#and when he suddenly startles awake all the cabinets and windows slam shut all at once

[drawbudd]

I've been thinking abt this for a few days so I figured I might as well share

I have a hc where like whenever Home gets a nightmare (which I imagine he does from time to time) all the cabinets and windows rattle haunted house style

[words-in-the-wind]

Chapter 4: The One where Tommy and Tubbo meet

Previous: Chapter 3

Word Count: 1,535

Tommy jerked awake in his bed, startled to awareness by the loud clang of a bell. The warning bell. Eyes wide in realization, he rolls of the low mattress, grabbing the hammer sat beside his bed for this very eventuality. The town was rather prone to orc raids, especially in the fall when the harvest had just come in. His mentor, Sam, the person who had saved him from the streets, met him out in the main area of the shop, face grim. “It’s a warband.” Tommy could feel the blood drain from his face, this wasn’t good. Orc warbands were rare, as the infighting between tribes often caused too much strife for two or more to cooperate. But when they did come together to form a warband, the resulting fight was often enough to overwhelm even the guards stationed at smaller cities, much less a smaller town like this one. He grit his teeth, peeking through the slats of the shutters over the windows. The bell had gone silent, and the whole world felt eerily still.

Boom A muffled thud echoed through the buildings, and Tommy tensed. A battering ram, the orcs had a battering ram. Three more thuds came, each louder than the last, until the crack of wood splintering pierced the air and Tommy recoiled. He ducked down into the space below the window, back to the wall, praying to whatever god was listening that the orcs didn’t decide to raid their shop. Selfish, he knew, but in the moment, he didn’t care. Footsteps pounded the cobblestone roads outside of the shop, practically shaking the small shop. The loud clang of metal on metal started up, and soon, a loud scream tore through the air. Tommy didn’t know how long he’d sat there, with Sam, on the floor of the humble shop, before the screams ended and the smell of smoke began to permeate the air. “Do…do you think it’s over?” He could barely push the whisper out of his throat, but Sam heard him anyway. Eyes grim, the older man shook his head, right when a sharp rap began at the door. Tommy froze in horror. Sam gestured frantically for him to move into the back room, and he did, scrambling faster than he ever moved in his life. Before Tommy could get over to the inner room, he heard the door crack and a figure stride in. His world jerked upward, and he found himself caught by the back of his shirt, flailing in a much taller creature’s grasp. The orc growled, face right up in Tommy’s as the boy froze on instinct. “Hey!” A familiar voice filtered through his awareness as the orc’s head whipped around. “Drop him!” It was Sam, who hurled a heavy mallet straight at the orc’s skull. It hit, rebounding off of and hitting the floor with a thud. The orc howled in pain, dropping the gnome boy as he turned, facing the shorter man. “Tommy, run!” Sam shouted, eyes fixed on the imposing, 8 foot tall figure in the middle of the artificer’s shop. Tommy did, sprinting for the back room as he could hear the orc roar, and Sam’s scream of pain before everything went quiet as the door slammed shut. He locked it with shaking fingers and wedged a chair under the doorknob, just like Sam had taught him. Sam, who’d distracted the orc from taking him. Sam who was… Tommy could feel the panic rising in his chest as he pushed it down. Not now. Any time but now. He could hear the orc shuffling around in the main shop, opening cabinets and crates in his search for whatever the creature was looking for. He tried to calm his breaths as he scrambled for his emergency bag with food, clothes, some money, and most importantly, the small music player and two discs that him and Sam -he choked back a sob at the memory- had crafted, right after he’d accepted Sam’s offer. Shaking away the memory, he quickly looked around, trying to come up with an escape plan. Maybe he could get out the back window without anything spotting him. He was small, stealthy, quick. He could do this. He would do this. A crash came as the orc clearly got sick of the front room, and was throwing his weight against the hastily barricaded door. If Tommy wanted to get out, he’d have to do it now. He opened the window, leaping out and shutting it just before the door crashed open, giving away under the orc’s strength. 
He couldn’t freeze, not now of all times. Tommy darted away, using the alleys that he knew like the back of his hand. It wasn’t enough. He rounded the corner to the main gate just as his luck ran out. A trio of orcs spotted him, and were headed straight for his position. Suddenly, the low call of a horn rang out, and thundering hooves filled the gate, bright steel flashing down to strike at the orcs. Two people, one a green-skinned tiefling, horns curling back over his head as he struck at the orcs with a gleaming scimitar, drawing blood onto the sharp edge. The other wasn’t astride a horse, but instead, was a centaur, black hair drifting around his ears as a spear sunk into an orc. A blast of fire came from the rear, impacting another orc as they began to flee away from the new threat. Tommy could only watch in shock as the newly arrived adventurer’s group began to fight against the orcs, slaughtering them through superior tactics and weapons. He didn’t notice an orc had come up behind him, and was lifted into the air for the second time today. 
“Hey!” Tommy shouted, thrashing in his captor’s grasp. The orc grinned widely, turning about to retreat down the street with his prize. The centaur, who had been tied up in combat, clearly heard Tommy’s loud cry, wheeled around and charged towards the unaware orc. It realized, but too late as the spear pinned the orc by the shoulder to the wall, and a cutlass took off its head. “Hey, kid, you alright?” It took Tommy a slow moment to realize the centaur was addressing him. And in that time, he’d been picked up, put on the centaur’s back and brought over the the caravan. “Wait-” Tommy never got to finish his sentence before he was being swung around again, placed on a cart. There was another kid sitting there, a brown hooded shirt pulled over his head, in a meditative position “Tubbo!” The centaur addressed the other kid, “This guy’s a little hurt, think you can do something about that?” The kid startled out of his zoned out state, eyes landing on Tommy. “Oh, yeah! Sure.” He held his hand out to Tommy. Tommy took it, and felt the scrapes and bruises he’d acquired from the past few hours heal and close. “Thanks, big man.” “No problem!” Tubbo tried to guide Tommy into a deeper conversation, explaining to him who everyone was, and he just went along with it. Anything to quiet the screaming inside.

-x-

The group of four that had been charged with protecting the caravan met up, each covering in blood (mostly not their’s) and tired after the long fight. “I’m completely out.” The burnt orange colored humanoid sighed, running a hand over her wands.
“Aren’t you, literally made of the elements, Fire-Fox?” The green tiefling ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the strands matted with blood. His scimitar hung from the other, coated in the grey-ish blood of orcs. Fire-Fox snarled at the tiefling, “I can still run out of juice, Syndicate.” She reached out, bonking him on the head lightly, “Can still do that, too.” Syndicate winced slightly, rubbing the spot she’d hit, “Captain! Foxy’s being mean!” The centaur, who had just trotted up next to them, shook his head, “Calm down, you two. Where’s Jericho.” “Here!” The other tiefling of the group popped up, healing up the small cuts in his arms, “Don’t worry ‘bout me.” “Let Tubbo take care of those, he’s better at it than you.” Fire-Fox nodded at the cuts that were sluggishly closing. “Oh, right. About that, I found a gnome kid getting kidnapped by an orc, and Tubbo seems to have imprinted on him.” “Ah, right.” They had finally gotten in sight of the cart, and yes, Tubbo and the mystery kid were asleep, curled up next to each other. “Do you even know his name?”
 “Nope, there wasn’t exactly time to ask.” Jordan, fondly nicknamed “The Captain” by his friends, drew up along side the cart, pulling a blanket out and laying it over the two kids, who barely stirred. “I can’t believe you’ve adopted another one.” Jericho’s head fell into his hands as he groaned quietly, jumping onto the front of the cart. The people who paid them to protect the caravan wouldn’t be too happy about the new kid, but they could deal with it. There was no way any of the four adventurers were leaving an obvious orphan in a just-raided town.

Next: Chapter 5

[skywardsylphina]

The Ladder Incident

It was early. Far too early for Thomas to reasonably be awake, but here he was. He slogged about the kitchen, trying to fix himself a cup of coffee to fight off his mind-numbing headache. The faucet hissed as Thomas filled the pot with water. As he waited, his eyelids drooped - and so did the coffee pot, nearly spilling its freshly filled contents back into the sink. Thomas started and forced himself to open his eyes, ignoring how they burned from exhaustion. He poured the water into the machine and set the pot aside, grabbing the ring of measuring spoons and the can of Folgers.

“Good morning Kiddo!” A singsong voice carried down the hall, abruptly shaking Thomas from his stupor. In his surprise, the tablespoon laden with grounds clinked against the pot, spilling some of the dark coffee across the counter. “Whoops! Sorry there! Didn’t mean to startle you!” Patton said, trotting the rest of the way down the hall and making his way into the kitchen.

“It’s ok Pat.” Thomas gave a weak smile, turning briefly to face his double. There were bags under his eyes, dark enough to rival Virgil’s on a good day.

“Oh, kiddo, what’s wrong?” Patton asked, hurriedly moving to Thomas’s side. The machine’s quiet whirr puttered on as Thomas shut the lid and moved away from the father figure, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the mess.

“I just had trouble sleeping last night,” Thomas said, with an inconsequential shrug.

“Was Remus keeping you up again?” Patton frowned.

“No. No, it didn’t feel like him,” Thomas glanced at the coffee pot. Biting back a startled curse, he quickly slipped the pot back into place - just as the first few drops of that bitter morning ambrosia began to drip from the machine. Thomas sighed, “Um, actually, Pat, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course!” Patton looked at his host worriedly, “Just me, or do you want the whole family here?”

“Umm,” Thomas hesitated, chewing on the edge of his cheek. “You know what- yeah,” he said, “Yeah, let’s get everyone in here.”

“You called?” Logan chimed curiously, descending the stairs with even measure. “Good morning, Thomas, Patton. You two are up early.”

Roman trudged along after him, yawning and dramatically rubbing at his eyes which were still caked with last night’s makeup. He trod down the stairs beside a more disheveled than usual Virgil. “What are we all doing up at this ungodly hour?” Roman wined, “A prince needs his beauty sleep.”

“Oh please, sleep was the last thing on your mind when Virgil knocked on our door last night.” Remus chimed in with a voice shrill as nails on a chalkboard, which did wonders for Thomas’s migraine.

Virgil and Roman spun on their heels, the former nearly falling the rest of the way down the stairs. “I thought we agreed we weren’t inviting them to family meetings,” Virgil hissed, face bright red.

Remus shrugged, ‘I was called, and here I am!’ He slid backward down the banister and landed at the bottom with an obnoxious thud.

“Oh, please you two do play nice” Deceit drawled, appearing from behind the kitchen door. His hat was askew and the capelet he normally wore was missing. Thomas was too tired to tell, but Logan noted the thick creases of heavily applied concealer beneath his eyes. It seems that Thomas wasn’t the only one kept awake last night.

“If you think that Remus and Deceit’s attendance will help the situation, then I for one am for their presence,” Logan said, placing his hand on Deceit’s shoulder, leading him into the kitchen.

“What situation?” Roman asked.

“I” Thomas hesitated, watching Remus scramble to the top of the fridge. “I had trouble sleeping last night and needed someone to talk to.”

Virgil and Roman immediately turned towards Remus, who put his hands up defensively, “Yeah, I wasn’t keeping you up.”

“Did sleep decide to duck out again?” Logan inquired, searching his host’s face.

