#and tha first sip is the best part | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostaholics · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒

➸ PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader (established relationship) ➸ WARNING(S): [ 18+ ] body shots; oral (receiving); ruined orgasm; basically PWP with slight BDSM (disciplinary action) ➸ SUMMARY: Simon teaches you a very important lesson about holding still – extended version of this. ➸ A/N: Thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck who lets me bitch about anything and everything including this and offered kind words when I certainly lost faith in the whole thing. ➸ WORD COUNT: 2.2k

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐍, 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄. Pilfered from his not-so-secret stash and running low with about a quarter left; the contents slosh around in their bottle-shaped confinement as he stalks into the room with a heavy hand swallowing around the widest circumference of the glass.

Good memories, usually. Like the first time he’d brandished his titanium pocket flask for you to take a sip. You’d scrunched your nose, feigning disapproval of the drink. And he'd said – cheeky as always – with a low-timbered response:

"Don't worry. The taste of your cunt's still my favourite."

But now, there’s no trace of that Simon anywhere to be seen. His face is entirely devoid of the amusement he already so rarely expressed. Stone-rigid. Unimpressed. Disappointed – seems like – and certainly not in the mood for any games.

❝ 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐇? ❞

It's a red-hot brand searing the edges of your memory (charred, ash-coated, lined by the cinders of a poor attempt on your part that had gone up into flickering embers).

See, the brain remembers it well.

Your cunt, too: the walls hugging his cock, full of his cum – excessively so, nearly bursting with it after he'd buried himself to the hilt and stayed inside just to plug your snug little hole, ensuring that none of it would dribble out after he’d fucked you senseless. He’d given you plenty, more than enough. And it’d been generous of Simon. A gift, really, considering the enormity of the initial request.

Make me yours?

He’d only had one thing to say, just a simple favour in return for doing this, for indulging you. His voice had been hoarse, sandpaper-rough from overuse – your fault entirely – eroded away after being subjected to a whole night's worth of groaning against the shell of your ear and telling you just how fucking good you felt before you'd milked him for everything he was worth with your greedy, pulsing self.

Keep it all in then.

You’d done your best not to clench, but stretched taut around the girth of his cock like that, you'd just wanted to readjust. Not a lot. But the position you'd been in wasn't the most conducive one for this. And you’d shifted – barely, practically inconsequential (or so you’d thought) – to where you wouldn’t have even thought it’d matter except—

It had.

Pushed some of it out, that is. A stream of cum trickling down onto an area of the duvet, staining it – the unfortunate aftermath of your decision to move.

Thas’ a shame. Thought you wanted it. Guess I was wrong.

Simon comes to a stop at the foot of the bed where you're sitting; he towers over you – an intimidating, subduing presence without even having to try. "Had to wash the sheets because you couldn't keep it all in.”

You blink in surprise as your mouth parts slightly in what you're sure must be a dumbfounded expression. Of course, this is nothing new. You were there. Responsible for the incident, apparently. And though it wasn't necessarily your fault, you still feel the need to explain that it was due to factors beyond your control. “There was so much—” (As if it'll help your case.)

But he's never cared much for excuses.

“How ‘m I supposed to finish inside you knowing that you’re just going to waste it?” he asks. It's a rhetorical question, not one that actually requires an answer.

Your chin tips down in a silent apology. There's something heavy sitting in your chest; remorse, you think.

He grips your jaw in his hand, forces you to look at him. “Yeah, love. We’ll fix that. Gonna teach you how to be grateful, how to understand the value in the things I give to you."

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒.

He makes you tell him your colors.

You do.

He asks if you know what you’re supposed to get out of this.

You answer that he’s probably going to have to wash the sheets again before you can learn whatever lesson he’s trying to impose on you.

Yeah, that earns you a sharp pinch to the hip.

That massive body of his sinks to the floor, one leg bending down before the other joins it, rough carpet cutting into his knees, undoubtedly. Then, his fingers curl around your legs, blunt digits sinking in – ten identical divots pressed into the flesh. He leaves light indentations with his palms spanning along the sides of your thighs to spread you open while his elbows anchor into the mattress.

Heat blooms across your skin, every surface that he touches and even in the places that he doesn't – white-hot, intentional (and he never does anything without purpose); it sparks a fever that fans out, unfurls. There's no part of you left unaffected. You're growing warmer by a few degrees. Doesn't sound like much, but it's enough to make a noticeable difference if the beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck are any indication.

And Simon lets out a soft scoff. Cocky. Like he knew what was waiting for him—

You're soaked, absolutely drenched. Cotton panties, sticky –saturated beyond belief. If you looked there yourself, you wouldn't be surprised to find a damp patch on the fabric steadily growing in size.

He's such a sight, too: the contour of his muscles shifting and rippling, all brawn and power – his presence speaking volumes about just who holds the cards right now, undeniably the one in control here; the visual of his stature and build emphasize that. And authority bleeding from the width of his shoulders if not spelled out by his words alone.

"Haven't even touched you, and you're already dripping," he murmurs. "Why?"

Your mouth trips and stutters over your own words the same way your heart trips and stutters over his. "Because you—y-you're..."

His thumbs hook into your panties, slowly peels them away – not an easy feat, damn things are clinging to your cunt – before dragging them down your legs. "Say it, sweetheart. What do you think I'm gonna do to you?"

And your mind is racing, jumping too many steps ahead. "You're going to eat me out?"

Simon stuffs his panties in his back pocket for safekeeping. A souvenir, since there won't be much use for them now. "I'm gonna eat you out," he affirms.

"Mhm, yeah. Want your mouth on me."

"Whether or not you come depends entirely on if I feel like letting you."

"Oh—"

"Spill a single drop, and you don't come tonight," he says, never one to draw out the details. His instructions are concise, uncomplicated. Then, further inquiry. "We clear?"

"Yeah..." you say with a shaky breath before trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Yes."

"Good girl," he purrs low, almost a growl – though you're not quite certain that you deserve the praise yet.

He’s answering to a shrine, beckoned forward by the invitation of a wet cunt and the promise of a taste of your slick. He pauses, takes a brief moment to admire it in his own way, almost reverent as he takes in how your arousal’s smeared everywhere from your folds to your inner thighs (all for him, because of him – isn’t that right?).

But make no mistake, there’s absolutely nothing respectful about the act that comes next. Simon leans, forces his shoulders to hold you open, before he bows his head and he licks; it’s a hungry tongue lapping at the slit, everything terribly hot and wet – the sensation makes you jolt upon first contact because it's too much. So, so much.

And at the same time, not enough.

The feeling spikes along the circuit running from your head to your toes – empty thoughts save for the white static that buzzes in the hollow of your skull, a tingling, prickling paresthesia-sort-of-thing that usually accompanies the high of an orgasm. Except, the irony’s not lost on you in this instance; he’s hardly even begun to wreak havoc on your cunt yet.

Currents zip down your spine, down, further down, everything else collateral damage. No part of you is spared by the overwhelming fervor responsible for it – the initial onslaught of his mouth laying waste at the spread of your entrance.

Every single nerve-ending is on-edge, trigger-sensitive as he sucks, and kisses, and fuck are his groans heavy, bone-deep, the rumble of a thunderstorm gathering in his chest. They radiate from the point of origin where your core’s suffering, reverberating tremors that diffuse out to the rest of you. It makes your skin thrum like a live wire. There’s no hope of staying in a fixed position if he keeps this up. How could you? The odds are zero to none. It isn’t feasible.

You forget your place, can't help but squirm within his iron grip.

Then, Simon; a severe reprimand— "Watch it," he rasps. It’s a lull amidst the incursion, an unplanned interlude. Temporary reprieve (barely) so he can scold you for your inability to follow his instructions.

A low whimper leaves your throat. That's completely out of the question, beyond what you're currently capable of. Easier said than done. "I'm trying—"

"Then try harder."

Despite how weighed down your eyelids feel, you manage to guide your laden gaze south, let it roam over your stomach. The dark, amber liquid in your navel sways; it rocks, sloshes with the tide, a consequence born from the pull and heave of your jarring movements. Exercise caution. This is delicate work – a balancing act. Those thoughts are cloudy.

Your mind is fuzzy, thick, a drunken haze. Buzzed, lightheaded. And everything's off-kilter. But you haven't had a single drop of alcohol. None at all. Couldn’t, because everything's still sitting in your navel right there like it’s supposed to.

Simon dips his head back between your legs, continues to seal his mouth over you, flattening his tongue to lick thick stripes from your entrance to your clit. He doesn't let up, only bringing his face closer, following that same path again and again and again – agonizing – until you're trembling. The noises he’s making, something debauched and bottomless – one wet groan after the other. This isn't for you. It's for him, that much is clear.

You plead anyways, hoping he'll grant you an amnesty that you haven't earned in the least bit, "Need you inside. Anything, just—"

"Sure you can handle it?"

Breathless when you say, "Ah, yeah..."

"We'll see about that," Simon murmurs.

He doesn't believe you.

To be fair, you’re not so sure you do either.

But he's courteous, slips one finger in and lets you clamp around him. And your cunt flutters, welcomes the feeling.

You release a soft moan. “Want more, Si. Feels good."

His face turns to the side, wet nose and chin grazing along your thigh to spread the slick in more places that haven't been drenched yet. Then he bites. Gentle. An admonishment. Nothing serious about it though: scraping, the light pressure of teeth sinking into the skin as he pulls with his mouth.

You jerk suddenly before catching yourself.

"Don't be fuckin' greedy. You'll take what I give you, and you'll thank me for it." He's curt, perfunctory. No delay as he offers up his two fingers to your mouth. The expectation is clear. “Suck.” And he's waiting.

You wrap your lips around them, swallowing him down, not one to squander an opportunity sitting in front of you, right? You understand that now.

“So tell me how good you taste.”

"I-um, taste good—"

"Yeah, you fuckin' do."

"Thank you."

“Mhm.”

You can't see it, but you can hear it: the low clinking of a belt being unbuckled, the sound of a zipper being undone. Clinking metal and rustling denim being tampered with somewhere below your line of sight as he reaches down, almost like he— is he… oh.

Most of his body's obscured by the edge of the bed, but everything from the chest up is still visible. Simon's shoulder is bobbing slightly, arm pumping back and forth in a rhythmic motion and fuck, he's getting himself off to this.

That sends another spark of arousal to your core, makes you gush. It adds to the mess coating his jaw, his chin, his lips. You whimper out something – broken syllables – his name, maybe. You’re not entirely sure.

God, you’re almost there. So close. Wound up tight, hips rolling against his mouth, chasing his tongue—

Until he stops entirely. No contact. Simon pulls away in such a rush that you gasp, startled.

"Look at that." Accusatory.

It's a trail of liquor dribbling over the curve of your stomach, down your side in small rivulets. There are streaks pooling onto the sheets underneath you. Tragic.

(Couldn't help yourself, huh?)

Guilty as charged.

Shit.

"What'd I say – told you to hold still, yeah?"

And even though you had a feeling it would happen, you still have the nerve to act surprised at the result. "Fuck," you whine pathetically. "Was so close—"

"We're starting over. Don't care if it takes us all night, we're gonna keep at this 'til you get it right or you use up the rest of the whiskey," he says, readying himself to deposit another pour of alcohol into your navel. Simon lifts his shoulder in a light shrug like he can't be bothered about the final outcome. "Better pray that it works out before the bottle’s empty. Won't let you finish otherwise, sweetheart. Understand?"

#honestly i got so lazy towards the end but that is not my problem #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw 2 #call of duty smuty #ghost cod

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nvuy · 7 months ago

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tumblr did not let me post this as a proper answer because tumblr hates me. BUT the council says: BEHOLD. an excerpt from my potential extended hijacked spin off boothill fic that that may or may not be potentially finished and posted so........... take it..................... anon you might not ever see this post but the brainworms are so huge and genius and i think you cooked......................

“Tha’s the hardest part… still bein’ here.”

There’s smoke in the air, and it curls around the windshield of your car. He’s called shotgun, as per usual, but that’s because you refuse to let him drive. Especially at night. He makes you feel sick when he takes corners faster than he slams the brakes at red lights.

The car hasn’t moved for a while. The drive had been rocky; there was no destination. Just away from the city for now. You’ve managed to find a secluded area deep in a stretch of trees, and there hasn’t been a car that’s passed on the dingy highway for ages now.

Smoking does nothing for him. He doesn’t have lungs to fill anymore, and the taste never appealed to him, but it helped take his mind off of everything.

Boothill felt the tug of the cigarette between his lips, and he let it go from his mouth before he watched as you shakily held it to your lips.

It’s disgusting. He snickers slightly when you cough and scrunch your eyes shut. You hand the cigarette back to him slowly.

You fan at your face, careful not to spill the half full bottle of wine balancing between your legs and the car seat. It’s one of the fancy brands Boothill snatched off the shelf on the way out of the bar from earlier after the manager had ordered him out. Something about not serving crooks. Whatever.

Your car reeks of smoke.

As much as the smell clogged your lungs, you hope it stays this way.

“‘Specially since, y’know, it woulda been better if one o’ my dads lived, or my sisters, or even–” He takes another drag of the cigarette. “But, nah. Fate’s finicky like that. Leaves the worst ones standin’. That’s why we’re still around.”

And he’s right.

You take a sip from the bottle. You’re tipsy now. Definitely. You feel lighter than usual, and you’d worry about driving back somewhere to stay for the night.

You can’t drive in this state.

Boothill could drive back. You're too drunk to panic over how badly he swerves over the road.

And if he can’t, you could just sleep in the car for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And, with him, maybe you would be okay.

Your vision is blurry, and there's an incessant burning beneath your eyelids. You quickly wipe your eyes. “Yeah.” God, you wish it was you who had disappeared. It would’ve saved your parents the heartache. You can’t even look at your reflection anymore. “Yeah, I get it.”

Boothill doesn’t say anything at first. He repeats your reply in his head like a mantra.

Instead, he blows smoke from his nose slowly in a long exhale, and then says, “I know you do.”

Furiously, you wipe your eyes again and tear your eyes away from the rearview mirror. You can’t will yourself to look. Though you feel nothing on your shoulder, you know the past sits behind you, and her hand rests on your skin like a weight.

Sometimes, it’s hard to even look at him, for when the metal of his body is reflective enough, you don’t see yourself, but her staring back at you.

He’s not sure what to say. Instead, he thinks it wise to potentially fry your car battery. He steals your phone charger hooked into the car and finds the slot that fits it best on his hip. Good enough. Hopefully it gives him enough juice to get through the next couple days.

“Oh, give it here.” You grab the wire from him. “You’re gonna break my damn charger.”

You peer at his ports curiously as he takes another drag of the silhouette, before you mumble something about the shape being a ‘USB-C’ and plug it into the right slot on his hip.

A small red light flashes to life above the port.

Boothill hums. “Thanks, sugar.” He doesn’t have to look at you, but the telltale scent of wine on your lips is enough for him to know. “You drunk?”

After a moment, you nod slowly. “Yeah.” Then, you twist in the chair to face him, bringing the bottle to your lips again. Your seatbelt is still on, even if the car has been parked for an hour. There’s a pang in your chest, and it tightens. “I miss her.”

She’s still staring at you in the mirror, but it’s not really her. Whatever this thing is, it’s not her. But it’s there, and it makes your heart race.

Boothill nods. “I miss my family, too.” He leans over and punches your thigh playfully. “But, I know your parents want ya to live for as long as you can. I know she would, too.”

You exhale. You’re beginning to feel sick now. Your stomach can’t take another blow from the wine, but you raise it to your lips anyway.

It burns when you swallow, like fire.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He stops. Then, he turns away and raises his eyebrows in exasperation. “Just tryin’ to lift ya spirits.” Still, as exhausted as he feels, his rests a hand on your thigh. It’s comforting, the weight of metal, and it takes your mind off the fingers on your shoulders.

“I don’t think you’re the worst,” you mumble. You actually think you’re worse. Then, you shrug lightly. “I don’t want to lose you when you go.” You hear him exhale, somewhat to rid the smoke from his mouth, and also in the form of a sigh. “I know you won’t believe me, but I think I care about you.”

After you admit it, you pull the rim of the bottle to your lips again.

And then again.

And again.

Three sips later, you’re on the verge of collapsing, and Boothill snatches the bottle from your hand and stands it up by his feet on the car floor.

Your lips are stained a dark red, as is your tongue, and there’s a dark flush on your neck.

Sweat gathers over your skin, even if it’s freezing outside. The smoke is warm, and your legs are shaking.

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

Boothill turns his head and stares out the window. The stars are bright out here away from the city. It reminds him of home. None of that awful light pollution back there in that boring old planet that he loved to death.

If he could’ve, he would’ve taken you there.

That place doesn’t exist anymore.

He feels you would’ve loved his daughter. He feels she would’ve loved you a lot more.

“You ain’t gon’ lose me,” he whispers. He’s still not looking at you. He’s not sure if he’s lying, but he knows he wouldn't lie on purpose. Not to you. Not now.

He squeezes your thigh reassuringly. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Boothill hears the sound of your seatbelt unbuckling, and a shaky exhale follows.

Maybe you’re drunk out of your mind, and his breath stinks of tobacco, and it’s awful on your tongue, but you leap over the centre console of the car as best you can and hurriedly press your lips to his.

It hurts, and it makes him dizzy, and you feel like you’re floating, but he reciprocates, pressing further against your mouth. Your teeth clink, it’s messy, it’s awful, but it satisfies a burning in your stomach.

You snatch his hat and toss it in the back seat. His nose is cold, and it smushes against your cheekbone.

It lasts too long, and not long enough, for after a moment, he pulls his hands off your hips grabs your chin gently to push you off him.

You try to fuse your skin with his. Your stomach presses to his. Boothill’s eye softens and a grin grows on his lips when you sigh in defeat.

He laughs gently. “Easy, beautiful. I know you’re drunk as fudge.” He instead moves your head to his chest and pulls you gently into him. “Just sleep it off. You’re g’nna have the worst hangover in the mornin’.”

You hum and shift in his lap.

It falls silent for a moment.

“You’re so uncomfortable,” you murmur.

Boothill chuckles louder and blows a teasing cloud of smoke on the top of your head that you frantically wave away. He stares out the window again, and all the while, his free hand gently pets the top of your hair. He’s mindful that his joints can very well tangle easily.

“I bet,” he answers.

You murmur something he doesn't hear. Despite your complaints, you still fall asleep on his chest before you feel him lean down and his lips press to your hair.

#✦ ( love mail. )#✦ ( anon. )#✦ ( rambles. )#boothill x reader #boothill x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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hier--soir · 2 years ago

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under the night | six

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] language, being held captive, angst, serious violence, torture, injury, blood, discussions of murder, threat of sexual assault [DOES NOT HAPPEN], very brief discussion of religion/the bible, idk if you think i missed anything please let me know word count: 6k part five | series masterlist | main masterlist

Clink, clink.

Maria was drinking a cup of earl grey tea. The bergamot has a calming effect, she’d said, would you like a cup? Her spoon swirled in the teacup, bumping against the china every so often as she mixed in a sugar cube. The cup was pretty, a cream colour with pale pink gerbera flowers painted along the porcelain. Clink, clink; the spoon knocked the side of it again, the woman still unsatisfied by the granules of sugar visible in the dark liquid. It was the only sound in the room, bar the soft pattering of rain on the roof, as the four of them sat silently around Maria and Tommy’s dinner table.

Joel huffed in frustration as she finally lifted the spoon from the liquid and placed it gingerly on the saucer, before raising the cup to her mouth and taking her first sip. She sighed happily, relaxing in her chair as she savoured the taste.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking around the table.

“Oh, we can talk now?” Joel snapped, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “You’ve got your fuckin’ tea and now you’re ready?”

“Joel,” Tommy warned his brother quietly. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“Well, she could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said spitefully in the woman’s direction. “It’s been days, and you haven’t ordered any searches, haven’t questioned anyone.”

Maria raised her hand to stop him, “It’s a delicate situation.”

“No, Joel’s right,” Cal spoke up. The bags under his eyes were heavy, hair greasy and slicked back off his forehead; the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept in days. “You run things here, and I always thought you did a damn good job of it too. But she’s gone missing, and you’re just sitting back and waiting? For what?”

“Things are returning to normal here,” she said lowly. “People are calming down, and I don’t want to raise any alarm bells if I don’t need to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel all but snarled.

“It means that I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to leave,” she levelled at him, one eyebrow raised accusatorially. Clink, clink. He flinched as she dipped her spoon back into the cup, tapping it against the rim. “Ellie told me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand forming a fist below the table. “Told you what exactly?”

Maria gave him a conspiratorial look. “She told me about being strangled, Joel. She came here a few days ago, upset after hearing the news, and we talked. Ellie worries that she might have left out of guilt… and I must admit, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”

“Wait,” Cal’s eyebrows raised in alarm, eyes darting between Maria and Joel. “What the fuck are you talki-“

“No one was fuckin’ strangled,” Joel ground out, doing his best to stay calm. “Ellie wasn’t hurt. And she wouldn’t fuckin’ leave us; there’s no god damn way she’d even think to go outside those gates alone.”

Joel’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace at Maria’s insinuation, shaking his head jerkily. The last conversation he’d had with you played on his head in a constant loop, the image of your face distorted in despair, the feeling of your guilty tears on his neck – it tormented him. Kept him awake all night, and on edge all day. The idea that you might have decided to leave, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, or fear, or… or because of something he’d said. His chest tightened at the thought. He’d told you not to stay at the house if he wasn’t there, hadn’t he? That’s why you’d gone home alone that night, instead of coming back to him. It won’t happen again, is what you said. Joel mulled the words over in his mind endlessly, searching for a hidden meaning in your tone that he might have missed; a plan to leave him.

Tommy watched the three of them silently, the corners of his mouth downturned in dismay. To see Joel be so distraught was hard for him. Ellie had confided in Tommy that Joel had hardly spoken for the past three days. That he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She kept a close eye on him and didn’t pry; simply sat quietly in whatever room he resided in, and just kept a watchful eye on him. Tommy couldn’t thank her enough for it. He’d watched his brother experience so much loss, so much heartache, and he cringed to realise they were witnessing it happen to him all over again.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” Cal broke the silence, his voice cracking on the last word. He reached up hastily to wipe the corner of his eye. “We made an agreement when we first got here. If either one of us decides we aren’t happy, then we leave – together. No questions asked. She wouldn’t break a promise.”

Joel glanced at the younger man, absorbing his words with a blank expression. It still unnerved him sometimes; to gain further insights into the tightknit bond between you and Cal, but he pushed all negative feelings down, knowing the he was right.

“She’s still in Jackson,” Joel said with a tone of finality, straightening his shoulders.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Maria asked. “I’ve already asked so much of our community, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“Some fuckin’ community it is,” he muttered. “Women gettin’ stolen out of their god damn homes.”

Tommy gave him a look that said, not helpful. Joel ignored him.

