#but it turned into its complete own story do I suppose it wasn’t all bad in the end

[greenapplespider]

Happy STS from the Creators Club. I hope you're haing a wonderful day. What drew you to your chosen genre?

Having an okay day ;p- hope you’re having a good one too <3 and thank you for the ask.

For this we’ll talk about my story ‘Second Class Citizen’- which is a BL dark erotica and thriller. (Hopefully be publishing it by July of next year)

What drew me to writing it- being far too.. invested (horny) in the presenters of my favorite news/current events podcast- one thing led to another, I was possessed by the devil, and I started writing an RPF- but then I met the dude I was writing the RPF about and felt kinda weird (we get on well and are in a couple discords together- he likes my memes and art).

So I decided to make it into its own thing cause I was reaching advanced levels of parascoial and it wasn’t healthy.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Zombie!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Zombie!Ghost, Reader

Summary: Being on the run from the undead doesn't leave much time for more intimate things, but once things start to settle a little an ache begins to form that you havent felt in a long time. What will you do when the only other person you are with is your former lover turned zombie.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings:

Author's Note: here it is as requested. I hope I did it justice. Happy Halloween 🎃

You’d been on the run for months now, never stopping as hordes of the undead nipped away at any temporary calm would you seek to have. It wasn’t easy always having to look over your shoulder, wondering when you were going to get ambushed again or if you’d get overrun and you’d have to make your final stand in a blaze of glory. Something like that isn’t supposed to become normal, but after over a year of living in hell you kind of get used to it… Kind of.

That first month was the hardest since you had been completely on your own because in the chaos and confusion of that first wave as the everything fell apart, including the 141 you were stationed with, you’d gotten separated from everyone. Hiding in the sewers, scavenging for food like some kind of rat, it was torture. But then you came across someone you thought you’d never see again: Ghost.

He was holed up alone in an abandoned farmhouse back in the thick of the woods a town over from the base. What should have been a reunion with someone you knew was thrown off by the fact that he had in fact been turned into one of the undead. Out of everyone that you could have run into, why him? You two had history, the kind where intimate details were something that you shared, and now you were both thrust together once again only this time there were bigger things at stake other than if you’d get caught fooling around by the captain.

The strange thing was that even though Ghost had been fully transformed by the infection, it was not what you expected. You realized quickly that Ghost had kept most of his humanity, though the more finer details of his person were scrambled by the disease. Even though he could not speak anymore due to the fact that his jaw was broken, Ghost was still inside there. And the strangest part of it all was that he remembered you.

It wasn’t like anything you had seen from the horde of mindless undead and so instead of facing the unknown alone again, you decided to stick with him. For over a year you two stayed side by side and although you did not come across any others of the task force, it was enough to just have one another.

Honestly he wasn’t a terrible companion, though a bit of conversation would have been nice. Still, having him with you had its perks. Being one amongst the walking corpses had great benefits and Ghost used them to their full capability to keep you safe so that after a time, even though the world still sat in ruin, you two were not doing too bad. At least you were able to stay in place for more than a day now.

That’s where you found yourself, shacked up in a two story cottage you had found almost untouched and secluded in the middle of the woods. It was easy enough to make secure, as secure as you could having limited supplies, but apart from a few stray corpses stumbling by there wasn’t much action. That anxiety riddled tension that you had held in your chest for over a year began to ease and with that came old stirrings that you hadn’t felt since before the world collapsed.

An old familiar ache brought on by being near someone who you used to share such things with, the one that leaves you begging to be quenched, wormed its way back into your life and now that you had more time on your hands it was becoming a major problem.

You see, adrenalin has a funny way of fucking with your head: heightening your senses, making your pulse race, everything feels so much more intense. You were only human, one who still had needs which had not been met in so fucking long that you couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched by another and so having your blood always rushing and your skin tingling, how could you stop yourself from giving in to that most basic of temptations?

It was a shame that Ghost wasn’t an option now; you would liked to have him one more time as the world burned, but there was no way no… right?

So, instead, one evening after the perimeter had been secured and the doors re-bolted, the windows rechecked and the traps restrung, that ache reached its peak and you had to do something before it got in the way of staying safe. Sneaking off to the bedroom you had claimed for yourself upstairs, you allowed that overwhelming need to finally overtake you.

Leaving the door slightly ajar so that you could still be alert to any stray sounds, you laid down on the cushioned surface of the mattress, your pulse racing rapidly in your chest at the prospect of doing this. You made quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper only enough so that you could access that throbbing between your thighs. Clamping your mouth shut in an effort to keep quiet you slid your hand down the front of your pants, down all the way until you reached your sex. 

A whimper filled your mouth that you choked back down; the last thing you needed was to alert a horde with your desperate cries as you worked yourself. It may have been a while, but you knew exactly what to do and extending your middle finger you split yourself open to find your clit, another whimper rising in your throat as you made the connection and began to draw tight circles around the bundle of nerves.

It was hard not to get worked up so fast as that remembered pleasure filled your mind and snaked its way through your limbs to make your body vibrate and as you stroked that pulsing bean you were brought back to those times when you and Ghost used to get lost in that ecstasy together. You couldn’t be blamed for where your mind wandered, not when you had to be near the one person who knew how to draw your pleasure from you, even if he couldn’t do it anymore.   

Before you knew it, you had flipped yourself onto your stomach and then onto knees to ride your fingers, hips grinding away as you imagined him underneath you. Fuck, the way he used to look staring back up at you with those hungry copper eyes, hands greedily clinging around the meat of your hips as he shoved you down harder onto his cock before he would inevitably flip you onto your back to pound into you; it was enough to make you salivate with need, but still you tried to keep quiet.

You thought yourself sneaky, keeping things to a minimum as you desperately drew out your release, but Ghost was not the same man he was when he was alive. His senses were different now, enhanced like a wild animal’s by the infection that took his life and made him into something entirely new. As he stood in the living room, staring blankly out the window to watch for any signs of undead, something caught his attention.

The scent of pheromones were on the air, enticing him forward to the upstairs. He followed it all the way to the back bedroom, your room. Slowly, silently, creeping towards the door, Ghost peered unblinking through the slit to watch you up on your knees on top of your bed, your pants hanging slack around your hips while your ass point upward towards the door. That motion, he knew it; that back and forth sway of your hips over top of your bed. 

There was another fragrance on the air now, something more familiar. Taking a deep breath, his heightened sense of smell caught the scent of your natural lubrication currently soaking your fingers and it awoke something deep within him like a fire in chest akin to what an animal feels when it goes into heat. His slack mouth began to unconsciously salivate as ingrained memories surfaced, flashes of remembered sensations from times when he too enjoyed such pleasures. Inherent, primal, a reaction as innate as breathing.  

It was then that he became acutely aware of a tightness growing down below and instinctually he cupped his hand around it, rubbing the growing bulge against his chilly palm. Was he actually getting hard? That was surprising as anyone would have expected that to not happen anymore; he had retained much of his humanity, but he had not had the time until now to explore all the facets of what that entailed.

The more he rubbed the more it grew until the front of his pants tented out near the zipper, straining so hard against the fabric that he had to wonder if he could pop the closure without even trying. God, it felt…amazing.

“Fuck, Simon,” he caught the whispered hiss through the silence as you pressed your body down harder onto the bed, onto your fingers, and it sent a shiver up his spine. The way you said that name he hadn’t heard in so long, in that desperate way almost as a plea to your lust to fulfill its unspoken promise and wash that euphoric feeling over you, caused memories to violently resurface. He had heard that before in just that exact way- from you.

Scattered and disjointed memories of you beneath him burst into his minds eye, brought back to life by the sound of your voice: you writhing with eyes closed, your skin glistening with perspiration in the pale light of a dimly lit room, bare breasts bouncing up and down with each of his strong thrusts, crying his name into the silence as you came.

If breathing was something he was still required to do those lungs would be heaving by now to bring in enough air as he was so worked up that he would surely be panting. His hand gripped tighter now around the head of his cock, stroking with more purpose now as his dilated pupils followed the curve of your back all the down to your ass to watch it bob up and down.

The pace of his hand quickened to match your rocking as if fucking you by proxy, stroking through his clothes while transfixed on you. Goddamn he wished he could remember the way you felt wrapped around him, but that sensation had been lost when he succumbed to the disease. All he could do was watch and enjoy the way your body looked while your movements became more sloppy as the warmth gathered in the pit of your stomach, that delicious heat that you had not felt in so long.

“Yes, yes,” you mewled under your breath while your thighs clenched around your hand as you were so close. You brought in another finger to join the first one and with both you slipped them inside your entrance; it was nothing like the way Ghost could fill you out, but it would have to do.

Bearing down hard while you kept the pace steady, your breathing more erratic, you finally reached the peak and spilled violently over the edge, tumbling down as your body writhed and jerked through the overwhelming intensity of that first orgasm. You stifled your cries as much as you could inside your mouth, but they still reached an unknown listener who nearly came himself if he had not had to move quick before being spotted.

…and that left him very frustrated…   

You fell onto the mattress, removing your fingers from your pussy as you breathed out a sigh of contented relief. It hadn’t been clear just how much you needed that until you came and fuck did you feel on cloud nine now. As you rolled over onto your stomach to stare up at the ceiling while you rode out the wave of your euphoric high, you swore you heard a series of strange movement just outside your door; a soft few taps that sounded like they were getting farther away which would have been out of place, but the house you were currently boarded up in was old and so you convinced yourself it was nothing.

Besides, if anything was truly wrong, Ghost would have already alerted you by now. 

It was several minutes you just laid there in the silence before you took one last deep breath to calm yourself as you got up to straighten your clothing and re-buttoned your pants, hoping that your self-pleasuring session had gone completely unnoticed to your companion as you headed back down stairs to double check that everything was still secure.

In his usual spot you found him standing, always watching with that unblinking gaze, but as you stepped into the living room his sight was immediately drawn to you. “Hey,” you greeted him, “everything still okay out there?”

The usual grunted reply was returned and you stepped over to where he stood, just to take a look for yourself. It didn’t hurt to have another set of eyes to catch things and you felt more comfortable checking for yourself anyway. Scanning the area outside you saw nothing out of place, but as you pulled back from the window you were met with those cold eyes directly staring at you.

Silently Ghost’s large hand came up to touch your cheek, rubbing his thumb across a certain flush pooling there that drew his curiosity and he grunted with a nod of his head at it. You diverted your gaze, suddenly self-conscious about how warm they were still, like a fucking beacon calling attention to what it was you were doing upstairs; not that you cared, but shit you didn’t need your business plastered all over your face like that.

“It’s nothing,” you reassured him with a chuckle. “Just got a bit warm I guess. I promise I’m not infected or anything like that.”

Fully expecting him to take you at your word you went to move over to the sofa, but his hand clung to the side of your face to keep you in your place. You tilted your head as he shook his own side to side slowly. 

“What? Don’t believe me?” you picked, slightly concerned about this strange development; he had not acted in such a way before and you did not know if it was a part of the infection or not. 

Again he shook his head before his eyeline lowered down your body until his sight stopped at the crotch of your pants. Shit, had he heard you? Could he smell the trace amounts cum still clinging to your cunt? There was no real way to tell, but the way his eyeline kept drifting down before meeting your own again was enough to indicate that he was aware of what you had just done. 

You cleared your throat. “You know what I was doing, don’t you?” you asked and was met with another nod, this time to the affirmative.

Well, nothing to do about it now; what was the point of denying it? “Look, I just… needed something to take the edge off okay?” you spurted out. “I mean fuck, I still have needs, even if they had to be put on the back burner for a bit while we tried not to get overrun. You of all people should know how I get sometimes. At least I was quiet enough not to cause problems for us.”

Ghost looked back at you with those milky white eyes, but there was something behind them, something that you recognized, something… yearning. Suddenly you were aware that his other hand was on your hip now, tracing sloppy circles around the soft warm skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

Goddamn the familiarity of his fingers lingering over old paths they used to take in times almost forgotten; if you closed your eyes, it was like you were right there back with him. Your chest was tight with the increased thumping of your heartbeat in your throat, the air not filling up your lungs as well now as he pulled you in a little closer to him until your bodies were against one another. 

That was when you felt something against your thigh.

“Can you…?” you risked asking the question. No, there was no way that he could still get hard, right? Right? 

A large, cold hand wrapped around your wrist and brought it down to his crotch where he rested your palm against it and to your surprise the bulge in his pants responded to your touch. Your eyes shot back up to his as your breathing hitched. 

“Fuck,” you murmured and was promptly met with a grunt from him followed by a deep chuckle. 

Perhaps it was the history, the knowledge of what his body used to give you; perhaps it was the need that you had not truly quenched fully yet; perhaps it was your memories that you’d used as you touched yourself; or maybe it was as simple as you still wanted him; whatever the reason it didn’t matter. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more of what you started upstairs.  

Hesitantly your fingers grasped at his shirt, slowly tugging at the seam as if to silently ask to be allowed to remove it. Never letting his gaze waiver, Ghost raised his arms and allowed you to pull it up and off over his head. His body was just as you remembered, though quite a bit more pale and the flesh discolored in places, but all the lines and bumps, scars and imperfections were the same and as you ran those delicate fingertips over his skin it all came flooding back.

This is crazy, you told yourself. But it was the end of the world after all, why not go out with a bang?

“It’s been a while,” you said, gaze taking him all in. “God, you always did make my heart race just taking off your shirt, ya know.”

“Uhh,” he grunted in agreement. 

The contrast in body temperature between you both was stark and he enjoyed the warm, tingling feeling your finger left behind wherever they went. He had not felt such a phenomenon in so long that it was like lightening striking inside his mind as nerve endings reignited. It went the same with his pants as you undid them to let them hang loosely around his hips.

Following your lead, he helped you out of your shirt as well so that you stood bare chests facing one another. Your nipples were already hardening as they hit the cool air and he ran a fingertip over the tiny rosebuds to feel them. You were perfection, a sight of decadent flesh that fueled that hungry need he had to abruptly cut off before and the more he stared the more it grew.

The couch sat just behind you and taking your hand in his he moved the few steps over it to take a seat. Grabbing onto your hips and turning you around, he pulled you down onto his lap to sit on top of him. That throbbing bulge barely covered by the pants slipping off him was straining even harder now and you had to open your legs so that it could comfortably stand at attention in between them.

Situated on him you leaned your warm, bare back against his chest, those muscles that you knew by touch alone were now clammy, yet still familiarly fit against you just as they always had. Ghost took those stiff, cold fingers and ran them slowly down the line of your neck to your chest, around the tissue of your breast and down still to the curve of your hip. 

Being touched that way by another, by him, after so fucking long made your skin tingle and you leaned your head back against his shoulder to close your eyes and simply enjoyed the icy prickles his fingers created. He brought those fingers back up all the winding way to your throat and then back down again, except he did not stop at your hip this time. 

Lower he walked those decaying digits into your lap, then inside the waistband of your jeans, and then all the way down until he was inside your panties. You didn’t try to stop him, instead letting your knees fall open to give him more access. The further he went the more he could feel just how warm you were, the damp heat radiating off your cunt and into his pulse-less palm as he cupped his hand around your sex.

“Christ,” you exclaimed in shock as your body jolted against him, your pussy still a good bit sensitive from before. 

“Uhhh,” he groaned in response, intrigued by how much he enjoyed causing such a visceral reaction and wanting to replicate it. 

Again your scent filled his nostrils, those delicious pheromones that he had caught a whiff of earlier, and it began to awaken something primal within him. Taking his fingers, he drug them heavily over the slit of your cunt until they slipped between your petals and into that still dripping core. Again your body jolted into him as those thick fingers rubbed the length until he found what he had unconsciously been searching for: a small bundle towards the top. 

“Ugh,” that deep groan was more breathless this time, as if he were enjoying the feeling of your juices coating his fingers.  

Cool fingers began stroking against your clit with a rhythm that was ingrained in him from past experience and it was like falling right back into old habits. Your hips started to roll over his hand as they were want to do in response to his movements so that it was like a dance of give and take and he had to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from slipping, but it was worth it to feel the way your body moved.

Like an animal a strange compulsion awakened inside, enhanced by the disease coursing through his veins, and the untamed part of his new nature was flooded with the need to rut into you. The more music you made, the more it filled his chest until the sensation became too much to quell. 

With a growl he moved you both to the floor in a rush, ripping your jeans off of you in one strong tug before pushing you forward and pulling your hips up so that you had to get on your knees. He too knelt behind you as he shoved the fabric of his clothing down enough to release his engorged cock and taking both of your hips into his preternatural grasp, so firm that his fingertips made the muscle sting, he aligned the head with your slit. 

This was crazy, highly dangerous, and slightly insane, but you couldn’t stop, not with how your body felt being pleasured for the first time in well over a year by someone who knew it. Whatever the consequences you’d deal with them later, right now you just needed to be filled to the brim with everything he had. 

