only thing you need to learn is how to use a rapier. You've handled enough of our equipment to be sufficiently educated on that front, everything else you'll learn in the field."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The plan Lockwood had cooked up included daily training, rotating through all other members as training partners at least twice a week. That worked out for about three weeks, and then slowly but surely, George took over all your training sessions. You and Lucy always ended up joking around too much and your sessions mostly ended with you both lying on the floor together, talking about everything and nothing. The second time Lockwood had caught you on the floor, giggling to each other with your rapiers discarded in the corner, he had banned Lucy from teaching you. Training with Lockwood was usually more successful, but after a few weeks, he started ditching you so George had to pick up those sessions as well. You had a sneaking suspicion that this was Lucy's doing. Not that it was an issue in any way, on the contrary, you were more than happy to spend time with George.

After the one night you had spent in his bed, you hadn't dared to go back even though you still had nightmares now and then - not because you didn't want to, but because the whole situation was so confusing. Now more than ever, you were sure there was something between you, but you didn't know what it was and whether George felt the same. If you were honest with yourself and looked at everything without your rose-coloured glasses, his actions - no matter how fluttery they made you feel - could be categorized as purely friendly and platonic. Your feelings on the other hand were anything but platonic, but you weren't about to embarrass yourself by misreading any signals. Instead, you told yourself you were just fine with him being nothing more than your friend and training partner.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Are you ready?” George asked and offered you one of the practice rapiers from the stack in the corner. You nodded, taking it from him and wrapping your fingers around the cool metal of the handle. Since starting your training, you’d quickly become more proficient with the rapier and the way you managed to inflict some serious damage on Joe and Esmeralda was a far cry from the awkward stumbling around George had to watch in the beginning.

“We’re going to focus on your footwork today. You’re already doing well with your grip and upper body, but a good and light stance is equally important and you tend to be a little stiff.”

You blushed at his compliment and simultaneous critique and quickly moved into the middle of the room, getting into the standard position Lockwood had taught you in your very first lesson.

George followed you and mimicked your stance. You were acutely aware of how little distance was between you, even though the entire room was empty and George really didn’t have to stand that close. “Right. So this is your standard starting position. But, in an actual combat situation, your opponent, be it human or ghost, usually won’t be courteous enough to let you set up your ideal position first. You need to be able to apply all the maneuvres you learnt even if you don’t have a perfectly flat surface and time for preparation.”

You tried to listen closely as he elaborated on different techniques, but it didn’t take very long for your eyes to wander. You took in all the small details on his face, every single freckle, the way his dark lashes slightly curled upwards - “Are you listening to me?”

His gaze caught yours and you stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and taken by surprise. “What?”

“I’m asking if you’re listening to me, Y/N” he repeated and you nodded quickly, hoping the dim light of the basement would conceal the blush burning on your cheeks. He looked at you for a moment, and you almost squirmed under how intense his gaze felt. The tension between you was palpable, but then he broke eye contact and resumed his explanations.

All of the training sessions went something like this. George would explain something and, at some point, drift off into a tangent that you gladly listened to - though it was more looking than listening if you were honest.

But sometimes, he would also explain certain moves more hands-on, and that's when you were really in trouble. Him standing close to you was one thing, but him adjusting your grip with his hands on yours, or worse, him reaching around you to demonstrate the way the rapier was supposed to move was an entirely different thing. Feeling him pressed up against your back, with his arms around you and his hands on yours had your heart beating out of your chest and made it hard to focus on anything else. When he stepped back and waited for you to perform the moves he just showed you by yourself, more often than not you were far too flustered to do so. Which just meant he'd show you again, making everything worse.

It drove you crazy that he could make you feel this way with just a single innocent touch. It shouldn't be this way. Yes, he had let you sleep in his bed that one night, and maybe you weren't entirely delusional to think that it meant something, but you were still just friends.