“We question them – all of them,” he asserted. “Ransack every fuckin’ house in this town if we have to. She’s here somewhere – whoever’s doin’ this can’t keep her hidden for long.”

Maria nodded slowly, sparing a short glance in her husband’s direction. “We’ll question people then. If we go to the right ones, someone is bound to spill something.”

Tommy stared at his brother, taking in the way he stared intensely at the woman. “You can’t be a part of it though,” he said softly. Joel’s head snapped in his direction, eyes narrowing.

“Tommy,” he glared, only to be quickly interrupted.

“You’re too high strung, both of you are,” Tommy said, glancing between Joel and Cal. “If you’re out there knockin’ down doors, you’re just gonna scare people off, and somebody will get hurt. We can’t risk you two causing a scene.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Cal grunted, hand smacking down on the table.

“You won’t be,” Maria said firmly. “Someone needs to be waiting if she shows up. So wait. If she shows up at either of your homes, you’ll be there.”

“You’re fuckin’ delusional if you thin-“

“Stop,” Maria interrupted softly. “Have either of you taken a moment to consider it might already be too late? It’s been three days… Do you really want to be the ones to find her if she’s…. I’m trying to keep you both separated from this, for your sakes.”

“I’m not fuckin’ listenin’ to this,” Joel grunted, pushing his chair from the table and stalking towards the front door. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he turned his head to the side, staring back at them from the corner of a tear-filled eye.

“She is out there somewhere, alive, puttin’ up a goddamn fight. And when I find her,” he spoke with his back to them, voice dangerously quiet. “I’m going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this. And you two won’t be able to stop me.”

Joel didn’t need to look at him to know that Cal agreed.

The curtains were always the first thing you saw. When your eyelids managed to crack open, to break through the dried blood that crusted over your eyelashes, you would always notice them first. Large, bundled drapes that reached the floor, covering the walls, concealing the windows and any potential natural light. It was so dark all of the time, and so time had lost meaning. You couldn’t tell how many hours, or days, had passed. All you knew was that the curtains, made from a dark fabric, with pictures of small birds sewn onto them, were the first thing you saw every time you opened your eyes.

Sparrows, the thought whispered through your mind. Little sparrows sewn into the curtains.

A small metal table was positioned in the corner opposite to where you laid on a thin mattress, arms tied to a pipe protruding from the wall. Sometimes your eyes flickered to it, trying to glean what was on it, but it was futile because of the distance. Candles were placed sporadically around the edges of the room, providing a vague yellow light to the space which allowed you see these things. But no natural light meant not knowing when the sun rose and fell., so you learned to rely on a different schedule. Twice a day he would bring a meal into the room, and you did your best to note the time passing, but even that provided little relief. Dehydration and pain had you dropping in and out of consciousness, and you rejoiced in the respite that sleep brought. Sleep brought quiet. Waking, however, brought with it a stark reminder of where you were.

An unpleasant stretching sensation resided in your arms. The muscles burned from hyperextension from constantly stretching behind you to the wall, your hands numb from a lack of blood flow due to how taught the rope around your wrist was pulled. But no matter how uncomfortable, you never turned your back to the door. That way he couldn’t enter the room without you seeing him immediately.

The throbbing in your foot, and the smell of metal was always what you noticed next. Blood stained the lower half of the mattress, and you did your best not to look down. But the smell was overwhelming, and you knew you had to see how much blood you’d lost. Your right foot was caked in dried blood, and the sight of one of your toes missing was enough to make your stomach curl every time, as waves of violent nausea rolled through you.

“That’s fine,” you whispered hoarsely, attempting to convince yourself. “Never used that one anyway, can live without it.”

Talking to yourself helped. Although your thoughts were often delirious and half-baked, hearing your own voice out loud brought a certain sense of calm.

And you’d formed a routine. Where every time you woke, you calmed your breathing, and forced yourself to decide how you were going to behave. How to survive another encounter with him. You’d chosen violence the first time, and you came to sorely regret it.

He’d been watching you that first day; waiting for you to stir. It had been dark, but you still saw him instantly. Cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress you laid on, dark beady eyes bearing down on your skin like weights. The itchy burn of rope against your wrists wasn’t as noticeable at first, for you were distracted by the thick wad of material in your mouth, placed there to keep you silent. When your brain had fully woken up, you’d glared at him in a wide-eyed panic, moaning urgently against the cloth between your teeth, tears brimming in your eyes. No, no, no, no.

“Shh,” Lincoln had murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “It’s okay, shh.”

Tentatively, he reached down and tugged the cloth out of your mouth. You sucked in sharp panicked breaths, staring up at him as the feeling of white-hot terror spread through your veins, all the way from your neck down to your feet. It was him. All along, all the women, it had been him. This embarrassing, weak man, who’d had you fucking fooled. You’d thought him a creep, but not this. Never this.

“Breathe,” he’d whispered, stroking your cheek with his fingers. Heaving sighs tore out of your mouth, and you turned your head in his hold, brushing your nose along the palm of his hand. His eyes shone with appreciation at the gesture, and he smiled. “You’re here with me now. It’s just you and me.”

Holding his gaze for a split second longer, you sank your teeth into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, attempted to pull back, but you bit him harder, deeper. The taste of metal filled hit your tongue, but you didn’t let go until his other hand struck you across the face, knocking you back.

He'd hit your left side, and the all-too-familiar buzzing soared through your ear, exacerbating the pounding in your skull. “You cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. He glared down at you, cradling his wounded hand against his chest.

And then his foot was slamming into your ribcage. “You stupid,” kick “fucking” kick “cunt” kick. The breath left your body, and you curled in on yourself on the thin mattress, wheezing, until he gave up.

“You won’t do that again,” his reedy voice called out from behind you. “Do you understand?”

Your back was to him, eyes clamped shut as you tried desperately to regulate your breathing. A stabbing pain burned in your right side, flaring every time your chest expanded with a breath. His hand came down on your shoulder, flattening you on the mattress.

“Speak,” he had snarled. “You will answer me when I talk to you, SPEAK.”

Your bloody lips stayed sealed in defiance, glaring up at him. Slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn upward, lips stretching open to reveal a faded set of crooked teeth until he was grinning down at you. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching into his pocket and walking to the end of the mattress. “You want to see what happens when you disobey me in my house? I’ll show you what happens.”

It had been quick.

Flashes of it were burnt into your memory, but the feeling of the moment evaded you when you thought back on it. Him kneeling on your shins, saying “Do as I say, or I’ll clip your wings, little bird.” Pliers in his hand. The feeling of the cold metal on your foot. The smell of iron. A pinkie toe on the floor, by the mattress, in a crimson puddle.

Your hoarse, tormented wails had filled the room so suddenly that Lincoln was cursing while he stuffed the rag back between your lips, muttering something about people hearing you.

He had loomed over you, torso pressed against yours, gritting his teeth and laughing. Put his hands around your neck and whispered of the stories he’d heard about you, that he’d wondered about you since the day Tommy introduced him to you. “I think that was the moment I decided,” he said. “The moment I knew you were going to be mine – it was the very first time I saw you.”

“I wanted to know what he saw in you,” he’d jeered, breath hot against your neck. His hand gripped your throat, squeezing your windpipe intermittently, only ever letting up when your eyes started to roll back and the pressure inside your skull from a lack of oxygen started to become unbearable, only to increase the pressure again once you’d had a few seconds to breathe. “I’d always thought you must be a good lay, if you’ve got big bad Joel Miller whipped like a dog. Realised pretty damn quick I’d have to find out for myself.” Your arms fought tirelessly against the ropes that bound you to the wall, limbs thrashing beneath him, trying to inflict any sort of pain on him.

You frantically mouthed the word no around the rag, lungs heaving in search of oxygen. The last thing you saw before you passed out was his haunting grin.

And you were smarter after that.

Lincoln was hard to read. When he came to the room next, he acted as though the altercation had never happened. And so you followed suit. You listened when he spoke, and answered accordingly. You ate the food he slid across the floor to you. You held in a disgusted reaction when he gestured to the candles around the room one time, and said, “Romantic isn’t it? Candlelit dinner for two?”

In the quiet moments, your mind would float away, and you’d allow yourself brief moments of respite, imagining that you were somewhere, anywhere, else. In your dreams, you were with Joel. Safe in his home, in his bed, playing scrabble with Ellie on his porch while he kept score. You tried to remember the way his laugh sounded, or the way his hands felt on your skin. But everything was warped, the memories unclear. Your brain lacked clarity, and the pain distracted you. And Lincoln could tell where your thoughts went in those moments; you almost feared he could read your mind. As if your brain was splayed open before him, and he was pecking at it in curiosity.

“No one will find you,” he’d say softly. Never nastily, but in a tone that was matter of fact. “They aren’t coming for you. It’s just you and me now, sweet girl.”

You would blink away the tears in your eyes and try not to let him see how afraid you were that he was right. Your memories with Joel felt so hazy, and the last time you’d seen him he had been devastated. He feared what you’d almost done to Ellie, feared how out of his control it had been. Maybe it’s for the best, the thought raced through your brain. Maybe they’ll be happier without you.

Those thoughts were the hardest to shake. And they cut deeper than any injury Lincoln could ever inflict.

One night, when it felt like almost a week had passed, Lincoln entered the room holding two plates.

“Dinner time,” his thin voiced called, and a chill ran down your spine. Slowly, you pushed yourself into a seated position, cringing as pain shot through your side.

He placed a plate beside the mattress before tenderly undoing the rope around your left wrist.

“Eat up,” he murmured, taking a few steps back before settling onto the ground and picking up his fork.

You gazed down at the raw red marks around your wrist, basking in your favourite moment of the day – just a few sweet minutes of ‘freedom’. With an aching chest, you saw what rested on the plate. A kind of dark meat, and a small serving of parsnips.

Oh, Joel.

Sucking your lips into you mouth, you willed the tears in your eyes to dry up, desperate not to let him see any sign of weakness.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Lincoln reaching out across the space between you, and then he placed his thumb and forefinger over the big toe on your right foot, squeezing it once in a silent threat. Your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to pull away. Speak.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered hoarsely, staring at the food.

“It’s dinner time, when else would I feed you?” he attempted to joke, hand leaving your foot to pick his fork up again. When you didn’t respond the smile slipped off his face. “You’re in a bad mood today,” he decided. “I suppose I understand.”

He watched you like a hawk, eyes raking over your features, your bloodstained clothes, the way you gazed despondently at the plate before you. “Surely you can appreciate though… I mean, it’s just… delightful, don’t you see? To see someone be brought down to their basest human form. No sunlight, minimal human interaction. You rely on me for water, for food, for company. I am all you have anymore, and it is simply… delicious.”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you shuddered involuntarily, his words making goosebumps break out across your skin.

“I think so,” Lincoln nodded contemplatively. “It’s not inherently sexual though, I’ll have you know.” You stared, and he let out a low chuckle, hands raising defensively. “Not entirely, at least.”

“You’ll get caught,” you sneered, ignoring the way a cut on your upper lip reopened when your mouth pulled open to reveal your teeth. “You’ll slip up and someone will notice. Joel will notice.”

“Only time will tell,” he mused around a mouthful of food. “Never been caught before though, have I? Not with Milena, or any of the others before you. Not even with my wife; although it was certainly easier to get away with it in those days. The world had gone to shit – everyone was going missing; assumed to be dead or infected. It was so easy. Our girls never had a clue. They trusted me, you see? My beautiful little birds. Believed me when I told them she was lost, that she must’ve been infected. I think that’s what I adore the most – the trust. It was hard to come by here, in Jackson. People were so wary, I had to build up their confidence in me. Really ease into things, you know? But some of these women, they just saw what they wanted to see. A few kind smiles, some silly jokes, and they were mine.” Lincoln sighed wistfully, gazing absentmindedly at the curtains. “Do you like them?” he changed the subject suddenly. “They’re sparrows. Sewed them on myself.” Good God, he was still so fucking chatty.

Nausea twisted in your abdomen. Acidic bile burned in the back of your throat, threatening to bring up the pathetic contents of your stomach. “And your daughters?” you hesitated, wary of angering him. “I… I remember you saying they died.”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you noticed one of his eyebrows twitch at the mention of his late children. “I let them go quickly,” he exhaled with a shrug. “Painlessly. It didn’t make sense to make them endure this world anymore. It was a mercy, if anything.”

“Fresh out of mercy then?” you asked bitterly. “If you’re so kind, and so fucking merciful, then why the are you dragging this out? Why won’t you just fucking end it?”

Fork dropping onto his plate with a loud clang, Lincoln murmured your name kindly. “Please understand,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again. You might be my last for a few months… so I’m trying to savour every minute I have with you.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly as you absorbed his words. How long could you possibly survive down here in these conditions? But the truth was, you knew the answer to that. You knew because you’d survived for years out in the open, with less food and less water than this. Here you had shelter, warmth, food, and water. He could keep you alive for as long as he wanted you.

Realising it had been some time since you responded to him you offered a meek smile and said, “Tell me more about the sparrows.”

Lincoln looked at you curiously. Trying not to appear uncertain, you reached forward and scooped some food from the plate with your free hand and began to eat. The action alone reminded you of Cal. Of dark nights, huddled together in dusty broken-down buildings, eating whatever food you’d been able to find out of the palms of your hands. You sniffled pathetically and tried not to think about him again.

“Good girl,” he murmured almost inaudibly, and you fought off a shiver. Swallowing made your chest ache. Based on the swelling around the middle of your torso, you assumed at least one of your ribs was broken. Even inhaling brought a sharp pain to your right side, but swallowing? That was a whole other world of pain.

Lincoln spoke about the birds, told you how they symbolised joy and simplicity, and your eyes flitted around the room, taking in as much as you could in the dim yellow light. And then suddenly, he was turning his head fully to stare at the curtains. His back was almost entirely to you, and your heart stuttered painfully at the opportunity that had presented itself. From this angle, you were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in his peripheral vision. Was this on purpose? Was it a test? Heart pounding, you worked silently to push the remaining food off your ceramic plate and onto the floor. Eyes focused on him, you waited for him to turn back, to check in on you, to do anything – but he didn’t.

“You know in the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “Sparrows represented God’s love and care for his creations.”

You hummed in response, gripping the plate in your hand and edging forward. Sweat tickled your forward, made your skin itch. You wanted to wipe away the fresh blood that had oozed from your lip onto your chin, but you refrained. No sudden movements. He was so close now, and this chance would not be wasted on you.

Do not be afraid, you thought.

Blood rushed in your ears as you propelled yourself forward, smashing the plate down upon the crown of his skull.

Lincoln pitched forward, his face knocking against the cold ground with a sickening thwack. He howled a ragged, guttural noise of pain, but his movements were sluggish, his reaction time too slow. A fiery pain roared in your side from the movement and you whimpered, dropping the jagged shard of the plate that remained in your hand. Gripping his ankle, you cried out at the strength required to tug his body toward you. He was writhing on the ground, trying to fight against the fog in his brain no doubt, but you pulled him still, until he was perfectly close.

He mumbled your name, and you brought your fist down over his nose, effectively shutting him up.

“Stop fucking saying my name,” you growled, angrily swiping perspiration off your upper lip. This was it. If this didn’t work out, if he regained the upper hand, you’d be dead, no questions asked. You’d started this, and now would certainly be your only chance to finish it. God, your ribs were on fire. You hastily dragged a fragment of the plate in a sawing movement across the rope keeping your other wrist tied, and when it broke away, you heaved a painful sigh of relief.

Planting your knees on either side of his body, you straddled his chest, trapping his arms to his torso. You patted down his body, searching his pockets until you found what you were looking for. The pliers were cold and heavy in your hand. Lincoln blinked lazily, gazing past your shoulder at the roof.

You reached down and gripped the sides of his head. “Look at me,” you seethed, before slamming his head back into the ground. He groaned loudly, but his eyes focused on your face. Blood poured from his nose, spilling into his open mouth and filling the gaps between tooth and gum.

“You won’t kill me,” he garbled out around the crimson liquid. “My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Stop talking,” you moved to be beside his body and pressed your knee onto his left arm.

“You won’t,” he was speaking incessantly now, rambling. “I know you, you’re good. You’re so good, you sweet girl. You wouldn’t kill, and that’s why I like you. I could see it in you. You’re too good for this world, I’m trying to help you, don’t you see?”

“Shut up,” you snarled, pushing the pliers down until they were positioned around his pinkie finger. “You think you fucking know me? You have no idea of the things I’ve done.”

His eyes blinked lazily, trying listlessly to focus. His free hand reached sluggishly towards your face, and you batted it down roughly. Gripping the pliers in both hands, you pressed down. The sound of his screams filled the room as his pinkie finger rolled across the floor.

“You want me to come into my home,” you sneered. “Take me, hide me away, and then kill me?” Positioning the tool over his ring finger, you cut him slowly, revelling in the pained sounds leaving his body, the way his blood spilled onto your hands as you worked. “Oh, Lincoln. You’ll have to try harder than this.”

Again and again, you worked with a gruellingly slow pace, removing all five digits. You didn’t notice that his free hand was gripping your arm so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it down. Do not be afraid.

“Please,” he was sobbing, his mouth wide open like a sore on his face, jagged teeth exposed through thin bloody lips.

And yet as he begged, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse, because through the tears, and the snot, and the blood, it wasn’t just Lincoln that you saw. It was that boy, from a decade ago. That boy that climbed on top of you and laughed. Who enjoyed your fear. Who held you down that night, and every night after, plaguing you in your sleep for years. The boy you couldn’t fight. The boy you couldn’t kill. You wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.

A memory flitted through your mind so quickly it almost didn’t register. But his voice was clear in your head. Joel, and the words you’d shared in front of the fireplace at your home so many weeks beforehand.

“I want to be strong, Joel.”

“You are strong.”

You refocused on Lincoln’s face.

“You want to be in control?” you sputtered, vaguely aware of how deranged your shrill voice sounded. “You want women to be quiet little toys for you to play with in this sick game you’ve created? I’m a fucking person! I’m real!” your voice cracked. “You want to kill me, Lincoln? Let’s see you do it without your fucking fingers.” You realised then that you were crying. Soundless tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving clear trails in the dirt and blood that stained your face.

He looked on the verge of passing out, and you tore his hand off your arm, stumbling away from his body. You stepped awkwardly on your right foot and yelped in pain, grimacing at the bloody footprint that followed behind you when you walked. Wrapping an arm around your torso, against your ribs, you struggled to breathe. Running on pure adrenaline, your eyes drifted toward the table in the corner. A pocketknife and a lighter laid serenely on the top of it, and you stumbled toward it slowly.

But a heavy blow landed on the back of your knee, stopping you in your tracks. Your arms flailed as you fell forward, and when you hit the ground, the table came toppling down with you.

“S-stop,” Lincoln was speaking, his speech slurred and disjointed. His bloodied hands clawed at your legs, pulling your body towards him while you thrashed against his hold. Your leg kicked backward desperately and connected with his face, and you screamed at the throbbing pain that shot through your foot.

Neither of you noticed how the table had knocked over multiple candles, or the way fire blazed along the bottom of the curtains. Little sparrows, turning to ash as flames snaked their way up the drapes, slowly engulfing the walls of the room in vibrant red.

You fumbled for the pocketknife on the floor, rolling onto your back just as his weight landed on top of you. His heavy breaths hit your face, blood dripping from his nose and splashing onto your skin.

“Little bird,” he whimpered brokenly. “Why would you ruin this?”

The temperature in the room had risen exponentially, and the pair of you were so close to the wall that it was impossible to ignore now. Wild flames licked at the bare skin of your arm, but you paid the burn no mind, pushing against his face, his neck, trying to get as much distance between you as possible.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he howled, landing a heavy blow across your face. You coughed roughly, blood spitting up from your mouth onto your chin.

You gave up on pushing him back, instead using your hands to fumble with the knife. Lincoln’s good hand gripped your throat, his remaining fingers pressing down on your windpipe. Blood roared in your ears, and you were sweating, and god it was so hot. The air thickened with smoke, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Your hands were so slick with blood that it was difficult to unhook the small blade, but after a few moments you did it. Gasping for air as he bore his entire weight against your neck, you plunged the knife into his side.

A choked sound of surprise fell from his mouth, and then air was rushing into your lungs, and you were coughing harshly, watching as his body collapsed to the side of you.

He was still alive when you crawled on top of him, eyes bulging as he gripped the handle of the blade lodged in his side. You slammed your fist against his broken nose, and both of you cried out in pain. By this point, the fire was roaring through the room, the four walls covered in a beautiful mix of orange and red flames. The heat was sweltering, and so so close that sweat dripped from your nose and chin.

A deafening bang reverberated through the room and you covered your face instinctively. Shattered glass from the windows rained through the air and covered the ground, and moonlight streamed into the room.

Distantly, you thought you could hear voices, or the sound of a door opening, but you ignored it. Impossible. Your fingers wrapped around Lincoln’s spindly neck, and you positioned your thumbs over his windpipe, before pressing downward with all of the strength in your body. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you pushed through it, gathering blood and spit in your mouth and releasing it in a spray onto his face. He flinched back at the sensation, and you grinned messily.

You imagined briefly what you must look like; covered in a mix of blood and dirt, hair matted to your head, straddling this man, and grinning down at him.

“Are you afraid?” you whispered.

You could see the light slowly fading from his eyes, and you pressed harder, arms burning with the effort. A burning sensation exploded in your left thigh, but you ignored it, digging your elbows into his chest for leverage and pushing. In the second you realised it was about to be over, there were hands on you. Gripping you, wrapping around your waist, wrenching you away from him.

The foreign hands were pulling you back, tugging you towards the door, but your eyes were trained on Lincoln, as he gasped for air on the floor, alive. You could hear shouting, male voices yelling so closely, but the words were indecipherable. And then suddenly, you were enveloped by cold, winter air. You were outside.

Hyperventilating, you dropped to your knees on the ground, burying your red hands in the wet grass, and wailed. Thick tears blurred your vision and rolled down your face in hot rivulets.

The relief was short lived though, as those hands returned to your body. Gliding over your back, squeezing your shoulders, touching your face. Your stomach rolled violently.

“Don’t touch me,” you begged, your voice an unfamiliar shriek as it ripped from somewhere deep inside your body. “Get your fucking hands off me, don’t fucking touch me, don-“

“Darlin’, it’s me, it’s me,” you could hear, but you just fought harder, beating against the solid wall of brick in front of you, pounding your fists against his chest.

“I’ll fucking,” you gasped for air, eyes clamped tightly shut. “I’ll fucking kill you, get away from me.”

But familiar hands were gripping your face, holding you tightly, forcing you to look, and when you did, it’s like your body went limp. All the fight in you disappeared.

You mumbled his name, and he nodded furiously, those brown eyes you loved gazing into yours, panic and concern evident in the harsh lines across his forehead, in that deep frown you knew so well.

