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whump-town · 4 years ago

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Maybe Time Running Out Is A Gift

Very much so inspired by "If We Were Vampires" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

Hotchniss— just domestic bliss and no catch

There’s something about these nights, the summer nights that sit thick with humidity that seems to draw him that much closer to her. They have mingled enough that it wouldn’t be the first time he got his sweat all over her-- he is but a dorky man at the end of the day and deprives a twisted joy out of coming into their home wet with the sweat from working outside and wrapping her up in his arms so she has to feel it. He’d done it just today after seeing her poking about the house in jean overalls and an old sports bra. Had known the rush of mischief he’d felt when she groaned and tried to get away when he grabbed her. She’d thought they were far too old for these antics, it’s clear he doesn’t agree. Which is a rich thought coming from someone who waited until he was pinned under the sink to tickle his sides so he couldn’t escape.

The air conditioner hums away as it tries to overpower the Virginia heat and the windows Aaron insisted they leave open for the slight draft. She’s not sure why she caved to his argument because now he’s the one swaddled in his blankets, tucked up against her, and she’s sweating her ass off. It’s in moments like these that she’s reminded of that fury she harbored upon their first meeting. Of the stubborn as all hell man whose desk she’d stretched across to shake his hand only for him to meet her eyes and purposely get her college wrong. He’d admitted this years ago, a shameful blush creeping up his neck as he retold his thought process. Of the joy, he’d gotten out of her annoyance and she’d whacked him with the closest magazine she could find being reminded of just how easily he has always managed to get into her head.

That man that day has been many things over the course of their lives. Her enemy, the man she was hired to take down. For a while, she’d thought about it. He was a hateful man and she a spiteful woman-- the perfect mix of misery to see that in one another and exacerbate it exponentially. Then a mystery, an enigma she looked at like the most fascinating puzzle and, despite her best attempts, had begun to like. Somehow they stumbled into acquaintances until it was him she wanted to tell her shitty jokes to and him she wanted to wait for to go get drinks. To sitting beside his unconscious body in the ICU, listening to his labored breathing and wondering if this would end if for him. How much will he give before it becomes too much?

Now he’s the man drooling on her shoulder, whose arm over her hips is comforting and familiar. She wants to shake her head at him, to complain about how clingy he is, but she knows she’s lucky. The men of her past are horrible and they make a little drool seem like nothing at all. Her father was emotionally manipulative, never raised a hand but sometimes he threw words like the crack of a belt. She could feel their sting on her cheek. There was John, just a little older than her, but enrapturing with his cigarettes and free will. He’d used her and abandoned her when their actions had created a life neither would survive. How many between then and Ian? She can’t even remember them all. The other girls used to call her a whore but she had no concept of her own body. Just that she liked the attention of men and the only way to keep that attention was sex. It worked with every man she ever met.

Except for Aaron.

She can remember the flood of embarrassment she’d felt the first time she tried to stick her hand down his pants. The way their casual kissing had gotten a little heated and he’d stopped her, gently rubbing her hand as he pulled it away from his belt. “Slow,” he’d reminded her and she’d blushed but he’d soothed that too. Reminded her he just has to be sure if not for their jobs then for Jack because he’s not exactly given set a great standard for dating. He’d kissed her again, cupping her cheek, and turned his attention back to the movie. She still remembers the shock of that. Of him. The way he kissed and touched her like every single second she allowed him close was something he cherished. She doesn’t think anyone’s really touched her like that. As if they meant it.

Now she’s stuck with him.

Despite the grown man laying all over her and the heat of the room, she manages to fall asleep. Somewhere between his soft snoring and thinking about the garden and the flowers he’s left on their porch still in their containers.

When she wakes he’s not in bed. The early morning has not brought on the wrath of mid-day’s heat, leaving the air conditioner to power on and her to shiver under the blankets without him there to wrap himself around her. She lays there for a few more moments before her left hip starts to ache from the position and she realizes that she has to get up to stretch and pee. In motion, there’s no point in crawling back into bed. Not unless she can convince Aaron to come back for a nap later.

She pulls on an old pair of his sweatpants before venturing out to him. He’s full of all the same old habits so she knows exactly where he is. “Good morning,” she greets, stepping out on the porch. He’s surrounded by children, sparring her only a glance as he looks up from his apple cutting. This is an everyday sort of thing. Every morning at seven he greets the neighbor’s children on their porch, bringing with him three apples or oranges to divide between himself and the children as they wait for the bus. She’s wordlessly passed an apple slice.

“So,” she asks, taking a seat on the porch swing and smiling as one of the kids climbs up after her. “How are we doing this morning? Ready for school?” Most of the kids are elementary schoolers so they cheer with big gap-toothed grins around the slices of apple Aaron’s supplied them. They have only one high schooler, a seventeen-year-old who simply winces around his apple. She doesn’t miss it. “Have you gotten any of those college applications in back yet?”

Aaron looks up, hand stilling to wait for an answer.

Arthur, the boy in question, averts their gaze to swallow thickly and admit, “I-- I don’t know.” He bites into his apple, kicking at the concrete corner of the edge of the porch. Anything to avoid them, to pull the attention back away from him. “Don’t want to look.”

She should have known, he’s placed the whole porch between them and him. She hums, “why can’t you check them?” She knows he’s got other things to tend to which is probably how he’s been able to put off checking the applications as long as he has. Melancholy hits her a little hard as she recalls the last time she and Aaron had to help an anxious to the point of anger teenager through the thorns and thickets of college application papers. Jack hadn’t been very happy about all the paperwork either. Smart as a whip but dissolving to the point of tears by the pure amount of information he needed to fill in until he’d give up with an angry wipe of his face and the soft admission “I don’t understand it”. It had all been worth the tears of joy and Aaron’s near heart attack at his son’s sudden shout when he’d gotten them back. He’d taken his laptop back to his room, needed to be alone just in case they came back bad.

Of course, they hadn’t.

Arthur glances at Aaron before swallowing and shrugging. “Dunno,” he mumbles.

The bus is his saving grace and he wastes no time throwing his bookbag over his shoulder and offering a quick wave before tearing off for it. The other children bounce about as Aaron splits the rest of the apple in his hand between them. “Arthur!” he shouts, watching between the knife in his hand and the teen now coming to a staggering halt. “Just check the applications, huh? I’m sure you got into all of them. They’d be fools not to take you.” Aaron’s already looking back down, mumbling something with a smile to the others before sending them off. Never sees the way Arthur looks back at him, stunned in silence until one of his sisters smacks into him and jolts him back to Earth.

Emily observes Aaron for a moment, watches him pop the last sliver of apple in his mouth before wiping the blade of his pocket knife off on his jeans. Observing the blade for a moment before shaking his head and muttering, “damn things dull again.” He meets her gaze, oblivious to her thoughts, and shows her. “I think I need a new one.”

She could care less about his stupid pocket knife-- especially when she knows he’s had that one for longer than she’s known him and he won’t get a new one. She’s lost thinking about how old they are. How the two of them have surpassed every joke they made in their pasts about dying too soon, too young. They’ve raised Jack and have somehow made it to the age where she realizes, that they’re at the grandparenting age. Something she hadn’t even thought about until seeing Aaron just now. His baggy old sweater and the ease he has with being around children that would be the perfect age to look as if they were his own grandchildren and suddenly she yearns to see him with them. To see Jack become a father and to be able to see that light in Aaron’s eyes.

And, well, maybe she’d like a son or daughter-in-law out of Jack too and grandkids. A woman can dream… when was the last time she even got to hold a baby?

“Coffee?” Aaron asks, standing from his rocking chair and offering her hand. She nods and takes it, wincing at the chill of his skin. It reminds her that Thursday he has two doctor’s appointments both of which he’ll hate, not that he likes any of them, but he really hates the meeting with the orthopedics who push at his sore hips and want to check every square inch of his body. All for the same old thing. A higher dosage of the medication he takes for his shitty vascular system and the threat that if he doesn’t start taking care of his right hip better with the exercises they advise he’ll be hobbling about with a cane by the end of the year.

But they always say that. He’d rather just take the cane and call it a day.

Meanwhile, she gets by with her obscene amounts of coffee. Her hip is always hurting but she never does anything about it and her doctors praise her for excellent health and great blood pressure and just everything. It drives him crazy.

He makes the coffee while she’s puttering about the house, two cups made the exact same way. The way she likes because he already knows he’ll get halfway through this cup, like he always does, before leaving it to entertain some random thought he’s had. Which means he’s leaving it for her to finish and he also really likes the ratio of creamer that she prefers and it’s a good reason to indulge in all the silly little fancy additions he can make to it.

She takes the mug he offers with a smile, sipping the too-hot liquid before it cooled enough and sucking in a breath through her teeth with a wince. The same mistake every day, she never learns. “Will you get those flowers off my porch?” she asks. She pulls the sliding glass door to their backyard open, stepping out and knowing he’s right on her heels. “They’re going to die if you don’t get them into the ground.”

Last week or maybe Monday they’d gone out to Lowe’s to get her lumber for a bookshelf. He’d wandered off while she found what wood she wanted and what stain she thought would go best. She was not surprised when he came back grinning and told her about the flowers he’d loaded into the cart. She’d only half-listened as the Lowe’s guys put the wood in the back of the truck but the point is there will be lots of yellows and purples and, she can only remember one of the names because he’d particularly excited about these, orange black-eyed susan vines. Which are all sitting on the front porch waiting for him.

He grunts.

“And make sure you put sunblock on your neck,” she adds, sneaking a smirk his way. The last time he’d been gardening he’d taken off his hat and burnt the hell out of the back of his neck. Was miserable for days because of it and, naturally, all his groaning became her problem.

He squints his eyes at her but says nothing. He’ll remember the sunblock this time.

They separate off into their tasks for the day.

She leaves him on the back porch with a kiss to the temple and rustle of his hair, off to find her copy of the “The Illustrated Man” wherever she left it last. She’ll take it out to the hammock between the trees in their backyard so she can watch him as she takes breaks from reading. He’s already brought his flowers around when she gets back out, standing there looking all kinds of confused as he scratches his head absently as he thinks. Eyes darting around the dirt as he comes up with how he wants to plant the flowers.

“We can get mulch Thursday after your doctor’s appointment,” she says as she passes, patting his butt as does so. He’s lost the sweater stripped down to his worn jeans and a thin white t-shirt. He grunts at her suggestion both as a yes and a wordless complaint at being reminded of his doctor’s appointment.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out where he wants things and she watches him get to it. She’s certainly had her fun picking at him for filling his retirement with something so typically feminine as planting flowers but she thinks it’s terribly sweet. She loves just how proud he is of his little garden and every year he talks about planting vegetables too. The man’s got a hell of a green thumb, he could do it.

With a hum, she stretches out in the hammock and makes a mental note to ask Morgan if he knows anything about vegetable gardens. If they can get him over here to pull the ground up she’s certain Aaron would have something down in the dirt as soon as he could. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t already have the seeds ready.

The kids would love that. She smirks into her book, satisfied with herself. It’s settled then, she decides. She’ll call Morgan and get Reid to help them find vegetables that are in season. They’ll love that.

It’s the perfect beginning to her day and with any luck, it’ll stay that way.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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joyfulsongbird · 3 years ago

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sooooo. I wrote a Thing. all credit to @defilerwyrm for the concept of the mighty nein getting consecuted based on their connection to the beacon and credit to @mightymightynein for coming up with the idea that because molly died in proximity to the beacon, he would then come back in another body. none of these ideas are mine, I just couldn't resist writing out a little thing!! thank you both for your great ideas <3

ao3 link!!

Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes.

Not quickly, not all at once, but he wakes nonetheless. It does not feel like coming to, nor is it really the idea we all have of snapping awake one day and coming to the realization that you are not where you belong. He is born again, and born with the name Enna. He is a purple skinned drow, which pleases him that even in the next life he still has a lavender hue to his skin. He looks at himself in the mirror, once he comes to the realization. He looks at his features and tries to rearrange them into something he knew years ago, he imagines this face with horns, these brown eyes with red ones. It is strange, to look at what he knows is himself and it feels correct but at the same time, like something is missing. He grows used to the idea: his name is Mollymauk, he was a member of the Mighty Nein, he died and now he lives again. He does not know why but it takes time in order for him to fully come back to himself.

One night, after he is able to differentiate which memories are from his present life and which ones are from the last, he disappears. He had not been very attached to the family in this present life, they were distant as many parents were and even before his realization, he looked forward to the day he got to spread his wings and leave the nest. This just… pushes things forward a bit. He wraps an enchanted cloak around himself that would protect him from the sun (one that he had stolen months ago, old habits die hard), as that is something he has to worry about now, and sets off into the first adventure of his second life.

He walks and sorts through the memories in his head. Remembers their faces, their voices, the things they did, the way it sounded when they all laughed. On his travels, he purchases a deck of tarot cards. They are not his cards, not as elegant or artistic as the ones he used to own, but they feel good in his hands. His fingers slowly remember how to shuffle the deck, how to flip them between his fingers, and make them disappear, then reappear as if he had snatched them from behind somebody’s ear. He remembers, and it feels wonderful to be able to be a whole person.

His travels are long, he is only going on foot, and he only has so much money. To earn some coin, he gives tarot readings in bars and on the street just like he used to. People goggle at him, differently than they used to. Drows are not all that common, he finds, and it is especially not all that common to find a teenaged drow sitting in a bar with a grin on his face, telling an old man his future with as much confidence as somebody triple his age. As is his nature, people are drawn to him. He had forgotten the electric feeling that buzzes through his whole body when he is surrounded by life like this. It’s a wonderful thing, to feel alive even when you have died twice. And since he has experienced being lifeless twice before (only one of which he can remember his last breath leaving his body), he wants to experience it all again. Nothing wrong with that.

Months go by and he finds himself in Port Damali. He does not know where he is going nor does he have a destination but hopes that someday, fate will shove him near the Mighty Nein again by chance and he will be able to brush sleeves with them in this life too. He sits in a tavern, like he does every day, and tells a young woman that someday her spine will stop aching and that she needs to work less and that she’ll have at least three children. She grins at him and he grins back, already scooping up the three cards she had picked out and is waving his hand absently for somebody new to sit down.

“Do you read tarot cards ‘cause I really, really love tarot cards and I can read them too, you know? You read mine and then I’ll read yours, okay?” it takes him a moment, as he looks at the tiefling sitting across from him. She’s older now, wiser around her eyes but still just as bright in her smile. She’s dressed for the area, in what one could only ever describe as classic pirate garb. Molly smiles at her, his chest aching. It almost pains him to see her again, in this way where she does not recognize him. She leans forward eagerly, legs kicking back and forth under the table. She hasn’t changed.

He clears his throat, not prepared to let his thoughts get the better of him. “Of course! Here, pick whichever cards call to you. Three of them, if you please.”

She happily chooses three, placing them face down on the table all nice and even. Before he can turn them over, she leans in very close. She narrows her eyes at him, “do you know my name?” He laughs, loud and clear. “Let’s see if the cards tell us that, hm?”

Satisfied, she leans away, watching as he flips over the first card. He considers the card for a long time, and Jester watches, enraptured. “You’re a kind soul, aren’t you?”

She nods vigorously. Molly taps his chin in faux thoughtfulness. “You love to draw, am I correct?”

She gasps, “how did you know that? I do!”

“The cards told me.” he says, as means of an explanation. He flips over the next card without further analysis. “Ooooh, interesting. You should not let doubt plague you, you’re far too important to those around you to let those skills go to waste. Don’t hold back, let your chaos run free, my dear.” “That’s what I always say!” her voice rises in excitement and they get several odd glances from surrounding patrons. “You’re so good at this, oh my god!”

He simply smiles, before flipping over the final card. He forces a frown and Jester leans forward again, glancing rapidly from his face and back down to the card. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve lost things,” he says. “But don’t worry, you will find that not all is lost forever. Jester.” She jumps to her feet, her face alight with joy. Joy. He grins. He had been right, then, when he had named her card that.

She runs a small ways over to another table and grabs somebody's arm, dragging a familiar half-orc all the way back to Molly’s table, her words nearly incoherent out of excitement.

“Fjord, look, look! Tell him what you said, tell him what you saw in the cards- I told you, Fjord! It was the coolest thing, he knew my name, he knew it! I swear, look! Look at the cards!” she bounces up and down, her words strewn together as she points at the three cards laid out. Fjord looks down at them, then glances up at Molly who shrugs as he gathers up his deck and slips them back into his bag, finished for the night.

“I don’t know what they mean.” he says helplessly. Jester rolls her eyes, grabbing Fjord’s hand and then grabbing Molly’s.

“I want you to teach me! I’ve been practicing for-ever and I can’t get that good.” She grabs him and Fjord back to the corner table that Fjord had been sitting at by himself. She forces them both to sit.

“Jester,” Fjord says before she can get comfortable. “Could you grab me a drink from the bar?”

“Okay!” she doesn’t seem to question why, just bounces over to the bar and leaves the two of them in silence.

“How did you know her name?” Fjord asks gruffly. “I know it’s not because of the cards. Are you a spy of some kind? Seem a little young to be a spy.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” It takes him a long stretch of quiet before he can even come up with the words. It hasn’t quite felt real up until this moment, up until he was faced with the ghosts of his past who aren’t actually ghosts. They are very much alive, only aged and more weathered than he knew them last. As he explains, as briefly as humanly possible, he watches Fjord’s eyebrows raise higher and higher. His eyes grow wide and fists clench on top of the table. Mollymauk knows it sounds insane, it doesn’t sound real, by anybody’s standards. There’s an uncomfortable pause after he’s done speaking when neither Fjord nor him know what to say. They are interrupted (maybe “saved” would be the correct word) by Jester returning with Fjord’s drink.

“Why so quiet guys?” she asks.

Fjord opens and closes his mouth, his face paler, “we need to go see Essek.”

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #mollymauk tealeaf #jester lavorre #fjord #cr fjord #this is not my best work but I loved writing it so I thought id share!!!

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mommymooze · 3 years ago

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Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

#fe3h #fe16 #fire emblem three houses #fe3h x reader #black eagles #fe16 x reader

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years ago

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Day 9

Prompt: When you write something on your own skin it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

Word Count: 1,896

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01, @spoopy-turtle, @lizluvscupcakes, @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain, @8-writes Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12, @8-writes

“It feels like the whole world is closing in. I’m starting to get claustrophobic.” Logan saw the words appear on his leg. Lying in bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, most of his skin was covered in black and purple ink. He paused, his black pen hovering over the skin just below the purple.

Finally, he put pen to skin. “That’s understandable. Sometimes, you just need to distance yourself from the world. Put up a barrier and exist behind it, give yourself a mental personal bubble and stick to it. Have things you enjoy set aside in a way that you can interact with them without having to interact with the world.”

The purple gave a dot of acknowledgement. Logan knew Virgil would eventually tired himself out and fall asleep so waited for any indicator. Soon, the ink left a small dot before a trail dropped off the limb, cutting through the previous conversation. Logan chuckled, knowing his soulmate had fallen asleep.

He stood, crossing to the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the tub as he took a washcloth to the pen marks. He smiled, thinking of the many conversations he’d had with Virgil. He’d known his name his whole life, or so it felt. In reality, he’d been five when ink had first shown up on his arm. It was a simple hello from Virgil’s parents to test if his soulmate was older or younger than him. Logan had run up to his mom and she and Mama wrote on his other arm.

After that, he was encouraged to write little notes to his soulmate on his arms, telling him about his day and things he’d learned in school. He was told that Virgil wouldn’t be able to respond for a few years but that didn’t stop him from trying.

He was eleven when he first got a response. It was shakily written, clearly by a child holding a crayon in a fist. He’d been so happy, running to Mama to show her. Mama had encouraged him to write back and he could picture the giggles that arose from his soulmate.

Soon, they were holding full conversations. Those progressed to late night conversations, pens sliding off skin as sleep took over, the hurried scrawls of notes or ideas, getting to know his soulmate by his personality and penmanship, getting to see that penmanship change as he learned how he wrote best, getting to know his mood by his wording and the spacing between letters. He got to know his tastes in food by his grocery lists, his daily activities by to-do lists. He saw when tears or rain obscured important information and made sure to write it higher up so it wasn’t smudged. This was usually accompanied by hearts and stars from Virgil drawn next to them as a way of thanks.

He made sure to do the same, writing grocery and to-do lists on his arms, chuckling when Virgil thought it was his own list and started crossing things off. His favorite thing to do was to play simple table games on his arms, tic tac toe, dots and boxes, sprouts, and others. They both eventually solved little arguments of who won which game by choosing different pen colors.

At one point during a day, it must have been when he was about fifteen or so, he got a note on his arm that Virgil had been diagnosed with ADHD. He’d researched as much about it as he could in the hopes of helping in any way he could. He’d give reminders, encourage Virgil to write task lists on his arm, even if it was ‘I need to make dinner in fifteen minutes’ so Logan could give a reminder at the five minute mark. He noticed when Virgil didn’t respond and would ask if it was a bad sensory day and would use a different pen in case that was triggering his hypersensitivity.

One day, he noticed a building number written on his arm when he woke up. It was a very familiar building number as it was his place of work. He smiled as he adjusted his tie, going into work with a spring in his step. When he got to the break room, he thought he’d ask around. “Does anyone have a Virgil for an appointment?”

He got a few smirks from coworkers but some others gave him genuine smiles. “Is it your soulmate?” Someone asked, clear teasing in her voice.

Logan nodded, a smile creeping across his face. He twisted his arm, letting the rest of them see the note with the building address. “I woke up to this and assumed. So, does anyone have an appointment with him?”

Patton raised his hand with a giggle. “I do! It’s a one o'clock appointment. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a one-thirty appointment. I’m willing to swap with you.”

Logan nodded as he poured creamer into his coffee. “That would be fine, thank you.”

He went back to his office and completed paperwork, dealing with the few clients he had in the morning. He went out and grabbed a quick lunch during his noon break before sitting in his office, trying not to stand every five minutes to look for Virgil.

