#better than the weird ass nightmare I had last night

[bettermetalgoat]

I dozed off in my chair a little bit ago and was dreaming about a capybara with extra sharp molar teeth. Little dude was chill but needed to chomp things like bamboo and big sticks. He was doing a good job about it too.

[judasgot-it]

Ulterior Motives

A quick fic in celebration of me finishing this semester, and with one of my fav Tecchou frames (i love my husband mwah)

Scenario: Passing class is literally impossible when your professor has a nice ass. So in order to pass, you show him your tits

[Reader is an adult here. also NSFW warning but like it's really not explicit.]

This course had been a nightmare - it was the second time you had taken this class, and your second attempt was just 'barely passing'. Straight C grades across each test and paper, it almost made you want to scream.

It was nearly impossible to pay attention to your lectures when your professor wore tight pants and button-up shirts, like a whore. He was like candy for your eyes, walking around the front of the room and pointing at the board with his authentic Kyu Gunto sword.

Jesus. What a nerd.

How were you supposed to take notes on the history of pan-Asianism when he didn't even know how geeky he was? And when his shirt couldn't even contain his shoulders?

It was so distracting.

Of course you were close to failing.

Last semester had sealed your fate - you had failed so badly that he asked you to personally take the course again, discussing personal study groups and even asking 'Is everything alright?'

No, nothinh really was. But you can't go up and say 'Professor Suehiro, you're too distracting' when it's just his face.

Professor Suehiro was either ignorant or a masochist, forcing you to watch him stroll across the room and talk about the Russo-Japanese war with a warm voice; you prayed he didn't notice how much you shifted your legs.

Why did you sit in the front again? It wasn't a full class, half of them had dropped out throughout the semester, you could have always sat in the back if you really wanted to.

But god.

Every time you made eye contact and saw the spark in his eyes at the passion for his subject - it made you so happy you had a few more months with him. It was hell trying to focus when he looked at you, but it was so exciting each time he did.

Fortunately, it was the last day you had with him. Which meant that the man who tortured you with his existence would be just another page in your life.

Unfortunately, it meant passing your final exam.

You were pretty sure you were going to pass. This time you had studied and really tried, which was better than you could say than last semester - you had stayed up the entire night and got...distracted. (Professor Suehiro had a public Instagram. Of course, you were obsessed)

But you had a card up your sleeve this time. If you failed, then you had a photo of your tits with your number on the back.

It was pretty obvious what the implication was. You spent time trying to position the camera right, getting the right bra and lighting so you would look as fuckable as possible.

Hopefully he didn't notice that your apartments floors were from the 18th century and belonged in a horror film. It was hard to make the photo attractive when you had such a poor workspace.

Parts of you were really hoping he would call - if you can't use your brain to get through college, surely you can use your body, right? Professor Suehiro was attractive, you would have slept with him anyway, grade or not.

The smarter part of you was screaming at you - this was weird. It's really weird, actually.

But you needed every card you could pull to pass.

So against that small intelligent part of your brain that was beaten to death by regurgitating the semester's course material on the exam, you snuck in a photo of your tits and number into the stapled-together papers, praying to god that at the very least, dealing with the consequences later.

-

"Oh. Hello Y/n."

Professor Suehiro smiled gently towards you, shuffling papers that you were sure was among the hundreds he had to grade. His hands were elegant as he moved them around - his veins were so beautiful you wanted to bite them.

"You emailed me about my exam? Is there an issue?"

The smarter part of your brain was winning now that you were released from your test anxiety - right after you had left the room, it had won and had stayed winning, making you wish you had never left that stupid photo.

"Not exactly. I did wish to congratulate you on passing this semester - the minimum you needed was a 30, and you scored a 52. That brings you to a 79 as your final grade, if you're alright with that."

His deep voice drawled out the numbers, having them languish on his tongue as he looked down on you.

It was hard to maintain eye contact, so you stared a little past him, observing how his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the definition of muscle between his chest and collarbones.

"C's are A's for me. I'm happy enough."

It was like a piece of your anxiety left - finally, this class was over. After you walk out of this room, you would quite possibly never think of the Meiji era again. Ever.

Or the sexiest man alive, which was frankly a little disappointing.

"Are you sure? Student's ask me to round their grades usually, so I offer extra credit."

The brunette tilted his head like a puppy, his golden eyes calculating something as they grazed your form.

Today was one of the few outfits you had worn that wasn't revealing - you weren't even wearing a bra, instead opting for a large shirt and a jacket in order to avoid the discomfort.

Maybe he noticed? Fuck. You hope he noticed.

"What is it?"

Maybe it was a date. Or something better.

Was the photo actually paying off?

"I can text it to you if you'd like, you seem to prefer that."

You couldn't tell if he said this with sarcasm or not, but you nodded anyway. He smiled a little - maybe it was the right thing to say?

Casually, he pulled out the photo you left him, staring at the front for a long, hard moment. His face didn't tell you anything about what he was thinking, but you could feel your face warming up in a normal amount of shame, as his eyes turned to look back at you.

Silently, he turned the back of the photo around, typing in your phone number. His face cracked into a smile, his cheeks chasing his eyelashes as they pulled into little crescents.

"Oh! Yea."

Professor Suehiro wasn't well known for understanding social cues, but you could feel his knuckles graze against your chest, with only your thin T-shirt to protect you.

He was definitely far too close into your personal space.

"I don't think you meant to leave this."

His fingers tapped the photo against your chest, causing a furious red to spread across your face.

"Right. Um...you can keep it, if you want."

Why the fuck did you say that?

The older man just took the photo and stared at it for a moment again - it was so embarrassing, feeling like your chest was some sort of science exhibit.

His golden eyes moved back towards you again, after torturing you for the last few minutes.

"Thanks. Nice bra, by the way."

"I appreciate it, Professor Suehiro."

Was that a compliment or just a statement? His voice was hard to really know anything by, and his face currently didn't say much - he was just the same handsome guy who had been torturing you for half a year with your existence.

"Just call me Tecchou."

He leaned in closer, deciding that your personal space was his own as he fixed the collar of your shirt, tugging it around your neck and dragging his fingers across your skin.

What the fuck was that extra credit going to be?

This is very self indulgent but like *shrug emoji* anyway im gonna be a bit more active now I guess

Also edited cuz who is letting me post this while fucked up?

[trashytummies]

batfam vore crack

a/n: this is way longer than i thought and so ooc lmaooo -- idk bruce can somehow shrink ppl and they can't digest bc dense molecules or somethin, pretend it makes sense bc i didn't really think it thru lol.

-----

Bruce walked in, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up --classic trying-to-pretend-he’s-normal Bruce-- but Jason’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in his posture. A slight tightness in the way he carried himself, his usually flat stomach curving outward ever so slightly beneath his shirt.

Jason blinked, fork pausing mid-air. His mind connected the dots in a blaze of growing dread.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Jason muttered, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve got to be kidding me." He jabbed his fork toward Bruce’s middle. “Tell me you’re not doing that thing again.”

Bruce, with all the casual gravitas of a man discussing a board meeting, replied, “It’s efficient.”

“Efficient, my ass!” Jason’s chair scraped back as he stood, waving his hands. “We’re not some--some army of joeys for you to carry around like a freaking marsupial!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t this resistant before.”

Jason scoffed, pacing away. “Oh, you mean when I was thirteen and didn’t know better? Sure, B, back when I still thought it was cool that Batman could turn into a one-man escape pod.” His voice dropped into a mocking lilt. “‘Oh wow, Bruce, your stomach’s so warm and soft, thanks for saving me from those assassins!’” He spun to face Bruce again. “Yeah, pass.”

Bruce was silent, watching Jason with that infuriating patience of his. It only made Jason’s skin crawl more, his unease growing as he remembered the last time he’d been in there. A bad night after a bad mission. Nightmares. His mother. Bruce offering a solution -- an unorthodox one, but it had worked.

And Jason had hated that it worked.

“Not happening, Bruce,” Jason said firmly, shaking off the memory. “I’m too old for this crap. And, frankly, it’s weird. Just use the Batplane to transport people like a normal person.”

Bruce sighed, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing Jason’s smaller frame. “Jason,” he said, voice low and steady, “I know you don’t like it. But it’s safer. You’ve been reckless lately. If something goes wrong--”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bruce!” Jason snapped.

Bruce’s gaze softened, just slightly, in that way that always threw Jason off. “I’m not saying you’re a kid. But you’re still family.”

Jason flinched. Damn Bruce and his emotional sucker punches. He looked away, jaw tightening. “Family, huh? You sure about that? ‘Cause last I checked, family doesn’t shove each other into their guts.”

“Dick accepted it,” Bruce said evenly.

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course, he accepted it -- he probably volunteered. Probably climbed in with a big, dumb smile like, ‘Gee, Bruce, this is so innovative!’”

“He said it was comfortable,” Bruce deadpanned.

Jason gawked. “He said what? Oh, that’s it. I’m out. Dinner was great --props to Alfie-- but I’m done. Bye.” He turned to leave, boots thudding against the hardwood.

But Bruce was faster.

Jason barely had time to curse before the flash zapped him, and the world tilted. One moment, he was storming toward the door. The next, he was tiny. Like couple inches-tall tiny.

And, to his horror, Bruce was already reaching for him.

“Oh, hell no! Bruce, don’t you--”

****************************

“Hey, Jaybird!” Dick grinned, throwing up a hand like they’d just bumped into each other on a street corner instead of, you know, inside Bruce’s stomach.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jason jabbed a finger toward him.

“Oh, you know, just the usual family bonding stuff.” Dick shrugged, his grin widening. “Came for the ambiance, stayed for the company.”

“Don’t you dare laugh this off--"

“I’m not laughing!” Dick said, holding his hands up defensively, though his tone was anything but serious. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Jason let out a growl of frustration, kicking the water at his feet, though it only ended up splashing onto his own legs. “You are such a--”

“Jason?”

That voice was smaller, softer, and Jason turned to see Tim standing a little further away, looking tiny as hell next to Dick. His arms were crossed tightly, his whole posture screaming discomfort.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jason threw his arms out. “You’re here, too? What, did Bruce swallow all of you before dinner?”

“Not all of us,” came a sharp, clipped voice from somewhere behind Tim.

Jason peered around him and spotted Damian, perched on a high ridge, looking irritated beyond belief.