On the other hand, Lockwood had never hugged you for the sake of explaining fencing moves to you. Lockwood had never let you sleep in his bed. Yet that was what he would do for Lucy and you know how he felt about her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Several weeks later ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You stood in the dimly lit basement, breathing heavily as you lowered your rapier until its tip scraped over the concrete floor. Esmeralda, the straw doll, was swinging back and forth, and you turned to your three colleagues who stood by the wall, watching you. The pieces of straw you had whacked out of Esmeralda crunched under your boots as you walked over to the rack to put the rapier away. George offered you a glass of water and you took a sip while looking at Lockwood expectantly.

He had his arms crossed, a solemn expression on his face, and for a moment you were scared, but then he couldn't hold back his smile any longer.

"Congrats Y/N, you did very well. I'd love to welcome you to Lockwood & Co in the position of a field agent."

"Really?!" He nodded, but you weren't even looking at him anymore. Instead, you leapt over to a surprised George, who opened his arms just in time to catch you as you threw your arms around him and hugged him tightly. He took a few seconds to recuperate, then his hands came to rest on your lower back. "Thank you", you whispered in his ear. Lockwood cleared his throat and you quickly stepped back, remembering that he and Lucy stood right next to you. In your peripheral, you could see George scratch the back of his neck, eyes focused on his feet.

"As I was saying", Lockwood continued with a raised eyebrow, "you can now join us in the field. If you want, we can go get you a rapier right now so you don't have to use one of the practice ones."

You nodded, doing your best to stay composed and not just jump up and down with giddiness. Finally, you had the chance to prove yourself as an agent. Never again did you want to be in a situation where the people closest to you were in danger yet you couldn't help them. You refused to ever feel that weak and useless again.

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That evening you left 35 Portland Row with a spring in your step, your brand-new rapier securely at your side, and your hand resting on top of it. Lockwood had made sure that tonight's case would be a simple one for you to get accustomed to what working as an agent meant.

When you climbed out of the cab 20 minutes later, the house towered over you, the setting sun behind it. A cold shiver ran down your back as you realised there was no backing down now, no matter what awaited you behind the dark, wooden door. George walked past you, hand brushing past your fingers so briefly that you wondered if it even happened. He gave you an encouraging smile as he grabbed your bag to carry it up to the house. You took a deep breath and followed him.

The door closed behind you, and for a moment, everything was quiet. "This is usually where you get your first impressions", Lucy whispered, standing next to you with closed eyes. "I'm not getting anything right now, but it's always good to try in case there is something." "Make sure to do it inside the house though", Lockwood added. "Never linger on the threshold."

You watched them carefully as they set up in the kitchen, George making tea, Lockwood and Lucy going through the bags and setting the equipment out on the table. George gave you the first cup of tea he poured and you sat down, looking at your reflection in the amber liquid in front of you. You weren't sure how you felt. A part of you still felt excited, but a much bigger part was growing anxious over what was waiting for you.

"It's seven now, and the sun is gone, so we'll get started on exploring the house", Lockwood said after taking a sip from his tea. "Y/N, since this is your first case you can choose who you want to pair up with."

Without thinking, you immediately looked over to George. "Is that okay?" you trailed off questioningly and he gave you a soft smile. "Of course, always." You smiled back, warmth spreading in your chest. Lucy, who sat next to you, mumbled something under her breath but you didn't quite catch it. "Well then let's go. George and Y/N, you'll go upstairs, we stay down here. Report back when you're done."

Silently, you watched as they put on their belts stuffed with salt bombs, matches, candles and silver nets. You knew those very well, you had refilled them more times than you could count. But you had never worn one, the weight on your shoulder feeling foreign as you stuffed some more salt bombs in the pockets of your jacket just for good measure. Lockwood patted your shoulder and Lucy gave you a thumbs up before they left the kitchen and then you were alone with George. "Do you feel ready?", he asked and you looked around the kitchen. In the warm light of the oil lamp, it looked cosy and homely. In contrast to that the rest of the house seemed cold and dark. "Yes", you replied.