“It’s me, baby, I’ve got you,” his voice was like a song in your ears, and you closed your eyes and let him hold you, listening to the desperate apologies he whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s over, it’s over.”

part seven

tag list <3

@huffle-punk @n7cje @ghostofjoharvelle @nrmnie @sarahhxx03 @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @missgurrl

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #my writing #under the night

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zimithrus · 1 year ago

Note

Valenwind and 15!

Mini fic ship list

15. Things you said with too many miles between us

Ooohohoo Valenwind, okay okay *pops knuckles* let's see what the ole brain comes up with! 😉

"Nah, not that one, the one- the one behind that other one. No, no, not that one either, just- to yer left, my left, shit."

Vincent's hand hovers in the air as he glances behind him, to the chipped voice coming through the laptop speakers. Wine-dark eyes fix to the tiny square on the screen that shows the rough, stubbled face of Cid trying to direct him to the chamomile tea, buried in the cupboards with all the other teas, of course.

"Is it even in this cupboard?" Vincent's gravelly voice asks, clear on his end, but most assuredly pixelated through the cheap speakers.

"It's in there, it's the green box behind the two yellow boxes on my left."

Eyes back to the cupboard, Vincent scans, hand precariously shifting the tiny boxes of teabags around to search. But lo and behold, there sits the green box of camomile tea exactly where Cid said. Albeit not without a bit of confusion.

"How long do I cook it for again?" Vincent asks as a slender hand reaches in, procuring a bag from the box.

"Boil, not cook." Cid corrects with a gruff huff.

"Boil, then."

"5 minutes." Cid says, Vincent glancing at the little screen to see him hold up five gloved fingers. "You could do 3 for a quicker fix but it's not gonna taste as good."

"I see. When do I add the milk and honey again?"

"After it's done steepin'. Gah, Vince you act like this is the first time ya've ever made tea in yer life."

"It's been a while. Normally... you're the one who makes it." Vincent's voice falls just of so slightly flat as he clicks on the stove to boil the water.

Cid sighs, rough yet gentle at the same time. Yes, he's always making the tea when he can. He likes making it. Likes seeing Vincent's stoic face light up (barely at all, but that's more than enough for him) when he takes the first sip. It's something that takes his mind off the stress, off the constant itch for nicotine, off of a lot of the bad shit he doesn't like to ruminate on.

This is the first time in a long time Cid hasn't been there to make Vincent's nightly tea. The shift in routine is strange, off, like the sky and the earth had switched places.

"I'd prefer it if it was you making the tea tonight." Vincent honestly says, watching the water on the stove sit. "The kitchen... it's cold."

"I know..." Cid sighs, much less rough, a lot more soft. "It's cold at HQ too." Before he has a chance to let his walls fall completely, he quickly sniffs and crooks his mouth into a snarky smirk. "But someone's gotta boss these cockamamie brats around, an' we all know I'm the best at it!"

The faintest of grins pulls at Vincent's lips. "That you are." He seconds just as the water rolls to a boil. "The new pilots won't yell at themselves, after all." Kills the heat. Pours it into his usual mug.

"Exactly. Don't forget to add the honey and then the milk."

"Right-"

"-The cold of the milk makes it harder for the honey to dissolve." "The cold of the milk makes it harder for the honey to dissolve."

They both speak at the same time, ears buzzing from the similar pitch. At that, Cid guffaws, wipes under his nose with his index finger. "Guess you remember how I do things after all."

"A bit." Vincent dunks the tea bag into the mug, steeping the drink. "Though, I await the night you're back home and brew up a mug for the both of us."

"That so?" Cid fights the blush trying to form on his cheeks.

Vincent's dark eyes catch to the screen his partner sits on the other side of with a deep, yet genuine smile. "It always tastes better when I take the first sip from your mug."

A little ritual of there's. Cid would always say 'Now that's a fine mug a' tea right there, give it a taste, Vince'. Vincent would always take that small sip, rich and warm with the sweetest flavor. It was always one of his favorite parts of the night. Cid would beam proud every time he'd take that first sip and smile.

"Well then, I'll just have ta' yell extra loud at these punks so they get their asses in gear quicker!" Cid laughs, belly-deep.

"Don't traumatize them." Vincent's jokes always come out flat and monotonous-

More laughter from Cid.

-But his partner always knows when he's joking. Always knows just how he feels even when his face and his words don't match.

"No promises, Vince. Now drink that tea before it gets cold, you know how I feel about lettin' a good tea go cold."

"Yes, yes." Vincent smirks.

Thank you so much for the ask!! I had a lot of fun with this one!! 🌟💚 I hope you liked it!!

#ask game #writing ask game #zimianswerz #ffvii #valenwind #thank you again enide this was so fun - I hope I wrote these two well for you!

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yourneighborhoodneighbor · 2 years ago

Text

and you're always free to begin again ch4

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

previous chapter

Dany had thought, he really really thought, that nothing in the life he had lead now would ever even come close to being as horrible as losing killing his brother and his general upbringing by the League, but he wasn't really done unpacking all of that now that he had the luxury of time and distance so he was not gonna think about it had been.

Like what Sam and Tucker had named as “DFL” (for Dany Fenton Luck, which was his special and personalized brand of the better known Fenton Luck) dictated, no, demanded, he had been wrong. Because of course, that was just how things went for him.

At this point, Dany had been Phantom for three years. He had been the crown prince of the Infinite Realms for two years (and would become king and actually rule when he fully died), and he liked to think that he had actually been really good at dealing with ghosts and ghost hunters now. It had been difficult at first, not because he didn't know how to fight (that was actually what he knew how to do best and was therefore the easiest part of the whole situation), but because getting like a bajillion new powers and no instruction manual for any of them had been a whole mess. Was a whole mess, because for some reason he just kept on getting power, it was frankly almost ridiculous. He had learned though, and even eventually gotten on good terms with most of the people he had fought with, after learning that apparently he now needed to get used to an entirely new social structure and customs again, when he already had a hard time with that as it was.

Besides, ghost stuff was way easier than alive human stuff, since dying had at least granted Dany with some instinctual in innate things, like and understanding of any language, including ghost speak, as well as built in sensors for things like when he was nearing someone else's haunt and such, once he was actually taught how to interpret those internal signals correctly.

The point being, Dany had had things Under Control. He'd had Protocols, and Scripts, and Rules to deal with the way his life was now. And he had liked it, even if the GIW and Jackson and Madeline made things stressful and sometimes overwhelming to the point of meltdowns or shutdowns (He knew what those were called now! Thanks, Jazz!).

But he had been Fine! Kinda! Really! He promised!

That is, he had been fine, until…

Until a while ago, when things had decidedly become incredibly less fine, and way more unfine.

He wasn't sure how long, exactly, it had been since his DFL had struck again. And this time, in the worst possible way. In a way so bad it almost surpassed Dany's worst moments, including his own death and everything that came with it, something he had not thought possible.

It had all simultaneously become a blur and was seared in his mind in uncomfortable detail and focus.

He had been in his room, alone, holding a chocolate milkshake in one hand, and singing softly with the other, a song he had learned with his brother on one of their last missions together, when they were 6 years old. It had appeared in a princess movie, the first they had ever seen, which they had managed to catch through the window of the house right next to the one where their target for the mission had resided. It had been the only movie they ahd ever watched, before Dany had come into his new life, that is. He only ever rewatched that movie on his own, feeling it too special to share with anybody else, especially since his brother would never be able to watch another movie.

Regardless, he had been sitting alone and singing softly in between sips of the chocolate milkshake, too caught up to pay proper attention to his surroundings, foolishly thinking he was safe enough to let his guard down. It had not been.

Jackson and Madeline had come in with guns blazing and traps already firing, Fenton Thermos activated and sucking him in faster than he had been able to react, save for dropping the shake in his hand.

He had woken up strapped to a metal slab, the cold and crazed looks of the fenton parents leaning over him, scalpels and other equipment in hand. He had known what was going to happen immediately. He had fought as much as he could, but in the end, nothing, not his assassin training (that he still kept up with, as a connection to his brother, even if he hated the League), his ghost powers and prince training, his Scripts and Rules and protocols, nothing, had been able to save him. No one had been able to either.

He had had no other option than to watch and hope it was over quickly as he was cut open, his innards taken out and weighed, cut, observed macro- and microscopically, tested, as he was sewn shut and cut back open over and over to test his healing, how he had been bled dry and injected with a myriad of substances he did not even want to think about, as he had been experimented on over and over and over again.

At some point he had grown almost numb to it, only detachedly noticing all that was happening, as new things were taken out or put in, as people in white suits came in and started helping the two mad scientists, and as the time passed in uneven lapses, until that condemned moment when he had felt the most awful he had ever felt, the moment they had finally managed to find his hidden core, when they had touched it and held it and experimented on it as well and no, stop, it hurts, he hated that, please, Jazz, Dami, he couldn't, he couldn't he couldn't-

After that, Dany thought about his siblings a lot, in the spare moments he was left alone, numb and unfeeling in the face of that last violation he had been subjected to.

About Damian, who had always had his back, had always taken care of him and accommodated him the best he could when he did not even know what was wrong and why, when it had not been his job because he, too, had been a child. A child he had killed.

About Jazz, who had taken him in and taken his aggressive demeanour in stride and had done her best to help him and make him feel loved and wanted and safe. Who had taken even his status as an experienced assassin in with a calm face and open arms, and had simply asked him how he felt about that, what he wanted to do about that. She too had been a child, if an older one.

He thought about Sam and Tucker, who had taken one look at him and decided that even if he could break them in half without so much as blinking, he needed some Friends and care, as Tucker had said. Who had always tried their best to be by his side, and had stayed there even after he died, after he confessed about his true past.

Looking over his life, it had never been adults who had taken his side, who had looked and him and decided, made the choice, that he was someone they wanted to care about and for, that he was worth more than what he could give to them or do for them, who decided that him being Dany, however that was, was enough.

His thoughts were interrupted by the heavy lab door being opened again. Great.

He did not even bother with trying to turn his head, not that he had the energy to move much. It was just more pain coming. He closed his eyes, too tired to stay awake, much less try to fight uselessly again.

A soft clink and the feeling of his straps and cuffs loosening had him snapping his eyes open again. This had not happened before.

A few blinks helped to focus his gaze, falling on the familiar red head of one of the most important people in his life, one of the strongest and best people he had ever met, including anyone at the League: Jazz.

What was Jazz doing here? Was she not in college? She should go away, she could get hurt, they would hurt her, they would strap he to a table, Dany had to get her out of there, he had to-

Through his spiraling thoughts, fueled greatly by his starving obsession and bruised core, he heard a far-away sounding voice.

Oh. That was Jazz. Jazz had been talking since she had come in, he just hadn't realized.

“-e okay, it's gonna be okay no, I promise. Shit, Dany, I'm so sorry, I had no idea you had been taken until Sam called me telling me you had missed school twice and weren't at home, and then mo- no, Jack and Maddy were talking about Phantom and I thought you were in the lab but you weren't and I'm so sorry it took us two months to find the GIW facility you were, I'm so sorry, Dany, I'm sorry-” he could hear her rambling. He wasn't sure she knew he could actually hear her now. He was still pretty out of it.

He tried to say something to let her know he knew she was there, but all that came out was a broken whimper. It was enough.

Without stopping her movements of setting him free, she turned to look at him directly in the eyes, worry and fear and certainty and fire and rage in her gaze.

“Dany,” was all she said. Dany thought he understood, she had said his name enough times for him to know what she meant. Words she had never really said but had instead made, from the moment she had first seen him, hiding and angry and afraid, huddling in the corner of the visiting room at the orphanage.

I will care for you. I will care about you. As long as I'm here you will not be alone, will not be made to fight on your own. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.

Jazz meant that and so much more. Dany knew just how to respond.

“Jazz,” he croaked out, voice more air than any real sound. Dany knew that to Jazz, that was enough. She also understood.

The storm that was his sister finished with the last of the cuffs, before gently and slowly bringing her hands up to his face, holding it gently.

“Dany,” her voice turned harder, sharp and deadly like it had never needed to be before. “They are dead. Jack and Maddie are dead now Dany, and will never hurt you again. I made sure of it,” she said with finality.

Dany's head reeled. Jazz had killed her parents? For him? Jazz, who he had promised not to kill for, because she cared about people and that sort of stuff, had gone and done something she did not approve of much, for him? To make sure he not only was safe, but stayed safe?

The stars and the storms and the erupting volcanoes and powerful ocean waves had never come even close to describing how Dany saw Jazz. Supernovas and black holes and nascent and dying stars had never been as magnificent as Jazz. And then here she was now, going over the very borders of the universe with her growing greatness, standing over Dany with hands capable of such destruction, yet holding onto his face with more gentleness than would be needed to hold a spiderweb without it breaking.

Dany suddenly felt too full and too much, cries that grew into sobs breaking free of him at such love and care being exerted on himself, some of the cracks in his core starting to mend.

Jazz just helped him up, carrying him in her arms and letting him cry.

She walked past unconscious people in white suits, past an orange and a teal body, past ghosts flying around wreaking havoc, past all the destruction and the rage around her. She walked calmly past it all, like the moving eye in the middle of a storm, cradling Dany like she had never held something more precious in her life.

The last thing Dany remembered before he closed his eyes and was taken again by unconsciousness was his sister, his big sister, setting him gently in the back of her small car, laying a soft kiss to his forehead and telling his to rest, telling him he would be okay, she would take care of things now.

The sheer amount of love he felt is what pushed him the rest of the way down.

next chapter

#dpxdc #batpham #fanfiction #my fics #yourneighborhoodneighbor

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acopenhagenarmy · 2 years ago

Text

PART EIGHT

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: bad words and such, a shit ton of fluff as usual, hints of smut? (very very very pg though)

A/N: This is an updated version of chapter 8. I’ve also taken the liberty to change a few details throughout the story, so I would recommend a fresh read before starting on this one.

Wordcount: 2,4K

/ Moodboard / Teaser / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten /

Taglist: @purpletaehyung92 @just-call-me-trash-can @undiscovered1personality

The staff had made sure you’d get a seat where you had a good view of everything, You could see them dance around and have fun but without being distracting. It was fun sitting there, army bomb in hand listening to the exciting conversations of those sitting close to you.

It was in the VIP section, and despite having a private toilet and a little more comfortable seats, the difference between you and the rest in the arena weren’t that prominent.

You sat down at one

“Are you here alone?” The person next to you asked.

“Yeah kind of, first time” You smiled at her.

She was beautiful, full lips, long hair, stilettos and a dress. Looked like she had been plucked out of a movie, the kind of woman who anyone would love to be best friends with.

“Well you’re in for a treat! I can tell you that much! They’re amazing on a stage, every single one of them” She was all smiles as she spoke, the pride of being their fan was very visible.

You couldn’t help but think about how kind all the people in the stadium seemed, helping each other, giving out freebies, dressing up and singing along to the songs that were played on the screens while they waited for the concert to begin.

“I can imagine” You answered as you looked over the crowds.

“So who’s your bias then?” She asked curiously as she took a sip of her wine, offering you a glass in the process, which you happily accepted.

“Namjoon, no doubt”

She looked you up and down. “Yeah, I can see that”

“Really? How?” You asked curiously.

You wanted to know just what about could make a stranger think you’d be somewhat connected to the man. She shrugged and smiled even wider.

“I don’t really know… Might just be your energy. It seems like you have passions, good friends that surround you. You’re grounded in a way”

She wasn’t wrong, but you were also a little scared that she had been that good at reading you, despite only just meeting you.

“Damn…” you said.

She laughed: “Yeah I’m pretty good at these kind of things”

“So who’s your bias?” You asked, trying to read her like a book as well.

“Oh I’m Jin all the way, always have been, always will be”

There was a sparkle in her eyes that seemed somehow familiar. The same sparkle Namjoon had in his eyes when he talked to you. It made you curious, and you wanted to pry her for more information, but instead you just made a mental note.

“Seen them before?” You asked instead.

“Yeah, I try to watch them whenever they tour in whatever country I’m in. I travel a lot for work, and from time to time they’re doing concerts in London, Osakar or LA when I’m there as well.”

“Uh! It’s starting!” She said before you had a chance to answer, and clapped her hands.

The music was loud, and the lights from every army bomb lit up simultaneously. It looked beautiful, and it was definitely a new kind of concert experience. The video’s then started on the screen and not long after he was there, on the stage performing.

You cheered him on, smiled and screamed more than you would like to admit. You could feel how your heart was bursting with pride. How could you be so lucky that your man was so talented.

His song was beautiful, and he somehow looked like he was glowing when he was on stage. The lyrics were so beautiful, and you suddenly realized that ‘forever rain’ might not be the first song he had written in your honor. And the “I live so I love” definitely felt like it was for you.

People around you cried as they said their goodbyes, and Namjoon couldn’t help but drop hints to the fact that he was in love and had found his special person in the city that never sleeps.

You said your goodbyes to the woman you had met, a little lost on just where to go now that the concert was finished. But as soon as you had left the door there stood a security guard ready to escort you back to your man and his friends.

He was somewhat sweaty, but it somehow suited him perfectly. He felt right at home in the chaotic mess that was staff running back and forth trying to get a hold on Jungkook who had decided he wanted to see his fans leave the venue.

He smiled as soon as his eyes found yours, leaving the stylist behind who tried to remove both necklaces and earrings from both him and Jin at the same time.

He pulled you close instantly, just holding you, resting his cheek on the top of your head, inhaling the scent of you, enjoying having you here with him.

“How was it?” He mumbled quietly.

“It was perfect, you were perfect! You all were” You said and looked up at him. His hands were resting on your cheeks, caressing you or as you would say, driving you insane. You wanted so bad to kiss him, especially like this with pride in your heart.

“I’m glad you liked it, we gave it a little extra since you were watching” He smiled and his eyes almost disappeared as his dimples reappeared. Cute.

“Did you meet any people?” He asked, searching your eyes and your emotions for the smallest hint of sadness and loneliness.

He had been a little nervous if you’d feel left alone and maybe needed someone to share the experience with. Normally he would have you bring your friends, have you in your own booth so you could all talk openly, but everything had happened so quickly. Next time. He thought.

“No it was great, I sat next to an amazing woman. Jin biased.” You said and looked towards the oldest.

“Ah yes of course she was! Beautiful I suspect as well?” He said and sent a wink your way.

“Yeah she was, she dropped a shit ton of confetti though, don’t know why anyone would carry that in their bag” You laughed.

“You never know,” Jin said, smile on his face, but the tone seemed a little sad.

“We should get going, wanna come back to the hotel with us?” He asked you.

He was nervous, you could feel it. Afraid he was moving too fast, afraid you have had enough new experiences in one day and just needed your own bed, time to yourself.

You took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ve been alone long enough Joonie, I wanna stay by your side for as long as I can”

You could see the blush that painted his cheeks as he looked down on your hands, afraid his heart would explode if he looked in your eyes.

“Okay, good, I’m glad…”

“Let’s go!”

He never let go of you. Not in the car, not when you had to go to the elevator, not when he ordered you food. It wasn’t before he stood outside hit hotel door, he let go of you hand just to be able to open the door for the two of you.

His hands were shaking, but you would be lying if yours didn’t do the same.

The room was somewhat big, clothes spread throughout with a gorgeous view of the city. But it smelled like him, it was pleasant.

You threw yourself down in the bed and he laughed.

"What? This is a must in every hotel bed you know” You said, big smile displayed. And not even a second later he came flying towards you, resulting in you quickly rolling to the side, if you didn’t want to be crushed by the weight under him.

The happiness you both felt in the moments you shared together was nothing you’d ever experienced. It was true happiness, it was love. No doubt about it.

He pulled you close, the two of you laying on your sides, staring into eachothers souls. You were slowly creeping closer and closer. Both were too afraid of moving too fast, afraid to wake up and realize that it was all a dream.

Before you knew it your noses were touching, and you could feel his warm breath on your face. Every hair on your body stood up. It was like there was electricity in the air.

His eyes searched yours for permission, and all you needed to give him was a small nod, before he moved a centimeter, finally connecting his lips with yours.

The kiss was soft, slow, and perfect. It felt like your souls became on. He didn’t rush, he savored every second. Sliding his tongue on your bottom lip as to ask for permission which you granted him in an instant.

It earned you a groan from him and he instantly pulled you close to him. Your legs got instantly tangled with his, as his arms pulled you as physically close as your bodies would allow. His hands were rubbing circles on your skin, slowly yanking up your shirt earning him access to the skin on your hip.

It felt like he lit your skin on fire, and you pulled him on top of you in an instant, resulting in him trailing kisses from your lips to your collarbones, as his hands yanked your shirt higher and higher, leaving goosebumps behind.

His hands were warm, strong, and you’d never felt more safe than in that exact moment.

Having the mark had so far only brought you pain, but being able to feel the excitement, desperation, pleasure he was feeling in this moment was worth it all.

He laid himself on top of you, resting most of his weight on his arms, as to not smother you. Your legs instinctively flew around his hips, pulling him even closer, resulting in him grinding into you. It stole a moan from the both of you.

But you were too consumed with the pleasure to even think about anything other than chasing the high both of you felt.

That was until it knocked on the door and Jimin's voice said: “Hey guys, I have your dinner?” with a sweet voice.

Namjoon pulled away from you and laughed.

“I feel like a teenager who just got interrupted by my mother”

You laughed as he got off the bed. You followed close behind him, not wanting to be too far from him.

He opened the door and revealed to Jimin the two of you with red lips and messy hair. Big smiles on display. He laughed at the two of you.

“Oh wow that’s a lot of snacks!” You sat as you saw the two ‘Ben&Jerry’s and four bars of chocolate in Jimin's other hand.

“That time of the month?” Namjoon asked. It seemed like a pretty normal occurrence, but you couldn’t help the puzzled look that painted your features.

“Pain mark” Jimin just said as an explanation. “She’s on her period so I try making it as comfortable as I possibly can for her”

“I’m sure she loves that very much Jimin” You said and sent a smile his way.

He nodded as he handed you the food, once again leaving the two of you alone.

“Hungry?” Namjoon asked as he brought the bag to the bed. “I ordered you some of my faves, so I hope you like it” He was a little sheepish.

“So what are the boys' marks?” You asked as you sat down on the bed, helping him unpack the feast that he had splayed out in front of the two of you.

“Eh, Jins is lost things?” He laughed.

“Lost things?" You asked as you took a whole dumpling in your mouth.

“Yeah, whenever his soulmate looses something he wakes up to it on his pillow next to him. I have no idea how you loose a shoe, but, what do I know”

You laughed. “Wow okay! That’s a new one.”

“Yoongis is taste, that's why you’ll never see him order coffee from the same place twice. We’re pretty sure they’re a barista of some sorts. So he constantly search for the perfect flat white who tastes like the one she’s always drinking.”

“Aww that’s cute”

“Hobi’s is dreams”

“So he dreams of her?” Namjoon made a face as he had just stuffed it with a giant piece of meat.