Jason blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Oh, great. The whole circus. Wonderful.” He threw a hand toward Dick. “Let me guess, this was your idea.”

Dick didn’t deny it, which only made Jason more annoyed. Instead, he clapped his hands, the sound oddly muted by their surroundings. “Look, before you freak out--”

“I’m already freaking out!”

“--this is a trust-building exercise!”

Jason stared at him. So did Tim. Damian muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” under his breath.

“A what?” Jason said, voice dangerously low.

“A trust-building exercise,” Dick repeated brightly. “Think about it--Bruce clearly trusts us with his life, or he wouldn’t let us in here.”

“He didn’t let us in here. He ate us,” Jason shot back, jabbing a thumb toward the fleshy ceiling.

“Semantics,” Dick said with a grin.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Look, it’s not just about trust,” Dick went on, ignoring Jason’s rising blood pressure. “It’s about contingencies. Think about it -- what if we get separated in the field? What if something like this happens for real? Wouldn’t you rather have this experience under your belt?”

“No!” Tim and Jason snapped in unison.

[zmediaoutlet]

They ended up south of the hospital mainly because Dean had to pick a direction when they pulled out of the lot and, considering the day he’d had, a coinflip was as good a way to make a decision as anything. A motel even if it’s two in the afternoon, and two beds because it’s always two beds, and he drops his bags on the one closer to the door and wants to flop face-first straight into the ugly brown comforter but he feels like if he falls he’ll never get up again. His shoulders and low back and the arches of his feet all hurt. He hardly even had to fight, today. Go figure.

Sam’s flicking the light in the tiny closet, checking the mini-fridge, casing the bathroom. “Huh,” he says, for no reason Dean can tell. Drops his bag on the luggage rack and shrugs out of his jacket. Absently pops his neck. Says, then, “I could eat, you want—I don’t know, delivery something,” like he didn’t almost check out on Dean, like he didn’t disappear in the middle of the night like every one of Dean’s worst nightmares, like in the middle of driving about ninety through too-crowded city streets Dean didn’t get a call on his cell from an unknown number and about have a heart attack when the woman on the other end said Mr. Smith, you’re listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Sam Smith. I’m afraid—  Like the world didn’t just crackle out to static right then.

He’s standing there, though. On two legs and with his back up. Going for the yellow pages under the room phone, flipping to the back. “Number One China Palace,” he mutters, and glances across at Dean, and is alive. Alive and walking around and his brain where it’s meant to be. He frowns, the phonebook dangling against his thigh. “You okay?” he says, and Dean says, “Yeah,” and then he says, “God,” and then he sits down hard enough on the bed that he almost bounces, and he plants his hands on his knees and has to breathe, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Acid roiling up his throat. He wants a drink so bad he could kill something.

“Dean?” Around the bed, crouching. Alive and compos mentis and hovering a hand over Dean’s leg, like he’s worried Dean’s hurt somewhere he can’t see. Except, no, that was Sam—that was Sam all this last goddamn year, or longer, all this time Sam’s head was crumbling or boarded up but still crumbling behind or trapped in hell with a shark-smiling sociopath wearing his face or even before, when he thought he had to die to prove something to the world, or when he had to rot himself to prove something to Dean, or when—Dean takes another deep breath and blows it out extra slow, his heart doing something weird in his chest, and Sam stops with the hover-hand crap and grabs his thigh, frowns up at him, says, “What—hey, hey.”

“I’m not having a panic attack,” Dean says.

“Looks like it,” Sam says, but sits back on one heel, and the death-grip on Dean’s thigh turns more into Sam just—keeping a hand on him. Heavily warm. “You good?”

Dean fishes in the inner pocket of his jacket and finds the flask, takes a pull. Sam’s eyes tighten but he doesn’t make a comment. The whiskey’s crap and it burns all the way down but he feels like he breathes better after. Sam watches his face, his hand sliding a little up the side of Dean’s leg. Like he hasn’t—god, since before Cas pulled that shit-ass trick with Sam’s wall. Dean wants to pull Sam up by the wrist and fall backwards on the bed and sleep for a goddamn year, Sam laying heavily over him like the worst sweaty-nasty suffocation torture Dean ever accused him of being, when they’d share beds sometimes, and Sam would roll his eyes and pull Dean in by the small of the back and Dean slept better than maybe he ever had. Why did they ever stop that. What would it take, to go back.

“And it’s really all just—gone,” Dean says, picking up the staggered confused stupid back-and-forth they’d had back in that awful hospital room, while Cas moaned shaking on the bed and Meg held him grimly down. “Just like that.”

Sam’s cheek sucks in on one side. “Not just like…” he starts, and then looks at Dean’s face, and his chin drops. “But—yeah. I’m okay. Not even that tired, for some reason. It’s just you and me in here, I swear.”

It always was but the way Sam says it makes Dean’s shoulders ripple, like someone’s standing directly behind him, watching. He shudders totally without meaning to and Sam’s head picks up and he shifts forward, kneeling, his hands going to Dean’s knees, gripping firm. “Don’t get hit by a car again,” Dean says, and Sam huffs and says, “I’ll do my best,” and Dean reaches forward and grips Sam’s shirt and feels Sam’s skin warm under it and says, “I mean it,” and Sam looks him in the eyes and doesn’t say that Dean’s being a dumbass and doesn’t even seem like he’s thinking it, really, and he says, “Yeah, Dean,” and, “Okay?” and Dean doesn’t know the answer to that. It has to be yes because Sam’s alive and here and that makes it a ranked good day, by Dean’s usual metric, but the time when he wasn’t isn’t far enough in the rearview for Dean’s taste. That white hospital room and the white bed and Sam sitting there like he didn’t care so much about the difference between alive and not. When the difference there, for Sam, was the only thing in Dean’s life that had ever mattered. When it was pretty much the only thing he was hanging his hat on, these days, and if it came to it, if any time between now and the shitty future Dean could see, the answer flipped from one to the other, Dean didn’t know if he’d be able to make it in the world that was left, after. He just didn’t see how that could be so.

Sam watches him, quietly. Tightens his grip on Dean’s legs and then stands up. “I’m ordering Chinese,” he says, steady. “Gonna take a shower. Find something to watch, huh?”

Dean blinks, wipes his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says.

“We should’ve gotten a king bed,” Sam says. He half-smiles, when Dean looks up at him. “So you won’t bitch about kicking.”

“Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t Chuck Norrising in your sleep,” Dean says, and Sam really smiles, then. Goes for the phonebook, and the Chinese. Ordering extra broccoli, the bitch. Dean grips the edge of the mattress, and manages to stand up after all, to deal with his bag, to find the remote. Sun coming in through the gaps in the curtains. Sam, smiling at something Dean can’t hear. The rearview feeling, for a minute, a little less crowded.

[shadowqueenjude]

So I think we can all agree that the Archerons were so weird because they didn’t bicker like real siblings, so here’s a snippet of a fic I’m writing where all the sisters are arguing. This takes place during a dress fitting for Elain’s wedding. Warning: lots of inner circle slander

Nesta scowled at her reflection as faeries fussed over her, adjusting the gown she was wearing.

“You look lovely, Nesta,” Feyre said from the seat beside her. “Easy for you to say,” Nesta muttered. Feyre looked magnificent in an electric blue halter top paired with black slacks and boots. A circlet of small crescent moons lay upon her forehead. “I look ridiculous.” Nesta glared at the gold dress she had been shoved into again. “God, it’s the same as my hair. Can’t you get a red dress, at least? This makes my skin fade out.” At last, the dressers obeyed, pulling the ill-fitting monstrosity away from her body. 

“You looked pretty in that dress, Nesta,” Elain said gently, her hair up in a jumbo bun at the top of her head, wildflowers surrounding the band holding it up. She wasn’t getting fitted today, but she had come to see what dresses Nesta and Feyre would be wearing. Not like Elain would have any difficulty with her dress. She looked perfect in everything she wore, except perhaps that black dress she’d once worn in the Hewn City. It was annoying.

“Quit lying Elain, I looked like wallpaper,” Nesta snapped. Then she sighed. “Red is truly my color, but that blonde bitch everyone thinks is sooo beautiful is always wearing it, so I usually opt for black.”

“Don’t speak that way about Mor,” Feyre said sharply.

“I’ll speak of her however I like, little sis. She’s not my friend, and frankly, she isn’t really even yours.”

Feyre glowered at her. “She saved me from Tamlin.”

“Did she do that for you, or for little Rhys-rhys? Has she ever stood up for you in front of Rhysand? She certainly despises me; thought me fit to throw into the court of nightmares. I highly doubt you’re much different.”

“Yeah, I am. Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch all the time, people would treat you differently.”

Nesta laughed sarcastically. “Because 500 year old uber powerful Fae warriors can’t handle a 23 year old formerly human woman handing their asses to them, can they?”

“You’re really going to start this now, with my wedding just around the corner?” Elain complained. Nesta whipped her head around to her. “Oh, sure! I absolutely care about this sham of a wedding! Feyre’s mate is a jackass, my mate is a jackass, but perhaps third time’s the charm with you, huh, Elain?” 

“Lucien is ten times the man Rhysand will ever be,” Elain said coldly, her temper causing her voice to raise volume. Nesta opened her mouth to say that this doesn’t mean much considering Rhysand is a small boy stuck in a man’s form when Feyre interrupted. “Wait a damn minute. You both despise my husband?” she demanded.

“What gave it away, Feyre?” Nesta drawled. “Me constantly insulting Rhysand, resisting his orders, and declaring him not my high lord? Me not wishing to live with the rest of you? Elain literally leaving Night to get away from him?”

“I thought Elain left Night because of Azriel!”

“Azriel?!” Elain let out a snort which turned into such mirth that Nesta stared. “That broody, brainless bat not man enough to speak about his feelings in any capacity? You think I’d leave because of him? As if! I left because I got tired of your fake family’s fake welcome and decided Lucien was better than the lot of them.” 

“Lucien let me get hurt in Spring!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Feyre!” Elain shrieked, and Nesta gasped. Elain cussing was something Nesta frankly thought she’d never hear. “Lucien told me his side of the story, and it seems as if your head was too far up Rhysand’s ass to realize everything Lucien has done for you!” 