Instinct knew what to do and slipping through your petals a few times, he rested the head against your opening and with a strong thrust shoved himself inside as far as he could go. Goddamn you had forgotten the actual feeling of how big he was, but there must be something in being undead that made him even more engorged because his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt.

You were aware that his cool palm was on your back now, running up the length of your spine to just between your shoulders where Ghost stopped to shove your top half down further into the ground so that your ass would rise more and without more of pause he began to thrust in and out of you furiously. Each stroke stretched you out more until the sting subsided and that was left was the satisfying euphoria that comes with being filled so full.

“Simon,” you moaned out his name and a dormant part of his brain lit up. Hearing it for the first time upstairs was nice, but being inside of you as you breathed life into that moniker was the highest level of ecstasy he had experienced yet.

And he need more. “UH,” he growled with force as he slammed into you from behind to make your ass bounce off of his hips. 

You braced your hands under your head to steady yourself, but it did little; the man inside of you was gone and all you could do was hang on. Still, even with his roughness, the way his cock still reached those desperate nerve endings inside of you made the arch of your back even more pronounced. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you choked out the exclamation as your voice vibrated from the impacts. 

Harder and faster Ghost pounded your pussy from behind, throwing caution to the wind as he grunted and groaned like a beast on the hunt about to capture a fresh kill. You were so fucking warm, so gorgeously wet, that even his dead skin felt reanimated so that each brush of your body against him had him reeling in pleasure. 

This was the closest he would get to feeling like a living thing again.

Stopping suddenly he ripped his cock out of you amidst your begging protests to flip you onto your back, brutishly pulling your ass onto his knees. Your thighs rested high around his torso, squeezing against him as he immediately thrust back into that warm, wet hole and expeditiously returned to that overwhelming rhythm. 

The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as Ghost worked your hole for all it was worth with a reckless abandon that you had not seen in him before. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed.

And then he felt it; a warmth in his stomach like he had swallowed coals. It started faint, almost indistinguishable until it had nearly filled him full the more he kept going. 

He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t back down, he was so close he could taste it. You weren’t far off either, nearly at the peak of your second orgasm the harder his cock stroked in and out of you, stimulating your clit along with it just from the pressure of his thrusts. 

“Shit, don’t stop,” you pleaded pathetically to him, your toes curling into the air as you focused on your breathing. Right there, it was right there; all he had to do was keep going.   

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you shot up as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

He wasn’t far behind as the warmth that had been building finally shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs to cover your stomach in his milky white semen. The roar he released while he drained his cock dry over top of you rang out through the house like a wild animal’s cry until he hung limply over top of you, completely spent.

Everything lay still once again as you caught your breath, allowing your ecstasy to run its course before you even tried to move out from against him. As you came to sit up, once again you were met with his eyes watching you closely. It felt like he was admiring his handiwork: the flush in your cheeks, the sweat speckling your torso, the exhaustion in your limbs. 

He had done that…and he liked it.

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Well, that was something wasn’t it?” you laughed and he chuckled deadoan along with you. 

Maybe the end of the world didn’t have to be so bad after all. At least, now you both knew that there were ways to have a little fun… and oh fuck, were you going to keep having little bits of fun.

[alphajocklover]

1,000 Followers Special: Douchebag Revolution, The Revolution Begins

I’ve never claimed to know all the details about the strange things I report on. I know more about the world of transformations than most people, and even most other TF reporters, but I don’t know everything. I don’t know who made InstaJock, I don’t know what about the town of Maxford turns people within it into straight jocks, and I don’t know why wishing on a specific star turns people into jocks, even if it is some sort of magical supernova. Even the Douchebag Revolution, one of the groups I’m on good terms with, has its secrets. As loud, dumb — and if I’m being honest, obnoxious — as the members of the revolution can be, they are surprisingly skilled at keeping secrets. They tend to ‘prank’ me and other reporters with fake info, which makes getting any information out of them like pulling teeth. With a lot of persistence, and a bit of bribery, I have been able to get some interesting info out of them though. Including the true story of how the revolution began. It was told to me by one of my contacts in the revolution, and confirmed by another outside the revolution, so I’m sure it’s true. I won’t be retelling the story word for word, due to some of the… stylistic choices made by the douchebag who told me it, but I’ll do my best to do it justice.

As some of you might remember, the Douchebag Revolution was formed to fight against SAD, the Society Against Douchebags. The mysterious group were using futuristic technology and time travel to transform straight douchebags into gay nerds. That might not sound so bad, especially considering the other stuff I’ve reported on, but messing around with time is dangerous, especially on such a scale. No one, not even the revolution, knows why they go to such lengths, or why they want to get rid of douchebags so badly in the first place. There are theories out there, but even for me they’re a little out there. What is known is that they were transforming douchebags into nerds left and right before the revolution began. From what I understand it actually looked like they were close to getting rid of douchebags entirely for a moment. Until they messed with the wrong guy. Or, I suppose, the wrong brothers.

Despite having a 2 year age difference between them, Chase and Mike Hayfield were practically twins. They had the same hobbies, the same interest, and were even the same height and weight, something the younger Mike would often tease the older Chase about. They were as close as brothers could be, and loved each other dearly. That was why it was a shock to both of them when they realized that their close relationship was never meant to be. Before SAD got involved, Chase was nothing like Mike. Chase was a classic, muscular, douchebag jock, one who basically despised his nerdy fag little brother Mike. Neither brother would have been aware of this… if they hadn’t used Chase’s blood for one of their experiments. SAD’s nanobots, the ones that had changed Chase’s DNA and brain chemistry as he grew, were designed to be invisible to almost all tests. But due to their experiment, and the fact that Chase was one of their earliest victims, Mike was able to discover the nanobots, and use them to get information about SAD. Each brother was horrified, but for completely different reasons. Chase was horrified at the person he was supposedly ‘supposed’ to be. He hated douchebags, and the thought of hating his own brother made him feel sick, made him want to run and hide from the truth they had discovered. Mike, however, was horrified that someone had been manipulating his brother’s life. He believed that no one should be able to manipulate someone's life like that, to change them on such a level without permission or even letting the person know what they had lost. He was scared he’d lose his big brother… but he wanted his big brother to be who he really was. He could see that a part of Chase, a part of him he wasn’t even aware of, missed who he used to be, and he was the one who convinced Chase to take the cure they synthesized. Mike Hayfield, a complete nerd, was the one who started the Douchebag Revolution.

Most douchebags actually get a little pissed when someone brings this up. I mean, they got saved from a bunch of fucking scientist by a ‘nerdy fag.’ But most of them don’t say anything. They don’t want to insult their leader after all. Chase Hayfield may be a huge douchebag, but he never lets anyone insult his little brother.

**Hope you guys like this! I actually had a hard time writing this one, but I'm glad how it turned out. Stay tuned for more!**

[storiesofsvu]

Solace in Solitude Ch 14

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, minor mention of injury, smut, comfort. Welp. Here we are! we finally did it! A 14 chapter story never should have taken me seven months to write, but tackling it while also tackling so much extra shit at work delayed it. Thank you SO much to all of you patient angel babies who stuck along and I hope you've enjoyed it. As I said on another post, I will be starting to write 2 new series shortly, but will not be posting them until they are at least halfway done. In the meantime, expect more frequent one shots! (here's hoping lol).

Cutting through the ER wasn’t something you’d normally do, but it was a shortcut on the way back from the cafeteria, your usual route overcrowded with patient overflow. It was by chance that you were there, or as some might have called it, fate.

Because that was when you saw her, elbows on her knees while her eyes were on her phone, texting away while she waited.

“Emily?” Your brow furrowed as you stalled in your tracks and the other woman looked up from her phone, her eyes widening when she saw you. “What’re you doing here?” You asked while you approached, greeting her with a hug when she stood, “wait are you hurt?” You suddenly pulled back with a worried expression on your face and she laughed softly.

“No, one of my team. Nothing bad, just a dislocated shoulder.”

“What brings the BAU all the way to London?”

“Oh,” she caught herself laughing awkwardly again, an unsure fluttering had started in her stomach, slowly working its way into her chest, “I’m not with them anymore. I got a job offer to run my own team with Interpol.”

She smiled softly at you and you felt your entire body relax, “so… you live here now?”

“Yeah…” she stuttered, biting on her lip, “I was gonna call, I swear! I just wanted to wait til things settled down. I mean, my apartment’s still all in boxes, my office is a disaster and to be completely honest… I can’t even remember the last name of the person I’m here with.”

You barked a laugh at that, your hand swatting at her arm and Emily practically melted at the sparkle in your eye, heat lingering where you’d touched her.

“Sounds like you need to chill and it just so happens that I’ve become very skilled at unboxing and figuring out how to decorate. If you’d like a hand?”

Emily glanced briefly down to her phone when it buzzed, then looked back up to your smiling face and knew there was no way that she wanted to say no to the offer. She hadn’t even originally been the one to escort her agent to the hospital, she was supposed to continue overseeing the training exercise but she’d figured it would look good as a new leader to make sure an injury was properly taken care of. It was complete luck she had been sitting in the emergency room of your hospital.

“Honestly that sounds amazing, I could really use the help.”

“Perfect.” You grinned, “text me your address and a time. I’ll bring dinner?”

“I’ve got the perfect wine to go along with it.”

*

Take out containers lay on the coffee table, now mainly empty, only a few bites left in each with half full wine glasses beside them. The kitchen was organized, the television finally hooked up, now softly playing music from one of Emily’s favourite stations, you’d just finished assembling a book shelf, now filling its shelves with books and nick naks, fawning over the amount of awards Emily had to show off. Out of sheer habit you were focused on alphabetizing a row of books, swapping a few of them around while she dug through one of the boxes, pulling out a framed photo of Garcia and Sergio to place on the shelf as a final touch right as you slid the last book into place.

“That about does it.” You said, turning to look around the apartment before your eyes landed on Emily, “unless you’re still sleeping on the couch.”

“No.” She laughed, feeling her cheeks heat, “bedroom’s good. I’m either sleeping or at work, it was just everything else that slipped through the cracks.”

“Like picking up the phone?” You asked with a smirk and she scoffed.

“Hey, c’mon I said I was gonna—”

“It’s okay.” You laughed, “c’mere.”

“What?” She asked, stepping toward you as she wiped at her face, concerned there was a speck of sauce somewhere she couldn’t feel.

“There’s just something I wanted to do since I saw you this afternoon.”

“Huh?” Emily felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest, feeling the spark shoot through her body when you grabbed her hand and pulled her to you.

A second later that hand was cupping her cheek and her lips were met with yours, gracefully moving against each other in a not so forgotten dance, rather one that you both had been aching for. One that you hadn’t even realized you missed as much as you did until you saw each other again. Her arms easily wound around you, the tension leaving her body as she melted into the embrace, sighing into the kiss when she felt you completely relax too. Her tongue slid across your lower lip and it only took a second for you to part your lips to grant her access, the corners of your lips curving up into a happy grin. It was different than any other kiss the two of you had shared, it was one of true emotion, tender, intimate, where both of you felt completely at peace and totally safe.

Oxygen was the only reason to be seen to break the kiss, foreheads resting against each other while you caught your breath, little laughs leaving your lips to battle the potential awkwardness of the situation. Your thumb stroked the side of her neck while her hands tickled at your sides,

“I missed you.” You were the first to admit it through a whisper and Emily smiled, stealing a tender kiss.

“Believe me, I missed you more.” Her hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, tracing patterns into your skin, “and I’ll prove it.”

Your giggle was quickly silenced by another kiss, Emily’s hands nudging you toward the bedroom while your hands began to tangle into her hair. By the time the backs of your knees hit her bed she had your shirt tugged over your head, tossing it to the floor behind her so she could rid you of your bra. Your fingers ghosted under the hem of her shirt, trailing up and across her skin, though they froze when her breath caught in her throat.

“Sorry.” You murmured against her lips and she shook her head slightly.

“It’s okay.”

You glanced up at her and she gave you a soft nod, trust and vulnerability filling her eyes as her hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head before pulling you back into a kiss. While her tongue slipped into your mouth again you were able to undo her bra, letting it fall to the ground as you both began the work of getting completely naked. At the last minute you managed to spin her around, letting her topple onto the mattress with a gentle laugh as you crawled over top of her.

“God you’re beautiful.” You murmured, eyes sweeping up her body and she felt her cheeks tinge pink.

When your lips met once again your hands ghosted up her sides, finger tips tracing patterns on her skin before gently groping at her chest. She let out a soft moan into the kiss, hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to her, shifting you slightly so you were straddling her thigh.

Emily broke the kiss with a gasp when you pinched at her nipples, her head thrown back into the pillows, giving you the ample opportunity to kiss down the column of her neck, teeth nipping into her sensitive skin. A hand sunk between your bodies and she instinctively spread her legs to give you easier access. Her hips rocked up off the bed when your fingertips slipped through her folds, rubbing gently at her clit while your mouth made a home in the crook of her neck.

“Fuck…” she groaned when two fingers slipped into her pussy, pumping steadily. Her hands gripped onto your hips, urging you to grind down onto her body, riding her thigh and she felt you moan into her neck.

Your fingers began to pump faster, curling to find that sensitive spot and Emily was sure to keep her hands on your hips, guiding you in the same rhythm, a moan leaving her throat at the feeling of your wetness spreading across her thigh. She flexed the muscle, pulling a gasp from you as your clit dragged right across it and your teeth sunk into her skin.

“Oh god…”

“Don’t stop.” She murmured, nipping at your earlobe before nudging at your chin, urging your lips back to hers for another kiss, eager to taste you again.

The kiss was breathless, airy moans leaving one set of lips only to be swallowed by the other, gasps breaking free as pleasure soared through both of your bodies. Your skin slick with sweat as you moved together, working higher and higher, Emily’s pussy pulsing around your fingers while your juices coated her skin. It had been too long, you’d both been unknowingly waiting for this moment for what felt like forever and you were both hitting your peaks before you even expected, cries of pleasure bouncing off the bedroom walls as your bodies shook against each other.

Panting, you slipped off Emily’s leg, rolling onto your back as your arm snuck around her, pulling her to you and she eagerly curled into your side, resting her head on your chest. You let out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and she returned one to your collarbone, her fingers drawing circles on your skin before lacing together with yours. Your free hand trailed up her side, slowing when it hit the fading white marks, tracing them with a featherlight touch. Emily surprised herself when she didn’t flinch, rather relaxed deeper into your embrace, feeling the warmth from your touch rushing through her and it was the first time she hadn’t felt pain radiating from that same spot. She squeezed at your other hand and you hummed softly, leaving another kiss on the side of her head. You shivered lightly as your body temperature began to drop, reaching out and pulling the blankets up over the both of you.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” Emily murmured, her lips brushing against your skin when she spoke.

“It doesn’t have to be.” You replied, your hand settling in her hair for a moment before she shifted onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow.

“I want it to be more than what we had in Paris.” She chewed on her lip, glancing down for a moment as she felt the heat creep into her cheeks again, “I’ll admit, I wanted to take the Interpol job before I knew where it was, being in London, that was just a very happy accident. But I think deep down I knew that I had to come here, DC wasn’t where I was meant to be. Nothing felt right, I didn’t understand anything again. I felt lost in a place that had felt like home for years. Then I realized the only thing familiar, the only thing that was constant when I was at my darkest, the thing that got me through each day… was you.”

“Oh Em…” you reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “you worked pretty damn hard yourself too.” Your hand trailed down her cheek, thumb soothing across her skin, turning her frown into a small smile.

“I don’t want to do it alone anymore.”

You grinned across at her, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her lips, “well then it’s pretty lucky that you don’t have to. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Emily’s lips burst into a smile, a huff of an excited laugh escaping as she pulled you to her for another kiss, this one that you both laughed into as you fell back into the pillows. The road to find each other certainly hadn’t been the most conventional, nor was it the easiest, but you’d found your place and all that mattered now was that you had each other.

__________________

@momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @lesbodietcoke @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak

[kurishiri]

18.5 . . . “ a meaningless emotion ”

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— 🤍 his side story, chapter 18. this is one you can purchase on your second play through of his route.

— cw: the very end may be considered suicidal ideation.

Alfons: ...I think I’ve had just about enough of this blasted sob story.

I slipped out of the bed and changed——if I loitered around the castle, running into her would be a pain.

(Today there’ll be some merrymaking happening amongst the eccentric nobility.)

It wasn’t as though I wanted to go out of my way to go there, but it was a perfect way to kill time.

—— Time skip ——

Alfons: Alright then, what shall we bet on next?

Drunken man: I got it! How about this oil painting that my old man said was his most valued one, not that I know anything about it!

Crossdressing woman: Did you steal that? Vincent… huh, who is this? Never heard of him. Isn’t it just a cheap thing?