Finally, the clock struck one and his head swiveled to the door. His secretary knocked on it and he called for him to come in. Roman peeked his head in. “I have a Virgil Storm that Patton said is for you?”

“Yes! Send him in, please.” He tried to keep his excitement to a minimum but after falling for his soulmate twelve years ago, he was excited to see him for the first time. He stood as his soulmate entered, a shy looking young man in a purple and black hoodie with ripped black jeans.

“Virgil Storm, welcome.” He reached over the desk for a handshake, the address clear on his arm.

Virgil raised his head, eyes locking onto the purple writing that matched the pen he usually used. He shifted his gaze to Logan’s eyes. “Logan?” His voice was hesitant, as if he were already regretting the decision to ask.

Logan nodded, his attempts to contain his smile succeeding for the most part. “That’s right, soulmate.”

Virgil smiled, dropping his hood as he sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Logan sat as his soulmate looked around the room. Logan couldn’t take his eyes off the man, his hair tousled from the hood, his shoulders looking more relaxed than when he came in, he looked nice. Finally, he turned back to face Logan. “So, law office, huh?” He smirked.

Logan nodded, folding his hands on his desk. “Yes. I find the work . . . fulfilling.” He reached for the documents Patton had provided for him earlier. “So, what caused you to need a lawyer?”

Virgil seemed to draw in on himself. “Well, I want to get custody of my younger brother from my parents.”

Logan nodded, making a note on a clean sheet of paper. “Okay, and do you have any reasons to know that they are unfit parents? Any reasons to believe that you would be a better guardian?” He looked up, an apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry, dearest, you must understand that these are standard questions.”

Virgil squirmed slightly in his seat. “Dearest?”

Logan nodded, avoiding eye contact. “I have no excuse for that one.”

Virgil’s hand came across the desk to rest on Logan’s. “I wouldn’t expect an excuse. I guess I just didn’t expect an exclamation of love so soon after meeting. Then again, we met when I was born, didn’t we?”

Logan looked up at him and saw a look that his own face must have mirrored. “That’s right. I’ve known you all my life and couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.” After a period of silence, he cleared his throat and straightened the papers. “We should get back on track.”

Virgil nodded, settling back in his chair. “Right. Uhh, they are abusive to him. I’d never been abused by them but when Remus came knocking at my door with some large bruises on his wrists, I knew I had to do something.”

Logan nodded. “Okay, are you aware of a moment of instigation of the abuse? You mention not being abused yourself so I’m wondering if there is a specific thing about your brother that your parents saw but didn’t like.”

“He’s transgender. That’s the only thing I can think of that they don’t like about him. I mean, I’m pretty alternative and emo myself so I can’t imagine them snapping over something as simple as a teenager who plays music too loud or watches too many horror movies.”

Logan jotted a note down. “Okay, can we circle back around to my question of how you could make a better guardian? This is a simple argument we can use in court against your parents.”

“I have a stable income that is capable of providing for two people, he’s already been living at my place for a few weeks at the moment, and . . . I’ve contacted my soulmate.” Logan looked up from his notes just in time to see Virgil wink at him.

“Flirt,” he muttered as he went back to his notes.

Virgil leaned forward, his face confident. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Logan shook his head. “Nothing.” Looking back over his notes, he underlined certain things before looking back up at Virgil. “Okay, I think I’ll need to talk to Remus for a little bit but other than that, I think we might have a strong case. I will have to ask that you are not in the room while I talk to him but you can wait directly outside. The only reason for this is so I know he’s speaking of his own free will and isn’t allowing you to speak for him, which is something your parents might try to hold against us.”

Virgil nodded. “May I ask why you need to speak to him?”

“It’s to make sure that he understands what’s happening and is okay with you taking custody. I also have to ask him some cursory questions to know the extent of the abuse. I might also have to have some pictures taken of bruises as evidence for court.”

Virgil nodded, making a note on his arm. Logan smiled. Once that was done, Virgil leaned forward. “Are there any rules against dating your lawyer?”

Logan smiled along with him. “None that I can recall. Why, are you thinking about it?”

Virgil smirked. “Only if he’s willing to date me back.” Logan nodded, leaning forward in a silent invitation for a kiss, which Virgil accepted.

The case took a few months and was hard fought, but Virgil eventually got custody of Remus. He and Logan continued to date until Virgil and Remus moved in with Logan. The lawyer was the one to propose, much to his coworkers’ enjoyment. The wedding was a simple one but they were happy in their life. Logan asked Remus if he would prefer to be under only Virgil’s custody or if he wanted Logan to have joint custody and, when told Remus preferred the second option, quickly petitioned for joint custody, which was easily obtained. Their life was a busy one but it was happy, and it was theirs.

#tsshipmonth2020 #virgil sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #transphobia mentioned #tw: abuse mentioned #analogical #adhd!virgil #ace writes

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years ago

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Check Up

[Doctor!Erik “Killmonger” Stevens x Reader]

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: A light filth

A/N: I was in the Vagina Monologues at my college and there’s one skit/story about a vagina workshop that inspired this one. Enjoy

Your leg bounces up and down anxiously as you sit waiting for your name to be called. You made sure to arrive extra early to account for a crowd or forms to fill out asking all the standard, invasive questions that any health facility is required to know. This visit was particularly nerve wrecking considering your friend’s referral to come.

One night during a girls hangout, wine and tea was spilled while discussing your personal lives. Your one friend from high school griped about how yet another Tinder date didn’t live up to their profile and couldn’t hold his own in the bedroom later to add insult to injury. Your other friend from college was a little more mum about her escapades and turned out it was for a reason you weren’t expecting.

“We decided to open up our marriage.” She says.

You both gasp involuntarily before bargaining for more information.

“Are you guys not happy? Whose idea was it? It’s only been three years!” You exclaim.

She sniffs her wine glass while taking a deep breath. “All valid questions and comments but it was my idea. In a small way, I’ve always been polyamorous.”

“I thought you were just a cheater but…” Your high school friend mutters.

“Get outta here! Those were misunderstandings of love. I enjoy the company of every partner I come across but I haven’t found the one that could be my anchor as I continue to love freely.”

“So he is really ok with this? With other men?” You ask as slow as possible to get your point across.

“Yup! Luckily he is not gross to think one sex is ok over another. It’s all the same whether I liked men or women but my heart is his always. And honestly, it’s been hot ever since we just talked about it. Like we just got a jump start!”

“Hell, I need a jump start. I wish I could make an appointment to my vagina workshop but I ain’t had the time.”

“The hell is that?” You whip around to your high school friend intrigued.

“It’s got some official title, but at the clinic on Grand, they have some workshop that teaches you how your vagina works and the BEST thing of all, how to achieve orgasm. Now when I went there some lady just told me where to find and touch and how to relax but I heard some big fella up there now is helping out and chile, if he was there when I went, my next stop woulda been the OB!”

Your college friend fans herself. “So wait wait wait. A fine man doctor teaching me how my pussy works? Why haven’t you told us before?!”

“I said he wasn’t there when I was! Plus this was before I was told you married with an asterisk. Emphasis on the risk.”

“On Grand you say?” You pull out your phone to Google.

“Mhm, that’s right. Cuz if anybody needs it, it’s you. How long has it been since you even went out with somebody? I have tried to set you up, make a dating profile for you, wingwoman a guy at the bar, with no results!”

You shrug. “Sounds like your problem. But ummmm listen. I do wanna check this out, but no way am I letting a stranger touch me like that. I just want pointers-”

“And a story to tell us afterwards, ok?!” College friend cackles along with high school friend. You roll your eyes looking over the website, praying they take your insurance. No mention of a fine ass doctor but hopefully fate worked in your favor.

Which brings you to where you are today: in a lobby with about 4-5 women looking at their phones or a magazine preparing for their treatments.

“Come on back!” The joyful nurse says, holding the door open for you. You snap back to reality as the white walls are almost blinding against the lighting as you are led to a room with a 4 above the door.

“You can have a seat while I get you settled.”

You sit on the examination table as she signs on to her computer and asks you general questions. What brings you here? When was your last cycle? Have you had issues with this? Pain during that?

“I’m really just here for informational purposes more than anything. I would like to know more about myself but I haven’t had problems.”

“Ok. And when was your last sexual experience?” She asks as she types.

“Including myself or…” You ask.

“Not including yourself.” She says with a reassuring smile.

You think and start to feel hot with embarrassment. “It’s definitely been over a year…” Or five more like it.

“Ok, that’s fine. And have you had issues achieving orgasm with a partner or by yourself?”

You mull it over. “Not...necessarily. It has been a while since I could lately, but I have been busy with work too, so…”

“Ok, that is up to you to bring it up with Doctor Stevens when he sees you. But that is the end of my questions so at this time we have a gown over there if you would like to disrobe. We offer an examination or a self examination if you so choose. Unless you request otherwise, it will be mainly superficial and informational so don’t expect a pelvic exam or anything like that, ok?”

You nod, thanking her as she steps out, closing the door behind her. The room felt more cold and quiet now that you are alone, but you waste no time in getting undressed. Your worst nightmare is to take your time and accidentally be walked in on.

The gown is clean but lacks in softness, plus your ass was hanging out no matter how tight you tied the strings around you. The paper separating your skin from the exam seat crinkles loudly as you fidget, looking over the posters of the female reproductive system and molds of various vaginas.

One catches your eye that is see through, showing the depth of the canal. You can’t help but get your phone out and take a picture. You text it to the group chat and start to search for a good meme reaction when a rapid knock startles you.

“Good afternoon, Ms.- OH!”

The deep voice behind you makes you drop your phone and it is not until you bend over to pick it up that you realize your ass is not covered in that gown. You spin around, backing up to the wall to pick it up.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in like that.” He says, face covered by a clipboard.

You put your phone in your bag and tiptoe back onto the table, cursing yourself out for embarrassing yourself.

“It’s fine, really it was all me. I shoulda stayed my ass seated.”

He pulls down the clipboard, giving a meek smile. “Frankly, it’s not the first time it happened. Shame on me.”

You feel your breath leave your body a split second when you finally see the man that got your friends so ready to come back. He did not look like the type to even be interested in medical school, but you thank God prejudices are not facts. He was the most beautiful doctor you had ever been seen by and so modern looking, with his short locs bound in a mini ponytail to the back of his head, and the sides shaved. His eyes were so youthful they made you feel silly to stare and despite his small smile, his dimples announced themselves proudly.

“Well, isn’t it, ‘fool me twice, shame on you?’” You respond, pulling your gown down and sitting up straighter.

This made him smile wider, and you thanked God generously. “I never blame a patient. It might be a HIPAA thing, but I might be making that up too.”

He pulls up a stool and sits down, checking over the notes on the clipboard. “Now, as I started to say...what brings you in?”

Your mouth began to feel dry. This was easier to discuss before, but you really don’t want to go deep into your personal life with him now. “I just...uh, wanted information on the body. You know, the female parts and what I may not know.”

He nods, looking back to you. “It says you have had trouble achieving orgasm lately?”

“WOW! I did not-”

“It’s ok!” he says, graciously interrupting. “That’s what a lot of people are here for. You aren’t alone.”

You cover your face. “This is embarrassing, why did I even come here.”

“Look, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I won’t ask you or bring up anything you don’t want to discuss. But I am here to help, so let’s make the most of our time here.”

You look at him again, seeing the sincerity on his face. A face like his can’t be completely trusted around any hot blooded woman but he is a doctor.

“Let’s start from the basics.” Dr. Stevens pulls one of the example molds from the counter and places it in front of him, facing you.

“Now a lot of people call all of this the vagina, but in actuality it is called the vulva. That includes the labia minora, labia majora, urethra and clitoris. Only when discussing your vaginal opening and inward, is it actually the vagina.”

“Ohhh, really?” You ask, leaning in for a closer look. He nods, smiling at your perceived interest. “Now where is the urethra on here…”

He points to a tiny hole that you couldn’t have found with the CIA on your side.

“I figured it was somewhere there, but you know I didn’t know there were three holes until an episode of Oprah told me when I was a teenager?”

“I have heard that before. It’s unfortunate how many women don’t know about their own bodies when they own them, right? But curriculums aren’t set up to teach it without thinking they are sexualizing things to kids.”

“But it’s not! It’s their bodies, they have those things so they should know!”

He raises a hand up to you and you smack it without thinking. The loud clap between you both sends a shock beneath you. The doctor’s charm was bringing you out of your shell little by little.

“Right. The best way of learning is demonstrative. They gotta see what you’re talking about to get it. Now I’m going to bring back what we spoke about earlier…” He points to a higher area of the vulva. “On here, the clitoris is here. It’s fairly easy to spot, it’s not hidden and that’s just to make it easier for a teacher to show. But not everyone is like this.”

“I know where mine is, so that’s fine.”

“However…”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, it’s like your little paper says. I can’t always get what I want from it.”

Dr. Stevens nods understandingly. “Ok, that’s common. Now one offer we have is an examination. I won’t have to do anything but observe.”

He stands up to reach underneath the side of the exam chair you’re sitting on to pull out a mirror on an extendable arm. “You would just view yourself here and if you have questions along the way, I’ll answer them.”

You puff your cheeks to get rid of nerves, sitting back slightly as the paper crinkles and crackles.

“I’ve been examined before. Not my first rodeo, so let's do this.”

A part of you couldn’t help but feel curious about what he may have to say about your parts as you hike your gown up. He pulls out two mini stirrups to rest your feet on as you spread your legs apart. Dr. Stevens stands next to you, adjusting the mirror to get the best visual of your vulva for you.

“Huh.” You say.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Mine looks nothing like the diagram.” You take your hand to pull apart your lips some.

“What do you notice is different?” He asks.

“A lot,” you say with a tone of defeat. Why does every vagina depict this pink flower with symmetrical lips that barely overflow and a ready clitoris that probably distracts if you had to ride a bike.

Dr. Stevens stands beside you, hands behind his back, peering politely from you to the mirror reflection. “What specifically?”

You exhale deeply. “Right out the gate, the color is nothing like the rappers be talking about. Pink pussy this and that. It looks kind of like if you had grape bubblicious and once the flavor is gone and you toss it? Yeah….” You pull your inner lips to the side with your middle and ring finger. “And my urethra is there huh?”

He nods, adjusting the mirror for shared benefit. “Exactly right in the middle. It’s kind of small so not surprising that you wouldn’t notice.”

“Interesting.” You feel a sense of discovery within you as you actually learn a thing or two from this exercise. Looking back at the model vagina on the counter, you think of a new question.

“Ok, so the clitoris right? Why is it so difficult for me to get to it?”

Dr. Stevens crosses his arms. “Well, you might be affected by the clitoral hood. It helps to protect it but can be bothersome during arousal. So depending on what position you are in, it may take some maneuvering. Try moving it back now; take two fingers on either side and pull back.”

You do as instructed, feeling a sensation hit your exposed skin until you see the little pearl looking button that must be it. Your finger grazes it, making your legs jerk unexpectedly.

“Whoa, ok, haha. That’s it.” You laugh sheepishly, pulling your legs closer together.

He places a hand on your back encouragingly. “That’s ok! Honestly, it's best to make sure you also have feeling. Don’t be shy to try.”

You open your knees again and gently feel around for your clitoris again. You can tell you’re close but the feeling is not as intense. Embarrassment starts to affect you as you notice your concentrated expression is not at all sexy and what woman doesn’t know where to stimulate themselves.

Dr. Stevens notices the trouble, stepping away from you to get a pair of gloves, latex popping against his skin.

“It looks like you are rubbing yourself through your clitoral hood, which can be fine but I think for what issue you’re having, you would want as much surface area pleasure as possible. Now I could show you, but that’s up to you.”

Your body tenses up at the question he was asking. Seeing as he has gloves on, you don’t suspect he meant to show you on the model vagina. But that’s why you’re here, right? To get help and also to be touched by a smart, handsome, kind gentleman that you never met in a backroom: just the normal human experience.

“Uh...well, it would certainly make it easier. Sure.” You say, moving your hand back to grip the exam seat as you sat like you were in the final stages of giving birth. You repeat in your mind that he is a medical professional that means no harm and any gynecological exam gets awkward sometimes and he has also seen thousands, so yours won’t get him any more rattled than the next one.

You watch as he nods to you, confirming he received your consent. He rests one hand on your knee and the other reaches toward your now throbbing lips. Time seems to move slow until he finally makes contact, giving you a jolt again.

“Sorry. I know it’s different with a foreign hand but let me know if it’s uncomfortable.” He says kindly.

You take a deep breath and drink in his comforting words. “All good! X marks the spot, right?”

You feel his fingers slide along your inner lips, giving them an occasional gentle pull that curls your toes. “Now, your labia minora doesn’t look like the model because the model is the depiction of a white woman’s genitalia. More often, Black people won’t have that high pink color that is praised as you said. But it does not make you abnormal or less desirable.”

“No?’ You ask quietly, relaxing under his touch once again. The medical terminology is a good distraction from what is happening, so you try concentrating on that instead of your growing arousal.

He smirks, revealing those dimples that caught your eye again. “Not at all. So don’t listen to anything otherwise. You look perfect.” He looks at you as he says this, pulling and stroking at your lips slowly you can’t help the arousal building between you, breaking eye contact as soon as possible to study the mirror.

But that only makes you hotter to see him touch you as you gasp out, “Well that’s good news!”

He looks back down at your vulva again. “Now I am doing this one handed, which may not be comfortable when you attempt, but it’s easiest for me since my fingers are thick and nimble.”

“Hey, practice makes perfect...I mean, not like you have played with a lot of vagina before. Not played but examined...which I guess if you’re good at it, you would have played with many vaginas then, right?”

Dr. Stevens gives you a confused look before breaking into a chuckle. “Not ‘played’. I don’t play with anything. I work.”

And I am glad you clocked in, you thought.

“But as I was saying, the clitoral hood can be pulled back like so…”

You feel it before you can see it. His thick fingers fan your lips out so much easier than your own hands, you gasp audibly before covering it with a cough.

“Uh huh, go on.” You croak.

He appears to barely notice as he studies the reflection of your clit in the mirror, pressing his middle finger right on the peak.

“And that makes for a more accessible area in which you can arouse yourself, like so.”

He slowly circles your clit over and over again, much longer than you expected for an examination. Are you supposed to say stop, you’re unsure. Can he sue you for cumming on his hand? You feel your thighs beginning to buckle and attempt to close them but his grip on your knee was stronger than you noticed at first. Once his middle finger plunged inside of you, there is no going back. You can’t control the small mewling sounds you make as he touches you.

“You have a good amount of lubrication produced as well.” He says matter of factly, spreading your wetness along your lips. He bites down on his lower lip as he rubs your vulva.

“No shit! I mean…” You slip up, getting too comfortable but he pats your knee, flashing that winning smile.

“It’s ok, just remain relaxed, you’re almost done. But yeah, long as you keep the hood pulled back like so and set a rhythm, you should have a pleasurable experience going forward. If not, come back to me”

“I’ll cum alright,” you moan as your head falls back as you bring your hips forward, rocking against his hand for more friction. This naughty spirit enveloped you. If he ever said to stop, your train would’ve derailed, but he never did. His accommodations to your reactions sent you further down a path to unrighteous glee.

He penetrates you with two fingers, while running this thumb along your clit in tandem with the strokes. “Is that better?” He asks, stroking you faster.

You nod, throwing caution to the wind as you grab hold of his wrist, writhing against his finger before your body decides it has had enough. You felt like how chocolate tastes: lush, sweet, a jolt of energy with a smidge of guilt but unwilling to put it down.

Erik holds you close with his freehand. “That’s good, ride it out and hold on to me. I feel you tightening, you’re just about there, aren’t you?”

“Mhm!” you dig your face into his chest, breathing erratically as your climax approaches. It mattered that it was him doing it. How you got so lucky was a question you weren’t willing to confront because it just felt so good, why even think.

“Let that pretty pussy sing, you got it.” The release you feel wash over you makes you feel like world peace started and ended in your pussy and you screamed for joy. You lean back on your elbows as he rests his hand still against your mound, your walls pulse in the afterglow.

“That’s better, right? Luckily I see you have a fully functioning muscle down there.” He says before going to take off his gloves.

You shakily pull your gown down and begin to sit up. “I hope so cuz if that is what sick feels like, I don’t wanna recover.”

He snickers at your comment, writing something down on some paper, tearing off a piece, folding it to give to you.

“Now, this is something in case arousal doesn’t always come to you easily. That’s a prescription that can get the job done naturally and quickly. Take that home with you and you can order it any time you feel it may be necessary.”

You nod, getting up to put it in your pocket. “Thanks. You know my friends recommended I come here and I can’t say I am upset.”

Erik holds his clipboard in front of him, holding out a hand to you. “I’m glad you came.”

You shook it and as he left, you got dressed and drove home feeling lighter than air. You started to call your friends about it but figured you might start at the pharmacy just to see what he prescribed. If men can have a ‘get freaky’ pill, why not you. You dug out the prescription from your pocket and your mouth dropped when you read it.

Erik 555-0123, use as recommended.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tag

@chaneajoyyy

#erik killmonger fic #shakafic

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

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Walk Me Home - Ch 10

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 1856

Author’s Note: Had some extra time today, so I figured I’d go ahead and post. We’ve reached the end, folks. Thank you to everyone for reading, reblogging, liking, and especially all the lovely comments. A million thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67 , and @cracksinthewalls for helping my story shine. @thoughtslikeaminefield , thank you for the lovely image for the story. I hope everyone enjoyed it all as much as I do.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Sam looks really irritated,” Kimber whispers to Dean. The younger Winchester brother has just excused himself to the restroom, but the diner is pretty quiet, and she doesn’t want to risk Sam overhearing.