“Just like Feyre never acknowledged the work we did around the house when we were in the cottage,” Nesta muttered. Elain nodded. Feyre stalked up to Nesta and slapped her face so hard her neck tilted. “Oh no you didn’t,” Nesta snarled, and she shoved Feyre into a coat rack, taking her and the rack to the ground. The two of them began wrestling, Elain crying, “Stop, you idiots, stop!” in the background. “Help, there’s a fight going on in here!”

[mekachu04]

Kidd is 9 - almost 10 & Killer is 13 - almost 14

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Children in danger

dealing with past abandonment issues

beginnings of self-worth issues for the both of them

Kidd's kinda a little shit in this

Killer's not much better especially at the start

homeless/extreme poverty

Sleeping Together

as in actually sleeping

Huddled for warmth

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

"It's itchy"

"It's warm. Shut up"

"It's ugly."

"So are you. Now shut up."

"It smells funny."

Killer snarled at him, "Then fucking freeze for all I care!" He jerked away, crawling out of the cubby they'd nested down in for the night before stalking off, leaving Kidd shivering in the ugly monstrosity that he was pretty sure had been thrown out for good reason. He knew beggars couldn't be choosers, but this thing couldn't possibly be a real coat someone had made on purpose. He was pretty sure it was some animal's actual skin and the body had just rotted out and left it's fur behind.

Kidd sulked in the dark hole, nose wrinkled at the weird wet smell of the coat. It was far smaller than their last place, but Killer had insisted they move once the weather changed. And then he'd packed it with all the cloth and paper trash he could find until the two of them barely fit anymore.

A month ago it had been unbearable. Last week it had been a claustrophobic nightmare. Half an hour ago, it had been a warm safe - if not smell, itchy - place to sleep. Kidd pulled the coat to his chin, watching the open space warily.  Eventually, everyone left and never came back again. He wondered if this would be the time Killer didn't come back.

Little frozen flakes of snow were starting to cling to the cold metal scrap at the mouth of their shelter. Still no Killer.

Well good riddance. At least this time Kidd would know why. He'd leave his ungrateful ass behind too if he could.

Still.. Still, there was a hurt that Kidd didn't like at all, a painful knot in his chest that just got worse when he sniffed back the hot angry tears that threatened. He threaded his arms through the coat sleeves and hugged himself just so he didn't feel so alone, staring at the dark shadows of insulation.

"Killer?" he wasn't begging. He didn't Beg, not anymore. But..

"What?" came a dull reply and Kidd scrambled out from the shelter, looking frantically around to see Killer sitting in the snow above the crawl-way, knees pulled up to his chin, hunched in on himself.

He looked as miserable as Kidd felt.

Kidd looked away, scrubbing at his own face, before sniffing disdainfully. "What are you doing, sitting out here like that. You stupid or something?"

Killer just shrugged, talking to his knees, "The way you were bitching, didn't seem like you wanted me around right now." His hair had curled a bit when it was still warm enough to melt the snow, and now the flakes clung to the wild edges like a white halo, making it look twice as thick as normal.

It was going to be a whole ordeal to try and get it dried now. Kidd scowled. "So you are stupid."

Killer chuckled, his stupid little fwa fwa laugh that had Kidd rolling his eyes.

"Would you get back inside before you turn into Am Fear Liath Mòr or some shit?"

"I dunno. Being that tall might be cool."

"Tch. Good luck with that," Kidd snickered, pulling the coat higher and staring at Killer until the teen got the hint and got up. It took some negotiating, but they crawled back inside, Kidd frowning at the wet cold chill that had ensnared Killer and followed them into the dark.

Killer's face was pale, a hint of blue at his lips and fingers, and Kidd did not like at all how Killer refused to nestle back under the coat with him, like he was suddenly afraid to touch him. Which was really stupid because they'd never had that problem before.

"You can stop being dumb now," Kidd told him matter-of-fact, kicking at him a little to get Killer to stop trying to cuddle him from outside the coat. "Seriously, you're practically the Greyman already, get under the coat."

It was hard to see Killer's expression like this, but Kidd could picture it in his mind, that pout he did where his nose scrunched up and his lips went flat and he looked completely unamused with whatever shit Kidd was caught up in at the time. Only this time, it was trying to get Killer warmed back up and Kidd was starting to worry just a little bit.

"I'm... You'll get cold."

"And I'll warm you back up - world balances itself out. Now come on, we don't have all night! I'm tired."

Killer relented and Kidd very carefully did not hiss or flinch when Killer's cold skin brushed his own, and then Kidd pretended he wasn't imitating an octopus and wrapping himself around his friend for any particular reason. He only relaxed when Killer finally warmed up enough to start shivering again.

One day... one day he'd be Boss, Kidd decided, he'd be Boss and he'd have all the nicest clothes and him and Killer would have those pretty fur coats that didn't smell funny. They'd have clothes that wouldn't itch and and would belong to just them. Killer wouldn't have to dig clothes out of the trash anymore or beg Victoria for old things that she'd outgrown. And he wouldn't have to worry about making them last or trying to patch them up for Kidd to wear next. No more wrappings around shoes because the soles starting coming off, or Killer trying to fold old newspapers up in a way to replace them entirely when Kidd accidentally lost one in the Heaps running away from the dogs.

Kidd looked away from the piling snow outside, burying his face in the crook of Killer's neck, coat pulled up high around them both to fight the chill.

One day.

[itsraven0v0]

YANDERE!KARUSER HCs

Note: as i said before, im terrible at writing yanderes. its mostly because im not a huge fan of it?! especially with characters i think would never fit in the role and Krauser is one of them. HOWEVER in a different timeline maybe, he'd make one hell of a f*cked up yandere.

i devided this into two sections (pre!javier krauser and post!javier krauser). enjoy~

comments and feedbacks are always appreciated:>

. PRE!JAVIER KARUSER .

you two met on one of his day offs when he was doing his routine jog and now he is EVERYWHERE!

like you can even see his iconic slicked back blond hair from the corner of your eyes.

you aint getting rid of him, you also aint getting a confrontation either!

i think back then he had more fucks to give so he kinda wanted to play it safe and approach you little by little

but when you where walking home alone one night(ffs dont do that) you got yourself in danger and then boom! this man appears outa nowhere and starts kicking their asses.

well that caught your attention and made you wanna give him a chance. what could go wrong, right?

oh you fool...

you aint getting outa his house anymore.

im pretty sure he has a single cabin in the woods that he has for the day offs he gets, so good luck runnung away.

not that you could if it was an apartment anyway.

this guy will hunt you down and drag u back. you will be his little canary or some shit.

. POST!JAVIER KRAUSER .

oh boy...

unlike the previous version, this man is too tired to give a fuck about playing it safe.

you two met at a bar where he was drowning himself in self-loathing and alcohol.

and as your obsession with military men with scars on their faces (and the alcohol) kicked in, you thought what better than to help him. right?! ahah...

look i aint judging you, thats literally me. ok??

you helped this man get his ass home safe from the bar and guess what? he was drunk and invited u in and u TOOK IT!

you helped him lay down, took his injured hand when he was having nightmares, made him coffee and everything OF COURSE HE WAS GONNA FALL FOR YOU!

your soft hands felt so good on his when he woke up only to see you fallen asleep besides his bed.

you appeared like an angel in his miserable life for a moment and from that morning he gave everything just to have your soothing presence in his life.

but soon this turned into something alarming.

he would confront you all of a sudden like: "be with me."

and if you refuse? well you can't. this man can turn on threatening mode real f*cking quick and this terrifies the sh*t outa you.

he'll keep you like a pet. attend to you good and make sure you are okay and happy but he also thinks the moment you walk outa his door smth is gonna take you away from him so say goodbye to outdoors.

he is so sad please be nice to him...i mean he technically gonna take away all your freedom but did you even have any to begin with?

enjoy you life with him while it lasts. and also enjoy knowing nothing about him. also enjoy meeting Wesker :D

that mf can and WILL pay u a visit just to scare Jack into doing what he's asking of him.

one day you ran away just to find out what he has been doing, who is he and who's that asshole that wears sunglasses indoors. And you saw smth that made you heart race in both fear and attraction(you weird f*ck! dw me too)

there he was testing his las plagas form. all monstrous and bloody. you took a step back in fear and the sound made him spot you. man he was terrified you were gonna run away. but nah!

you into that so you stayed.

you are gonna be so sad when he dies...

you think u can prevent that? try your best!

whooowhi!

thats the most yandere yall are gonna get outa me. hope that satisfied you anon who asked that.

ALSO i might wanna start a second page to write about other stuff [like mortal kombat :D] so i'll share it here too.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

So what's creepier? Standing over your own dead body, the fact it's surrounded by weird bird men, or...that damn Changeling girl standing off to the side? Honestly Clara is my answer, always such a weirdo. IYKYK, but this is pretty much the climax of the Haruspex route. Pretty much this then the only thing Pathologic could call a boss fight. I made it.

As much as I love the classic "Daniil Dankovsky's Fun Steppe Vacation" vs. "Artemy Burakh's Steppe Nightmare" meme...have to say honestly the Haruspex overall felt a fair deal easier than the Bachelor's route. It starts a lot harder. Starts. Because unless you're an ass the Bachelor pretty much never has to worry about reputation. But once you get a handle on that? Which takes half the first day? Overall he doesn't have quite as many huge challenges in my book. The jail segment being the only one that felt super technically hard, even the boxing match with Oyun wasn't too bad. I did it on the first try. That's what it comes down to for me, Pathologic has some clunky controls but if you have enough experience with old games to adjust to the crap factor none of it is as bad as some of the truly grisly 8/16-bit challenges. Artemy also gets easy access to the shotgun so even when you do have to deal with reputation, it's not that hard to play Dr. Batman at night and cap some muggers.

Now, some of that of course was knowing the mechanics better with this being my second pass. Which blends well with playing the prodigal son this time around. Artemy grew up in Town-on-Gorkhon. He left to study medicine and comes back at the behest of his father who dies shortly before you arrive. You're following his notes and unlike the Bachelor who's constantly frustrated with the pagan steppe traditions you uphold them. Which means a lot more time out on the steppe which hey...isn't plague stricken. Had fun with the alchemy bit. You can make medicine out of plants you forage. Which is pretty fun. I also got a kick out of rat racing. Artemy's story is all about paving the way for the kids to take over the town after the plague so he gets to join in on some of their silly games. One of them being racing plague rats if you can sneak up on one and catch it.