Alfons: Hehe, I must say it’s quite unlike nobility to worry over the value of the good.

Crossdressing woman: But it’s not so exciting, you know, it’s better to have something that shows its value.

Alfons: Well then… how about I give a dream where “this painting is worth 500 pounds?”

Man smoking a cigar: Oh, that’s a good idea.

Whether it was nobility, drunken people at some street corner of the bar, the orphans at the East End, and what have you, they weren’t so different.

They would find any pleasure they could through gambling, liquor, or sex, so they could live while avoiding their pains and worries.

Drunken nobleman: Hey, Al, is that rumor about you having a recent favorite true?

Noble lady with gloves: Al, you mustn’t become someone’s partner! We need you to stay a star of all single nobles.

Alfons: Yes, yes, such was my intention.

Drunken nobleman: So you say, but your heart’s already taken by that person, isn’t it?

Alfons: Hehe, I digress.

Man smoking a cigar: …Let’s just leave it at that. If we question him any more, he may never come again, and that would sure put us in a bind.

Man smoking a cigar: Even if his heart’s got its sights set on someone, it’s fine as long as he shares some of that pleasure… isn’t that right?

Noble lady with gloves: Well, I suppose. Ahh, I hope my father gives up on matters of my marriage soon…

(‘My heart’s already taken by that person’… huh.)

When I heard those words that seemed to embody the soul of romanticism,

Kate was the one and sole person who came to mind, and for a moment, I felt called out.

——You hurt me so much and leave me in the dust, but now you decide to commit? That’s just cruel…!

At some point, the little robin had made its home within my mind, making an angered face and suddenly turning away.

(Hehe… it’s not as though I’m committing.)

Alfons: Perhaps I do have some guilt left in me… ah, it’s a straight flush.

Drunken man: Al’s win again?!

As I was staring in a daze at the trump cards raining and fluttering down,

just as I had intended, time melted away into idleness.

I ended up drinking through the night until dawn and having a meat pie from a street seller for breakfast, I returned to the castle, and——

Alfons: Oh?

In a stroke of bad luck, I happened upon Roger and Miss Kate walking together.

Kate: Ah... w-welcome back.

Roger: Hey there, Al.

Leaving aside the mentally strong former doctor who, regardless whether he was aware he was being hated on, would initiate a conversation with a light tone and carefree smile,

Miss Kate very obviously looked awkward.

(I can’t even flatter your acting skills.)

She was the complete opposite of me, who had a lot of practice when it came to plastering on a smile.

Alfons: Well I’ll be, are you on your way to a most friendly outing, the two of you?

Kate: Ah, no, we’re...

Roger: What, curiosity got you piqued?

As if to make a point, Roger wrapped his arm around Kate’s shoulder snugly.

Kate: Roger!? What are you doing—

Roger: Alright then, let me fill you in. We’re gonna be spending the whole entire day holed up in a locked room, just the two of us. Let’s get along now, yeah?

(This man needs to get a hobby.)

(I hardly have any intention of hopping on that cheap provocation.)

Alfons: Oh my, is that so? It would appear you’ve found yourself a lovely playmate while I was not around. I’m happy for you, Miss Kate.

Kate: …

I gave a smile to convey I didn’t think anything of it, and Miss Kate, as though hurt, furrowed her brows.

(Aha, you poor soul, you.)

I figured she probably wasn’t clinging to Roger in hopes that he would heal her broken heart.

I knew very well that she was hardly the type to be able to do such things.

Her single-mindedness in facing me no matter how much I refused or hurt her was staunch to be sure.

(And that’s exactly what makes her different from me… I suppose.)

(Well, whether she’ll make it out safely from the basement after being alone with this man is a different story…)

(But it doesn’t have anything to do with me, so.)

The moment I tried to leave, Miss Kate opened her mouth, as though trying to pull me back.

Kate: Alfons..!

Alfons: ? Yes, what is it?

Kate: ...I still very much like you.

Alfons: ...Come again?

Roger: ... (O_O)

It was such a sudden confession of love, I stiffened out of instinct.

(………Has she gone bonkers?)

(You do know I’m the man who played your feelings of love, and to top it all off, told you it was all a ‘nuisance’ and left the bed, right?)

And yet she still insisted on pouring these dazzling words on me; what else could I think her as, if not crazy?

Kate: Even if this all amounts to a nuisance to you... this is the ‘truth’ for me, so.

Alfons: .........

(Ah, now I’ve done it. This should be the part where I laugh it all off.)

I needed to make her think that, no matter how earnestly she threw her feelings at me, they would never get through, so she could give up on me.

(So that these feelings of love she holds for me amounts to nothing but garbage…)

(I need to laugh at her, to deny her——)

My mind knew that, and yet for some reason, my lips couldn’t form a smile.

Kate: Okay, we’re going, Roger.

Miss Kate, seeming as though she wanted to run from my silence, ran down the staircase leading to the basement.

Roger: Pfft, haha... I feel like I haven’t seen you so dumbfounded in forever.

As Kate’s footsteps grew more distant, I heard an unpleasant laughter.

I hated how this man would not seem to pay any mind to the feelings of others like that.

Alfons: ...Oh, believe me, she is far from the first who’s rendered me so positively dumbfounded like this.

Roger: Hmm? So is it safe to say she’s no different than anyone else to you then?

R: Because if so, I may or may not end up stealing her away for real.

While slowly turning for the staircase, those egoistic lips showed a provoking smile.

Roger: After all, it’s not like you’d really care what happens to a toy you don’t need anymore, right?

Alfons: ………

Perhaps the reason I felt displeasure rise up from within me was because the one before me was a man filled with haughty arrogance.

Or was it because she was the one getting stolen?

(Whichever it is, I shouldn’t care for the answer.)

(Because, in any case, I didn’t have such a choice to step even further into her life to find the reason for this temporary displeasure.)

If that was the case, thinking on it was foolish. And yet——

Her lips, which were trembling as she declared how she ‘still liked me,’

the palms of her hands, which were gripped tightly together as though grasping onto courage,

and those eyes that looked so directly at me, as if to say to not misunderstand,

were all engraved into the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

The heavy footsteps going down the staircase grated on my ears, severely so.

For the feeling of a favorite toy being stolen away, it felt extremely bitter.

(Is this… jealousy? Me, of all people? But, how?)

The notion of getting something I said I didn’t need taken away, and then still feeling displeased over it and whatnot, was much like a child’s selfishness.

And besides——

(…The most I was able to do was imitate love, feeling nothing but emotional disconnect.)

Alfons: …I suppose the biggest mystery to one is themself.

Labeling the jealousy I felt that bubbled up from somewhere in me as ‘meaningless,’ I threw it behind me.

Thinking on it more would only make my helplessness more clear than it already was.

Hoping to idle the time away, I walked to my room, when all of a sudden, a certain question came to mind.

(Come to think of it, if they’re not doing anything shady, then what in the world are those two doing in the basement…?)

For a moment, I felt a sense of unease.

Miss Kate, who had said she ‘still liked me,’

was with Roger, the one who spouted off some nonsense about ‘changing fates’ and whatnot,

and they were in the basement, where a lot of documents concerning ‘Cursed ones’ were abundant, which would mean…

Alfons: …Now that just can’t be. She wouldn’t be so much a fool as to not know when to not give up, would she.

I denied it with my voice, but my chest got more and more filled with that uneasy feeling.

(What if, even after I pushed her away this far, it was already too late?)

(What if she poured even more of her feelings into me, continuing to spend more time with me——?)

Alfons: …Should that time ever come,

A: Perhaps I should simply up and disappear, just like that.

← back next →

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️ ╱ comms 🤍

NOTE: this is the last his side story i will translate, and the last chapter i will translate concerning alfons main story. thank you for accompanying me so long in this translation, to those who have read it all! it really means a lot to me! i enjoy translating for al lots, and i hope that came through as you were reading overall 🥹🙏

to those who will be reading his route in en, i hope you enjoy what this roller coaster of a route has to offer! theres a lot of complexities woven into his route thats sure give you something to think about. i translated this last chapter to close off the project, putting in my best wishes for you 🫶

i have heard from those who have read what i did for elbies main story that reading my tl has helped enhance their reading experience in en, and i hope this can do the same for you! or if you cant afford the premium stories or dont want to grind for these his side stories, i hope i could provide a way for you to access them more freely. again, thank you to everyone who has supported me, read my tls, interacted with these posts, etc.

its largely thanks to you that i can close this project and look back on it with positive memories! 🪞🤍✨

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia

[oleander-nin]

The Weight of a Letter

A/N: And we're back! Hi! Sorry for the long hiatus, the story is(hopefully) finally all figure out. I'm going to try and post a chap every other Wednesday, but we'll see how that goes. Apologies in advance, I completely failed Donnie's personality, and this seems kinda rushed, but I promised Wednesday, so here you go. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

Words: 2327

Content warnings: Not much for this chap??? Mentions of mutation, reader watching Donnie, staring, my writing, multi-chap fic

Summary: The first one I received was innocent. Nothing more than a love letter from a secret admirer. But as more letters came, so did the fear and paranoia. Guess secret admirers aren't so romantic after all.

Taglist? If you want to be added or removed, just say so: @ssak-i @sinister-things @ancreativename @t0ta11y-n0t-cup1d @idiotreblogger

Chapter One: A First Glance

The familiar worn-down sign of Repo-Mantis’ junkyard brought a smile to my face, the broken motorcycle I was pushing creaking with each turn of its wheels. I glance around while I walk through the gate, trying to spot the purple mantis mutant who owns the yard. I press my lips into a thin line, my head whipping back and forth as I scan the yard for its owner. I had to drop the old motorcycle off today, I couldn’t wait any longer. If I didn’t do it today, I knew my parents would throw a hissy fit, and I really didn’t want to get grounded right before they left town.

 I frown, not seeing him around. I set the motorcycle by the old shack he calls his office, dusting off my pants as I begin to aimlessly walk around, my eyes peeled for the owner. My head snaps to the side as I hear the familiar sound of someone digging through the junk, metal hitting metal in loud clangs and clashes. I walk towards the sound, my footsteps making a dull thud against the ground every time I take a step. Maybe it was Repo, digging through his junk for some coin he dropped again. Rounding a trash pile, I saw what was digging through the piles of junk. Their back was turned to me, the purple armor thing on his back opening as two thin metal poles came out and started helping the mutant search.

I look in awe, half-hiding behind the pile of junk as I watch the mutant at work. I couldn’t believe there were more out there. Especially one who was both pretty and looked to be my age. I thought Repo and the odd villain was all there was. I felt a bit bad. I saw Ruppert Swaggert mutate on TV. Twice. Plus, Repo’s own stories he had told me after hours of my begging. I can’t imagine it was a pleasant experience, having his humanity ripped away to become a mutant. Sure, he was pretty as a mutant, but most preferred not being outcasts. I was just glad the Government wasn’t rounding them all up.

I snap myself out of my thoughts, returning to watch the mutant at work as I pretend I wasn’t being a total creep. His focus was sharp as he inspected every piece he picked up before either storing it in his armor thing or throwing it onto another pile. I tilt my head, studying him. He seemed so… Intense? I couldn’t place it, but he seemed to be completely immersed in the junk he was sorting through. His head lifts a bit, and I see a glimpse of his face, and the markings on his shoulders. My brow furrows, trying to think. I knew I had seen him before somewhere, but I couldn’t place where. I shrug. It probably wasn’t important.

I shift behind the pile, trying to get a better view. My knee nudges a piece of metal out of place, crashing loudly to the ground. I stare at the large sheet of metal dumbly for a couple of seconds before lifting my head up, meeting the gaze of the seemingly angry green mutant.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” He hisses out, glaring at me. I put my hands up in mock surrender, laughing nervously. I didn’t mean to offend him, I was just… Curious. Plus, he was really pretty. I couldn’t explain it. I was drawn to him in a way.

“I’m so sorry, I was just looking for Repo and then I found you and then I got lost in my head and I know I must’ve looked like a creep and I’m so sorry.” I cut myself off from my ramble at his look of disinterest, my mouth pressing into a line as I rock back and forth on my feet. “Sorry.” I say again, trying to make myself seem like less of a weirdo.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the pile of junk, ready to ignore me once more. “Repo’s gone. He’ll be back in around an hour.”

I puff out my cheeks in frustration, unhappy with this turn of events. “Do you mind if I just hang out with you then?” I ask, already plopping myself down next to him. The mutant eyes me with a look of mild disgust, rolling his eyes at my presence.

“Yes.”

I chuckle at the annoyance in his voice, grinning at him. He ignores me, continuing to sort through the piles of scrap. I pat at my legs, trying to think of something to say or do to pass the time. I continue to watch him sort in interest, humming softly to myself. “So, what’s your name?”

“No.” He responds, not even sparing me a glance. I shrug, not really taking it personally. I wouldn’t be too fond of someone who appeared to be stalking me just moments before either.

“I’m (Y/n).” I say, offering my hand for him to shake.

“I don’t remember asking.” He replies, one of his tech arms pushing my hand away. I bring it back to my legs, tapping out a pattern on my hips. He seems agitated at my continued presence, his drawn on eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?!”

“Nope!” I say, grinning at him. He frowns, displeased with my answer. He grumbles something under his breath I can’t quite understand, but I assume it’s some not so nice words towards me. Oh well, I was being a bit of a nuisance, but I liked his company. Even if he was completely shut off towards me. 

I watch a small beetle crawl across the ground, pulling my knees to my chest in appreciation of the insect. Its tiny legs carried it across the dirt and through the small sprouts of grass, on its way to wherever its little bug brain decided. I grin, happy to have some form of entertainment. The mutant next to me, however, did not seem to find the same appreciation for the small beetle, as his junk pile seemed to have conveniently been moved directly on top of the bug. I let out an offended gasp, trying to free the poor thing from its metal prison. My hands grip the compacted metal and yank it up, my cheeks puffing out because it was only the size of my hand, so why does this stupid thing weigh like fifteen pounds. 

The purple-coded mutant looks at me in worry at my loud gasp, his eyes scanning me as he takes a moment to try and figure out what was wrong. I angrily point at the smashed beetle, glaring at the now murderer. “You crushed Bartholomew Henry the Third with your careless throwing of the scrap! Apologize immediately.” I demand playfully, pouting as I gesture towards the bug's smashed body.

He did not seem impressed with my antics. He glances at the beetle before looking back up at me, blinking slowly. “It’s dead. You can’t apologize to something that’s dead, dumdum.” He states, exasperated. I let out another laugh and he huffs, turning away from me once more. I carefully pick up the squashed beetle, placing it next to me as I start to dig a small hole in the dirt. I can tell the mutant is watching me through the corner of his eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes held a curiosity towards my actions, trying to figure out what I was doing without showing that he was interested. He was a funny one, watching him made me grin.

Once I deem my hole deep enough, I pick up the bug carcass and carefully place it in. I push the dirt back into the hole, patting it down firm. I take a small piece of wire and carefully twist it into a small U, placing it at the head of the grave to make a gravestone. I smile down at my work, patting the dirt mound once more. I hear Donnie rustling through the junk next to me, no longer paying attention to my grave digging. Whether he got uninterested in watching, or just felt it complete enough to no longer pay attention to, I don’t know. 

He pulls out another thing from the junk, his face lighting up. It was thick, and was more of a rounded square than anything. It had a small cooling fan in the middle of it, red plating, and a couple wires sticking out. I watch his face as his hands rhythmically tap the surface of the object, his body more or less vibrating in joy. “Oh sweet Galileo, I found it!”

I look at the part in his hand curiously, unable to tell what it is. It looked like junk to me, with frayed wires coming out of its main build and scratches and dents covering it. I looked at the turtle, expecting an explanation, but he was too busy messing with the things wires. “What’s that?”

“A part for something I’m building,” He says, a smug smile stretching across his face. He looks at me for once, proud of his find. He holds the equipment piece up with one hand, his other moving around him quickly as he talks. Most of it flew over my head, but it all seemed so cool. I glance around his face, trying to take in all his words. He was finally talking to me, and I couldn’t be more elated. “It’s a state of the art compact motor, I need it for a specific project of mine. It’ll be able to make my tech run so much smoother, I just need to fix it up first.”

“Wait, your tech. Do you mean like the armor on your back?” I ask, looking at his weird armor once more. He sits up straighter, seeming happy with my question. He puts the motor into his back armor, winding up for an explanation. I sit up straighter, crossing my legs and putting my hands in my lap, ready to learn more about his tech. He seems to beam in delight at my new position, clearing his throat and readying to talk.

“This ‘armor’ as you call it is my battle shell. It’s a piece of tech I made to help me, having many beneficial tools that are at my disposal. It’s made of military grade titanium, being able to withstand high amounts of damage without being even so much as scratched.” A smug smile grows on his face once more, his eyes lighting up in delight to the fact I was actually listening to him. I grin, nodding as I look at his battle shell in awe. 