“No, he was there, I checked,” Thomas sighed, “I just kept having these… thoughts, and so I assumed it was you, Remus.”

“Nope not me” He sang, leaning down and helping himself to some of the spilled coffee grounds.

Deceit donned a sly smirk, “I might know what’s going on.”

“Well, would you care to share with the rest of us, Rumplesnakeskin?” Roman asked.

Deceit paused at that, mulling over his next few words, “My job is to make sure that you are…safe from things you don’t want to know, Thomas.” He said, nodding at his host before turning back to Roman with a patronizing smile, “It’s a great idea to ask me those questions.”

“Well it’s bothering Thomas, so you’re obviously not doing a great job” Virgil snapped, and Deceit’s grin grew sour.

“Oh,” He said, raising an eyebrow, “and you’ve proven faultless at your job, Virgil. I know how you pride yourself on how you never let any of your emotions leak out into the other corners of the mindspa-”

“That’s enough.” Logan interrupted, “None of us are infallible. We can’t be perfect at our jobs 100% of the time. Now,” he said, having gained the room’s attention, “Thomas wanted to speak with us, and, currently, our job is to listen. Thomas,” Logan turned towards his host, “what happened last night?”

Thomas shrank, now keenly aware of the six sets of inquiring eyes on him, “I,” He started, fidgeting, “I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about something that happened years ago.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Patton - taking the hint - moved to the medicine cabinet to get him some ibuprofen. “I kept replaying it in my head,” Thomas continued, “I guess I’m having a kind of moral dilemma. Pat, do you remember the time when I broke that ladder from next door?”

Patton stopped mid-search, arm still in the cabinet. They couldn’t see his face, but the pause told them all that he did.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night,” Thomas said, “I don’t know why it’s still bothering me. I was a kid, and it was just a ladder.”

Logan frowned, “Could you recount the event for us? Maybe walking us through what happened would help alleviate some of your,” He hesitated, searching for the right word, “concern?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Thomas conceded.

“Are you sure, pal?” Patton chimed in - just a little too quickly - handing Thomas the bottle of tiny pills and a glass of water, “You don’t’ have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I think it might be good.” Thomas caught the brief look of relief on Deceit’s face as he swallowed two of the pills. At the very least confessing like this would be putting some of the pressure off his secret keeper. “It was Fall I think.” He started, “No wait I know it was Fall because it was cool outside. I was standing with Mrs. Danvers, Bobby and Lauren’s mom.”

“The tiny preschoolers from next door, right?” Roman asked, and Thomas nodded.

“I was standing next door with their mom, and I had noticed that the ladder to their playhouse was nearly rotted through. It made me nervous seeing the kids playing on it. I immediately told Mrs. Danvers about it, but the ladder went unfixed for weeks.” Thomas sighed, “It felt weird not being listened to. Rubbed me the wrong way, I guess. Like if they ignored my warning about the ladder, they might ignore me with other even more important things.”

“It sounds like your old fits, Virge,” Roman remarked, to which Virgil made a face.

“When they were out of town,” Thomas continued, “I decided to… prove my point, I guess? I climbed the ladder, bounced on one of the rungs a few times, and it broke. I thought they weren’t home, but the thing is, their grandmother was, and she was watching me out the window. She came out and stood over me yelling. I don’t remember what she said but I remember her advancing. I remember suddenly being aware that I was being forced in the direction away from my house. There was a growing lump in my throat pushing my heart to beat faster, and a voice in my head saying run, just run,” Thomas paused, looking over at the former dark side “I guess that was you, Virgil.”

Virgil looked visibly uncomfortable, turning away from his host without response. Thomas kept going, “I circled the backside of their house. Running across the lawn as fast as my legs could carry me, not aware enough to look back to see if I was being followed. I remember the rough texture of the asphalt as I ran across it, the black pavement eating at my feet. I remember slamming the front door behind me, ducking to the side of it, curling up into a ball, and crying.

My mom must have heard me. She was there almost immediately,” Thomas laughed a humorless laugh, “She lowered herself to my level and tried to get what had happened out of the shaking, shivering ball of mess that was her son. The grandmother, of course, followed me home. My mom, I’ve never seen her so angry. Not at me,” He clarified, “at the lady. My mom wouldn’t let her see me and slammed the door in her face.” There was a pause as Thomas rubbed at his eyes, fighting the moisture pooling at their corners, “I…I never paid for it. I broke something, but I didn’t do anything to fix it. I apologized when the Danvers got back into town, but I didn’t do anything to fix it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Thomas,” Logan said. “You were concerned and didn’t know any better.” When Thomas didn’t say anything, Logan continued, “it’s ok to mess up, we learn from our mistakes and we move on.”

“Yeah but he obviously hasn’t moved on,” Virgil said gesturing towards the still recovering 30-year-old.

“Thomas, I think Patton and I can both agree that what you did was wrong,” Logan said. “Though frankly, I do believe the grandmother’s response was equally unfair. Breaking an old wooden ladder rung is such an inconsequential thing that I doubt that Mrs. Danvers - or any of those associated with her - remember it, let alone blame you for it. And even if this is a worst-case scenario, and they do dislike you, they don’t live here anymore, so there’s no consequence to their disdain.”

Patton averted his gaze, “Yeah, but I hate that…”

“Hate what, Patton?” Logan asked.

When Patton didn’t answer, Deceit rolled his eyes. Mimicking the moral side’s normally chipper voice, Deceit replied, “Oh Logan, I don’t like not being liked.” The normally kind eyes of the father figure went cold as he shot Deceit a glare. The snake merely shrugged in response.

“Thomas,” Logan sighed, “that’s just a fact of life. Not everyone will like you all of the time.” The logical side moved to grab the box of tissues off the counter and handed them to his host. “You’re going to mess up, and that’s ok, that’s part of being human”

“I know that. I just wish it wasn’t, you know?” Thomas mumbled, accepting the box from Logan.

“That would be nice,” Logan conceded, “but if anything, it teaches you grace. It teaches you to forgive people when they mess up. If you were perfect all the time you would expect the same of others, and that’s not fair to them. One of the things that makes human beings magnificent is that we’re allowed to grow and change. Unfortunately, a lot of that growth and change involves messing up. It means doing things wrong at first and doing it right the second time. If you got everything right on the first time, if you were perfect that’s not living,” Logan ducked so that Thomas was forced to meet his eyes. “You need to forgive yourself for messing up with the ladder. You did mess up; you did break something that you didn’t replace. We can deal with the ‘could have or should have’ of that situation later, but the fact of the matter is there’s nothing you can do about it now. Tell me, have you broken any of other’s personal effects to prove a point?”

“No! Of course not,” Thomas exclaimed.

“Well, then I think we can say that you’ve learned from your mistake,” Logan said, turning towards the father figure who was wringing his hands. “Patton?” Logan called gently, still managing to startle the side.

“Yeah, Lo?” He asked, forcing a weak smile.

“Are you ready to let Thomas forgive himself?”

“I would like to but I just…” Patton sighed, biting his lip in thought, “What’s done is done. It happened, but I guess we can choose how we move forward, and I don’t want to be part of the problem. Causing more pain in the world than already exists would be wrong,” He said, as though trying to justify it to himself, “even if it is just to yourself, because that then affects your actions towards others. When you’re tired from beating yourself up, then you’re less able to help other people.” Seemingly satisfied with that reasoning, he took a breath, and looked his host in the eyes, “Thomas it’s ok to mess up sometimes. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it because that would be wrong.”

Logan nodded, “Will you be bothering Thomas with any more of these self-destructive thoughts?”

“I can’t say that I won’t,” Patton conceded, giving the group an apologetic smile, “but I think I can let go of this one for now.”

“Well, that’s a good a start as any,” Logan said. He walked over to the coffee maker - which was halfway through its pot - and turned it off. “Thomas, I suggest you get some rest.”

“Finally,” Roman cried, “I feel like death. Come on everyone, back to bed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Thomas sighed, moving to follow the group as they headed up the stairs. He paused, noting one fewer pairs of footsteps than expected, and looked back. “Pat?” He asked, seeing the father figure still standing in the kitchen.

“Yeah?” Patton replied, turning his attention away from the cup of coffee he was pouring for himself.

“Thanks.”

For a moment Patton swore he could see that 8-year-old, little boy again, so timid and looking for adult reassurance. Patton’s heart broke, and he gave his host a tearful smile, “Course kiddo.”

[wickedyan]

The Blood In Your Veins Excites Me- Chapter 2

Read chapter one on tumblr or on Ao3

Warnings- Non consensual drugging, NSFW, dub-con

Character- Lawrence Oleander, Boyfriend to Death

-

As you awoke, you were keenly aware of your surroundings.

That same room. Plants in every corner, a beautiful view, those green curtains. Nothing in particular had changed, it looked a little cleaner than when you had last been awake.

What day was it? How long had you been here for? Days passed quickly here, with Lawrence’s tea doing nothing to help that.

He wasn’t in the room, you noted. Your binds were of average strength today. He liked to change them often, he didn’t want them to make you too uncomfortable.

It was… odd. He kept you bound, no contact with the outside view bar from that tease of a window. But, he took care of you. He had kept his promise. He would let you shower as often as you wished, brushed your hair, changed your clothing, fed you, kept you warm and sheltered. He’d even replaced that awful wooden chair with a much more comfortable one. The most bizarre part? He asked of nothing in return except for your company. He liked to touch your skin, feel it, smell it. He wanted to smell your natural odours, feel the wrinkles and skin folds. He wanted it all. And now, he had it.

But lately… He had been antsy.

It was only odd because of how comfortable he had become around you in the past few… however long you had been there. No more nervous twitches or stutters. No, he wasn’t confident, no. He was… content. You liked this side of him more than his frightening side, when he would let his hair loose, and stare at you with those eyes, those eyes that promised you pain and suffering. That’s when he would brew some tea. You would, more often than not, partake too. It was more calming than you would think.

This odd, antsy change had you wondering. What could have possibly happened to him? The only times he left the apartment was when he left for work. He would even have groceries delivered, not needing to venture out for any other reason. Had something happened in the little time before and after work on his way back to the apartment?

No… He trusted you. He confided in you, often actually. He would have told you if something had happened.

Why couldn’t he talk to you? More importantly; what was bothering him so much that he couldn’t talk to you about it?

The click of locks startled you from your thoughts, you gazed to your left, watching as the doorhandle slowly turned to reveal the blond. He slowly trudged in, dragging his feet as he dropped his satchel-bag somewhere along the hallway. His eyes were on the ground. He looked exhausted. Now that you thought about it, he had been much longer than you had expected.

“Sorry I took so long, pet, work held me up…” he mumbled, shrugging off his jacket, making his way to the bathroom.

“It’s alright… I slept anyway.”

“Oh.” He didn’t seem to be fully focussed on what you were saying, so you didn’t bother repeating yourself. He shut the door behind him and you could hear the tell-tale sound of running water. Steam crept from under the door, and you could hear him lightly humming.

You sighed. You were in need of a shower too, your last one was two… a few days ago. You didn’t do much, so you didn’t need to shower as often, but at this point it was very uncomfortable.

Soon enough, Lawrence emerged from the bathroom a towel around his waist and another being rubbed into his hair, drying off the excess water.

“Law… could I please have one too?”