He didn’t care, he already felt safe with you, at home. So he just kept talking: “No more like he has no dreams until he touches her, and then he’ll be able to see where she is, and if they’re asleep at the same time, then they can communicate”

“Damn… That must be a difficult one”

Namjoon nodded. “It is, so if you ever see him bump into strangers or poke people, just let him do his thing. He’s getting a little desperate”

“Tae has wings?”

You almost spit your food out right then and there.

“Wait like small wings, or?”

“No they’re huge” He spread his arms out to either side. “It’s completely insane, he prefers to hide them though.”

“Wait what color?”

“Black”

“So like, Angel?” You asked, almost in chock.

“Exactly like her, they’re in contact but because of her schedule and our tour they haven't been able to meet yet. He’s just waiting patiently. But we’re pretty sure that she’s the one”

“Oh wow, and what about Jungkook then?”

He sighed and started to fittle with the food that stood on the bed in front of him. “He got his mark covered”

“I’m sorry what?” Your eyes were big, mouth open, jaw hitting the floor.

“He wants to be able to choose his love himself. It’s why he’s over Star. She however wants nothing to do with him”

“How come?” You took a big bite of the noodles, making Namjoon smile in the process. Seeing you enjoy his favorite foods made him happy. The two of you really were meant to be.

“Her marks is tattoo’s, and she has already met her soulmate, he just doesn’t want her” He shrugged. “So she’s just doing her thing, working with what she loves, traveling the world with us!”

“Enough about them! Tell me about you!” He said, as he sat back, ready for you to tell him his entire life’s story.

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 years ago

Text

By: Ben Appel

Published: May 14, 2023

When I was a young boy, I loved spending the night at my grandmother’s house. There, I could stay up as late as I wanted, and in the morning, there would always be Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast. But the best part was raiding the closet in her basement, which was full of the gowns she had worn in the 1960s and 1970s – frilly pink and purple confections made of lace, chiffon and silk. I would put them on and watch The Golden Girls, sophisticatedly sipping Coke from a wine glass.

When I was nine, my dad bought a video camera, a giant monstrosity that my siblings and I struggled to balance on our shoulders while we filmed home videos. Alone, I’d prop the camera on the coffee table and record myself modelling various outfits, explaining to the camera why this plaid shirt went with these cargo shorts, or why this teal Starter jacket complemented these acid-washed jeans so perfectly. I captured on camera the dance I had painstakingly choreographed to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch’s ‘Good Vibrations’.

As a kid, I followed my two older sisters around like a shadow, mimicking their mannerisms – the way they tucked loose strands of hair behind their ears when they were concentrating on their maths homework; the way they jutted their hips whenever they were talking to cute boys. Like them, I was a naturally athletic kid. My favourite sport was lacrosse, but I much preferred to play with the girls instead of the boys. The boys were quick to push and shove, and they loved to whack each other with their aluminium sticks. Girls relied more on their speed, their reflexes and the skills they’d honed to keep the ball securely cradled in the shallow mesh of their wooden sticks.

I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian community – most people would call it a cult. From kindergarten to the sixth grade, I attended the community’s tiny school. Because enrollment was so low, there was no in-crowd, no separate cliques of jocks and geeks. In retrospect, I’m sure my classmates and especially my teachers noticed my gender-nonconformity – all of my home videos prove that it was glaring – but it went largely ignored. All that mattered was that we were good Christians, that we loved Jesus and evangelised God’s Word to as many people as possible. When I learned about homosexuals in Bible class, or about AIDS (which we were told God had created to punish homosexuals for their sins), I didn’t think for a moment that I was one of them. Sure, my first real crush, when I was 11, had been on a boy – Elijah Wood, an actor about my age whose performance in the 1994 B-movie, North, had captured my heart. But at the time, before sexual maturity, I mistook the longing I felt for Elijah with the more sanitised desire to simply keep his company and be his best friend. I indiscriminately absorbed all of the lessons I learned about homosexuals, as if they were and would always be irrelevant to my life.

The summer after my sixth-grade year, my family left the community and we moved to a neighbouring town. I began seventh grade in a large public school, where there was definitely an in-crowd. My new classmates wasted little time informing me how unacceptable it was for a boy like me to behave the way I did – the way I enunciated my s-words, the way I brushed my auburn hair, which I had highlighted the previous summer with Sun-In. They called me a faggot, delivered me notes that said everyone knew my ‘dirty little secret’. They asked me frequently, ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’. Well, of course I was a boy, I would respond, trembling.

Meanwhile, I was beginning to sexually mature; I was soon developing crushes that inspired more than just a desire to keep a boy’s company. With horror, I realised that I might actually be what the kids were calling me – which, I knew in my bones, guaranteed me a tragically short life and a one-way ticket to hell. That, after all, was what the old form of homophobia entailed. Self-loathing.

To survive the onslaught, I defeminised myself. I lowered my voice, started wearing baggy jeans and sweatshirts, cut the highlights out of my hair, and replaced my Mariah Carey CDs with Nirvana. Soon, the fear and the anxiety became too much to bear, and the only refuge I found was in alcohol and drugs.

In high school, with each passing year, my drug use got worse. After graduation, I lasted one semester in college before dropping out. Two months later, at the age of 19, I had my first of several stays in a local psychiatric ward. I was delusional, addicted to drugs and suicidal.

It was during my second stay in the psychiatric ward that I was introduced to a 12-step programme, which was how I would eventually get sober in my early twenties. It was slow-going in the beginning of my sobriety to accept my homosexuality. I began to reconnect with the young boy I had once been, the boy whose interests expanded beyond what was typical for males. I experimented with bronzer and mascara, and got French manicures and pedicures.

Engaging in these behaviours felt liberating for a while, but eventually the novelty wore off. In fact, they started to feel performative. I realised I didn’t need those things to be my authentic self. My ideas, my voice, the way I treat other people – these are the things that make me the person I truly am.

In 2011, when I was 28, I fell in love with a man. The following year, I joined the fight for marriage equality. After we won that campaign, I knew I wanted to become a gay activist. I wanted to help create a world in which feminine boys and butch girls could exist peacefully in society. A world in which gender-nonconforming people were accepted as natural variations of their own sex. Minorities, sure, but real and valid nonetheless.

The trans question

In 2017, at the age of 33, I enrolled at Columbia University, New York to complete my undergraduate degree. There, I was shocked to discover how gay activism had evolved since marriage equality became the law of the land. The focus was now entirely on personal pronouns and on being ‘queer’. My classmates labelled me ‘cis’, short for cisgender. I didn’t even know what it meant. All I knew was that they called me ‘cis’ in the same cadence that the seventh graders had called me ‘fag’.

Soon, I learned about nonbinary identities, and that some people – many people – were literally arguing that sex, not gender, was a social construct. I met people who evangelised a denomination of transgenderism that I had never heard of, one that included people who had never been gender dysphoric and who had no desire to medically transition. I met straight people whose ‘trans / nonbinary’ identities seemed to be defined by their haircuts, outfits and inchoate politics. I met straight women with Grindr accounts, and listened to them complain about the ‘transphobic’ gay men who didn’t want to have sex with women.

All around me, it seemed, straight people were spontaneously identifying into my community and then policing our behaviours and customs. I began to think that this broadening of the ‘trans’ and ‘queer’ umbrella was giving a hell of a lot of people a free pass to express their homophobia.

At Columbia, I took classes on LGBT history, but much of that history was delivered through the lens of queer theory. Queer theorists appropriate French philosopher Michel Foucault’s ideas about the power of language in constructing reality. They argue that homosexuality didn’t exist prior to the late 19th century, when the word ‘homosexual’ first appeared in medical discourse. Queer theorists proselytise a liberation that supposedly results from challenging the concepts of empirical reality and ‘normativity’. But their converts instead often end up adrift in a sea of nihilism. Queer theory, which has become the predominant method of discussing and analysing gender and sexuality in universities, seemed to me to be more ideological than truthful.

In my classes on gender and sexuality in the Muslim world, however, I discovered something else, too. I learned about current medical practices in Iran, where gay sex is illegal and punishable by death, and where medical transition is subsidised by the state to ‘cure’ gays and lesbians who, the theocratic elite insists, are ‘normal’ people ‘trapped in the wrong bodies’. I privately drew parallels between the anti-gay laws and practices of Iran and what I saw developing in the West, but I convinced myself I was just being paranoid.

Then, I learned about what was happening to gender-nonconforming kids – that they were being prescribed off-label drugs to halt their natural development, so that they’d have time to decide if they were really transgender. If so, they would then be more successful at passing as the opposite sex in adulthood. Even worse, I learned that these practices were being touted by LGBT-rights organisations as ‘life-saving medical care’.

It felt like I was living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. How long were these kids supposed to remain on the blockers? And what happens in a few years, if they decide they’re not ‘truly trans’ after all, and all of their peers have surpassed them? Are they seriously supposed to commence puberty at 16 or 17 years of age? These questions rattled my brain for months, until I learned the actual statistics: nearly all children who are prescribed puberty blockers go on to receive cross-sex hormones. Blockers don’t give a kid time to think. They solidify him in a trans identity and sentence him to a lifetime of very expensive, experimental medicalisation.

I wondered how different these so-called trans kids were from the little boy I had been. Obviously, I grew up to be a gay man and not a transwoman. But how could gender clinicians tell the difference between a young boy expressing his homosexuality through gender nonconformity, and someone ‘born in the wrong body’? I decided to dig deeper into the real history of medical transition.

Medicalising homosexuality

What I learned validated all of my worst fears. I learned that for decades after their invention, synthetic ‘sex hormones’ were used by doctors and scientists who sought to ‘cure’ homosexuality, and by law enforcement to chemically castrate men convicted of committing homosexual acts.

I learned about actress and singer Christine Jorgensen, one of the first people in the US to become widely known for having ‘sex-reassignment’ surgery in the early 1950s. Jorgensen may now be celebrated by the modern ‘LGBTQIA+’ community as a trans icon, but he seemed more concerned with escaping his homosexuality, which he said was ‘deeply alien to my religious attitudes’. As Jorgensen put it, ‘I identified myself as female and consequently my interests in men were normal’.

I learned that of the first adolescents to be treated for gender dysphoria (or what was then called ‘gender identity disorder’) with puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones in the 1990s and early 2000s, the vast majority were homosexual. And I learned that these studies inform current ‘gender-affirming care’ practices.

Soon, I met detransitioned gay men who had sought an escape from internalised and external homophobia in a transgender identity. They continue to suffer severe post-surgical complications, years after their vaginoplasties.

I began to fear we had reached a point of no return a couple of years ago, during a conversation I had with a supposedly ‘progressive’ friend. I told her that, if I had been a young boy now, I likely would have been prescribed puberty blockers and gone on to medically transition. ‘And you don’t think you would’ve been happy as a transwoman?’, she asked me. Her question left me speechless. I couldn’t find the words to state the obvious: that I am a gay man, not a transwoman; that statistics tell me my medical transition may not have been successful; and that I would suffer severe medical complications. In any case, if I had transitioned, I wouldn’t be living an authentic life. After all, isn’t that what this is supposed to be about? Living authentically?

Sylvester, an androgynous disco icon of the 1970s and 1980s, was once asked what gay liberation meant to him. He answered, ‘I could be the queen that I really was without having a sex change or being on hormones’. Perhaps I belong in an earlier era, when newly liberated gays and lesbians rebelled against the medical and psychiatric experiments they had long been subjected to. Perhaps my early aspiration of expanding what it means to be a boy or a girl was nothing but a pipe dream. In Europe, there is hope that these medical experiments will cease, and that gay and lesbian adolescents will be spared from a lifetime of medicalisation. But in the US, nearly eight years after same-sex marriage became the law of the land, it is full-steam ahead with these homophobic practices.

For voicing my concerns about gender-affirming care for minors, I have been called a transphobic bigot. If that’s what speaking out against the medicalisation of homosexuality makes me, then so be it.

Ben Appel is a writer based in New York. His forthcoming memoir, Cis White Gay: The Making of a Gender Heretic, will be published by Post Hill Press.

How on Earth did we get to the point where so many people are engaged in this shared delusion? A type of magical thinking about the infinite malleability of humans, human biology and the human psyche.

What it resembles is a visceral distaste for the human body and biology, cages constructed for the purpose of imprisoning the helpless gender thetans that are condemned to live trapped within them as punishment for slights against Xenu.

But you are not in your body. You are your body. You can't be "born in the wrong body" because you are the thing your body does.

#Ben Appel #gay conversion therapy #conversion therapy #homophobia #woke homophobia #magical thinking #shared delusion #anti gay #gender ideology #queer theory #trans the gay away #trans away the gay #gender thetans #religion is a mental illness

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zwellness · 2 years ago

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What to Expect After Leaving Rehab

Anyone who has ever been to a rehab center knows what leaving can be like. Not only is it a new feeling for you and your friends, but it’s also a brand-new way of life for everyone involved. Whether you have just graduated from best rehabilitation centre in Chennai or have finished an extended stay, the time will come when it’s time to leave and face the world once again. Leaving rehab can be one of the scariest things you’ll ever do, but the benefits of leaving are well worth the fear of the unknown. Every addict is different, so there are no two situations that are exactly alike when it comes to leaving rehab. However, there are some general facts about aftercare that almost everyone experiences at some point during their recovery journey. Here’s what to expect after leaving an addiction treatment center:

People will be more strict about your sobriety

While in treatment, you were most likely allowed to drink water, but now that you’re back in the world, people expect you to be completely sober. Drinking or even taking a few sips of water can get you in big trouble. Not only are you expected to drink water, but you’re supposed to drink plenty of it. Many people find that their cravings are much worse than they were during treatment. It can be almost like you’ve switched bodies. You have less control over your cravings, you feel more pain, and there are just more distractions to get you to drink. People who are sober are also likely to be more judgmental than those who are still in recovery. There’s a much higher chance that people will judge you, even if they’re not outright saying it.

You’ll go through a period of extreme cravings

When you first left rehab, the cravings should have settled down a little bit. It’s normal to feel urges to drink during the first few days after leaving rehab, but the intensity of these cravings should subside by the end of the first week. However, if you’re feeling intense cravings, it’s best to just accept them. Just because you’re sober doesn’t mean that you should try to fight urges that are so deeply engrained part of who you are.

Levels of pain will increase as you heal from addiction

The process of addiction and recovery is a painful one. You have to deal with chronic pain and the reality of just how badly you’ve damaged your body. There are some individuals who deal with increased pain, but for most people, the pain and physical damage from their addiction reduces as they get healthier. You’ve likely felt a lot of pain in rehab, but it’s usually controlled by medication. Now that you’re sober, you’ll have to deal with the pain all on your own.

The first few days are the toughest

The hardest part of leaving rehab is the first 48 hours. You are still under the care and supervision of the treatment center, but now you’re expected to be completely sober and responsible for yourself. It can feel like there’s a huge disconnect between your old way of life and your new one.

Graduation day is approaching

There are a few different ways that you can graduate from rehab. However, the most common way is to finish all of the inpatient treatment and complete a few months of outpatient care. This is the route that almost everyone takes. You’ll finally be able to leave the treatment center and be responsible for your health again. You’ll be free from the restrictions and rules that were placed on you in rehab. Now, it’s your turn to heal.

There’s hope at the end of your journey

There are a lot of people who have tried to quit drinking or using drugs and failed. Then, there are those who try and fail, only to finally find success. You have the opportunity to turn your life around and make a new start. Not only will you be happier and healthier, but you’ll also be more likely to pass on your knowledge to the next generation of addicts. There’s hope at the end of your journey. However, you’ll have to work hard to achieve it. If you make the decision to change your life, then you’ll find that it’s easier than you ever imagined. There’s hope at the end of your journey. However, you’ll have to work hard to achieve it. If you make the decision to change your life, then you’ll find that it’s easier than you ever imagined. Get Directions to Rehabilitation Centre in Mumbai

#leaving rehab #rehabs #rehabilitation #chennai #addiction treatment #addiction recovery #addiction #alcoholism #drug addiction #substance abuse

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fruvittea · 1 month ago

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whispers in the rain ✧˚ · . part five

— ✺ pairing: jay x reader x jake

— ✺ genre: slice of life, angst, suggestive, fluff, childhood best friend, love triangle, college au, slow burn

— ✺ synopsis: jay is your childhood best friend. that’s all he will ever be. a summer with jay and his friends changes how you feel for him when jake comes into your life. and jay begins to think that was a mistake.

— ✺ warnings: for this part none so far

— ✺ word count: 1.8k

— ✺ authors note! hi thank you so much for reading, this is my first fic with multiple parts that i will be writing hope you guys like it :)

The morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting soft patterns across the room. You rubbed your eyes, the events of the previous night playing on a loop in your mind. Jay’s slurred murmurs, Jake’s lingering gaze, and the unshakable conflict brewing in your chest—it all felt too heavy to unpack this early.

You sighed, sitting up and stretching. It’s a new day, you told yourself. For now, you could shove your feelings into the background. Jay needed you. That’s what best friends were for, right?

After freshening up, you made your way to Jay’s room. The house was still quiet, save for faint sounds of movement from the kitchen. Jay’s behavior was certainly still on your mind as for Jake’s too. You brushed your hand through your hair before taking a quick glance at Jay’s door. He was still there. You knocked gently before cracking the door open, peeking in. Jay was sprawled on his bed, his hair a disheveled mess and his face buried in his pillow. The room had a faint smell of beer, he hadn’t taken a shower from last night.

“Jay,” you called softly, stepping inside. “How are you feeling?”

A muffled groan was his only response. He shifted slightly, peeking at you through one barely open eye. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he muttered.

You chuckled. “Let me get you some water and aspirin.” You quickly shuffled out the room to get what he needed and made your way into the kitchen. Making himself some eggs was Jake, his hair falling in front of his face as he focused on making his scrambled eggs.

“Good morning…” You said before opening the cabinet to find the aspirin.

“Oh hey, how are you from last night?” Jake quickly put his eggs on a plate before giving his full attention to you.

“I’m good Jake, thank you.” Your eyes lingered on his face for a little too long before you looked away to pour some water into the glass.

“Is that for Jay?” Jake’s face grew slightly concerned as you gathered everything.

“Yeah, I just checked on him and his head was hurting so…” You lift the water and pill in your hands.

“Ah, got it. Well would you like something to eat? You have to be hungry after a night of sipping on those cocktails.” He gave you a small smile.

“I would love some, thank you Jake.” You lay your hand on his arm giving it a squeeze before heading back to Jay’s room.

“You were a mess last night,” you teased gently, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Do you even remember anything?”

He groaned again, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Not much. Bits and pieces. Did I… do something stupid?”

“No,” you said quickly, though your mind flashed back to the way he’d murmured your name in the car. “You were just… you. A very drunk you.”

Jay gave you a sheepish smile, his usual charm dulled by the remnants of his hangover. “Thanks for taking care of me. I don’t deserve you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you brushed it off with a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

Jay froze for a moment, the word friends echoing in his mind like a loud gong. He didn’t react outwardly—he simply nodded, giving you a small smile. But inwardly, the word felt strange, out of place, almost unwelcome.

Friends.

It wasn’t that he didn’t treasure your friendship; he did—more than anything. But hearing you say it, so matter-of-factly, sent an uncomfortable pang through his chest. Was that all he was to you? Was that all he would ever be?

“Right,” he said finally, his voice steady but his thoughts anything but. “Friends.”

If you noticed the slight edge to his tone, you didn’t mention it. Instead, you patted his shoulder, your touch light and familiar. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”

As you stood and made your way to the door, Jay’s gaze lingered on you, his head buzzing—not from the hangover, but from the weight of unspoken feelings that pressed heavier with every passing moment. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he watched you leave, the word friends still replaying in his head.

And for the first time, he wondered if it was enough—or if he’d waited too long to want something more.

But today was a new day, he mustn’t dwell, at least right now.

You made your way to the living room, sitting comfortably on the couch.

“Here you are, eggs with toast and bacon, a very western breakfast today,” Jake said, settling the plate down onto the coffee table before taking a seat next to you.

“I hope you enjoy it, I worked tirelessly on them.” His playful voice makes you laugh, but there was a slight edge to it. As if he wanted to talk about last night, but you didn't budge although there was a part of you that wanted to. “Thank you Jake, I appreciate it, truly.” You begin to dig and Jake gets up to head back to his food.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the rest of the group was already up, nursing their own hangovers with coffee and light chatter. Jake sat quietly at the table nearby, swirling his mug of coffee absentmindedly. He hadn’t said much to the group since he came down, his mind preoccupied with the lingering feelings from the night before.

“Something’s up with Jake,” Sunghoon whispered to Jungwon, nodding subtly in his direction.

Jungwon glanced over, raising a brow. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s been brooding since we got back.”

“What’s going on between him, Jay, and y/n anyway?” Sunoo piped up, leaning closer to the group. “Did anyone else notice how weird things were last night?”

Niki snorted. “Understatement of the year. Jay was a drunken mess, Jake couldn’t stop staring at y/n, and she looked like her brain was short-circuiting half the time.”

Heesung, who had been sitting quietly until now, finally spoke up, his tone unusually thoughtful. “Well, I saw something last night. Jake kissed her on the forehead before he went to bed.”

The group froze, turning to stare at him.

“Wait, what?” Sunghoon blinked, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Are you serious?”

Heesung nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, it wasn’t anything over the top, but it wasn’t just friendly either. And the way he looked at her after… There's no denying it. Jake’s all in.”

“Damn,” Niki muttered, glancing at Jake, who was still lost in his own thoughts at the table. “No wonder he’s like this.”

“Wait,” Sunoo cut in, his brow furrowing. “Does y/n know? Or is she just… completely oblivious?”

Heesung shrugged. “Hard to tell. But if I had to guess, she’s probably torn. She’s always been close to Jay. You can’t just turn that off, even if someone new comes into the picture.”

“You think Jay knows how Jake feels?” Jungwon asked, his tone quieter.

“Who knows?” Heesung replied. “But if he doesn’t, he’s about to. It’s not like Jake’s hiding it.”

Jake, overhearing bits of their conversation, finally spoke up, his voice cutting through the low chatter. “Can you guys not?” His tone was sharper than usual, his frustration evident.

The group fell silent for a moment, exchanging glances. It wasn’t often Jake let his emotions show so plainly.

Jungwon was the first to speak, his tone calm and measured. “Jake, we’re not trying to meddle. We just… want to understand what’s going on.”

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is… I like her. A lot. And it feels like I’m stuck waiting for something that might not even happen.”

The vulnerability in his voice made the group sit up straighter, their usual teasing absent.

“Maybe you should just tell her,” Sunoo suggested softly. “Before it gets more complicated.”

Jake shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Not when Jay’s in the picture. He’s… he needs her right now. I don’t want to make things harder for her.”