“You made this?! That’s so cool! You’re like, a super genius or something!”

His ego grows more at my praise and he seems to inflate some, puffing out his chest in pride. He continues to explain more about his battle shell, showing me all of its cool features while I look on in awe. Everything he did was so impressive, I was starting to understand his overinflated ego. Sure, I still kind of hated it, but at least he knows how incredible he was. I tilt my head as he talks, my eyes watching him with a small sadness.

“Do you miss being human?” I ask softly. I knew Repo did, and I had always felt bad for him. He seemed to have figured life out after all this time, coping with his new body. But this guy next to me? He seemed to be around my age, only a young adult. I couldn’t imagine having your humanity ripped away from you like that.

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing in confusion. His hands come down to rest by his side, looking at me strangely. “I was never human.” He says curtly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I was created by a scientist as a weapon to destroy humanity,” He says, a strange grin on his face. It felt like he was trying to scare me and I rolled my eyes, smiling a bit. “I started out as a normal softshell turtle. Now, I am a mutant. Don’t pity me, I’m not weak nor upset with my current situation.” 

I wilt a little, the familiar burn of embarrassment flooding me. I look at the ground, laughing nervously. “Oh. My bad. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay.”

We both sit in awkward silence for a moment, neither of us knowing how to continue. Or, at least, I didn’t. The softshell seemed perfectly content on ignoring me to look through the junk once more. My head snaps towards the gate, the sound of heavy footsteps sounding through the junkyard. I catch a glimpse of the purple mantis, standing up and brushing off my pants. Donnie watches me curiously, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what I’m doing. Instead of making him guess, I offer an explanation. “Repo’s back. I need to head out. Bye!”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re just… Leaving?” The softshell asks, his voice losing the cocky edge it had the entire time we talked. I smile sadly, rubbing the back of my neck in guilt. “Yeah… I’m really sorry, I wasn’t even supposed to be here for this long. My parents are leaving on a really long business trip in a couple months, and I need to help them get everything in line before they go. I’m so sorry.” My face falls slightly, I really don’t want to leave yet. The purple-coded mutant was funny, if a bit egotistical. I genuinely enjoyed our talk. “Maybe I’ll see you again some other time.” 

The mutant nods, a smile coming across his face as he thinks. There was an odd glint in his eye, a look I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll see you soon then. Goodbye, (Y/n).”

next part

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

December Writing Challenge: Day 1

Writing a little story under 1000 words for every day of December, or at least, I'm trying to. So of course, I immediately start off the challenge by writing something that's almost 2000 words.

Ah well. This was kind of cathartic, almost.

I hope you enjoy. The story is also pasted in its entirety under the cut.

Seam: A line along which two pieces of fabric are sewn together.

Agott watches the thin, perfect line be drawn onto the paper. The motion of Coco’s hand is carefully exact, but far from slow; instead, it’s a fluid movement from end to end, with the kind of continuous follow-through and lack of jitter that can only come from years of practice. She watches as Coco adds each line, evenly spaced out in radial fashion, precise as an arrow, straight and true.

A part of her still feels a twinge of jealousy in the shadows of her heart, but she tamps down that ugly bitterness as forcefully as she can. It’s getting easier to do these days, the welling of resentment no longer a flood, more easily overwhelmed in turn by her eagerness to watch as Coco drew something new and wonderful.

Eager. Eager? No. No no, eager is more Coco’s word. Enamoured, even. Entranced. Stars lighting up in her eyes.

Interest. Interest is a better word for Agott, she thinks. A hint of pride, perhaps, but that might be pushing it.

Regardless. She watches Coco’s movements with detached intellectual interest and certainly not eagerness or affection -

“Agott? Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Agott’s head shoots up. She blinks. Coco is smiling at her, her head tilted to the side in some puzzlement.

“You were watching me draw. Did I make a mistake?”

“Wait, I wasn’t - What? No, there’s nothing wrong with…”

She blinks again. Her brows furrow.

A power sigil. Fine. But the signs around it… pull and also push? Converge at one point then disperse… not bad, but… the directions…

“This isn’t going to work, is it…?” Coco mumbles.

“I don’t know what this is supposed to do,” Agott says bluntly, picking it up and scrutinizing it.

Coco just sighs and flops back against a pillar. Agott glances at the rest of her spells. Different sigils, in varying stages of completion…

“What are you even working on? These all look completely different.”

“Well,” says Coco, rubbing at her eye. “I was thinking about… everything that happened on Silver Night Eve… the Procession… the…”

She trails off. There’s no need to continue when Agott knows exactly what she means. She shudders.

“And I suppose I just… can’t settle down yet.”

“Oh. So that’s why I found you out here again. I figured it was something like that.”

If she’s being honest, Agott feels similarly. She doesn’t think either of them had acted more confidently than they had in that moment, but on the other end, when things go back to quiet and peace, it can be hard to get your mind to do the same.

So, when she’d seen Coco seated atop a stone battlement, just as before the Procession, her pen scratching ink onto paper, Agott had taken her quick smile and silence as the open invitation it was, and seated herself beside her. Low-stakes magic seemed like a great plan right about then.

“Even so…” Agott frowns, reaching out for one of the loose sheets Coco had tossed aside. Light sigil, long line... “What were you trying to do with this one?”

Coco shoots up suddenly and lunges for the paper.

“Ah! No, nothing really! It’s not-”

Her hand crumples the one end, inadvertently closing the magic circle.

Both girls yelp and latch onto each other to keep from falling backwards off the battlement as a burst of light shoots out like an arrow into the sky, looping around in a few circles before fizzling to nothing in the span of two seconds.

They pant for a moment, eyes wide and startled, before Agott whirls on Coco, who squeaks.

“Why’d you make the keystone so long?! Again!”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Coco wails, burying her face in her palms. “My hand started cramping and the line just… kept going! That’s why I got rid of it!”

“Why are you still drawing if your hand is cramping up? That means it’s time to stop!”

“I just had more ideas!” Coco flusters, gesticulating with her arms wildly. “More things that my magic could help with! I just didn’t want to forget them so I thought I’d test them out!”

“Then just write down the ideas so you can think them through first, instead of wasting your ink and paper,” Agott scolds.

“I… that’s… true, Agott,” Coco trails off, glancing to the side, downcast.

Agott sighs.

“But… you wanted results, right? It’s not the ideas. It’s making them come to life. Making them actually happen.”

“Yes! That’s it!” Coco says, clasping her hands together. “I knew you’d get it!”

Agott coughs.

“Yes, well… maybe you should just do something simple then, if that’s what you want, instead of playing around with these big ideas you haven’t really worked on yet. Just… draw some magic. It doesn’t have to solve the world’s problems. You already did a lot. Draw what will make you happy and satisfied, right now.”

Coco blinks, like the thought hadn’t occurred to her, and Agott glares.

“Don’t tell me you already forgot what I told you!”

“I haven’t. I have to make magic for myself, too, right?”

“Right. Good,” says Agott sharply. Her eyes close and she huffs. “I’m glad you were listening.”

Coco laughs lightly, like the tinkling of a bell.

“I’m always listening to you, Agott. And watching,” she says, as if this declaration is something natural, and not something that sends her reeling whenever she hears it. “I learn so much from you, and everyone at the atelier. I suppose that’s why I get ahead of myself.”

And while Agott fumbles with what to say after that, Coco flexes her hands and picks up a pen, staring eagerly at a blank page.

“Okay! What kind of magic should I draw?”

She presses the tip of her pen almost to the paper then suddenly winces, squeezing the base of her palm with her other hand.

“Ow.”

Agott clicks her tongue and sighs wearily, pulling out her palm quire and pen.

“Take a break. I’ll draw.”

Coco pauses in the act of massaging her hand, looking down at Agott’s notebook, then gasping with delight.

“I get to see more of Agott’s magic…!”

“Yeah, you do, so what do you want to see?” Agott says through her teeth, caught somewhere between exasperation and laughter.

Coco scoots up closer, eagerly peering at the prepared glyphs as Agott flips through them.

“Hm, how about the beacon?”

“The beacon?” Agott thinks, then frowns. “That, again?”

Coco just shrugs.

“…I can do more impressive things than that, you know…” she huffs, but all the same, she flips to the page with the beacon of light spell, then pauses. Thinks a bit. Flips to a blank page. Coco furrows her brow and looks up in confusion.

How did that unfinished spell go again? She etches out the beginnings of her original glyph; the central light sigil, the decorative sigils on either side. Then, carefully, she adapts it.

Coco leans in ever closer, until she is close enough that Agott can see the exact moment comprehension dawns on her.

“Ah! That’s-”

“You know, it actually might have worked if you hadn’t slipped on the final stroke.”

“Ahaha… really? I was trying to make a guide of sorts. I thought it might be useful if people were trapped in the dark, if their light was drawn towards another light source…”

Agott nods, not looking up from her work.

“I figured it was something like that.”

“Ah, but then I started realizing that wasn’t a good idea at all, really… or at least, not without some serious improvements… it’d be bad if the guide led people to something dangerous that just so happens to glow…”

Agott snorts.

“Yeah, that would be bad.”

“You figured out what I was aiming for just from that brief look though, Agott?” Coco asks, then smiles admiringly. “You really work so hard at your studies.”

One final stroke before the spell can be closed. Agott pauses, and glances up.

“It’s not just that.”

“Eh?”

“I also know the kind of magic you make. I…” Agott frowns, purses her lips, mumbles. “I watch you too, you know.”

Coco blinks, opens her mouth. Closes it.

“You do?” she asks, with some wonder.

You make it very hard not to.

Agott does not say this.

“Yeah, but right now, I’m the one making magic, so you’re the one who should be watching carefully!”

Coco nods, her face set into serious student mode, hands in fists on her knees.

Agott, slowly, carefully, draws the final keystone as Coco watches; a thin, straight line, one continuous fluid motion, from end to end.

She closes the circle.

Light blossoms from the page and coalesces into the shape of a small bird. It sparkles like a silent firework as it zips immediately towards Coco to hover inches before her face. She gasps softly and smiles.

It’s just a roughshod variant of a spell Agott knows by heart, having worked and worked on the original to perfection. These adaptations to it are far from perfect; a smattering of loose ideas from two overtired apprentices, clumsily adhered to a base. The spell hovers and sparks unevenly in a way that would never impress any witch worth their salt, and immediately Agott is critiquing and adjusting the spell work in her head; a second nature at this point to pick and pick away at everything she makes until she barely feels the enthusiasm she’d had for the idea at the outset.

But Coco sees stars in even the simplest magic, always, always, like she’s witnessing it for the first time. The wonder spreads across her face as she reaches out to gently cup her hands beneath the little bird, like she’s holding something precious, in spite of all imperfections.

The lights glow in Coco’s bright eyes and the beam of her smile, trickling down like gold-dust embers, and not for the first time, Agott is reminded of the love she has for her craft in and of itself; the signs on the page, the long hours spent studying, the beauty and skill that she strives for.

The steady and confident weight of a pen in her hand.

[marmotish]

I know Talbott probably isnt a person who likes hugs a lot but he deserves one so maybe the 33 one(the hug from that one person who is allowed to hug you ) from the hug prompt? idk if u did that one already. Btw love your art <3

((thanks hon! ⭐️))

ok so Talbott and Freyja are both not-really-into-hugs and then I thought back to the Flying Solo SQ where Talbott tells MC about his parents - like if anyone needs a hug it’s the kid who confides in you about losing his parents and the impact it had on him, yeah? Ha…

“What are you doing?”

Freyja’s fingertips had barely brushed Talbott’s shoulder when she froze at the sudden sound of his voice. An answer to this question didn’t come straight away, instead an awkward silence began to weave its way around the two. The only sounds now were the night breeze through the tower, along with the hesitant shuffling of feet on the floor.

“Just …”

Just doing what people are supposed to do in this situation, right? Hug?

Talbott shook his head, eyes trained on the floor in front of his feet. “You don’t need to do that.”

Freyja hesitated, then withdrew her arm back to her side. It was a bit of a relief, if she was being honest. She wasn’t one for hugs, really. Even with her family she was always on the receiving end of hugs, reciprocating with far less intensity. And Talbott wasn’t one to play games using reverse psychology, so if he said she didn’t need to hug him, she really didn’t.

Distant laughter rang out from one of the Ravenclaw dormitories, helping to break the silence that permeated the atmosphere.

“I don’t know what to do then.” Freyja said quietly, almost to herself.

At this, Talbott huffed out a breath of air. It could almost have passed for laughter. “You don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to.”

A comfort, to be sure. Yet Freyja still felt like she’d missed an opportunity to show a little emotion in the face of what was evidently a vulnerable moment for her new friend.. “Sort of feels like I should do something though.”

Only a little over year ago, you couldn’t have paid the majority of her peers enough to sit next to her in class. Now she was a curse-breaker and a member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, both of which completely overhauled her social life. Navigating all these new friendships had certainly required a lot of effort. She thought she was catching on to all the nuances of friendship pretty quickly, but apparently she’d misstepped in this particular interaction.

Talbott shuffled aside a little to put a bit of distance between the two of them, then turned to face her straight on. “I get that you’re probably trying to be nice by offering a hug, and if you were someone like Penny then I wouldn’t have said anything.”

Freyja frowned. Like Penny? Blonde? A Hufflepuff?

“Penny’s a hugger by nature.” Talbot explained. “Do I enjoy it? Not particularly, but I appreciate it. Because that’s honestly how she expresses herself. How she shows a friend she’s there for them. But you know, she never expects me to hug her.”

“Aye well, she’d be better off waiting for hell to freeze over if that wasn’t the case…”

Talbot snorted. “Well maybe not that unlikely, but it would be a pretty rare occasion.”

Freyja began to relax a little, the conversation seemingly moving away from her misguided attempt to hug him. She adjusted her sitting position to better appreciate the expanse of the night sky, dotted with countless stars, stretching out over the highlands.

“The thing is that she doesn’t want or expect me to act out a friendship that isn’t true to my own personality. Not wanting to hug my friend all the time doesn’t make me a bad friend, or a cold person. It’s just who I am.” Talbott continued. “And I don’t want or expect that of you either. If you genuinely want to offer a consolation hug, then go ahead. I won’t mind. But I’d be just as happy sitting and talking.”

Well this was embarrassing. Here Freyja was trying to comfort Talbott after sharing the story of how he lost his parents, and yet now he was reassuring her that not being physically affectionate was not a character defect. The corners of her mouth pulled up a little at this.

“I like the sitting and talking option.”

Talbott grinned. “me too.”

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I was going to make this a reblog of this post, as it is an update to that, but I figured it’d make it its own thing. The point is, though, that contrary to what I said in the previous post: it’s okay. Nish Kumar did not lie to me. Mike Birbiglia was all those things people said. He just wasn’t those things in 2004. In 2004, I maintain, he was Demitri Martin.

I’ve just finished a crash course in Mike Birbiglia, which as been very enjoyable. It’s definitely one of those things I should have done a long time ago. Starting with Dog Years from 2004, when he was Demitri Martin. I mean, he really was Demitri Martin. It’s good, I like Demitri Martin. And I’ve already heard all his albums/DVDs, so I enjoyed listening to Dog Years, like it was a secret new Demitri Martin album. But it was not what I’d been told. It was slow talking deadpan one-liners, from a guy I’d been promised with the king of American storytelling comedy.

The next stop on my crash course was Two Drink Mike, from 2006. This was mostly the same material from Dog Years, though he talked a little faster in it and therefore didn’t quite sound exactly like Demitri Martin anymore. There were a few new things. A song at the end that was just a bunch of callbacks in a row with a guitar over them – early indication that he was getting into structure? A new joke about the time he wanted to murder his girlfriend in a restaurant. Not so much “women be crazy” material that it completely turned me off him – noticeably less of that sort of thing than you’d normally get from 00s comedians. But still some of that. Which contributed to me not understanding why he’d been sold to me as someone who rose above the pack, even though he had some good jokes in there. A few very good jokes, I thought. But still. I’ve already heard Demitri Martin, and I’ve already heard male comedians from 2006 say their girlfriends are crazy. Why is this supposed to be something amazingly new to me?

Then I get to the My Secret Public Journal album (I think that was the name of a blog he had, and also the titled of a comedy album in which he told stories from his blog) in 2007, and I could immediately start to see where this was going. That one had some very funny stories in it, and most of them took more than about 40 seconds to tell. Nothing incredibly deep, but there was some meaning to them, and that added to the humour. A few of his quicker jokes from the previous albums got expanded into stories, and I thought they were funnier that way. He ended on his longest story, about a baseball game, which I also thought was his best story. So he was clearly starting to work out the longer form stuff works better for him.