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, raising his coffee to take a deep, life-affirming slurp. He doesn’t bother to lower his tone or modulate his pitch in the slightest, and Kimber shoots him an exasperated look. “I stuck him with clean-up duty last night so I could get lucky. Not to mention, our room was the only free one at the motel, remember, so he either slept there or in his car. He’s not irritated, he’s pissed as hell and probably a little jealous.”

“But you didn’t get lucky last night,” Kimber says.

“Went home with my high school sweetheart, got to see her unmentionables, and spent the whole night in bed with her after eating semi-homemade apple pie. I’d say I got pretty damned lucky.”

She sends an elbow his way, but he’s expecting it and leans back so she overshoots and lands across his lap. She splutters indignantly as she rights herself while he takes another calm drink of his coffee.

“Seriously, though, he’s not pissed at you. The first few months after we left, the kid wouldn’t shut up about you. He practically worshipped you: hot, nerdy as hell, the whole package. And,” he adds, his teasing expression mellowing to one of genuine appreciation, “you really helped him out with that AP stuff. He got into Stanford because of you.”

“Shut up,” she says, her face heating. “He got into Stanford? That was him, and you know it. I just gave him some resources he didn’t know about, that’s all.”

“And I was able to keep up with all my AP classes no matter where we moved, which was a huge deal to me,” Sam says as he slides into the booth across from them. “You guys talking about me behind my back?”

“Always,” Dean smirks. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Does the name ‘Jim Weeks’ mean anything to you, Kimber?”

She frowns, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate. “It does. I helped him out, god, what...eight, nine years ago? He hadn’t been hunting very long, maybe a year or two, and he was investigating some...Let me think, hang on.” She closes her eyes, mentally shifting through years of research, both hers and others’.

“Human sacrifices. There was a symbol carved into all the victims. I helped him find the source, the deity it stood for. It was one of my closed cases; that’s why I didn’t bring it up. He called me a few weeks later, said he’d taken care of everything.”

“Well, he was wrong,” Sam says, his face grave. “I found his journal in the witch’s car. Jim documented you helping him, what you found, where you worked, and then how the case wrapped up. You actually helped him take down en entire coven of witches, guess he didn’t mention that part. Then he went on hunting for another seven and a half years, but a few months ago, he started to write about feeling like someone was watching him, tailing him from case to case.”

Sam pauses, giving her a moment to take in this new information, then he continues.

“Said he was starting to have periods of time where he didn’t remember stuff, would wake up in the middle of the road, in the middle of the woods. He wrote about finding a doll in his car one morning; it, uh..looked like him. Throat was slit, red paint, all of it.”

Sam clears his throat, flexing his fingers on the table top as he watches her carefully. Dean’s hand closes over hers under the table, and she realizes her fingers are shaking.

“Go on,” she says. She doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next, she really already knows, but she needs to hear it.

“The entries in his journal stop after that. The cover was soaked in dried blood. So...yeah. I did some checking, and Jim died a few months back. The scene was...nasty.”

“So, who was our nutbag?” Dean asks. His tone is rough as he squeezes Kimber’s fingers.

“I looked into the county records where Jim took down the coven. I don’t think he did too much research into the actual witches themselves; the coven included a family, a mom and dad and a teenager. Jim thought he got the whole coven, but maybe the teenager wasn’t at that meeting? At any rate, the papers from around then talked about the murdered couple’s missing child, and then the kid just dropped out of mention.”

“Okay, Jim was sloppy, and the kid survived, and what...swore revenge? How’d he find Jim again?”

“I found these folded up in the front of the journal,” Sam says, smoothing a couple of newspaper articles out on the table. The edges are frayed and ragged, torn rather than cut. There are dark smears on both, smudges and stains from who knows what, and Kimber’s gorge rises higher the longer she stares down at them.

The first article dates back to the first investigation, showing a grainy photograph of police and federal officers milling around behind crime scene tape. Kimber points to a figure off to the side, suited and facing the camera almost straight on.

“That’s Jim,” she says, her voice quiet. He looks painfully young in the photograph, and her chest twinges. The caption labels him as “FBI Special Agent Gaiman.”

She looks at the second article, which is much more recent. She notices immediately that the location is the same, the premise almost identical. “Town’s Dark Past Resurfaces After Nearly a Decade” reads the headline. She looks for Jim’s face, spotting it in the crowd once more, despite him aging considerably in the years since she met him.

“He used the same name again,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I mean, he didn’t have much choice, since it was probably the same cops on the case, but still. Probably how the witch found him. Might’ve started up the sacrifices again just to draw Jim out. Anything else in the car, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head, his mouth working as if he’s got a bad taste in his mouth. “More or less standard witch paraphernalia, a couple more knives. I didn’t see anything indicating we have anyone else to watch out for.”

Dean purses his lips, then looks to Kimber. “You doin’ okay?”

Kimber takes the question seriously, doing a quick bit of mental introspection. “Yeah, I think...I mean...Okay, so I’m still queasy, but I don’t feel like someone’s breathing down my neck anymore. I’m going to be jumpy for a while, and I am definitely not going to stop going to my Thursday night classes anytime soon. But, yeah. If I’m not completely okay at the moment, I know I’m going to be.”

“That’s my girl.” Dean leans over, pressing a kiss to Kimber’s cheek. Sam looks away, but not before Kimber catches the embarrassed smile on his face. Dean slides from the booth, strolling casually over to the register and grinning at the elderly waitress, who blushes and giggles as she takes the check from him.

“Dad wouldn’t let him call you,” Sam says quietly. Kimber’s eyes flash to Sam, startled.

“When we left. Dean wanted to. He tried to, but Dad said he couldn’t. Said you were a distraction we couldn’t afford. He absolutely forbade it. They got in a fight, the worst one I ever saw between them when we were kids, and Dad...he...well, he, uh...He put his foot down. And later, after Dad died...I think Dean was ashamed. Maybe. I dunno, but I think he didn’t feel like he could call you after all that time, felt like he’d let you down.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, and they both watch Dean lean down to whisper conspiratorially with the blushing waitress as he hands her his credit card. Dean turns back to Kimber, winking, and her last little bit of heartache flakes off and fades away.

“Maybe don’t hold it against him too much?” Sam says, his best puppy-dog face in place. Kimber has never seen such an earnest expression from a guy asking on behalf of another man before.

“So, what do we have on the docket, Sam?” Dean asks as he rejoins them. Kimber throws her arms around his neck, ignoring the twinge twinge of pain on the side of her throat, and kisses him soundly. He looks startled but pleased as she pulls away, eyes wide and cheeks ruddy.

“What was that for? I’m just askin’ so I can do it again.”

She clears her throat against an unexpected lump. Behind Sam, the waitress at the register gives her a double thumbs up. “I was just jealous of the attention you were giving the wait staff. Figured you thought I wasn’t paying you enough attention.”

Sam coughs discreetly, his mouth twitching from the effort of smothering his smile. “I actually don’t have any cases for us. I was thinking about going back to the bunker and reorganizing some of those files I‘ve been going through. You know, I could really use your help, Dean. Our inventories could use some alphabetizing, and-”

“Hard pass,” Dean says, flashing his brother a quick, mirthless smile.

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Kimber offers, then hesitates when Dean turns his focus to her. “Well, I mean...fall break is next week. There’s a harvest festival in town; we have a crafts fair and a big farmers market and a lot of baking competitions. It’s pretty fun. If...if you wanted to stay a little while, Dean.”

...

In the end, Dean stays nearly two weeks. They go to every single day of the festival, during which time, they pick out a new quilt for her bed and Dean makes himself actually sick at the pie tasting event. When he does finally leave, it’s with a promise to visit soon, and their phone numbers saved in each of their cells.

“I will say, I’m not overly fond of watching this car drive off,” Kimber says, hugging herself through the inadequate material of her sweater. The weather has turned genuinely cold, and she wishes she’d grabbed something heavier, but she hadn’t planned on staying outside for so long.

For some reason, though, she just can’t let go of him long enough for him to get into the car.

Dean rubs his hands briskly up and down her arms, his eyes sad and fond as they roam over her face. Before she can stop him, he pulls off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders and kissing her forehead.

“You look damned cute in my jacket,” he says gruffly. “One more for the road?”

And if her lips are still swollen and throbbing when he puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb, if his hair looks like he came straight from bed, neither of them minds in the least.

…

The end.

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toddtakefive · 4 years ago

Text

Can I Have a Ride Home? I’m at a Party and I Don’t Know Any1

fandom(s): Gravity Falls, Over The Garden Wall

pairing(s): Pinescone , Mabcifica (mentioned)

words: 5314

rating: M (reasons listed in trigger warnings + swearing)

work type: One-shot , AU

tw(s): homophobia , use of slurs , violence and references to past violence

Also on AO3!!

Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how Sara had managed to drag him along with her to Senior Prom, hell he wasn’t even sure how she had managed to get a suit for him when he’d refused to go in for a fitting, but now he was standing in a crowded gym full of high-schoolers and he already wanted to leave. In his defense, they’d already been there an hour and that was an hour longer than he was at most parties.

If he was going to be completely honest, the party wasn’t that bad. Sure the music would cut off whenever there was a swear - everyone would still sing it anyways -, and sure the punch tasted weird, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad party as most parties go. The reason it was a bad party is because it was a party full of nothing but high-schoolers, and high-schoolers are scary. At least to Wirt.

He lost Sara twenty minutes ago -he’s honestly starting to think she’s underneath the bleachers flirting with the girl from her Chem class- and he’s getting bored so he pulls out his phone and starts typing a quick text to Dipper.

‘Bored. Wish you were here :/’.

The reply is immediate,

��Lol r u a postcard??’ ‘Wish I wre ther too <3 drving rigt now txt you lter′.

The next text he receives is a picture taken by the person in the passenger seat, likely Mabel, with a peace sign while Dipper attempts to get his phone back without taking his eyes off the road. The caption for the photo is ‘road safety laws are bogus B)’. He laughs to himself. Yup, definitely Mabel.

He looks up at the sound of steps approaching, expecting it to be Sara but instead seeing evil incarnate. He takes in a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile.

“Hello, Trevor.” he says.

Trevor Martin. No offense to the British actor Trevor Martin, of course, but Wirt fucking hates this guy. He’s book smart, Wirt’ll give him that, but that’s his only redeeming quality. Not only is he a totally fuckwad, but he has the audacity to say he’s not and try to date Sara, a very loud and proud lesbian. Like, dude, at least Jason Funderberker had the decency to back off when she came out. Plus, never trust a guy with a first name for a last name.

Trevor, wearing his slimy little smirk like he always does, doesn’t even meet Wirt’s eyes. “So, where’s Sara? I figured she’d be with you, you know, since you’re like her fucking boyfriend or whatever.”

Wirt scrunches his nose just slightly, he doesn’t want this situation to escalate more than it has to. “I’ve told you this a thousand times, Trevor. She is not my girlfriend.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, “Sure. You get pissed off that I’m trying to date her because you aren’t her boyfriend. Got it.”

Wirt shakes his head, “I get pissed off that you’re trying to date her because she’s a lesbian. Which is literally common knowledge, by the way.” he throws away his plastic cup and walks out into the hallway. Trevor, being an idiot in everything but school subjects, follows him into the hallway.

“She’s not a lesbian, she’s just saying that to get me to leave her alone.” Trevor explains, causing Wirt to roll his eyes as he walks.

“That’s not how that fucking works, Trevor. Besides, if a girl is literally resorting to faking being a lesbian to get you to leave her alone, maybe you just don’t know how to take a hint.”

He hears Trevor scoff, “Well she’s dating you, so she isn’t a lesbian.”

“She isn’t dating me! And you do know people can be bi, right?”

“If she isn’t dating you then why are you always talking about your relationship in World Civ?”

Wirt, just wanting this idiot to leave him alone already, stops walking abruptly and turns around. Trevor runs into him and falls back a little bit, he has a look on his face that Wirt thinks is his ‘gotcha’ face, but he’s really had enough of the whole ‘Wirt and Sara are dating in secret’ thing when they’re both very out homosexuals.

“Because I have a boyfriend, Trevor.” he deadpans, and sees that smug look fall off of Trevor’s face. God he loves the look of confusion that floods his features, it’s pure poetry.

“What?” Trevor asks, with all of his genius.

“The reason you hear me talking about my relationship -in conversations that didn’t involve you, by the way- is because I have a boyfriend. He lives in California.”

Trevor looks as though his entire world view just got re-shaped. He’s between wanting to believe and wanting to think it’s a prank, but, to Trevor, Wirt isn’t cool enough to pull a prank like this with a straight face.

The long minutes of silence is starting to get awkward, but just as Wirt is about to walk away Trevor speaks up again, “Wait so,” he pauses, “you’re a faggot?”

Wirt tenses immediately. That word. God he hates that word. The first time he heard it was when he came out to his biological dad when he and Dipper started dating back in Sophomore year. It wasn’t a great conversation, and Wirt vividly remembers the bloody nose he got out of it.

“I- uhm. Y-yeah. I- yeah.” Wirt stammers out. Trevor’s entire demeanor changes.

“Wait, what the fuck?” he says, distancing himself from Wirt by a couple inches. This causes Wirt to snap out of whatever funk he was in. He raises an eyebrow.

“Me having a boyfriend isn’t new information, Trevor. You’ve heard me get teased for talking about him before.”

“Yeah, but I thought they were joking! I didn’t think you were actually. You know.” he makes a wild hand gesture in Wirt’s direction.

“Gay?” Wirt asks with a furrowed brow.

“That! That. I didn’t think you were that.” Okay, now Wirt’s getting pissed. Obviously the use of the slur pissed him off, but not even being able to say the word gay? Come on, dude.

“Is there a problem with that?” He asks, crossing his arms. He’s not entirely sure where this newfound courage is coming from, but he can think about it later.

“No it’s just, dude have you been checking me out in the locker rooms and shit this whole time!” Trevor asks, his stance becoming defensive.

Wirt flinches back a bit at the question. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re.” Another wild hand gesture. Dude, just say the word.

Wirt sighs, “Gay. Right, yeah. We’ve established that. But I don’t go around creeping on the guys in the locker room. That would be fucking weird. And, again, I have a boyfriend, and you also aren’t my type so we’re covering all the bases of ‘I’d never do that’.”

Trevor takes a step forward that causes Wirt to take a step back, “I don’t believe you.” he says, voice lined with anger.

Wirt, quickly realizing he should have just walked away while Trevor was confused, holds his hands up in defense, “Good for you, but I don’t really care.” he glances over Trevor’s shoulder to see if he could make a break for the door. That idea is quickly thrown out the window when Trevor grabs Wirt by the collar. Wirt laughs a bit to himself, “You know, this looks kinda gay.”

Trevor’s hold on the front of his shirt tightens, he brings his hands up higher to make sure he isn’t touching the other boy anywhere, “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! Okay. Look, honestly man, never watched you while you were changing! I don’t think we’ve ever even had a P.E class together, if I’m being honest. And besides, I don’t think watching sweaty teenage boys change is that appealing. Especially not you, cause no offense you’re not really anyone’s type. At least not any gay persons type I mean! I’m sure some girl at the college you attend will think you’re hot, she’ll probably have kinda low standards but a girlfriend’s a girlfriend, right? And she’ll marry you right outta college, and you’ll become a fucking accountant or something else just as soul sucking, and you’ll have two kids, and a dog, and feel free to cut me off whenever you like.”

There’s a crunch and a massive amount of pain that makes Wirt stop talking. His head is spinning faster than a tornado, but he knows the feeling of hitting the school floor well enough to know it happens somewhere within the time he gets punched in the face a second time and kicked in the stomach the first.

He’s not entirely sure how long he’s on the floor, but he does know that when he finally opens his eyes Trevor is standing above him, heaving, staring at his own hands like they’re covered in blood- oh they are. That is blood. That is definitely blood. That’s a lot of blood. Wow.

Wirt pushes himself off of the ground, there’s an ache in every fiber of his being but the floor is cold and dirty and he’d rather not be down there right now. As he rises, slowly, he can see a steady drip of blood coming down from his face. That’s not good.

By the time he’s fully standing, Trevor looks ready to burst. “Wirt! Oh my god, dude. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t. I don’t know why I. I never. Fuck I didn’t, I just, shit are you fucking okay?” the questions are rapid fire. Wirt’s a little too out of it to be able to tell if they’re genuine or not, and he doesn’t really care if they are at this point. This guy eats paste.

“Trevor.” Wirt finally says, “Shut the fuck up.” his words are slurred, and it’s obvious he’s still scared if the tremor in his voice is anything to go by, but he really just needs it to be quiet right now. To his credit, Trevor does shut up, but he just stands there.

There they are, two guys standing in a hallway, five feet apart cause one just beat the shit out of the other for being gay. Prom night is great. In his delirious state, Wirt can faintly hear ‘Lover Is a Day’ by Cuco playing from the gym. The beats pulse under his feet, and it’s just adding onto the pain right now.

After maybe five minutes, Trevor speaks up again. “Wirt I really am sorry, dude. I don’t know why I did that. I was pissed and you wouldn’t shut up and I didn’t what else to do! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Trevor hits the locker to his right with the side of his fist. The sound rings through the otherwise empty hall, and Wirt just stares at the first still on metal.

Wirt runs a hand through his hair, “That’s great and everything, but was the getting on top of me and repeatedly punching me in the nose necessary? Or, you know, any of it? You just fucking committed a hate crime dude, do you even realize that?” he’s talking slowly, his voice is tired and he would rather be anywhere else.

“I know! I know it was! But it honestly didn’t have anything to do with you being,” he pauses, and Wirt is about to finish for him before he continues on his own, “Gay. It didn’t have to do with you being gay, okay. I just. I have like severe anger issues. It’s some fucking long ass name, but the shortened thing is IED. It’s not really something I have any control over, and it’s been a while since I’ve had an episode that bad, and I promise it has nothing to do with you being gay or anything! That fucking chill, man! This stuff literally just happens, I swear on my motherfucking yeezys!” Wirt, who is finally coming back down to Earth and is able to process English language again, raises his brow, “ Okay, I don’t own yeezys, but you know what I mean.” He looks down to the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wirt sighs, wiping under his nose with his suit sleeve. It doesn’t help, the blood keeps flowing and now his suit is ruined. Fuck Prom night, dude. “Look, Trevor. If you actually have a genuine mental illness that does that, you get a fucking pass on the beating the shit out of me part.” Trevor flinches at that, “But you’re still kinda homophobic dude.”

Trevor looks up from the ground, “What? How?”

Wirt shrugs, crossing his arms again. “Assuming someone isn’t a lesbian when they say they are is pretty high on the list. Actually, assuming a gay guy is checking people out while they’re changing is also pretty high on the list. Both of the things you said are pretty high on the list, actually.”

This time it’s Trevor who furrows his brow, “But she isn’t a lesbian. I asked her why she thought she was a lesbian a couple weeks ago and she said it’s because she thinks girls are hot and that she wouldn’t mind kissing them, but that’s normal. Like, I know a couple guys in my classes that I wouldn’t mind kissing or like fucking or something and I’m not gay or whatever. Everyone thinks like that.”

Wirt’s mind just fucking imploded on itself. He’s joking. He has to be joking. Oh fuck he is not joking. Oh dear. Wirt cringes to himself, “Oh Jesus.” he whispers, “Trevor, you do know that isn’t a universal thing, right? Like, you know not every guy would be fine with fucking another guy, right?”

“Wait, really?” Trevor asks, his voice quiet. Wirt simply nods and watches as Trevor seems to contemplate his whole existence in front of him. “But I’m not. My mom told me that I couldn’t be gay, I just needed to find the right girl and it would be fine. I don’t like guys like that, I’m not.”

Fuck, why does Wirt have empathy. If he was a dick he could just walk away from this situation and not feel a thing, but he can’t leave this guy in a crisis. Even if he did just beat his ass.

“Trevor, why do you like Sara?”

“She’s funny, and kinda cool, I guess. I just want to hang out with her more, plus my friends kept saying I should go for it, so I figured why not.”

“Dude, you just want to be her fucking friend. That’s, what you want is a friendship. Jesus dude, you don’t even actually like her do you?”

Trevor shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, she’s cool and everything.”

“Would you kiss her.” Wirt asks.

“What?”

“Would you kiss Sara. Or any girl for that matter.” He asks again, slower this time.

Trevor rolls his eyes, giving Wirt a look that suggest the answer should be obvious, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. It stays open for about ten seconds before he frowns. “No I. I wouldn’t” he lets out a dry laugh void of humor. “Holy shit, I fucking wouldn’t. What the fuck.”

Wirt sighs taking a few steps over to Trevor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Trevor. You have had more than enough action tonight.” his hand slides off and he turns around to find the nearest bathroom, he about to round a corner when he remembers something and looks over at Trevor, who hasn’t moved an inch, “Try to refrain from using the f-slur before you figure out your whole mess, maybe?” He gives the other boy a quick smile before walking away.

The nearest bathroom is way too fucking far away, in Wirt’s humble opinion. And why are half of the lights off in these hallways? God, he feels like the character about to die in a horror movie. Thankfully, the light switch in the bathroom was easy to find so he isn’t completely in the dark.

He grabs some paper towels and wets them, and then he finally looks in the mirror. Jesus fucking Christ.

Trevor did a number on him, and if it were any other situation that required less brain power he would be kinda impressed. His nose is definitely broken, if the aching and gushing blood are any indicator, he’s got a black eye, a busted lip, bruises across his face and collarbone -and if the amount of times he was kicked in the stomach is as many as it felt, he’s got them there too- and, the cherry on fucking top, his suit jacket ripped a little bit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he finishes wiping the blood from his face, but his nose is still bleeding. Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he finds two new messages. One from Sara, saying she scored with the girl from her chem class and that she has a date next Saturday, and one from Dipper saying they’ve finally stopped driving.

Wirt texts Sara back congratulating her on her suaveness that she most definitely didn’t have (see: nearly puked on a cute girl for complimenting her shoes once) before opening up his texts with Dipper and taking a picture in the mirror holding up a peace sign. He masterfully captions the photo: ‘babys first hate crime <3′.