All in all, I liked his story. The town felt a lot less hostile and you get to interact with some of the weirder aspects. It's a lot more grisly at parts with some harder decisions. But eh, Artemy Burakh is a hard man. I love his relationship with the Bachelor this time around. Very collegial. Capella might just be my favorite NPC in the town as well. She's a cool kid. Speaking of...let's talk the secret ending because I managed it this time as well:

The funniest thing in this entire game to me so far. I'm sure Clara's route will have some contenders, but this is great. Like with Daniil, you get to the last day and have the final test. Were you able to stockpile enough cures to heal the other two characters' bound? Sweet, then you get the secret endings with the kids in the sandbox and talking to the "makers." I don't think either really gave me that much new compared to the Bachelor. Daniil is more incredulous where Artemy gets mad but especially the theatre goes very similarly.

But I like what you can do with that info. Bachelor can tell Clara the Changeling who already knew, hinting at her story which if you'll recall is locked until you clear one path first because she's very dependent on meta knowledge. But she suggests that Haruspex can't handle the revelation. Playing as him though? Go rub it in to that snooty doctor. Who won't believe you but will insist if it's all a game he wants his side to win. Amazing.

The other big thing Artemy gets is extra dialogue with the Inquisitor. Who has the hots for him. She also inevitably figures out it's all a game because her doll belongs to the kids' aunt. You get a fun bit with that where you can try to hit on her as the player while she demands her Artemy which is trippy. Good stuff, very fun route. I'll wait a bit before tackling Clara's but I'm sure it'll be great too.

[cateyedfox36]

In this house we KNOW Jason Voorhees did nothing wrong

we watched Jason 2 last night- I'm sorry Friday the 13th part II is too long a title, they're about Jason being a very good boy so they're called Jason movies. Period.- and now I kinda want to watch all of them. Except that crappy one. Where he's Corey Feldman's character all grown up and he thinks he's Jason? And there's this really weird keystone cops vibe to the whole thing? Idk. That ones bad.

But the best one - besides Jason in Space and Jason vs Freddy- is the one where the kids are at camp and these children have hilarious glorious lines like "what did you want to grow up to be?" Bc they just accept that Jason is going to murder them too.

Without looking anything up, I'm pretty sure I can do all the Jason movies. Let's go:

Momma voorhees. Great sweater, excellent momBob, and you get to see Kevin Bacons Bits if you know when to pause the movie. 3.75 stars. Not funny, kinda off vibes

Jason in a bag. He's a very clumsy boy, falls off a whisker chair, is confused by a small dog (who does not die!), and is hit by a car like twice. He only kills like what 6 people on screen? And we get BEST final girl Ginny, who takes a chainsaw to our soft prince, and mind mojos him to think his momma is alive. 5 outta 5 stars! Some nice boobs, creep dies strung up like the perv his is and Jason is mu sweetest baby boi.

Behold, a hockey mask. Much better for peripheral and way more sensibly than a FUCKING BAG! Jason finds a house with stupid horny teens- or college kids? I'm never certain- and another with a newly divorced mom, her slightly sassy daughter and a young monster obsessed Corey Feldman. Pretty good kills, the dog laters out to go join a wolf pack (run by muffin obs), and Corey Feldman gives himself a bad haircut to bond with our big headed hero,Jason. 4.25 outta 5. Funny, more agile Jason, and I had no sympathy for the college idiots who died epically.

The fucking worst. I think they were trying for a Legacy Jason bc he definitely "died" in 3. So elder teen Corey Feldman thinks he's Jason and at the POORLY run TROUBLED TEEN camp he goes to someone starts killing folks. I vaguely remember the actual killer but... who cares. This is the worst. 1 star.

Again w all adulted Corey (reminder not thr actor but the character, but who bothers to remember their names?) Digs up Jason's body, it gets struck by lightning and He's Back! I think this is the one with the biker gang. And the sheriff's daughter has a taste for danger and breaks not-corey out to defeat Jason. 2.5 stars. I think there was an rv death? But a fun scene in a barn!

Jason's not dead, just napping and when he ends up in a morgue his heart infects a doctor who becomes... jason...? It's odd. You guys remember Nightmares on Elm st dream Child? I think it's like that. 2 stars. Fucked if I remember anything from this movie. This is where I get a little shaky

Jason back at camp baby! I think this is the one with the funny kids. And it's just a really straight forward slasher. No lore, no stupid shit just bad counselors getting what they deserve for not watching children. 3.9 stars. Best part is the kids

Jason on a boat. He was in Manhattan for like 10minutes. He kills a kid with a guitar, and the inside of boats are very dangerous. No lore. 3.75 stars

Is there a Jason 9? I don't fucking know but I do know there's...

Jason in SPAAAACEE! And it's amazing. A ship full of med students find Jason cryogenically frozen and a woman as well. They defrost both, murder hijinx ensue. Jason becomes a cyborg. And they completely miss shooting him into the sun. It's so stupid and so good and I love my son! 5 billion stars! Lore? Who needs lore when you've got a cyborg jason?!

Jason vsFreddy. The best team up full stop. With Jason's relentless desire to punish bad teens and Freddy's pervy ass? Forget about it. Nice lore, and the addition of seeing how happy Jason is in his death is perfection. 5 outta 5 stars. Look yes, Jason's gonna kill you, he'll have fun with it, but he won't sexually assault you while doing it.

conclusion: the middle ones suck. Skip them. Watch 2, 3, Jason in Space and Jason vs Freddy.

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @rosella-writes! @dadrunkwriting

Varric Tethras & Hawke (Based upon but canon-divergent from Dragon Age: The Veilguard gameplay release, 1052 words)

"Hawke," Varric coughs, staring wide-eyed up at what can only be a hallucination. Fuck, the power of whatever Chuckles was doing with his ritual and the force of the statue Rook helped bring down to interrupt it all must have really hit him hard. It's been a while since the last time he imagined his best friend like this. Missed them, sure. Maker's breath, he's missed them more than anything. Their absence left a giant and gaping hole- in his life, in his heart… Trying to fill it with anything else, to keep busy, writing, networking, fighting, chasing down Solas, none of it had ever done any good. He still wakes up at night hearing what the Nightmare demon had said, and the worst of it is, it was all true.

"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here..."

He had brought them there. He sent the letter inviting them to Skyhold that sealed their fate. He dragged them to Adamant, into the fucking Fade, and he left them to die. Varric should have waited, shouldn't have rushed through the portal, but instead pulled Hawke through with him. After all the shit the demon taunted Hawke with, of course they would stay behind, try to do the right thing, help people. Sure, Hawke never asked for any of this, never aspired to be the Champion of Kirkwall- or anywhere else for that matter, but behind all their grumblings and endless jokes was a good heart. A damn big, bleeding one. Varric should have known better. Should have done more to stop them.

It should have been him, not Hawke. He should have told Hawke why the Nightmare demon would have singled them out as the subject of Varric's greatest fear. Should have said- shit, so many things, so many times, and so much sooner.

"You got old," Hawke whispers softly, a gentle hand reaching out to cup his jaw, a thumb smoothing curiously over his beard.

Varric smiles, huffing out a laugh, "You didn't."

"Yeah, the Fade is fucking weird," Hawke says returning his smile with a shake of their head. "You finally grew a beard. Has Fenris seen it yet? I do sort of like the gray," Hawke assesses softly, examining a strand as they turn it over between their fingers.

It's only then Varric realizes how quiet everything is. No rumbling sounds of thunderous magic, no screeching of demons, no shouts of fighting, no twangs of bows or clashes of swords. He winces suddenly recalling a flash in Solas's eyes just before Bianca splintered in his hands and tumbled away in pieces. The last thing he remembers was the statue coming down and making a hasty backwards retreat down the steps to try and avoid it, whatever followed after is simply not coming to him.

"You're not real," Varric whispers, no longer sure whether the pain in his chest is a physical injury, or an emotional one. He's dead. Gotta be, right? Except Dwarves don't dream. And he sure as hell isn't worthy of any kind of paradise with Andraste, much less with Hawke.

"Rude," Hawke laughs shaking their head. "That any way to thank me for saving your ass?"

"I can't remember who's leading on that front," Varric replies, deciding to play along with the fantasy for as long as he can. It's sure to hurt later. If, in fact, there is one. But for a good memory, even a fake one, being able to talk and laugh with them again, after so many days and nights tortured by the worst possible scenarios, it's gotta be worth the price.

"Convenient," Hawke replies raising a teasing eyebrow. "You know, I thought it went without saying, but I was rather hoping after my grand sacrifice you'd do a better job trying to stay alive."

"I didn't ask you to do that," Varric replies, biting his lip and doing his best to reign hisq emotions back in as the anger and bitterness of his words reach his own ears.

'I know," Hawke replies patiently, carefully tucking a stray strand of his graying hair behind his ear.

"I didn't want you to do that," Varric admits voice a little choked now, as he fights against the urge to lean into their touch, into the warmth and comfort of it.

"Someone had to," Hawke offers with a rueful, apologetic frown as their hand slowly cradles the back of his head.

"Maybe, but it doesn't always have to be you."

"But talking sense into an Elvhen god bent on destroying that world, that's a job only Varric Tethras can handle," they challenge.

"I had help," Varric protests, but he knows already, just as he always has with them, this isn't an argument that he'll be winning.

"Not enough."

"So, am I dead, then?"

"Do you wish to be?"

"Every day since I stepped out of that rift and you didn't," Varric laughs, but there's no real humor in it, and Hawke's answering frown only deepens.

"You write so many happy endings. You put your characters through hell and back, sure, but most of them find or win their happiness in the end. Can you really not save a little and write one for yourself," Hawke asks.

“Not without you,” the dwarf replies a little teary now. “I know maybe that’s foolish and stubborn but- I had my shot, and I blew it. I should’ve told you what you meant when I had the chance.”

“And what do I mean to you, Varric?”

“Ha. Maker, Hawke. Everything. You mean everything,” Varric confesses, leaning into their hand that cradles his head before clasping the other and pulling it to his lips to kiss the back of it before laying it over his heart. “If you're here to take me to whatever comes next, I don't deserve an angel half so pretty, but where you go, I’ll follow,” Varric nods, resolved. "Even if I gotta pick the lock to get in."

"Always so dramatic," Hawke chuckles softly, shaking their head as they stroke his cheek once more. "You're not dying on me, Varric. Not yet. Not today," Hawke smiles. "We've got more living to do yet," Hawke whispers leaning down and gently pressing their lips to his.