Even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow, a weak excuse to bury the ache in his chest. The truth was, Jake was sure of what he felt for you—he’d been sure for a while now. Every smile you gave him, every glance that lingered a little too long, every laugh that echoed in his ears long after you’d walked away only cemented it. But Jay… Jay was a complication Jake didn’t know how to untangle.

Jake couldn’t ignore the way Jay clung to you, even in his most vulnerable moments. He couldn’t shake the image of Jay murmuring your name in the car last night, the unspoken connection that seemed to tether the two of you together. Jake didn’t know the full depth of your feelings for Jay—or even if they existed—but something about the way you cared for him made Jake hesitate. What if there was more between you and Jay? What if Jake’s feelings would only end up pushing you further away?

He rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of it all settling heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to act, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, but the thought of stepping into whatever undefined territory existed between you and Jay felt like a betrayal he wasn’t sure he could live with.

The weight of his words hung in the air as the group fell into thoughtful silence. Heesung glanced at Jake, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “Just… don’t wait too long, Jake. Sometimes, waiting can cost you more than acting.”

Heesung’s words cut through the haze of Jake’s thoughts, grounding him in the moment. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. He knew Heesung was right. If he didn’t move soon, he might lose his chance altogether—to Jay, to hesitation, to time itself.

Jake’s resolve began to harden, though doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. He didn’t know how you felt about him—or if you’d ever see him as more than the guy who stood in Jay’s shadow. But he couldn’t keep waiting, watching from the sidelines while his feelings threatened to consume him. If there was even the smallest chance you might feel the same, he had to try.

The room settled into an uneasy quiet, each of them wondering how this tangled web of feelings would eventually unfold—and who might get caught in the crossfire. Jake, though, wasn’t focused on them. His thoughts were a whirlwind of hope and hesitation, circling around one question: What if you didn’t choose Jay? What if, this time, you chose him instead?

✴︎🪷𓈒͏ུུ̑̑. ཉ — by @fruvittea

🏷️ tag list: @kyunlov @kawaiijellyfishtimetravelr

💌 pm me if you want to be on the tag list

#kpop #kpop drabbles #kpop fanfic #enhypen #jake enhypen #jay enhypen #enhypen fanfics #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki #heesung enhypen #sunghoon enhypen #jungwon enhypen #jay x reader #jake x reader

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kitstark · 4 months ago

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sipping cold coffee on the phone with damaged goods ⇌ kitana

WHO: Kit Stark & Santana Lopez @psusantana

WHERE: Their individual homes

WHEN: Thursday, August 29th

WHY: Kit takes Eva's advice and calls Santana, what follows is the start of the long road to reconciliation and understanding.

WARNINGS: brief mentions of childhood (implied sexual) assault

KIT STARK

Kit wasn't sure this was smart. But they also didn't really know what else to do. The only thing they had a strong enough grasp on lately was their feelings for Santana. And that wasn't exactly the best thing. And Eva suggesting they drunk call her… well, they weren't drunk, but anyone would be hard pressed to say they were sober. So, they did the stupid thing. They hit call. They weren't sure what they were going to say if she actually picked up, but they figured they'd figure it out. Besides, what was the chance she'd actually pick up anyway?

SANTANA LOPEZ

After one hell of a busy day, Santana had come home and decided to indulge in some much needed rest and relaxation. Well, the relaxation part anyways. She didn't know where her sister was but after ordering dinner and scarfing it down, she had just poured herself another glass of wine when she heard her phone ringing. Expecting it to be literally anyone else, she furrowed her brows when she read a name she hadn't been expecting. And before she could talk herself out of it, she decided to answer it. "Is this a booty call?" She asked.

KIT STARK

Well fuck. "I thought we already agreed I wasn't supposed to do that?" The retort came easy because it was the only thing they knew they could say. They didn't know why they'd bothered to call, but it certainly wasn't for that. They weren't in any place to do that, much less with her. This was certainly going to be one of those nights where they were winging it all the way. Didn't even need to hope for the best, really. Could even hope for the worst, probably. "Not that I would even if we hadn't."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana bit back a smile as Kit confirmed that this wasn't a booty call, meaning that they had meant it when they agreed not to do that. At least they were on the same page, mostly anyways. Taking another sip of her wine, she was a little more confused when Kit went on to clarify that they really weren't trying to cross the line. "Good to know, but..what is this then?" She questioned. "For once, this isn't me being a bitch, I'm just surprised that you called me."

KIT STARK

Kit sighed. Why were they calling? Because Eva had said to? Because some part of them wondered if she'd agree to actually punch them and follow through with it? "I don't know. Just… felt like I should or needed to or…. something." Maybe it was the same reason they'd once called her while things were still good. Because talking to her just made things make sense sometimes. "This was stupid." They muttered, more to themself than to her. August 30, 2024

SANTANA LOPEZ

"You felt like you should or needed to?" Santana repeated, and if she hadn't already been insanely confused before, she sure was now. They hadn't exactly been on bad terms right now, but were they at the talking on the phone as…friends stage? She didn't really think so, but they were here now. "Are you okay? Or is tonight like a bad night or something?" She still had no understanding of whatever was going on with them, but it felt like a fair place to start.

KIT STARK

"I-" Was tonight a bad night? At first thought, it wasn't. Not any worse than usual anyway. But, it still wasn't great. And thinking about her and everything as of late certainly hadn't helped the way they felt. "Maybe? I guess I just feel more disconnected from myself than usual." Which was saying a lot, given their state of existence. "Talking with you used to mitigate that. Guess some part of me figured as stupid an idea as it was that it couldn't hurt. Worst you could do was hang up or decide you'd rather hit me." They shrugged a little, unsure why they'd actually said all that, even if it was true.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Without knowing exactly what the issue was, Santana didn't know how she was supposed to understand any of this enough to be of any real help, yet she still sighed when Kit tried to explain themselves anyways. This wasn't how she expected things to be between them when she'd heard they were back on campus, but she could tell they were struggling, and she wasn't going to kick them while they were down. Not entirely anyways. "I could hit you if you were here." She pointed out. "But since you're not, why don't you tell me about this Jill bitch?"

KIT STARK

Kit bit their tongue when she mentioned hitting them if they were there, deciding it was best not to comment on that. They wanted to. Void certainly wanted them to. But they wouldn't. "Dr. Jill Murphy-Stevens, was Jill Montgomery when I met her but that's mostly irrelevant. We were neighbors while I was at Carnegie Mellon and she and her roommate were at U of Pitt. Six foot one on a bad day. Sassy as all hell and knew what she wanted and how to get it. And what she wanted, was to be treated like a princess. Taken care of and spoiled. She didn't have the bite of later partners, didn't have as much spunk and defiance in the bedroom, but that's a more recently acquired taste anyway." Not wholly because of Santana, but they imagined now that it would be something of a requirement in later partners, because of Santana. "Without getting into her specific kinks or what she's doing with herself now, there's not much more to say. She was my first serious partner, who I realized I liked service with. She set that foundation for me. That the few other serious partners and in some days the simply sexual partners I've had since have simply built on." They'd only had one or two other relationships besides Jill and Santana, because of how they lived life in NYC, but their sexual partners were numerous enough.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana didn’t know what to expect by giving Kit something to talk about that wasn’t their relationship or whatever was going on with them, but clearly opening the floor for more Jill talk was..progress. She refilled her wine glass as she let them ramble, sipping on it more and more as she somehow managed not to get jealous as she listened. Normally she probably would have, but the woman was married and Kit wasn’t hers anymore, so she didn’t mind it. Once they finished, she hummed dramatically. “She sounds lovely, really. Glad you two stayed friends after you broke up. However, that ask you responded to still wasn’t about her, so are you ready to just admit that it was about me?”

KIT STARK

Kit sighed. "Of course it was about you. You're special and I fucked it all up but I'm not stupid enough to not know what I lost. Or think that I'll ever actually get over you." Well, in time they might, but, "it's hard enough getting over a relationship as one person, much less two." The words were out of their mouth without even thinking, but they just prayed they'd been quiet enough that she didn't hear anything more than mumbling. Because that was not the conversation this should be, even if it was constantly eating them alive, her not knowing. Everyone else it was so easy to keep that from, but she'd been their safe space and they wanted so desperately for her to know and understand that none of it had been on purpose, that it had nothing to do with her, even if that didn't fix anything between them.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Pausing at Kit's revelation, Santana was sure that she'd misheard them. They had gone around in circles trying to insinuate that it wasn't exactly about her, just to come clean now and even say something she hadn't been expected. And then they added onto that, and although she'd wished she hadn't quite heard what they'd said, she did. Gulping the wine in her glass down, she had to take a minute or two to process what Kit had said before she was stretching out on her couch. "Well, at least we can agree that I'm a fucking limited edition." She teased, deciding that maybe a little joking would calm both of their nerves a little bit. "As for the other stuff…I answered your phone call, didn't I?"

KIT STARK

"And I'm a stubborn pain in the ass on a good day, what's new?" They played into the teasing, because it was comfortable, it was something they knew, and it was the truth. "Sure, but… Did you hear it? And are you willing to hear that out right now? I can't force you and I'd be lying if I said I hate that you don't know, but it's not the kind of thing I want you to agree to listen to just because it's eating me alive. I know you don't owe me shit and yes you answered my call but that doesn't mean you have to hear me out."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana smiled at Kit played right into her teasing, which at least seemed to help just a tad bit, which was better than nothing at this point. But what she hadn't expected was for them to try to open that door tonight. Maybe she should have foreseen such when she hadn't flat out ignored their comment, but it wasn't like she could run from it forever either. "Kit, it's okay." She stated, inhaling and then exhaling a small breath. "I did hear you, and although I have no idea what I'm about to hear, we can do this now." Would she ever truly be ready to make sense of what went wrong with them? Probably not. Yet it was killing Kit so she figured now was as good of a time as any. "I'm ready."

KIT STARK

Kit sighed, sitting up in bed, moving to prop themself up against their headboard, grabbing one of their stuffed sharks, resting their head on it. "The reason I seemed like a different person at the end is because, I was. Sort of. I'm what they call a system. It's a disassociative disorder thing." They knew they needed to do this slowly. Go bit by bit. Let her decide if she was ready for more of it, because they didn't want to overwhelm her, or themself.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Listening intently as Kit slowly started to explain what had happened, Santana couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for them. It did answer her own question as to why they'd switched up on her in the end, and she was relieved to know that it wasn't her own fault at least. "Dissociative disorder? Is that like..the same as multiple personality disorder? Or close to it, I guess?"

KIT STARK

"It's the same family of disorders, yes. Multiple Personality Disorder is now more commonly referred to as DID, which is Dissociative Identity Disorder. Most people with dissociative disorders typically get an OSDD diagnosis, which is Other Specified Dissociative Disorder, due to there being extremely strict guidelines for being diagnosed with DID that most don't fit fully into." Kit explained, glad that she seemed to be willing to continue, at least for now.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana nodded along as she listened, trying to piece all of this new information together now. Her knowledge of the disorder was limited, and she couldn't even recall anyone she'd ever met that had it, so she was at quite a loss for how to even deal with this sort of thing going forward. "So you fully fit into the DID guidelines?" She asked. "Or do you not fit the guidelines but you still sort of fall under the category anyways?"

KIT STARK

"Given Void's nature, as well as a few of my other alters, I was diagnosed with DID. Had Void not been primarily who was fronting at the time of diagnosis, I imagine I wouldn't have been, since the biggest key difference between DID and OSDD 1b, is blackouts. Memory loss. I have total memory loss anytime Void fronts on its own and all or some when others front, except for Guardian." Kit wasn't sure any of this would make sense to her, but they couldn't entirely stop now. They were just trying to answer her questions the best they could.

SANTANA LOPEZ

As soon as Kit started to name their dissociative identities and symptoms, Santana was sure that her head was spinning now as she tried to keep up with them. She could at least make sense of why Kit had stopped being Kit and why she'd felt like she was dating a different person sometimes. "Okay, whoa, wait — is Void..is that who I was dating when shit got bad?" Did she really want an answer to that? Probably not, but she'd been wanting answers since their break up so this was her chance to get them.

KIT STARK

"That is a simple question with a complicated answer. Void is who you broke up with, the one who didn't like being touched, who pulled away and panicked every time something tried to go anywhere. But, I was still there, at times, when I couldn't remember things you'd told me or places we'd been, things we did. Guardian started taking over then too, because they could sort of remember and them fronting, either fully or with me, kept me safe. It wasn't until I couldn't front at all, that my life actually imploded. When people couldn't deny that I wasn't me." Kit rubbed the fin of their plushie between their fingers, not at all surprised to find Hel pressing her snoot against their leg, indicating that they were approaching an anxiety attack if they weren't careful. They gave her head scritches, trying to reassure her they were okay. Even if they weren't sure of that.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Sighing as she took everything in, Santana had more questions now, but she didn't want to bombard them since she was sure that this was already a lot for them. Hell, it was a lot for her just hearing all of this now, so she couldn't imagine what living with it was like for Kit. "I don't want to overwhelm you, but how many of them are there? Do they all have names, did I like..witness them all before we broke up?" She started rambling before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sure this is a lot for you, and I'm not trying to be pushy or force you to explain everything in one night, I'm just..trying to understand."

KIT STARK

"I like that you're trying to understand." Was the first thing Kit said, the softest of smiles on their face. They knew she didn't have to, but they appreciated that she was. It helped them feel better about this. "As far as how many, myself included there's either six or seven of us that are fully formed enough that the rest of the system is aware of us, and us them. We aren't sure on that number because one swears he split, but we can't prove that, because that supposed other alter hasn't show himself. We aren't sure he's not just lying, he's a dick like that. As for how many you've met, just the three of us. Kit, Guardian, and Void. Guardian's the bite-y, kind of possessive one." Kit explained, moving so Hel could lay her head in their lap. "Paras didn't return to headspace until after I was getting help, same with the one who says he split, and the last one, I pray you never have to meet her, because it will mean something very bad has happened. Not that I want you to meet the dick, either, but you could take his ass any day."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana was thankful that Kit seemed to be okay with her wanting to understand, but she still didn't want to push them too much. Honestly, this was too much for her to even be dealing with after a long ass day and two, or three, glasses of wine, yet they had opened this door and she wasn't gonna run out of it now. Running was her usual plan of action yet considering how long they'd avoided this talk, she had to deal with it. "So I can handle all of them except for this one? And what do you mean something bad has happened? Something like what, Kit?" She asked, trying to hide the slight panic in her tone. "You can't just say that and not tell me what that means or what signs to possibly look for if this one is..fronting?"

KIT STARK

"It's not that you couldn't handle her, but I don't know if she'd respond well to you. We don't really know who she'd respond to. Maybe our brother, Charles, but we can't be certain." Kit took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Her name is Katie. Physically, she stopped aging at ten. Mentally, best guess is five or six. Around when Guardian first formed. She's our core. Who the worst of the trauma actually happened to. I got the tail end of it. We've only had her front once in all this, when Jeremiah, or the Rat or whatever his fucking name is, first tried fronting. Void attacked him Katie found out that Void had those memories, which she gave to me but apparently I couldn't handle them so Void got them, and… she kicked all of us out of the front, kept us out, therapist says it was hours before she calmed down enough for anyone to make it back to the front. I was out for three days after. Katie doesn't understand what we are, I don't think so, anyway. But if she fronts it means that the body has been trigged so badly that even she is lashing out."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Whatever Santana was imagining this other identity to be, the way her jaw dropped as she listened to Kit's explanation proved that she had been so far off base here. Sure, all of this was insanely foreign to her anyways, but this thing sounded like it was practically a kid who didn't know how to handle their emotions and threw somewhat of a tantrum when they had been triggered. "And now I see why you don't want me to meet Katie. Anything kid-adjacent is not my forte and I'd probably just go full Diabla on it, so yeah, let's not ever have me meet that one." She sighed. "This is…a hell of a lot to take in. I knew you looked like hell for a reason, but I didn't know you were practically living in hell. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

KIT STARK

Kit chuckled a little. "Yeah, no one should meet Katie, for the sake of us as a person. and I pray Paras can be kept back as well. They're not as young and are far more easily dealt with, but they're still little at the end of the day and we don't need to scare them, more than they scare themself by trying to front during horror movies." Paras was entirely too curious for their own good, but now that they knew how to schedule time for Paras to front it was easier. But anytime dinosaurs were mentioned things got hairy. "I was completely unaware of any of this. I knew I had blackouts, that I had weird memory loss, but I chalked it up to bad habits and stupid decisions. Anything to keep myself in denial about reality, I guess. Void's job was to keep me functional as a human being, it didn't know how to explain to you what was happening, so it didn't. It had more important things to focus on, like keeping the body alive and minimizing damage to things like our career. And it tried its best with you, but it just wasn't able to give you what you needed and it didn't know if it could tell you and how that might come back to harm me and the rest of the system."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"But you can't control them, right?" Santana hummed. "Or you can't control when a different one is trying to front?" That could sort of explain what happened with them and why things hadn't made much sense back then, since she'd assume that if Kit had the option to front and could push the rest of the back then they would have fought to save their relationship, or even their friendship at least. The plus side right now was that she knew the truth about what had gone wrong with them, and she was relieved to know that it wasn't her…for once, anyways. "Right, but..you're Kit now, aren't you? Does this mean Void gave you those memories back, or did it just tell you what happened back then?" Santana didn't know if freely talking about their past was going to trigger anything, or anyone she should say, but she was trying to be calm about it anyways. "And other than Void, how does anyone know who's fronting? How do you even know at the time? Are you just kinda present, but then also having some sort of out of body experience type thing?" August 31, 2024

KIT STARK

"Correct. But we know what triggers most of us. At least enough that we can try and keep that from happening. Guardian is the best at this. At keeping others at bay, or fronting with them to minimize damage." Kit hummed a little. "I won't ever have those memories, I have to rely on what Void and Guardian have told me. I know we fucked up with you. Whether I had control or not, we fucked up. I fucked up. And I want to be able to apologize for that, in a more direct way, but you would have to be willing to walk me through the end. Not now, mind you, but eventually, if you so feel up to it." Kit knew it was asking a lot, but they did want her side of things. "We don't always know at the time, actually. When you came by, I was co-fronting with Void, primarily letting it take the lead. Until it started acting up, then I pushed it back. But, yes, if we are aware of what's happening but not fronting, it's watching yourself say and do things and not being able to do anything at all about it. There's ways to force others from the front, but it can be very hard. And sometimes, you just leave the front of headspace on purpose because everything is too much and someone else should handle all that. Not nearly as relaxing as it sounds, mind you, but useful."

SANTANA LOPEZ

The more Santana took the information in, the more she was sure that she'd need Kit to spend days walking her through all of it, through what a detailed moment was like when a different one was fronting, but she knew now wasn't the time. She was feeling a handful of emotions now that she had an idea of what had been at fault for things playing out like they did, and she was only getting more and more curious as Kit continued clarifying things, but she didn't need to keep throwing all of these questions at them in one night. "I'm sorry." She muttered. Even if Kit had been going through the worst kind of hell with all of this, apologizing was still hard for Santana, still leaving a bitter taste in her mouth the few times she'd ever managed to get the words out. "One day, I'll walk you through the end, but…I don't know, maybe we should just take all this a little slower, or only cover so much in a day? I don't want to keep blurting out a hundred questions and send you spiraling, or trigger one of the others, but there is just so much here that needs to be unpacked." She whined.

KIT STARK

"Thank you, but I promise you have done nothing to warrant being sorry." Kit knew those words were hard for her, they didn't wish to simply dismiss them, but they also didn't think she needed to be. She had done what she deemed was right for the time, with the information she had. Kit could not fault her for that. "It doesn't have to be now, or anytime soon, or even ever. You're allowed to protect yourself just as much as I am. You're allowed to tell me to stop. You're allowed to say it's too much for you. I thank you for even hearing me out this far." They smiled softly. "I know how to end things I'm not ready for. I've got Hel on standby. Knowing you want to understand has helped more than I know how to express. You were always such a safe space and I never told you that enough. But you've certainly reinforced that tonight." They hummed a little. "Do you want to be done for tonight or is there something else you feel you need?"

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana sighed as Kit reassured her that she didn't need to be sorry. While she knew that everything she'd done then had been a reaction to Kit, or Void, pushing her away, she still felt slightly awful that she hadn't been able to stick around to get this side of the story back then. Nodding along as Kit gave her a vocal appreciation just for taking this all in and giving them a chance to start diving into this, she felt butterflies forming in the pit of her stomach when they mentioned her being a safe space for them. "This is all gonna take sometime to fully digest, but I'm open to trying to understand as much of this as possible, just in small doses." She admitted. "But yeah, I think we should pause here for tonight, just to let us both breathe and adjust to even some of it being out there in the open now."

KIT STARK

"I'm still trying to digest it some days, so you're not alone in that." There we days Kit still struggled with their identity, with being a system. With everything that had been discovered to be wrong or different with them since. There were so many things that no one could tell which came first. But the general consensus was that being a system certainly hadn't made this things any better. "I think you're right. Do you want to stay on for a little bit, tell me about how you're feeling about this or even just what you've been up to? I just want to know you're okay." It was after care, really. Wanting to know she was okay. Wanting to help her through it. Didn't matter if this wasn't sex, it was something heavy and a lot and that was taxing. Kit wanted to make sure she was safe before they hung up.

SANTANA LOPEZ

This was way too much to be trying to digest in one night, but hearing that Kit was still trying to get a handle on all of it too was…reassuring? Maybe that wasn't the right way to look at it since Kit had been battling this for a while now and they were still struggling, but Santana didn't feel as bad being so damn clueless about it all now. Even the explanations were going to take a full day or two to sink in, so she'd try to make more sense of it tomorrow. She found herself smiling as the self care side of Kit kicked in again, which she felt like she hadn't experienced in far too long so it was nice to have that again, even if it were just for tonight. "Thank you for asking, but I'm not okay. I mean, I wasn't entirely okay before this conversation, but finding out all of this and learning that you didn't push me away because of something I did is only adding to the mess of emotions I'm already dealing with. And I'm not blaming you right now, I'm just…I have so much shit I need to sort out too."