His phone rings immediately.

He picks up right away, and is greeted with a very frantic, “Where are you?” there’s faint music in the background, they must be at their dance right now.

“Uhm. The bathroom in hallway E, I think. Why?” Wirt asks, throwing away the bloody paper towels.

“We’re on our way.” Is all he gets in response.

“What? You’re in California how are you supposed to. Did he fucking hang up on me?” Wirt pulls his phone away from his ear, “Wow, okay.” He pockets his phone and stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. It’s gonna suck having to explain this to anybody, and he knows his mom will go full Godzilla mode on the school board if he tells the truth, but he can’t just out someone. Fuck, man.

The door to the bathroom swings open and two rapid sets of footsteps approach him, he’s almost expecting to be beaten up again until he’s turned around and hugged tightly. His confusion only lasts for a second when his land on Mabel, but then it flares up again because what the fuck that’s Mabel.

He pushes away from the person hugging him and is met with a person he both did and did not expect to see.

“Dipper.” He not shocked that Dipper did actually find hallway E, they broke in last summer to investigate if the place is actually haunted (it is), so he learned the layout pretty well in that instance, but he’s shocked that he’s even in the room. “Wait. Am I concussed? Is this a hallucination?”

“Er, wrong!” Mabel says, pushing Dipper out of the way and hugging Wirt tighter than a strait jacket. He lets out a sound of pain and she lets him go immediately. “Sorry! I forgot you’re like, dying right now.”

“Not dying, per se, but getting there if my nose doesn’t stop bleeding soon. I didn’t even know I had this much blood, if I’m being honest.” Mabel laughs a bit and wow did he miss that sound. He missed them, really. It’s always better when they’re around.

“What happened?” Dipper’s voice finally enters the conversation, and it makes his heart flutter but also reminds him the situation in which they’ve been reunited. Especially if the pissed off tone is anything to go by.

Wirt shrugs, “I got into a fight?”

Dipper gives him a look, “You called it a hate crime, before.”

Wirt laughs, “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t, technically? I don’t know I’m still having trouble processing the whole ordeal. But I just got into an argument with Trevor, you know who I’m talking about, and he got really mad so he fucking beat the shit out of me and,” Dipper turns to walk out the door but Wirt pulls him back by the arm, “don’t walk away, I’m not done yet. He has a thing called IED, or something? He didn’t know the full medical name for it, but he said it had to do with like uncontrollable anger? Like it just happens or something.”

Dipper nods, “Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

“Yeah, probably. But he felt really bad after, and I can’t blame him for having something he can’t control, dude. That would be a dick move. But yeah, we talked it out I guess. I think I just made him question the entire universe.”

Dipper sighs, still tense but loosening now, “So you called it a hate crime, because?”

“Well, I mean, okay. At first I thought he did it because I was gay, but from our little conversation we had after, it was definitely not that.”

Both twins raise eyebrow, “Are you gonna give us any more info, or?” Mabel asks and Wirt just shrugs. Dipper lets out another, deeper sigh. He’s known Wirt long enough to know that little shrug means ‘never in a million years ever’.

“What are you guys doing here, anyways? I mean, I’m happy you’re here, but I live in Arizona? It’s like an eleven hour drive.”

Dipper shrugs, taking Wirt’s hand. “Guess I missed the ‘Team Roping Capital of the World’.” he teases and Wirt groans.

“Shut up! You know I think that’s stupid as shit.” He says, and as the twins laugh at him he takes a second to admire his boyfriends face. Dipper always laughs freely, and Wirt thinks that’s one of the reasons he fell in love with the younger (”by two days!”) boy at summer camp. His hair isn’t in his usual baseball cap with a pine tree on it, and is styled just the right way to cover his birthmark. He looks happy, if not still tense about the fact that Wirt got his ass beat. An easy smile finds it’s way onto Wirt’s face as Dipper calms down.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Dipper says, leading him towards the door. Mabel follows quickly behind, flicking off the light. She runs ahead of them, twirling around the hallway and nearly falling over herself in the process.

“So, I know Wirt is gonna wanna bounce because he’s covered in human juice.”

“Stop calling blood human juice.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dipper. But what are we gonna do when we skedaddle out of here?”

Both twins look to the brunette for an answer, he huffs as he tries to think of something. “We could get burgers and shakes at McDonald's? And then head home, probably. Greg’s gonna be super excited to see you guys.”

“Oh! I can’t wait to see him! We’re here for the next four days, by the way, god I can’t wait!” She pushes open the doors to the gym and the music floods over them. Jesus, was it always that loud? How long had Wirt been away from the party?”

“What time is it?” He asks Dipper, trying to ignore all of the strange looks that are being sent his way. He can’t blame them, it looks like he got mauled by a pack of wild dogs.

“It is, nine forty-eight.” The other boy responds, Wirt nods as they exit the gym into the parking lot. Dipper’s car is still as messy as it was the year before, if not more, but Wirt thinks that just adds to the charm.

Sara, who had apparently been in front of the gym the whole night, drops her punch at the sight of Wirt. “Oh my god! Wirt!” she rushes over.

“I’m fine, Sare. Really. It’s all good.” He gives her a smile, but she doesn’t stop giving him a look.

“Trevor did this, didn’t he? You know he came out here like thirty minutes ago fucking covered in blood and looked like he pissed himself when he saw me. So don’t cover for him.”

“I’m not covering for Trevor! There were circumstances that I don’t know if I’m allowed to share.” Wirt says, gesturing wildly with his hands, thankfully Dipper doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wirt, if he’s blackmailing you just tell me. I can fix it!”

“Sare, I appreciate the thought, but this is really something that should be left alone, alright? I might tell you on a different day, but right now it is confidential. No I’m not being blackmailed, if anything the information I got out of him after everything could be considered blackmail, just. Not tonight, okay?” He can tell she doesn’t want to give up but he really can’t explain all of this right now, “Please?”

She sighs, “Alright. Fine. But I expect a detailed report of what happened tomorrow morning.” Wirt nods and it’s then Sara finally notices the twins, “Oh. You found him. Cool, see you guys.” The twins giver he simultaneous ‘later’s’ and she walks back to the girl from her chem class.

Mabel moves to get in the front seat before she’s stopped by Dipper, “Ah ah ah!” he says, gaining her attention. He passes her the keys and she whines but moves to the other side anyways.

“You fucking suck, Dip-stick.”

“Sorry that I want to be able to comfort my boyfriend in the backseat of my own car and can’t do that when I’m driving.” he opens the back door and motions for Wirt to get in, and once they’re all set they drive to the nearest McDonald's.

Ordering food had thus been the easier part of Wirt’s night, but he’s hoping things will start going up from here.

The food sits in the passengers seat in the quiet car before Mabel presses play on the car stereo. Wirt immediately looks up from where his head was buried in Dipper’s shoulder, a smile crossing his face.

“Isn’t this the mixtape I made you?” He turns back to Dipper, absolutely beaming.

Dipper’s face is red, but he nods. “Yeah. I listen to it sometimes.”

“Liar! He listens to it all the fucking time. I have it memorized by now.” Mabel calls from the front. Dipper kicks the back of her seat, “Shut up! At least I don’t have an entire folder dedicated to pictures of him on my phone!”

“My Pacifica picture collection is none of your business! And you have like eight hundred Polaroids on him on your wall, don’t even try that shit with me!”

Dipper’s rebuttal is cut off when Wirt presses a kiss to his cheek. The younger boy turns and immediately presses their lips together in a kiss. It’s soft because of Wirt’s busted lip, but it’s still incredible. It’s never not incredible when it’s the two of them.

Mabel makes fake barfing noises, causing Dipper to flip her off, causing Wirt to laugh. They pull up to the drive way, walk through the front door, and are immediately greeted by Greg. He rushes into Wirt, giving him a tight hug. Even at ten years old, Greg still has as much energy as he did at six.

“Welcome home, brother o’ mine. How was, whoa what happened to your face?”

Wirt ruffles his little brothers hair, “I got into a fight with a dragon, dude. I won, obviously, but my jacket didn’t make it out alive.”

“I can fix that for you.” Mabel says taking his suit jacket, she’s almost knocked over when Greg charges into her next which makes her laugh. “Hey there, space cowboy. I missed you too!” She pulls him into a tight hug twirling him around the foyer before setting him back down. Dipper gives him a hug as well, just as tight but without all the spinning, and then Greg’s attention is back on Wirt.

“Okay. Why was this dragon mad at you?” He asks. This had become their thing ever since The Unknown. They would talk as if they were still there, or at least like they were in a fantasy world, and explain things to each other that way. Wirt thinks it helps them cope, but it’s probably just a result of being some weird kids.

“Anger issues.” Wirt says. That’s way too simple a phrase for it, and he knows that, but Greg is nine. He can explain it another day, but this is now and it’s ten o’clock.

Greg gives him a goofy grin, “Alright!” he says, skipping into the kitchen. The three teenagers follow him, Dipper once again takes Wirt’s hand.

“What were you doing in here little man?” Dipper asks, noticing that all of the chairs at the edge of the kitchen.

Greg picks up Jason Funderburker, the frog, and smiles again. “Well, Wirt was at his dance, and I wasn’t allowed to go with, so I made my own! Mom and dad are out tonight, too so I can play is as loud as I want!”

Greg being allowed to stay home alone tonight was a big decision. Not because no one trusted him but... okay yeah no one trusted him. Plus, it was dangerous! But, tonight was their mom and Johnathan's ten year anniversary and his mom didn’t want him to miss out on his Senior prom -no matter how much he assured her he could live without having gone- so it was the only option. No one was available to babysit, again prom night, and they couldn’t exactly take their nine year old to a bar. It doesn’t look like anything is on fire or broken yet, so Wirt can say it’s been a success so far.

“Alright then,space cowboy, lets get this party started!” Mabel says as she turns up the music. The song is ‘You Really Got Me’ by The Kinks, how Greg knows this song Wirt has no clue, and it bounces off the walls echoing up the stairs.

Greg does his weird jump step thing that he’s been doing since he could walk. It’s literally just jumping side to side to music, with the occasional dangerously fast spin, but it’s not a bad move. Jason Funderburker looks sick from all of the motion and Greg stops his movement just to let the frog go.

Mabel has always been a crazy dancer, just jumping around, arms flailing, hair going everywhere from her shaking her head. She’s probably going to poke someone’s eye out one of these days, but at least she’s having fun. Or, maybe she’s trying to poke someone’s eye out. Either way, she’s having a good time.

Dipper makes sure his arm movements hit every beat, spinning around for the parts where there are no hard beats to hit but smiling nonetheless. He looks like an idiot, and he knows he looks like an idiot, but what’s the point in being around all of your favorite people if you can’t look like an idiot in front of them?

Wirt, not much a dancer in normal circumstances, is going all out right now. He’s much more graceful than Mabel is being, but other than that they’ve got practically the same vibe. Except that Wirt actually did hit Dipper in the eye on accident earlier, but that’s in the past now.

The song ends and another begins and that cycle repeats for an hour until they’re all too tired for it anymore. Wirt sits down in one of the chairs, looking out over the kitchen. Greg is sitting on the floor with Jason Funderburker while the twins argue over what terrible movie to watch simply to make fun of it.

They both turn, “Wirt,” Dipper says, “What do you think?”

Wirt smiles. Maybe Prom night isn’t so bad after all.

37 notes · View notes

dented-nado · 5 years ago

Note

Only if you want but maybe 18 “I can’t breathe” with superbat? It might be more angst than fluff but maybe supes is helping bat calm down from a panic? Love your stuff! 💕

[[Sorry this took so long! But once I got writing! I couldn’t stop! So I hope you enjoy this ficlet! It takes place in canon-verse - Dick has just quit as Robin and Bruce has a lot of rules for being Batman. Enjoy!]]

Batman as a meaning, sometimes changed… depending on what Bruce either wanted to enforce or punish himself with.

It could be something as simple as “Batman doesn’t eat Nachos” or “Batman doesn’t eat a lot of sweets”.

Those were rules meant to control his diet and discourage himself from emotional eating. Though it also meant he didn’t always let himself have a little fun when it came to dining at all.

Being dedicated as he was to organization, he had all the Batman rules written down - in a small black book he kept in a locked drawer in the bat-cave.

Rule #1: Batman doesn’t cry

Bruce hated crying, especially in front of people. It made him feel vulnerable, it made him feel weak… and most of all, when he cried, he couldn’t control it. Not being able to control some part of himself no matter how small infuriated him. He sometimes wished he was a cyborg or a computer that was easily programmable and he could do being Batman and doing his work without pesky emotions or trauma getting in his way.

There were some times - times he wasn’t very proud of, he had felt tears slip out of his eyes among his teammates, he had the bat-cowl to hide them. But he knew that both Clark and J'onn knew every damn time he had started crying. J'onn didn’t tend to bother him about it, and would pretend he didn’t notice, because he knew Bruce didn’t want it to be noticed.

Clark would do the same… for the most part. Bruce knew he tried, hard, for his sake, because he knew that -especially in the Batsuit- that Bruce didn’t want to acknowledge he had gotten emotional over something, or something they encountered had brought up old feelings, opened old wounds that had never healed or gone acknowledged. Except… Clark would bite his lip and look over at Bruce with sad eyes, like he wanted to talk, somehow encourage Bruce to open up, somehow convey that it was okay even for the Bat to sometimes cry… because he himself struggled with the fact that even the man of steel was allowed to cry.

But he didn’t, at least not in the moment, because if he called it out, Bruce would shut down and lash out, deny it, because Rule Number One: Was Batman Doesn’t Cry.

Even if Bruce Wayne cried, Batman couldn’t cry.

Rule # 2: Batman doesn’t panic.

Batman always had to be in control. Of himself and the situation. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t supposed to panic. If he panicked… who would be the one to figure it all out if not him? So, he absolutely could not panic.

Except he had panicked before. He had broken that rule.

Sometimes it was in a quiet ‘silly’ way, like when he had been in the bat-cave with the cowl down - Clark right by his side after they had a long day dealing with various catastrophes - when asked:

“Hey B… you sure your okay? After today?”

Bruce’s brain had short-circuited when asked if he was okay for some damn reason and had answered:

“Peachy-keen and Squeaky Clean.”

“…What?”

Clark had swallowed hard to keep from chuckling. Bruce put his head in his hand.

“Fuck… its something Dick used to say.”

“Sounds like a young Dick Grayson thing to say…” Clark had paused, Bruce willed the pink in his face to go away and pleaded with every higher power in existence that his ears wouldn’t turn pink as well and stand out like a damn stop-light on his pale sun-deprived skin.

“Were you thinking about him B?” Clark had asked slowly.

“……”

This came up against Rule #3: Batman doesn’t lie for stupid reasons.

Bruce found himself having trouble following this one the most.

“No…”

“Bruce.” Clark had said in a disappointed tone.

“Yes.” Bruce immediately replied, changing his answer. It was a little ridiculous how Clark could manage to get him to stop lying the same way Alfred could just by speaking in that ’oh your better than that.’tone.

“Have you talked to him lately?” Clark asked.

Bruce knew Clark was perfectly aware he was treading on dangerous territory, but it didn’t seem to phase the super-man at the moment.

“… I don’t think he wants to talk.”

“I know he quit as robin but…”

“He was furious at me for not telling him about Batgirl… among other things… I think… and we haven’t talked since.”

They sat in silence as Bruce stared forward blankly at his computer.

“I’m never doing it again…” He had said finally in a low voice.

Clark had landed on the ground from his floating position and put a quiet hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Doing what, B?”

“I wasn’t a good parent. I wasn’t ready to be a parent, I… I think I was projecting onto him, so I thought our goals were aligned, but they weren’t… I don’t know why I thought… I would be good for him, I was terrible for him.” Bruce found himself babbling.

He had just broken Rule #4: Batman doesn’t talk about feelings or personal events to anyone.

But then again… his cowl was down, so maybe it wouldn’t count… but on the other hand he was still in the suit.

At some point along the way of becoming friends with Clark Kent, he had broken and completely obliterated Rule #5: Batman doesn’t trust anyone. Because he had come to trust Clark. Batman had come to trust Superman. It felt dangerous… the way Clark had slowly gotten him to open up, feel safe, feel comforted. It scared him… but he treasured it at the same time. So sometimes… the fact he had broken that rule didn’t always feel so bad.

“I think you did the best you could given the circumstances… and maybe your goals were aligned at one point and he just… changed. And I don’t know B, I was peeved at my parents when I was about Dick’s age.” Clark said with a slight shrug.

Bruce’s head whipped towards him. “Why? I mean maybe I don’t know parents well but… yours seem so…”

Clark smiled and chuckled. “Perfect?” He floated back up in the air and 'sat’ on nothing next to Bruce’s chair, criss-crossing his legs. “No, but really. I thought about running away even… I was going through some stuff, it was… hard going through puberty, gaining powers, and realizing your an alien that fast. I briefly resented them not telling me… it was worse than just not knowing I was adopted, I was an adopted alien. I felt lied to, and like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Bruce leaned forward curiously. He had never heard Clark really talk about his childhood or teenager-hood before. “Eventually I realized… they were just trying to give me a normal childhood, where I could feel like a normal kid. They never wanted me to feel like I didn’t belong, and eventually we talked about it.”

He twiddled his thumbs. “I know its far from a one-to-one with what your going through with Dick… I’m sure you both have a long list of things you could have done, should have done… and it just… blew up without either of you realizing it was blowing up. ”

Bruce nodded quietly in response. “I probably had it coming. I don’t think I taught him how to deal with his anger in a very healthy way. I’m not exactly a model of mental health…” Bruce mused. “I know sometimes been letting fighting be a way to deal with things rather than dealing with them… that’s probably not a good thing, is it?”

“Probably not… but I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person in the league that doesn’t sometimes use fighting as an emotional crutch.”

“Hmm…” Bruce had replied quietly.

They sat in silence for a long moment again, Bruce drifting back into deep thought, that was until a warm hand covering his surprised him and jolted him out of his thoughts.

“I think you’ll talk about it eventually, B, he isn’t going to stay mad forever, and you still raised him.”

“I just hope he finds what he’s looking for… but it honestly… might be in his best interests to… to never see me again.” Bruce said, his own hand now covering his own mouth as he felt himself dangerously get close to breaking rule #1.

“I… I don’t want it to bother me, I don’t… I don’t want to think about it…” Bruce stammered.

Clark’s hand traveled up Bruce’s arm and he wrapped his arm around his shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay to be upset about it B… I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset about it. He’s your son.”

“I don’t… I don’t think he sees me as his father, why would he?”

“B…” Clark said softly.

“I keep… loosing people, I don’t… I don’t know why… I don’t know why I keep…. I keep…” Bruce made a growl of frustration as his eyes began to water. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay don’t apologize, you don’t have to apologize for feeling.”

“I … I can’ breathe…” Bruce stammered in-between gasps of trying to force himself to pull himself together.

“Don’t try to force yourself to stop, It’s okay, B, really, just let it out, its okay…” Clark whispered calmly and softly.

“Batman doesn’t…”

“Forget Batman for a second, your more important. Besides! Who says what Batman can and can’t do?” Clark said pulling Bruce into an even tighter hug.

Bruce couldn’t help a sniffle. “I did. I have a rule-book and everything.”

Clark sighed and pressed his cheek against Bruce’s. “Of course you did you goofy-bat.”

Bruce grumbled but slowly closed his eyes and let himself feel Clark hold him as he slowly began to calm down and breathe again.

“I just want to be… better… I wish I had been better.”

“Well if you want to be 'better’ - which is not the word I’d pick by the way… don’t leave out the possibility of talking to Dick once you’ve had some time apart… You both need time to sort yourselves out. And you could also start by not writing silly rules for yourself and holding yourself to an impossible standard.”

Bruce snorted. “If I don’t make the rules for Batman, who will.”

“Hmm.” Clark replied.

—

A week later, Clark visited Bruce again in the cave. He and Dick still hadn’t talked, or run into each other. It still… hurt. But Bruce was now open to talking when it was time, but now wasn’t the time.

“I got you a little present.” Clark said, once again hover-sitting next to Bruce.

Bruce raised his eyebrow at him. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t forget my birthday again, did I?”

“You’ve forgotten your own…” Clark began before shaking his head. “No, that’s not it, and the occasion is 'your my friend and I wanted to do something for you’.” He replied with a sheepish smile.

He handed Bruce a very carefully and meticulously black wrapped flat present with a yellow bow on top. Bruce had to smile a little on how it matched the Batman aesthetic, clearly, Clark had an attention to detail that he had to appreciate. Clark waited patiently as bruce went through his routine of very carefully unwrapping the gift to avoid ripping the paper and found a maroon colored notebook inside.

Bruce glanced up at Clark curiously before opening the notebook to find Clark’s hand-writing inside.

“Superman’s ”“'rules”“ for what Batman can and can’t do.”

Bruce smiled a little wider and kept reading.

Rule #1: Batman is allowed to cry.

Rule #2: It’s okay for Batman to not have everything figured out right away.

Rule #3: Batman can have some fun and laugh sometimes because he has a smile and a laugh that lights up a room and has probably the cutest dimples I’ve ever seen.

Bruce’s heart skipped a few beats.

Rule #4: I’ll always be your friend, and I care about you, a lot… so Batman should never forget that.

Rule #4.5: I love you. Batman doesn’t have to feel the same way, but he should know that.

Bruce looked up at Clark with wide eyes. Clark was turned slightly away, face beet red.

“I know… I can’t help being a hopeless romantic, I’m sorry… but…”

“Clark… I…” Bruce’s words caught in his throat, heart feeling like it was going to fall out. “This is… really… really … sweet… thank you.”

Clark glanced back at Bruce finally with a little shy smile. “Your welcome.”

“I do have to add one little thing though…” Bruce said with a slightly cheeky look, getting out his pen.

Clark looked him over slightly startled “What’s that?”