Then I got to the really good stuff, and it turns out no one lied to me about that. I’d been told before, by various people (including, but not limited to, Nish Kumar) that Sleepwalk with Me (2011) and My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend (2013) were his best ones, these masterpieces of introspective narrative comedy that we don’t normally associate with Americans but he does it very well. The earlier steps in this crash course did make me slightly skeptical, but I needn’t have been. No one was lying.

Of the two, and in fact of all them, Sleepwalk with Me was my favourite. Just brilliantly structured, I thought. It sneaks up on you, it doesn’t feel rigid as it’s going along, but by the end everything falls into place. Little threads from the beginning that get bigger at a steady pace and then all come back. It’s definitely introspective and narrative. I don’t know what happened to the one-liner guy. My best guess is he wrote a blog for a while and realized he’s better at doing stories than being Demitri Martin (even though, honestly, he wasn’t bad at being Demitri Martin).

It helped that he had a really distinctive story for Sleepwalk with Me. Most of us do not have sleepwalking disorders that cause us to do dangerous stuff, so it’s interesting to hear someone talk about what that’s like (though a guy I went to high school with did die a few years after graduation by jumping out a window during a night terror, so I am personally aware that he is not fucking kidding when he says that shit is fucking dangerous). That’s pretty much what the show is – half about sleepwalking, half about a failing relationship. I usually don’t bother much with spoiler alerts on this blog, figuring anyone reading it has already seen the stuff or isn’t going to, but in this case, the way it built up into an interesting narrative was so well done that I do want to hold back from spoiling it entirely. In case anyone, like me from about a year ago until about two days ago, has this on their list of things to get to at some point but hasn’t gotten to it yet.

I will say I’m really impressed by how funny he managed to be even during the harrowing bits. Normally in a show like this, you have the funny parts, and then they stop being funny to be sad or sentimental for a bit, and then maybe go back to being funny, and then there’s a dramatic conclusion. Sleepwalk with Me did do that for most of the show, and the conclusion was very dramatic, in a dark way, but did not take a break from being funny. I laughed really hard all the way through the ending, which is weird given the subject matter, but he told it so well.

My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend was a similar thing – starts out with a bunch of personal stories in which he drops a few common threads, and those threads get picked up later on and expanded upon and tied together, and then it all works out into a nice neat package. This one has a topic that immediately appealed to me less than sleepwalking: it’s basically, at it’s underlying core, the story of how he got married. And I am not normally a big fan of “how I got married” shows, even if you do what he did, and preface it by saying he never used to want to get married. Maybe that’s why I didn’t love this one as much as the previous one, or maybe it just wasn’t quite as strong. But I still thought it was very, very good. Not as good as the previous one is a relative term, they were both brilliant.

It wasn’t just one long story about his marriage. It was all on theme, all related to the topic, but most of it was context. Stories of awkward failed romances from his adolescence and college years. Hardly unbroken ground in comedy, but as far as those stories go, I liked these a lot. They were sweet and funny and sometimes pretty fucked up, as these stories often are. There really is no shortage of guys in their thirties telling audiences about how awkward they were when trying to sleep with girls they liked in their teens and twenties. Mike Birbiglia just happens to be really good at it.

I will say I think I liked the non-romantic bits of this show better than the romantic ones. There was a throughline about a car accident, and relentless anger and need to prove himself right, in that instance and in life in general, that I thought was a really compelling story. And some stuff about his friendship with someone that I also found compelling.

Then we jump to 2016, with Thank God For Jokes. A bit different from those other two, but still very much in the narrative/theme area. This one was slightly more philosophical, getting into his views on what comedy is and what it should be and why it matters. Some stuff about artistic integrity that I’d usually hear expressed with at least a bit of irony, but I rather liked the way he expressed it sincerely. Still very personal in that it was stories about his own life, but felt slightly less personal than the previous two, in that it was stories about his career instead of his dangerous medical condition or love life. It happens that his career is an industry I find fascinating, and that he has intelligent and insightful things to say about it, so I had a very enjoyable 80-ish minutes of listening to him do that.

It was still structured narrative, just on a different subject. He told stories of his own gigs to make points about comedy. And some stories of his own life, times he said or didn’t say jokes, times people he knew said or didn’t say jokes. Stories that crossed paths and came together in some lovely ways, at times.

Finally, I got to The New One, his 2019 Netflix special. This one, with me as the audience member, had a lot working against it. If I’m immediately a little biased against “I got married”-based comedy shows, “I had a kid”-based shows are really not my favourite. “I didn’t want to have a kid but had the kid anyway because my partner wanted to” is… certainly an interesting take on it. Marks it out as different, at least, from the many other comedians who write an hour on that subject after they have a kid. I’m trying to think of another comedian who’s hit that point as hard, and the only person coming to mind is Alfie Brown, which is an extremely weird comparison. I apologize for putting them in the same sentence. Alfie Brown is sufficiently different from Mike Birbiglia so I don’t think he’s a threat to the originality of the premise.

This show got surprisingly dark, for an “I had a kid” show. Weirdly dark, at times. In ways that I thought sometimes worked very well, and sometimes were rather uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in a way that can be good, but I don’t know if it always was here. It’s a rather harrowing, listening to a parent explain that he’s not sure he should have become a parent (not saying that’s literally how he feels, but it’s a show about some times in the early years of parenting when he did temporarily feel that way). It’s a very cold reality of life, that that happens sometimes. And it makes it hard for me to totally buy into the story, because I just keep thinking… yep, this is why I think having kids is usually a bad idea. You sound like you expect us to disagree with you about the downsides, but I don’t, and you’re not showing me a lot of upsides here. And then shit just gets dark.

There are some nice heartwarming bits near the very end, which I think are needed, to balance out the fairly rough ride to get there. And lots of it was funny, that definitely helps. Takes some of the sting out of it when he can deliver a laugh at the right moment, which he seems to have an expert ability to do. It’s a good story. It seems like an important story, being honest about the realities of that stuff. Just not always an easy story to listen to.

So that was my Mike Birbiglia crash course. It went in some interesting directions - some that I'd expected, some that I hadn't. I enjoyed it quite a lot. It does make me curious to find out what direction he's going next, after all the previous stops on the journey.

[sablegear0]

I have some Thoughts about the season-ender of Technoroid Overmind. Spoilers to follow obviously

First, it felt like it should have been two episodes. Granted, the whole season felt fast-tracked, I suspect they were only given a dozen episodes worth of space with no plans for a Season 2. But I would have liked to see more elaboration on the escape/Babel infiltration bit, since that’s probably a huge undertaking, actually. I can’t imagine security would be so lax for an event like that, especially with the Exclusionist bloc pulling the strings.

Second, I think they could have done a bit more with the epilogue-y bits/time-skip scenes. If the infiltration plot could have been its own episode, the performance and aftermath could have used more space, too. The short scenes we got lend themselves to some good analysis but I personally would have liked just a bit more material.

I also would have liked to see what Bora and Nobel got up to. Obviously, because I am smitten, (I was robbed of Bora’s emotional awakening scene you jerks) but less obviously because the implied changes were actually pretty subtle until the very end. It was nice they managed to get Bora’s detective partner on board; I think it’s fine to omit that exchange but it could have been an interesting one to see. Especially given Bora’s very brief epilogue. I can make some guesses as to what’s going on there (most likely he’s gone rogue or undercover to dig into the World Government conspiracy, hence fleeing from some random goons) but all we know for sure is he did pick up the Heart patch because he saves a stray dog even while he’s clearly under duress himself. (Which is also a nice callback to the prior episode with the abandoned puppy)

As always I have to gripe that the performances weren’t subtitled. I’m sure they were very moving but come on, guys. It doesn’t have to be an accurately “musical” translation, I just want to know what they’re saying! (Not knowing the language and from a pure performance standpoint, Standalone would have gotten my vote. Oops.)

On reflection, I think Esola encouraging the gang to pursue their own ambitions was a neat choice. Not just for the “make the most of your now-limited time” aspect of it which is explicitly stated, but the fact that the main four were meant to help raise Esola into a “perfect human” - to teach him kindness and creativity and the value of interpersonal bonds. The very fact that he basically says “thanks guys but it’s my turn to care about your wants and needs”/“I love you but I don’t think I need you here now” proves he’s matured according to plan. He’s growing up compassionate and just, and he wants his caretakers to live the lives that we’re taken from them. Really sweet stuff.

Kite’s choice to be an organ donor for his sister felt… bad. But I suppose it’s also the “accurate” end of that story. To have him turn around and suddenly decide that artificial organs are an acceptable substitute would be the “predictable” thing, but his epilogue implies he still has a long way to go before he’ll genuinely accept synths as equals, and I can respect that from a writing perspective. He’s changed, but not completely. (I wonder if he’d make it to a Season 2 if we got one, or if the twins would carry on performing in his absence as just a duo…)

Time-skip Esola really owns the long hair. I wasn’t crazy about the design at first, the way it’s drawn looks very messy, but I can kinda dig it. He looks a lot like his mom, which is absolutely on purpose. I like to think Neon inspired him to let it grow out, they both really rock the fem-leaning look. Congrats for TrOm for not being weird about its gnc characters. (Also yes, casual Bora is very cute, but I feel like he looks better with his headphone-dealies. Is that weird?)

Also what does Nobel actually do? We never get a straight answer out of him. Where does he go at the end of the day? Is he living off a retainer the professor left behind for him? Is he also an upload, or partial upload? We know the Prof experimented on himself, maybe Nobel is some combination of his own partial scans and a procedural learning program like Eliza. But if so, wouldn’t he have had the Heart programming to start with? Why does he treat it like this mysterious thing when reasonably he should also be equipped with it? I know his appeal is in being the mysterious mentor character, so it’s likely we’ll never know for sure.

And another thing- how do we know for sure the Heart patch even works on other consumer models? Bora already tested the main gang by copying their core programming into spares. I thought the fact that the spares didn't act the same way implied the uniqueness was in the hardware, not the programming. Unless the Heart components are not able to be copied, or require a lot of empty space in a drive to function properly (which the spares maybe didn't have?), as mentioned later. If it IS the latter, then isn't patching the Heart programming into every other synth kind of... pointless? We were told that the main four, Bora, the Ritz 9s, and presumably Nobel are unique in having that purposefully empty drive space to accommodate proto-Heart emotional anomalies. So can the Heart programming function without it? I suppose some minor plot holes can be made for the sake of a happier ending.

Anyway, those are my thoughts for now. I won’t lie to you guys, there may be fanfic in the future. Maybe.

[serenemy]

panopticon as fuck

as a witch she was supposed to be outside the globe looking in. through a series of events best phrased contemporaneously as “playing herself” it had turned out otherwise

but like whyy tho??

why would anyone read a Book that doesn’t spark their magic? why would anyone pay this much attention to a character they actively dislike and engage in complicated ruses to have removed from the stories?

it pains me to acknowledge this could be some form of magic. new corrupt spells from the bad wizard? [any gender can be a witch whether good or bad. but not this person. wizard is synonymous in every way except it isn’t derived from the native tongue of the vvitche, an honor, she had pettily decided, too painful to bestow] lingering remnants of his old ones? or was there another bad wizard in the midst? or some weird wild juju of indeterminate origin and moral appropriateness?

idk

i just know it makes me uncomfortable. i’ve felt its hostile presence everywhere for like two human years. its existence made no logical sense and i used my thusly discredited sense of it to undermine me on other things in dangerous ways. the magic’s been wrong across realms for awhile

magic works both ways with a Book of Shadows. theoretically a powerful enough interaction between pages and a hostile reader could leave even a completed works altered, perhaps irreparably so, and i’m not sure i should go on

perhaps the Board has a point

here is where she is a liar because while she might not have been the only source of dangerous magic—there was at least one corrupt wizard in the region, she had mistaken to great effect for a mundane—in her secret heart of hearts she had known for a long time, maybe all along

she started it

at a minimum, she opened the door

she tried to eat and have two cakes

every propagandist in human history knows you can tell a story and manifest a thing that didn’t previously exist. in a Book of Shadows a story can weave a spell. and she was not solely a witch. she was many other things and one of them was storyteller

of course the risk would be there, in her Book, even if she told herself you’re only writing down the honorable parts and keeping the rest inside in your soul

it is the soul from whence all springs, little mouse

here is the other part where she is a liar

she knew she wasn’t really going to maybe quit either. it was different than expected, less morally pristine, more reckless. but there was still beauty and powerful good in the pages

not all the secret watchers had stained it with malevolence. some touched the works with beneficial magic so lovely it alone justified continued existence in the present form

and the muse was the right one. one she’d learned in bittersweetly painful ways to trust

and the songs still felt true and right and beautiful

as the “writer,” if she existed, it wasn’t so much surprising—

she could argue there should have been warning. the content wasn’t ready. you still as of now haven’t seen the [*BENIGN and] creative place this is going [she was like grrm. but the content was still alive. there was time]

*yinze know i use content warnings. some people love a tragic story. some feel bait and switched when they get their hearts broken by a story they loved. i write both but i don’t trick people. to me that’s a shitty click baity and unnecessary way to get readers

we don’t do jump scares here. one of my central theses as an author is that compelling, exciting fiction, with high stakes, can in any genre including smut be created around moral characters who treat each other in morally sensitive ways and via moral stories that treat their audiences morally. these stories exist, they’re gorgeous, and since i didn’t find as many as i wanted, i started making my own

i’ve broken so may “i swear i’ll nevers” along the way

i’ll swear i’ll never write anything with sex shaming language [guy character calls his sister a whore, a word i promised myself i’d never replicate in any form]

i swear i’ll never write a rape scene. it’s not the worst thing that can befall a woman. for most women, if they really thought about it, it wouldn’t be as close to the top as they expected

so can we get some other storylines?? a lot of survivors have been encountering that one their entire lives and the scenes are really really unpleasant. plus while a lot of the fiction comes from women, the idea that this is the worst thing that can befall a woman is a cultural construct originating entirely with men

the other thing is they almost always treat the event itself as the trauma. i’m not familiar with a single example pre Unbelievable that understood sometimes the worse trauma is the reaction of others. [wrote a rape scene in a romance novel. i think ‘wind river’ is powerful art the existence of which improves the world. because it showed something impossible to tell. mattress girl’s “porno” does the same and should exist for the same reasons]

i swear i’ll never write a revenge story. i just couldn’t conceive being interested. still haven’t watched old boy eg. if morality is your guiding star, it answers every question about how to respond when someone wrongs you. to the extent the genre intends to differ from a “justice” story any “revenge” story i could love would definitionally have to be the former [might have written one. turns out i have a more complicated relationship with those themes than i thought. sometimes the hero’s cause is just but the nature of the remedy demanded by the context of the storylines opens the door for hatred and anger to influence proportionality in morally culpable ways

in my novel i weighed that. the villain received notice. my hero went no further than remedy demanded. if it seemed otherwise the flaw was in the author’s storytelling, not the character’s choices]

it’d be intellectually dishonest to deny i could fail more i swear i’ll nevers in the future. what i can say is two things:

1. i have no such works in progress, in mind, or alive in my head at this time and can’t foresee that changing anytime in the foreseeable future

2. if you haven’t encountered multiple content warnings (as my villain did) you’re not going to get ambushed with content

—as it is unexpected

i’m not sure it’s a good place for an author to be mental health wise to court a cult following of hate readers for a project so experimental they can see the words *of a Book of Shadows no less* being written—and deleted—in real time

can potentially alter its course with their attention

the presence of the observer changes things—in science and in fiction

[there was a reason she’d been telling the truth when she told that prelator she only sought or wanted a few acolytes who were perfect fits for the material. she really didn’t like to lie, even to someone who wouldn’t remember. wait. wrong “character.” nvm, all fiction lies]

but i don’t know. there might be something here

something lovely and worth telling. something sufficiently moral to justify its existence

[sometimes so do all truths]

[willsherjohnkhan]

Rogue Male: A Sherlolly Story

Chapter 7: Explained

***

BEDROOM – GUEST’S WING – THE KNIGHT ESTATE

When Sherlock opened his eyes he found himself in a room that had once been very grand, but its former opulence had faded over the years, though it still held an aura that steadfastly refused to fade away completely.

Rather like the rest of the house, owned by Henry Knight.

Sitting up, he was bemused to discover that he was completely naked. Running his hand through his hair and over his chin, showed he’d washed and shaved. The problem was he had no memory of doing so.

Inspecting the room more carefully he noted that there was an indentation in the pillow on the other side of the bed.

He had not slept alone then.

At that moment the bedroom door opened and Molly Hooper, wearing a pair of pajamas that were too big for her, walked in carrying a tray with food and coffee on it, which she placed on the bedside cabinet, before getting back into bed.

“So I guess you have some questions,” she said.

“I do.”

“Well, they can wait. You need to eat something first.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to object, but Molly was having none of it.