Lawrence widened his eyes, pausing his movements, “Yes… Of course, pet. I’ll just put some clothes on and I’ll be right out.”

You nodded, waiting patiently. It didn’t take long for Lawrence to come back from his bedroom, clothed and a fresh towel in hand. You heard him shuffling around the bathroom for a minute, probably picking up his dirty clothes and making sure your shampoo and bodywash was accessible.

Untying your wrists, Lawrence gave them a soft kiss, before tugging you towards the bathroom.

“Your things are already inside, but I still need to get you some clothes. I’ll grab them and come back in a second.”

You nodded, “Yes. Thanks.”

“No problem, pet.”

He left you in the bathroom, so you shut the door, beginning to undress. You twisted the nozzle, sighing at the feeling of hot water that flowed from the showerhead. You stepped inside, resting for a moment in the hot water, wetting yourself.

“(Y/N), I thought I’d bring some pyjamas instead of normal clothes. It’ll be dark soon, so theres no need to wor—oh…”

He hadn’t bothered to knock, spying you in the nude. You weren’t too bothered or upset, you knew it was a mistake, but you were still embarrassed. “Ah… Okay, that’s fine…”

Your flinch preceded the quick and loud slam of the door.

Lawrence stood on the other side of the door, face burning and eyes wide. His hand pushed his hair back, clutching onto his bangs.

‘Fuck’, he thought.

He was… in need. See, he was happy that you were here, overjoyed even! But now he was being selfish. He wanted more from you. He desired to lay with you, clothes long abandoned.

You wouldn’t want that. But he desperately did.

His eyes lit up as an idea came to mind.

After turning off the shower and the steam had withered, you realised that Lawrence must’ve been cooking dinner. It smelled delicious. Roast, maybe? Towelling off, you pulled on the fresh clothes. A sigh came from your mouth, why did female pyjamas have to be so skimpy? As you tossed your clothes in the dirty laundry basket, you slowly made your way to the kitchen, taking a seat as you watched Lawrence work.

His head lifted in surprise, “Oh! You’re done already, huh? Well… dinner is almost ready so…”

You nodded, the corners of your lips lifting slightly.

“Are you… cold? I can give you my sweater if you’d like?” Lawrence’s gaze was on your skin, warmth rising to his face as he took you in.

Short and revealing… The skimpy shorts exposed the majority of your thighs, skin ablaze from the intensity of his stare. On your upper half you wore a singlet that failed to come down enough to cover your lower stomach, just hiding your bellybutton. Feeling self-conscious, you attempted to pull it down, only for it to snap back up to the place it had started.

You weren’t cold, if anything, you were too warm, your face ardent with pink.

“No. But thank you.”

Lawrence slowly tore his eyes from your exposed skin, focusing back onto the dinner he was preparing. He paused, perhaps hesitating, then he walked towards the cabinet, picking out a glass. He poured an orange beverage from a small bottle into the glass. He poured himself a drink from a different bottle.

“Here, I put some vitamins inside, should help you since you don’t see too much of the sun these days.”

You thanked him, taking small sips of the drink as you watched him toss vegetables around in a pan. Early in your stay there, he had told you that he had never been too talented at cooking. He said that he learned so that he could feed you good food. At first, the food at been mediocre at best. Edible. But now, he was your personal chef. Usually, he would ask you what you wanted to eat, but maybe he had a craving tonight.

“Sorry, but I need to get into the cupboard underneath the bench…” Lawrence pointed at the hidden cupboard door that was immediately in front of your legs. Quickly standing and moving the chair out of his way, he crouched down to retrieve a few bowls.

What surprised you was the small, wet puddle that you had left on the seat. Quickly before Lawrence could see, you wiped it away. He smiled warmly at you as he moved the chair back where it was, gesturing you to take your seat.

The wet feeling in your panties shocked you once more. Once you had noticed it, you became aware of a dull throbbing that took place in your panties.

You were… extremely aroused.

Your senses were heightened, and each time you readjusted your position on the seat, you had to bite your lip and force yourself to abstain from grinding down into the chair. You glanced up at Lawrence, he was completely preoccupied with putting all the food into a square, porcelain dish.

You watched him for a moment, making sure he wouldn’t suddenly look back, before reaching down into your panties.

Your eyes widened at the amount of slick that had pooled in your underwear. Your face heated as you began circling your cunt, rubbing and massaging. Everything was extremely sensitive for some reason. Gasping as your finger swiped over your clit, you bit your lip to contain the noises that tried to force their way out. You felt naughty, touching yourself while Lawrence stood only metres away, it ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach like nothing had ever done before.

You squealed as a rough hand clamped over your wrist, “(Y/N)… Look how bad you’re being, touching yourself… That’s not what good girls do.”

Flinching, you turned your head to look up at Lawrence. His expression was dark, eyes glassy and intense as he stared down at where his hand squeezed you. His cheeks flushed, panting.

Cursing under his breath, his eyes lit up.

“It… worked.”

Reaching around your waist, he lifted you over his shoulder, forcing your hand out of your pants. Kicking open the door to his room, he threw you down onto the bed. Staring down at you from the end of the bed, he groaned. His fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt, having already shrugged off his jacket.

“I-it really worked. Look at you, your panties are filthy… I… can’t wait to taste you.”

Your eyes widened, he had drugged you. The drink he had given you… it had been saltier than usual, now that you thought about it.

But you were too horny to care, he wanted you, and fuck if you wanted him too.

You bit your lip, a wave of arousal washed over you as his skin was revealed, thick sections of inked skin circled his large biceps. He paused, his hungry eyes taking in your bareness, those skimpy shorts showing off more than intended.

Maybe it was intentional, Lawrence had been the one to buy them.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, “Ever since I first saw you, your luscious thighs, full of muscle and blood. So warm…” Crawling up towards you, he came at you slowly, your heart beating so fast and hard that you thought that it would come out of your throat. “The fat of your stomach… How deep do I have to cut for your precious lifeforce to spill out…? I wonder… But not tonight. No. I just… need to have you…”

His large hands gripped onto your thighs dragging his hand up and down its length, inching closer to the where the shorts began to cover your sopping pussy.

The heat in your stomach was becoming uncomfortable, your private’s throbbing. Clenching your hands in the bed sheets you gazed into Lawrence’s eyes, seeing nothing but pure hunger and dominance.

Lawrence leaned over you, pushing his pelvis into your own, groaning as he watched your face twist in pleasure and pain. It hurt… “Lawrence… do something… It—”

“Hmmm… I don’t know, princess… touching yourself isn’t what good girls do…”

Picking up his discarded shirt, he began to tie your wrists to the bedhead. You tested the bonds, tight.

He settled himself in between your thighs, forcing your legs apart, chuckling as you did nothing to resist. Your face red and hot, eyes watery and fucked-out, pussy clenching in anticipation, lips bitten raw… even though he hadn’t touched you yet. His hands pulled at your shorts that left nothing to the imagination, revealing your pretty, pink panties.

“Aw… did you wear these just for me, princess? So… polite.”

You were… mad. You didn’t want this, but because of Lawrence’s actions, if he didn’t touch you, you didn’t know what you would do. It felt as if you would die if Lawrence didn’t touch you soon.

“You… chose my clothes.”

Lawrence’s face was anything but amused, painfully squeezing your thigh in reprimand. “Good girls don’t speak back, princess…”

He was rougher now, ripping off your shirt, leaving it at your wrists, not needing to untie your hands. Pushing his face into your neck, he bit. Hard. You cried out as his teeth sunk into your throat, thrashing as arousal filled your body.

“You’ll do well to be a good little girl, hm? It’s okay. I have you, I’m gonna make you feel really good…”

Nodding, you agreed. “I’m sorry, Lawrence… I’ll be good…”

He began lapping at your folds, sucking and kissing at your clit until you were squeezing his head with your thighs, but he forced them back apart, fucking your sensitive hole with that skilled tongue. A burning heat formed in the pit of your stomach, the fire being fed at each suck to your sensitive bud.

You let out a loud moan as he slid a finger inside your hungry slit. You vision was blurred, hands gripping onto the bed sheets as you thrusted up onto his face, biting down hard on your lip as he added another.

“Oh pet… you’re ready for me…” His face was moist with your arousal, the flame in your gut burning hotter as you watched him suck the slick from his fingers, icy blue eyes trained on your own.

His pants were tossed somewhere behind him, underwear pushed down just low enough to expose his hard, dripping cock. The blunt girth was pushed up against your slit, teasing you and himself. With one sharp thrust, his length was buried deep inside of you, ripping a guttural scream from the depths of your lungs.

“Fuck!!” you screamed, thrashing against your bonds as you begged for more. More more more.

And he gave you more, fucking into you hard and without care, nails digging into your scorching hot skin. Your body was on fire, pussy leaking like a faucet.

And Lawrence loved every single part about it. The needy look in your eyes, your hands that grasped the fabric that bound them, gripping tighter with every new thrust. You wanted him, he could tell with the way your walls clenched around him. You had never wanted him like this before.

You were warm, burning up his cock and it felt so fucking good. He sped up his thrusts, wanting to feel your hot cum coating his dick.

You gasped, squirming on his dick, crying out as he began rubbing on your clit. Your skin erupted in goosebumps as you reached your climax, broken moans filling the room.

A hand wrapped around your neck, cutting off blood circulation and your airways, his cock still slamming into you. Your eyes widened, bugging out of your eye sockets as your skin tinted red became purple. Your hands struggling in your bonds, you thrashed your body, staring up into his carnivorous eyes, staring down at you with no remorse, a sly smile lifting onto his face.

He fucked into your sensitive pussy, stealing another orgasm from you as you lost consciousness.

Your slick tasted delicious, he wondered if your blood was as sweet.

[fishwriter]

I did a terrible thing I'm sorry

When I listened to ep 70A, I had a lot of feelings, and I looked and looked for this fic, but I couldn't find it. So I had to write it.

Carlos: It’s a sad letter. A letter about regrets, about mistakes.You know how sometimes you spend a lot of time with someone, and you think that the someone makes you happy, but then suddenly one day you realize… maybe you weren’t happy at all. Maybe both would be better off doing what you love in different places. Without each other. Maybe neither of you were as happy as either of you thought.

x-posted on my ao3

Carlos: I don’t know. Alisha and Doug look really agitated. They’re jumping up and down by the window. The other giant soldiers are running into formation outside. I need to see what’s wrong.

Carlos stares helplessly, the war cries ringing in his ears, as Doug and Alisha tear through his kitchen, grabbing cutlery and various other kitchen implements. As they flee through the door, his cutting board clattering to the ground, a creeping numbness overcomes him at the state of his kitchen counter.

“What a nice place you have, Carlos!” Kevin cooed, running his hands over the countertops. “A little… dry, for my taste, but I think it really suits you.”

Carlos offered him a tired smile. “I arranged it to look like my kitchen at home. My findings show the similarity makes me feel a little less homesick.” Kevin’s smile turned sly, and Carlos felt a chill ripple down his spine at the uncanny familiarity of the radio host’s features.

Carlos: Doug and Alisha are back.

Carlos is writing in one of his notebooks as his computer compiles its data, punctiliously checking for inconsistencies in his equations. Excitement crackles through his scientific objectivity like static, and he sets the notebook down, open, on his desk, so he can compare the graphs he’s sketched with the results from a different experiment.