Bruce quietly with a calm smile wrote down the words that had caught in his throat, but he wanted to say in one way or another anyway.

Rule #5: Batman loves Superman too… and thinks he should know that too.

He turned the book slightly so Clark could read the additional rule, he was incredibly amused by the way Clark lit up and looked so over-joyed he might actually start glowing.

“Do… Do you think maybe Batman could change his rule about no dating within the league?”

Bruce leaned forward with a hum. “Everyone else seems to break it all the time anyway so it might not be a very good rule anyway.”

Clark laughed. “The team is still together even with the drama it can cause from time to time.”

“Then I think I will get rid of that rule, and maybe Rule #6 - is "Batman can date” especially if I don’t want to break rule #3" Bruce stood as he and Clark quietly locked hands.

“That’s true, I’m going to hold you to that one especially.” Clark said decidedly.

“I always thought my laugh was scary… Is it also weird I didn’t even know I had dimples?” Bruce asked, feeling a little giddy for once.

“Well when you force any laugh its scary, but when I’ve seen you genuinely laugh before….” Clark almost looked a little wistful “It… makes me swoon a little…. it is kind of bad you didn’t know you have dimples B, but its okay.”

“Hmmm…” Bruce hummed. “Guess there’s still things for me to learn.”

“Guess Batman doesn’t know everything.” Clark teased playfully.

“No, and he doesn’t have to know everything, Rule #2.” Bruce replied now leaning against Clark slightly.

“Rule #7 that I just made up, there’s always still time to figure things out. And that’s okay.”

“That’s a good one, I have to write it down really quick.” Bruce said reaching for his pen.

—

Bruce handed Clark his old notebook as he replaced it with Clark’s sweet gesture of a rulebook, allowing Clark to flip through the old rules.

“Why Nachos specifically? Do you like Nachos?”

“I fucking love Nachos.” Bruce replied with a mournful sigh.

“Wow, good to know. Sounds like you have a sweet tooth too?”

“I do. It’s horrible.” Bruce argued.

“Oh no its not.”

“It is when you eat your feelings, and I don’t have super-metabolism, I didn’t get spend ages getting these rock hard abs only to fuck it up by filling myself up with all the nachos and sweet things I’ve always wanted to eat and forced myself not to.”

“Point taken, but for the record, you can enjoy yourself and eat things you like. Besides, Alfred has told me you don’t eat enough anyway.”

Bruce grumbled. “Oh great, please tell me he hasn’t already shown you my baby pictures.”

Clark gasped. “No But I’m definitely going to ask him next time I talk to him.”

“Fuck.” Bruce groaned.

“Rule #35 Stop getting excited whenever Clark is around… you get excited when I’m around??” Clark said cheerfully.

“…. No….”

“B…”

“……..Yes.”

“Awww, B!”

Bruce mumbled and grumbled for a moment because he couldn’t help himself.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Your the sweet one here, don’t accuse me of such things.”

“You’re sweet too though! Sweetest bat around.”

“Clark.”

“Bruce.”

Unable to keep up his grumpy facade, Bruce smiled very slightly and sighed over-dramatically. “Well… thank you.”

They both locked eyes for a long moment, then jumped suddenly when Bruce’s phone dinged and scared the crap out of both of them, making them jump.

“Who the hell is…”

Bruce picked up his phone and looked at the name over the message that had been sent and froze.

“It’s Dick…”

Clark’s eyes grew wide and he floated forward slightly.

“Hey… idk if you want to talk about it. I talked to Barbara, I think we should. If you want, idk.”

Bruce immediately tapped the message open, wondered if he should wait so it didn’t seem like he was desperate or constantly checking his phone to see if Dick had texted him, then decided “fuck it” and answered anyway.

“Yeah, we should talk about it. Catch up. Let me know when/where works for you.”

Dick replied almost as fast as Bruce had. “You sure you don’t need to work around…. … work?”

“No. This is more important right now. Work can wait.”

“Okay… I get off work in an hour, can you get to Bludhaven by then? I’ll send you the address.”

Bruce found himself tilting his head, curious as to what job Dick had gotten since he quit as robin.

“Cool. I’ll be there. Hope your doing okay.”

“…Yeah… you too. See you then.”

Bruce looked up at Clark. “You were right… he wants to talk…”

Clark beamed at him and put his arms around his bat-boyfriend. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I…. thank you… so much Clark. I’m still worried I’ll mess it up but…”

“It’s going to be okay B, your going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.”

Bruce leaned against Clark’s chest and sighed. “Yeah… It’s going to be okay…”

#Anonymous #prompt fill #my writing #superbat #batman #superman #superbats #clark kent #bruce wayne #angst and fluff #hurt and comfort

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lastsonlost · 5 years ago

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Just when you thought this story could not get any more disgusting.

Now we have one slimy disgusting trash person being offended by a whole group of slimy disgusting trash people.

The Des Moines Register reporter fired in the wake of a scandal involving offensive tweets — posted by a viral star he interviewed and then his own — broke his silence Friday, telling BuzzFeed News he had been “abandoned” by the newspaper after following standard editorial practice by performing a social media search on the person he was profiling.

“This event basically set my entire life on fire,” reporter Aaron Calvin said.

Calvin, 27, was dismissed by the Iowa newspaper Thursday evening following criticism online in the wake of his article about 24-year-old casino security worker Carson King.

On Sept. 14 at the Iowa State University vs. University of Iowa football game in Ames, King had appeared in the background of ESPN’s College GameDay holding a sign that said “Busch Light Supply Needs Replenished,” along with his Venmo handle. After King received $600, he announced he would instead donate his growing beer fund to a local children’s hospital. The fundraiser soon went viral, and Venmo and Anheuser-Busch offered to match the donations. King wound up raising over $1 million, and he was quickly catapulted into being a local legend and viral internet hero.

Upon the fundraiser hitting the million-dollar mark, Calvin decided to profile King, whom he’d already covered in several stories. But soon Calvin, who worked as a BuzzFeed employee between 2013 and 2014, found two racist tweets King had posted when he was 16. Calvin wrote that the tweets, which have since been deleted, were jokes “comparing black mothers to gorillas and another making light of black people killed in the Holocaust.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News it’s standard practice at the Des Moines Register to background check people they profile through court records and social media. “I was reminded by an editor to background Carson...and I found a few tweets that he published in high school that were racist jokes,” he said. “I knew if I found them, other people would find them as well.”

Des Moines Register executive editor Carol Hunter declined to comment for this story, but referred BuzzFeed News to an op-ed she published in which she called “backgrounding” an “essential” part of reporting. “The process helps us to understand the whole person,” she wrote.

Calvin said his editors told him to ask King about the tweets, so he did. "He was deeply regretful, and I recognized that these were not representative artifacts of Carson,” Calvin said.

In writing his profile, Calvin said he decided to include just a “brief mention of these tweets and his apology at the bottom of this profile, after the glowing synopsis of his charity.” The reporter said he felt an obligation to share the information he’d uncovered with the public, but thought he did so in a “thoughtful” way that showed the tweets no longer showed King’s worldview.

He also maintained he did this with the full blessing and awareness of senior editors. “Throughout this entire process of the discovery and inclusion of the tweets, the editor knew, the editorial board knew, and the executive editor knew how I’d included them and handled them for the article, and as far as I knew, approved of that,” he said.

On Tuesday night, before the profile was published, King held a press conference to apologize for the tweets, which he said had been found by a reporter. He said he wrote the posts when he was a high school sophomore and had been making reference to the show Tosh.0.

“In re-reading it today — eight years later — I see it was an attempt at humor that was offensive and hurtful,” he continued. “I am embarrassed and stunned to reflect on what I thought was funny when I was 16 years old. I want to sincerely apologize.”

Anheuser-Busch cut ties with King after the press conference. King said he did not blame Calvin, saying that he appreciated that he’d pointed out the tweets and had simply wanted to apologize. “The Des Moines Register has been nothing but kind in all of their coverage, and I appreciate the reporter pointing out the post to me,” he tweeted.

Upon publishing the story, Calvin said he was immediately met with criticism from people across Iowa who accused him of trying to denigrate a local hero.

But any media ethics debate about the newsworthiness of tweets written by someone when they were a teenager was soon swept aside by a tidal wave of harassment, doxing, and death threats Calvin received.

Soon, influential right-wing media figures also began circulating screenshots of Calvin’s own past offensive tweets that had been uncovered. In posts dating back to 2010, Calvin had used “gay” as a pejorative, written “fuck all cops,” and spelled out the word “niggas” twice when he was quoting others, including a Kanye West lyric. “Now that gay marriage is legal,” he wrote in one 2012 tweet, “I’m totally going to marry a horse.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News these were “frankly embarrassing” tweets that he “would not have published today,” but said they had been “taken out of context” and were being used to “wield disingenuous arguments against me.”

Calvin said editors at the Des Moines Register directed him to apologize in a tweet, which he said he agreed to do because he was “afraid and just trying to comply with what I was being told so I could possibly hold onto my job.”

In the tweet, Calvin apologized for “not holding myself to the same high standards as The Register holds others.”

“I regret publishing that tweet now,” Calvin told BuzzFeed News. “Because I was never trying to hold Carson to any kind of ‘higher standard’ or any kind of standard at all. I was trying to do my job as a reporter, and I think I did so to the best of my ability.”

As soon as the story broke, Calvin said he began receiving a barrage of death threats. He said HR reps at Gannett, which owns the Des Moines Register, forbade him from speaking to the media and told him to leave his apartment for his own safety. They offered to put him up in a hotel, but he stayed with a friend instead.

“I recognize that I’m not the first person to be doxed like this — this whole campaign was taken up by right-wing ideologues and largely driven by that force,” he said. “It was just a taste of what I assume that women and journalists of color suffer all the time, but the kind of locality and regional virality of the story made it so intense.”

On Thursday, while he was speaking to police about the death threats, Calvin said he got a call from Gannett representatives. “They told me they were going to offer me an option — that I could resign or I could be fired — with no severance,” he said. “It was really a semantic difference, I guess, so I chose to be fired.”

A Gannett spokesperson told BuzzFeed News the company does not comment on personnel matters.

In her op-ed, Hunter, the executive editor, wrote they were now evaluating how reporters perform background checks on subjects and what information should be published from those checks. She said their focus was partly on “the shift in social media culture and how activities on those platforms reflect upon a person’s newsworthiness in general.”

With regard to Calvin’s firing, Hunter wrote that they “took appropriate action because there is nothing more important in journalism than having readers’ trust.”

King did not respond to a request for comment on Calvin’s dismissal.

Calvin said he hasn’t heard from Gannett or his newsroom leaders since his firing, but said some of his former coworkers have reached out in support.

Though Calvin said he regrets his tweets, he thinks they were taken out of context by bad actors to make him look like a racist and homophobe. “As I said when I was speaking with Carson, I don’t think people’s past social media statements should be made to make blanket characterizations about them,” he said.

He also expressed his frustration about the “false narrative about me ‘canceling’ Carson.”

“Carson was never in danger of being canceled — there was no attempt or intent to quote-unquote ‘cancel’ him,’” Calvin said. “He’s raised hundreds of thousands more dollars since this happened. The governor of Iowa declared a ‘Carson King Day.’”

(“You can make a mistake in your life, and still go on to do amazing things,” Gov. Kim Reynolds tweeted Wednesday. “@CarsonKing2, thank you for reminding us all of that! #IowaProud.”)

Calvin said he’s still afraid to go out in public and is still staying at his friend’s house. He isn’t sure what he will do next, but hopes he can keep reporting.

“I’m just taking it day by day,” he said. “I feel like I’m a good writer and a good reporter and I was doing my job to the best of my ability.”

Calvin said he also still deeply believes in the “necessity of local journalism.”

“Frankly, it’s really disappointing to me to be abandoned by my former employer,” he said. “I still in a lot of ways support the Register — I just wish they had believed in me.”

Have you ever read so much bullshit that it made you almost vomit in your mouth?

This motherfucker just try to roast a man's life and is now trying to play the victim after he got a dose of his own hypocritical medicine.

Also BuzzFeed is in rare form today. We have both the right-wing Boogeyman, online harassment and women and people of color being in votes for pity points.

Did you ever see obvious manipulation look so obvious?

#carson king #Aaron Colvin #buzzfeed #call out culture

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viovivii · 4 years ago

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Why having a strong dad is IMPORTANT. Every girl needs a strong daddy in their life ❤️ good book. p.s DONT FUCKING BE A DEAD BEAT

this was a good read:

Chapter 1 – You Are the Most Important Man in Her Life

I’ve said this before, but scary. I am also the most important man in my wife’s life, but she was able to make a conscious decision to choose me. Not my girls, they are simply stuck with me!

Meg states that in her practice she has seen many young girls doing terribly unhealthy things to see if their fathers will notice. Young girls crave a father’s attention and love.

Dad’s don’t need to change who they are to be great dads. They need to invest in the relationship and understand what the world is telling your daughters through TV, the internet and their friends. Your job is to protect them from the ugliness that is out there and they naturally look to you to do that.

Next, Meg shares some scary statistics. Here are a few:

What is taught in sex ed. It is ridiculous. Make sure you understand what your school teaches.

One in five Americans over age twelve tests positive for genital herpes.

9% of girls fourteen to seventeen years old experience unwanted sex, primarily because they fear their boyfriends will get angry.

5% of high school girls have had sad, hopeless feelings for longer than 2 weeks. Many physicians call this clinical depression.

6% of Caucasian, 20.7% of Hispanic and 12.4% of African American females have made suicide plans in the last year.

8% of high school students drank alcohol before the age of thirteen.

7% of high school students have used some form of cocaine.

Kids spend 6.5 hours per day watching media of some form.

Kids with TVs in their bedrooms watch 1.5 hours more TV than kids who do not have TVs in their bedrooms. I’m sure this stat would hold true for smartphones.

Meg goes on to cite numerous statistics about how families can win the war against media through strong relationships with their kids. We can win this fight!

Chapter 2 – She Needs a Hero

Despite whatever outward impression she gives, your daughter’ life is centered on discovering what you like about her and what you want from her. She cannot feel good about herself until she knows you feel good about her. She does not want to see you as her equal. She wants you to be her hero. Someone stronger, steadier and smarter than she is.

The only way you will alienate your daughter is by losing her respect by failing to lead or failing to protect her. If you fail to meet her needs, she will find someone who will. That is where all the trouble can begin.

One of the best things you can do as a father is to raise your daughters’ expectations about life. Let her know that she is God’s masterpiece and that she will do great things in this life.

Deep down, we all want authority and rules in our life. We may instinctively want to buck authority, but when our world starts to fall apart, we run to the person who is that authority in our life.

Meg also suggests putting your expectations for your children in writing, now – while they are young. Teenagers are excellent at tangling your thinking. Write down your rules now. Laminate them, carve then into stone

Chapter 3 – You are Her First Love

You are her first love. You have other loves in your life, but she does not. Every man who enters into her life will be compared to you. If you have a good relationship with her and her mom, she will choose boyfriends who will treat her well.

Always be positive. Admire her deep, intrinsic qualities. Always keep the bar high. She will live up to the standards you set.

As she grows older, don’t assume she is capable of making good decisions. Protect her so she is in a safe place to make poor decisions – kids always will make bad decisions. It is how they learn. Enforce curfew. Girls with a curfew know that someone cares and is waiting up for them at home.

Pay attention. Listen closely. It takes time and patience, but it will build bonds that will last a lifetime. Start daddy-daughter times when they are young and stick with it. Teenagers need you more than at any other time in their life.

If you stay with her, look at her and keep listening to her she will always come back for more. She will feel more attractive and rightfully assume that boys that don’t want to be with her have a problem (because you are smarter and wiser than they are). This is a very good thing.

Chapter 4 – Teach Her Humility

“Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, it is thinking of ourselves less.” – C.S. Lewis

“It is not about you.” – the first sentence of The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren.

Humility is hard and it must be modeled. It is the starting point for every other virtue. Humility means having a proper perspective on ourselves, of seeing ourselves as we really are. It also means knowing that every person has equal worth.

Take pride in her accomplishments, but don’t go overboard. Always recognize the accomplishments of her peers as well.

Make sure that she knows that her accomplishments do not define her. Her maker already did that. Trying to define ourselves with accomplishments and stuff is a never ending trap. Give her a firm foundation of who she is in God and it will serve her well forever.

Don’t let the world revolve around her.

Chapter 5 – Protect Her, Defend Her (and use a shotgun if necessary)

Let her know that she is beautiful.

Hug her. It is that important to her. Tell her you love her and how precious she is.

Every boy that dates your daughter needs to know he is responsible to you.

Be aware of the mixed messages she will receive about sex from school. Make sure that your message is the final word on the subject.

She might hate you for this in the short term, but she will thank you for protecting her and she will tell you that sooner than you might expect.

Chapter 6 – Pragmatism and Grit: Two of Your Greatest Assets

It’s OK.

Men are pragmatists. They look for solutions – often when our wives and daughters only want to be heard. Don’t negate listening, but your family needs your pragmatism, your realism, your solutions.

Daughters can become only one of two types of women; princesses or pioneer women. Praise the Lord he brought me a pioneer woman to marry. That gives our girls a much greater chance at becoming pioneers themselves.

Princesses believe they deserve a better life and expect others to serve them. Pioneers know that their hard work is how they achieve improvement in their lives. They are in charge of their own happiness.

You must teach your daughter to be a pioneer. The other option is not good and can lead to a host of bad decisions later – like marrying for money and stability.

Grit – Your family needs and deserves your best. As men, we often use up the best of us at work and have little left for home. That is not acceptable. We must get our heads right and game faces on for the job (the most important job) that waits for us when we walk in the door to our homes.

Divorce – It is the central problem that has created a generation of young adults who are at higher risk for chaotic relationships, sexually transmitted diseases and confusion about life’s purpose.

Don’t get confused and believe that going to church will keep your family together. Turns out the divorce rate in the church is about equal to that of the non-church going world. You must live out your faith at home and fight to keep your family together.

When your life nears its end your family will be your greatest accomplishment, not any businesses or buildings you may have built.

Chapter 7 – Be the Man You Want Her to Marry

Think about the standards you’d like your daughter’s future husband to meet. Pretty high, right? Do you live up to those same high standards?

It’s tough medicine to swallow, but we likely have higher standards for our daughter’s future husbands than we maintain for ourselves as husbands to their mothers. We’ve got a ton of great excuses. Work is so hard, I have so little time for me, blah, blah…

Are you always patient and kind? Are you an encourager? One day you will be walking her down the aisle to marry a man that will be very much like you. It is the way women are made. They are drawn to what they know.

Show your daughter that your relationship with your family is more important than possessions and expensive vacations. Make the family your priority.

It is a great strength to live knowing that if you lost every material possession, you would still have a life worth living!

Let her know that you will disappoint her. You’ll try very hard not to, but you will. You are human.

Chapter 9 – Teach Her to Fight

Women are emotional. This is truer for teenagers. They have emotions and impulses that must be kept in check or bad decisions will be made. As the Dad, you can help her make good decisions and make bad decisions safely through your direction and authority.

You understand how to battle impulses. You’ve won some battles and probably lost plenty. Your daughter does not know how to battle her impulses yet. That is why she needs you to make her life a safe place to learn these hard lessons.

Choose your battles carefully. Never budge on honesty, integrity, courage and humility. You can let a lot of the other stuff go.

Your daughter’s brain and her capacity for rational thought will not be fully developed until her late teens or early twenties. This is when she needs you most. Don’t get her to 16 years old and assume she is fully qualified to make great decisions.

Chapter 10 – Keep Her Connected

You, Dad, are the most important person in your daughter’s life. Keeping your family together and spending time together as a family is what will help your children avoid the traps in life (sex, drugs, alcohol, gangs). It has been proven time after time. Families that stay together have more successful kids.

Give your kids experiences. Hang out with them, have fun and be a great example. Get away from all the screens, get outdoors, have adventures, have conversations.

Hopefully, this book will help. Maybe this quick summary will encourage more dads to read the actual book (you really must – it is that good).

To all you Dads, fight the good fight.

#personal #me #myself #dads #daughters

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kl4us4 · 6 years ago

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INSTANCES WHERE BELLAMY BLAKE WAS A NUISANCE (Bellamy Blake x Reader)

Request: Could I request a Bellamy Blake imagine with the lines, “Don’t you do it Y/N. Don’t you dare fall in love with me.”

masterlist

Okay, here’s the thing: You‘ve never thought someone was beautiful until you met Bellamy Blake. For a long time you - and all your friends - assumed you just weren’t interested in being with someone. Then, he happened. You had always heard stories about Bellamy being mutual friends but fate and the universe never let you come face to face with the unknown boy. All you knew about the boy was that he was daring, adventurous, and courageous; yet extraordinarily kind and caring. Then, you came to Earth.

INSTANCE NO. 1

“Someone’s about to open the doors.” Clarke clenches her jaw, eyes darting towards the front of the Dropship as she speeds to the door. You follow hot on her tail, your eyes just as wide as hers. “Stop!” She shouts, her tone frantic and chilling, “The air could kill us all.”

“If the airs toxic then we’re dead anyways.” The deep voice that replies to your friend almost makes you frown. He sounds kinda rude. Shifting beside Clarke, you furrow your eyebrows and are about to put your two cents in but then he looks at you.

It feels like a kind of pause, like a kind of recognition but not quite. At least not on your part. “Anything to add on, sweetheart?” He chastises you, his hand on the ship's entrance.

“I have a name.” You mutter, unable to drop your gaze from him. The freckled boy just smirks. His eyes remain on you as he opens the dropship door, and the place is flooded with fresh air and light. Pandemonium ensues as people rush out like a nest of crazed ants. You, being weak and distracted, get pushed around easily and almost no one seems to care.

“Woah, Woah, Woah,” You feel two hands on your shoulders pull you back slightly, away from the bustling crowd of teenagers who are finally free from their cage. “You should learn to be a little more careful.”