[timaeusterrored]

(Who’s this guy?)

Kerry went to sleep in his apartment the night before, and woke up in the blinding light of a window that probably cost more then his whole building combined. What the fuck?

He looked around more, silk sheets and a penthouse that cost more than what he made his whole last tour. Oh fuck, what did he get himself into this time? He could smell breakfast being cooked and the shower running in the bathroom right next to him.

He kicked the blankets off, naked, but that was nothing new. He always slept naked. But the weird thing was the new tattoo over his heart and his finished sleeves. When the fuck had he gotten that done? He also noted the expensive and flashy chrome running down his chest and stomach like a goddamn landing pad for his dick.

He looked around for clothes, something that seemed like what he would wear. He did find pants that reminded him of Johnny, and he paused. Johnny had died a year ago today. Maybe he shouldn’t put these on, Nancy would be-

“Hey V, have you seen my- mornin’- have you seen my jacket?” What?

Johnny Silverhand had just walked past him like it was nothing, even acknowledged him with a kiss on the cheek and calling for someone named ‘V’. He heard a distant voice from down stairs, but he didn’t hear the reply, watching Johnny get ready.

“You gonna wear those or can I- Are you okay?” Johnny turned completely, in just a towel, staring at Kerry with a concern he had never seen so plainly on his face. “Ker? You’re pale, do I need to get Vax?”

Who the fuck was Vax? What the fuck was going on? How was Johnny here? Where even was he?

He saw Johnny call for someone, presumably the person downstairs, before helping Kerry sit back on the bed.

“Ker? Kerry? Baby, can you hear me?” Some guy he didn’t know was crouched in front of him, holding his hands, rubbing his arms, acting as if they had known each other for years. He was drop dead gorgeous yes, had nice shoulders. Probably this ‘Vax’ guy Johnny had said.

“What year is it?” Kerry asked plainly, making V and Johnny look up at him in concern. The ‘V’ guy checked his forehead for a fever, fear lacing his features.

“It’s 2082, Ker. What happened? Are you okay?”

Okay this guy kept touching him and acting all sweet with him was plain weird.

He may as well have slapped the guy when he pulled his hands away with the reality of him being 55 years in the future.

“What year do you think it is?” Johnny asked, sitting next to him once he was dressed. Kerry still couldn’t believe what he was seeing, Johnny alive and well, and looking better than the last time he saw him. Some gray hairs and new piercings, two rings on his right ring finger. He took a moment to realize he and V had a wedding band on both their left and right ring fingers. Were they married? What the fuck was going on.

“I went to sleep in 2024. What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck is this guy? How are you even alive? And do I seriously make it to fucking 94 years old?” Kerry’s voice sounded alien in his own ears, making him shutter. Everything was different and weird and it was really fucking him up.

“Fuck.” Johnny and V said in unison.

They three moved downstairs once Kerry was dressed, the place he supposedly lived was nicer than any place he had stayed. He noticed pictures rested on the TV stand as he sat down, Johnny going with V so they could talk. They naturally stood so close to each other, moving as if they were one person. It was creepy and Kerry hated it.

The pictures were of children he didn’t remember having, but looked so like him it was impossible to say they weren’t his. A wedding with the man in the kitchen who looked like he was two seconds from losing his fucking mind. That wasn’t good. That handsome piece of ass was his husband? And he didn’t even remember? How could he, it hadn’t happened for him yet.

This had to be some drunken nightmare, for all parties involved because he’s never seen Johnny so distressed before, even after Alt had died. Oh god, was she alive too?

V came back with a cup of coffee for him, made just how he liked it, and sat next to him. Kerry’s body reacted too him in ways he wasn’t sure how to feel. He wanted to lean in, smell the body wash and shampoo he had probably used that morning, have the man tucked into his side while woke up for the day. All thoughts he used to have about Johnny.

‘V’ rubbed his eyes, sitting forward. He was clearly trying to get his thoughts together and honestly, Kerry felt bad. He was technically this man’s husband. He wondered how long they had been married, if those kids were theirs. How old was this dude anyway?

“Okay, did you take anything yesterday? Or eat anything weird?” His hand went to rest on his knee, but was brought back. When he remembered. Kerry’s heart tugged.

“Don’t think so. Took my normal, drank ‘til I passed out.” His voice was kinda sexy now if he did say so himself. “It’s someone’s death date.” He shot a glare at Johnny.

“Right. That’s gonna be fun explaining.” V mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Part of him wondered if there was more than just cream and sugar in his coffee right now. “Guess I should introduce myself first. I’m Vax, I’m your husband, we’ve been married for three years, been married to Johnny for about six months now-“

“Thought you didn’t wanna marry me.”

“Let him finish.” Johnny seemed oddly protective of this V character. Or just avoidant of the accusation.

“You’re Kerry Eurodyne, you’re 94 as you said-“

“How old are you?”

V paused, then Johnny chuckled, covering his face for a moment. “Yeah V, how old are you?”

V’s face heated up. “I’m 33.”

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

Oh. He became one of those celebrities, got it. Though, he didn’t look half bad for 94, he and V didn’t look that far apart as far as appearances went. He didn’t know if that was an insult to V or a compliment to himself.

“Can I continue? You’re getting way too much enjoyment out of that.” V accused Johnny.

“Yeah because he used to be the guy sleeping with older men and now he is the older man!” Johnny laughed again, louder and brighter than Kerry had ever heard out of him.

“Yeah, just remember you’re technically 94 as well, so watch it.” Technically? What did that mean? Kerry wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The next hour was getting Kerry up to speed on everything, apparently he had an ex wife and two kids. V, or Vax as Kerry apparently calls him, was his husband, Johnny and Vax had some weird mind fuck thing that Kerry did not understand. And V and Kerry were currently looking into having children as well apparently. He felt like he was a bit old to be doing all that, but this guy looked so worried he may vomit so Kerry shut his mouth and listened.

“Think there’s a chance our Ker is in 2024?” Johnny asked, making V cover his face.

“I hope not… that’s gonna fuck him up.” He got up to get more coffee, while Kerry sat there, unsure of what to do or say to comfort the man at this point. He didn’t know V, despite their husband status. He didn’t know this house, he barely knew this new version of Johnny that looked fucking fantastic and so unapologetically worried about him.

“What the fuck do we even do? How does this just… happen?” V came back, once again sitting way too close. Looks like Kerry’s lack of personal space was still in tack.

“I don’t fuckin’ know! He accidentally time traveled, god knows where our Kerry is.” For the first time, Kerry realized Johnny was stolen cold sober.

V slumped against the back of the couch, rubbing his forehead. “Fuck me…”

This was going to be a very long day.

[smurphyse]

Get Me Out of Here Alive | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 8 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of grief, self realization, mentions of nightmares, bad flirting, awkward ask outs, descriptions of sex, masturbation

Summary: You decide to go on a run to get rid of some of your pent up energy. Meanwhile, Spencer and Emily go to the diner and Spencer gets roped into a date

I didn't sleep at all. Instead, I laid in Spencer’s flannel and my underwear all night staring at the ceiling, my lips still buzzing from his rough kisses. I could still feel his hands on me, his tight caresses… and the way he lifted me and shoved me against the wall… fuck. 

It all happened so fast. All day something had been charged between us but that walk back to the Inn was different. I don't sleep with every guy who gives me a jacket on a chilly night but… if Rose and Emily hadn't come back when they did I would have screwed Spencer Reid until those pretty hazel eyes bugged out of his head. 

…oh, but that kiss.

With his scraggly beard and long hair, I wouldn't have pegged him for a skilled kisser. If he fucked the way he kissed…maybe I should have just taken him upstairs after that. Emily and Rose’s words had obliterated any chance of that, though. Looking at him and knowing he was broken was fine, but the implication that we could somehow fix one another? No. No thank you.

My mind kept flashing back to his hands on my breasts, my ass, my face. My thighs clenched together each time and all I wanted was to reach into my dresser drawer and use my vibrator until it died but something about it felt weird. Delightfully dirty…but weird enough that I stopped myself. 

His scent lingered on the fabric. Soft notes of bergamot were flushed with cinnamon from his cologne. Now it stained my sheets, as though he were lying next to me. I wished he was. I didn't want to be alone. 

At about four am, I reached for my landline and dialed Rico’s number, knowing he'd come and fuck me until I couldn't walk. At least then I'd be satiated. But as I stared at it, my finger hovering over the call button, I had to remind myself that we were just friends now. We'd repaired our friendship and that was where it needed to stay.

I tried calling Michelle next to talk to my best friend about it, but she didn't answer at home. I tried the diner. No answer. 

I ended up tossing the phone across the room and plopping back on the mattress to glare at the ceiling. 

Even his dick was thick and long through his pants, straining against the fabric. Fuck, I thought angrily, sweeping at the air to push the thought away. 

I was trying to get my life together. Sleeping with a customer, even one who kissed like Spencer Reid, wasn't conducive to being a productive member of this town. That's what I wanted to be. Involved, helpful, maybe even happy. I needed to get myself out of this decade-long funk and do more than just exist here.

As soon as the sun started to peek through the windows, I got up and changed into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. I had a few light hickies on my neck from Spencer's phenomenal tongue and teeth action, but with a bit of concealer I would be the only one who knew about that. 

I pulled on my running shoes and headed down the stairs. I flung open the door, ready to begin the second my feet hit the carpet on the first floor, but instead of berber I ran face first into Spencer's chest. 

He caught me before I could fall on my ass, grabbing me with both arms and standing me upright. He hadn't put on his brace yet, but he was dressed. He looked better than I wanted him to in a purple button up, white tee and black jeans. 

"Jesus, are you okay?" Spencer asked protectively, checking me over. His hands were hot even through my light sweatshirt, bleeding through and flashing me back to last night. "What are you in such a hurry for?"

"I was, uhm… I was running," I stammered. He cocked a brow as I struggled in my awkwardness to swallow and manage to say, "I'm going running."

"Oh," he nodded, like last night's events hadn't happened at all. "Okay."

"Do you wanna, like, go with me?" I asked, only semi hopefully. 

"Oh, fuck no," he said sharply. I must not be as good at masking my emotions as I thought because he took one look at my face and held out his hands defensively. "Not because of last night… I just don't… do that."