All of this is just idle quadruple checking, however. Something to do with his hands while the computer works. Something to keep him from staring at the screen in anticipation of the results that will validate the impossible, torturous amount of time he’s spent away from home, away from Cecil . The thought of Cecil swoops through him like a cold wind, and he fights down the nausea, the guilt, the unreasonable bitterness and resentment. He feels the touch of a radio host’s careful fingers ghost-like on his skin, and he grits his teeth, shoving away the intrusive, unwelcome thoughts.

The door bursts open with a violent bang, and Carlos nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping his pencil as Doug and Alisha limp over the threshold, supporting the massive bodies of their comrades. “Are you… okay?” But the question dies off just as it leaves his lips as more warriors begin to flood in, shedding weapons and armour and-- is that a severed leg? The edges of his vision lighten to white, and he worries momentarily that he will pass out. He takes deep breaths, shifting from foot to foot, until he can focus on the army now ransacking his house.

“Does Cecil often help you do science?” Kevin asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Carlos replied, startling himself at the thickness of his own voice. “Yes. He helps—helped—a lot.” He stared at Kevin’s smiling mouth, unable to drag his gaze any higher, and the loneliness clenched his insides with vice-like tightness. Kevin’s face looked so much like Cecil’s. His hair, his ears, his nose, his jaw. His lips. His smile grew wider, as if he could sense what Carlos was thinking, was suddenly imagining, and a horrified flush rose to the scientist’s cheeks as he realised what he was thinking.

“You miss him. Cecil. Don’t you?”

Carlos swallowed. “Yes, I do.”

Kevin: While Carlos tries to get his notes un-bloodied, let’s have a closer look at the weather.

Briskly, methodically, Carlos cleans. He wears thick gloves that protect him up to his elbows and lab goggles over his eyes because he can’t stand the feeling of so much blood on his skin, and he carefully collects the shattered, blood-soaked glass on the floor into a small box, marked with blue dots.

The blood roared in his ears at the warm touch on his wrist. Normally, he’d recoil from an unfamiliar touch, but this didn’t feel like that. It lacked any unfamiliarity at all. He looked down at the tattoos crawling down the hand that had settled over his own, and his heart stuttered in his chest, the loneliness in his head screaming so loud that it drowned out rational thought.

“I’m lonely here, too,” Kevin said quietly, with a sincerity in his voice that Carlos had never heard before. “If you’d like, I think we would both be happier if we were lonely together.”

Impulsively, Carlos turned his hand over so that their palms touched, and he laced their fingers together. “I think I’d like that,” he whispered.

He scrubs every surface, a numb rage swirling in his chest, permeating the air in his lungs, until even the slightest of red tints are gone, quite a feat considering the sunlight in this desert otherworld is always just a little bit red. His gaze flickers to the spatter of blood on his computer’s keyboard, then to the damp rag in his hand, and he decides the risk is not worth it. He just has to deal with it until the computer is done processing. ‘I can do that,’ he thinks. ‘Scientists are excellent at waiting.’ His heart clenches at the thought.

Carlos woke to the faint sounds of battle cries and the syncopatic echoes of marching footsteps, momentarily displaced in his tired brain. He pressed himself closer to the comforting warmth of the man beside him, but a choking feeling rose in his throat, jarring him fully awake. Opening his eyes, he felt a bittersweet ache ripple through him, and he got up to get a cup of water, and perhaps to do science, because when he did science, he didn’t have to worry about the cold shadow buzzing at the back of his mind.

The notebooks are unsalvageable, but he carefully arranges them outside to dry, just in case. It’s not that big a deal, he tells himself. Everything vital is already on the computer. Everything is still fine. He returns to the lab and stares at the screen, the numbers reassuring as they scrolled quickly up the screen.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Carlos sits down in the freshly cleaned chair at his desk, only to jump up again as he hears the door slam open with a crash. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaims plaintively as a huge whirlwind of white fur explodes into the lab, sending the remaining unbroken instruments crashing to the ground. “Bad dog!” he shouts, attempting to corral Alisha’s massive canine companion. “Outside! Outside now!” The dog skids across the smooth floor, crashing into the desk before scampering towards Carlos. “NO,” he barks, right before the dog’s front paws leave the ground in an undeniable attempt to jump up on his bloodied labcoat. The command seems to work, as the dog hesitates, paws flailing in the air in front of Carlos’s shoulders, and then it’s back on all fours, whirling around in a circle, chasing its tail.

“OUTSIDE,” Carlos orders in his most thunderous voice, and the dog whines mournfully before taking off, full speed, out of the lab. Hands shaking uncontrollably, Carlos looked around at the destruction, seeing the shattered test tubes and spilled chemicals as a cold hollowness creeps into his body. Feebly, he makes his way back to his desk, and he stares at the computer laying on the floor, its monitor shattered and smoking, snapped nearly in half, singe marks dark on the keyboard. He stares at it, his mind utterly silent. He stands there for a long, long moment, gazing down at the ruin of everything he’s worked for, every excuse he’s constructed, every second spent not in Night Vale, where he suddenly, achingly realizes he belongs.

Carlos abruptly turns away and walks to a filing cabinet, opening a drawer and pulling out a blank sheet of paper. He grabs a pen from the floor and begins to write.

[p-artsypants]

Arcadia or Bust (8)

FF.net | AO3

“Hey, what’s something you don’t understand at all in the series?”

“The Heartstone and all that powers it.”

“Dopamine, you should write about it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like it won’t confuse anyone at all.”

Why do I do this to myself?

Also, I’ve been having a bad reaction to some medication, and I haven’t been writing as much as I want to. So chapters might be slow all around. Sorry in advance

—

Claire was asleep. It wasn’t very comfy sleeping in the back of the truck. But at least she had her pillow.

She was instantly awake when she heard Jim scream and a screech of tires.

Everything happened so fast. She slammed against the window, and then the ceiling, then the seat, over and over, feeling like a sock in a dryer. After a particularly nasty slam to the back window, she blacked out.

When she opened her eyes again, she was laying on the couch in her living room. That same dingy gray, dusty room she had seen before in her nightmares.

“Hello dear,” spoke a soft voice. “Quite the pickle we’re in this time, hmm?”

Claire sat up, looking at her. “Morgan? But…I was awake and then…”

“You’re hurt,” The woman said simply, “hit your pretty little head.”

“I—what about everyone else? What about Jim?! The truck! It rolled and—“

“Calm down,” Morgan said sagely, standing. “I can’t know everything. I only know of your condition. But it’s only a matter of time before we know of everyone else.”

“Is everyone okay?” Jim’s voice carried to her, sounding like a shout from outside.

“That was quite the rough ride…” Likewise, she heard Blinky out there too.

“Jim and Blinky are okay…” Claire breathed with a sigh.

“Claire! Merlin! Enrique!” Jim shouted again, sounding closer, louder.

“Ooof…” NotEnrique groaned, “I thought you said you could drive?”

Morgan smiled and waltzed over to the kitchen and put on the kettle. “Well, you’re not dead. But we can only hope that Merlin is.”

“I don’t understand. I’m…unconscious?”

“For the time being,” Morgan answered as she rifled through the cabinets.

“Claire!” Jim called again, “Claire! Talk to me honey!”

Claire smiled at the pet name, but she didn’t like the worry in his voice.

Morgana came and sat on her chair again. “I never got to mention, but I very much like the design of your house. Of course, I have made a few adjustments of my own, but it’s very nice. Much nicer then the cave that Merlin and I lived. Biscuit?”

Clair took the cookie hesitantly. “So…what? Am I supposed to just stay here for now?”

“Claire!” Human Jim burst into the room, a spectral form. His eyes wandered around.

“Do you mind not yelling? I’m very tired.”

Morgan frowned. “And, he survived. Great.”

Human Jim came to her, kneeling beside the couch. “Claire…” He whispered. “Oh god…”

Claire looked at Morgan. “Why am I seeing him as a human? He looked like that the last time I was here too.”

“You’re seeing his soul, Claire. Frankly, I’m amazed he’s even here in the first place. Since you haven’t been through a soul binding ceremony.” She scratched her chin. “Then again, if you really love each other…This could mean that you’re susceptible to a bind.”

“She’s alive, but unconscious.” He said, looking away from her.

Morgan continued. “Meaning that if a soul binding was performed, the chances of it working one hundred percent is high. Which means, it would be impossible to undo.”

Claire listened, but she was also fixated on Jim nearby. It had been so long since she saw him like this. This was the Jim she had fallen in love with. Not that she didn’t love the Troll version, on the contrary, his transformation was what pushed her to confessing to him. But there was something nostalgic about seeing him here like this.

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” He suddenly shouted, his spirit burning red. “Why can’t you just be helpful for once!?”

Morgan scoffed. “Merlin never changes. Just being a pain in the neck wherever he goes.”

The voices of the others didn’t seem to reach her any more. But Jim was still here, and every word he spoke was full of pain and worry.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen him this vulnerable before.” Claire commented, reaching out to touch him. “It’s…heartbreaking.”

“It’s admirable.” Said Morgan. “A man unafraid to show worry and concern over the woman he loves? A most honorable man, indeed. I’m surprised such a soul was chosen as a Trollhunter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every Trollhunter I’ve seen has forsaken their loved ones and pushed them away. Taking on their duties with a stoic demeanor. But Jim accepted help from those he cared about. That’s the mark of a strong and brave soul.”

“So…there’s nothing we can do?” Jim spoke, his shoulders heaving.

“Ah, I see.” Said Morgan with a nod.

“What?” Claire asked, worry in her voice.

“It seems like my connection on you is preventing Merlin from healing you.”

“Healing me? Am I hurt? I’m unconscious but…”

“I can’t tell how bad your condition is. But perhaps you will be unconscious for a while still. Heaven forbid you die.”

Claire tensed up, staring at Morgan in horror.

“Of course, I’d rather not let it come to that. You have work do to for the trolls.”

“Claire…please…please wake up. Don’t leave me…” Jim was sobbing, as he rested his head against the couch cushion. His hand was making gentle movements, and she realized he was petting her hair.

“Alright,” Morgan stated standing. “I suppose it’s up to me then. I need to take possession of your body again.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re thinking, but trust me. I can’t stay long, and I won’t hurt anyone.”

Claire looked down to the sobbing Jim. “Promise?”

“I swear to you, Claire Nuñez.”

Claire swallowed, and then nodded firmly.

—

Jim was leaning against the truck, his arm draped carefully around Claire as he carefully pressed her pillowcase on her wound. “Claire…please…please wake up. Don’t leave me…” He sobbed, feeling helpless. His human hand rested at the base of her neck on her chest, and he felt her pulse, her heart beating erratically.

“Master Jim…is there anything I can do?” Blinky asked, also feeling helpless. He had carefully cleaned the backseat of broken glass, so that Claire wouldn’t get hurt anymore.

“Do you know any first aid?”

Blinky frowned, “For humans, I am…less than helpful. I meant…perhaps laying out some blankets on the ground or something?”

“No, we can’t move her.” Then he offered a sad smile. “But thanks for trying.”

Suddenly, Claire’s eyes shot open, her pupils blown wide.

“Claire?!” Jim shouted, startled.