You left the kitchen and turned right where, at the end of the hallway, a narrow staircase lead up to the second floor. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but slowly you could make out more and more of your surroundings as you followed George down the hallway. The plush carpet muffled the sounds of your steps, and you moved your hand to rest on your rapier, immediately feeling better. There was no reason to be scared.

A while later, you met back in the kitchen to report your findings, which weren't many. George had shown you how to take the temperature in every room so that was something you could do now, and you had also tried to use your talent of touch but had come up empty.

Lockwood made the second round of tea, and you noticed how this time, Lucy got the first cup. They had much more to tell as they had located the most probable location for the source somewhere in the downstairs office. "It was really cold in there", Lucy said, hands wrapped around her steaming cup of tea. "Much colder than it should have been, based on the time." You stayed in the kitchen for a while, before you gathered your chains and moved over to the office about an hour before midnight.

After you watched them set up, keeping close to the door yourself to not get in the way, the four of you gathered inside the iron circle. The room was dark, the moonlight pouring in through the two windows not doing much. You felt the urge to switch on the flashlight you had strapped to your belt but knew that it would just make it worse. Instead, you tried your best to make out the outlines of the furniture around you. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling, and every compartment looked to be stuffed with books, stacks of paper, and other things you couldn't quite identify in the dark even though you stood so close.

The only thing that was clearly visible was a large desk by the window, the polished wood lightly reflecting the little moonlight the clouds let through. You stood side by side with George, shoulders touching slightly. You wished you were even closer. When you shifted your weight over to the other foot, your hand accidentally brushed against his and you drew a sharp breath. You didn't dare to look over at him when suddenly you felt his hand slip into yours. Now you were thankful to the dark for hiding your blush and hoped he wouldn't be able to hear the way your heart was beating erratically. Your fingers intertwined and then you stood there, shoulder to shoulder, and the anxiety that had been growing in you since you stepped into the room somewhat subsided.

The temperature had dropped quickly, and you shivered slightly, now glad that you brought a jacket. Suddenly, George squeezed your hand and when you looked at him, he slightly nodded over to the far corner, where you could see fog gathering and swirling over the floorboards. You watched the white whisps travel higher until they formed something that resembled a human form. Sight wasn't your thing, so you couldn't make out any details but what you were seeing was enough.

"We wait a little longer and then I'll go out", Lockwood whispered, eyes trained on the shape that was slowly floating closer. "Luce, you'll search for the source, and Y/N and George, you back her up." He drew his rapier in a swift and effortless motion, waited another few seconds until the apparition had reached the middle of the room and then stepped over the chain. The apparition immediately glowed brighter, seemingly noticing him and he moved forward, rapier moving through the air so quickly that you almost got dizzy watching him. Seeing that made you painfully aware of how much of a beginner you still were.

Lucy hurried out of the circle as well, choosing to go around the desk to not alert the ghost of her presence and you wanted to follow her, but George pulled you back. "Let's stay here for a moment", he whispered, hand still holding yours. You nodded, watching Lucy kneel on the floor and rummage through the stacks of books and papers. Lockwood was still working on keeping the ghost in check, but you could tell by the way the temperature had dropped further and the papers on the shelves were rustling in the wind that the apparition had gained strength.

"You stay here," George said hastily before he pulled out his rapier and joined Lockwood. You stood for a moment, helplessly watching the scene unfold in front of you. "Y/N!" Lucy called over to you, motioning you to come, and without thinking you left the safety of the iron circle and ran over to her. "The source must be somewhere around here", she said, "I think it's one of the books."

You looked over your shoulder briefly to see Lockwood and George still busy with the ghost whose shape was now so clear that you could make out little details in its clothes. You started ripping out books from the lowest compartment. "What are we looking for exactly?", you asked, your breath white in front of you in the cold of the room. "I have no idea, but you'll notice when you find it" Lucy replied, raising her voice over the increasing wind that was now strong enough to pick up some of the paper stuffed into the shelves. You got up, starting to pull out books from the higher compartments, unceremoniously dropping them behind you. About 30 seconds later Lucy yelled. "I think I got it! Salt bombs, Lockwood!"