I nodded, not really knowing what else to say. Spencer pointed down the hall toward Room 6. "Emily's leaving today, so we're going to breakfast. You should stop by, say goodbye to her."

"Okay," I agreed. I turned on my heel to literally run out the door, but Spencer reached out and grabbed my hand. 

When I looked up at him, I could tell he was protecting himself. His shoulders were squared, jaw stiff, but his eyes were soft. "Are we… Are we good?"

"Yeah, of course," I blurted automatically, nodding my head much too emphatically. "Heat of the moment and all that."

"Right. Enjoy your run," he said quietly. Emily's door cracked open, and I saw my chance and took it, high tailing it out of the Inn. 

I took off down the street, ignoring the turning heads from passersby. My heart already pounded in my chest, and I knew I'd be the talk of the town today because of the simple act of running, but I had other things on my mind. 

Ernie and I used to run together before playing pickup soccer at the beach. It was our morning routine before heading to the Inn. He'd kiss me goodbye for the day and go to the shop, then join me for lunch. Rico would tag along sometimes, but mostly he just came for lunch because he knew I'd make extra for him. 

The nights were just for me and my husband. We'd head out to the docks and mosey around the bay in our schooner. We'd cut through the waves, soaring toward the horizon with nothing but adventure in our hearts. We were so young, carefree. I don't know how I managed to be so brave at eighteen when now I was just terrified all the time. 

The cicadas were deafening, their voices caught in the breeze. Loneliness threatened to drag me down into the sand as I hit the beach. It was strange to run without Ernie, like I could disappear. 

But something hit me as I breathed in the salt air. It felt…good. I was here, I was alive, and like last night when I played that pickup game I finally felt like a person again.  My lungs and heart pumped blood through my veins, my muscles burning as I pushed myself further and further. 

I was still here. I wasn't going to disappear. 

I stopped as I hit the edge of the ocean. The water was coming up, the high tide wouldn't hit until later in the morning. It inched toward my schooner where it sat down the beach. I had it set up so that if and when I was ready, all I needed was high water and I could bust out the supports, sending it out to sea.

If someone bombed heaven, the sky would look like it did now. Pink and orange lay fractured in outlines, scratching its way toward the water. Ernie should be walking next to me, and without him, all alone felt like all I'd ever be. 

It wasn't true, though, and standing there exhausted with my hands on the back of my head I drank in the morning. So much beauty laid before me, the glistening waves dancing in the distance. A spark ignited in my heart at the sight, one I haven’t felt in so long it was almost brand new to me. My body shook suddenly with an emotion that I couldn’t explain as I had the overwhelming urge to just sprint into the water.

I toed off my shoes and tucked my socks inside them, dropping my sweatshirt on top. Sucking in a deep breath, I walked toward the water in just shorts and my sports bra. I haven't stepped foot in the ocean, not even a bit, in almost a decade. My jaw trembled as the cool morning water touched my skin. 

Heat rushed to my ears as I struggled to quell my panic. I clenched my fists and moved forward anyway. The tops of my feet disappeared as I watched the horizon, then my ankles, until I was knee deep in my salvation and my torturer. 

The wet sand pushed up between my toes, goosebumps breaking out across my body. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I let the water envelop me. The sand dipped down the further I went, the edges of my shorts soaking in the light waves. 

I belonged out there. As much as I'd both loved and hated the ocean through my life, it was where I was the most myself. My heart called out to the distance, wishing the ocean would grow hands to hold me again. It brought me back to the surface the night the lightning struck and destroyed my life. It gave me yet another chance to live again, and I've squandered the last decade in misery. 

I didn't realize how far I'd walked until the water hit my chest, soaking my collarbones and arms. Silently, I let the ocean surround me, the gentle waves lifting and pushing and pulling me as the water rose. I almost hoped it would take me out to sea, toward that horizon that I could never catch, but instead it pushed me toward shore.

Part of me knew it was just the coming high tide, but that adventurous spirit and superstitious soul that loved the ocean and its mysteries was convinced it was because it just wasn’t my time yet to return to her.

I made my way back to the shore and plopped down in the wet sand, suddenly more exhausted than I’d been in years. My heart broke open as I sat there, my head in my hands, and I cried for a long time by myself on that beach. 

I have so much more living left to do. I'm just ready to start, but I have no idea how. 

Spencer walked with Emily to Bean There, his mind churning over the previous night. Honey consumed his mind, and if he was being honest her awkwardness that morning hurt him just a little bit. 

He understood it. After all, he'd left her just as awkwardly in the doorway to her apartment. Still, a part of him almost hoped she'd yell at him about it or try to make him talk. He felt so guilty, knowing that she was grieving and all he’d wanted was a quick fuck with the local widow. He couldn’t really tell her that, but it was a complicated emotion stabbing him in the chest. 

He spent all night watching the sliding doors in his room, hearing the people mill about and continue their fun on the beach. He almost wanted to go back and join them, but his social anxiety crept up and refused to let him leave the bed. 

Knowing she was just upstairs gutted him. He could have gone up and apologized, or kissed her again. He could have given her that friction they'd both been chasing, but all that confidence he'd had jumped out the window when Emily and Rose interrupted them. 

Michelle greeted them with a smile and a wave of her coffee carafe as they entered the diner, clearly happy to see him again after the big tip he'd left earlier in the week. She looked a bit busy, her dark hair tossed up in a ponytail as she flitted between the tables. 

Emily made a beeline for the same booth in the corner he had picked on his first day, right next to Rose, Rico, and Holly who sat together. Holly stared dreamily past them until Spencer slid between the table and whatever he was looking at, giving Emily the seat against the wall. He trusted her to watch his back. 

"Hey Spencer!" Holly grinned brightly as he saw them, throwing a wave. "Hi Miss Emily."

Emily smiled at that and put a hand on his shoulder as she eased into the seat, “Hey, Holly. How are you this morning?” “Good,” he replied, but he gestured to Spencer with a quirked brow. “Have you seen Honey this morning? She usually joins us."

"I haven't," Emily said apologetically. She looked innocently at Spencer, who'd gone stock still like he'd been caught in the act though he'd done nothing wrong. "What about you, Spence?"

"Uhm, I-," he began, clearing his throat awkwardly. Rose squinted at him as Rico finally looked over with his mouth stuffed with waffles. Spencer shrugged and looked down at his hands, "She said she was going for a run."

Rico’s jaw dropped, his mouth filled with mashed food. Rose and Holly's eyebrows raised and they stopped what they were doing to stare at him. 

"She went… running?" Rose asked incredulously. 

Spencer glanced up at Emily, who shrugged in response. He nodded, "Yeah, like an hour ago."

"Was she upset?" Rico asked sharply, nearly making Spencer flinch. She'd been awkward around him, sure, but not angry or sad. He felt an inch away from getting into trouble, so he shook his head.

"No. Is her going for a run really that big of a deal?"

"Honey went for a run?" Michelle's voice came as she approached with some mugs for Spencer and Emily. They clinked lightly as they hung limply from her fingers. Her usually sweet and happy face dropped to concern. 

“She… she seemed fine, I swear,” Spencer insisted, not really understanding what the big deal was. Everyone seemed so worried, and he and Emily were dreadfully in the dark. “She actually asked if I wanted to go with her, so I think she’s okay.”

“You?” Rico pressed, and Spencer nodded. He nodded to himself and looked back at his food with a frown. "Hmm."

"She'll come to us if she needs us," Rose decided. He picked up his cup and aimed it toward Michelle as she set Emily and Spencer's down on their table. "Would you mind giving me a refill, 'Chelle?"

Michelle obliged, pouring the thick black wonder that was her coffee into his cup. She turned to Holly, who was giving her that dreamy stare again, "What about you, Holl?"

He just watched her with a soft smile until Spencer couldn't take the tension any longer. He kicked him lightly between the tables, startling him out of his reverie. 

"Oh, sure," he muttered, blushing furiously. His cheeks flush brightly, and he had to look away as Michelle filled his cup. 

"You feelin' okay?" she asked worriedly. 

Holly nodded at his lap, "Yeah, yeah…"

Michelle made a face, but she didn't press him. Rico gave Holly his trademark squint as she went back to work, hurrying between tables and the kitchen with her carafe. Spencer did his best to ignore it, but Rico didn't let up. 

Holly still stared at his lap while Rose pretended not to notice, but even Emily couldn't help but smile at him curiously. Spencer decided to kick her under the table as well so she wouldn't get involved. 

"Just leave it alone," he hissed lowly so only she could hear. 

She made a face to let him know she was irritated, but decided to take a sip of coffee instead. "Where did you disappear to last night?"

Heat rushed to his cheeks. The lustful memory of himself pressed against Honey in the heat of the night surfaced, her soft moans echoing in his ear. He could almost feel her gripping his arms even now. 

Spencer shrugged over his mug, "I got tired, so I went back to the room."

"You just went to bed?" Emily pressed. She leaned back against the booth and cocked a brow at him. 

"Yes."

"Nothing else?"

"Emily-."

"Because I couldn't find Honey either," she mused, loud enough for Rose to obviously listen in on, but Rico was still glaring at Holly. "Did she come back with you?"

Now it was Spencer's turn to squint, and he did. His eyes narrowed at Emily. Why did all of his female friends want to play matchmaker?  

"Drop it," he growled. Spencer picked up his mug and aimed it her way, "You're leaving in a few hours. Do we have to get into this now?"

"It'd be good for you to have some fun. You know, let loose, bang a pretty widow."

Rose coughed heavily into his cup, choking on his coffee. It seemed the one thing Emily hadn't figured out yet was that he was Honey's father in law. Spencer did his best to ignore it as Rico slapped Rose’s back to help him out. 

"I'll decide what's good for me, okay?" Spencer groaned, trying desperately to avoid Rose’s now focused glare. 

Emily let it go, and instead they ordered their food and chatted for a bit. It was impossible not to notice Holly's obvious staring at Michelle the longer they sat there. How he didn't see Rico eyeing him was beyond Spencer. 

Michelle was beautiful, and she looked a lot like Collie. She wore a plain black tee and shorts with her blue apron, hurrying about with the practiced ease of an experienced waitress. She showed little sign of exhaustion, aside from her messy ponytail, offering every patron a warm smile and a cheeky comment. 

"Did you fuck my sister?" Rico blurted out after a while, making Emily and Spencer go stock still. Rose’s gaze finally moved from Spencer to stare wide eyed at him. 