KIT STARK

Kit nodded as she spoke. "You wanna talk some of it out? Or is there anything I can do right now, in this moment, to make it easier? I might not be able to fix it or make it better for long, but I gotta know you're not gonna get off this call and break down. Even if we don't talk about any of that, even if all we do is talk about meaningless shit for a while." They didn't like that they'd added to her stress, even if she wasn't blaming them for it. They wanted to do something to alleviate some of it. Even if only for the moment. "And don't be a brat and try and argue that I don't need to. You're not going to convince me of that."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana had been struggling for weeks now with her own shit, and keeping it in the family, or families, had only been adding to her spiraling. And Kit was being genuinely concerned, that much she knew, and she could only roll her eyes playfully when they called out the brat thing. "You don't need to, just so we're clear." She whined, sitting up on her couch now. "You also can't fix it because that's my job to do, I'm just..afraid of fucking it up or making things worse." She admitted with a shaky breath. "Only the families involved know this, but..I have a kid. A daughter. And before a few weeks ago, I hadn't seen her or her father since I gave birth and handed her over to him and his mom, but now they're right here and she wants to get to know me, but I'm not fit to be a mom. That's why I gave her up in the first place, and I've already managed to fuck it up once so I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

KIT STARK

"Yes I do, hush." They tilted their head a little, listening as she explained the situation. Santana having a child was shocking but not her giving it up. "That is certainly a lot to be dealing with. But, you do know you don't have to be her mom to be in her life, right? You aren't being asked to be her mom, I imagine. But… how did you fuck it up? Walk me through that."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana was probably expecting some sort of judgment in response yet Kit hadn’t done any of that, which somehow settled her nerves a little bit. “Puck invited me to his birthday cookout, and I thought I could handle seeing her again for the first time — but I don’t know, I also thought that maybe he kept my identity a secret and she didn’t know I was her mom. But the way that kid looked at me when she saw me just…I panicked and I left without saying a word to her. Apparently now she thinks there’s something wrong with her since I can’t even be around her, and Puck chewed me out before demanding that I apologize to her in person. But I can’t promise that I won’t just run away again.”

KIT STARK

Kit listened quietly, but wasn't all too surprised they felt themself gently pushed to the side. Guardian was good with kids, had formed exclusively to protect Katie. They knew a decent amount about a lot of things, actually. "You went in blind. That's not wholly on you. And while I can't say I fault him for being upset with you, he also plays a hand in that." Guardian reassured. "Now, would it be easier in a setting where you could have support? Where the ground is far more equal? Where it's not you being forced into a place where fleeing is your only option?"

SANTANA LOPEZ

Listening to Kit, Santana was sure that this was hands down the best advice she'd gotten thus far. Puck's advice hadn't been that bad either, but it was also from the perspective of a protective dad so it had only added to her negative feelings about herself. "Oddly enough, I don't blame him. I chose to show up knowing she'd be there. And I've been sending her gifts every single year for her birthday and Christmas so of course she'd want to know shit about me. And I'm not afraid of anything else, so why does a 15 year old scare the shit out of me?" She asked, though she knew why facing the consequences of her actions scared her. "I offered, or more so demanded, that I take him and the kid shopping for school supplies, mostly so I can't just run away since I'm going to pick them up, but actually forcing myself to drive there is the hurdle I need to jump over first."

KIT STARK

Guardian hummed a little as Santana spoke. Simply taking in the information being presented to them. Letting her talk it out. "What if I drive you? Or you can have someone else do it. But, what if you remove the ability to run completely and you can't make up an excuse as to why you didn't show, because someone else is holding you accountable?"

SANTANA LOPEZ

"You know I hate the accountability thing." Santana groaned. "But I don't know, maybe I do need someone else to be there to hold me accountable. To make sure I don't break my kid's heart more than I already have." She hummed. "But Kit, you don't have to do it. I can make Mari do it."

KIT STARK

"Yes, how dare a brat face the consequences of her actions." They teased. "But it can be good for you, especially in this case. As for not having to do it, you ask Mari, and if she can't or won't, then you tell us and we'll do it. Least we can do."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana smirked at that. "This is a different kind of consequence though. Having me as a mom can ruin a kid, or turn her into a mini Diabla, which no one needs." She pointed out. "And thank you, but you don't have to take care of me, you know? I can force Mari to drive me. You don't really owe me anything, Kit..or Guardian, right?"

KIT STARK

"You don't have to be a mother to her to be in her life. Unless you're looking to get back with Puck, then that's a completely separate set of scenarios. She can know you gave birth to her, she can even want you in her life, but that does not mean you have to be her mother, nor do I think it would be as disastrous and you're thinking it will be, especially not with her in her teen years already. Nurture plays a bigger part in life than a lot of people want to give it credit for." Which explained so much of the system's surface level issues, but that was entirely besides the point. Though was certainly one that came up in therapy often enough. "Maybe we don't, but that's what we do for people we care about, and you are still one of those people. Are you going to be good and not then force her to take you home if you have second thoughts? Not to discredit any willpower she may have, but she does still live with you, does she not?" Guardian smirked, chuckling a little. "It's a pleasure to meet you, officially, which feels odd to say, knowing our past, but… It is."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana shrugged as she took in their advice. "I was never with Puck like that, we just met and fucked around for a few days before I went back home and found out I was pregnant. And I don't know what the kid wants, that's what scares me. Even if I don't want to be a mom, what if that's what she wants in one capacity or another? Besides, I'm not 16 now. I'm an adult, I have a successful career and now I have a part time teaching gig. Clearly I've come a long way since my days of being a menace, so what if she expects me to be ready now?" The "what ifs" were exactly what had been eating at her lately, even if she didn't want to admit it. And as much as she loved her sister, she was aware that Mari would peel out of there if she sensed Santana being too scared. "Yeah, it's nice to meet you too, and you're not wrong. I can't rely on my sister to hold me accountable, so…you can drive me."

KIT STARK

Guardian listened quietly. "Breathe, San. You are not obligated to be anything more to her than you are capable of. You gave her up to give her a life you knew you couldn't give her yourself. As much as failing to live up to her expectations may hurt her, though I doubt she expects such from you, if we're being honest, you aren't obligated to fulfill that role in her life. And no one can force you to do so, either." Guardian knew this was a complex case and maybe the girl wanted for a motherly figure, but that didn't mean she'd go looking for it in the person who already long since admitted she wasn't such. "Good. When?"

SANTANA LOPEZ

Taking in the offered advice, Santana sighed. "Do you always tend to be right?" She whined, and now she was curious as to who was fronting any time she tried arguing with Kit, even over the dumbest shit. "We just said one day this weekend, but maybe Sunday? That way, if it all goes to shit, I'll drink the rest of the day away and then sleep in all day Monday." She decided. It wasn't the best plan, and certainly not the way to handle her problems, but it was her usual way of drowning her sorrows. "Thank you. Before you say it, I know I don't have to thank you, and I know you think that it's the least you could do for me after everything, but this really means a lot."

KIT STARK

Guardian chuckled. "I'm a knowledge and logic based being." They didn't know everything, but they knew a lot and they especially knew how to apply logic to situations where emotions were high. They weren't right all the time, but they were most of the time. "A questionable choice, but we're free either way. You get up with Puck and let us know for sure." Guardian wanted to comment on how unhealthy such actions were, but they knew it would fall in deaf ears and Kit often wasn't much better, so they didn't have room to talk. "You're welcome, San. And I'm not Kit, I don't argue for the sake of it. Even if I also believe such."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"Does that mean that you know a lot?" Santana questioned curiously. Should she be asking questions and getting to know one of the other identities? She wasn't entirely sure, but they all knew her so it was only fair, in her opinion. And when Guardian pointed out a way that they weren't like Kit, her curiosity got the better of her. "Noted. But being that you're not Kit, and I know Void was the one who broke us up, what exactly was your role in all of this? Besides the after care stuff, right?"

KIT STARK

"I do. We were a bit of a professional student for a reason. I also tended to do a lot of research about all sorts of things when I could get away with it. I fronted heavily when it was just Katie and I, and it was a lot of us reading above our age, because it seems I don't age traditionally. The more I know, the older I feel." Guardian explained, more than happy to answer her questions. "Kit mentioned the biting, wasn't always me, but… when they lingered longer. The name only we could call you, that was me. The possession, that was me, more than it was ever Kit. And, aftercare depended on which of us was fronting, though I was often present either way. It started more as curiosity, as it always has, but the longer I watched, the more I wanted to know. I'd met the previous partners, but you were different, especially for Kit and I wanted to know why."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"Good to know." Santana nodded, and she would keep that in mind should she need to ask Guardian anything that wasn't about their relationship or whatever. When they clarified which parts of the relationship were them, or mostly them anyways, she furrowed her brows as she tried to think back on certain memories. "But why was I different? And were you that possessive over the other partners, or was it just me? Oh, and the biting? You're definitely not getting any complaints from me about that. In fact, I kind of preferred it, after a while. But was that a just for me thing too?"

KIT STARK

"I cannot say why you were different, that is a question only Kit can answer. But, you are the only one I was ever with, intimately." Guardian had always watched. Had fronted when they could or needed to, but never in intimate moments. Not until Santana. Guardian wasn't sure what made this woman different for Kit, but that difference was felt for the whole system, or at least the three of them that were more often fronting. It was also why Void had still tried so hard and felt so bad. And it was why Guardian and Kit would be taking a really long time alone, before trying again.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana didn't know why she suddenly felt a warmth come over her when Guardian admitted that she was the only partner they had been with intimately. Did they know they were stroking her ego? Maybe, but maybe not. Kit would never live this down though, that she was sure of. "Okay, but why were you only intimate with me? I mean let's be real, I'm hot and amazing in bed, I know that very well, but what about Jill or one of the others? And wait, when I came by, Kit said they wouldn't be hooking up with anyone else so like..is that because of all of you?"

KIT STARK

"I never saw a reason to in the past. Whatever made you different for Kit made you far more interesting to me and, in time, I found myself desiring such. So, I did." Guardian shrugged. Santana was a puzzle that Guardian had wanted to figure out. And all that had done was get them wrapped up in something that now ached to think about, because it was gone. "You are part of that, yes. However, we can't guarantee Void won't slip to the front during those times, now that it is more active again and the poor dear doesn't need more of a reason to hate itself than it already does."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"Can Kit hear all of this or whatever? I need to know so they won't be surprised when I'm bragging about it later." Santana taunted, though she would honestly be mentioning it again, and again, so Kit better have been ready for it. "But it's good to know that you desired me too. Also won't be letting you live that down either, just so we're clear. But uh…have any of you tried unpacking why Void apparently doesn't like the whole intimacy thing?" She asked before shaking her head. "Actually, don't answer that. That might make me revert back to being a bitch to all of you, so maybe it's best if I don't know."

KIT STARK

"They are more than aware and I imagine are rolling their eyes." Guardian chuckled, the eye roll not entirely voluntary. Kit did have some control, after all. "Void holds the memories of the body being assaulted as child. And I know you told me not to tell you, but I'd rather we get that out of the way now, as it is no laughing matter and if it is something you'd be unkind about, it's best we know now." Their voice was steeled as they spoke, hand curling into Hel's fur for a few moments. Guardian didn't think she would, but it was a precaution that felt necessary, because this was not so far along that they couldn't back out safely now. It would suck, sure, but better to know than allow themselves to get close to her, just find that pain mocked or otherwise turned against them.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana's eyes widened as the mention of an assault, and she hopped up from her couch to go and refill her wine glass. "All of you should know me well enough to know that I'd never laugh about something like that, nor would I ever be an asshole about it later. But are you sure you wanna tell me about this? Right now?" She asked, filling the glass to the brim before she was starting to gulp it down.

KIT STARK

"I had to make sure. It's a hard topic for the system, but I refuse to allow Void to be mocked for how it is." Guardian took a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly. "This is not my story to tell, nor do I imagine it will ever do so, but it is why it does not enjoy physical touch, much less intimacy. And it'd be best if you were careful regarding such from here on out, even if it wasn't meant in a cruel or unkind way."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"That didn't really tell me much." Santana pointed out. "But I guess I'm just…confused. How did the intimacy happen before, but then it all just kind of stopped? Did I do something wrong? Or I don't know, did I somehow trigger some sort of bad memories without knowing that I did?" Again, she probably didn't need to be asking questions she was afraid to hear the answer for, but it wasn't like she could just put it off now.

KIT STARK

"It was never happening with Void. Kit and myself, yes. Either separately or while we were co-fronting, but never with Void around. You had nothing to do with Void coming to the front. But it did get stuck there. It wasn't able to switch out. At least not consistently. The body was unwell and the mind followed. Just, in our case, Void is who keeps us going. It is the autopilot, the last line of defense." Guardian knew they were getting back into deep territory, but they would continue because they had to.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana sighed as she processed the information, and while she didn't take any of it as her being at fault for Void fronting and getting stuck there, she still felt like she was guilty of something. "Why didn't Void just talk to me? Even if it didn't tell me about the assault, why not just tell me that something was up and it couldn't be intimate with me anymore instead of letting me think that there was clearly something wrong with me?" She huffed, and while she wasn't mad, she was feeling all sorts of emotions now, even if they weren't directly aimed at Guardian or Kit.

KIT STARK

"Last I checked, Void doesn't dislike anyone but itself and The Rat." Guardian didn't care to call Jeremiah by his name. Until he could prove what he swears is true they simply did not care. And perhaps wouldn't even care then. He was a danger to the system and that's all Guardian cared about. "Void's job when it first formed was survival. Survival included concealment. No one was to know Void wasn't Kit. Because Kit couldn't know what was going on. That same mentality is the one it held in all of this. And we acknowledge that Void did things under Kit's name that hurt you. It's why we all want to fix that, though our methods are all very different. And Voids are bound to be the least productive." Guardian sighed, head falling back against the headboard with a quiet thunk.

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana raised a brow at The Rat comment but decided not to press them on it right now. Maybe later, or never, but not right now. She listened as Guardian explained why Void had done what it had done, and she was at least grateful that all of the other identities seemed to feel guilty for Void hurting her, which kinda helped ease some of her anger and resentment towards them. "Okay, this is…a lot, but I guess it's a good start to trying to get me to forgive you." She hummed. "But I think this has been more than enough for one night, so maybe we should just pause here."

KIT STARK

"I agree. I certainly didn't mean to get back on this subject." Guardian was tired. The whole body was. These types of things always took it out of them. But, at least it was night and once they were sure they could get off the call safely, they'd likely be quick to medicate and sleep. "And, thanks again, for hearing us out, and while Void may wish for you to punch us in the face, and I'm still not sure it can be ruled out as something that may still happen, thanks for not doing so that day. I also hear you thought I looked good at the party."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"It's okay. This is a lot, for all of you and for me, so it's just gonna take some time to cover everything. And if I'm ever asking too many questions, you can always tell me to shut the fuck up." Santana offered, and while she wasn't sure Guardian would do such a thing, she figured that maybe Void would. Smirking at the bit about the punching thing, which still wasn't entirely off the table, she was sure that she would ask who was fronting before she did it if it came to that. "You're welcome. Whoever chose to dress you that day made you look pitiful, so I couldn't bring myself to do it then. We'll see how I feel next time I see you though. And uh…you picked out that outfit for that stupid party? But I didn't say you looked good, I said you looked better than you did when I stopped by. There's a difference." She lied.

KIT STARK

"We know how to stop things that go too far. Don't you worry about that." Guardian chuckled slightly. "That was Void. It likes its Sanrio and comfy clothes and it was certainly feeling sorry for itself, though that's not anything new when it comes to you." Guardian squinted as she spoke. "I was fronting for the party, and the only reason we went. Kit had some say in what we wore, because they're more into the astrology thing than I am, but yes. And sure, just like that ask answer was about Jill."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"You can't tell me not to worry about it. Now that I kinda know what's going on, I'm gonna worry about you. All of you." Santana pointed out. She didn't know why Void was still feeling sorry all this time later, but maybe her listening and being open to moving forward with them would help. "I guess you have some pretty decent taste then. As for Jill, that doesn't work anymore. It's one thing for Kit to have been attracted to me, but now that I know that even you couldn't resist wanting me, my ego is as big as fucking Jupiter. So thank you!"

KIT STARK

"Much as we worry about you, but we do know how to end things that are too much. Even if that means safe wording. Might be the weirdest time to use it, but we'd figure out a way to end the topic effectively." Knowing Santana would be worried for them made Guardian feel some such way, as most things involving Santana still did. But they pushed it down. This wasn't the time to think about that. "I am, if nothing else, a well dressed shark." Guardian smirked. "Doesn't mean I don't know you well enough to know when you're lying about finding me hot. Might work for simple minded fools who can't read between lines, but not me."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"You guys have a safe word for that?" Santana hummed. At Guardian's remark, she tried not to smirk in response. "Okay well dressed shark, you need to give Void some pointers. Looking like a disheveled mess is not a cute look." She hummed. "And so what? Even if I did find you hot that night, I was also drinking and hiding from you, so it doesn't matter anyways. And besides, weren't you flirting with other women or something anyways?"

KIT STARK

"No, but you happen to know our safe word for other things, so it's not entirely outside the realm of things we could use." Guardian pointed out. "Void cannot keep a single age for long and tends to slide more child like if left in front long enough outside a crisis. There's no point giving fashion advice to a dysphoric child, whose dysphoria is quite literally about being a shapeless and, technically, bodyless mass. We're lucky it seems to have found something other than oversized hoodies to wear." Void didn't have good days anymore. Didn't have days where it wanted to dress up, but Santana didn't need to know it even had those days before. "Oh, it more than matters. And no, I wasn't. I primarily stuck to playing videos with Sam and anyone else who wandered by and wanted to play. No point flirting, didn't need to have people take it the wrong way."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana nodded. "Right, so if it comes to that, you'll just use our safe word? Got it, I'll make sure to keep that in mind." It was smart, at least with her since she'd recognize the safe word and know to stop her interrogation, so it was a pretty good plan. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and Guardian gave another rundown of Void, and while she would have understood the oversized hoodie attire, she figured them wearing something other than that was…better? More suitable in LA heat? Something like that. She'd let that slide…for now. When they admitted that they weren't flirting with any other women, she shrugged. "Oh? Well, that's…totally boring. But even if you were flirting with other women, I wouldn't care because you can do that. You should do that, just when you're all in a better place and ready for it, you know?"

KIT STARK

"Yeah, can't imagine old Italian families should come up naturally in the conversations we need to have." Guardian still didn't know why Kit chose Medici as their safe word, but it was effective and something that was ultimately easily accessible to anyone who may need it. Guardian's head tilted as she spoke. They weren't sure what her angle was here, but it didn't entirely matter, they were sure. "Should we find the need or the want to do so, I imagine we will. But I don't see it being anytime soon."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana hadn't questioned the Medici when Kit had suggested it be their safe word because it was just fitting for them, and even if she'd nagged them about their long ass rant about art before, she did love how passionate they were about it and just went with it. Guardian implying the same thing that Kit, or Void, had done before only made her shrug, deciding she wouldn't press them on why they weren't planning on doing anything with any other women. "Got it. Anyways, we should get some sleep since it's late."

KIT STARK

"Agreed, even if I think Hel has perhaps beat us to it." Guardian wasn't sure if Santana could hear the dog quietly snoring away in their lap, but they weren't going to complain. It was calming and while she wouldn't like being woken up, she'd get over herself knowing they were going to bed soon. "Don't forget to let us know about when we're taking you."

SANTANA LOPEZ

"I can't blame the little watch dog for needing to get some sleep after this long ass phone conversation." Santana teased. "But don't worry, I'll tell you once I talk to Puck and get everything situated. And thank you again. I know I don't have to and you feel like you owe me, but this means a lot."

KIT STARK

Guardian chuckled at her teasing. "Neither can I." It certainly hadn't been planned, but Guardian couldn't say that it was a regretted conversation. Didn't happen the way they expected it to, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "We care and it's clearly something you need to do for you, so you're welcome."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana was slightly annoyed that she couldn't bring herself to still be mad at Kit after this one phone call, but it was probably a good thing. Not that she'd admit it any time soon. "I'm glad you all still care about me." She found herself admitting instead, and she was already mentally scolding herself for it. "Make sure you get enough sleep." She quickly tried to recover with. September 3, 2024

KIT STARK

Guardian raised an eyebrow at her words, but said nothing, knowing that while there were times and places to tease, this certainly wasn't one of them, maybe later, though. "We will try. You do the same." They smiled softly. "Have a good night, San."

SANTANA LOPEZ

Santana smiled softly. "Tell Kit not to dream about me." She teased. "Good night, Guardian."

#assault tw #i: santana lopez #p: santana lopez #p: 002 #p: all

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independentzaun · 2 years ago

Note

[ cosmopolitan ] what is their happiest memory ever? for Silco

Sitting down at his desk Silco raised an eyebrow reaching out for the closed envelope, and using a letter opener quickly retrieved the note from inside. The question posed to him made Silco frown for a second. “Happiest memory… What is it with these intrusive personal questions. Go fuck yourself.” Tossing the note off to one side Silco ran a hand over his hair before turning to grab a cigar, and light it. There was a long slow pause before his eyes closed letting his mind go back further than most would expect, and eventually he spoke.

“I’m sure most would expect me to say something with Jinx, or barring that Vander even. Understandable. I do have happy memories with both. Even Vander before things went the way they did, but that’s not important right now. My happiest memory ever hmmm?” His lidless fiery eye stared ahead while a cloud of smoke escaped from between his lips, and Silco let out a long slow sigh. Leaning back he opened his good eye, and started… to tell a story.

“There was a boy once around twelve years old give or take. Half the time he didn’t get to celebrate his birthday, and the rest of the time when his birthday was celebrated it was late. He didn’t mind though as his mother did her best, and his father worked hard and him? Well he spent almost all his time taking care of his younger brother so really what did it matter? Life went on, and it was what it was and he wasn’t going to complain because you see family is what’s important. Loyalty to each other is what’s important. One day however his parents told him to get all dressed up, and his brother to get dressed up and they did as well. The reason was simple. It was one of perhaps three days throughout his entire childhood in which they would go Uptown.”

There was momentary pause as Silco reached out to pour himself a small bit of whiskey, and took a sip. His voice was going soft, and somber yet held a particular affectionate in it all the same. “At first he assumed it was going to be another annoying trip that reminded him of how the Pilties looked down on him, and his family. A reminder that for all Piltover’s vaunted progress it didn’t get shared with the Undercity, with Zaun. However instead of any of that he ended up at the Piltover Aquarium which in those days was free. Anyone could walk in, and see all of the various exhibits. You had to pay if you wanted food, or drink or anything else of course however anyone could walk in to watch the fish and other various creatures. He wasn’t excited though, not immediately. Because although he never begrudged his younger brother anything he assumed that once again he’d be watching over the other boy, and sure he’d get to see the fish but he’d still have his responsibilities all the same.”

Taking a break, and than a drag off of his cigar Silco seemed lost in thought at this point. A smile finally crossed his face, and his accent shifted as his memory stayed in the past for a while longer. This was a story he’d never told anyone not even Jinx as it simply didn’t seem important to do so. Not in any way that mattered. Not to anyone but him. “O’course than Da picked up mi lil brother. He look down a me, an it was one’a tha few times I ever saw him smile. He wasn’t cruel mind ya, but he a miner and they hard men. He smiled than an tol me tha he was gona look after tha youngest one tiday an na to mind nothin...nothin but enjoyin mi birthday cele. Bit late it was, but later better than never. I didn’t mind none that it was late. A cele was good no matter tha day or time, and bein able to run aroun freely? Tha was the real gift ya know. Loved mi lil brother an still do. Sometimes though ya just need a day, and Da gave me a day. A whole day. Just bein a young thing runnin around seein tha fish, an afterwards getting some food. Ha, got sick o’course when back home way I did but was worth it. The best part? Mi family stayed by me. Listened to mi comments, and talks bout the fish. Da didn’t oft have tha time ti listen nor Ma either. Lil brother tried, but lotta time we did wha he wanted which was okay. Whole day just…” Taking a deep breath Silco let out a soft chuckle shaking his head as his voice returned to normal.