Facing the man behind you, you see the familiar face that enticed you not two seconds ago. “Thanks.” You mumble.

“It’s fine.” He replies, “Y/N.”

“You know me?” You wonder, eyebrows furrowed as you wait for his answer.

He hums, “I know of you. I’m Bellamy Blake.” He introduces himself, giving you a small smile.

You smile up at him, practically knowing him already. “Funnily enough, I know of you too.”

“I hope you’ve heard good things.”

“50/50.” You hum back, gesturing with your hand. He’s taller than you, and it makes your stomach turn when you look up to see him gently smiling down at you. “I’ve been wanting to put a face to the name for a while now.” You admit.

“Well?” He responds with a small smirk, “Do I live up to your standards?”

Your raise your eyebrows, almost letting out a laugh, “Nah,” you joke, “you’re shorter than I expected.”

He nods for a second, pursing his lips comically, “And you’re feistier then I expected.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No, not at all.” He shakes his head, looking you up and down and nearly making your chest explode, “I only let strong women ruin my life.” His smirk seems infectious, and for some reason, it feels like the dropship keeps getting smaller and smaller. After all this time keeping you two apart it’s as though even fate and the universe can’t pull you two away now. There’s just this intense and magnetic force pushing you two together like compensation for such a long time as strangers.

“God, do you have to do this to all my friends?” Octavia announces, breaking you away from her brother. Bellamy just stares at you, letting out a sigh as he realised your attention on him has been interrupted.

You’re slightly angered at yourself. ‘All my friends’? Did you just nearly fall for a player? Oops.

“Only the pretty ones.” He sighs, looking towards the ground awkwardly.

“Well, have fun letting them ruin your life.” You smile back, bouncing away from him and towards Octavia who had come looking for you. You pass her and head outside so you don’t notice the annoyed look she gives her brother, who just gives her an exaggerated shrug. Bellamy leans against the wall, sighing at the loss of heat now that you’re not beside him.

INSTANCE NO. 2

You sit beside the wall, book in hand as the world passes by around you. Your muscles ache from working and you’re so tired you may just fall asleep right here and now. But your book keeps you up. You’ve read it maybe 40 times since you were 10 years old and you’re about to make it 41 until-

“Whatcha got there?”

“You’ve never seen a book?”

“I’ve never seen that book.”

“And you’re never going to. Run along.”

“Oh,” Bellamy breathes, inching closer to you, “But I’ve been such a good boy today, Y/N.” He banters... at least you think it’s banter.

“Unfortunately, I’ve run out of gold stars to hand out.” You muse, shaking your head as you set your book down in your lap.

Leaning his arms against your knees, he rests his head against his hands and looks up at you with his big brown eyes. You nearly melt. Your chest is tingling and all you can do to stop form smiling is to think about the serious chapter you’re up to in your book.

“I can think of other ways you can reward me.”

“Did that line work on many of Octavia’s other friends?” You wonder, pursing your lips slightly.

He sighs, letting his head fall onto your thigh in defeat. “She told you, huh?”

“Yep.” You nod, a smile pressed harshly against your lips.

“You know she‘s never had many friends, right?” Bellamy states, sitting up and looking intensely at you.

“After what you did, I’m sure she didn’t.” You laugh slightly. He notices, his smirk growing at the sight of you smiling.

“Did she at least leave much to the imagination?” He wonders, leaning back onto the green grass as he sets you up. His brown arms flex perfectly and your eyes just brush over them, not giving him the satisfaction of him knowing you think he’s attractive.

Shaking your head, you cross your arms. “Not really.” You lie, teasing him.

“Oh, so you’ve been imagining me then?”

You pause, seeing how he set you up for that. He looks at you smugly, raising his eyebrows as he waits for your reaction. “Okay, that was a good one.” You laugh, shaking your head at him.

Bellamy laughs too, his eyes squinting slightly as he marvels in his own greatness for a second. Somehow the conversation continues on, and you spend the next hour talking and teasing one another. You never got to finish reading your book for the 41st time like you had planned. You even let him borrow it.

INSTANCE NO. 3

You were handling it, really you were. But Big Macho Man Bellamy Blake had to get in the way and be the saviour, like always. “Aim higher and a little to the left, take the wind into account,” Bellamy mutters next to you, his eyes glued to your frame.

Glancing at him from the side of your bow, you nearly break your focus to shake your head at him or to tell him to shut up. But instead, you do what he says, rolling your eyes when you notice him nodding his head. Straight down the middle of your arrow stands a deer, unknowingly taking its last breaths of air.

“Easy now,” Bellamy whispers, leaning in so you can hear him. You feel his breath on your neck as he talks and talks and talks and you’re not taking in a single thing that he’s saying. “Okay?” He asks, turning to face you but he doesn’t move back. You swallow, your lips parting slightly to answer him but you weren’t listening at all.

“Uh, yeah sure.” You nod back, eyeing him once again before turning back to the deer who has disappeared.

“You didn’t hear a word of what I said did you?”

“Uh, no.” You admit, putting your bow and arrow down. Watching the distance as Bellamy blabbers on about focus and attention, you notice something swaying in the bushes where the deer was. At first, you think it’s the animal, but then you notice more and more bushes as you block out Bellamy’s droning on.

“You’re not even listening right now, wow.” He shrugs, shaking his head as if he’s a disappointed parent.

“Sh, Bell, hold on.” You press a hand to his chest and he nearly gulps, feeling his heart rate quicken at the fact that you’re touching him and you called him Bell. But when he looks at you, he notices the concern and immediately he’s switched on and 100% alert.

Following your gaze, he sees what you see and dread fills him. “We need to go. Now. It could be more Grounders.” He mutters to you, pulling you by the arm just as the sounds of Grounders shouting to one another make you jump into action.

You hear them behind you but it’s like you can’t see anything, everything’s a blur of green trees and Bellamy’s frantic gaze as he leads you back towards the camp. Wait, the camp. “Bellamy! We’re leading them right towards the others, we can’t!”

“There’s no other way, we’ll die!” He shouts back to you, his grip on your wrist harsh and painful.

You pull against him and he nearly stumbles over, he turns around to look at you with an incredulous expression. “What are you doing?!”

You line up your bow and arrow, “Taking a shot.”

“Y/N, you don’t know how many there are. This isn’t a fight we can win.” He shouts at you, frantic to get you to safety. “We’re so close to the camp, there’s safety in numbers.” You don’t listen, but when he places a hand on yours, you feel everything pause. “Please.” He begs.

You’ve never heard Bellamy beg before. To anyone. For anything. You lower your weapon and give him a slow nod, “Okay... okay, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry just take my hand.”

You do so, running back towards the camp gates as fast as you possibly can. The sounds of Grounders chasing you is constant and terrifying and you’re at the closed gates screaming desperately for them to let you in when you hear the piercing sound of something flying through the air and landing right next to your head. The gates open, you’re not sure what’s going on but you’re being pulled inside as the noise continues then ceases all at once.

You open your eyes, looking up at Bellamy who looks just as stunned as you. Maybe even more. You’re confused when he places a hand to his upper arm, pulling it back to reveal his hand coated in blood. Then it all speeds back up again.

“Jesus!” Your eyes widen, looking at the large gash left by a spear or arrow of sorts.

“Actually my names Bellamy.” He chuckles, then winces at the pain. Now it’s time for you to pull him around, holding his hand as you yell for Clarke in the dropship. You tell her what’s wrong, and you ask for help but you were obvious to the other people just coming into the dropship who had worse injuries than Bellamy. One woman had an arrow to her leg, she was one of the people guarding and opening the gate for you and Bell.

“You’re going to have to handle it,” Clarke tells you, nodding to you as if to say you can do it.

“Hey,” Bellamy states, getting your attention as he can see how out of it you are. He holds his arm tightly, and you can help but look at all the blood that’s dripping down him. “Don’t look at that, look into my eyes.”

“Okay.” You mumble, looking into his familiar and calm brown eyes.

“You can do this, it’s not that difficult so maybe even you can get it right.” He tells you, the corners of his lips lifted into a small smirk. You don’t appreciate the jokes at the moment, in fact it nearly makes you burst out crying. “Woah, Woah, hey I’m kidding. Y/N, I’m just joking. It’s going to be fine! I’m right here.”

You just mutter okay and breathe, trying to snap yourself out of it. “Okay, okay, tell me what to do.”

“Help me take my shirt off.” He asks, not wanting to release full pressure off of his wound.

“What? How?” You furrow your eyebrows, unsure of yourself. Maybe you can’t do it. Maybe you can’t do anything.

“Y/N, I need you to put both your hands on the cut. Apply a lot of pressure while I remove it. Then we’ll go to the alcohol, okay?”

You nod, stepping forward and nearly gagging at the sight. But it’s Bellamy, and he really needs you. “O-Okay,” looking into his eyes, you both begin to count down together, “Three, T-Two... one!” You close your eyes, placing both your hands under his sleeve and onto the cut.

Bellamy grunts, gritting his teeth as he throws his shirt to the floor. “Sorry, sorry!” You mumble repeatedly, feeling your chest tighten with guilt.

“D-Don’t... Don’t apologise to me, you’re doing great.” Bellamy breathes, his shaking hands pointing to a metal box next to Clarke. He takes over applying pressure to his wound. Rushing to it, Clarke just gives you a nod telling you that you can take it. Bringing it back to Bellamy, you open it and try not to freeze to ice when you see it’s contents. Of course you’d have to stitch him up, it’s a deep graze. There’s not way it’ll close up by itself. Bellamy must think you’re insane mumbling ‘okay’ and ‘youre fine’ to yourself over and over again; as if the next ten times you say it it’ll be true. But it isn’t. And your hands are shaking. And you feel like you can’t even see the wire missing the needles hole each and every time you try. “Y/N, come on.” Bellamy encourages you gently, watching you with urgent and tired eyes.

“I’m trying.” You whisper, biting the side of your lip as you try and try again. The movement of your chest rising and falling erratically makes your hands move even more. Bellamy begins to feel himself losing too much blood, beginning to feel woozy.

“Come on...” He urges more frantically, his voice harsh, “Y/N, you need to hurry...”

Grunting in frustration, you feel as though you could lose your mind, break down, throw the whole metal box against the drop ship wall. “Come on!”

His loud voice makes you jump. You pull the wire through the needle and lean in towards his arm, brows furrowed as you take the alcohol and quickly pour some on his arm. He grunts loudly, squirming in pain. “Stay still.” You order him, your voice just as tense as his was. It all places like a blur, trying to ignore the pain in his voice and the blood on your hands as you stitch him up. It looks as good as it can possibly be, seeing as it’s been done by someone not experienced. Grabbing the bandage, you jump at the feeling of a hand on top of yours. “I can take it from here.” Clarke advises you, her eyes full of sorrow and compassion. Taken off guard, you nod at her. Somehow you’re unable to speak though your lips part.

You look down at your red hands. They’re still for once. You thought that the hardest part had finished but then you look up at Bellamy, who’s been watching you this whole time, focusing on you instead of the pain. Clarke begins to wrap the bandage around his arm, taking away the sight of his pain.

“Uh, I’m- I...” You fumble. Bellamy just looks away, nodding his head slightly. He doesn’t want to see you leave right now. So you don’t. “I’ll stay until you’re done.”

Bell looks up at you, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you.” to which you nod back. Sitting beside him, you let out a long breath. You haven’t breathed since you ran into the camp gates. It relaxes you.

When Clarke states she finishes and leaves, Bellamy turns to you to place a hand on yours. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

You shake your head, refusing to look at him. You just stare at your dirty hands, still in shock at what you just did. “No, no, don’t be.” You assure him, “I wouldn’t have been able to snap out of it. I don’t know what came over me.”

He squeezes your hand, causing you to turn to him. “I’m proud of you. Not everyone could’ve done what you did, especially when it’s someone you... you know. Don’t put yourself down for that, Y/N. You were incredible.”

Tears brim your eyes and you take another deep breath and look down before quietly stating, “Thank you.”

“Look at me,” he begs, leaning closer to you and it makes you gulp nervously. His eyes are pleading when you look up at him, “Y/N... will you stay with me tonight?”

You squeeze his hand back, mirroring what he did to you. “Anything you need, Bellamy.”

“Only on one condition though.” He adds, letting his eyes flick from yours to your lips.

“What condition?” You wonder, confused.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

“What?” You muse, a smile beginning to form on your face. Bellamy revels in it, knowing he’s accomplished his goal of making you smile; especially after what you just went through.

Bellamy tried to hold a straight face as he continues, “Don’t you do it, Y/N. Don’t you dare fall in love with me.”

Shaking your head at him, you can’t help but smile at the boy, “you’re unbelievable.”

Like magnets meeting, the two of you lean together. You want to place your hands on his warm cheeks but you remember you can’t. So you sit there, eyes closed, feeling Bellamy’s lips press against yours. It feels electric. When you both pull away, you can hear your heart beating loudly.

“I think we might be in trouble.” You smile at him, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“I think we might be.” He agrees, the same smile on his features.

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wildtorres-a · 5 years ago

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥.

WHAT? — after a night of their usual antics, drew and lia wake up in bed together.

WHEN? — saturday night, march 21st.

TRIGGERS? — very long smut, alcohol mentions + use, drug mentions + use.

FEATURING — lia rosenburg ( @rosenburg-lia )

A deep sigh left Amelias mouth as she settled herself opposite Drew in the jaccuzi, she was grateful for the connection she had with the boy. If she had a chaotic plan she knew that he was the best person to call, almost never saying no to whatever crazy idea she had planned. "Today has been interesting, Im glad men are simple creatures and are still attracted to boobs," She joked as she took a hit of her blunt, her head tilting slightly as her eyes trained on Drews, "Im glad we did this, a sort of escape in a way," She spoke with a small shrug as a smirk tugged to her lips, "Plus the room is not bad, the bed looks like a cloud. Im proud of you Torres," a quick wink sent his way with a laugh.

it'd been a long day, even longer when the brunette teen thought back on the fight he had with his step mother that morning. there was the frequent disappointment, threats to take away all social devices and temporary isolation other than school that would turn permanent if he didn’t get his act together and begin focusing on the right things, and the mention of ‘stupidity’ that left a bitter taste in his mouth along with a clenched jaw. it ended with her leaving his room and beginning to get ready for second shift, when drew grabbed his keys and made his way right out of the house, slamming the door despite her protests. which of course, leads him to where he is now. sitting back against the jets, as he lays his head upwards on the edge of the jacuzzi, puffing out smoke from his last inhale, the drug already taking it’s effect as lia sits across from him. it’d been a mere ten minutes ago when the last family, a mother and her two sons, had left the pool room leaving the two miscreant teenagers to their own devices. which of course was when the drugs and alcohol had been brought out, thankfully the two wouldn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting them, having already given the receptionist an extra $50 to let them stay after hours. drew almost thought it wouldn’t work, this being one of the more prestigious hotels in the city, but you’d be surprised what you could get at the right price. he grabs the bottle of ciroc, takes a swig, before placing the bottle back on the cement. chuckles at her words, “i doubt there will come a day where men will not be attracted to those” his eyes linger on the subject of the matter for only a second, before they shift back onto her gaze. he’s playing with fire and he knows it, but is sure she’ll chalk it up to their usual banter. “i’m more than glad, i couldn’t be in a better state of mind than i am right now,” he offers, with a smile. glad that lia had taken him up on his offer to get into something entertaining.

it’s the first time in a while he'd heard anybody say anything along the lines of being proud of him, even if it's being said in a joking manner. he feels almost pathetic for basking in the feeling more than he should. more than what’s necessary. ”hey, i should be thanking you, i couldn’t have done it without you,” he praises with a sly smirk. doesn’t feel the guilt from pickpocketing the man a few hours earlier, doesn’t think he'd miss the $300 that much, given his expensive looking suit and polished dress shoes to match. sticks his hand out for the blunt as he passes her the bottle , ”plus i heard this place has good ass breakfast, if we’re even up in time for it” doesn’t admit that he wishes the night could never end, not wanting to think of the repercussions of his actions when they wake up in the morning. ”wanna make things more interesting?“ he asks, the dim lighting giving her a glow, as he looks her over.

The way their family treated them was something that bonded the two almost from the jump. Being held to a higher standard than was necessary and fighting back even if not on purpose. Her parents expecting more out of her given her older sisters life, but she wasnt right in their eyes. It seemed like no matter how much she took the time to mold herself into the image they had of her, it wasnt working. They would find something new to hone in on and make her change. Eventually just learning to love herself and the person she was. And she had been like that for a while now, but to most it seemed he had just randomly changed in a way. But Lia knew this side of Drew for most of the time they had been in eachothers lives, it wasnt a shock to see him acting the way he was and the things he was doing. She had grown to enjoy this side, they got into plenty of trouble over the years because of it. Something about their energy coming together, maybe it was sharing a birthday, or maybe there was something else, but it was always somehow chaotic. Tonight was a prime example of them scheming purely for a good time. She wasnt one to shy away from using her body to get what she wanted, nor flirting with older men for money. But when Drew suggested the plan she couldnt help the devious smirk that had tugged to her lips. A very similar one to the smirk that was on her face as she watched Drews gaze fall, a wink sent his way when their gazes met, "They come in quite handy at times, so I hope they dont," She chuckled lightly as she leaned her elbows back on the cement behind her, taking a drag off the blunt one more time. His smile being returned as she exhaled. "Well we cant have a sad Torres, then no one has any fun," She spoke with a teasing pout as she passed him the blunt, taking the bottle off his hands, immediately pressing the opening to her mouth and tilting her head back.

"I do have quite the way with men dont I," she spoke with a small shrug, a laugh bubbling out as she relaxed back into her place, slightly closer to Drew so it was easier for them to pass back and forth. "But thats why we're partners in this, couldnt do half of my crazy antics without you D," She chuckled lightly, thinking on the countless stupid shit the two had gotten into together. Petty theft was one of the more minor on the list, well at least to her. Others would think they were crazy if they only knew. Her grin widened as her eyes lit up at the thought of breakfast, "That sounds amazing right now," A small moan falling from her as she thought about the food, "We shouldve brought munchies out," A small pout falling to her lips before a smirk took its place, an eyebrow raise sent towards the boy, "what have you concocted in that pretty little head of yours?" Her eyes finding his as she they traced his face.

perhaps it's the liquor. maybe the weed. he’s not entirely sure, but his eyes can’t help scan over her body clad in the tight baby blue bikini. he’s always found lia attractive, as well as any guy that's ever come across her he supposes, with an enthralling personality to match. but he knows there’s a limit to how far they can go, even if he is tempted to go over and beyond the unspoken boundaries as they sit half naked in the otherwise vacant pool room. he lets the jets calm him, listens to the sound the water makes as it laps up against the edges, hoping it takes the thoughts away. he takes the blunt from her hand, pressing it to his lips, and inhaling it. he blows the air out a good ten seconds later, eyes on her as she talks. “i’d say you definitely have them wrapped around your finger,” he smirks, as she comes closer to him. “not that i can blame them, you’re beautiful” he leaves it at that, as he gives her a cheshire smile. “you know, you’re the only one i don't feel like a total idiot around” and now he knows the alcohol is talking, but he can’t find himself to disagree with the words. ”i think i seen a little store up by the reception desk, we can get some when we get out of here” he offers, finding her pout to be cute. he takes another hit of the blunt, inhales it, holds it in before he leans over and gently grabs lia by the shoulders, leans in until their lips are only centimeters apart, and blows the smoke into her mouth. “i’ve always wanted to do that,” he confesses when it’s over, lingering there only for a moment before pulling back, but not fully moving away. “twenty one questions, if you’re up for it,” he answers, “only if you don’t answer a question, you take a shot” he shrugs, doubting that any shots will be taken between them and their daring personalities.

She always felt a rush when she was around Drew, something about his demeanor just had her fixated at times. He was a good looking guy, one of the best in the school, there was no denying. His personality making him all that more intoxicating to the girls around the halls. But due to the history he had with a certain person in her life there were limits. Granted she may have put them on the friendship, out of respect, but there was something about the atmosphere. Maybe it was the feeling of the jets against her skin, or the way his eyes raked against her, but she felt something shift. Finding herself watching the way Drew hit the blunt, admiring the way his lips looked as he exhaled. Her eyes clouding over slightly with more than just alcohol and marijuana. "Its a talent of mine," She spoke, arching a perfectly done brow, "Only beautiful?" She spoke her tone laced with something more than just their usual banter. "Its because we thrive off chaos, especially when we're together," She chuckled lightly, gasping lightly as she felt Drews hands pull her in. Her eyes meeting his as she inhaled the smoke, exhaling as a small smirk pulled at her lips. "Shouldve done it sooner," She spoke, her mouth working faster than her brain in her crossfaded state. "Im up for anything, you know that," She chuckled, "Although Id much rather just take shots for fun," A small shrug, "Ask away cutie," She spoke leaning her elbow on the side of the jacuzzi, resting her head on her palm as she looked at him with an almost believable innocent look on her face

there’s a chuckle that leaves moist lips at her comment, as his eyes meet hers, “and gorgeous, and sexy” he eyes her lips right after the word’s said. he knows it's wrong, to be mindlessly flirting with his ex girlfriend’s cousin, the same girl he considered his first love, but nothing in the moment feels wrong about it. “but i’m sure you have enough guys and girls telling you that” he smirks. listens to her speak, and is grateful to have her around, even if it just amid the chaos. he hears her comment, doesn’t give a response. knows it’s not necessary. they’ve crossed the line tonight. it’s in their stares, longing and want, and now that it’s here, he wonders how long they’ve been holding it in. how long they’ve been secretly waiting for the other to slip up and make a move. a wrong move, but a move nonetheless. and he does know that. knows that she’s down for the ride anytime, and is happy to accompany him, bad decisions and all. they’re probably bad for each other, no voice of reason to guide the other, but it doesn’t stop the brunette male from inching closer to her, tone no higher than a whisper. “how long have you wanted to kiss me?” and now, he knows there’s no going back.