Holly's face turned beat red as he dropped his utensils, "W-What? No, man!"

"Then why are you staring at her like that?" Rico pressed irritably, leaning forward. "What the hell is going on with you?"

Holly's voice lowered to avoid the gawking of the other customers. "I'm not…staring, dude. I'm not some creep."

Realization dawned, and Rico broke out in a slow smile, "Ohh, I get it. Just ask her out, man. She'd probably say yes."

"She's your sister, Rico. I'm not asking her out."

Rico shrugged and made a face, waving toward Michelle as she chatted with some customers. "She's a grown ass woman and you obviously want to. Just do it and stop staring like a weirdo."

Holly bit his bottom lip and chanced a glance her way. She spotted him and gave him a small wave, and he returned it with a dopey grin. Rose chuckled into his cup with relief as Holly turned back to Rico. 

"I can't, man. No way. I won't do that to her," he muttered ashamedly, shaking his head. His fingers trembled as he picked up his mug and took a shaky drink. He swallowed heavily and sighed, "I get nightmares. You remember what happened with Andrea. I won't do that to Michelle too."

Rico set a gentle hand on Holly's shoulder, "That was ten years ago, dude. You didn't mean to do that. You had a nightmare and you couldn't control it."

Holly fixed a stern gaze Spencer had never seen from the puppy dog of a man on Rico. "I scared my wife so badly she left me on the spot. That's your sister."

"And you're my best friend," Rico replied easily, his eyes warm. "I know you'll treat her with respect. I know you'd make her happy if you let yourself. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't tell you that you should do it."

Holly didn't seem convinced, gnawing on his bottom lip. Spencer hated getting involved in this crap, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Emily seemed to read his mind as he unfurled a napkin, digging through her purse and handing him a pen. He scribbled down a number and held it out to him. 

"PTSS isn't curable but it's treatable with therapy and sometimes medication," he murmured as Holly cautiously took the napkin. "This is a friend of mine, and she does virtual sessions that are covered by VA benefits."

"But there's no internet besides at the cafe," Holly muttered, glaring down at the phone number and name. 

"My mom's got a private room you can use at the cafe," Rico said softly, nudging him with his shoulder. "You're not the only one in town who goes to therapy. I used it for mine after Ernie died."

The look on Holly's face could only be described as a mix of grief and gratitude. He clutched the napkin to his chest and nodded at his friend, his chin wobbling a bit. 

"Sorry for the wait, guys," Michelle announced as she came up to them with plates full of food. She deposited them on the table along with new mugs of fresh coffee, whipping the tray under her arm and giving them a bright smile. "It's been a busy day. Can I get you anything else?"

"We're good," Emily replied. Spencer nodded in agreement. She went to turn back to her work when Holly reached out and grabbed her hand lightly with his big fingers. 

"Hey, 'Chelle?" he asked quietly as she faced him. His big puppy dog eyes were so sweet and worried as he looked up at her. 

Michele simply smiled down at him, and Holly sucked in a deep breath. "Do you wanna have dinner with me on Friday?"

Michelle chewed her cheek nervously, her gaze flicking between him and her brother. "You mean…like a date?"

Holly nodded, "Could be a double date if you want. Get the new guy a date and have a night on the water at Tucci's."

He thrust a thumb at Spencer as he said it, and Spencer's head shot over to glare at him. Holly ignored him. "What do you think?"

"I'd love to," Michelle replied shyly. Her cheeks flushed as she squeezed Holly's fingers. "I'll ask Honey. She could use a night out."

There was no mistaking the way Rico rubbed his face irritably as Michelle walked away, and Spencer kicked Holly under the table as she did. "Why am I going on this?"

Holly shrugged, pointing at Rico, "I think it'll take some pressure off to have someone else there, and I knew she'd bring Honey and those two aren't knocking boots anymore."

Rico and Spencer shared an awkward glance as Holly continued, "C'mon, man. Please?"

Rico nodded slightly, and even though Spencer knew he didn't need his approval he appreciated it. If Honey found out he'd given it, though, she'd be pissed. 

"Fine," he snapped. "But you owe me."

The door chimed behind him as someone stepped in, Emily's grin turning devilish as she looked over his shoulder, "Speak of the devil…"

Spencer turned to see Honey herself step into the diner in a pair of shorts and a sports bra with a sweatshirt tied around her waist. The end of her ponytail was drenched with water, trickling down her shoulder and between her breasts, even soaking into the leather laced around her neck. She was more than worthy of the leering from men around the diner, Spencer included. 

Her skin was damp, glistening under the lights as she looked around. She was so beautiful, and Spencer's mind couldn't help but remember her body wrapped around his the night before. Again, he wished desperately that Rose and Emily hadn't interrupted them… he wanted to bury himself inside her and never leave. 

"You don't answer your phone?" she asked as she spotted Michelle coming out of the kitchens, flinging her hands up in irritation. 

"Look at this place!" Michelle snarked back, but they both broke out in grins. Michelle pointed to her damp clothing, "What the hell happened to you?"

Honey approached the counter with an excited laugh, setting her hands on the edge and leaning over towards Michelle on the other side. "I was in the ocean."

Rico, Rose, and Holly all looked her way at that, their eyes wide. Michelle's hands covered Honey's over the counter as she leaned over as well, "Are you okay?"

"It was… oh, 'Chelle… I went on a run, and it was fantastic! I went to the beach and I just walked right in, like I never left." Honey's voice dripped with excitement and wonder as she spoke. Spencer remembered Rose saying she hadn't touched the ocean since her husband died, and a part of him was truly happy for her. "I went all the way up to my chest and just watched the horizon…"

"C'mon, let's go in the back," Michelle decided, ushering her around the counter. She looped her arm around her shoulder. "I'll make you something to eat."

"She went into the ocean?" Rico hissed as they disappeared. "What the hell is going on with her lately?"

"She's gotta move on sometime, right?" Holly asked. Emily cocked her head at Spencer, but he flashed her a warning look. 

"Just let her be," Rose muttered, waving a mug at them both. "She'll let us know if she needs us."

They left it at that, and Spencer and Emily finished their breakfast, opting instead to talk about the team and other things besides Honey. But his mind couldn't help but wander… and wonder if he'd had any part in her strange behavior this morning. 

Emily had said she wanted to leave this place, to get away from her past. Maybe all of the week's excitement had gotten to her, and she decided to stop worrying about others and do what she wanted. He couldn't be sure, but the pressure of Emily and Rose’s words kept getting to him. 

He couldn't fix Honey, and she couldn't fix him. They were simply two ships passing in the night, coming across one another before disappearing into the distance. They just looked alike on the surface, but were completely different deep down. Their baggage was different, their trauma… their paths to healing were in different directions.

He couldn't fix Honey… she couldn't fix him…

A part of him wished they could. 

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: What do you guys think about everything going on? Comments are fuel for this story and it is very dear to me so I'd love to know what your thoughts are on it!

Also, have you guy listened to any of the songs that these chapters are inspired by? Which one is your favorite?

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore 

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog @academiareid @moyo5653 @comfybabie

[cruorcrave]

17 December 2024

Today was actually... good? Weird I know.

Mentally, in general, I'm still not doing great. But everything that happened today made me feel kinda hopeful for once.

This morning I woke up early to an e-mail from a job I applied to, and within an hour I was on the phone doing an interview with them. It was absolutely terrifying and I was shaking a lot but I just went and did it and got it over with. I think I did okay but I definitely didn't do the best I could've. It's my first time applying for a job like this though so I'm pretty happy with myself all things considered. I had a celebratory Dr Pepper (yay!).

My older sister and I did a TONNE of Christmas shopping, to the point where I only need a few knick-knacks and I'm done. One of my aunts is coming down sometime in the next few days and she's great so I'm glad she's staying at our place.

I'm looking forward to Christmas this year despite it's usual stresses. I always love Christmas but I'm especially excited this year because, being 18, it's my first year really buying people proper presents rather than half-assing it with a minimal budget, and also it's at our house which I like. I'm gonna try my best to ignore the comments on my eating and the typical dramas.

I got a decent amount of sleep last night! My sleep has definitely been getting better. Still having nightmares but at least they're not night terrors, and whilst the tactile hallucinations are annoying, I can deal with them well enough.

The heat makes it hard to stay motivated (I despise hot summer days AND warm summer nights) but I'm doing what I can. Such as: I got a drawing out! Not a very interesting one but I got it out nonetheless!

Today I'm happy for a lot of things; I feel accomplished and proud of myself because even though I'm still struggling, I'm finding a way to get through it. It's still hard and I have a really long way to go before I'm healed from this, and I'm sure there will be many a relapse to come, but I really wanna get better. I need to. I have so much life to live and I don't want some stupid autovampirism shit to take that from me. I'm thankful for this blog and the people I've met because of it being such a good support for me. Thank you guys if you read this, Zakariah, Person I Am Still Unsure Of The Name Of So I Shall Refer To You As Colonel Ives You Know Who You Are, and Royce. I know you all at varying levels of closeness but y'all are seriously the best no matter our friendship level.

I know I'm repeating the song of the day but it's meant to be symbolic, I'm trying to start something here lol

Song of the Day: Breaking the Habit - Linkin Park

Clean since 16 December 2024

[lynn-707]

Depression-Borg

An AU I wrote abt Melvinborg suffering because I HATE HIM. 🤬

•••

TW: Substance Abuse.

•••

What is Melvin doing in his life? Being a rich-man swimming in gold? His grades, and academic accomplishments as well as his creativity was proven to be useful. His daily life must be easy.

   Firstly, he gets up to take pills for his multiple mental disorders considering the fact he NEVER got into his dream school, and gave up on trying to get in—especially since he feels guilty about killing off George, and Harold. Sure, they were a pain in the ass, as well as made his life miserable, but ever since their death it was quiet. Too quiet...

   When everyone found out who was responsible, people went from sympathizing with Melvin to loathing him. The torment never stopped, so of course he moved to another state to run from his past. Albeit, he did manage to hide from the past, he still gets nightmares about it. Every single dream, it's about atrocious George, and Harold, like they purposefully haunt him.

   Oh, how much he disdains them. The amount of sleepless nights they caused for him, but also any sort of academic opportunities were gone. So what does he do? Drinks away at his problems at a local bar. He isn't too fond of sleeping with strangers, but wouldn't shy away from a stranger asking for his number, especially if they've been at it for a while.