Suddenly everything happened very quickly. Behind you, the room exploded into white light, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden brightness, stumbling back and right into the books you had just dropped. You could feel yourself losing balance and with flailing arms, you fell. You braced for an impact that never came, instead, arms wrapped around your midsection and stopped your fall. You slowly opened your eyes and turned your head to find George behind you. You tried your best to ignore the way he was holding onto you and to find your footing again. When you stood securely, he slowly lowered his arms and you immediately missed his touch. "Are you okay?" he asked. You nodded and were just about to say something when he looked up and behind you, shock overtaking his expression.

You tried to turn around but were pushed back as he threw himself against you, making you stumble again. This time you didn't fall, instead your back hit the wall next to the shelf, forcing the air out of your lungs. George was pressed up against you, and behind him, several thick stacks of papers and documents tumbled out of the shelf and hit the ground right where you stood a few seconds ago. But you didn't even notice, because all you could think about was how close he was, chest against yours, faces just inches from each other and somehow his hand had found yours again. You stared at each other, and you swore his eyes dropped down to your lips for a second before he took a step back, letting go of your hand and clearing his throat. "Are you okay?", he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose, voice sounding a little unsteady. You just nodded, feeling too overwhelmed to get out even a single word.

The office was a mess, papers and books everywhere, all covered in the salt that crunched under the sole of your shoes as you made a few wobbly steps forward. "Well, that's what I call a success", Lockwood exclaimed, wiping off some imaginary dust from his coat. As usual, he seemed unfazed by the chaos around him.

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Packing up didn't take long, and soon you were back in 35 Portland Row, where George immediately set the kettle on the stove for the next round of tea. Lockwood and Lucy soon excused themselves to their respective rooms, so then it was just you and George left.

You sat at the table, feeling tired now that the adrenaline had worn off, and you watched George making and pouring the tea. You liked watching him in the kitchen because he seemed so relaxed and always like he knew exactly what he was doing. He carried the two steaming cups over to the table and sat down in the chair next to you.

For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, sipping on your tea. Every now and then, you allowed your gaze to wander over to him before quickly looking away again in hopes he wouldn't catch you.

"Do you still have nightmares?", he broke the silence.

You looked at him, surprised by the question. "A few", you hesitantly answered. "Every now and then. Why?"

He was quiet for a while, staring down at his hands that fidgeted with the teaspoon. "Because you didn't come back to my room. I was wondering if that's because you just didn't have nightmares anymore or because you didn't want to. Guess I have my answer."

"Oh." You tried to search for the right words. "But - I wanted to, George. Every night. I didn't because I wasn't sure how you felt about it."

He turned to you. "Are you kidding? I thought I made it very clear how I felt about it. How I felt about you", he added, much more quietly.

You bit your lip. "How you feel about me?", you repeated breathlessly, words threatening to get stuck in your throat.

He reached over to take your hand. "Can I maybe try something?", he asked, and you nodded, heart beating out of your chest from the way he looked at you in the dim, warm light.

He leaned forward slightly, the hand that wasn't holding yours coming up to rest on your cheek as he pulled you in gently. Your eyes fluttered shut just as his lips met yours in a soft kiss. When he pulled away, you slowly opened your eyes again to find him already looking at you, with a smile so full of love that you felt even more dizzy than the kiss had left you. His thumb rubbed over the back of your hand.

"That's how I feel about you."

thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated :))

[yourplayersaidwhat]

(Rogue and Druid are back from a cliffdiving session and have met back up with the rest of the party)

Rogue: Fighter, have you ever been cliffdiving?

Fighter: No, but it sounds fun. It sounds pretty scary too, actually.

Druid: I almost died. Twice.

Fighter: …

Druid: I also met a turtle!