“Just a whole day being a kid you understand. Which wasn’t something I’d ever said at the time, or even understood really. However I had responsibilities from a young age, and that one day… that celebration of my birthday was the last time I had no real responsibilities for longer than I can remember. Not just no responsibilities, but I also got attention. Real attention from my parents. They always made it clear they appreciated me looking after my younger brother of course, but that’s not quite the same as real attention now is it? I think that was, and is my happiest memory. Just a day of running around, and looking at all this new stuff and looking up at Da and Ma and my lil brother to see their reactions in turn. Some food so rich afterwards it made me sick to my stomach, but when you young like that it doesn’t really matter to you. You just happy you got something tasty. When we got back down to Zaun it was still nice. We all just relaxed. Da sang some songs, and Ma made some tea and got Da a beer and we were just a family.”

Downing the last of his whiskey Silco shrugged. “That was also the last of my birthday celebrations that my little brother would ever see, or participate in. In any way. After that his health started going down. So that memory is kind of bitter sweet in a way. It was the happiest day of my life, but it was also a turning point in a way. One of those days in which you can mark things by “before that day”, and “after that day” really. All the same I’d not trade that day, or that memory for anything in the world.”

Closing his eyes Silco refused to acknowledge the one slow tear dripping down his cheek, and didn’t let out the words practically trying to shove their way out from between his lips. Those words that’d admit that not only did he still love his little brother… he still missed him, and always would. Which was one of the reasons that had been his happiest memory. On that day he, and his sibling had been purely just brothers. Just two kids with neither taking care of the other.

Just a family.

Opening his eye he folded the note up, and tuck it in a drawer in his desk. “Now, with that answered. I have work to do.”

#silcoanswers #angst cw #justsilcothings #silcodrabbles

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alovesongshewrote · 2 years ago

Text

Slightly Stabbed | The Lost Boys x Reader

Plot: you get a little bit stabbed. oopsie? [The Lost Boys x GN!Reader]

Word count: 3807

Warnings: first aid, stab wounds, blood, the reader has some issues but it's ok

A/N: this is literally a fanfic in headcanon form, holy fuck. tumblr almost couldn’t handle this thicc thing

Sooooooo, here’s the thing about dating a group of vampires

They uh

They can smell blood

AND I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING, BUT WE AREN’T GOING THERE

At least not today

No, today we’re discussing the fun challenge that is Hiding Your Stab Wound From Your Four Boyfriends

(five boyfriends if you want to add michael, and five boyfriends one girlfriend if you want to add star)

Either way

All these bitches can smell your blood, which makes hiding injuries Difficult

It literally doesn’t matter how little blood there is, the second that red shit escapes your flesh prison, they Know

It makes papercuts very difficult, because you’ll be reading, you’ll get the papercut, and then one or more of them will just Appear behind you like

“Hi, could I offer you a band-aid? Or perhaps you could offer to give me a sip of your blood?”

It’s a fuckin

Process

Also, RIP to you if you ever get scratched in the face by something, because some of these fuckers

(paul and marko)

Will just

Lick your face

They don’t even give any warning, they’ll just lick you

It’s

It’s an experience, to be sure

It’s even more of an experience if you go with the idea that they have forked tongues

But anyway, we aren’t here to talk about little injuries

We’re here to talk about Stab Wounds and How To Hide Them

Short answer: you can’t hide them.

Aaand that’s it, thanks for coming to the TEDTalk everyone, rmr to like and subscribe, blah blah blah

Long answer:

Let’s start with how you got the stab wound

Because that’s very important

Now

There are lots of ways to get stabbed

The boardwalk isn’t the safest place

And i mean, you’ve seen the “people are strange” sequence, there are missing posters fucking everywhere

And yeah, all that murder that could be just the boys, but also

There could be other killers wandering around, you don’t know

There are also vampire hunters

And random delinquents

And people who just

Don’t Like The Boys

And by association, don’t like you

Whatever it is, whoever stabs you

They manage to get you one of the few times you’re on the boardwalk alone

To any passers by, it just looks like a fist fight- probably something that came out of harsh words and youthful anger

But alas, the sharp stinging in your side says something else

Actually, it’s less saying something else, and more screaming it

Nevertheless, you manage to fight off your attacker, and then you’re left standing on the boardwalk, your hands covered in blood as you try to put pressure on your wound

It’s a very strange experience

You’ve got a hole

In your side

You’re leaking blood

And you almost don’t know what to do next

But you know you can’t exactly go home like this, so you end up walking through the crowds on the boardwalk, fighting off shock and trying to ignore the bright lights and joyful screams around you as you try to find a bathroom to clean up in

If anyone notices that you’re hurt, you don’t notice them

Eventually, you find a bathroom, and once inside, you lock the door behind you and take a look in the mirror

As you stare down your reflection, you silently pray that the wound looks worse than it is

In part because it looks really bad

Like, bad enough to freak you out

But you’ve also got your fingers crossed that it looks worse than it is because, uh

If you die alone in a random boardwalk bathroom, David will kill you.

And yeah, the thought of an angry david sobers you up pretty quickly

You start doing first aid on yourself

You’re no pro, but you do your best with what you have

You clean the excess blood off of your wound with paper towels and tap water

At first you’re so focused on speed that you forget to be gentle

You regret it

But you quickly learn how to get shit done efficiently without needlessly torturing yourself

And thank fucking god, the wound does actually look worse than it is

The stab wound isn’t deep, and it didn’t hit anything important

It’s just gross

Once the bleeding stops, you frantically wash all of the blood off of your skin

And then you realize that you don’t have much to patch yourself up with

You end up using your jacket, which was already stained with your blood beyond repair

You rip it up for bandages, and then you realize that you’re uh

You’re probably going to have to get another shirt

Because yours has Noticeable Bloodstains

And not only will your Vampires notice that

But so will the General Public

So yeah, you buy a dumb t-shirt from the boardwalk

It says, “i survived the murder capital of the world and all i got was this stupid t-shirt”

You find it hilariously ironic that you are using this shirt to hide the fact that you almost didn’t survive the murder capital of the world

Anyway

You yeet your old shirt into a random fire, and then you head on back to the cave, hoping for the best

(hoping for the best here means: hoping that you don’t start bleeding again)

You don’t

And hey, when you get to the cave, it looks like the no one’s home

So that’s another win for you!

You walk on in and let yourself collapse onto one of the couches

And i mean, you instantly regret it, because ow

But it’s nice to feel something soft and comfortable after the time you had

You can’t relax, though

For one thing, every time you close your eyes you’re back there

Either getting stabbed by a stranger on the boardwalk, or shaking in the bathroom trying not to bleed out

You can feel your breath coming faster as the adrenaline in your system fades away and you start to realize that you were just stabbed

Someone pulled a knife on you, and they stabbed you

They could have killed you, you could have died, and you’re lucky you didn’t, but also, you’re not super lucky because you still got stabbed

And you really liked the shirt that you had to burn

And for another thing

There’s a vampire standing in front of you

When you open your eyes it makes you jump and scream a little

Which irritates your stab wound

Which makes you scream more and curl in on yourself

It’s very confusing to poor paul, who was already very confused because he could smell your blood even though none of your vampires bit you that day

Also, it’s not super relevant but you should know: he does kind of look like the “mom i frew up” meme

Or at least he does at first

Because the second you start to curl in on yourself, he is on you

Usually he’d apologize for startling you, but right now? Right now he can tell something’s up

Your boys might be dumbasses, but they’re more than smart enough to know when something is wrong

So, paul goes all

“Hey pretty thing, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

And you

You don’t want paul to worry, and you don’t want him to get mad at you for letting yourself get stabbed

And you really don’t want to talk about your stab wound in general

You just want paul to go so that you can have a panic attack over it in peace

But he doesn’t go

So you respond with

“I’m fine! Totally, totally fine, I just slept on my side weird and it’s bugging me, that’s all”

And y’know what, you’re actually mildly convincing

Too bad he can smell your blood

Thanks to that fun vampiric trait, he knows you aren’t telling him the truth

So, he leans in a little further, eyebrows furrowed, and he says

“You can tell me, baby. What’s wrong?”

Luckily (depending on who you ask) you don’t have to answer him, because marko drops into the cave

Yeaaaah, you were lucky enough to come home like, two minutes before the boys did

Rip

Anyway, it doesn’t take marko long to notice the scene on the couch

You’re curling up into the armrest and paul is leaning over you

It looks weird

And

You’re clutching your side

And paul looks concerned, so like i said, these boys may have like, three solid brain cells between them (three and a half if you want to count star) but they fucking Know when something’s up

Especially when something’s up with you

So, marko bounces over

And now he’s asking what’s wrong

He leans over the armrest of the couch

So he’s standing like, behind your head

And he asks, “What’s up, hot stuff?”

You lean your head back so you can look at him, you roll your eyes at the pet name, and again you say

“I’m fine. Paul’s just being a dick”

And paul, who now looks majorly offended, collapses onto the couch by your feet and goes

“I am not! I’m being a concerned boyfriend, you’re being a dick!”

Paul picked the wrong place to sit, because you kick him in the leg as hard as you can without hurting yourself

It’s not super hard, but paul acts like you stabbed him, ironically enough

While you and marko grin at his dramatics, david and dwayne drop into the cave

And uhhh, they’re much harder to distract, so good luck with that

Literally from the second they get into the cave, they’re both honed in on the smell of your blood

They make their way towards the couch you’re all crowded on, and as they do, david says

And he projects a bit, so the sound echos off the cave walls

“Why do I smell blood? Paul, Marko, did you start something without us?”

His tone is chiding, maybe a little teasing

But the second he sees their faces, his taunting demeanor drops to something much scarier

Concern

And now david says your name

And his voice gets a little deeper as he asks you why he can smell your blood

As you struggle to come up with an answer, david and dwayne make their way over to the couch

Dwayne, Known Sweet Boy, comes up behind the couch, takes your hand and kisses it

He doesn’t ask you anything, but he also doesn’t let go of your hands

You don’t look at his face

If you look at his face, you know he’s going to look back at you with an expression that is 100% concerned puppy dog, and you will crack like an egg and tell them everything

And then it’ll become a huge deal

And they won’t leave you alone

And you’ll probably cry in front of them

And you’ll make them waste their night taking care of you

And then you’ll get yelled at for being stupid, so no

You do not look at dwayne

Instead, you focus your attention on paul, who’s focusing on david, who’s focusing on you

And for a second, everything is silent

Then david kneels at your side which is fuckin

Rare

He likes to feel tall, kneeling is the Opposite of that

But he does it nonetheless

And he says your name again, and you Don’t Look At Him, you just keep your gaze straight and pretend to be somewhere else

Of course he says your name again, sounding more irritated this time

And he asks

“Why can we smell blood outside of the cave?”

And you relent a bit by answering

“Hey, it’s not like I’ve never bled around you before. Remember that time I fell? Or the time I gouged my shin open? Or the time one of the pigeons bit me?”

Yeahhh, even you know it’s a stupid argument

No matter how much blood you’ve lost around them, you know it doesn’t match this

And marko puts your thoughts to words

He legit says

“Yeah, but it’s never been this bad before, babe. What’s wrong?”

And after that you’re just

Bombarded with the boys asking some variation of “What’s wrong?” over and over

You cling to dwayne’s hand as their voices start to overwhelm you

But then he pulls away

And you just can’t take it anymore

So you yell

And you don’t mean to yell it, you just want to be heard

“OKAY, OKAY, fine, I’ll tell you”

They shut up, and instantly your voice drops like

A million decibels

As you say

“I… I may have been… lightly stabbed.”

There’s a beat of silence and then

“I’m sorry, you were STABBED?”

Dwayne breaks his silence, looking horrified, which is almost funny, because you know his methods of killing are a little more brutal than “stab the victim with a knife”

But then again, he’s never tried to kill you, so

Anyway, dwayne’s outburst is followed by paul and marko both shrieking some form of “excuse me”

(“I’M SORRY, WHAT?” and an actual, “EXCUSE ME?” respectively)

David is silent now as the other three just

Lose their shit

Paul is demanding to know where the wound is

Marko fucks off to go hunt for first aid supplies, but you can still hear him shouting about it

Dwayne has taken your hand back and he looks into your eyes as he asks

“Who did this to you?”

And quietly, you go

“Some douchebag on the boardwalk- look, guys, I was only lightly stabbed-”

And there’s another outburst

Paul and marko both yell that being “lightly” stabbed still isn’t good

Dwayne looks like he might kill someone or start crying, you aren’t sure which, maybe both

And that’s when david grabs your jaw

He’s surprisingly gentle with you- though, considering the stab wound, maybe that isn’t really a surprise

Either way

David makes you look at him, and he asks you

In a voice he reserves for quiet moments, which this isn’t, and special occasions, which this technically is

“Where’s the wound, baby?”

With a sigh, you tear your eyes from his and gingerly lift up your new shirt to reveal a blood-soaked makeshift bandage, which itself covers the shallow wound in your side

Haha, fuck

You wince at the sight of it

But your boys remain stone faced- if anything, they look angry

Except for paul, who also winces, but in a split second he goes from wincing to pissed like everyone else

And you let out a groan, because this is the one thing you were trying to avoid

Anger and concern

Just as you open your mouth to apologize, marko slams a small box of first aid stuff on the floor by the couch

You move to reach for it, but instantly, several pairs of hands are on you, pushing you (gently) back onto the couch

You

Roll Your Eyes

Fuckin vampires, always treating you like glass

“Hey, I’m not four years old,” you say, trying to sit up again, “I can treat my own stab wound”

Yeah, as you say it you manage to catch just how absurd your words sound

‘I can treat my own stab wound’ who says that?

You do, i guess

And you intend to follow through, but hey

You get pushed back down again

“Stay still, wouldya? Goddamn,” Marko fuckin growls as he pins your shoulders down, “We’re trying to help you, so stop moving.”

You give a very defiant wiggle. No one is amused but you.

With an irritated sigh, you resign yourself to staying on the couch

But it doesn’t stop you from trying to get them to leave you alone

“Look, guys, I’m fine. Don’t you have anything better to do than poke at me? Seriously-”

“Ha, you’re cute,” the response comes from paul this time

Paul who has, by the way, taken to holding your legs hostage

He continues with a very blunt

“But seriously, shut the fuck up and let us fix this, ‘kay?”

You glare at him, but with your legs and shoulders pinned, it’s not like you have much of a choice

So you just

Lie there

And try to pretend that this whole thing doesn’t make you want to break down crying because fuck, you couldn’t just almost get murdered, you also had to be a burden

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

As you lie on the couch, the night’s events replay in your head

And as your emotions build, every shitty thing that happened to you that particular week also replay in your head

As marko starts to patch you up, and dwayne takes over pinning your shoulders down, and david starts plotting the murder of whoever did this out loud, you just

Try to stop them from seeing that you are Not Doing Okay

And here comes second, even tougher challenge:

Hiding Your Feelings From Your Four Boyfriends

Yeahhh, you fail at this one, too

Paul notices the tears in your eyes right the fuck away

It helps that he’s looking at your face, and not focusing on the marko medical drama going on at your side

He reaches up towards your face and he just says

In the softest fucking voice

“Hey, what’s wrong baby?”

And you just

Snap

The tears come to the front, just a bit, but it doesn’t stop you from yelling

“Jesus fuck, CAN YOU ALL JUST FUCK OFF SO I CAN CRY ABOUT THIS ALONE? Go hunt, or something, just- just go away.”

…

They do not just go away

They don’t really know what to do with that

They just know that you’re hurting and it’s bad

And they Don’t want to leave you alone

So instead, paul and dwayne give your leg and shoulder a squeeze, respectively

In like, emotional solidarity

And david leans in towards you so that you can hear him say

“If one of us was stabbed, you would be upset, right?”

You nod and he continues

“So why is it any different for you? You’ve been stabbed, you’re allowed to have emotions.”

You’re in the middle of processing that when marko

dear marko

Gives your shoulder a very awkward pat and says

“Besides, crying is sexy!”

And he states it so matter-of-factly

And he does it with this little smile, that you’re sure is supposed to be comforting, but oh my god

David smacks him on the back of the head for that while you just

Start to giggle

It’s which devolves to a weird mix of laughter and tears

It’s like

Mostly laughter

Meanwhile, paul just starts to openly mock marko for his, “crying is sexy” comment

And before you know it, your side is properly bandaged up

Yay!

But of course, it isn’t over

Less yay!

You’re finally allowed to sit up, and immediately paul yoinks you into his side

He clings to you a little bit, too, like he’s not sure he’ll get to hold you ever again

And yknow what it makes sense, you’re human, and fleshy, and easily breakable, and you got stabbed

He’s allowed to be freaked out, too. They all are

Anyway

The second you’re up, david is on his knees in front of you again

His hands are on your thighs, and now it’s his turn to ask

“Now tell us, baby- who did this to you?”

You give them best description you can, and just like that, they’re all headed for the exit

Except for paul, who’s still clinging to you

But before they can leave you call out to them

And you say, “I’m sorry.”

Every single one of them freezes

The next voice you hear is david’s

He asks

“Why would you apologize?”

And you take a second to answer

Because in your head you have several answers for him, but it is

Very difficult to express them out loud

And as you figure out how the fuck you’re gonna verbalize any of your feelings, the boys come right back to you

Marko plops down on your other side, dwayne stands behind you, and again, david is in front of you

But you can really only focus on david, because once again, he’s on his knees with his hands on your thighs, and he’s looking at you with a mix of confusion and sadness that you rarely see on his face

And finally you say:

“I- um. I’m making all of you worry. And it was stupid of me to get stabbed in the first place, because I could’ve gotten myself killed, and then I fucking cried everywhere, and-”

And that’s where you get cut off

Because david leans in (and moves his hands up your thighs) and he says

“Now, why would you ever apologize for all of that?”

You look up and meet his eyes as he continues, but he’s turning to look at the boys around you as he says

“I mean, if we apologized for being stupid then Paul and Marko would never stop apologizing- and if we had to apologize for getting stabbed, well-”

Everyone looks at marko

And that little shit just grins like he didn’t almost get murdered by a bunch of teenagers, and he says

“I’m not apologizing for that.”

It’s a little shit thing to say, but david nods and says, “Exactly, so you don’t apologize either. It’d be stupid to apologize, okay?”

You nod a little bit, and he smiles and says

“That’s it, babe,” he kisses you on the forehead and he stands

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to go commit a murder. We’ll be back, don’t go anywhere. Paul, you’re good staying?”

Paul promptly buries his face in your shoulder and gives david a thumbs up

Marko stands up, stretches, and starts to bounce away

Dwayne leans down and kisses your temple before he also walks away

Marko then runs back to you to kiss your cheek (he got excited about the oncoming murder)

Aaand that leaves you and paul alone

You turn to face him

(you fail, because he’s not going to move his face from your shoulder until he wants to_

And you ask

“Hey, don’t you want to go do some murder? Doesn’t murder sound fun?”

And i mean it does

But that’s not the answer you get

The answer you get is a very stressed sounding

“IF YOU PEOPLE KEEP GETTING STABBED, I’M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO MURDER BECAUSE EVERYONE I LOVE WILL BE STABBED.”

Yep, you and marko really did a number on this poor guy

So, that starts challenge three

Not Getting Stabbed For The Mental Health Of Your Four Boyfriends

It’s an easier challenge, you succeed at this one

Idk about marko tho, marko’s probably gonna get stabbed again. Not necessarily by a person. Maybe by a fence.

anyway

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x gender neutral reader #tlb x reader #poly!the lost boys x reader #tlb david x reader #tlb paul x reader #tlb dwayne x reader #tlb marko x reader #poly!tlb x reader

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sunsetsnz · 2 years ago

Text

reassurance

jonathan/seph, 1.3k words. sort of a continuation from this fic

Summary: Seph is having a hard time with the flu, and Jonathan is there to console him through a particularly rough moment.

Notes: Sfw, some swearing. There isn’t actually much snz in this (technically two?) but there is plenty of illness/whump/comfort if you’re into that. Also, this wasn't initially intended to be a part two to the previous fic linked above, but it can be read as one!

-----------

Seph reaches for his water bottle in its usual place on the nightstand to attempt a sip. He winces. The cool water is momentarily soothing, but with his inflamed throat and swollen lymph nodes, swallowing is torture.

He's curled up in a miserable ball of infection in his own bed, head pounding with dull congestion, stuffed up to hell and back, shivers and aches running through him like tremors before an earthquake. He hasn't had the flu in quite a few years, and it's hitting him like a fucking train.

The arm nestled around his shoulders belongs to one Jonathan Dempsey, who’s watching this with quiet concern and trying his best to be subtle about it. His slightly bushy brows furrow when Seph swallows and whimpers, visibly in pain. His free hand reaches up to tuck a stray braid behind Seph's ear.

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts…”

Seph’s heart sinks in his chest. He feels so utterly pathetic right now he could cry, but he doesn’t want to look ridiculous in front of Jonathan.

“It’s dot your fault,” he croaks. Fuck, talking really hurts too.

They've been trying to watch a shared comfort movie in bed with the lights dimmed, at Seph's request, because anything bright physically hurts. Except it's not helping much tonight…nothing seems to be. His head is swimming too much to concentrate, he's shivering and sweating and nothing feels comfortable no matter what position he's in. He just feels…absolutely wretched and useless.

“I know,” Jonathan murmurs. “I just wish I could do more for you.”

With a weak sigh, Seph buries his aching face in his boyfriend’s fisherman sweater. It’s about the only thing bringing him any kind of comfort right now. Jonathan hugs him to his chest, rubbing his nose on the fuzzy sections of hair where each twist braid begins.

Seph loves having such a human pillow for a boyfriend, always wearing soft clothes and down to cuddle…but being touched and held in this state is reminding him just how gross and repulsive he looks and feels. It’s not the first time Jonathan has seen Seph ill, but he’s never been this bad in front of him before.

The irony of all this is not lost on Seph, either. He’s fully aware of how stupid these feelings are, considering his own kink, and how into Jonathan’s sneezes, allergies and colds he always is. It’s certainly never put him off. But he still can’t help the way he feels about himself, and it makes him feel even more pathetic.

The truth is that he honestly doesn't really want anyone to see or perceive him like this…even Jonathan. Especially Jonathan.

Yet here he is, lying in his partner's arms, snotting and breathing his contagiousness all over him. Shame and disgust begin to bubble up inside him as he thinks about how disgusted by him Jonathan probably is right now.