   Sometimes it's a drunk walk home, sometimes he's just too drunk to walk home so he needs a ride, other times he'll pass out of the streets, and sometimes he'll be sober enough to make it home, then proceed to cry himself to sleep. He hates himself for getting so drunk, but at least it numbs the pain that has been there since he was a child.

   Drugs were enticing, though he never took them, same with getting high. He was tempted to try cigarettes—and he did, though he had many problems with it that he decided not to after his first try. Substance abuse aside, he tried to drive home one night after the bartender kicked him out.

Unfortunately, that didn't end too well for him. His hatred for his body somehow increased after the crash. Almost half of his body was burned off, but thankfully he managed to survive. His mom was the only one who came over since his dad was busy off at work. At least what his mom tries to say...

   Her soft, wrinkled skin has eye bags underneath them. Whenever she tried to reassure her son that she still loved him, he didn't believe her. Understandably so because, who would ever love a mentally ill, alcoholic, disabled, lonely, piece of lard as their son? His mom got rid of his mirrors to avoid him getting reminded of his past mistake.

   Even as an old woman, she remained kind to him. She took care of him like he was a sick 6 year old. Her love was unconditional. When strangers gave him weird looks, she would always defend him. Although it took a lot of her energy to do most of his errands, she still did it because she knew how insecure he was about himself. It was nice while she lasted.

   There wasn't much he could do other than reflect on his past lives, and his mistakes. Oh, how he loathed himself. He can't even stand looking himself in the mirror. The fact that his own mom got rid of reflective surfaces for him showed how much she cared, and yet he still found himself being able to see how he looked like, and he hated seeing himself—it was a reminder of his mistakes, a reminder of how he fucked himself up.

   He was tired of having to run from the past, so why not fix it instead? Maybe then, he can finally have a better future...

•••

I can do a part 2 of Depression-Borg if anyone wants. Not too sure about giving him a happy ending because imo he doesn’t deserve one. 😚

[witchersmistress]

The Calm before the Storm

Back into the lion's den, like nothing ever happened. Like they didn't leave me tied to a tree in the middle of the swamp, bleeding and begging for death. Even when August handed me over to his brothers and walked away. I came back after 4 months like nothing ever happened. I worked from home so I never had to see those men again. I still have nightmares about what Baron and Duke did to me.

“The twins wrap the rope around the tree above my head, so my hands are pulled up against it. I try not to howl in pain when my broken hand is crushed against the rough bark. Standing back, they look me over, breathing hard and spitting blood from their exertion while subduing me.”

Grace and Dixie kept in the loop about what happened in the office. All the gossip and rumors. They never mentioned the twin or august but i never asked i didn't want to know.

One of our co-workers was having a party and those girls would not stop bugging me about going, so with much disdain I agreed to go. 

Dressing in dark skinny jeans, that made my ass look fantastic, a light colored tee and my black ankle booties. Swiping my eyes with one last coat of mascara, touching up lip gloss, I was ready to head out. Grabbing my keys to the escalade and snagging my leather jacket. I darted down the stairs and into my waiting car, just wishing this night was already over.

Parking I took one long last look in my visor before getting out to find Grace or Dixie. The party was slowly coming to life, people dancing and passing drinks, i go several hugs and welcome backs as i made my way to the 3 season porch on the backside of the house, where i found Grace and Dixie in a heated debate, grabbing a red solo cup off the beer table i joined in. they squealed with excitement and gave me hugs. The rumor around the office was, I was pulled away for a field assignment and I would continue to work via computer. It was better than the truth that August and the twins left me to die for something I had no control over. 

Pushing those thoughts away I just regroup and refocus on the party, staring off at  party goers, huddled on the porch and the tall stranger standing in the doorway.

Suddenly, my gaze jerks back to the person I just scanned over as I was staring off. August Walker is leaning against the railing inside the screen, watching me. My heart flips, and for a second, forgets how to beat. I close my eyes, sure that when I open them, it’ll be someone else, the way he must see his sister in a crowd now and again, only to realize it’s a stranger.

But it’s not a stranger. He’s still there. Our eyes meet, and I swallow so hard I nearly choke on my own tongue. What is wrong with me? Why is my heart hammering, and not with fear? God, I’m a fucking mess. “Hey.” I tear my gaze away from August to find a safe boy standing a few steps away. “Hey, Walter,” I say, trying to shake off the weirdness of seeing August here. He lives in my town. We run in the same crowd. Lots of the parties last year had a mix of current coworkers, former co-workers and retirees. Which means I’m bound to run into him now and again, even if he’s not doing it intentionally anymore. One day, maybe he’ll be just some guy I pass in the grocery store and pretend not to know. 

The idea aches in the pit of my stomach, cold and deep.

“You look… good, like really good,” Walter says, glancing at my leather jacket. “Thanks,” I say, holding out my cup. “Congrats on solving that case.” He bumps his cup against mine before leaning on the wall beside me. I can feel August’s eyes boring into us, but I don’t look in his direction again. “Are you having fun?” Walter  asks. “Sure,” I say, stepping away from the wall so I can turn my back on August, since he’s being a total creeper and openly staring. “You?”

 He let out a low chuckle “Not really, this isn't my thing but what else was I going to do, go home and have a beer by myself, but they had dragged me out here” sweeping his arm to his team as two of them down pints while the other shouted. I felt a low chuckle leave my throat.

“So, listen,” Walter says, shifting uncomfortably against the wall. “There will be a  hockey game in a few weeks” “Walter,” I say, holding up a hand. “I… No. I can’t. But thank you. Really. You’re, like, the best guy I’ve ever met, and you’re insanely brave, like, you have no idea how brave you are to even ask me. But I can’t.” 

“Why not?” It’s not Walter who asks. I flinch, squeezing my eyes closed. When I open them, Walter is staring over my head. I don’t have to turn to know August is standing there. But I do, because I’m scared for my new friend. August doesn’t look pissed, like he might put the sophomore through the wall, though. He towers over me, a slightly confrontational glint in his eye, but he doesn’t make a move toward Walter. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask. “Long enough.”

 Walter’s gaze moves back to me and then to August and then back to me. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I—Grace said you broke up. I had no idea.” “We did,” I say firmly. “We’re not together.” “That’s right,” August says, sipping from his drink. I know it’s his first one, that over the next few hours, he’ll nurse one or two more, nowhere near enough to affect a guy his size. August doesn’t get drunk. He doesn’t lose control. I hate that I still know him so well, that I know him at all.

“I’m… Just not ready to date anyone yet,” I say.. I’m sorry, Walter.” I lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and he turns beet red. “It’s okay,” he says again, edging away from the wall. “I’ll… See you Monday.” He ducks inside, and I feel like the biggest asshole on earth.

August chuckles. “That was fun. Want to do it again? There’s another kid over there who was checking out your ass when you walked in.” I sigh and turn to him. “What are you doing?” “Mingling.” I glare at him. “So, you’re just going to follow me around chasing off any guys who ask me out?” “Oh, you think I’m being protective of you?” he asks, drawing back cocking one of his brows “No, Cherry Pie. I’m protecting those men from me and what I'll do to them if they lay a hand on you.” “He’s a grown ass man with a teenage daughter.” “So?,” he says, sipping his drink and looking down at me with hooded eyes “Guess we’re back to hating each other.”

“I never stopped hating you.” he said

I gaze back into his eyes, but there’s nothing there. He’s not the hollow-eyed man who almost killed me the first time we met, but he’s completely closed off in a way I haven’t seen in a long time, since before I really knew him. It’s his cool, indifferent mask, as obscuring as the one Preston wears. “Good,” I say lightly. “I hate you, too.”

[pandoraimperatrix]

I'm still blocked as fuuuuuuuck and having no time for nothing I even shit at work because I don't have time to shit at home but here have a bit of I managed to write

It's for a extra chapter for WW from Gar's and Rachel's POV.

She comes to him room every night after Kory leaves. And for some reason he doesn’t even question why, she doesn’t explain herself, they don’t need that. They don’t need that for the same reason why is isn’t weird to have her in his bed, hooded under crook of his neck as if she was the one that was able to turn into animals and making herself small and fuzzy, a baby bird kicked from the nest.  

If the nightmares wasn’t bad enough with the added discomfort from his arm’s phantom pain from a fracture that disappeared with just a change into a different animal before he returned to himself, she snored badly and moved around too much. 

And the first day after Zatanna comes along it gets so bad that Gar just knows he’ll be equipped with a headache and a terrible mood to deal with the costumers from the cafeteria, but he won’t call in sick, he never does.  

Going there, pretending to be normal, pretending that once upon a time he didn’t kill, maimed and fed from every single person inside, crazy as it is, it’s the last flimsy string of the brief taste of normality he wasn’t ready to give up entirely yet. 

Just as it never occurs to him to simply kick her out. Even though the sleep isn’t restorative, having her solid and warm at his arm’s length does more to rest his soul and mind than a thousand years of sleeping would. 

Gar pats the top of her head just to reassure himself she’s there sometimes, and cringes when he remembers that once upon a time he had a crush on her. When they didn’t know each other. Before she became so much more than a pretty girl in goth clothing and big sad eyes, before she became his sister, and way better than a girlfriend could ever be, before she became his soulmate.  

His soulmate just happened to be a pain in the ass at night, hogging blankets and sometimes turning into a werid cyclone of sharp blades and demonic energy. She made him more sleep deprived than a newborn’s mother. He complained, but never with resentment, and when she says she’s sorry Gar only roll his eyes, an habit he took from her.  Rachel showed dislike and dissatisfaction so easily, it was enviable, when you grow up in a house where everybody was dangling on the edge, you learn to thread carefully, hide under a mask and beware. 

But know she’s teaching him it’s okay to be him, and show who he is, and he is learning. 

“Zatanna is a bitch,” he tells Rachel handing her a pack of frozen peas. 

Rachel barks a laugh mixed with a snort and then clenches her eyes in pain, Gar takes the cut to turn the already dim lights off, engulfing them in complete darkness, his pupils stretch into the pupils of a tiger. 

“You were the one fangirling when Dick called her.” 

He sighs, one would think by now he’d have learned to never meet his heroes, too bad his disappointing heroes became his judgemental extended family and that mostly he couldn't help but keep meeting the bastards.