The girl shooed his hands away. “I would have thought you’d know better,” An ancient voice spoke, “little lamb.”

“Morgana.” Jim tried to keep the snarl back, but it came naturally.

“Please, compose yourself, Trollhunter. I mean you no harm.” She sat up fully and let her feet dangle outside of the vehicle.

“Please be careful,” Jim winced. “Claire’s hurt…”

“I feel her pain as my own,” said she. Then she bowed her head slightly, and spoke in a foreign tongue, “medeor...”

As she spoke, Claire’s body began to glow a soft yellow. She lifted from the seat of the truck and floated down to stand in front of Jim. The wound in her head closed, as the cracked skull knit back together. Once the glow faded, Claire’s knees buckled and she began to fall.

Jim caught her easily, wrapping an arm around her.

“My magic is weak,” said Morgana, not pushing away this time. “I used most of it to heal the most grievous wounds. I have but a few moments left, and I wish to have a word with you, Jim Lake.”

Jim looked over to Blinky, who shrugged.

Gently, Jim helped Claire back into the truck so that she could sit comfortably. Then he closed the door, for a slight amount of privacy. “Alright, um…what’s up?”

Morgana turned in her seat, glancing this way and that. When she spotted Merlin outside the truck, her nostrils flared in anger.

“Something wrong?”

“Simply a knee jerk reaction.” She exhaled, “Jim, you are special in many ways. The first human trollhunter, the first half-troll, the one to defeat Gunmar…but you are also the first trollhunter to absorb my essence. And by extension, I have stained you as well.”

Jim’s eyes widened as he cocked his eyebrow. “Um…?”

“This,” she touch his chest where his wound was. “…was supposed to be the killing blow. A crackling of my magic against Merlin’s should have destroyed you, right down to your very soul. But instead, you absorbed it, and took some of my magic for yourself.”

Jim touched his chest lightly where the crater remained.

“You’ll have to expel it, if you want the wound to heal.”

“And I suppose you want it back, don’t you?” Jim said with a little ‘hmph’. “You might have healed Claire, but I still don’t trust you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” agreed Morgana. “Nor do I need your trust, or that magic. But, I have a feeling it will come in handy later.” A sly smile came over her face. “There was another troll who absorbed my magic, you know.”

“Angor?”

At the name, Morgana seemed to wilt, ever so slightly. “Angor was enchanted by me…but no, it was Gunmar, he took my magic that laid in reserves. The magic that laid dormant in the earth and gave life to the trolls.”

“Wait wait wait!” Jim protested, “Are you saying that’s your magic in the heartstone?”

She smiled patiently. “An ancient reserve of magic sat under the earth for a millennia before Merlin and I even existed. This was the first Heartstone, the one that birthed Gunmar. This magic became my own, just as Daylight became Merlin’s. When I was imprisoned in that crystal in Trollmarket, that’s all it was. A solid prison, strong as diamond. But over time, my essence and being seeped into the stone and into the earth. It ran off in shoots and took on a mind of it’s own. Yes, Jim Lake, the heartstone and I are the same.”

Jim leaned back against the truck, digesting this information.

Morgan also relaxed, her head drooping on the seat. “My time is running out. So hear me carefully. If you wish to restore the heartstone in troll market to what it once was, make sure you and Claire are there to nurture it. Someday, the magic you absorbed will return to the stone on it’s own. But whatever you do…don’t let Merlin mess with it. No protective spells, nothing.” She closed her eyes. “He always killed my favorite roses.”

“Okay, thank you for the advice, I guess…” Jim sighed, feeling exhausted. “Morgana?”

There was no reply.

But a few minutes later, Claire’s chocolate eyes opened again. “Jim…?”

“Claire? Is it you this time?”

She smiled softly, “yeah, it’s me…sorry for the scare.”

She needn’t say anything else, as she was swiftly swept up into his arms, nearly crushed against him. He wept, “gods I thought I lost you…”

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, combing her fingers through his hair.

“I love you so much…I’m glad you’re alright.”

She winced, “I’m glad you’re alright too.”

Jim heard her, and pulled away quickly. “I’m sorry, are you still hurt?”

She managed a pained laugh. “Yeah, I’m just a little bruised is all.”

Before anyone said anything, NotEnrique had leapt into the car and landed on Claire’s lap. “Sis! Oh man, I was worried sick! That was so scary!”

“Likewise,” Blinky spoke from the passenger door. “I am also glad to see you safe and awake.”

Merlin was frowning, looking at the truck. “Well, I think we’ll have to find a new form of transportation.” He called from the windshield.

Claire fought to sit up and slid out of her seat. “Wait, just a moment.”

Jim was quick to follow, making sure she was stable on her feet.

Claire walked up to the front of the truck, resting her hands on the hood.

“Claire?” NotEnrique asked.

Her eyes turned black as she focused on the mangled metal. “Ad initium redire…” The truck started to groan again, the metal twisting in the opposite direction, smoothing and flattening. The glass shards lifted from the ground, floating back to their proper place.

Then, with a rev, the engine roared to life, and the truck was sitting and ready to go, looking even better than when they got it.

Once again, Claire weakly collapsed to the ground, but Jim was quick to scoop her up. “I gotcha.” He assured.

She smiled, “Thanks, honey.”

“That was amazing Claire! Where did you learn that?”

She snuggled a little into his chest, blushing. “Um…it just came to me.”

“Morgana has been teaching her,” Merlin announced. “She’s been talking with Claire when she’s sleeping.”

Claire tensed. “Merlin! I told you that in confidence!”

“Hey hey,” Jim hushed, stroking her hair. “It’s okay…we…we’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

Claire swallowed, feeling small. “Okay.”

Blinky didn’t say anything about this new revelation, considering that only good had come from it so far. But he did look at Merlin in frustration. “All this time, you wanted to get your magic back, and you couldn’t even do anything with it? Not even fix the truck?”

The wizard said nothing, only climbed into the front seat.

“Nuh uh,” Jim protested, “You don’t deserve this seat today.”

Merlin scoffed and crawled to the back seat like a reprimanded dog.

Jim righted the truck in correct direction. Then he and Blinky pushed it up the hill and retrieved the Heartstone from where it had landed. A little more pushing and they were on the highway once more.

“You sure you’re okay, Claire?” Jim asked, as they sped away.

“Yeah, just a little sore.” She emphasized this by rubbing her arm. “And…a little hungry.”

“I’m a bit hungry as well,” stated Blinky. “I’ve been trying not to eat during the trip, but it’s hard.”

“Me too,” Jim admitted. “We’ll find a stop, and you and I can…scavenge through the garbage.” Jim tugged his sleeves down so they protected his fingers from the sun, and adjusted his hood to cover the left side of his face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to eating trash.” He muttered to himself.

That day went much more normal. After breakfast, Claire attempted to sleep a little longer. Now that they had the radio back, the front seat couple turned up classical music as Blinky and Merlin continued to argue in the backseat.

The front seat was a bench, where the middle of the back seat could fold down into an armrest and drink holder. Unable to get comfortable resting against the window, Claire flipped up the middle and stretched out along the bench, using Jim’s thigh as a pillow instead.

Now that things were cruising along smoothly, Jim relaxed a little more in his seat and absently ran a hand over Claire’s hair.

They travelled the whole day. Landscapes and states zoomed by, days of travel passing in a a matter of hours. Every once in a while, Jim would hiss in pain and have to adjust his hoodie again, but only because he really didn’t want to loose anymore travel time in stopping.

Around 1 am, Jim pulled off at an exit close to Amarillo, Texas.

“What’re we doing?” Asked Claire, now wide awake.

“I saw a sign for a KOA up here. We’re going to sneak in, and use the showers.”

“Yes!” Claire shouted in excitement. “You’re the best!”

They had done this a couple of times since embarking on their adventure a month and a half ago. Stealing away in the middle of the night to take showers in campgrounds of state parks. Well, Claire showered, and Jim accompanied her to make sure she returned safely. It wasn’t very often, since they wanted to get to Jersey as soon as possible, but Jim made time.

They parked outside the gate, and Jim and Claire got out.

“Blinky gets to sit up front now,” Said Jim with glare at Merlin.

The wizard was sitting in the back seat with his arms crossed like a moody teenager. “I should have just walked back with the others.”

“You could always sit in the truck bed,” Offered Blinky with a bit of sass.

Jim took Claire’s hand and headed inside the campground to avoid the oncoming argument.

For a while, they just enjoyed walking hand in hand, basking in each other’s presence. Then, Jim decided to broach the elephant in the room.

“So…Morgana, huh?” There was no bite to his tone, no anger or judgement. But he could feel Claire tense.

“Yeah…” She whispered. “I…I had a nightmare, the night we stayed at the hotel. At the scariest moment, I found myself in my house, the version in the shadow realm where you found me.”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded in understanding.

“And Morgana was there…but she was different somehow. Soft spoken, polite. It was weird. She said she lost all of her anger.”

“That’s hard to believe…”

“I know!” Agreed Claire. “That’s what I said…but she never threatened me, never talked down to me, and never brought up feeling like she was trapped. She said she enjoyed being in the shadow realm, because she finally felt safe from Merlin.”

“Wait, what?”

At this time, they had found a bathroom, and Claire promised they’d continue the conversation after freshening up. Now that she knew he was ready to talk about it, Claire spend her time practicing the conversation, while Jim just mulled over the fact that, in a way, Morgan was in fact back, but it might not be a bad thing.

One slightly gross shower later, the couple were on their way back to the car.

“Have you ever heard of a binding ceremony?” Claire asked.

Jim blushed slightly. “Yeah…Blinky told me about it. A soul binding spell, which is what Troll weddings are.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Morgana said she and Merlin did it once.”

Jim came to a full stop, staring at his girlfriend. “Merlin and Morgana were…in love?”

“Yeah…so, full disclosure. Merlin sensed Morgana within me, so I didn’t mean to tell him before you…”

Jim shrugged with a smile, “When it comes to this magic stuff, I’m not really upset or surprised that you and Merlin talked. He would have been the most helpful…considering how completely unhelpful he’s been this entire trip so far.”

“And besides our conversation we had the morning you were arrested, he’s been a gaping asshole,” then she continued. “But he confirmed it, too. They were married once, a long long time ago.”

“What happened to make them hate each other so much?”

“It sounded like one night, Merlin had sex with her without her consent and it broke her trust enough that she asked Vendal to undo the soul bind.”

“Oh my god…”

“Merlin said that soul binds aren’t easily undone. They both had parts of their souls cut out, and it aged them and took away their happiness and compassion.”

“That makes total sense!”  

“And not long after that, Morgana’s brother King Arthur, like King Arthur and Excalibur? He died, and while she was in mourning, Merlin cut off her hand and smelted down excalibur to make your amulet.”

“Geez, no wonder she hates me.” Jim sighed, “Man…now I don’t really know who the villain is…”

“Morgan wants to tutor me in magic. I talked it over with Merlin, and he says it should be safe. She’s already taught me three helpful spells. But I’m not sure…”

Jim took her hands, holding them securely. “Claire, you are smart and logical. Even though Merlin is a butt, if he says it’s safe, then it should be fine. Just…do what you feel comfortable doing.”

Claire smiled, and reached up to grab hold of his horn.

Jim smiled as he knew exactly what would follow. He leaned down and met her in a tender kiss, pushing all the love he felt for her into it.