He starts to pull away from the embrace, and is met with a perplexed look.

“What's wrong?”

“I—” Seph's voice catches dangerously. Wearily he closes his eyes, knowing he has no strength to keep his emotions at bay right now but still trying to fight it anyway. “I just—”

Sitting up further, Jonathan nods for him to go on.

“I feel disgustig,” he eventually chokes out, hot tears pricking his eyes.

Jonathan looks confused again for a fraction of a second. When he realises that Seph means it literally, his face falls. “Wait, what?” He reaches out, touching Seph's knee. “You’re not! Oh, Seph, of course you're not.”

Humiliated by his own vulnerability, Seph turns away from him. “I'b sorry. You shouldd't even be anywhere near be right now...”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Sittig here, breathig all over you…it's gross. I'll make you sick, too.”

Shaking his head, Jonathan frowns. “You know I don't care about that.”

Back still turned, Seph's shoulders slump, voice cracking as the first of a stream of tears spills over and escapes down his cheek. “Well I do.”

Jonathan's entire being softens. Taking a second to pause the movie, he turns his full attention back to him with gentle determination. “Babe, look at me.”

For a moment, the only response he gets is a sniffle.

“Please…”

Wiping his eyes, Seph reluctantly half-turns his body to face him again. His warm brown skin tone is almost ashen, nose running helplessly, teardrops clinging to his eyelashes. He looks so miserable, it's breaking Jonathan's heart.

“You are not disgusting, Seph. Not at all,” Jonathan urges softly, cupping his damp cheek in his palm and brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “I don't think that, and I'm not letting you believe that either, not for one second. If you don't want me to touch you, that's completely okay, but if it's because you think I'm grossed out, then you're astronomically wrong.”

Seph briefly meets his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his parted lips. “You're dot just sayig that?”

“I'm not.” Leaning in, Jonathan presses their foreheads together, their noses, their lips. “I love you, no matter what condition you're in.”

This seems to be exactly what Seph needed to hear, because his eyes flutter closed with an exhausted sigh. Wordlessly his fingers wrap around Jonathan's wrist, another tear streaking down his cheek.

Jonathan smiles gently, closing his eyes with him. “It's okay to be sick, y'know. It's okay to feel shitty. You're not superhuman, and nobody expects you to be. Least of all me.” He presses a kiss to Seph's burning forehead, murmuring against his skin. “You helped me feel less embarrassed and gross about the things that are out of my control — I'm gonna do the same for you.”

Seph simply nods, letting Jonathan hold him while he calms down, which is answer enough for Jonathan.

As emotions begin to wind down, he reaches for the handkerchief that lives in his pocket and dutifully dabs at his lover's tear-stained face and leaking nostrils. The motion seems to stir up Seph’s oversensitive nose, though, because his breath starts to hitch.

“Heh—heh—!”

Quickly Jonathan clamps the handkerchief over the twitching nose before him, right as Seph explodes into a messy double sneeze.

“—yyISSHUHH! T’ISSCHH-uhhh…”

Jonathan cringes as Seph clutches at his throat in pain once more, shuddering and sighing. Gently he mops his nose for him a second time. “There you go.”

Finally, after allowing himself back into Jonathan's arms and having pressed play on the movie once again, Seph finds his words.

“Sorry for beig such a mess,” he muffles, curling against his chest. Breaking down like that was embarrassing…but he can work on being more okay with that, after he recovers from this nasty flu. Despite the humiliation, it did feel good to let it out to Jonathan and to feel so safe and comforted in return. If it had to happen in front of anyone, he's really glad it was him.

A soft hum comes from atop his head, where Jonathan's chin rests gently. “No more apologising, okay?”

For the first time tonight, Seph's mouth quirks up into the tiniest of smiles. “Okay.”

“Good.” He can't see Jonathan's expression, but he can hear the smile in his voice too. “And no more talking for a while. I can hear how much it hurts to talk, so…rest your throat, love.”

Nodding against his chest, Seph murmurs sleepily in agreement.

“One last thig,” he whispers, reaching up to grasp Jonathan's hand in his own.

“Mm?”

There are many words floating around Seph’s tired mind, all of the sentiments he wishes he could adequately express sitting on the tip of his tongue: Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't deserve you. But he settles on the most important one, the only one that truly encompasses everything he wants to tell him.

“…I really love you.”

He feels Jonathan pull back just a little, and looks up to see that half-grin of his that feels like a patch of warm sunshine all on its own. It's not going to cure him tonight, but it sure isn't hurting.

“I love you too. And I'm not going anywhere.”

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wito-chan-bla-bla · 3 years ago

Text

Witch, Magician and Distrust (Part II)

You are a student of a fairy princess and part-time witch. Once you get to the “Fearless Seven” who have become dwarves, you decide to take the opportunity and help them dispel the curse. Of course, it’s not that simple. First they need to learn to see the true beauty in other people.

Parts: I

–Why are you going to be a hack? You haven't been our boss for a long time to justify your authority!

–And who will follow this witch if she decides to destroy the nearest city? Who has magic here: You or me?!

–Why can't you just block her magic?! She said you could do it!

–Because I, unlike this witch, keep my word!

You were sighing while sitting on the couch watching the argument between Merlin and Arthur. Hans was hanging around next to you, asking if you liked the berry jelly he cooked. You brought the mug to your mouth, took a sip and smiled at him contentedly. The prince beamed and nodded silently, leaving for the kitchen.

–...That's the way I have to stay at home! – Arthur opened his mouth, but immediately closed it. – Ha! What, there are no more arguments?!

–Shut up already, my ears are starting to hurt, – Jack sighed from his seat in the chair. – We have to go. Finish it.

You continued to drink berry jelly with a disinterested face, watching out of the corner of your eye as the princes gathered for food. Many products could be grown in the garden, but some only needed to be bought. You didn't know where the little green men got the money from, but you didn't want to ask.

Soon everyone gathered at the entrance. You waved to the whole crowd, but only Hans and the triplets responded in kind. Somehow, the best relations have developed with them. Perhaps the fact is that you loved to eat, which pleased Hans, as you always reacted with sincere joy to his dishes, and the triplets got the right to inspect your broom, which was something in between a simple magical object and a mechanism.

So, everyone has gone away, and you are left alone with Merlin. When you heard the sound of transformation, you immediately turned around, and the little dwarf was standing on the floor again, looking at you with a look full of discontent.

–So, what are we going to do? Or we're going to stare at each other with disdain for the rest of the time.

–I'm definitely going to. I won't take my eyes off you, witch.

–Stop highlighting the last word so terribly. And what's the big deal about me being a witch? I haven't done anything wrong... yet.

–I can't read minds, but I don't need to. It's written on your face that you're up to something!

You grinned at him like a maniac possessed, and began to slowly move towards the magician. Folding your hands behind your back, you began to speak in a dangerously low voice.

–Is tha-at so? Is it possible to say this to the face of a person who is clearly stronger than you? – you have come very close to Merlin. You leaned towards him and showed him the sharp fox teeth, which were just a quickly created illusion. – Or do you want to know why I like helping people so much? You know, their flesh is like this…

You didn't have time to finish, because lightning blinded you. After blinking a couple of times to recover, you straightened up and rolled your eyes.

–You're so impatient. I wanted to finish!

–I won't let you do your obscurantism, witch!

–Y-yes, stop calling me that with such disdain!

You sniffed resentfully and turned away from him, only to turn around after just a second. Playing with Merlin like this for a while, you eventually had to run away, because due to constant reincarnations, the magician could not do any business and was constantly hit by objects that he held in his hands.

Screaming wildly with laughter, you ran from room to room until you eventually flew into a random door. It turned out to be Merlin's bedroom library. After looking at the books, you suddenly whistled with respect.

–And you have collected a real collection. Oh, is this the same limited volume on elemental magic?!.

–Don't you dare touch my books, witch! – Merlin was in the room and tried to move you away from the closet, but you were already reaching out to take the book.

–What are you going to do to stop me? – you laughed and picked up the spine with your finger.

The magician did not think long and went behind your back. You were too busy looking at the table of contents to pay attention to Merlin. But when you were suddenly pressed against the closet by something tall, you suddenly remembered that in fact the green low men were tall and handsome young men.

You immediately turned around, and there was a little dwarf in front of you again. Putting your hand on your rapidly pounding heart, you exhaled with relief while the magician folded his arms on his chest.

You blushed, feeling as if you were being pressed into the closet to prevent you from moving a step. Merlin's hand, unnoticed by you, intercepted the precious volume and put it back on the shelf. Thus, the magician pressed you even harder into the bookshelf with his body, and you almost died of embarrassment.

But that wasn't all. Merlin bent down to your ear, hissing aggressively, burning with hot breath, saying: "Don't you dare touch my books, witch."

–You know, in this form I somehow trust you more.

–Eh?..

–I-it doesn't matter…

You looked away from him and hurried away, shamefully feeling a blush on your cheeks.

You walked for several more hours, loitering back and forth, until eventually you sat down in the living room, playing a melody with the help of a bell. Merlin tried to pretend that the sound didn't bother him in any way, and you smiled every time the magician couldn't read another line.

–Maybe you'll stop already? – he asked irritably, turning his head to you. – My hands will soon fall off. And you kind of need them, don't you?

–I'm tougher than I look. But thank you for your concern.

–You're such a witch.

–And I'm proud of it!

You sat with him in silence for a while, only the bell and the magic fire made any sounds, dispelling the silence. Eventually Merlin sighed and closed the book.

–Why do you even need this bell? It doesn't look like a magic item.

You giggled, glad that your mentor had enchanted her gift so well.

–My teacher gave it to me when I graduated. Her voice is as beautiful as the ringing of this bell.

–That is, the most disgusting?

–Next time I'll spill my soup on you during lunch.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I didn't have to sit in silence for a long time. You suddenly jumped up, looking out the window in panic. Merlin took out his talismans, running outside, shouting: "Why are you multiplying in front of my eyes?!"

You didn't answer anything, just hurried after him. Stopping on the street, you watched a girl screaming and trying to stay on a broom. Didn't anyone teach her to fly?! You pursed your lips and told Merlin to keep an eye out, since you were going to knock out a stranger.

The magician, to your surprise, only nodded. He began to hold the medallions with his fingers, ready, however, to catch another witch.

You used spells by shooting lightning directly at the broom. Mentally asking the magical object for forgiveness, you watched the girl screaming, waving her arms, trying to get back into the air. Turning away, you allowed Merlin to assume his human form, and here the girl fell into his arms.

You didn't see how the magician's eyes widened slightly when he looked at the stranger's face. But in the next second, she opened her eyes, and both people fell to the ground completely.

You hurriedly went to them to make sure that no one was injured.

Witches differed from magicians in that they felt magic. They were connected to nature and were able to choose strength from it. Therefore, witches felt magical objects better and could even see through illusions.

And you saw. My head was a little dizzy when two images appeared in front of you: a toned beautiful girl and an equally beautiful version of her that had a not so "ideal" waist. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus only on one image, the one that the red shoes were showing now.

While you were trying not to die from a headache, Merlin was already flirting with a stranger. Or was she familiar to you? You blinked a few more times and asked in a weak voice:

–Snow White?..

The girl blinked in surprise, and then rushed to hug you, ignoring the dwarf who was obviously offended by such behavior. But if you suddenly fell from the sky, you would also immediately rush to the person you know.

–(Y/N)! – she breathed out with relief, hugging you around the neck. – I'm so glad that I was able to get out of there alive! You won't believe what happened! Hey, have you always been this short?..

–You're just wearing heels, Snow.

–Oh, right! – she laughed sheepishly and took a step away from you. – You know, your accuracy is sometimes amazing. I already thought that I was attacked, and you just knocked down the broom, – she rubbed the back of her head, and then turned to the immediately seductively smiling Merlin and said: – Thank you for catching me! I would have definitely broken bones if it wasn't for you.

–Okay, Snow, I feel we have a lot to discuss. Won't you come into the house?

–Eh? The house? Are you married to him? – she pointed first at you, then at the magician. Both uttered a harsh "No" at the same time.

The girl shuddered slightly, not understanding such vivid hostility, but nodded. You took her by the elbow, leading her into the house. Meanwhile, Merlin in his human form was straightening his hair. You turned around and looked at him so that life would not seem like honey to him.

So, you, Merlin and Snow White are located in a small living room. While the girl was happily stuffing her cheeks with sweets and washing down the food with tea, the magician poked you a couple of times in the hand and quietly asked:

–Do you know this beauty?

–She is a princess of a kingdom where my mentor and I once stayed. I helped magically decorate a Snow dress for one of the balls, so we became friends.

–Yeah! – he exclaimed softly. – The victory is in my pocket!

–What are you talking about? – you leaned closer to him.

–I've definitely found the most beautiful girl in the world! No, in the universe! So the curse will be lifted soon!

–Do you think so? – you asked sarcastically, ready to disappoint him.

–Of course. The ideal of beauty is sitting right in front of us!

You giggled, and then got up and brought a mirror on legs belonging to Jack. Snow has been staring at you questioningly all this time. Merlin in human form is sitting on the sofa with the look of a winner, crossing his legs.

–So, Snow, – you said, without turning the mirror to her yet, – I'm going to show you your reflection now. Don't worry, okay? I know it's not the real you. Because the real you are much more beautiful.

–What are you talking about, (Y/N)? – whispered the girl, putting aside the cherry pie.

–You'll see.

With these words, you turned the mirror, giving the princess a look at yourself. She opened her mouth in horror and touched her cheeks with her hands, trying to say something, but in the end she just blinked.

–Wh-what? How?!.

–This is the influence of your red shoes, – you pointed your finger at the shoes, pressing sideways to the mirror. – This is a magical item that changes the appearance. In the eyes of other people, you are now a "beauty", – you highlighted the last word and stuck out your tongue, rolling your eyes.

–So it's all an illusion? – Merlin asked with disappointment.

–Why is it an illusion? – you chuckled. – Snow herself is very cute. Maybe she's not your style, you little idiots, but she's definitely a beauty.

–S-stop it, (Y/N), – the princess whispered with red cheeks, lightly hitting you on the arm. You giggled and walked over to her, sitting on her lap.

–Can I see the shoes? – you asked cautiously. Snow nodded.

It was quite difficult to take off my shoes. I had to ask for help from a magician. When the shoes were removed, the true form of Snow White appeared in front of people. Merlin made a disgruntled face, and you hit him on the head with a shoe.

–(Y-Y/N)! – the girl exclaimed in panic, looking at the dwarf lying on the floor.

–He deserved it, – you answered without any emotion, looking at the shoe.

–That's reasonable, – the princess said awkwardly, swallowing, but still putting the magician on the sofa.

You spent the next ten minutes on the couch studying the shoes. Every time Merlin muttered to himself something like, "Damn, I've never been so disappointed," you hit him on the head. In the end, the magician moved away from you to the other side and said nothing more, looking blankly into space.

–Well, – you said later, sitting down on your knees and putting the shoe back on Snow's foot with a playful smile, – these shoes are completely safe. But something tells me that someone very bad wants to get these shoes terribly, so they will be more safe on you. So, Snow, what's there about your story?

The princess nodded at your words and began to tell. Merlin tried to pretend that he didn't care, because he was deceived, but in the end he also listened attentively to the story.

–So we're all in trouble? – you sighed, slapping your face with the palm of your hand. – If the evil witch gets so much power, then we will all die here.

–There's nothing we can do, – Merlin said when you looked at him eloquently. – We are no longer the heroes the world saw us as. Because of your teacher, we've lost almost all of our strength!

–You definitely haven't lost your nasty tongue.

He winked at you and you rolled your eyes.

–And what... do I have to wear these heels forever so that Regina never gets them?

–No, why? We could just destroy her, – you hit your fist on your palm, and Snow jumped.

–You have quite nice and kind ways of solving problems for a witch, – Merlin said sarcastically, and you flicked him on the forehead. To your surprise, this time the magician dodged the blow and even showed you his tongue.

–There is no other choice. Her dark energy will continue to spread and influence this world. If Regina is not destroyed, a war of "evil" for power will begin, and then you will not say that I am too cruel!

–I would not like to kill her… I just... want to find my dad!

–We will definitely help you. I'm sure Regina has something to do with his disappearance! Hey, Merlin, – you poked him in the shoulder, – are you with me?

–Why would I help you or her?

–Because you're a hero?

Dwarf sighed, but nodded, straightening up and stretching.

–I hope I will find the most beautiful princess during the trip and kiss her.

–Why is he fixated on this at all? – Snow asked, covering her mouth with her palm. You shrugged your shoulders, but you told the truth. – S-so he's from the same seven?!

–Yes, it's me, – Merlin waved her hand.

–And you're even cuter than I thought,– the princess giggled. Merlin growled irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

–You just haven't seen my human form!

–And it seems to me that you are less harmful like this, – you put your head on his little shoulder, and the magician irritably pushed you away. You laughed.

Looking at you and the magician, Snow White just smiled. You couldn't read her mind and at the same time knew exactly what the girl was thinking. Rolling your eyes, you stood up and brushed off the skirt of the dress.

–I need my broom! – you announced, following to the exit.

–Why is that? – Merlin immediately jumped up and rushed after you.

–We are flying to the castle to inspect the place where Snow found her father's diary.

–I'm flying with you!

–That's what I planned, – you winked at him and went outside. – Get the broom, shorty!

–All because of your mentor! – the magician drawled from the depths of the house.

Soon you were standing with a broom in one hand, the princess was next to you, Merlin was silently waiting for you to start flying.

–Are you sure you want to be alone?

–The broom won't hold three. Besides, I still can't move away from what I've read, – she shivered, as if from the cold.

–I left a note on the door, so you can go to rest or even sleep. They won't attack you.

–I hope so, – the girl sighed, and then walked away a couple of steps and waved to you and the magician. – Good luck!

You nodded and sat on the broom. Merlin clung to you from behind, like a tree trunk during a hurricane, and you slowly flew up before rushing forward at full speed. The bell sang its familiar melody, and you laughed, feeling the familiar wind currents. But you didn't feel like laughing when Merlin turned into a human and snuggled closer to you.

The broom lost control for a second from your embarrassment, and the magician clung to you harder.

–Look where you're going! We're reeling! – the prince shouted almost in your ear. – Who gave you a flight certificate?

–Witches don't have a flight certificate!

–I see!

You rolled your eyes and flew on. Otherwise, the flight was safe, although you couldn't get rid of the feeling of the magician's arms around your waist, and his chest pressed so close to your back that you can feel his rapid heartbeat even through the fabric.

You landed in the castle and immediately prepared to attack. Merlin put his hands in his pockets and calmly walked to the high door.

–Relax, there's no one here.

–I feel something terrifying ahead.

–To see this, you need to open the door. Leave it to me.

You nodded, but then remembered how tall the magician was. It ended up with you almost lying on the ground laughing while Merlin tried to open the door.

–Okay, I was wrong! – after many attempts, the prince said, sweating and panting. – Just stop laughing, my ears are already hurting!

You giggled again and walked over to him. The joint efforts of two people managed to open the door. You carefully walked into the hall, and now Merlin has taken out his talismans.

Everything was quiet until you noticed a strange tree ahead, which caused your inner magical landmark a quiet horror. Seeing that you are slightly panicking, the magician grunts and stands in front of you. It would be more effective if he were as tall as before.

You and he slowly moved forward until you stopped a few meters away from the mirror, which seemed to be asleep. You swallowed and put your hand to the ground, immediately pressing your palm to your chest.

–What's there? – Merlin asked without taking his eyes off the tree.

–This creature sucks the life out. Probably because of him, we did not see a single living human soul below.

–And what are we going to do? Shall we destroy this tree?

–No, we can't, – you shake your head. – For greater efficiency, we need to defeat Regina first. In addition, special spells are required that can hit such a large mass…

–So we'll have to do research, – Merlin sighs, shaking his head. – There are no such books in my library. It is impossible to use such powerful striking spells during a team battle.

–We could go to the city for books, and Snow would look for her father in the meantime.

–You know, I'm even surprised that you can say something adequate.

You hit him in the side with the back of your hand, but the magician just smiles. He slightly lowers the talismans to get a better look at you.

Suddenly, some sounds are heard outside, and you grabbed Merlin, hugging her to you. Hiding in the roots of a tree, you quietly hissed in pain, imposing an illusion. The broom remained hidden outside.

The magician noticed that you were wincing from unpleasant sensations, and ordered you to close your eyes.

–What are you planning to do? – you whispered, hissing with terrible sensations, hearing someone getting closer and closer to the door.

–Just trust me. We're under an illusion, aren't we? – you nodded. – Then close your eyes quickly!

You obeyed his command, and the next second you were being hugged and pressed to your chest. Merlin sat down with his back to the roots, protecting you from the pain, and you turned your head towards the door, starting to watch. (Anything to distract from the feeling of the magician's hands gently holding you and pressing you closer to him).

Suddenly the doors swung open and the witch stepped inside. She quickly walked over to the tree and started talking to it in an aggressive voice. You heard only fragments of phrases, because you could not focus on anything but the warmth that Merlin's body gave.

–She wasn't there! Show it to me again!

–Unfortunately, I can't show Snow White. Some kind of interference is bothering me.

–What kind of interference?! You are a mirror and a tree at the same time, there should be no interference! Or do you doubt my abilities?!

–There is no way, but I still can't show the image of the princess. Some kind of magic is opposing me.

–This is definitely the magic of the red shoes… Tc! Looks like it's time to sort things out with yourself!

Regina left the room with a quick and loud step, but suddenly she returned with the broom, your broom, shaking magical objects in the air.

–She's definitely here somewhere! Use your magic to find out where the owner of this broom is!

You bulged your eyes, and then rushed forward.

–Merlin ... – you whispered in horror, but the magician was already running, throwing you over his shoulder.

–You! – the witch shouted after you, and you started throwing spells, feeling how hard the hands of Merlin hurrying away were squeezing your sides.

You stole someone else's broom, just knocking it out of the hands of some wooden bear, and shouted at the prince to jump behind you. He clung to your waist, and you hurried away while the magician threw lightning bolts at the irritated Regina.

–Damn it! We've lost my broom! – you shouted as soon as you landed far enough away from the castle.

–And how is your broom different from this one? – the magician asked, rubbing the place where he was sitting on a broom. – Although yours is clearly more convenient.

–Merlin, magical things are not like ordinary ones! My broom is like a daughter to me! Or a son! I can't leave her! Besides, it's a gift from the mentor!

– Is there at least something that she didn't give you?!

–Yes. It's a gorgeous face, – you've pushed your hair back.

–Of the two of us, I'm the only one with a gorgeous face. And even in this form, – now it's his turn to click you on the forehead.

You pouted, picked up the broom and offered to continue the flight. "We have a lot of work to do." The prince nodded and was behind you again, hugging your waist. You might... even get used to it.

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