“You’re exhausted and you haven’t eaten much in the last few days, so don’t argue with me, just eat.”

To his own surprise Sherlock meekly acquiesced to her demands.

*

Sherlock leaned back against the bed head. Feeling replete he let out a satisfied sigh, and closed his eyes.

“So, I’ve been a good boy and had something to eat and drink. Now I want some explanations.”

“Fair enough,” Molly agreed, as she too settled back, mimicking his position. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning would be helpful,” Sherlock noted wryly.

Nodding her head in agreement, Molly took a deep breath before beginning her narrative.

“It was all Mycroft’s idea. After he had interrogated Moriarty a few months ago he was left in little doubt that at some point I would be targeted due to my association with you.”

It was a similar conclusion to the one Sherlock had already come to.

“Moriarty’s suicide didn’t change Mycroft’s position that I would need protection. So he called in a favour with Mary Morstan.”

“Not her real name,” Sherlock concluded.

“No,” Molly confirmed. “But it is the name she currently prefers to be known by.”

“An assassin.”

“She’s the sole surviving member of a team of agents that went by the code name A.G.R.A.” Molly corrected.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that my brother had his own private hit squad, especially now that I’ve met Eurus,” Sherlock mused aloud.

“Oh shush you. Do you want the rest of my explanation or not?”

“Pray continue,” Sherlock responded with an exaggerated wave of a hand.

“Though Mary had been told to use all methods and means at her disposal to keep me safe, we both decided that more could be learned if the criminal organisation believed that Mycroft regarded me as irrelevant, and thereby leaving me completely vulnerable. And so, we allowed them to capture me.”

“You were taking one hell of a risk,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I know,” Molly replied soothingly. “But I also knew that Mary was always close, and that she would step in when the time was right.”

“Not soon enough,” Sherlock responded bitterly.

“You heard my screams?”

Sherlock nodded.

“It wasn’t as bad as you’re imagining Sherlock, I can assure you.”

“It went on for hours...” Sherlock’s voice broke, deep regret etched on his features, “And all because of me.”

Molly turned to face Sherlock, taking his face in her hands and gently whipping the tears that had begun to fall.

“You did hear me scream,” she confirmed, “But only the first time.”

Sherlock frowned. “What do you mean? I heard you...”

“After I had been brought to your cell, I was then taken to an adjacent one where I was introduced to an acquaintance of yours, Irene Adler.”

The shock Sherlock felt at hearing The Woman’s name was not because he was surprised she still lived. He knew she did, he had been the one to rescue her from the terrorist group that was about to behead her. His shock was due to the fact she had immediately scurried back to Moriarty and his cronies.

But then he had to acknowledge that she did enjoy living on the edge. Danger was her drug of choice.

“What happened next?” Sherlock asked, though he now had a pretty good idea what Molly’s response would be.

“She began striking me with her riding crop,”

Sherlock pulled Molly close, before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“You are not to blame Sherlock. I made the decision to do it,” Molly reminded him as she nestled closer, resting her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Though I am grateful that shortly after Mary arrived, and given her impressive skill-set she was easily able to overpower Irene, and then she set about beating her with the riding crop she had used on me.”

“So the other screams I heard were...”

“Irene’s, not mine,” Molly confirmed. “You were likely unable to tell the difference between the screams having yourself being incarcerated and interrogated over a number of days, which had left your usually sharp cognitive abilities dulled after taking a severe beating, physically and mentally.”

Sherlock felt some of the weight of his guilt ease, if only a little bit.

“As for the rest, I think you can pretty much work that out yourself.”

“What about Eurus?”

“I think that’s a subject you should discuss with your brother,” Molly advised.

Sherlock nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful.

“There’s one matter you haven’t given me an explanation for,” he pointed out.

“Oh, what’s that?” Molly asked, her eyes all wide-eyed innocence, while her cheeky grin said otherwise.

The shriek she gave was mixed with laughter as Sherlock pulled her down so that she now lay flat on her back, while Sherlock positioned himself comfortably over her.

Leaning down he growled into her ear, “How did I end up washed and naked in this bed with you?”

Molly weaved her fingers through his curls as she’d always wanted to do, before totally unrepentant giving a gentle tug.

The groan Sherlock gave had absolutely nothing to do with pain.

Molly then moved her hand to rest on the back of his neck, applying pressure to indicate for Sherlock to lower his head. Once he had complied, Molly pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Make your own deductions,” she responded playfully, before placing a series of love bites down his long, elegant neck and along his broad shoulders.

***

BEDROOM – LATER

As both lay sated and comfortably tangled up in each other’s embrace, a sudden thought occurred to Sherlock.

“You know, I think Mary would make an excellent partner for John.”

Molly gave his suggestion some thought. “I think you could be right,” she agreed. “They’d be a perfect match. Like us.”

“Precisely like us,” he said as he lent down to place a passionate kiss upon her lips. “I’m only sorry it took me so long to realise it.”

“Then let’s spend our time creating new memories instead of regretting the past,” Molly suggested.

“Molly Hooper, I love the way you think.”

***

[daughterofthequeen]

A New Diagnosis

Pairing: Joel Miller x autistic daughter!reader

Summary: I have an idea. Joel Miller x daughter!reader, based in the camps they had everyone in after the outbreak(so a couple days after Sarah’s death technically) and the reader is a high functioning autistic who stims. So when they get to the camp and because of all the stress she has been under, it’s causing her stimming to flare up like crazy. So Joel and Tommy had to beg and plead to the soldiers, trying to let them know she is autistic and she wasn’t infected, that she just can’t control her stims.

Warnings: Angst, crying, cussing, stimming(not really a warning but its in the story), overstimulated meltdown, denial, most likely inaccurate chain of command about construction work or construction jobs in general, might be a little ooc Joel in one scene I’m not completely sure but it feels like it and I hate it😠😤.

A/N: the reader symptoms and preferences are based on my own, which is also where this idea came from. Ever since the show came out I just wondered what did they do to the people with ticks and stims at the beginning of the outbreak. I mean they eventually had to come up with a way to tell a difference in the beginning of the outbreak before they had the infection detector things, right?

I honestly might rewrite this because I don’t know if I like how this turned out. Usually I’m pretty good at picturing what characters would say in a certain situation, but there’s one part of the fic that I’m not so sure about( you’ll know it when you read it I’m sure). But it’s crazy because I’ve been living like this since the ages of 4 or 5 and it still extremely difficult to describe stimming, even harder writing about it. But I wish I had a Joel Miller parent so I guess I’m projecting a bit in this fic. And this may also be my longest fic yet.

So I decided to make this into two parts because I want this posted today because it was supposed to be out yesterday and I don’t want to wait any longer.

Mockingbird (Part 2)

Taglist: @miss-celestial-being @ilovemydinoboi @taraiel @distorted-twink @geralallfandoms @your-shifting-gurl @daemontargaryenwhore @mihstar

What started out as a regular day went to hell in the span of a couple hours. I mean homes being set on fire, families separated, innocents slaughtered due to the fear of a sickness they had no cure for. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s start from the beginning. My name is (Y/n) Miller, and this is the story of how everything went to shit.

I was only 4.

As a kid you’re oblivious to almost everything, but sometimes a child’s behavior can reflect the type of day the family will have whether they realize it or not. And my attitude had been off all that week, until my father’s birthday aka outbreak day. I called it the calm before the storm. That week I was in an overall bad mood. All of my senses had been on high, being overstimulated plus the struggle of always being alone in school. I mean don’t get me wrong I use to talk to some of my classmates, but most likely than not I would’ve been playing by myself either from trying to avoid the bullies or because nobody wanted to play with me in general. But hey, you can’t miss what you’ve never had. I never really understood people, I still don’t but I had my family and they always made everything okay. They never made me feel different about myself. Regardless of me being only four, I understood that the repetitive behaviors were definitely not normal. Along with the what I now know as stimming; physical, vocal, scripting, ticking, etc. I could go on and on about everything that makes me different, but my family had always helped me feel normal. To be honest I didn’t start realizing I was doing all that stuff until one day my dad sat me down and asked me ‘what are you doing’ and ‘are you okay?’, which made me more self-aware. And then there was school, the weird looks and the mean jokes came into play. I’ve rarely caught my family staring, but I knew they were. Growing up and remembering the past helps you realize things you might’ve missed or didn’t understand as a kid. Like the concerned/confused stares I would catch my dad or uncle Tommy giving me before I was diagnosed. I just didn’t know what the looks were for. But the day my father finally decided something was indeed wrong, that it wasn’t just a phase, had him making an appointment to my clinic fast. It was the first time my stimming caused me serious pain. Well, from what I can remember anyway.

July 23, 2002 - Austin,Texas (Y/n is 3 years old)

The day started out like any other. I woke up in my sister’s bed, once I got my bearings I got out of the bed and headed down stairs to see my dad and my sister having one of their many daily debates

“I’m just saying your generations music has nothing on ours- (Y/N)!” After hearing Sarah saying your name, Joel turned around seeing you standing in the kitchen doorway rubbing your eye.

“Hey babygirl. Did you have a good sleep?” He asked as he turned off the stove top and went to pick you up.

“Mhm. I’m hungry, daddy.”

“That’s good because I just cooked your favorite breakfast.” He said as he kissed your cheek and sat you down in the chair across from Sarah, who got the two of you orange juice. Joel then went to grab the plates. There were eggs, sausage, french toast, and he sat a bowl of grapes next to you knowing how much you love them. You all started eating your breakfast. You went straight for the grapes and started eating them, until you spotted something that looked weird to you. Frowning, you push the bowl away and went to the food on your plate.

“Something wrong with your grapes?” Joel asked you noticing the way you frowned up.

“They dirty.” Causing Joel to frown in confusion.

“Dirty? I just washed ‘em.” Joel leaned forward and grabbed the bowl and didn’t see anything abnormal about the grapes. The water in the bowl didn’t even black specs in it that grapes leave behind. “They look fine to me.”

“No. They dirty daddy, look.” Standing in your chair, you leaned over and pointed to a grape with a light brown streak on it and another where it was brown from where the stem was.

“Oh, that doesn’t mean they’re dirty, baby. Grapes just to look like that sometimes or because they’ve gotten older. That’s all.”

“Ew.” You mumbled.

“They’re gonna taste the same.” Joel said as he sat the bowl back down next to you.

“I don’t want them anymore.” You say pushing the grapes away.

“They’re fine, (n/n). I actually think the small brown areas actually make them sweater.” Sarah says trying to reassure her baby sister.

“No.” That was your final statement before you went back to eating the food on your plate.

“Ok, you don’t have to eat ‘em.” Joel states as him and Sarah go back to eating their own food.

———

“(Y/n)!!! Come back here!”

“No!”

“We go through this every time you use the bathroom!”

Sarah was currently chasing you around the house. A daily thing really, but for the last few months you have determined on not washing your hands after using the bathroom. And not with just Sarah. With Joel and Tommy too. Joel usually would have to keep a firm grip on you that disabled you from moving away from the sink, and to keep you from running or flailing your arms around as an attempt to keep him from making you wash your hands.

The first time that happened you guys were at a restaurant. He wouldn’t be surprised if that whole side of the restaurant heard you.

“Daddy, I have to use the bathroom.”

“Ok.” Usually he would have Sarah take you but her and Tommy’s food had made it to the table. And since he was still waiting on his, there was no sense in stopping her from eating. He took you out of the high chair, and you two headed to the restroom. After the long process of putting toilet paper on the seat, he sat you on the seat and let you do your business. Once you were finished cleaning yourself up and him flushing the toilet, he waited for you to go towards the sink. But you headed towards the door instead.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands.” Joel said from his spot on the wall he was leaning on with his arms crossed.

Turning towards the sink, you clasped your hands to your chest, letting out a low groan of disgust.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to touch it.”

“What the sink?” You nodded.

“You have to wash your hands, babygirl. Come on.”

“No.” You whined, and Joel knew then the two of you were going to have a problem.

“Babygirl, please.” He said in a pleading tone and tired tone.

“No!” Joel sighed then picked you up and held you over the sink as he usually would when washing your hands, but this time due to your decision of fighting and squirming in his arms, he had to get a gentle but firm grip on your hands to wash them himself.

“(Y/n).” That caused you to stop in your tracks. The sound was unfamiliar until your mind put together it was your father’s voice. He never says your actual name unless you were in trouble, and even then it would depend. But him calling your name was enough time for Sarah to scoop you up and head to the nearest sink which was the kitchen.

Sarah sat you down after she finished washing your hands. After getting free you pouted and went into the living room to continue playing with your toys before your bladder interrupted you. So invested in what you were doing, you didn’t even hear your Uncle Tommy come in the house.

“What’s for dinner today?” He teased, rubbing the top of yours and Sarah’s head as he passed by each of you.

“I don’t know you’ll have to ask this guy. He was supposed to go to the store but surprise, he didn’t.” Sarah says with a sarcastic smile towards her father who was going through bills. Joel head turned towards Sarah giving a bored look.

“We’re ordering pizza.”

“Fine with me.” Tommy states triggering Joel to role his eyes.

“Of course it is.”

Sarah went upstairs for the book the two of you were reading. To ‘keep her ahead of her future classmates’. While Sarah was upstairs, Tommy eyes trailed over to you, he smiled as he watched you in your own little world playing with your toys while talking to yourself. He watched you for a minute until he saw you stretching your neck. Normally he wouldn’t of thought anything of it until he realized it was happening constantly. At first they were only seconds apart, then you would stop for a few minutes and start again. There wasn’t an exact pattern, but he caught the rhythm of it.

“Buns neck been bothering her?”

“No.” Joel answered absentmindedly, still invested in the papers he wished he could use as a coaster without consequence.

“You sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Joel asked, getting annoyed by the fact he kept getting interrupted with his task.

“ ‘Cause she keeps stretchin’ it like it’s bothering her.”

Joel looks up at Tommy who had a slight worried look on his face. Joel then turns around in his chair to see what his brother was talking about. And true to his little brother’s words there you were stretching your neck and shoulder in a way that looks painful if he’s being honest. Joel turned back around to his brother with an equally concerned look. He leans closer towards him and lowers his voice before he started talking signaling Tommy to do the same.

“I don’t know why she does that, and every time I ask her if she’s ok she tells me she’s fine.”

“Maybe she has a crook in her neck.”

“No, if it was a crook we would know. She would be a lot worse. She tends to panic when she has one of those, and doesn’t do a lot of moving around. To stop the ‘bouncy feeling’. This. This is something else. And it’s been getting more frequent lately.”

“Frequent?”

“Yeah, this started a few months ago. It’ll leave and come back after a few weeks, but like I said it’s been happening a lot more often lately. She does it with her hands and wrist too.”

“Hm.”

Joel turned back towards his youngest. “Babygirl, you okay?” He said in a tone reserved for only you and Sarah when she’s upset about something.

You look up from your toys, bright innocent eyes finding your father’s concerned ones.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Your neck not bothering you?”

“No.” You replied while standing up from your place on the floor and walked over to your father. When you got close enough he automatically picked you up and sat you on his thigh.

“Then why do you keep rollin’ it around honey?”

“I’m not.” Joel frowned in confusion. He’s clearly watching you do it so, either you’re lying for some unknown reason or you just don’t know that you’re doing it. But he’s always able to tell just by asking one question.

“Are you telling me the truth?” Simple, but it works. It was a question he would ask you every time he would think you were lying. And every time you answer you have a tell. When you tell the truth you tend to answer pretty confidently, but when you lie, you always fiddle with something whether it be your clothes, your fingers, or just bouncing your foot.

“Yes.” There’s no fidgeting. Covering up how even more confused he was in the moment he just nodded in understanding even though he didn’t.

“Ok baby, you want to go back to playin’ with your toys?”

“Yeah.” You replied getting down from your father’s lap before he even had the chance to put you down. Then you ran off to start back playing until Sarah came back down the stairs.

“(N/n), story time.” Hearing that you stood up and headed over to the couch with your sister. Before you sat down you picked up your stuffed bunny, Tommy got it for you when you were two. They used to use it to stop you from crying, but now you take it wherever you go. You laid down across the couch with Sarah and had your bunny in front of you in the same position you were to Sarah. She opened the book to where you two left off and started reading stopping at every few paragraphs to let you read.

Joel watched the two of you, his world. He would never understand how a mother would want to give this up.

“Have you thought about getting her checked out?” Tommy’s voice broke Joel from his thoughts.

“Checked for what?” Joel asked frowning at his brother.

“Joel, are you serious? Something could be wrong.”

“She’s fine, Tommy. She’ll grow out of it.”

“Grow out of it? Don’t you want to make sure?”

“Tommy, please.” Now Joel was lying. To himself especially. But that is understandable, what parent wants to accept that something may be wrong with their child. It was a scary thing to think about.