When they pulled away, Claire was beaming. “One other thing…”

“Hmm?”

“When I was in the shadow realm with her, I could see and hear you. In your human form. Morgan said that I could see your soul…and that meant that we’re susceptible to a soul bind.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our souls could be mixed perfectly, but there’d be no way to undo it.”

“Okay, why would we want to undo it anyway?”

Claire simply beamed and stood on her tiptoes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[hvlfwygod]

dreamland | patrick & reno

summary: a restless night with too much remembering. whiskey, cigarettes, and sleeping pills help to smooth it over.

It happened again. Patrick woke with a sudden jolt from yet another nightmare, his heart slamming in his chest like this was still the first time it had ever happened. Though he awoke in a shroud of fear, the feeling quickly dissolved as he got his bearings back. Patrick was in Reno’s bed (and this was the third time a bad dream had slammed him awake, how embarrassing). He was fine, totally out of danger. “Fuck me,” he grumbled, tossing his head back on the pillow. At this point, a monster waiting at the foot of the bed was preferable. He could tell without checking that Reno was awake, too. If he wasn’t so mortified, he might have even felt bad about that, instead of resenting him for it. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked the darkness as he pushed his hands to his eyes.

Although he still jolted up every time Patrick startled awake, Reno managed to keep himself from leaping off the mattress after the first few times. He sat up, instead, and turned to watch Patrick. His eyes glinted, reflecting light like a cat's as they adjusted quickly to see through the darkness. Waking up with his heart pounding was starting to get annoying, especially when he was more sober every time he opened his eyes. "Get up and do a lap." Reno stretched his arms behind his back with an audible crack from his shoulders, accepting now that he was going to be awake for the rest of the night. "Clear your head."

He didn’t want to get up and do a lap. Patrick wanted to go the fuck to sleep, and tell Reno to stop telling him what to do. But he knew that sleep was only going to result in another spiral out of control until he woke up terrified once again. And telling Reno off took energy he didn’t have right now. So, begrudgingly, Patrick rolled off of the mattress and got out of bed. He avoided eye contact and dragged his hand down his face. “Ugh. Fuck. This shouldn’t be possible— Can we just go downstairs? I know you’re not going back to sleep.”

Reno stared down Patrick until he finished speaking, at which point he climbed to his feet. "Yeah." His eyes darted to the side, into his rafters where his main altar was, but he turned away from it, pulled the blanket off his mattress, and headed down the stairs without another word. Yawning as he reached the bottom step, he cast a tired glance over to the lamp beside the couch and the bulb flickered to life. Even with the blanket around his shoulders a chill cut through the air. He headed over to the stove and laid a hand on the outside of the kettle to start the water boiling.

A surge of annoyance rolled over Patrick as Reno turned and walked away. What did he have to be upset about? Feeling defensive and put-off, Patrick waited several seconds before following. He only went as far as the couch, not accompanying Reno into the kitchen. Though, he did end up taking the advice and walking around in a wide circle. It helped him calm down just enough to stop his emotional state from tipping into outright anger. Sighing, more annoyed with himself now than anything else, he curled up on the couch and waited for Reno to join him there.

The water was boiling within half a minute and Reno took his time pouring the hot water into a mug. He turned and looked Patrick over for a second, gauging his mood, before walking forward to take a seat on the floor beside Patrick's legs. He raised the cup of hot water until he could feel the steam on his chin and pulled the blanket closed around himself. Unblinking, he watched Patrick over the rim of the mug, gaze weary but uncharacteristically clear.

Patrick could almost feel the stare, and shifted uncomfortably underneath it. He searched for something to say that wasn’t him complaining about his powers abandoning him, but nothing else came to mind. Eventually, he risked returning Reno’s prolonged gaze. The glow-in-the-dark eyes still sent shivers down Patrick’s back, but he leaned over anyway. “This is fucking annoying, huh?” He pressed his palm to Reno’s forehead, for no particular reason. “Or do you find it funny? Keeps you guessing, at least.”

Reno closed his eyes when Patrick touched his forehead and tipped forward, resting some weight against Patrick's hand for a couple seconds before folding his arms on the couch beside him. "Ha ha," he said plainly, lifting his head to look at Patrick again. "So what's up, you can't control your nightmares?"

The fake laugh made Patrick frown, and the question made him scowl. He sat back on the couch with a loud groan. “Guess not,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like everything just shut off. I try to change anything and I get stuck in—“ he waved his hand— “it doesn’t matter. But I can’t make anything happen differently.”

Reno's head tilted to the side as he listened, expression unchanging. "In your own dreams, or other people's too?"

After a long pause, Patrick finally answered. “Both.” He suddenly felt cold, too, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t even think I can dream walk right now. It fucking sucks.”

“Yikes.” Reno pressed his cheek into his shoulder, watching Patrick through his eyelashes. “What changed?”

Patrick could feel himself getting angry again. “If I knew,” he said slowly, “I’d fix it. And we wouldn’t be sitting here at three in the morning.”

Reno’s eyes narrowed as he now picked up on Patrick’s tone. He leaned back slowly, taking a sip of his hot water before putting it down on the ground. He pushed himself up to sit on the couch beside Patrick, huddled under his blanket. His attention drifted over to the liquor cabinet behind the couch. “You want me to keep you company or no?”

Patrick didn't look any more or less annoyed as Reno joined him on the couch, but he did uncross his arms and pinch the edge of the blanket. "Sure," he replied quietly, trying to sound like he didn't care either way. He followed Reno's gaze to the liquor. "Whiskey?"

“Hm.” Reno unwrapped one edge of the blanket and held it out, but changed his mind quickly and stood up instead, tossing the whole blanket at Patrick. The air was cold on his bare skin, but it helped clear his head. “You want?” He wandered to the balcony doors and peered out to the night sky. “It’s raining.”

Patrick just barely caught the blanket, and even then part of it settled over his face. He sighed into the fabric then pulled it down over his chest. "If you're having, yeah." But instead of finding a bottle, Reno wandered closer to the outdoors. Patrick didn't like this, for a reason he couldn't quite understand, and he dumped the blanket aside as he moved to join him by the balcony. "How exciting," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around Reno's shoulders from behind.

It was too cloudy to see the stars. Reno watched a drop of rain run down the glass, then leaned back against Patrick’s chest, shoulders tense. A sense of déjà vu hung over him, mocking him, and when he pressed his palm to the scar over his collarbone, faint tremors spread through his fingers. He curled his hand into a fist and pressed it to the glass. “Want a smoke?”

The strange, quiet tension rolling off of Reno was not new— he sometimes just got like this and Patrick usually let it happen without comment. However, the trembling was odd enough for Patrick to be curious. He watched Reno's fingers wobbling closed, and then knuckles thudding lightly against the window, and frowned. "Sounds good. My cigarettes are upstairs."

“I have some down here.” Reno moved to go fetch them but when he turned, Patrick was right in front of him and his mind stuttered over what he had been going to do. He exhaled through his nose and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against Patrick’s chest. His shoulders sagged. “Still want that whiskey?”

"What's happening?" Patrick asked as he worried, for just a moment, that maybe he was still dreaming. He held Reno's arms just above the elbow, partially to ground himself, but didn't hold on too tight in case it made Reno skittish. "You sound like you're short circuiting."

The grip on his arms helped bring Reno fully back to the current moment. He looked up at Patrick, scanning his face for a few silent seconds, gaze intent- he didn’t know what he was searching for, but whatever it was, he couldn’t find it. He looked away, but didn’t move further from him. “Just gotta reboot,” he responded with a twist to his mouth. “It’s been a weird fucking couple weeks.”

Patrick considered him for a moment, then crouched slightly to move his arms around Reno's waist. He stood again, holding Reno close, lifting him off the floor. A long exhale spilled from his chest as walked them both back to the couch. "Weird fucking couple weeks," he repeated quietly. He put Reno down and then handed him the blanket, tossing it over his exposed chest before he turned back toward the liquor cabinet. "Where are the cigarettes?" Patrick asked as he grabbed the first bottle of whiskey he saw.

Reno draped his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and rested his chin on his shoulder as he was carried over. The room was starting to shift from uncomfortably clear to spinning around him and once Patrick put him down he hunched over, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “Tin on top of the cabinet,” he mumbled.

Only after he pulled down the tin and found a lighter did Patrick notice the alarming state that the cabinet was in. It was a mess, like it'd been taken apart and haphazardly put together again. All he could do was make the mental note and move on for now, though. He returned to Reno nudged him lightly with the end of the bottle. "Are you tripping?" he asked casually. "I have no fucking clue when you could have taken something, but it kinda feels like you are." He sat down beside Reno and stuck a cigarette into his mouth.

Reno took the bottle but didn’t open it yet, settling closer to Patrick on the couch. His eyes caught on Patrick’s hands, then his mouth, then the cigarette. He lifted a hand and touched the end- not even a full second later, a small flame started at the tip. “I’m sober.” He struggled with the cap of the whiskey, hands clammy, but managed to pop it off after a few tries. “For now.”

Just as he was about to light the cigarette himself, Reno's hand was in front of him and smoke started to rise into the air. Patrick blinked, surprised and confused about why he was surprised. It was only now that he finally felt just how tired he was. But his attention snapped over to Reno once he spoke. "Damn," he breathed out. He knew Reno got weird on the way down, but he'd never seen this. "Stone sober?" Patrick pulled on the cigarette then held it out.

“Something like that.” Reno took the cigarette and pressed it to his mouth, pulling the blanket up with his free hand and settling down. He leaned his head against Patrick’s shoulder and pressed the bottle of whiskey to Patrick’s chest. “What are you dreaming about?”

"Doesn't matter." Patrick took the bottle but didn't drink. He wished he'd lit his own cigarette so they wouldn't have to share. "It's some dumb shit from when I was a kid. Sounds fucking lame out loud." He moved his arm so it was draped over Reno's shoulder, allowing them to get closer, and hooked his ankle under the other's. "Why has it been weird? I know you haven't been this sober the whole time."

Reno held the cigarette to Patrick’s lips and took the bottle from him, putting it down on the ground beside the couch since neither of them had taken a sip. He turned, moving his legs over Patrick’s lap, and settled under his arm again. “Fuck, imagine. The combined withdrawal would take me out.” His laugh came out raspy. He dug his fingertips into the scar tissue on his collarbone. “You ever rip a wound open right before it heals?”

Patrick pulled on the cigarette as soon it landed on his lips, feeling simultaneously more relaxed and stressed out. Once Reno was settled again, Patrick picked up a new cigarette and handed that off to him, humming and smiling a bit at the attempted joke. He considered the question seriously. Frowning, head rolled back so he could stare at the ceiling, his finger making lazy, wavy lines along Reno's arm. "Yeah, I have."

Reno lit the new cigarette with the same ease as the other. Energy buzzed under his skin, but his head felt heavy with fatigue. He tucked his head under Patrick's chin when he leaned back. "Yeah." He blew a ring of smoke towards an unlit candle on the low table in front of the couch and watched the wick through the middle– a small flame flickered into being, then quickly extinguished into more smoke. "It's like that. Why's it been weird for you?"

The air above Patrick's head was hazy and getting hazier as he blew more smoke into the gathering cloud. "I don't know," he answered, closing his eyes and smiling a little. He pulled on his cigarette again. "Yeah. I don't know. I live here."