Lia couldnt help bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth a Drews words, something about his tone telling her everything changed. "I may have been once or twice, but it sounds so nice coming from your mouth," somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was telling her to stop while she still could. that he was off limits because of her cousin, who would never forgive her. but she knew there had always been more to their relationship than the mindless flirting, she had thought about it once or twice. in more detail than she would care to admit to anyone. but finding herself in this moment she knew she was in for it. that there was no going back after today, they had to be on the same page. she knows she can trust drew with her life if she needed to. If at any time she wants to have an adventure she knew she could text him and hed be at her door asap. but as she found herself instinctively moving closer to the male, their gazes unwavering, she knew that it was the final straw. her hand finding itself on his thigh under the water as she moved closer, her lips brushing his as she spoke, "Months," She spoke, breaking the final wall and placing her lips on his

the lights are dim, the pool room door is locked, no distractions, no disturbances. he’s not thinking straight, he’s not thinking of anything else but how good he wants to make her feel. wants to hear how she sounds when she comes undone. the blunt is set to the side, ashed on the cement right next to the bottle of ciroc. forgotten. “i can think of better things i can do with my mouth,” he states in a playful tone with a wink, although they both know what’s to come. the forbidden aspect of their actions making this all the more interesting. and maybe for one fleeting moment he feels bad, but he can’t help himself from wanting to reach out and feel her smooth skin. and he knows the temptation is too strong, even if it comes with consequences. he lets her start things off, lets her be in control, until he can’t hold back anymore. their lips meet in a heated kiss, and he can feel just how bad they both wanted this. it’s urgent, needy, and mind blowing all in one. his tongue jutting out atop her bottom lip for permission, as he slips his fingers into her hair. and there’s an obvious taste of weed mixed with the ciroc, but there’s also a hint of mint once you got past the others. he moves his hands down to her hips, before settling on her lower backside, and scooping her into his arms. he holds her in place under her thighs, legs wrapped around him. he feels the effect she has on him, and wonder if she does too. starts making his way to the edge of the jacuzzi, and once he sets her down on top of the cement, he wastes no time placing his lips on her neck, giving soft pecks, until he licks around, trying to find a spot that’ll make her weak in the knees.

"I cant wait for you to show me," She spoke, a captivating tone lacing her words. she knew where they were going, not wanting to bounce around the subject. she felt every bit of his statement through her body, having thought about this moment a few times in the past. having ultimately deciding he was off limits and better as a friend. she watched him with hooded eyes, her eyes darkening to almost black as she looked at him.she hesitated for a brief moment before she had decided to give in, she would let him have her in that moment. in anyway he wanted, she was entirely his. her mind not caring about the consequences, her body craving his touch over every inch of her skin. a small squeal coming from her throat allowing herself to be pulled from her spot, her legs wrapping around his waist tightly. A light moan came from her lips as she felt just how much he wanted this, her heart pumping in excitement, as she felt a rush to her core. her arms resting around the base of his neck, fingers pulling ever so slightly. she could taste the green apple flavor almost immediately, getting a hint of the weed in the aftertaste, something within it becoming addicting to her within the brief period their lips were locked. she felt herself get placed on the cement, shifting ever so slightly, as she tilted her neck, her eyes fluttering closed as small moans fell from her lips.

he doesn’t want to think about how they’ll feel about it in the morning, wants to bask in this moment. their lust filled gazes burning into the other, touch starved, and filled with need that only the other can supply. maybe they can pin it on the alcohol, many have before, and they wouldn't be the last to make impulsive moves with the liquid in their system. he's brick hard, can feel the length against his right thigh, the discomfort it's making in his swim trunks, but isn’t focused on it. wants to make her feel good, like no other can. the moans emitting from her mouth is music to his ears. he starts to suck on her neck, switching ever so often to strokes of his tongue, and then back to sucking, leaving a few marks she’d have to hide the next few days. he pulls away, gives her a peck on the lips again, as he holds her face in both of his hands, admiring her. “you’re beautiful baby, and i’m gonna make you feel so good” he keeps his word, as he kisses down to her chest. he grabs at the bikini top, in too much of a rush to untie the pretty blue fabric, he slips it up and over her breasts. gives the right nipple a peck, and watching it harden, before flicking it with his tongue a few times, and taking it into his mouth. he then moves on to the left one, and repeats. once he feels she’s satisfied enough, he begins kissing down her tone stomach. slowly, teasing her with a smirk playing at his lips. he kisses her just below the belly button. then places his arms under her, wrapping around her thighs, pulling her closer to him and holding them open, leaving a kiss there, and a lick there, feeling the heat from her core, as he gives her a kiss through the bottoms and then blows lightly, taking pleasure in her reaction of the pressure. “you gotta tell me what you want baby,” looks into her eyes with a mischievous grin, as he continues to tease her.

his touch was intoxicating, focusing on the way his hands felt as they roamed her body, an almost electric feeling being left in their wake. they could try to chalk tonight up to their cross faded state, to a one time deal, but something told her this was gonna be more than a one night stand. feeling the way her body reacted every little thing he did, she knew she was done for. that no matter what she was putty in his hands, he had her whenever and if ever and however he wanted her. her head was thrown back, loud whines leaving her lips as drew made his mark, having a feeling it was more than just heat of the moment, as if marking her in a way, a reminder to her what he does tonight, of how he made her feel. a small smile found its way onto her face during their intimate moment at his words, something about hearing them from his lips. turning almost shy for a second at them, "please baby," she practically begged, slowly reaching her hand below the waters' surface, needed to feel more of him. her hand slipping below the waistline of his shorts, wrapping around his length, a small gasp leaving her lips. he was bigger than she imagined, finding herself leaning up against him, her lips brushing his ear, "i cant wait for you to fuck me baby, youre so fucking big," she purred, nibbling lightly on his earlobe as she leaned back, a small intake of breath from the feeling of the wind on her aroused nipples, getting cut off by a loud moan as drew began his play with them. her other hand coming to play with the top of his hair, tugging with her moans every so often as her eyes fluttered closed. slowly opening her hooded eyes to watch the raven haired boy as he traveled lower, her hands coming to rest on her chest. a matching smirk finding its way to her face, before her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth taking in the sight before her. a small giggle left her lips as he pulled her closer, soft gasps and light moans tumbling from her mouth from his touch.

her hand found its way into his hair again, tugging at the teasing. whines accompanying her actions with breathy moans falling as she moved closer to him, trying to get more friction where he was needed the most. her eyes finding his, a rush going straight to her core at his words, her thighs instinctively trying to close for some sensation. "i wanna know how your tongue feels baby, fucking me as you play with my clit. Make me cum with your mouth, please baby," She practically begged, wanting nothing more than to come undone under him again and again.

he’s enthralled in her at this exact moment, wants to keep that look of utter pleasure on her face, doesn’t want to forget it. and it’s then he realizes that things won’t be the same, even if they go back to their daily routine by the time the sun rises and they only have hazy recollection about what’s currently taking place. he’s never made his mark on a girl that wasn’t his current girlfriend, didn’t care to claim territory on what wasn’t rightfully his, but something in him wants her to remember this moment. wants to see her amongst the crowd at one of the next outings, and admire his work. the sensual touching, the needy look in her eyes as he places his hands on all the right spots. in this moment, he wasn’t thinking of what anybody from school would think if they saw the two right now, wasn’t thinking of the mayhem that would be tori's reaction, and he certainly wasn’t thinking of the punishment he’d definitely have to endure when he stepped foot into the household tomorrow. whatever it was, it’d be worth it. to see her wither under his touch, to hear her gasp, and moan and watch her face as she takes in all the pleasure.

it's almost as if the two are intoxicated on each other, clouded by the rush of it all. the longing to reach out and feel the other’s touch too much. her pleads only egging him on, and increasing the want he already has for her. he lets out a small deep groan as she holds him in her hand, and he leans in closer to her, kisses her shoulder, then places his face in the crook of her neck, whispers in his ear. “i’m gonna fuck you so good, i’m gonna have to carry you out of here by the time we’re done” it’s a promise he intends to keep, as he moves back to his former spot. — he appreciates the tugging, loves it actually, and smirks at her impatience. wonders how her nails will feel against his back. he considers continuing the torture, but figures she’s had enough, at least for now. it’s only seconds after she does exactly what he’s asked of her, that he gives her one last peck against the thin material, then strips her of it, smiling as she helps him by lifting her lips. he tosses it to the side, before going back to his rightful spot rested between her legs, head tilted towards heaven. he’s watched porn an abundance of times, as well as many of his own experiences, and knows exactly where she wants him to be. his tongue swipes against her entrance, feeling the juices she’s already produced. “you taste so good, and you're so wet for me” he murmurs, as he makes eye contact before making himself familiar with her clit. licking and applying as much pressure as he can, all while holding her legs open, dipping his tongue into her folds from time to time, and then going back to the clit, holding her in place. his eyes staring into hers intently, as he laps at her juices, inserting a finger and then another into her slicked folds, as his tongue continues it’s work on her pearl. “so wet,” he repeats, as he watches her.

everything about him captivated her, each moment becoming engraved in her memory. she could almost feel the atmosphere shift in that moment, every ounce of her soul knew things had changed. knowing she wouldnt be able to just look at him in the halls, or simply sit next to him without a flash of this night playing in her head. but she didnt care, not about a single thing except him. she didnt care that when she awoke the next morning her entire world would shift, that she would lose the closest person in her life for god only knows how long. she just knew she didnt want the night, the euphoria, to end. every experience she had, every person that entered her life didnt compare to how she felt. she couldnt stop the whines that were falling from her throat, or the jolts being sent through her body from his touch. she felt good, knowing she had his entire presence, not a single thing being able to drag either one out of the moment. everything else being pushed to the back of her mind, all the little things that were on her shoulders melting off as his hands and mouth worked over her body. almost as if this was was second nature to the boy, knowing exactly what spots to hit, what got bigger reactions out of her without ever having experienced each other.

her body shivered against him at his words, a moan falling from her lips simply at the thought of him fucking her until she barely knows her won name. "fuck me like the whore I am," her tone almost dangerous, challenging even. their gazes finding one another, a smirk pulling at her plump lips, and a wink sent his way. she watched him move in between her legs, widening ever so slightly for him. her heart pumping as she anticipated his next move, whining when he didnt listen right away, "please," she begged, her hips immediately propping themselves into the air when she felt his hands pulling at the straps of her bottoms. her eyes falling closed, a sharp hiss falling from her lips when his tounge found her slit. she had gotten wet just from seeing him topless before they got in the jacccuzi, knowing she was dripping by the time he got her bottoms off. "its all yours, all for you, whenever you want it baby," She choked out in between moans, her body arching every so often despite the hold he had on her. her eyes finding his amidst the haze, her hand tugging harder on his hair feeling his fingers slip in with ease, a loud whimper breaking from her lips. her other hand finding his shoulder, digging in ever so slightly, a breathy and almost inaudible "Fuck me," falling from her lips

he hadn't expected this. the scene unfolding before him. figured they’d drink and smoke, probably get a few noise complaints from their neighbors, and wake up to a trashed hotel room. maybe wreak havoc around the area. but he's sure none of that could compare to this. — once he's good and ready, meaning he feels she’s satisfied enough, dripping wet and begging for more, he removes both his mouth and fingers, then repeating her words, “all mine,”. even though they both know they don’t belong to each other, he has to admit he likes hearing the words fall from her lips. he’s sure it’s somewhere around 11 o’ clock, possibly nearing midnight. the two having entered the pool room at least an hour before. he knows although no one’s checking for them, it’s best to be out of here within a reasonable time. he doesn’t respond to her pleads. instead he slips out of the red and blue swim trunks, lets them pool around his ankles, before he hovers over her body, and pecks her lips a few times. slips his hands under her for what feels like the millionth time, lifting her petite frame, before placing her down in the water with him. “you ready baby?” he asks, wants to make sure this is still what they both want. before turning her around, placing her arms on the edge of the jacuzzi, spreading her legs, and aligning himself up with her entrance. once she gives the okay, he slips in, groaning at the pleasure he already feels. “shit,” he hisses, as he pulls out little by little, and thrusts in deep, trying to get into a steady rhythm, all the while making sure she’s comfortable. “fuck, you’re so wet and tight,” he groans out, as his thrusts become more rapid. admiring the glistening cream she's producing, as he slaps her right cheek, and drills into her, going as deep as he can. as her walls begin to close around him, he moves his dominant hand up to her neck, gripping it softly, and urging her to cum. his mind is free of everything else, but he subconsciously thanks audra for the fight they had earlier leading up to this.

if anyone were to tell her that she would find herself naked on the edge of a Jacuzzi while her cousins ex boyfriend ate her out, shed tell them they were crazy. the dynamic between them never being anything more than destructive at times, caring deeply for the other but not in the way that would bring them to this experience. coming to the random hotel she expected the usual blunts and bottles, but she was more than happy with the position she found herself in. a smirk found its way on her face as he repeated her words, while they both knew better, in this moment they were each others. nothing stopping them from living out their wildest fantasies. while the jacuzzi wasnt her first choice, there was something sensual about the area. being out in the public eye but still being totally private, the jets creating a sort of numbness on their skins if they were submerged. she watches as he slips out of his shorts, not even bothering to hide the action as her eyes trained to his cock, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth as she slowly raked his body. slowly working up till she met his gaze, a smirk crossing her features. her hands coming to rest around his neck, kissing him back with small giggles as she was swept from her spot. pecking his lips one more time as her hand fell to stroke him a few times, a small nod following his words. allowing herself to be positioned as he wished. her hands placed firmly on the concrete under her as she pushed back slightly onto him. A sharp intake of breathe as he pressed into her. whimpers falling from her lips at his pace, encouraging him to go harder. soon loud cries of pleasure fell from her lips, breathy words of encouragement for him, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "faster baby," she spoke with a loud moan, her back arching when he hit her spot. "right there, daddy, keep going," she could feel a knot tightening, "fuck," an almost pornographic moan coming from her lips as his hand came to rest on her throat, her own coming to rest over his a squeeze to tell him he can choke her harder as she slowly came undone underneath him.

anyone who set eyes on lia and knew of her, could assume she'd be a bit wild between the sheets. but she’d exceeded drew’s expectations. the arch of her back, giving him perfect access to the spot he wanted to reach, her meeting his each and every thrust, and the way they both were sexually connected in the moment. knowing exactly where the other wants to be touched, what the other wants to hear and when. he's had bad sex before, he’s sure she has her stories too, but drew feels like he met his match. he grants her wish, picking up speed, pounding into her like she wants. he’s close, and the feeling of her walls clenching around him, the juices coating him, as she rides her orgasm out. “so good baby girl, so good” he mutters out, knowing it's only a matter of seconds before he joins her. gripping her throat a little rougher, he slams into her will full force, burying himself within her. he feels it all, the tightening, the pleasure, the twitch and he lets out a satisfied groan as he removes his hand from around her and pulls out as quickly as he can, the semen falling in the water. he slips his swimming trucks back on, walks over to her, and gives her a passionate kiss, moving her now damp hair out of her face, still panting. “what do you say we go upstairs to our room, and go for round 2?” he smiles at her, as he hands her the bottoms to her bikini. “i’ll even keep my promise and carry you up” he winks, picking up the two nearby towels, and wrapping it around her shoulders.

like with most of the guys in the school, she had her suspicions of how Drew was in the bedroom. but everything she had thought was surpassed that night. meeting him match for match as the night went along, knowing every little thing the other wanted as the night went. there was something laying in the air around them, something that no one would be able to explain. not even the two teenagers in the jacuzzi, becoming undone within each other, forgetting the stress of world around them for just a moment. lia let out one final whimper, feeling him pull out of her. standing on shaky legs as she sat on the side of the jacuzzi, swinging her legs over to land on the steps. watching as drew collected their clothes. her hand cupping his face as she kissed him back with equal passion, maybe even more. "I think that sounds perfect," A small chuckle as she slipped her bottoms on, "Piggyback ride?" She asked a small pout on her lips as she feigned innocence towards the boy despite the less then innocent acts transpired less then a few minutes prior.

the morning after.

all that is heard is the default ringtone of an iphone, and chestnut orbs flutter open at the alarming sound. his right hand immediately goes to his head, as he shields his eyes from the sunlight through the hotel’s thin curtains, his head throbbing in pain. doesn’t miss the fact that he's completely naked under the covers. he remembers bits and pieces of last night, can taste the remnants of peach ciroc on his tongue, the groggy feeling he has because of the weed from the night prior. he tries to recollect his memory, before his phone starts ringing again, and he declines it, before looking at the notifications. 7 missed calls from audra torres, 15 text messages from audra torres. he groans, before hearing a shift in the bed, and looks over to find none other than the beauty that is lia rosenburg under the blankets, also naked from what he can tell.

he fumbles out of the sheets, muttering out a “fuck,” at his current situation. scrambling to get his jeans on, while the memories flash in his mind, the sex, the wanting, the way he felt. he goes to the other side of the bed, still shirtless, as he shakes her awake gently, “lia?” he calls out, as he moves the hair out of her face just like he had the night before.

The incessant buzzing from a phone was beginning to get to lia. Her head pounding and wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, and stay that way for the rest of the day. A huff being let out as she pulled the blanket over her head, tucking herself deeper into the blanket, trying to drown out the noise. Without even blinking her eyes open she pushed the source of the voice away. “Sleep,” she spoke softly, wrapping the blanket around her hand, uncovering her face again, pulling it up under her chin. her head throbbing as she let out a quiet groan, the brightness from the sun to much even with her eyes closed. her throat raw from what she assumed to be weed she smoked, the lingering taste in her mouth mixed with what she thought was some sort of peach vodka, based on the headache she had. Snap shots of the night prior dancing in her head, slowly sitting up as she let out a light groan, her hips feeling sore, as if she spent the night on a bike. Holding onto the blanket as she ran her fingers through her hair she slowly turned to the source of the noise. Her eyes finding a naked torso, slowly trailing her eyes up their form.

Lia couldnt help the small gasp as she made eye contact with Drew Torres, all the memories of the night prior hitting her at once. Every little touch, every word, emotion flooding back. Her head falling as she fell back against the headboard, not knowing what to say. Her mind flooding with all the consequences of what they did, but something within her still feeling on fire as she recounted their entire night.

drew can't help but gaze at the girl, giving her a soft smile, before running hands through his brunette hair, and sitting down on the side of the bed. the room is half trashed, and he wonders if they had sex here too, before shrugging it off as an ‘of course’. looking at the home screen of his phone again, he finds that it’s 9:24 AM, and they’re expected to be checked out by noon. he scratches the back of his neck, before giving lia another once over, catching the hickeys painted onto her neck. “did we?” he asks, motioning to himself then her, doesn't specify, but they both know what he means.

she brought her head back up, giving him small smile as well, glancing around for any shirt she could find quickly. her eyes taking in the state of the room, bottles and empty blunt packages scattered around. she knew what they did, her mind racing as she thought of all the things that could go wrong. she didnt know how many times they had sex, but she did know her legs were killing her, and it was gonna be a fun walk to the elevator. her eyes caught his gaze, chuckling softly at his words, her hand coming to run through her hair, as much as she could anyway. The blanket falling from her shoulders ever so slightly, "I think we did," She spoke, biting her lip softly as she processed her words.

#rosenburg-lia #blame it on the alcohol.#do not read this lmao.#smut /#smut //#tw: smut #tw smut #alcohol /#alcohol //#tw: alcohol #tw alcohol #drugs /#drugs //#tw: drugs #tw drugs

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

Text

What He Wants (Pt. 14)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary: On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: none, just domestic fluff

Word Count: 1831

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We are firmly into fluff territory now. Like serious, tooth rotting fluff. Ya’ll might want to see a dentist after this ;)

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

XOXO -Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 14

In the early morning light you wake to a heavy, hot weight over your waist. You’re overheated but extremely comfortable and it takes you a moment to realize the tickling on the back of your neck is from Bucky’s breath against your hair. At some point during the night you had both shifted to the center of the bed and became entwined. He has his right arm thrown around your waist and he’s lying partly on his stomach and partly around you. His head is pressed against your neck in your hair and you can’t understand how he doesn’t mind laying like that. You had your arms wrapped around his when you woke, and you are reluctant to let him go. You’re afraid to wake him and lose this perfect, warm moment but you know it’s inevitable and he will likely not be thrilled to wake up like this. You shift to roll away but his arm tightens his grasp on you. “Where ya goin’, mouse?” He asks, his Brooklyn accent thick in his semi-conscious state.

You freeze, he is awake and not pulling away. “I have to pee.” You say honestly and pull yourself out from under him.

Your voice and movements wake him up fully and he jolts back. “I’m sorry, God, mouse, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. Apparently we’re both cuddlers. Who knew?”

Bucky’s eyes widen at your flippant comment and you hurry to the bathroom before you die of embarrassment. You scrub at your face with a cold wash cloth, staring at your reflection for a moment. You had lost your mind, clearly. You pile your hair on top of your head in your standard messy bun and steel your nerves to go back out and face the man in your bed.

Bucky had already gotten up and dressed. When you enter the bedroom he takes off towards the bathroom without a word. He can’t be around you for the time being, you are too soft and too beautiful in the morning light. He had been having the most wonderful dream of dancing with you in a ballroom, both hands wrapped around your waist leading your movements to a slow song. You had worn a red carnation in your hair and smiled at him like he was your whole world. When he had started waking he thought it was part of the dream. He curses himself for his foolishness. He needs to get himself together before he does something stupid and scares you off. The memory of last night and the way you had touched him has him gripping the side of the sink trying to catch his bearings.