“What if it’s somethin’ wrong? Wouldn’t you want to get Bun’ the help she needs as soon as possible.”

“She doesn’t need help Tommy. I’m telling you she’ll grow out of it.”

“Joel-”

“Just let it go.” Joel whispered in a hardened tone, trying to keep his voice down so the girls wouldn’t hear that anything was wrong. “Look, would you order the pizza for tonight. I’m trying to finish up these bills.” Tommy mumbled a ‘sure’ and got up to make the call. He understood why Joel didn’t want to talk about that kind of stuff, what parent does? But knowing his stubborn nature he won’t act on it unless something happens that causes him to. After hearing the voice of the pizza lady on the line, Tommy uses it as a distraction to get his mind off his niece and his stubborn mule of a brother.

January 16, 2003 - 6:30am

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Sarah sat up with a soft groan and stretches, when she heard whining. She turned toward her sister who was hiding under the covers.

“Time to get up (n/n).” Sarah was about to stand up until she heard you cry out. She pulled back the covers to see you in a fertile position, hands covering your ears, eyes squeezed shut. “Come on (n/n), we- what’s wrong?” Sarah asked starting to panic seeing a tear fall from your eye.

“Too loud!” Sarah was confused for a second before she remembered the alarm was still going off. She quickly reached over to turn it off, and brought you into her arms. She laid you on her chest, rocking you back and forth while rubbing the top of your head, softly shushing you until you calmed down. When Sarah heard your cries turn into sniffles and looked down at you.

“You okay?” She asked softly rubbing the top of your head. She was confused as to why you reacted this way but, whatever the reason, it had her extremely worried. After seeing you nod your head she was able to relax, but she knew she still needed to tell dad about what just happened. Sarah got you up so, the both of you could start your morning routine. Everything went semi-smoothly, but that’s to be expected after your reaction to the alarm clock she’s not all that shocked about your agitated behavior. Sarah had just finished fixing your shirt when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in.”

“Hey, you girls almost ready?”

“Yep, we were just about to head down for breakfast.” Sarah stood from her kneeling position in front of you, letting you know that she was finished. And after going to tuck your bunny in bed you walked over to Joel.

“Unfortunately, you two are going to have to eat breakfast at school.” He said as he picked you up.

“Ew, why?” Sarah asked.

“Well your Uncle Tommy called and said there’s been an emergency at the house we’re working on so, when he pulls up we gotta go.” He grabbed your book bag and started down the stairs since you had decided to fall back asleep, not that he blamed you if he could he would have too. A minute later Tommy pulls up and surprisingly the Adlers weren’t outside, then again they were leaving a little earlier than usual. Either way they didn’t have time to stop and talk. Sarah was dropped off first, then you. And it wasn’t until Sarah sat down in her first period class when she realized she forgot to tell her dad what happened this morning.

———

Time Skip

Normally, when school gets out you would ride home with Denise, due to her daughter going to the same school and Sarah’s school getting out 10 minutes after your school does. Then add another 20-30 minutes of her having to take the school bus to get home. When Sarah makes it to the neighborhood she has to pass by Denise house to get to yours which is when she picks you up, but today didn’t work out that way. It started when Joel got a phone call from your school.

Joel and Tommy were currently managing the workers that were doing the framework of the building they were working on. Well Tommy was, Joel was trying to keep calm while talking to the construction manger.

“Look all I’m saying is we should be getting paid more since we’re working more hours than what we were told we would be working, don’t you think.” The construction manger has been going back and forth with Joel for about 10 minutes now, way too long for Joel’s liking.

“No, I don’t. Especially since the reason we’re in this situation is because you guys didn’t do your jobs right in the first place. You’re lucky you’re still gettin’ paid the amount that was agreed upon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you and your guys spent as much time working as you do talking and taking breaks you probably would’ve done your jobs right the first time, and we wouldn’t be in this situation, or behind a day.” The manger didn’t take too kindly to that statement, and Joel was so close to losing his nerve until he was saved by the bell, literally. Right before he was about to tell the construction manager where to stick it, his phone started ringing.

Joel sighed while taking his phone out of the carrying case to see it was the preschool calling much to his confusion. He didn’t even notice the construction manager was still talking.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take it up with Tommy.” He said while waving him off and answering his phone. “Hello.”

“Mr. Miller.”

“Yeah.”

“This is Elizabeth, (Y/n)’s teacher. We need you to come to the school.” Joel immediately sighs, dragging his hand over his face.

“What’d she do?” He replies in an exhausted tone. He never gets calls from your schools unless it’s to let him know he needed to bring a change of clothes for you. All the preschoolers have to have an extra pair of clothes that’s to be kept in the classroom just in case the kids have an accident or something. But you’ve been acting out a lot lately, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was for something like that.

“It may be better for you to come up to the school so we can explain it to you face-to-face.” Joel didn’t like the way this was sounding. It was hard for him to pinpoint the emotion that was coming off her voice, which worried him more.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” He sighed while hanging up the phone. He walked over to Tommy who looks like he actually did tell the construction manager to shove it, going off the look on the of their faces. “Tommy, I need you to watch over everything here for a while.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“That was (Y/n)’s school, they need me to go up there.”

“Is everything okay with bun’?”

“I don’t know her teacher wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sure she’s fine, she probably just got into it with a kid in her class again.”

“Okay, call me when you find out what’s goin’ on.”

“I will. Alright I’m off, and make sure they actually do their job this time.”

“I got it, go on.”

After that Joel made his way to the truck. Even though he says he’s sure she’s fine, he couldn’t help but worry about you. The tone of your teacher didn’t sound good at all. She sounded worried. And sad? Were you sick? He could deal with a common cold, but your teachers tone indicated something worse than that. And there has been a deadly virus going around the world, it hasn’t made it to America yet at least that’s what they’re telling everyone. But what if it has made it over seas? There’s no cure for it, and what if you had it? That couldn’t happen, to you or Sarah. He wouldn’t know what he would do if he lost one of you. No. Stop. That’s not going to happen. That would never happen. He hates when his mind gets like this, but as a single father the need to protect the two of you is the most important thing to him, and that makes him worry even more because that’s something he can’t ever fail at, and he doesn’t even want to think what’ll happen if he does.

He gets out of the truck and speed walks towards your classroom. He had gotten into his own head, but there’s something inside of him that’s telling him this is as serious as it feels.

“Mr. Miller.” He turns upon hearing his name being called, seeing your teacher standing in the doorway of the office.

“Where is she?” He asks as he makes his way to her. Once he got close enough he realized the tone in her voice wasn’t sadness, but pity? Why would she pity him, and where were you?

“She’s in the principals office. But! But before you go in we should probably explain what happened and why.” She said stopping him from brushing past her.

“What did she get into a fight with another kid or somethin’?” Joel ask impatiently.

“No-”

“Okay, then it can wait.” He moves to fast for her to stop and walks into the principals office to see you sitting in a chair with dried tear stain down your cheeks. He quickly kneeled in front of you gently grasping your hands in his.

“What’s wrong, babygirl. What happened?”

“I wanna go home.” You mumbled

“Ok, you want to tell me why?”

“Mr. Miller, we really need to talk to you.” The principal finally spoke up motioning to the officer hallway. He huffed as he stood up and followed the principal out, but not before he kissed your forehead and told you that he would be back.

“Okay, what’s so important that you had to drag me away from my daughter. Who’s been crying? Why is she crying? I swear if that Richardson kid put her hands on her again-” He was annoyed with everyone at this point everyone besides you obviously, he just doesn’t understand why they couldn’t tell him while he comforted his daughter.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Miller. We just didn’t want to make her think that she was in trouble, we just got her to calm down.”

“So, she’s fine?”

“Physically, yes.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Ms. Elizabeth?” The principal could he was getting upset so she found it best to let your teacher explain what happened.

“Mr. Miller.”

“Would y’all stop calling my damn name and actually tell what the hell’s going on with my daughter?

“Well (Y/n) has been in an agitated mood all day, but that’s not the problem. Uhm, the kids just got back from lunch about 30 to 40 minutes ago, and after they eat I usually let them have play time before I start their last lesson for the day before nap time. Today during play time (Y/n) had a little outburst.” Elizabeth knew she was beating around the bush, but that’s because she has heard this conversation happen many times with other teachers and parents and most often than not the parents don’t respond to well.

“Little outburst?”

“Well not really an outburst, but more of a meltdown. This is the special needs teacher, Ms. Thomson, and a friend of mine so I know what signs to look out for in a child. And (Y/n) has been showing these signs since the beginning of the year. They can be overlooked especially in girls and be seen as ‘normal’ and in a way it is. For her anyway.”

“What are you talking about? Signs for what?” Joel asked in frustrated tone.

Ms. Elizabeth look over at the special needs teacher to nervous to continue, and to make sure that she’s positive of (Y/n)’s condition. To which her friend responded with a nod.

“We think (Y/n) has autism. And before you say anything, the signs are all there. I’ve been watching her since her first day of becoming my student. And we highly recommend that she be tested.”

“What? She’s not autistic. I think I would know if my kid had autism. Look at her, does she look autistic to you?”

“Autism doesn’t always have a look Mr. Miller, and just because she doesn’t have a physical disablement doesn’t mean she’ll be any less autistic than someone with one. That’s why we recommend getting her tested to find out how far she is on the spectrum.”

“You sound so sure that, that’s what it is. How did y’all come up with autism from her having a ‘meltdown’? And what do you mean by meltdown?”

“Well after I sent the kids to go off and begin playing I noticed (Y/n) hadn’t moved from the table, she just sat there, covering her ears with tears in her eyes. She had been in that position since they came back from lunch. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me the other kids were being too loud. But before I could offer a solution the students behind us started screaming louder than what they were, which triggered somewhat of chain reaction with the rest of the class, so I turned around make sure everything was ok but when I did that’s when (Y/n) ran to the bathroom and locked herself in. I had to send the other kids to sit in a classroom with another teacher. (Y/n) was crying. Sobbing. When I unlocked the door she was sitting in the corner squeezing the sides of her head so hard it looked painful. All to try and block out the world because it was too much for her. It broke my heart to see her like that because (Y/n) is sweetest little girl I’ve ever met, and to see her in pain like that, any child, it’s a hard thing to see. I had to wrestle with her a little to keep her from hurting herself, but I was able to get her calm enough to sit her in my lap and have her hold onto me while I called Ms. Thomson, who was able to calm her further until she reassociated with everything around her.

“Pain?” That’s when the special needs teacher finally decided to step in and say something.

“It’s called a sensory overload, Mr. Miller. It’s very common in the Autism Spectrum. It’s when someone on the spectrum becomes to overwhelmed with the world around them, and if they can’t find some kind of outlet from everything more than likely it’s going to cause a break down in one way or another.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s autistic-“

“Mr. Miller. Does (Y/n) walk on her tippy toes?

“Yeah, but all kids do that.”

“How does she act when she is in a large crowd or around someone she doesn’t know.” Ms. Thomson was completely calm while asking these questions. Knowing that getting agitated or saying something wrong could keep you from getting the help you need.

“The same as any other kid.”

“Does she get in mood where she doesn’t want to talk or just can’t talk in general?”

“Ok look, you’re only naming things all kids do.”

“Yes, but like every thing else on the spectrum there’s a line where it occurs more than it should. Let me ask you one more question Mr. Miller.

He doesn’t even reply he only took a breath to let her know he didn’t want to talk about the topic anymore. Still in denial, even after everything they just told him.

“Does she tend to twitch, or repeat her movements? Have you ever seen her stiffen or strain her body?” Joel didn’t even reply.

“Your silence speaks volumes Mr. Miller. Please, get her tested. It will help her make it in a society that wasn’t made for her. Giving her benefits she can use to even the playing field with neurotypicals. Don’t you think she deserves that?” Joel really didn’t want to accept this. Knowing that if you are autistic, you’ll face more difficulties in life. All because you were different. Difficulties you’re already facing, he just didn’t want to admit it.

“What do I need do to get her tested?” Joel asked after his little debate. All he can hope that the test comes out as negative, but that’s a long shot, given the special needs teacher already seems so sure, the test was just to confirm it.

Ms. Thomson who was smiling after hearing his agreement answered him. “Nothing, I already have an appointment set up for her with a neurodevelopmental pediatrician, who is also a good friend of mine. So, as soon as she finishes with the evaluation you will get the results. I just needed your approval.”

“Okay. Uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Is it ok if I take her home?” Joel ask looking towards your teacher.

“Yes, I think that’s the best thing for her right now. Being in her own safe space with all her things will help her get some much needed rest. I will write down the appointment information and what you’ll need for the evaluation and put it in her backpack for you.”

“Thank you.” After that Joel walked back into the office to see you playing with one of the pens on the principals desk in one hand and your head laying on top of the other. “Hey babygirl. You still want to go home?” He asked as he kneeled in front of the chair, while making sure to keep his voice at a low level. Once you nodded he stood up, gently grabbed your hand, and the two of you went to get your bag and appointment information.

January 20, 2003 - 1:00 p.m.

Joel and Tommy were on their lunch break at a burger place when Joel’s phone started ringing. He cleaned his hands and took his phone out it’s carrying case before answering. “Hello?”

“Is this Joel Miller?” A woman’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, good. This is Tonia, the neurodevelopmental pediatrician that did (Y/n)’s evaluation.”

“Right, so what were the results?”

“Well, the documents are ready for you to come and get them, and I will break everything down once you get here, if you want.”

“Uhhhh yeah, I’ll be there in about 20-25 minutes.”

“Ok, see you then. Bye bye.”

“Bye. Get up Tommy, we gotta go.”

“I’m still eatin’”

“Tommy, bring it with you. Jesus.” Joel mumbled as he rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

They made it to the building, and Joel was doing his best to remember the way to the correct office while also trying to calm his anxious mind. When they made it to the office, Joel knocked on the door frame of the open door before walking in Tonia’s office.

“Here you go.” She said as she handed the papers to Joel who noticed it was about 15 pages.

“Wha-what am I looking at?” He asked looking up at the pediatric who let out a low chuckle, she gets the same reaction from almost all of the parents she encounters.

“Well first things first, I’ve concluded (Y/n) does have ASD. She is what is called a high-functioning autistic, and I came up with that diagnosis based on her teacher’s observations, your own, and from the activities I had her to do. The evaluation explains everything of what that means in detail like her sensitivity to sounds, her not liking to touch certain things, lack of social skills, etcétera.”

“So, what does this mean for her?”

“Well, she can stay in Ms. Elizabeth’s class, there’s no need to move her to the special needs class permanently. But she does have special education, and all that means is that Ms. Thomson will take her in her classroom to help her find ways to calm herself when she feels herself getting overstimulated. Or if she can’t and Ms. Elizabeth sees she is getting overwhelmed or she tells Ms. Elizabeth she’s getting overwhelmed they’ll send her to Ms. Thomson class or a quiet place for her to calm down. And maybe she’ll even have better luck with making friends in the special needs classroom than she does in her regular class. And education wise it means when she gets test she can go to a different classroom to take it and she’ll be able receive more time on any tests she has to take as well.” She looked up from her notes, making sure she got all the main checkpoints, but when she did Joel’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“Mr. Miller, the worst thing you can do for her is to feel bad for her. There’s no reason too.”

“No reason to? The whole point of this was to make sure she gets the help she needs to keep up with everyone else.”

“No, the reason for this was to make sure she had the help if and when she needs it. Academically (Y/n) is one of the smartest kids in her class, actually in her grade. It might take more effort, but she’s keeping up with her classmates. Some of the worst things you can do is pity her, hold her back due to being overprotective, or use it as an excuse to make her seem more fragile. I’m not saying she’s not going to have challenges because she is, but all you have to do is stay beside and make sure she keeps working at it till she gets it. And stay way from describing her condition as ‘slow’ or ‘retarded’. And you can’t punish her because of her stimming or overstimulated behavior. Not saying that you would! I mean- you just wouldn’t believe how many parents would get agitated and angry about things their child can’t control, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re attentive to her, and that’s something she’s going to need from you growing up.” Joel nodded in understanding still skimming through the evaluation packet.

“Thank you for doing this in such short notice.”

“No problem. She’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve met. And cutest.” That caused a smile to appear on Joel’s face. He hasn’t been able to smile much since Thursday, always thinking about you and the whole situation. Which has been weighing on his mind literally 24/7.

“Thank you for this, you have a nice day.” He said before turning around to leave out the office.

“You as well.” She replied also smiling at Tommy, who smiled and winked back, reaching his goal of getting her to laugh.

Joel barely made through the door before Sarah hit him with a “what’d she say?”

“Uhhh- where’s (Y/n)? And how’d you know she called?”

“She called the house phone first. And (Y/n) is upstairs, I just got her out the tub, which she didn’t like, at all.”

“She didn’t want to get out?”