Reno turned his head and pressed his lips to Patrick's neck before his next drag. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "You live here?"

"Yeah," Patrick mumbled. Already, his cigarette was out, and he glanced to it with resentment. "New Athens." A strange weight pressed down on his chest, not caused by Reno. He ignored it. "Every time I'm here I deal with a special kind of bullshit."

"Huh." Reno leaned back to watch Patrick's face. He held out his own cigarette in offering. "Why'd you come back?"

He plucked the cigarette from Reno's fingers. "Because my asshole brothers fucking ditched me in the middle of a war." Patrick took a drag. "And I decided that they shouldn't be the only ones who get the nice city for it."

Reno reached out to press his fingers into Patrick's chest. "If you don't like it here I could help them have a worse time. Araminta's already got me giving Chase hay-fever."

Patrick considered the offer for a moment, wondering what Reno could do, but that thought fell away almost instantly. He lifted his head, his face a contortion of confusion and anger. "What?" He stared at Reno. "What the fuck? Why?"

Reno startled from his comfortable position, not expecting Patrick to move. He sat back up straight and watched Patrick’s expressions changed, confused about what caused this. “She asked me to?”

"Why?" he asked again, indignant. "For what reason?" His hand curled into a fist against Reno's arm. Nevermind that he was just considering the same thing, the fact that someone was actively targeting his brother was unacceptable to him.

Reno pulled his arm away from Patrick’s hand, reaching over for the bottle on the ground. “I didn’t ask. She wanted revenge for something and I’m trying to stop killing people.”

Patrick gave a incredulous scoff and puffed on the cigarette with a renewed energy. "Don't joke about that, Reno. That's my fucking brother. I'm allowed to fuck with him, but not you, and not fucking Minta, of all people. Fuck."

Reno slowly tipped his head back, lying back against the arm of the couch and staring up into the rafters. “I’m making him sneeze. It wears off after a month.”

There was a long stretch of silence after that. Patrick killed his cigarette and, because he was still angry, dropped the end on the floor. He took the bottle from Reno's grasp and gulped down as much whiskey as he could handle, wincing through every swallow. "That's it?" he asked once he was done, placing the bottle on Reno's stomach and waiting for him to take it back.

Reno took the bottle, cradling it between his hands before he finally took a swig. His throat burned, but he closed his eyes and waited for the nausea to fade. “Yeah.”

More quiet, then Patrick ran a hand down his face. "Fine," he grumbled. The temptation to get up and storm out of the apartment was strong, but he just turned his head away from Reno and steamed for a while longer. "Don't do anything else to Chase. Let's see how much Jesse is pissing me off when he gets back before I decide."

Reno laughed, once, and rolled his head back down to watch Patrick. The confidence with which Patrick was giving orders didn’t settle quite right with him.“I wasn’t planning anything else unless she told me to.”

Patrick angled his head back around with a sneer. He shoved Reno's legs off his lap and turned to face him for fully. "No. I don't care if she tells you to. Don't do. Anything else. To Chase."

Reno’s jaw tightened and he met Patrick’s eyes. He was still too sober for this, skin oversensitive and head heavy. “You’re missing something here,” he said slowly, voice low. “I don’t have to do what you tell me to.”

Rage buzzed all over Patrick's skin. Before he fully realized that he had moved, he was hunched over Reno, holding the whiskey out of the way so he could get closer. As his grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, the fingers of his opposite hand dug into Reno's wrist. "About this, you do," Patrick growled, baring his teeth.

Patrick’s motions happened as though in slow motion. Reno watched the ripples sent through the air as he moved- they stopped when, suddenly, Patrick was on top of him with his hand pressing down on his wrist. He blinked a few times, eyes focusing and unfocusing before they settled on Patrick’s face. The remaining tension and indignation bled out of him as a wave of fatigue took hold. He wheezed another laugh without changing expression. What was the point in arguing? He would agree with Patrick now, and then Araminta would threaten him into doing what she wanted, and then this whole circle would start up again and bring him along for the ride. “Okay.”

The laugh nearly made Patrick see red: not even the relent calmed him down, mostly because he didn't quite believe it anyway. For a moment, he pressed down even more, squeezing Reno's wrist tighter and tighter. After a slow count to ten, he finally let go. Patrick kept the bottle, though, and drank more as he settled back into his previous position on the couch. Now that the moment had passed it was like all the emotion was pouring out of him. With a tired sigh, he reached for yet another cigarette.

Reno rubbed his wrist with one hand one Patrick let him go, shaking his hand out to get rid of the pins and needles as blood slowly returning to his fingertips. Curling up at the end of the couch, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and tucked his hands under his arms to start warming them back up. The moment of adrenaline faded quickly, leaving him lightheaded. "Feel better?"

If he was being honest, Patrick felt worse. But all he offered to Reno was a small, noncommittal shrug as he scowled into the darkness. He winced down some more whiskey, then leaned over to put the bottle on the floor, in reach of them both. Good thing he found the lighter, after all, because it felt almost ridiculous to expect Reno to light another cigarette for him right now. He clicked the flame on then sat back again, resuming smoking as if the outburst had never happened.

The silence stretched on until Reno stood up, dragging his hands over his face. He didn’t know why he was still sober, why he had bothered staying that way until now. The whiskey bottle was at his feet so he picked it up by the neck and headed out to the balcony, not bothering to close the doors behind him in case Patrick wanted to follow. The sky was still black, and the rain still coming down in sheets, but it woke him up to feel the wind and cold water on his skin. He dug his nails into the back of one of his forearms and hung his head, sending a prayer to his mother.

The alcohol finally started to go to his head; Patrick welcomed the buzz with almost relief. After what felt to him like several minutes of sitting alone on the couch, and once his latest cigarette was burned out, he reluctantly got up. Hovering in the doorway of the balcony, Patrick watched rainwater roll down Reno's back. A split second decision made him yank his shirt over his head and leave it in the dry air of the apartment. The rain was bitterly cold, but he leaned on the railing next to Reno. "You want me out here?"

The approaching footsteps were faint underneath the storm but Reno listened closely, tracking where Patrick was moving without lifting his head. He was soaked through at this point, a steady stream of water pouring from where the length of his hair had stuck together. Patrick was next to him, now, part of Reno kept note, but his eyes remained fixed on where the water dripping off his head disappeared to the street below. His throat was dry when he went to speak. Tilting his head back, he pushed the bedraggled strands off his face and smirked up at the clouds. "Only if you're gonna shove me over the edge."

Patrick was already starting to regret going out into the rain. The cold seeped under his skin and he started to shiver. "Hm," he responded in a low tone. "You're shit out of luck, then." Another chill slid over his chest but he stubbornly stayed put.

Reno laughed at that, rolling his head to the side to look at Patrick through the hair that flopped back over his face. He turned after a second, still leaning against the railing, and took his time sizing Patrick up, head to toe. "Come out to stop me drowning the whiskey?"

"There's still whiskey?" Patrick asked, incredulous, but with a smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were coming out here to finish that off. Should have known you were the type to just sit out in a storm."

Reno held the bottle out for Patrick to take, a good few inches of liquor still left in the bottle. "Best kinda weather. Disruptive."

Patrick took the bottle and swallowed the rest of the liquor down as fast as he could. When he was done, his head was swimming. "Tasted like rainwater," he mumbled, words a little slurred as he placed the bottle at their feet. More out of habit than anything else, Patrick slid his hand over Reno's arm. A part of him wondered if it was too soon since his angry outburst, but that was drowned out by the alcohol clouding his brain.

At the first touch, Reno was ready for Patrick's hand to pass right through him– he was startled back to reality when they made contact. With an odd curiosity, Reno watched the movement, feeling as though he was settling back into his own body from wherever his mind had been before. He shivered, the cold catching up to him. "Want to go inside?"

He'd been about to ask, so Patrick nodded. He noticed that Reno still seemed spacey and all over the place (more than usual, at least) but it felt odd to ask more about it now. Something akin to regret needled at Patrick, but he ignored it. Once he was back inside, he picked up his shirt. But instead of yanking it over his head, he silently offered it to Reno. Whether this was his weird version of an apology, or a thoughtless impulse, or something else, he wasn't sure, and he didn't want to speculate.

Reno took the shirt with a nod, rubbing it over his head to partially dry his hair before tossing it back at Patrick with a smirk. He wandered over to the other side of the couch. "Thanks. Want a towel?"

Patrick's mouth fell open slightly as he caught the shirt. He scoffed, but matched Reno's smirk and shook his head. "I'm good," he said, decided that since his shirt was already soaked, he might as well dry his hair with it, too. He tossed it aside and sat back down, releasing a small breath. "Are you still too sober?"

Reno rubbed his wrists together and looked around. The lines of his apartment were uncomfortably sharp. "Yeah. I'm gonna grab a shirt." He disappeared up the stairs, then peered down at Patrick from over the landing. "Did you want to come back up here?"

The question made Patrick pause and frown, a little confused. He didn't get up from the couch, but eventually he did tilt his head back so he could stare up to roughly where Reno should be standing. "You trying to go back to sleep?"

Reno disappeared up into the rafters without responding. He dropped back down to the landing a minute later, wrestling a sweater over his head. “No. Don’t wanna be down there anymore.”

Well, he didn’t want to be alone down here. Patrick pushed himself from the couch, drank some of Reno’s (now cold) water, and searched in the dark for his shirt. It was damp and Patrick still felt the chill from the rain, so he took the blanket up with him, pulling it over his shoulders as he ascended the stairs.

Reno eyed Patrick somewhat warily when he appeared at the top of the stairs, but when he sat back on the bed, he left a clear space beside him. “Share the blanket.”

The cautious look made Patrick flare with a mixture of shame and annoyance. He pulled the blanket off of him, but stood there for a moment, not joining Reno on the bed. In the end, he just tossed the fabric down and wandered over to the window; it was starting to become his perch since the nightmares began again. His cigarettes were in his jacket, which he left beneath the glass— he’d known and prepared for this. As soon as he shrugged on the coat Patrick pulled out his pack and sat down, staring out into the nighttime.

Reno wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and huddled down. It had taken a while for him to feel the temperature outside, but now he was chilled through. While Patrick stared out the window, he watched the back of Patrick’s head. There was that sense of déjà vu again- for a second he could see, so clearly, blond hair instead of brown. It was ridiculous. Will had never even seen this apartment and despite the surface similarities between the two of them, Patrick and Will were far apart in Reno’s mind. He pressed his hands to his eyes again to the get the image out of his head. “Guess sleeping pills would make it worse, huh? The dreams.”

"Dunno," Patrick answered as he lit his— fourth, fifth cigarette? He didn't even know how many he'd had at this point. His tasted slightly different, and Patrick coughed slightly on the first inhale. "I never tried sleeping pills," he admitted. He never tried, because he never had to. He'd fixed his nightmares himself before he was old enough to be allowed to swallow any. A bitter sting spread over his chest on his next inhale. "Might sleep through the nightmares, though."

With the blanket still curled around his shoulders, Reno moved to the space on the floor beside his bed. If he was up, he might as well stretch. He folded over his legs. “Could make ‘em worse. Took some when I was still in school for stress dreams, it made them more fucked up and I couldn’t wake up.” Reno sat back up and moved one of his legs behind him before folding over again.