It’s been almost 80 years since he wanted a woman the way he wants you. After HYDRA had gotten their claws in him he’d had the singular focus of the Winter Soldier, or was on ice. There was no time for attraction or desire for sex during that time, it was just rage and fear. After Steve had helped him get out, well, he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material anymore. If his scars didn’t scare people off the permanent scowl he wore surely would. He had become a pro at keeping people at a distance and it was a hard habit to break. Bucky thinks about your words in the hospital, what did he want the rest of his life to look like? He has to admit, until he saw Steve come back aged he wasn’t sure they were capable of growing old because of the serum. The damn serum that was forever mixed with his DNA, ruining his insides the same way the HYDRA surgeons had ruined his outside. Risking a glance in the mirror he shakes his head at his reflection. He will just need to keep himself in check better, just like he does with the winter bastard rolling around in his subconscious.

Bucky’s resolve lasts all the way to the kitchen where he finds you dancing around to some upbeat song, still wearing your night shirt which rides up your thighs a little higher every time you shimmy. He leans back against the door jam and coughs lightly so as not to startle you. You are completely unphased by his presence and send him a wide smile across the little pink and white kitchen.

“I’m making French Toast. Your favorite, right?” You ask as you continue your movements, swaying as you coat a piece of bread with the egg mixture. You plop the soaked piece of bread in a sizzling pan and Bucky forgets every harsh reminder he had given himself only minutes before in the bathroom.

“Yeah, mouse, that’s my favorite.” He says roughly, trying to reign himself in. “You didn’t have to-“

You cut him off before he makes excuses you don’t need, “I like it too, so it works out. Can you grab the syrup from that cupboard?” You point to the one and Bucky is quick to respond.

“Yeah, what else can I get for you?” He asks shuffling around the small kitchen the best he can with his crutch.

“Plates are in there” you point, “And silverware is in that drawer” you point again.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky replies with no trace of sarcasm.

Bucky has the table set by the time you place the first piece of toast on a platter by the stove. He looks around, wanting to stay busy while you work. “Can I get a pot of coffee started?” He offers.

“Sure, grounds and filters are in there.”

“Thanks. Where’s the salt?”

“The salt?” You look at him incredulously.

“Yeah, to throw in with the grounds.”

“Um, Bucky, don’t take this wrong but salt doesn’t go in coffee grounds.”

“Just you wait and see. My ma taught me this trick. It does somethin’ with the grounds, makes ‘em taste better. Less bitter. Just trust me, okay, mouse?”

You shake your head and wave your hand at him, letting him have his way. You can just make a new batch if it tastes weird. Bucky gets the coffee machine going and hops up on your kitchen countertop, sitting happily next to your work area. You’re surprised it holds the super soldier, but it seems stable. He swings his legs a little, happily watching you work. His cheerfulness is unnerving and you feel the creeping of a blush starting in your chest and working its way up your cheeks. You wish Bucky could be like this all the time, but you know he can’t ignore his issues forever and you need to make the most of these carefree moments when they happen.

Having him so close while you cook is comforting and you place a hand on his thigh before you realize what you’re doing. Bucky’s eyes widen and his lips part in surprise. You pull your hand away as if you had placed it on the stove instead of him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I-I-I’m so sorry.” You stutter, wishing the floor would open up into a void that you could fling yourself into.

Bucky ambles down from the countertop to go check on the coffee which is doing just fine on its own. He also needs to readjust things. Bucky feels like a teenager again, unable to control his body’s responses to a pretty girl. It’s difficult for him to hide his reaction behind his fitted black jeans but he does his best to think of every disgusting thing he can to wipe any remaining lust from his system.

You almost burn the next piece of toast, turning it just in time before it goes from just really dark to charred. You can’t shake the feel of Bucky’s thigh beneath your hand from your mind. It was so wide, thickly muscled, and powerful. You force your wayward mind to stop conjuring up imaginings of those thighs against other parts of your body, trying to get a grip on yourself. You cool off while making the last few pieces and then join Bucky at the table with the giant pile of French Toast. He’s sipping his coffee with a satisfied smile, clearly ready to gloat.

“Just like my ma used to make it.” He says with a flourish as he hands you the cup.

You roll your eyes but accept the offered cup, taking a sip of the salted coffee. To your surprise there isn’t even a hint of salt in the brew. It’s strong and rich, definitely better than when you normally make it, and you want to smack the smug look off Bucky’s face. “Damnit.” You grumble as you take another long sip.

Bucky laughs and it’s a harsh, almost dorky sound, seeming to have burst out before he could control it. You try not to snort your coffee through your nose and hold back the laughter bubbling up in your throat. Bucky’s cheeks tinged red, embarrassed at his outburst.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You concede, raising your cup to him.

“You’re very welcome, mouse. Thanks for cooking again.” He takes four pieces of toast and starts dousing them with syrup. You try not to make a face, still unable to believe the way he eats. You pick two pieces off the plate for yourself, giving them a slight drizzle of syrup and then dig in. The coffee is good enough to go back for seconds and you catch Bucky’s pleased grin out of the corner of your eye. He polishes off eight pieces before pushing himself back from the table with a sigh. “A man can get used to this.” He teases.

“Oh really? Well, as soon as man is feeling better he can get used to doing dishes too.” You sass back.

“Oh come on, mouse. You know I’m gonna help you once I’m back on both feet. I’m gonna cook for you, I’ll do the dishes, take care of the laundry, whatever you need. Just gimme another day to rest up.”

“I know you’re good for it, no worries.” You get up to take care of the dishes, trying to keep your mind busy before it goes to all the other places you would like Bucky’s help.

Bucky places his hand over your wrist, stilling your movement, “Seriously, mouse. I can’t repay you for taking me in like this. I know I’m a pain in the ass, and I’m gonna triple your grocery bill, but I really appreciate it.” The genuine gratefulness in his eyes stops you in your tracks even more than the contact of his hand on your wrist. Your brain struggles to come up with an appropriate response but all you come up with is “Any time.” It’s trite and you hate the sound of your voice. You force yourself to break the contact before you do something stupid like pull him against your chest and kiss him senseless. It’s barely 9am and you already know it’s going to be a long day.

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty @ladyemofhousestark @abswritesfandoms

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fandom #marvel fangirl #marvel avengers #post endgame #post avengers endgame #winter soldier #what he wants #series #part fourteen

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elcrivain · 6 years ago

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Hi Ellis! I'm a literature student and I've been working on a school paper. I'm going to talk about Jane Austen on my paper. Sooo I wanna ask if what is a common factor that you’ve noticed in all six novels of Jane Austen? I will be waiting for your response!! Thank you so much

There are a few common factors across Austen’s novels:

1.) Bad parents - this one is in fact so common as to leave few good parents to write about.

Perhaps most famous is the silly Mrs. Bennet, who flusters and fidgets over her five girls, obsessing over marrying them and lending Pride and Prejudice its marvellous opening.

She is not alone. Whether it is:

Mr. Dashwood, failing to provide for Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret in Sense and Sensibility (or alternatively failing to foresee his son, John, will be so selfish)

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram neglecting all of their children until it is too late for some in Mansfield Park

Mr. Woodhouse leaning too hard on Emma, fussy hypochondriac that he is, and expecting far too much from his daughters in Emma

General Tilney the warhorse and monstrously bad host in Northanger Abbey

Sir Walter spoiling Elizabeth, ignoring Mary, and sneering at Anne, in Persuasion; or

Mr. Bennet forgetting that having a silly wife is no excuse for not providing for and protecting his children in Pride and Prejudice

Austen stuffs her novels with bad parents.

2.) Hypocritical snobs - Austen loves to write about snobs, and loves far more to write about those with precarious positions in the social sphere.

Caroline Bingley is a great example of this, snubbing Jane’s relatives who are actually of higher social standing than her own grandparents’, but without the wealth of her father.

Mrs. Norris, the mere wife of a country parson, flouts her superiority over little Fanny. She is a distasteful fool.

Emma, ferociously proud of her own position, simultaneously raises Harriet Smith, a no one and likely illegitimate, and complains that the Coles do not invite her to their party when she would not be able to accept. Augusta Elton is worse still, not even realising that she is on rocky ground when she complains about the people who would set themselves above the Sucklings.

Willoughby is a hypocritical snob, not seeing that his own character is far lower than the “foolish” and “silly” people he mocks. Marianne gets the snob label, which she absolutely is, but not a hypocrite one.

3.) Scoundrels and bad boys - Every novel needs a villain and Austen’s rogues gallery is fairly complete:

P&P’s Wickham sets a high standard. He seduces, elopes, flirts, charms, and “makes love to us all.” Was there ever such a charming rotter?

Well of course, there’s Willoughby in S&S, seducing all of us before abandoning us pregnant with hope but, luckily, nothing else. He even shares the same W-initialed surname. While Wickham marries the girl he seduces. Willoughby leaves his teenage victim alone and pregnant, while he marries a young woman who is in for a bad time of it with him. Though her vicious nature possibly makes it a fair match.

Mr. Elliot in Persuasion is less obviously charming, and also less devastating. Poor Mrs Smith suffers through his inaction, but there are no pregnant teenagers in his wake. We also have him to thank for making Anne and Captain Wentworth aware of the other’s feelings, when he interrupts their tete a tete at the Assembly Rooms concert.

A more understandable villain lurks in Mansfield Park. Henry Crawford is a selfish child in a man’s body. He takes what he wants, and he pays for it in the end. Pretty, shy Fanny would have made him a better man. Instead, she gets to prig-happily-ever after with Edmund. Sigh.

Northanger Abbey has more than one scoundrel, but it’s John Thorpe who does the most damage, in his limited way. Though Captain Frederick Tilney wreaks havoc as well.

Emma is restricted to the least bad men, Mr. Elton doesn’t really get the title as he’s just a bit mean. Frank Churchill is a bad boy however, as he spends the whole novel deceiving everyone and treating his love badly. I would argue that there is a hidden scoundrel in Mr. Woodhouse though, who is so selfish that it’s a miracle he doesn’t cause more damage.

4.) Wise young women - Austen is littered with young women who are usually wiser than their elders, though it doesn’t always do them much good.

P&P’s Charlotte Collins nee Lucas, for all that she may not ever love her husband, has far more foresight than Lizzie, eight years her junior.

MP’s Fanny Price sees what none of her cousins can, that while play acting is dangerous, Lovers’ Vows can only end in disaster and that Mariah and Henry are playing a very dangerous game. She is a Cassandra. No one listens to her, but she still sees.

S&S’s Elinor Dashwood is smart enough to see through Lucy, but that can’t save her from her machinations. She is trapped by her own goodness, but she also has all the wisdom her kindly but foolish mother lacks.

NA’s Eleanor Tilney manages to glide above the craziness occurring around her without falling for the novels bad boys, getting caught up in the nuttiness of her best friend’s imagination, or marrying beneath her. Quite a feat.

Emma’s Jane Fairfax is perhaps the least wise of the women in this list, but she has the maturity that Emma and Harriet both lack. She knows she’s facing a harsh future as a governess, but retains her dignity no matter what, even when her lover is flirting with another woman in front of her.

Persuasion’s Anne Elliot has hard-won wisdom and is the oldest of our young women. She is wise now because she has had time to reflect and reason to regret. She sees through her father and sisters, never falls in love with the scoundrel of her novel, and wins herself an excellent marriage and social position by staying true to herself.

Note, as much as I like her, Lizzie Bennet does not have a great deal of wisdom, though she’s getting there by the end.

I can think of more, but they don’t hold true across all six books.

Lizzie, Anne, Catherine, Fanny and Elinor are all book lovers, but Emma can barely finish one, despite good intentions.

Many heroines have bitchy friends or mean girl relatives, but their position and power are inconsistent.

The heroes vary in attractiveness, affluence, and affability.

The fates of the heroines vary as well - we all envy Lizzie marrying Darcy, but few of us feel like Fanny won a similarly sized prize in Edmund.

So a few other things, more about the society than anything else, bind the books:

5.) Humour - They are all funny. How funny varies by how much you know what Austen is satirising for Northanger Abbey, playing with Lovers’ Vows in Mansfield Park, or realise about the characters in Pride and Prejudice, which is really much funnier if you think of Mr Collins as only twenty-four, rather than his usual casting in his thirties.

Austen is consistently one of the funniest writers of any novels ever. Her books are full of crackers.

6.) Social satire - We don’t always realise what she’s satirising now as we lack some of the context her readers had, but Austen is always out with her embroidery needle to prick social pretensions and foolishness.

7.) Happy endings - All of our heroines get happy endings with desirable men, most of whom are at least tolerably handsome and kind. We believe that all of them will live happily ever after.

8.) Genius - All of Austen’s novels showcase her genius to varying levels. Whether it is in the perfect retelling of Cinderella for the Regency era for Pride and Prejudice, the quiet and very gentle subversion of the classic passive heroine’s arc in Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey’s clever gothic satire, a meditation on expectation vs reality in Sense and Sensibility, the depiction of a more mature, Sleeping Beauty love in Persuasion, or creating one of the most complex and difficult heroines in Emma, Austen lays down a gauntlet that no one has yet managed to pick up.

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theyearoftheking · 5 years ago

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Book Six: The Dead Zone

“We all do what we can, and it has to be good enough... and if it isn’t good enough, it has to be. Nothing is ever lost. Nothing that can’t be found.”

When I announced my next book was The Dead Zone, my brother-in-law admitted to never reading it, or seeing the movie, because it felt dated. He’s not wrong. The 1983 movie felt dated when I’d watch it in the 1990′s. But that didn’t stop me from imagining Christopher Walken during the entire book. So, here’s some cowbell for your Tuesday! Sorry, I’m home with a sick kid, doing training for my job, I need to find joy where I can.

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But The Dead Zone is still eerily important. I need to stop reading Steve’s books... it’s too much... first I picked up The Stand during the Coronavirus outbreak, and now I’m reading about shitty politicians during a particularly shitty election season.

Who hasn’t asked themselves the question... “If you could go back in time and kill Hitler- would you do it?”

Being a disciple of Ray Bradbury, I’d have to answer probably not. I read The Sound of Thunder during my formative years, and it hit hard. I’m also a disciple of Steve, and 11/22/63 taught me what a world where Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated looks like. And that fictional world is bleak, my friends.

Let’s get into it, shall we?

When Johnny Smith was a little boy, he was ice skating, and had a nasty fall. This fall gave him mild psychic abilities. A teeny bit of The Shine, if you will. Fast forward to grown-up John, he’s a teacher and living in the quaint town of Cleaves Mills. To keep the quaint theme going, he’s about to take Sarah, a fellow teacher, to the county fair on a date. Presh, I know.

Now... this is when the book just becomes one big homage to Ray Bradbury. The county fair is straight out of Something Wicked This Way Comes; which Steve actually references at one point. The manic laughter, the spinning rides,, the smell of carnival food, and the feeling of something evil lurking just under the surface is all there. It’s a masterful tribute.

On their way out of the fair, John stops and decides to try his luck at a Wheel of Fortune carny game. You know... the type of game you never actually win at. But his Shine comes into play, and he ends up walking away from the game $500 richer (three weeks salary according to Sarah!). But Sarah suddenly feels sick. She blames it on a bad carny hot dog, but I’m pretty sure The Shine is wafting off John like a noxious fume, and she inhaled too much of it. John gets Sarah safely home, and takes a taxi back to his apartment. Well, tries to take a taxi back... the taxi ends up crushed by some hoods out drag racing, and John ends up in a coma for four and a half years.

Yes.

Four and a half years.

I’m not smart enough to do the math and adjust for inflation; but can you imagine what hospital bills for four and a half years worth of treatment must look like? I mean, I’d almost rather they pull the plug on me. It would be less painful than waking up and finding I’m going to be broke for the rest of my life.

John’s parents Herb and Vera are thrilled he’s awake. Vera is cut from the same kind of crazy culty-religious cloth as Margaret White (Carrie’s mom); and believes there’s a holy reason why John is still alive. John needs to have some painful surgeries to have his leg muscles stretched (because, atrophy is a bitch after four and a half years in a hospital bed); and then some spooky shit starts happening. John has discovered he can touch someone’s hand, and learn all kinds of interesting things about them. For example, he touches the hand of Dr. Weizak, and informs him that his mother didn’t actually die in a concentration camp, she’s alive and well in California. Then, he freaks a physical therapist out by telling her she needs to call the fire department, her apartment is on fire. The news media gets wind of John’s new powers, and they start relentlessly hounding him.

While still in the hospital, he gets a call from Herb, letting him know Vera has had a stroke, and is in Cumberland General Hospital (you know, just above Jerusalem’s Lot). So, Dr. Weizak rushes him to the hospital, and Vera tells him a voice will tell him what to do, and she believes in his higher purpose. Then she dies.

Oh, Vera. She’s had a fun life. At one point, she was a member of The American Society for Last Times. “They were led by Mr. and Mrs. Harry L Stonkers from Racine, Wisconsin. Mr. and Mrs. Stonkers claimed to have been picked up by a flying saucer while they were on a camping trip. They had been taken away to heaven, which was not out in the constellation Orion, but on an earth-type planet that circled Arcturus. There they had communed with the society of angels and had seen Paradise. The Stonkers had been informed that the Last Times were at hand...”

I laughed so hard, because of course the crazy cult leaders were from Racine. I worked for a company based in Racine for several years, and one of my co-workers was of this same kind of crazy religious bend. He told me “my lifestyle” flew in the face of what God intended. For the record, my lifestyle was being one of those crazy, new-aged career gals, with a stay-at-home husband raising our two year old. It’s easy to understand what’s so offensive about that.

But the worst part was when this co-worker decided to “treat” his teenage daughters to a home-schooled prom. He rented a limo, ordered flowers, made dinner reservations... and was their date. But no dancing of course, because... religion. When I relayed this story back to my husband later on, he asked me which daughter was going to end up getting lucky on prom night with dad. Ick.

So yes, cult leaders in Racine- 100% believable.

After Vera’s death, John continues his life, living with his dad, healing from his horrible leg muscle surgery, and he even keeps in touch with Sarah, even an ill-advised hook-up for final closure. People keep sending him letters and trinkets, hoping he can help them find lost objects, or solve mysteries. He’s not having it. He just wants to go back to teaching, and lead a “normal” life. But alas, there is this nagging voice (it belongs to Vera) telling him he was awakened from his coma for a reason. He needs to serve a higher purpose. So, he ends up going to Castle Rock, Maine; and helps the sheriff solve a series of murders. Castle Rock is a fun place, FYI. They have a Flagg street there.

After his face is splashed across the tabloids for helping solve the murders, his school district doesn’t want him teaching anymore, and his life has little purpose. After a few years of moping around on his dad’s land, he ends up tutoring young, charismatic, Chuck Chatsworth; and uses his Shine to help Chuck get around the dead zone he has with reading and comprehending text.

A note about “the dead zone”... it’s a term John uses quite a bit to describe the gray area he can’t quite see through/around when he’s holding someone’s hand and telling them something important.

John gets on super well with Chuck’s dad, Roger. One night they’re watching tv, and Roger can’t stop talking about this political wildcard, Gregory Stillson, who is running for a House seat. “The man is a clown. He goes charging around the speaking platform like that at every rally. Throws his helmet into the crowd- I’d guess he’s gone through a hundred of them by now- and gives out hot dogs. He’s a clown, so what? Maybe people need a little comic relief from time to time. We’re running out of oil, the inflation is slowly but surely getting out of control, the average guy’s tax load has never been heavier... So people want a giggle or two. Even more, they want to thumb their noses at the political establishment that doesn’t seem able to solve anything...”

John keeps working for the Chatsworth family, and helps get Chuck into Stovington Prep... yes, the same Stovington Prep as in The Shining. At one point, Chuck is talking about his English teacher, “I like him a lot. Our teacher told us he still lives over in N.H. but has given up writing. That blows my mind. Why would someone just give up when they are going great guns?” I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but I’m 87% sure his teacher was one Jack Torrance.

In the meantime, Stillson wins his election. And John endears himself further to the Chatsworth family the night of Chuck’s graduation, when he has a vision of a fire at Cathy’s restaurant; where a lot of families planned on going to celebrate. John pleads with people not to go to Cathy’s. Some listen, others don’t, but he does end up saving some lives. And then he becomes a recluse, fixated on Gregory Stillson.

Stillson is a bad dude. He’s done a lot of shady shit, and he’s had a lot of people killed. He also worked in real estate development for a while. Smirk.

He knows he needs to take Stillson out before he becomes President, and gets the country pulled into another war. “I have to do something about Stillson. I have to. I was right about Cathy’s, and I’m going to be right about this. There is absolutely no question in my mind. He is going to become president and he is going to start a war- or cause one through simple mismanagement of the office, which amounts to the same thing.”

Oh, how quaint... when the biggest fear is the President starting another war... not the President getting us all killed by nuclear weapons. But, this book was set post-Vietnam, so the feeling is honest.

John goes to a rally, and hides on the upper balcony, hoping to shoot Stillson. He gets a couple shots off, before Stillson grabs a baby to use as a shield (yeah... really...), to prevent John from shooting him again. John ends up shot by Stillson’s goons and he dies, but so does Stillson’s political career, because of a photo showing him using the baby as a body shield. So, his mission was mostly carried out. We also find out John had a brain tumor, which may or may not have caused his abilities.

So, yeah. That’s The Dead Zone. This was a long review for a really short (by Steve standards) book. But it was fun because there were so many references to his previous five books. And yes, the book was published in 1979, but I feel it still holds up. And it has me wondering how/if Trump supporters would explain away Trump using a baby as a shield. I mean... the man has done far worse than that and has still been elected, so....

God damn, I really did not intend for this blog to become political, but here we are! Welcome to the new climate around election season!

There was one lone Dark Tower reference, “He opened the paperback with the picture of the gunslinger shouldering his way through a set of saloon batwings...”

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 9

Dark Tower References: 5

Book Grade B+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Shining

The Stand

The Dead Zone

‘Salem’s Lot

Carrie

Night Shift

Next up is Firestarter. Yes, cute little Drew Barrymore. I can’t wait.

Until next time readers, Long Days and Pleasant Nights!

Rebecca

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