“No, she didn’t want to get in. But she should be finished putting on her pajamas by now.”

“Ok, go get her and I’ll tell y’all the results.”

“Ok.” Sarah ran upstairs to get you, when you both got down stairs and sat on the couch, Sarah sat on the right side of Joel, and he picked you up and sat you on his lap tucking you into his side.

“How was school today, honey.” Joel turning his head towards you.

“Good. Ms. Elizabeth gave me headphones to put on my ears when everything got too loud again.”

“Did she? That was real nice of her.”

“Yeah. How was your day, daddy?”

“It was really good, babygirl. Thank you for asking.” The smile you gave him made his whole day. He thought back to what the pediatrician said about not pitying you because that’s not something you need from him. Looking at you now he realized she was right. He’s going to do his best to give you what you need. Whatever it may be, and he knows you’re going to grow into a smart and beautiful woman. He reached down and kissed your temple getting laugh out of you, a sound he would never get tired of.

Joel turned his towards Sarah, about to ask her how her day went stopped him before he started.

“My day was fine, the same. What did she say?” Joel paused for a second before he chuckled at her before pointing to the where he sat the evaluation.

“That’s the paper, she gave me that explains everything.” He blinked and Sarah had the papers in her hand, while she started reading he turned back to you to explain everything to you somehow.

“Ok babygirl. Do you remember the test you had to take with the nice lady a few days ago?” After you nodded he continued. “You remember she told you it’s going let us know if you think differently than everybody else?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it turns out you do.”

“Is that bad?”

“No! No, no, no. It’s not bad at all, and don’t let anyone tell you that it is. Ok?”

“Ok.”’

“All it means is some things may be a little harder or more overwhelming to you than other people, but it also means better at other things too.”

“Like what?”

“Like being artistic, and solving puzzles. But it also means you can be smarter than others in your class. You may have to learn some things in a different way, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be smarter. You already are. Ms. Elizabeth told me you were one of the smartest kids in your grade.”

“She did!?”

“She did.”

“Wow.” You whispered in awe.

“Yeah, that’s a big deal, and daddy is so proud of you. You remember that, ok? No matter how big you get.”

“I promise, daddy.”

“Good. I love you babygirl.” He said, pressing another kiss to your temple.

“I love you too, daddy.” You said placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet. What are we eating for dinner? I’m hungry.” Sarah interrupted and Joel huffed out a laughed placing a quick kiss on her temple as well.

“I’m proud of you too baby.”

“I know, dad.” She said softly smiling.

“How about we go out for dinner? I really don’t feel like cookin’.”

“Fine with me. Come on (Y/n), let’s go put some clothes on.”

“Okay!” You said as you jumped up from Joel’s lap and ran off to catch up to your big sister.

A/n: Long story short the story was too long🤭🙇‍♀️😭 so I decided to split it into two parts. I hope you guys enjoy, sorry I took so long. But I love you guys for being patient, I really appreciate it.

[deadtravelfast]

From: Mina M****y *********@gmail.com

To: John Harker ******************@gmail.com

Date: August 8th, 20** at 5:36 pm

Dear John,

One thing after another seems to keep afflicting us on what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation. Lucy’s sudden sleepwalking, my racist run-ins, the bad weather, a ship crashing, people dying – and now Lucy’s been hurt. Not terribly, she’s back from hospital already, patched up. The official story is she got out of the house at night and scratched herself on something badly enough to leave the two deep indentations on her neck that produced the most blood but…

…but John, it’s stranger than that. I couldn’t give all the details to the doctors because I can barely believe what I saw myself. I must have been still half asleep when I got to her but…

Let me start at the the beginning. Get everything straightened out in my mind. I was exhausted after the funeral and took a melatonin. Usually they just barely push me over so I can sleep naturally, but this one must have knocked me out quite badly, because one moment I’d closed my eyes with the sun barely set, then next I woke bolt-upright like they do in movies, and it was one in the morning. I had this unbearable sense of dread, that something was horribly, horribly wrong. If it was because of some nightmare I’d been having, well, I’ve forgotten it completely. I suspect rather it was by subconscious telling me that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Lucy wasn’t in the bed next to me anymore. In fact, the sheets were cold, as if she hadn’t been there for hours. I immediately panicked and went to the door. It was shut, but unlocked. Can sleepwalkers unlock doors? I don’t know. I threw on my bathrobe and went out into the hall of the house, calling her name and heard no answer back. I was shouting now, racing into every room, it’s not a big house, but she wasn’t there. Then I checked the front door. It was shut, but just like the one in our room, it was unlocked.

I was bloody panicking at this point. I grabbed a torch and slid on my shoes and I ran into the street. I thought at first to shout for her, but I had a sudden fear that the neighbours might not take kindly to an Asian woman waking them up in the middle of the night. Instead I hissed her name and swept the beam around as I zigzagged through the streets and alleys. There was no one – even the usual nightlife was mostly absent, thanks to the rumours of a rabid dog on the loose. I was down at the pier before I started really shouting for her, and then my torch beam caught something white up on the East Cliff, at the bench Lucy and I had sat at just the other day. I had a brief wave of relief that I’d found her, that she’d just sleepwalked her way into one of our strolls.

I ran up the slope of the cliff towards her. It was a full moon last night, which was helping with the search. I’d turned my torch off, but then clouds slipped up over the moon as I neared the top, darkening everything so that for a moment I felt almost blinded. It was only for a moment, however, and then the moon was back and everything was extremely crystalline clear on the cliff side – the old Abbey, the churchyard, our bench, and yes, that was Lucy, half-lying down on it.

But, John—she wasn’t alone. I sort of told Artie, but I didn’t give him all the details because in my own mind I feel I must have been somehow dreaming. My feet felt as though they had lead weight on them, as if I could only move in slow motion towards Lucy and the thing that was bending over her, the long, black thing stretched over her, touching her, and I screamed her name and it looked up at me and its face was so white and its eyes were so red but I couldn’t move fast enough.

Then the clouds passed over the moon again and suddenly I could run to her side. The thing was gone. Lucy was sleeping soundly, but breathing strangely, long raspy breaths like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. When I tried to look at her, she shrugged off my touch and pulled up her pyjamas up over her throat. She was so very cold, I took off my own robe and threw it over her, then gently shook her until she woke up. It look a long while, until she blinked her eyes open like a little child, just an adorable face, and then the cuteness was gone and she shuddered and clung to my arm. After she stopped trembling, whether from the cold or the shock of being woken from her sleepwalking, she gulped and said, “Let’s get home, Mins.”

I would have just taken her home, but I saw the blood spots seeping through the collar of her pyjamas and made her stop. She didn’t want me to look at them at first, kept saying it was nothing, but I batted her hands away until I could pull it down. Well, it wasn’t nothing, they were two nasty punctures and a smear of blood. Suddenly her low body temperature and trembling took on a much more sinister tone and I insisted we call 999.

The doctors confirmed she was in mild shock – lost almost a liter of blood. Nothing life threatening, she’s bandaged up and home already, with an updated tetanus jab since they think she stuck herself on something in the churchyard. When I told them I thought she might have been attacked by someone – well, I could hardly tell them what I thought I saw, could I? So without the details, and since it doesn’t look like a knife or a bite, they think it was an accident.

And it probably is. But I swear it reminded me of this illustration in a children’s book I’d read growing up, New Tales of Vikram and the Vetal. They’re just a collection of fairy tales, but supposedly they were narrated, Scheherazade-style, by a creature called vetal, that hangs upside down beside graveyards and possesses corpses to make them walk again, like zombies. I really hated the picture of the vetal when I was little, with its pasty white skin, red eyes and mouth, clinging to Vikram’s back and telling its stories.

Boogeymen, black dogs, ghost ships, maybe Whitby really is haunted.

I'm glad we're leaving it all behind soon.

[tiresomeimagination]

The Better to Love You With (John Doe x Reader)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Abduction, mentions of stalking, and general yandere behavior.

Author’s Note: I don’t usually write AU stuff, but John Doe is pretty versatile, so here’s a sort of Little Red Riding Hood-esque AU. It’s fairly vague when it comes to those details though, so it could also just be read as general supernatural fantasy.

~~~~~

Oh no. No no no. This couldn’t be happening. You’ve walked the path through the forest to and from your grandmother’s cottage tons of times. You knew the way like the back of your hand. You couldn’t seriously be lost, could you? As you glance around the area and find all the trees to look the same…your heart sinks with the realization that you are indeed lost. You had to hurry and retrace your steps. It was already approaching night and it wouldn’t be too long before the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon and it became too dark to see the way back. It wasn’t like you to get lost. Sure, these woods could be a terrible maze for the inexperienced, but you were better than that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you. It was almost like something had guided you off the trail without you noticing. Of course, that was rubbish.

The folks from town always liked to tell stories about the forest, or more accurately, about what supposedly lived inside the forest. Most were the usual tale intended to scare curious children into obedience. “Never wander too far off the path, lest the monsters get you.” You’ve never seen any monsters, though. You knew those were just silly superstitions for the young and gullible. You were no child, and you stopped believing in monsters a long time ago. At least… that’s what you told yourself. After all, not believing was easier than being afraid.

The howling wind and the crunching of leaves under your feet were all you could hear as you trudged back down in the direction you were pretty sure you had come from. You definitely didn’t hear the way twigs would snap occasionally nearby. You definitely didn’t see the way the growing shadows of dusk seemed to dance in the corners of your vision. And you definitely didn’t feel the sensation of someone watching you. Because…well, that would be irrational, right?

“Ugh, come on! I turned right at this tree for sure...or…was it the other way…?” You muttered under your breath as you tried to regain your bearings. It took everything you had not to panic. Things would be bad if you got stuck out here all night.

Suddenly you heard the telltale sound of footsteps. You turned towards the sound and froze in place, your body going rigid. In the shadows stood…something. Yellow eyes gazed at you from the darkness before the figure slowly stepped closer.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing itself to be a strange man of some sort. He had long and wild hair that seemed to move on its own, which you attributed to the wind. His clothes consisted of mismatched blacks, and he wasn't even wearing his cloak correctly. If you were to meet this fellow on the street, you probably would have assumed he was just some sad vagabond without access to a good bath. But here? Deep in the middle of the forest? Well, you were a little more on edge when he gave you a face-splitting smile.

"...Hello" He greeted simply.

You gulped nervously before responding. "Uhh…hello."

He moved a bit closer, looking you up and down. You felt a bit self-conscious under his gaze, wrapping your cloak a little tighter around yourself.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" He hummed, sounding genuinely curious.

You supposed the question was innocent enough given the circumstances. "Oh, well, I was bringing a basket of treats to my grandma today. She lives on the other side of this forest…But I seem to have gotten lost…" You admitted with a hint of embarrassment.

The man's smile grew impossibly wider at this news. "Oh. You know, it's not very safe for you to be out alone this time of night. There are a lot of weirdos around here."

As he said this, a chill ran up your spine. Yeah. You were pretty sure you were looking at one of those weirdos right now. There was something about him that was just…off, and yet your mind couldn't place what it was. Maybe it was the way he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if it was a predatory gaze or just a burning fascination. Either way, it was unnatural.

“I can bring you home if you want,” he offered.

You perked up at that. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like you had a lot of other options. If he was willing to lead you back to town, you couldn’t afford to say no. “Ah…I wouldn’t want to be a bother, but…” you trailed off, looking away with a nervous smile.

“It’s no bother! I’d love to!” He exclaimed, stepping forward and taking your hand into his.

You looked up at him with surprise. His skin was surprisingly soft and warm. “Um, well, in that case, I would really appreciate the help,” you relented. You just needed to quit being paranoid. Sure he looked and acted a bit strange, but he was simply a Good Samaritan offering his help.

With that, the two of you set off in a new direction. His hand was still wrapped around yours, but you chose not to comment on it. It was probably easier to lead you that way in the dark.

“So…Do you live around here?” You asked, hoping a little conversation would lighten the mood.

“Yes! It’s not far from here.”

“You must know the forest pretty well then, huh?”

“Oh yes! I know pretty much every knot on every tree!” He boasted cheerfully.

You chuckled at his overenthusiasm. You were just glad that he knew his way around well enough to navigate his way back to town, in the dark no less. Except…It’s been several minutes of walking now, and you still didn’t recognize your surroundings. In fact, the woods only seemed to grow denser and darker the further you went.

“Um…Are you sure we’re going the right way?” You asked, glancing up at the stranger.

He looked over at you, his wide smile still firmly in place and a strange glint in his eyes. “Absolutely! It’s not much farther.” He insisted.

Okay…You were starting to feel a bit nervous again. It was probably fine! You just must have gotten more lost than you realized.

“You know…You’re really cute,” He stated, squeezing your hand slightly.

That made you bristle, not sure whether to be flattered or uncomfortable. You thanked him nonetheless. This was fine…

“You always carry that basket and skip your way back and forth through the wood without a care in the world! It’s so adorable!” He gushed, sounding like a schoolgirl discussing their crush.

That definitely got your attention. Had he been following you? How long was he watching you? You stopped walking and looked at his face. As if a spell of ignorance had been broken, you suddenly became acutely aware of every imperfection that seemed to scream that this was no ordinary man. His hair was just a little too lively, shifting like it had a mind of its own. His eyes were just a little too big, pupils dilating like an excited animal. And his smile? How did you not realize sooner that there were way too many teeth? His hands were like someone had tried and failed to replicate human anatomy. His nails were long and black, resembling claws, and the number of fingers was all wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, tilting his head in confusion.

You yanked your hand out of his grasp, giving him a look with equal parts suspicion and fear. “What are you?”

“Huh? I’m a regular guy.”

“Then…then why are your eyes so big?” You asked in an accusatory manner, glaring at him with rising hostility.

His smile widened and his eyes crinkled. “The better to see you with.” He stated as if it was obvious.

“A-And…what about your hands?” You pressed.

“The better to hold you with~” He purred, stepping towards you.

You took a shaky step back, wanting to stay out of the creature’s reach. You weren’t sure who or what this creature was, but you knew that you had to get far away from it. With a deep breath, you turned and broke into a sprint. You did your best to weave around the trees and jump over the stray branches. You weren’t sure if he was following, but you had to keep moving. The forest seemed to twist and turn around you until you had no idea in what direction you were running. 

Finally, you came to a stop in a clearing. In the center was a large cabin with an irregular curving design. Where were you?

“Ah, there you are, love! I told you we were nearly there!” Came the creature’s voice as he silently crept up behind you and slid an arm around your waist. “Welcome home!”

“What?! This isn’t my home! You said you would help me get back to town!” You shrieked, looking fearfully into the creature’s yellow eyes.

He squeezed you tighter into his side, tilting his head with curiosity. “No, silly! I said I’d bring you home. You’ll like it here.”

This couldn’t be happening. You were too scared to pull away as the creature nuzzled his face against your shoulder.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I’m  ̸̧̨̥̰͙̗̱̮̙̖̹͇͛̈̇͂ͅ*̸͎́̆ ̸̠̟͉̥̭̣̔̌̾͝~̶̢͖͍̜̰̺̳͈͒͛̋̒͋̇̑͐̒͑̾̍̕͜͠ ̴̟̤͙͎̈́̈́͌̃̕͠*̵͔̦̒̃͛̀͒̌̈͌̅̕ ̵̡̼͙̪̙̠͙͌͗̊̈́̂͆̒ ̴̢̻̯̰̟͕͙͍̻͑̋͂̉̽͑̽͘ͅ ̵̡̢̧̖̜͈͓̱͈̩͓̜̩͒͑͐͋̎̌̾͑͜*̴̛̤̮̠̜̜̘̖̄̊̅̀̿͂̈̍͐̔͘͠ ̸̺̙̲̥̪̻͙͙̞̎͜͝ͅ~̷̠̥͇̤̦͍͕̟̾̓̒̽̈́͛̏̚ ̵̢̞̰̘̤̀̍́̓͌͆̒̄̍͜͠ͅ ̸̪̣̱̍*̵̗̰̬͔̟̺̻̫̭̍̊̾͒́͂͘ ̸̠̝̔̽̆͆̉̓̉̃̚ ̸̛̱̳̺͐̈́̂̒̀̃̓̑͒͝ͅ ̵̣̱͎̗̠̱̱͚̩̼̇̂͆͒ ̸͍̠͚̥̳͍͓̠̻͋̏̍͋́͜͝*̷̧̗̭͚̰͖̠̥̯͍̥̙̆̾̏̈͝ ̵̻̈́͒͊̾̈́̕ ̷̠̱̣͎̞̀ͅ ̸̧̺̟͙̟̟̟̗̟̽̿̒́̈́̆̀̇̓̿͌ ̴̡̡̨̧̛̮̙͉͈̻̳̩̦̰̎͜, but you can call me John Doe!

You’re going to be so happy with me!”

[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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