Patrick almost asked Reno if this was a dare. "I don't really care if they're more fucked up," he said. It was unclear to him if he was agreeing to an offer or not. "Not like I can't take it."

Did Patrick ever get tired of all the posturing? It didn’t seem like it. Reno flopped down to lie on his back, wondering why he was even trying to help. “Good for you.”

He was sick of his cigarette, so he lowered the hand holding it to his knee. Patrick breathed out something close to a laugh and glanced back at Reno. "Are you fucking saying you have some, then? Or just giving me some advice?"

“Yeah, I got some. I got everything.” Reno propped himself up on his elbows to look at Patrick, expressionless. “You gonna be a dick about it?”

The words stung more than Patrick was willing to admit. His expression hardened as his eyes settled on a random spot on the wall. Aren't I always? he almost snapped back. Once again, the temptation to just leave nearly brought him to his feet. But he was exhausted, and it was cold outside, and he didn't want to walk through the rain. "No. Fuck, Reno," he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. "I'm just fucking tired."

Reno felt around beside the mattress until he clasped a hand around a small bottle. He tossed it towards Patrick’s feet. “If you want to try it.” Sinking onto his back again, Reno’s eyes unfocused as he stared up into the rafters, trying to piece together vague shapes from the shadows there.

Patrick stared down at the bottle, spinning it around with a nudge of his foot. He reached down to pick it up, but didn't take its contents right away. Instead, he finished smoking, despite how sick it was making him. Eventually, his mouth dry and feeling a little nauseous, Patrick pried the cap open. He hesitated, shook two into his hand, then put one back. He swallowed the pill dry. "This is gonna fuck me up even more with the whiskey, huh," he said as he recapped the bottle. Patrick laughed a little. "Fuck. I didn't even think about that." Shrugging out of his jacket, he stood up and walked over to the bed. He placed the bottle beside Reno and lowered himself onto the mattress.

Reno shook a couple pills from the bottle and closed his fist around them, then threw the bottle down the stairs. He waited until he couldn’t hear it moving anymore. “Hasn’t killed me yet.” He rolled onto his side to face Patrick, expression blank as his eyes scanned over Patrick’s face. “Maybe they’ll make you discover a new power.”

He returned the stare for a long as he could, which was only a few seconds, then his eyes flickered up to the damp hair still sticking to Reno's forehead. "Has that happened to you?"

“Ha.” Reno only now took the two pills and swallowed. “I think I hit that peak a few years ago. All downhill from here.”

Patrick breathed out a small laugh, but it sounded hollow. He didn't want to think about this, so he angled his face toward the rafters and closed his eyes. "I guess we'll figure it out," he mumbled. "I'll come say hey if I can."

"I'll be sad if you don't." Reno's eyes stayed open, glinting in the darkness as he watched Patrick's face. It would be a while before he got back to sleep himself, he could feel that for sure. "See you in dreamland."

[kristannafever]

In The City of Angels - Chapter 4

KRISTANNA MODERN AU RATED: M (swearing)

Chapter Index

Kristoff woke up slowly to the alarm, trying with great difficulty to pull himself from sleep.  He turned it off and sat up slowly in bed, hanging his head, breathing deeply and slowly, trying to shake his exhaustion.  He rose to his feet with a groan to get ready to go to work.

When Ollie had dropped them off, she had invited him inside, and they couldn’t help but launch into more stories about their childhoods.  By the time he staggered back to his place it was two in the morning, and he knew full well that his alarm would be calling him in four short hours.

He walked by the window trying to blink the sleep from his eyes when he saw her.  His mouth went slack.  She had a smile on her face as she ran by with such vibrancy, it was as if she had just slept for 8 solid hours.  Kristoff shook his head and smiled.  He still felt drunk and she out there running miles.  This woman I swear...

Work that day was absolute torture.  It was a long planned day of stunts and Kristoff was having a hard time getting the takes right with his exhausted mind.  Every chance he got he passed out in his trailer until they came knocking for him in the next scene.  The director was giving him shit, his makeup crew was pissed that he was so puffy eyed, and the producer threw him warning glances when he messed up an important take for the third time in a row.

“This isn’t like you.”  Sven said on the last break of the day, sitting in his trailer with him going over the list of things he was to do for the next day.

He looked at his friend and couldn’t hide the smile on his lips.   

“Oh my.  Who is she?”  Sven asked playfully.

“My neighbor.”  Kristoff sighed.  “But she has a boyfriend.”

Sven laughed jovially.   “Only you my friend, only you.”

Kristoff had to smile at that.  He and Sven had become fast friends when he first moved to L.A. and rented a room in his apartment.  He liked the immaculate little place that Sven had kept, and he enjoyed living there, but when he was able to get a place on his own he did.  They got along very well and kept in touch having a great many conversations over the years about every aspects of their lives.  “How come you are so easy to talk to?”  Sven had asked him once, but the only answer Kristoff could offer was a shrug.

When Kristoff became well known and was finally making money, Sven had begged to be his assistant.  As a struggling clothing designer barely making ends meet with a waiter job, Kristoff gladly hired him, happy that he could give him a higher wage with much, much better hours so he could practice his craft.  Since then, Sven had released a small clothing line which was slowly building momentum.  Kristoff knew that Sven would eventually make a name for himself.

“Well, I’ve got to run.” Said Sven.  He paused at the door and turned back with a delicate smile.  “If she’s the reason that there is a twinkle in your eyes, which I haven't seen for a long time... you need to chase her.  Boyfriend be dammed.”

Kristoff nodded slowly smiling in spite of himself.  “Thanks Buddy.”

*****

When Kristoff finally made it home, he collapsed on the couch and immediately fell asleep.  He slept like the dead until he was startled awake by someone pounding at his door.

He looked at the clock, bleary eyed which read almost midnight.  “What the fuck?”  He muttered as he walked to the door and looked out the peephole.  “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”  He groaned.  He opened the door just wide enough to block the entrance with his big body. 

“You!  You bastard!” 

“How did you get in here Sunny?”  He asked with impatience.  She was clearly drunk out of her mind, and she reeked of alcohol.

“I know your code ‘member? ‘Member you told it to me?  When you loved me?”

“I never loved you.” 

“You told me, you told me you loved me.”  She slurred.

“No I didn’t.”  He talked through gritted teeth.  He was getting pissed off.

“Kris please take me back.  Please, I’m...”  She gagged then immediately turned her head and vomited all over his front steps. 

“Ugh.”  He said in disgust at the smell of the bile and booze hitting his nostrils.  “Go home, or I’m going to call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.”

“Please Kris, I have no more money for a cab, I spent it all on drinksss...“  She hissed wiping the vomit from her mouth with her bare arm.

Kristoff sneered his nose at her.  “Wait here.”  He said and slammed the door in her face.  “God, what the hell?”  He muttered as he grabbed his phone and fished out $50 from his wallet.  “Yeah, hello?  Hi, I need a cab please.”  He told them the address and opened the door again.  He tossed the money at Sunny who was standing there swaying.  “Cab is on it’s way.  Please go home and never, ever come to my house again.”  He turned to shut the door.

“You don’t know what you're missing Kris.”  She slurred.  “One day you are gonna be sorry... sorry you lost me.”

Kristoff was laughing hysterically at that in his mind, but he didn’t want to be cruel.  Cruelty wasn’t in his nature.  He simply shook his head and said somberly.  “Well I’m sorry you think that, because that simply isn't the truth.”

He shut the door.  

“I’m not going to give up on us!”  She screamed at him from the other side.

Kristoff rolled his eyes as she continued to shout things at him.  He ignored her and watched out the window until the lights form a cab finally appeared and she shambled herself into the car.  When it was gone he grabbed his garden hose and washed the liquid vomit from his steps.  Then he walked down this driveway and immediately re-programed the gate code.  He couldn't help but glance at Anna’s house, and from his vantage point he could see her, staring out an upstairs window at him.  When she noticed he saw, she waved and gestured for him to come over.  He didn’t have to be asked twice. 

As he mounted her steps she opened the door and invited him warmly inside.  He liked being in her house.  The walls and the cabinets were all grey but the things she filled her home with popped with color.  She had rich browns and greens of every shade that complimented the many photos and paintings of trees that hung all over the walls.  When they had returned from the Pub the night before Kristoff had asked her about it.   She had shrugged.  ‘I just love trees.  The look, the smell... they make me feel happy.  I wish I lived in a forest.’  She had told him.   He thought that it seemed fitting that whenever he was in her house he smelled a faint hint of balsam.  He knew now it was from the many candles that sat on the mantle above the fireplace.

He took a seat on a sofa in her living room while she brought them each a cold glass of water.  “What was that all about?”  She asked with a smirk on her face.

Kristoff cleared his throat nervously.  “Ex.”  He said.

“She’s loud.”

“Oh, um I’m so sorry.  Did uh, did she wake you?”  He was embarrassed that Anna had heard the commotion. 

“Nah, I was writing, but my windows are always open and I overhead.”

Kristoff could only sigh and hope that Sunny never came back.  He glanced nervously around her place, not really sure what to say, when he noticed a bouquet of two dozen roses sitting on her kitchen island.  He looked back at Anna who was watching him closely.

“Hans is a consultant for major corporations  He gets me flowers whenever he is out of town for work.  Which is a lot.”  She said, smile gone from her mouth.

Kristoff was surprised that her voice sounded so sad.  He thought that maybe  it was because she was lonely for him when he was gone.  “That's romantic.”  he offered.

She only shrugged.  “It gets old.  Flowers die.”

Kristoff wasn’t sure what she meant by that.  “You must miss him being gone all the time.”

Her expression was so subtle he almost missed it.  Her eyes widened and her lips parted ever so slightly before she pulled her face back to normal. 

“Have you um, been seeing him long?”  Kristoff asked when she didn’t respond.  He truthfully didn’t want to hear her talk about Hans, but he felt a masochistic need to learn more about their relationship.

“Couple months, but he’s been gone so much I still feel like I barely know him.”

“How did you meet, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She sighed.  “He literally knocked me over, but I suppose it was my fault.  I was on my phone and not paying attention as he jogged by and when I stopped suddenly he plowed right into me.”

Kristoff wondered why her tone seemed so negative.

“He was so apologetic and nice, when he asked me out I kind of just said yes without really thinking.  He took me to a nice restaurant and we talked about books and art and all that stuff, and he just seemed so interested in me, and he actually listened when I talked, unlike a lot of other guys I’ve gone out with, so I agreed to see him again and we began dating.  He’s the perfect boyfriend and things seem so great between us... but,” 

She looked down with a frown, silent for a moment in thought.  Kristoff placed a hand gently on her knee and she slowly brought her eyes to his.  “But what?”  He asked softly.

All at once she became guarded.  “Ah nothing.  He’s sweet to me.”  She got up, forcing his hand to slide away from her leg.

Kristoff chided himself for pushing.  I shouldn’t have touched her, he thought.  He got up.  “Thanks for the water.”  He said as he headed to the door.

“So are we still on for Saturday?”  She asked, sounding a little more like her happy self.

“You bet.  I’ll see you at five.”  He smiled at her.

She smiled back, but he knew there was sadness behind it and he couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault.