#but the first four seasons did not fucking come for my THROAT like this

[losers-clvb]

famine // sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x best friend!female!reader

summary: you and the winchester boys went to go look into a case on a couple mysteriously eating themselves to death. after discovering this is brought on by one of the four horsemen, famine, coming into town, dean and sam create a plan. the only problem: you've been whimpering at the sound of sam's voice since that morning.

content: basically just porn with small amount of plot, slightly dom!sam (not insanely so, just a few words), praise, reader begs sam to fuck her, fingering, unprotected piv penetration, sex pollen adjacent storyline, dubcon (due to said "sex pollen"), dean and castiel walk in on the pair after they're finished, no use of y/n

word count: 3k

note: this is based on season 5, episode 14 "my bloody valentine". i wrote this all in a day, so unedited, but i watched that episode and the idea just came to me. this was my first time writing smut so be kind if it isn't the best. second part of "mayor's banquet" coming out soon, which also has smut, if you are into that. enjoy!

masterlist

----

It started slowly. At first it was discomfort, one that left you wiggling in your jeans. You felt hot and no amount of air conditioning was helping. You moved in your seat as Dean drove through the small time. The three of you had arrived that morning, opting to eat at the local diner before investigating what was going on. A couple had eaten each other to death the night before which threw up alarm bells for the hunters. You were Sam’s best friend, a relationship that had begun in college. It wasn’t until you had an encounter with a werewolf four months after Sam left that you decided to join the boys on their hunts.

“You gotta take a piss or something?” Dean asked after he had noticed you were moving around in the backseat. You blushed when you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Leave her alone, Dean.” Sam smacked his brother playfully. You were grateful for this, as you always were for Sam. Coincidentally after he spoke, the need to move increased. You squeezed your eyes shut and breathed deeply.

You were contemplating asking Dean to pull over when the car stopped. You opened your eyes to find the motel you three would be staying in that night. Dean was already opening the door to the room, but Sam stood in front of your open door with his hand held out, ever the gentleman. You grasped his hand in yours and an actual whimper hummed in your throat. It was like your senses were heightened and Sam was the key to making it all better. Sam looked at you with his head cocked to the side.

“You alright?” He asked as you climbed out of the car. Oh God, his mouth, the way his lips moved when he talked, you wanted them on you, every part of you.

“Yeah.” You whispered, clenching your other hand in a fist. You shouldn’t be thinking of your best friend in that way. At least, not when he was leading you into your shared motel room with his brother. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, late at night, with your hand between your legs. You had walked in on Sam with Jessica once, back in the first few months of college. And God did that image give you something to think about. You mostly thought about how easily Sam could pin you on the bed, kiss and suck his way down your body until he reached your core, right where you needed him most. The idea of him devouring you like a starved animal, hands wrapped around your thighs, tongue-

“God, Cass, I thought you didn’t need to eat!” Dean exclaimed as the angel took another bite of his burger. Somehow you had missed entering the room and Castiel appearing inside. You let go of Sam’s hand and beelined to the bathroom. You shut the door and locked it, but not before hearing Dean gloat about how his earlier question had been correct.

You looked in the mirror and analyzed your blown pupils. You scoffed at yourself, splashing cold water onto your face. Why were you acting like a cat in heat? You had more self control than this. It didn’t make sense. You were fine this morning, yet now you were ready to grind yourself down on the edge of the bathtub.

You must have been in there a while because there was a knock on the door and you heard your name.

“I-I’m okay.” You stuttered out while holding back moans. It was Sam, who never wanted you to be uncomfortable. You bit down on your lip as you slipped a hand in your pants. After a few minutes of dissatisfying touching, you knew you had to stop and go back out into the room. When you opened the door there were three pairs of eyes on you, one playful, one uninterested, and one worried. You cleared your throat and shuffled to the table before taking a seat. Silence, aside from Castiel’s chewing, filled the room. You pulled out your laptop from the bags that had been brought in and began researching. What, you didn’t know, but it beat trying to avoid Sam’s gaze.

----

It was official: you were horny for Sam Winchester. It was bad, worse than it had been that afternoon. You all had figured out that one of the four horsemen, Famine, was in town, and he was looking for something to satisfy his hunger. It explained everything. Cass’ insatiable hunger and your insatiable need. Even Sam was going thirsty for some demon blood.

Now, you stood, or more squirmed, in the motel room as the boys created a plan. They were starting to suspect something was wrong with you, they just couldn’t figure it out. Dean was a bit more clued into the fact that you seemed to whimper every time you looked in Sam’s direction. Sam, completely clueless to this, had been trying to get you alone in hopes you would tell him what was wrong.

“We find Famine, take his little ring, and everyone will be back to normal.” Dean said, slapping his hands on his lap. You hugged yourself, chewing absentmindedly at your thumbnail in an attempt to stop the desire from coming out of you.

“Dean-” Sam’s voice made you melt and a small moan escaped your lips. The brothers looked at you before turning back to the conversation.

“-I can’t go. The demons-”

“I get it.” Dean interrupted Sam. He knew he couldn’t expect Sam to risk something like this. He had it handled. He had Castiel to help. He would’ve had you also, but he could tell you were ready to pounce on Sam. Your resolve was breaking. There wasn’t much more you could do. You decided - you were going to ask Sam to help you get over this.

“Sam,” You breathed out as you walked to him. Your legs were wobbly. You watched Sam shoot up from his seat, but before you could get to him Dean was grabbing both of your wrists. You whined, trying to pull away. You needed Sam, needed his body, his c-

“No.” Dean spoke sternly, pulling you to the door. He had to get you another room and lock you in. It was for your own good.

“Wait, let her g-” Sam tried to walk to you but Castiel, even in his hungry state, stepped in front of him. You yanked against Dean but he was stronger than you.

“Not right now, man.” Dean spoke as he dragged you out.

“What’s wrong with her?!” Sam was desperate. He needed to know why he couldn’t be around you.

“I think you know.” Castiel said before turning his attention back to his food. Sam shook his head and tried to think. Realization came across his face as he put it all together.

----

An hour had passed since Dean left you. He had locked you in the bathroom of a room as far from the original room that they had available. You had somehow gotten worse. You were bucking from the ground, trying to find something to alleviate the pain. It was horrible. You knew Sam was close. You could feel it. You needed him. The door was locked from the outside, but you were pulling on the handle, trying to get it open.

“Please,” You whined out. You banged on the door, trying to break it down. You whimpered a few times when you felt the fabric of your jeans rub against you. You had grown stronger since joining the boys. You could do this. You needed Sam.

The sound of wood cracking encouraged your efforts. You slammed your body up against the door and hit it with your fists until you felt it give way. You fell to the ground surrounded by the scattered pieces of wood from the door. Your recovery was quick and was sped up by the overwhelming need bubbling in you. You stumbled to the door of the room, which was, stupidly on Dean’s part, simply locked with the deadbolt. You ran out into the night like a caged animal escaping. You searched around trying to find the room where you knew Sam was.

There. Room 12. You ran for it, panting as your core grew wetter. You reached the room, shuffling around for the key that Dean had forgotten to take from you. You fumbled to unlock the door. You could already smell Sam, hear his own struggle to get his fix. You searched the room trying to find him.

“Sammy…” You whined out and clutched your stomach. You couldn’t find him, even though you knew he was here. You heard your name muffled through the door to the bathroom. Of course! Dean had hidden him in the same place he had put you. You practically ran to the door, yanking it open. There he was, handcuffed to the sink and looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes. You whimpered and fell to your knees next to him.

“Sammy, it hurts.” You said, gripping onto his shirt. Sam scrunched his eyebrows in worry and understanding. With his free hand he rubbed your side in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know, honey.” He breathed out as you leaned on him.

“Please, Sammy, help me. Please.” You whimpered and breathed in his scent.

“I don’t know if you-” He began.

“No, I do, I do, I do.” You chanted as his hand gripped onto your side. You could see him roll his head to the side. He could tell you were in pain. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to help. He did, more than anything in the world. He had wanted you since you joined him and Dean on the road. The time was never right, his confidence never high enough. And now he had a chance. The only problem was he didn’t know if you actually wanted it or if it was the old man controlling your desire. When Sam was silent to your begging, you moved in closer.

“Sammy, please… it hurts so bad… I want you… all of you…” You moaned out. Red hot need flashed across your vision. It was getting harder for Sam to not touch you in the way you both wanted. The final crush of his hesitancy was the whimper that came out of you when he took his hand off of you.

“Let me see you, baby.” His tone was delicate even when his words were dirty. You were quick to pull your clothes off. You didn’t care where they went and threw them in every direction. You were left naked and kneeling next to him. His eyes raked down your body before stopping on your acing core. You watched him, whining. He traced a finger across your burning skin. He stopped just before reaching your wetness.

“Please…” You breathed. He flicked his gaze to your eyes momentarily before moving his hand. He started slow, rubbing your clit mindfully. You fell backwards in pleasure but made sure you were still close enough for Sam to touch you. Sam’s pace never slowed or quickened, which made you buck your hips up. He pulled his hand away, leaving you cold and whiny.

“Ah ah,” Sam locked eyes with you, “let me do it.” He placed his hand back where it was to continue his rubbing. Your chest heaved as you willed yourself to stay still. God, you needed this. Your hand moved to your breasts. You toyed with your nipples. This made Sam pull at the cuff around his other wrist. He wanted to touch you, touch all of you. Damn Dean for restraining him like this.

“Just like that, baby, rub them just like that.” He slipped a finger in you. You moaned and clenched around it. He swore under his breath as he moved his hand. You felt like heaven and he hadn’t even had you around his cock yet.

“Yes, Sammy, yes.” You encouraged him. Looking at him from your spot on the floor, you could tell he was getting hard. You wanted to help him, helping him helped you. You moved to get up when Sam pulled his hand back again.

“I said, no moving.” He growled and moved his hips to hide the growing erection. You collapsed on the floor, desperate for him again.

“Wanna make you feel good, Sammy.” You mumbled as you felt not just one, but two fingers slip in. Sam sighed in pleasure, loving how you felt on his hand.

“You are, baby. You can have it, have it all. Just wanna make you come first.” His gentle tone only made you louder. You ran your hands down your body, sparks of pleasure erupting wherever you touched. You were close, so so close. You squeezed your eyes shut as Sam sped up the pace.

“So close, Sam, so so so…” You trailed off, the words falling off your tongue as he curled his fingers. He smiled devilishly, and if you didn’t know any better, or if you were in the headspace to even think, you would’ve thought he was possessed. No, this was completely and wholly Sam Winchester.

“That’s good, baby, come on. Come all undone for me.” He cooed. His words were what sent you over the edge, waves crashing down as you moaned through a bitten lip. The moment of reprieve from the pain was short lived as the need seemed to multiply. You figured this must be what torture was. You turned to your hands and knees before crawling to Sam. He groaned as he watched you look up at him, asking for permission to undress him. He nodded and your hands flew to his zipper. You unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down his body with his boxers.

His cock sprang free, looking achingly hard. You sucked in a breath, the sight making your clit throb. You moved a hand to touch him, but was stopped by his hand on your wrist. Your eyes shot to his.

“I want you around me.” His words were almost a beg, like he was just as needy for this as you were. You whimpered in reply, a new wave of pleasure washing over you. You climbed on top of him so you were chest to chest. He looked in your eyes before crashing his lips into yours. It was sloppy and full of desire. His hand gripped your hip, kneading the skin there. You groaned in response. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you tried to hold him as close to you as possible. His hand snaked down to position himself with your hole. He broke the kiss to speak.

“Ready, baby?” He asked. You answered by sinking down onto him with a sigh. You kissed him again, grinding your hips. He helped you move, lifting you with one arm only to guide you back down. His lips left yours, moving down your face then to your neck. He nipped at your skin sharply before kissing it better.

SamSamSamSamSamSam. The only thing in your mind was Sam. His name was racing through your brain in a never ending loop. He left little marks on you everywhere, causing you you speed up your movements. Your fingers tangled in his hair. You needed him closer, needed him deeper.

“God, you feel so good, baby. Just like I dreamed about.” Sam grunted out against your skin. Your walls were warm and tight around him. He could feel you tighten around him when he spoke, which only motivated him to keep going. His words made you moan. You loved this, and though the instant need for it had been brought on against your will, you had been dreaming about this moment for a while.

The room was filled with breathy moans and the sounds of sex. You pulled Sam's head back by his hair, gentle enough, before kissing him again. It was sloppy and wet, full of lust. You could feel yourself growing closer to orgasm again. It was insane how this felt. Most guys hadn't ever gotten you off once, much less twice in the same night. You whimpered into his mouth and felt a smile curve up his face. He was glad he could bring such pleasure to you.

The final breaking point for you was when you felt his hand holding you grip onto the soft fat of your bottom. You let out a few breathy whines as you felt Sam come a second later. You didn't care that the two of you had forgotten to use a condom in your sex driven states. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the euphoric high of multiple orgasms was washing over you as you stayed on Sam. Neither of you were moving anymore. He was still inside you when you let your arms fall to his chest. Your head lolled to its side onto his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you.

“You okay, baby?” He said in between pants. You simply nodded. The overwhelming need to go for another round wasn't coming and you were so glad for it. Finally, you were at peace. Dean and Castiel must have gotten Famine’s ring somehow. You didn't think of what this meant until you heard the door to the motel room open.

“Sam-” Dean began, but was cut off by the sight of the two of you on the bathroom floor, Sam still cuffed to the sink. Castiel appeared behind Dean.

“She wasn't there.” He stated in a monotone after seemingly being sent to check up on you.

“Yeah, I got that.” Dean mumbled. Sam looked up at him sheepishly. You were starting to doze off. The energy it had taken all day to not be able to get off was taking a toll on you. Dean cleared his throat before grabbing a blanket off the bed. He draped it over you in an attempt to keep some of your modesty in tact.

“Can you, ya know?” Sam questioned while rattling the handcuffs attached to him. Dean pulled a key from his pocket and quickly freed his younger brother.

“We'll talk about this later.” Dean said before swiftly getting out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

[sc0tters]

Send a Text | Quinn Hughes

summary: when you’ve been thinking about your boyfriend all week, what better way than to let him know with a raunchy text?

request: yes/no

warnings: allusions to sex (nothing explicit), swearing.

word count: 0.98k

authors note: I’m doing some blurbs today to get some requests out of my inbox and this is the first! the request brought up the TikTok trend so that was exactly what I did!

Summertime at the lake house was your favourite.

You got to watch the boys refocus after the hockey season when they got a break to just have fun. It meant that they were allowed to just do whatever they wanted for a few weeks. And on top of that, that you got to have your boyfriend back to yourself.

Quinn asked you out a little under four years ago after he couldn’t get you out of his head. Your relationship was perfect and you loved Quinn. So getting to watch him at his happiest with his friends and family had you feeling like you were on cloud nine.

In the previous years of you coming back with Quinn he was great, he really did value the time he got to spend with you. But this time you just ended up talking to Cole or Alex as Quinn seemed to be clueless. Watching Quinn in nothing more than his swim shorts most days had you feeling hot and bothered.

And it seemed that no amount of basking in the sun was going to cure how your body felt. You truly thought that you were screwed after Quinn made the rule that whilst the boys were at the lake house he had a no touching rule. So that was how you ended up scrolling through TikTok when you found your revenge.

The trend had been sending your partner a raunchy message in front of his family but you knew that doing it whilst the boys were around was going to truly be the cherry on top of the cake. It took you three days of waiting to unleash your plan and as the boys lounged around after watching an F1 race. Your phone was subtly in your hand as you began your plans.

y: been thinking about you all day

Quinn’s phone vibrated in his pocket making him furrow his eyebrows until he saw the message that made him smile.

quinny 💗: been across from you the entire time

y: I know

y: so hot and bothered about you

quinny 💗: you have?

y: *sent one image*

Quinn’s eyes went wide as he looked at the image of his hands as a bra as your neck was marked with hickies. He was quick to hide his phone not wanting to the boys around him to see it.

quinny 💗: you’re playing a dangerous game baby

y: but I want you to fuck me baby.

Quinn finally looked at you as his cheeks grew red when he thought he was dreaming as he felt his cock grow hard in his shorts. He made the effort to clear his throat only making your smile grow larger as you grinned.

Jack instantly knew what was going on as he looked between you and Quinn “gross!” He groaned shaking his head in disgust.

Your smirk only grew wider as you laughed “what’s wrong Jacky?” You knew how to play innocent as you cocked your head “you wanna go make me an uncle!” Jack’s loud words made the house erupt into laughter as all of the boys looked at Quinn who remained silent.

All the eldest boy could do was squeeze his phone as he tried to get rid of the imagine that was in his mind “who knew you had a little devil Quinn.” Trevor teased as he patted the older boys back only stopping when he was met with a glare.

You smiled as you placed your phone back on your lap “I think we should go on the boat.” Alex announced watching you get up “without you two!” He added as he motioned to you to sit back down.

Trevor laughed as they all got up “have fun you two!” He called out when the boys made sure that they quickly left the house.

As you two were left alone you went to get up again as you turned to head to the kitchen “and where do you think that you’re going?” Quinn finally spoke up as it made you freeze.

You had been in Quinn’s favourite bikini and an old baseball jersey “to get a drink.” You explained in a duh tone as you motioned to your empty glass.

It made him click his tongue as he shook his head “you think you can get away with the little stunt you pulled?” The hockey player grumbled as he got up with his pupils fully blown.

Your mouth grew dry as you tried to not smile “you didn’t seem that into it.” You shrugged going to walk away when his hand wrapped around your wrist pulling you closer to him.

His hand ran through your hair as you were against his chest “cute you think you don’t affect me.” He mumbled leaning down to peck your lips.

The kiss made you smile as your hand settled in his shirt “I shouldn’t even treat you with the way you acted.” Quinn sighed as he clicked his tongue “I need you Quinny.” You whined hoping that you hadn’t just shot yourself in the foot.

He smiled as he nodded “know you do my pretty girl.” The boy squeezed your chin between his fingers “I’ll be nice and give you what you want though.” The words made your eyes light up as you grinned “thank you cap.” Your hands wrapped around his neck as he pulled you close to him.

Quinn kissed your temple as he looked at the clock wondering how much longer the boys would be out for “go get on the bed just how I like ya and I’ll fuck you real good.” Quinn offered making you nod.

You turned around to head up the stairs as you felt his palm hit your ass “all you had to do was ask me to fuck you pretty girl.” The Canucks captain smiled as he watched your ass bounce as you ran up the stairs.

[elliespassagerprincess]

i literally read ur five everyday i love them sm and i was wondering if u could make a angsty with a happy ending ellie x reader inspired by bubblegum by clairo

Bubblegum - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! thank youuu sm!! i hope you enjoy this fic... i tried something new:)

This story is based off the song Bubblegum by Clairo! if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: none

Summary: in which you fell in love

authors note: the good doctor season 7 has me in tears man, like bro why did they have to kill Asher????

masterlist

You never thought this day would come. You thought this would only be a fantasy.

If you told 15 year old you that you would be standing in front of Ellie Williams at the alter, she would've laughed.

Both of you wanted this day to be perfect, and it was. The flowers, your dress and her suit, the seating arrangements, everything was perfect.

She looked at you with such love, love that you have only seen in Disney movies.

The two of you held hands as it was time for your vows. Her hands felt soft, and she held you so gently.

Ellie had to go first. Her palms were slightly sweaty. She was nervous.

Very fucking nervous.

You gave her hand a light squeeze and you gave her a small smile. That was all she needed.

"Sorry I didn't kiss you but it's obvious I wanted to"

You smiled as you remembered the awkward memory.

It was a sleepover at Dina's house, the two of you were only 15. It was you, Dina, Jesse and Ellie.

Oh Ellie.

Ellie Williams.

When Ellie and Joel arrived in Jackson you were immediately drawn to her.

She was pretty.

Really pretty.

Very early on you developed feelings for her. You liked the way she drew pictures, you liked the way she cut her hair, you liked her sense of humor. You liked Ellie for her.

When Dina invited you to the sleepover, you almost burst with joy. This was your moment.

Ellie was anxiously packing her bag for the sleepover.

She needed to impress you. She packed all her best outfits. She really fucking liked you.

The four of you played 7 minutes in heaven and the bottle landed on you and Ellie. Dina squealed knowing the two of liked each other.

You were pissing yourself, and Ellie was wondering how she smelled.

She was going to make a move. She needed to let you know how she felt. The two of you walked into the closet, and Dina locked the door behind you.

"Hi" you muttered softly

"hey" Ellie said back.

The two of you sat in awkward silence.

C'mon Ellie make your move

"What's your favorite color?" She suddenly blurted.

A smile spread onto your face before you answered "pink".

The two of you spoke so many things in that few minutes you had together. You learned so much about her.

"You have 2 minutes!" Dina yelled from the other side of the door.

"This was fun" you smiled

"it was... we should talk more often"

She was so close to you. So fucking close. You could feel her breath on your face.

'C'mon move Ellie' she thought to herself.

But before Ellie could make her move, you leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were so so soft. You've been dreaming about this for months.

Ellie's eyes widened at the sudden feeling. She wanted to lean in. She wanted to kiss you back but she was in a state of shock.

Ellie pulled away, and she started at you with a blank expression.

"Times up!" Dina opened the door with a smile.

Ellie got up and she ran out the closet.

You felt embarrassed. Humiliated.

You thought you had a connection, but clearly you were wrong.

Fuck you hated yourself

Ellie would probably never look at you again.

You were so fucking embarrassing.

"Bubble gum down my throat and it's a curse

But my luck couldn't get any worse

'Cause I swallowed the bubble gum

Oh, and these seven years will be pretty dumb

Pink flowers grow from my skin

Pepto Bismol veins and I grin"

It felt like seven years had gone by.

Its been 4 years since the kiss, but it felt like its been longer. After the kiss situation with Ellie, she avoided you like the plague. She never spoke to you again and you hated yourself for that.

Not only did you lose the girl you felt so deeply for, you lost someone you considered a best friend.

Little did you know she was beating herself up too. She was mad at herself for walking away. She was mad at herself for not kissing you back.

She was too embarrassed to look at you.

Ellie never tried again with any other girl, her heart belonged to you. Even though she wasn't sure what she would do to win you back, she knew one day you'd be hers.

Every time you would walk into a room where Ellie was she stopped breathing. If was as if bubblegum was stuck in her throat.

She wanted to talk to you, but the words were stuck.

Every time you were close to her, she'd always imagine all the things she would say, how you'd react, all the possibilities of what could have been.

But she was too pussy to say something about it.

As if her luck couldn't get worse Joel died. Everyone in Jackson could see how it affected her.

Ellie was sad but she was soon filled with rage. She had to go after whoever killed Joel. When she decided to leave Jackson, she had to say bye to you.

Ellie walked to where your house was and she knocked on the door. You opened it and she remembered you were wearing a pink flower dress.

Why was she here?

"I'm leaving Jackson"

Your eyes widened and you stayed silent for a while.

"I'm coming with you"

You stayed by her side the whole time. You were there for her the whole time.

One night you woke up to voices talking downstairs. Cautiously you walked down the stairs and you saw Ellie sitting with Tommy.

"Hi Tommy" you smile.

He gave Ellie a serious look before he walked out, not even saying bye to you.

Ellie turned to you with a sad look, and you could feel the tension in the air.

"You look so nice in your shirt" you say hoping to ease the tension.

It didn't work.

She told you about Abby. She told you that Tommy found her. She told you that she was leaving you to find her. You stayed silent as she explained everything to you.

"Say something" she begged.

"This is sad"

"What is?"

"It's sad because it just hurts"

You stayed silent before speaking up again: "I understand you miss Joel, but killing her wont bring him back. You're choosing someone else over us."

"We're not even together" Ellie hissed.

"I never forced you to come with me"

"Fuck Ellie don't you see?" You yelled "I'd do anything for you, but would you do that for me, too?"

She stayed silent at your words.

"I left my life for you, i wanted to be with you. I loved you Ellie! Open your fucking eyes"

She never responded, she got up and she walked out the door.

"Run like you always fucking do!"

She left you. She was gone for 3 months. You were going to give up hope.

Until you heard the front door opened. You ran down the stairs and you saw her in all her glory.

She was bloody, dirty and she had a few fingers missing.

"You're still here" she said with relief she fell to her knees and you ran to her.

Tears fell from both your eyes before Ellie muttered "killing her wont bring him back"

You smiled as Ellie retold the story in her vows. The officiant cleared her throat "i now pronounce you... wife and wife! You may now kiss your wife"

Ellie immediately grabbed your face, and the two of you shared a passionate kiss.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and you felt her smile into the kiss.

This is what you've always dreamed of.

<3

[ehh-is-the-name]

TPOT 10 spoilers 'cause BH makes me insane

I mean, c'mon. You can't see this thumbnail and think things are gonna be ok for you mentally if you like blackhole. Like you know what's coming to you.

First things first, let me just scream into the void for a second-

HIS NIGHTMARE IS KILLING PEOPLE AND LETTING THAT CONSUME HIM?????!!?!?

AAAAAAAAAGUH MY HEART??!!???!?

Man- I love Blackhole and this episode just drove the stake into my heart. The fact that he, himself, is a being who causes death by getting too close to people made me writhe in BFB. But actively showing the extent of how it affects him—ack! He knows he causes death, which is why it's so important for him not to kill people, and why he's so strict about the pact rules!!

It makes so much sense... BFB 1 had it all laid out, and TPOT 10 sewed it together.

From the way he was hesitant about helping Flower!!! We know- he knows he's gonna end the world by getting closer, but he gives into it anyway. Instead of putting his foot down to Flower, he gives in to his feeling of wanting to be closer to people—from the way he's so happy about being shrunk—and more later. Then we get that whole thing with everyone about to die.

We know if Four never came, everyone would've died. Blackhole knows that too, from the end of his nightmare. More specific to this clip though, from the scene with Pie and LIY, since he literally just gave in to the urge to get closer and he wants that to never happen again. As a singularity in space, he could appreciate the planet, and life on it, more than other objects. He could see them all interact but never actually interact with them (besides talking), so at this chance of being beckoned, it makes sense that he'd just go "eh, fuck it, alright" then IMMEDIATELY regret his actions. Although his nightmare was about being afraid he'll "give into murderous urges", it can also be interpreted as him being afraid to let go. Something clearly stated in the last scene of his nightmare...

Queue TPOT 10 scene from clip above (I'm so mad that it's only 1 video per post on here)

Over the season we've seen him go from preventing death to just not killing people. It's morphed into his own cut-throat rule for the pact, which, in this context, is fair to see why. He joined the game via him not caring about the consequences, and it's stuck with him, so seeing everyone over and over get away with things made him HAVE to re-enforce to himself that he wasn't allowed. Death PACT doesn't kill people. HE doesn't kill people. He can't allow himself to let go of that regiment.

Obviously, this causes problems in the team- we see the clip. The thing that gets me the most is that this is bona fide trauma we're working with—Fanny telling him to #get-over-it kinda rubbed me the wrong way. And OK! I know- I know that's not exactly what she's saying but that's how it felt, and I know she has every right to be upset 'cause he was fuckin' over his team, but again that's just me! (The fact they got on the same page was enough for me anyway.) I digress, his "obsessive nature" was essentially just a response to everything that's happened to him—it's what makes him feel in control of himself. Poor BH's got trauma bad :(

I think what really twists that knife for me is that... the guy really just wants to connect with his peers normally- He wants everything to go back to normal, and that's one of the reasons he compromises with Fanny. On some level, he knows he's gone too far, but he's just afraid. Even at the end, he can't bring himself to kill Tree, even though he knows it'd be better with the new "focusing on life" angle. Did you hear that shakey exhale? Man's going through the wringer. Obviously, he won't overcome his trauma in an episode, but it's a good step to just playing and enjoying the game.

Anyway... There is probably a shitton of fans that are looking at this like "Yeah no shit Sherlock" but hey! Be nice. Some of us are slower than the others, and by some of us, I mean me. I needed this punch in the face to really see how death was impacting Blackhole's mental state and now I've word vomited my thoughts out.

[marsbutterfly]

Final Mission - Remastered

Summary: The rumbling begins to close in on you and your friends. With very few choices remaining, you have to watch as Hanji makes a decision that will alter the course of your life forever.

a/n: hello hello!! So ever since part 3 part 1 came out, I decided to start working on rewriting my very first work, for Hanji and for Attack On Titan. This piece has always meant so much to me as it was written with lol sm grief? anyway, I know it's been a while but Hanji pls come back, the kids and I miss you babes.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: attack on titan season 4 part 3 (part 1) spoilers if you haven't watched it yet, angst, blood, established relationship, soulmate loss, a bit of resentment towards tbh everyone if you squint. | ao3 | wattpad | the original | wc: 3.3k

“You could break my heart in two

But when it heals, it beats for you”

“I’m the one who brought everyone here. I killed my comrades to come this far. I’ll take responsibility for it all,” Hanji says, her hands trembling while grasping the thunder spears firmly, eyes filled with terror while a shallow breath fights to leave her lungs. The ground shakes beneath you and a chilling sensation courses down your spine.

You finally find the courage to turn around to face her as she approaches the group, words dying and being reborn in your throat as you struggle to find just the right thing to say, eventually landing on the bleakest yet most desperate request, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her footsteps are heavy, contrasting clearly with those of the colossal titans as they march towards you. Her vision is focused on the young, blonde boy ahead of you and you can tell she is trying with all her might to avoid your eyes, afraid of the reaction you might have.

“Armin Arlert,” her voice is gentle, gentler than it has been in a while, almost as if the heavy burden of the world inside the walls has finally lifted from her shoulders and she could actually think straight, “I hereby designate you the 15th Commander of the Scout Regiment.”

The remainder of the words exchanged between the two of them simply echoes in your brain, going from one ear to the other, almost as if they were speaking sheer gibberish. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. Why is she making him commander when she is still standing right there? Hopefully not for the reasons you are expecting, right? Your thoughts move a thousand times faster than the actual conversation flows.

Your eyes are fixated on the scenery before you, a mixture of feelings coursing through your veins and your heart feels like it has been missing a few beats as an intense void begins to creep from deep inside of you. The situation is not ideal: the colossal titans get closer by the second, the atmosphere becomes hotter with their steam clouding the air and an overwhelming feeling of despair grows in your chest.

You focus on the sound of her voice, the same sound that has brought you so much comfort in the most trying of times now makes no sense, no matter how you look at it. Her face, which has always been your absolute favorite piece of art to ever exist, now contorted into a pained and saddened expression. In fact, it reminded of the way she looked when Erwin announced she would be taking over the Scouts in case he didn’t make it through Shiganshina.

You are finally pulled out of this trance once she begins to move again, this time towards Levi, confused and worrying eyes following her every move carefully as she moves across the brick bridge. From where you stand, you can see the black haired man tightening his left fist, the breeze hitting every so lightly, just barely enough for it to lift his hair and show you that he is sharing a quick glance with you before returning to Hanji.

“Hey, four-eyes,” he says. That’s the first time you have heard him call her those two words since she became commander. He had told you once before he did it out of respect, seeing that she was now his superior, so for him to say it now, in a moment like this, that is when the realization and truth of the moment finally began to dawn on you.

“You understand, right, Levi?” Her voice trembles in the slightest, in a manner that would be unnoticeable to anyone else but you and the man she is speaking to, “my turn has come at last.”

Hanji raises her hands, fingertips trembling and causing the thunder spears to shake, the sweat glistening on her face as her pupils twitch, it’s a sight you hoped to never see. She tries to play her nervousness off, “I’m giddy with the desire to make a supremely cool exit. Don’t stop what I’ve got going.”

For the first time, her eyes meet yours and you realize only then how many tears she was holding back, a quiet sob dying in your throat as you yelp, your body rejecting your brain’s commands to move, legs stuck in place and swallowing has never been this hard.

With a sigh, you hear those three words out of Levi’s mouth, the same words that are now only chanted by a ghost or a distant memory, “Dedicate your heart.” It feels like a punch to the stomach, air can no longer find its way inside your lungs and you choke on your own saliva, there is no denying what is about to happen anymore and the overwhelming sensation that there is nothing you can do to change it overwhelms you.

She smiles and lets out a gentle giggle, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

Lastly, she makes her way towards you. The need for oxygen is intense but the very second that her gentle fingertips touch your face, the world seems to stop for a moment and every worry you have ever had dissipates into the feeling.

“I truly hope that you can forgive me one day,” she says and the tears that dangled from her eyes were finally allowed to fall. With a smirk on her lips, she blew on your face so that your hair would move from one spot to the other and the smell of her breath fills you with a sense of nostalgia and despair.

“Please don’t say that,” you whisper, bringing your body closer to hers, “you are the only family I have left. I don’t know where to go without you,” your voice trembles, your throat is as dry as the deserts you’ve heard Armin talk so much about. The tips of your fingers gently twirl a loose strand of hair that falls on her face.

Hanji turns her face at a precise 90 degree angle to look at Levi, a stoic expression on his face though his eyes tell you everything you need to know about his feelings. A tear runs down Hanji’s face, but only one as she won’t allow herself to fully break down until you are out of sight, “Will you take care of her for me?” He doesn’t respond with words, the only thing he does is nod his head in agreement.

Her eyes make their way back to you as she uses both of her hands to carefully cup your face, lips meeting yours with a desperation you had never seen before, almost as if she is trying to engrave you on her own body. Her tongue glides with yours for a couple of seconds and you feel the butterflies rising in your stomach as if it were the first time you have kissed her.

The moment couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds but it felt like forever and a day, your body nearly melting in contact with her touch. For a split moment, you forgot about the rumbling, about Eren, about the sacrifice she was about to make, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but this very moment the two of you share.

Everything feels ok for a little while, the warmth of her brown eyes reminds you of the many cups of tea you have shared in the barricades, the softness of her touch bringing up memories of times you’ve met under the apple tree in the courtyard, and the gentleness on her lips stirring butterflies in your stomach, much like the very first time you’d seen her.

However it does not last long. You are brought back to reality by the sound of her ODM gear going off, the hook gripping onto the wall and the cold feeling her lips leave behind. Hanji doesn’t give you enough time to stop her, she simply pulls away before you could even react.

She doesn’t say anything. In the years that passed since she became commander, Hanji had been preparing you for the inevitable moment when she passes away, when her turn to make a sacrifice to save your life would come. In that time, you let your guard down, you had convinced yourself something like that would never happen, not to the both of you.

Your eyes are fixated on her every move, every swing of her blade, every flicker of her cape, and there is nothing you can do. Frozen in place, you watch in horror as she manages to take down a few of the colossal titans on their path of destruction. It wasn’t enough. The engineers still need more time.

Trembling hands struggle to find a way onto your blades as a thought goes through your brain, “How can I help her?” By the time you manage to look back up, you catch a glance of a scene that could only be described as your worst nightmare: your beloved’s body, the person you’ve loved most for the past few years, catching on fire as a result of the bodily heat of the colossal titans.

Your heart sinks in your stomach and all you can do is scream. Your feet begin to move as you make up your mind to run and assist them but a pair of strong hands get a hold of your waist before you have time to move forward.

“Reiner, let me go,” you demand, in vain. No matter just how much you kick, or scream, or scratch him, his grip will not loosen and a sense of utter despair fills you. Your throat burns and your vision is blurred out by all the tears, your hands are shaking and there is nothing more you can do.

The last drop was the moment you caught a glimpse of her lifeless, burned to a crisp body falling from the sky like a meteor ready to destroy your life. You had no more fight left in you, no more strength remaining to try and free yourself from Reiner’s arms.

Something inside of your brain begins to slip away, was it your sanity? Or something more personal, like your spirit? No, this was a feeling you had encountered time and time again, expedition after expedition, titan kill after titan kill, hopelessness. Except this time, the feeling was a thousand times worse.

Without her, how would you be able to find Eren and stop the rumbling once and for all? Not only that, but for the first time, probably ever, you questioned her judgment, after all, how could Armin be commander? The boy who was chosen over Erwin, part of the reason why you found yourself in this situation in the first place.

No, there was no use in pointing fingers at each other. If in a situation like this, where life and death walked hand in hand, she chose him, then you would trust her judgment, even if you didn’t agree with it, even if you believed it to be the wrong choice.

Your eyelids grow heavier the closer you get to the plane, the tears have yet to stop running down your face and a full body spread of goosebumps has taken hold of your skin. You manage to take a deep breath before allowing your exhausted body to slip into unconsciousness and, for the last time, you hear her voice.

“I love you.”

The pounding sensation in your head is nearly too much to bear. You squint through closed eyes, slowly using whatever little strength you have left to raise your arm, shielding your face from the far too close sun rays. The atmosphere surrounding the area is so heavy you could cut it with a knife, but a determined Armin breaks free from the awkwardness. “Listen up,” he says, the confidence is his voice masking his true emotions, “Let’s go over the plan.”

Their voices are now a bit louder, the slight turbulence you come across every so often causes the plane to shake and every last bit of metal to scrape against one another. You can hear the sound of a pencil scribbling on the metal floor, but whether it is writing or drawing, you are unable to realize.

As the conversation goes by, your ears begin to ring and your mind can’t help but wonder how long it has been. You take your hand up to your chest, clutching tightly to the fabric that covers the area above your heart, it feels empty, like it has been broken in two and the pieces have been flung out into space.

Has it been seconds? Has it been days? No, while it feels like an eternity has passed, deep down you know that it has only been somewhere between fifteen to thirty minutes. Tears begin to pool up in your eyes once more, that emptiness eating away at your stomach while you choke down a desolate sob. You don’t want to draw attention towards yourself but yet somehow, you find yourself as the center of everyone’s concern.

For a while, no one dares to move, speak or even breathe. You can’t be bothered by their reactions or lack thereof, the pressure on your chest desperately needs to be released. The tears won’t stop flowing, air fails to enter your lungs as heavy hiccups erupt from deep within your soul. The void you feel could only be compared to a bottomless abyss, not knowing when it will end.

Once you have no more tears left, you try your best to use your arms to sit up, cursing yourself for being so weak in the face of such immediate danger. Footsteps approach you and a helping hand finds a comfortable spot on your lower back, gently assisting you in your attempt to sit. You don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is.

“Mikasa,” you say, not quite sure if it is a question or if anything else is going to follow.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, her voice is raspy and gentle, like she has been doing some crying of her own. You can’t help but smirk, not out of happiness, but because you know they all already have an idea of what your answer is going to be.

“It feels like my heart has just been ripped out of my chest and I had to watch as it burned,” you say and they all immediately understand that you are referring to the condition you were forced to leave Hanji’s body in. It is a stupid question but, for some reason, it does make the aching a tad bit more tolerable.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Armin points out in a serene voice as he walks towards you, his footsteps seem lighter than a feather in an attempt to not spook you away, as if you were a wild, injured little animal, “How did that happen?”

“I cut it,” You respond, dryly. Your lower lip quivers as you open your palm, revealing the smallest piece of green fabric. It is clear from the patter and the design that it came from one of the cloaks owned by the Survey Corps, no extra words are needed for all present to understand that it belonged to their fallen Commander. Though no one desires to talk about it, Reiner decides to take the fall.

“I may not have been so gentle when we were boarding the flying boat,” he says, using his left hand to scratch the back of his neck while the right one holds onto the rail above his head, “I’m sorry, y/n. I should have been more careful.”

You know what he is trying to do. It is clearly a lie and there is no denying any of it, but you appreciate his efforts to remove the attention from the sore subject. You purse your lips in what could be considered a small smile while quietly nodding your head.

“Would you mind if I took a look at it?” Armin asks, kneeling beside you while reaching his hand underneath your own. Perhaps he was right to treat you like a spooked animal, seeing as your immediate reaction was to move your hand far away from him, clinging onto the fabric for dear life as you push your body towards the back of the ship until you collide with the metal wall. “Please.” He begs.

“No,” you cower away, “This is the last part of me to have ever touched her. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, I can barely feel anything anymore.”

Once more he asks, “Please,” and you realize he isn't going to let the subject go. So before too much of your blood has a chance to soak the bit of cloth, you switch it towards your other hand, extending your injured arm until it touches the top of his thighs.

You whimper as a stream of clean water comes in contact with your open skin, dirt debris being washed away by the contents as best as possible. Your eyes never leave his face, the now 15th Commander of the Survey Corps taking care of you, your heart gets heavier the more you think of him in such a manner. His shoulders are slumped forward, as if there is a “not so fictional” weight on them. It doesn’t take long before he is finished bandaging you up.

“I am fully aware it is not the same but,” a masculine voice comes from the front half of the ship, “you still have us.”

Your eyes now meet Levi, whose crossed arms and stern face somehow brings you the slightest amount of comfort. With a helping hand from Connie, you make your way towards him, gently placing yourself between Pieck and the black-haired man, who ever so gently places a comforting hand behind your back. It is rare for him to demonstrate any sort of affection, so by the way his fingers feel against your clothes, you can nearly feel his own grief. Another lump forms in your throat, but you swallowed it this time.

“We’ll make sure that Hanji’s death wasn’t in vain,” Mikasa swears, false determination taking over her words, “We’ll return Eren into his old self, I know he is still in there somewhere, just waiting for us.”

Any sort of emotion gets drained from your face as you stare deep into her eyes, gray orbs looking deeply at you in hopes of any approval of her message. You raise your chin as you cross your legs, bringing your body forward, closer to her. You don’t want to be mean, nor do you want to make her feel like her attempt at comforting you fell into deaf ears, but all present right now know that what she has said is bullshit. 

“Mikasa,” your voice is stern, “do you remember what Annie asked you once in the forest and then again after we attempted to communicate with Floch?” She doesn’t respond but, by the expression on her face, you realize that she knows exactly what you are talking about. With no indication that she plans on acknowledging the subject, you continue, “She asked you if you would ever be able to kill Eren.”

She looks away, gripping her knees tightly. “That won’t be necessary!” Armin says, the nervousness in his voice is palpable as he desperately tries to change the subject while still hoping to provide you with the comfort he knows you need at this moment.

You sigh before continuing, “I know you want to bring him back. I may know that better than anyone else at the moment. But I need you to listen closely as I tell you this,” Your voice is louder than the engines, the tears begin pooling in your eyes once more, you bring the small piece of Hanji’s cloak towards your chest, a determined expression on your face, “There is no bringing him back at this point. He has gone too far. Even if you did bring him back, the remaining world population would kill him with their bare hands.”

“Why are you saying all of this?” Someone asks, though your mind has become nothing but fog so you can’t quite tell whose voice it is at the moment. You take a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your burning lungs.

“Because no matter what you all say,” any emotion is drained from your voice, “my final mission is to kill Eren Yeager.”

“If I could do it all again

I know I'd go back to you”

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 7

And here we get to my little headcanon about Gareth. I saw a gif of Nancy talking to a kid with a camera at the game in season 4 and thought it was Gareth. But Gareth is shorter with darker curls. So meet Gethin, Gareth’s taller fraternal twin.

On the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

*

Steve was the last one to arrive.

Again.

But at least this time he wasn���t late. Just last. Fucking story of his life. Thankfully all four of them were waiting in the open garage. He could see Gareth’s drum kit in the corner, but none of the other guys brought their instruments.

“You found the place okay?” Jeff asked.

“Took a wrong turn somewhere, I guess,” Steve groused. “But I finally got back on track.”

“Come on in,” Gareth said. “My mom made homemade hot chocolate and sugar cookies.”

Steve lit up. “Sounds great.” He poured himself some hot chocolate and a couple of cookies, shoving one into his mouth immediately.

“So how we do this,” Jeff explained. “Everyone hands out their presents and then one person at a time opens all of theirs at once.”

“And since this is your first time,” Gareth said, “you’ll get to go first.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks guys.” He frowned suddenly realizing something. “Wait...how did you guys know what to get me?”

All four boys just grinned at him. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Eddie said, patting him on the shoulder.

Steve opened his gifts and since the point was to be outrageous, he laughed when he pulled out a pair of Speedo’s. “Do I even want to know which of you guys got this for me?”

Brian shook his head. “It’s better if you don’t know, man. Forbidden knowledge that.”

Steve nodded. The last thing was one of those auto-signature pictures of the 1984 Olympic gold medal swimming relay team. He looked up at Eddie, somehow knowing it was from him.

“Thanks, man. I love it.” At Gareth’s questioning look he explained. “I’m on the relay team at school. It was so fun watching this. They even had the Olympic trails right here in Indy.”

“Wow,” Jeff said. “That is cool.”

Eddie just cleared his throat and shove hair in front of his face to hide his embarrassment.

They went around the room, Gareth, Brian, Jeff and then finally Eddie.

Eddie got temporary tattoos.

“These ones are legal,” Brian teased.

A pack of guitar picks and a new DM screen. And then he got to Steve’s.

Steve squirmed in his seat, because he knew he had blown the limit. But when he saw it he knew he had to get it for the metalhead.

He opened it up to see a black leather wallet with a skull and a red lightning bolt behind it. It had a small metal ring for a chain to be clipped onto.

Eddie looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Steve...”

“I told you I was going to get you something nice for you and your uncle letting me come over and spend Christmas with you.”

“Steve wins,” Gareth said.

“Agreed,” Jeff and Brian said together.

Steve blushed. “I’m just glad everyone enjoyed their gifts.”

“You ready for some D&D?” Eddie asked trying to change the subject. Not just because he was uncomfortable, but because he had a feeling that Steve was too.

Steve nodded. “I got some pointers from Dustin and Lucas when I dropped them off. They also let me borrow some dice.”

“That’s some friends you got there, Steve-o,” Jeff said.

They led the way inside and Steve was sat between Eddie who was DMing and Gareth.

They had just gotten settled when another boy came out of the kitchen munching away on leftover ham. Steve had to blink. He looked over at Gareth and then back to the boy.

The Corroded Coffin boys grinned.

“Meet my fraternal twin, Gethin,” Gareth said, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t know you were a twin.”

Gethin rolled his eyes. “I’m the cooler old brother of the pair.”

“By two minutes,” Gareth said rolling his eyes.

Gethin’s eyes glittered with malice. “Still counts, nerd.”

“Go back to your camera, dweeb!”

Steve just shook his head.

“All right, let’s roll up these characters,” Eddie said rubbing his hands together and cackling gleefully.

It took a bit for Steve to get the hang of it, but he needed less and less help from Eddie or Gareth as the game went on.

They all died spectacularly.

“That was fun,” Steve said as they cleaned up.

“It’s not that bad with a campaign normally,” Brian said. “Unless specified to be a kill your darlings kind of game.”

“The point is to get your character to level twenty and beat the final boss, right?” Steve asked.

“That’s right,” Jeff said. “Sometimes we play with the club and sometimes it’s just us four having a blast. Our characters have been a party for about three years now.”

Steve let out a low whistle. “That is a long time.”

“We’ve got a paladin, that’s Jeff,” Eddie explained. “A wizard, that’s Gareth’s character. And Brian’s rogue.”

“And your druid, right?” Steve said snapping his fingers, remembering what Eddie said at the mall.

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Steve grinned. “That’s so cool.”

“Hey, Steve,” Jeff asked. “Is okay if me and Brian get a ride home with you. Eddie lives on the other end of town and Gareth drove so...”

Steve shrugged. “Sure. Ready when you are.”

Jeff and Brian gave Eddie and Gareth hugs and then followed Steve out.

Once Steve had left Eddie turned to Gareth.

“So how did he do?”

Eddie wasn’t going to force his friends to like Steve. They didn’t have to. But he would like them to.

“He seems pretty chill,” Gareth said. “Gotta wonder if a couple of concussions changed his personality.”

Eddie nodded. This definitely wasn’t the Steve Harrington of last year. Or hell even of their experience with the guy as a whole.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think maybe there were flashes before this.” He threw his arms in the air. “Because yeah, head injuries can cause personality changes, but I think at the fundamentals he’s still the same person he’s always been. Just now he can be himself instead of whatever Tommy H and Carol wanted him to be.”

“A funky little dork who is just trying his best?”

“Exactly,” Eddie said. “I just wonder what made him decide to give up all the popularity.”

Gareth nodded.

*

They hung out a few times with Steve and sometimes it was just Steve and Eddie.

Eddie could tell that there was something that was bothering him. Something that went deeper than feral dogs and beat downs by California transfer students.

But every time Eddie would get close, Steve would shut down. Once he got so upset he got up and left. Eddie was on the phone every day for three days trying to apologize. It took actually going to his house and threatening to beat the door down before he got through to Steve.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eddie growled. “What if you had another concussion and no one was around to help you, dude. You could have died.”

Steve sighed. “Sorry. I can’t talk about it. Like literally, legally on pain of incarceration can’t talk about it.”

Eddie blinked. How the hell did a seventeen year old boy get mixed up in something that could get him arrested for talking about it?

“So write me a story or paint me a picture,” Eddie said. “Something, because it’s eating you alive. Is there someone you could talk to? An adult or something because fucking hell, Harrington you look like someone walked over your grave.”

Steve dug the meat of his palms into his eyes. “I know. There are a couple people I could talk to but they have so much to worry about.”

Eddie thought for a minute. “This is about Will and El isn’t it?”

Steve’s head whirled to face him, fear etched into every line of his face. “I don’t know what you mean...”

Bingo.

“A girl turns up out of no where and boy that was dead, suddenly isn’t?” Eddie said cocking his head. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out the two are connected.”

Steve looked down at the floor. “Whatever you can imagine, just know it’s much, much worse.”

Eddie nodded. “So I’m guessing the adults are Mrs Byers and Chief Hopper?”

Steve nodded. “And the other people that know about it are all younger than me. So...”

“So tell me a story...” Eddie said. “Change the names, the details, but tell me a story. Or paint me a series of pictures. I’ve seen drawing pads all over your place, man. Just something, anything. Okay?”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try. Because you’re right. I need to release it somehow. Keeping it bottle up inside isn’t good.”

Eddie smiled. “There you go. Now go get dressed, we’re going to grab a bite to eat.”

Steve smiled softly. “Okay.”

*

After the first week of January Steve came up to him, eyes darting around him like he was nervous. So Eddie pulled him into the janitor’s closet.

“Hey, I need you take a deep breath for me,” Eddie said as Steve started to hyperventilate.

Steve struggled to obey.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie said, soothingly, rubbing his arms up and down. “Take a deep breath.” Steve managed that at least. “Good, now let it out slow.” The breath shuddered, but still it came out slow. “Now can you repeat that for me.”

“I’m in so much trouble, man,” Steve sobbed, sliding to the floor, his knees to his chest. “We have to do a comic in art class and so I thought I would do what you suggested. Make a comic out of the hell I went through. Only Miss Chen thinks that it’s too dark and wants to call my parents.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Shit!” He began pacing back and forth. “Do you think your parents will come?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m terrified that if they see it...”

“They’ll lock you up and throw away the key?” Eddie suggested.

He nodded.

Eddie took a deep breath. “Okay. Do you still want it or do you want it destroyed?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but frowned. He closed his mouth and really thought about it. “I’d like you to see it,” he said quietly.

“All right,” Eddie said. “I won’t go into details, because you need plausible deniability. But the first page of your comic isn’t going to be there tomorrow. And hopefully with it gone, Miss Chen won’t call your parents. Okay?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie opened the door to leave when Steve called out.

“Hey, Eds?”

“Yeah, Stevie?” Eddie asked, turning back to him.

“Thanks.”

Eddie smiled softly and then made his way out of the closet, giving Steve time to collect himself before he faced the hell of high school once again.

*

Eddie couldn’t be involved in the art theft either. It would be expected. So he enlisted Gethin’s help.

“And you’ll give Janice my number?” Gethin asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “For the last time, yes! Besides, she probably already has it as you know, your TWIN is in the same club as she is?”

“What do you get out of this?” Gethin asked.

“I’m the one that suggested it in the first place,” Eddie admitted, putting his hands on his lower back. “So it’s my job to get him out of the trouble I put him in.”

Gethin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Steve’s going through some pretty heavy shit, huh?”

Eddie licked his lips. “Yeah, man. I thought he could get it out safely through his art, but even though Jeff and I have turned in far worse stuff...”

“Because it’s coming from Steve, obviously he’s acting out,” Gethin supplied.

“Pretty much the whole thing in a nutshell,” Eddie said.

Gethin nodded.

“So you’ll do it?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said.

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

Tag list: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot  @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Hope you are doing fine :) The second season has only aired and I imagine it will be months and months before this one gets answered, but I think my question will still be relevant and possibly will get more answers by the time we all stop hurting so much.

So, I've seen the post about how naive we all were about ineffable husbands figuring their shit out immediately after notapocalypse (or like AT ALL) and how used we are to all the difficulties being settled off-screen or ignored and rushing to happy parts. And as we see in season 2 this is not the case at all, and all their trauma/habit of not talking to each other and whatever else really needs to be resolved before any happy ending is possible. What fics can you recommend about Hard Work Being Done with happy results (canon-compliant to either first or both seasons)?

Hello. Here are some canon compliant fics in which communication and effort happen...

Locked In by RepQueen15 (T)

After four weeks of Crowley crying and moping over Aziraphale, Maggie and Nina had started scheming. He’d registered it all, the cleared throats and the hints about ‘helping revamp the cafe soon.’ Crowley cursed himself for not waking the fuck up from his stupor and getting them to stop. He knew it was over. He knew. He’d given it all he’d got. And Aziraphale had forgiven him. He’d fucking forgiven Crowley. Fuck Maggie and Nina. They did this. ‘This’ being locked in the cafe. Locked inside the walls of ‘Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death,’ with him. Aziraphale. God-fucking-damn he hated his life. * Or: Crowley and Aziraphale get trapped together and have to have a Serious Talk About Their Relationship.

on one wounded wing by shoebox_addict (T)

“I'm done with Heaven,” said Aziraphale, with conviction. He’d had a long time to think this through, he knew where he stood now. “I'm on our side.” “You've said that before.”

Something lasts forever by Aidaran (T)

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley is left to drink himself to death and be just as miserable as he can be. Lucky for him, Nina doesn't have patience for drunk demons in his shop, and Maggie is always willing to give a helping hand. Or, How Give me Coffee or Give me Death became an unexpected embassy for hell and heaven forces to gather, so certain ground rules had to be set. ------- "Still taking care of him?" Maggie said softly as Crowley exhaled with annoyance and reclined his back on her counter. "I want to prove him wrong. Some things do last forever. I want him to come back and see they do." “And then what?” He looked confused for a second. Truth was, he wasn’t letting himself think too much about what would happen when the angel returned. If he returned. He’d been avoiding that pain for millenia and wasn’t going to start allowing it to creep in. “Well, haven’t got my plan that far yet.”

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better by elf_on_the_shelf (T)

Armageddon came and went and Crowley is trying his hardest to get whatever it was that he had hoped and dreamed for millennia to have with Aziraphale going. Unfortunately for him, the angel is not there yet. Unfortunately for both of them, Crowley, despite him being a darn optimist, really can't wait any longer. This is a fic that explores all of their inner turmoil and means to address as much as it can of their past trauma. It's a fic about healing old wounds and the both of them getting to be better supernatural entities all on their own before they try their hand at any type of relationship. Or: Crowley gets therapy by means of tough love. Aziraphale has a long - and I do mean long - talk with himself.

wartimes by ffonippop (G)

Crowley decides he's gotten too sentimental in his time on Earth. He fucks off to Canis Major to listen to angry, scorned, and bitter songs, adamantly avoiding break-up ones for his health and sanity, but Aziraphale, the bastard, invites him back to the bookshop for a post-breakup debrief. Much like the constellation Crowley's chosen to sulk at, Crowley is just a kicked puppy who can't refuse a beck and call. Still, he doesn't make it easy.

Sunlight or Demise by verovex (T) Anathema had once said she couldn’t see Adam’s aura, and it should’ve been more of a red flag, but the reality was it had just been so large she couldn’t see it for what it was. For Crowley, it was the same thing with trying to see reciprocation from Aziraphale. * The enormity of love was, by all accounts, indecipherable. Aziraphale had known what love felt like in this world. At least, he thought he understood it. He felt it all around him. He always had. Sometimes, it was stronger in particular places than in others. But, there was something blurred about it all if you looked too close. He’d realized that Heaven never felt like this, yet it’s where you were taught that it should exist. Aziraphale had started to wonder. He couldn’t decide when the thought first came around that perhaps the love he felt had actually been what was sifting between him and Crowley. At some point, it was easier to be humbled by the complacency of what they’d always been showing each other than outright admitting it for what it was. But that wasn't enough anymore.

- Mod D

[jolalibrary]

iv. sunshine yellow

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter four of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field.

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, ptsd/anxiety, lots of worrying for no reason, smut, p in v, desk fucking. wordcount: 6.2k an: the last scene in this i am both excited and nervous to share cause the walls are coming down. tehehehehe. as always, the biggest thank you to my bestie and cheerleader  @guyfieriii who lets me send her random ideas and also to @yeyinde who puts up with my nonsense and instils so much confidence in me.

“Panama DEA said no warrant, no detention.” 

Sweat pooled at the waist of his trousers, his thumb digging into the space on his brow. “Fuck—“

“Plus, Jurado didn’t stay in Panama.”

Staring around, Javi sighs. “They know where he went?”

Silence. Horrid, crackling silence, before: “No.”

Running his tongue against the front of his teeth, Javi shakes his head. “So Jurado could be anywhere. Fuck!”

Stoddard clears his throat. “Also, boss. Fiestl and Van Ness have been trying you. A lot.”

“All right, well, put them through when you get them. I’m on my way back—and, Stoddard.”

“Yeah, boss?”

He drops his hand, straightening his spine. “Jurado has a wife in Bogotá. She’s American.” He drops his head, thinking briefly of you—your words of protecting him. “Put a tap on her phone.”

Three days. It takes three days, and the papers are signed for them to go to Cali. 

You stand as you watch them being signed, your throat tightening the same as you did when you overheard the first talks of it. Feeling eyes on you, Stechner’s in particular. Waiting for a reaction, wondering if the volcano will finally implode. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction, hiding it, bottling it—capping it somewhere deep under layers and layers, even as it uncoils inside of you. The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run. 

You’re sure it took longer—and far more paperwork—to order a bag of decaf for one of the secretaries, than it did to send two more people to Cali. 

It’s why you uncork a bottle of wine the day they’re signed. Coating your throat in it as you lean your back against the wall of your living room. Music flooding through your place, drowning out the ringing phone—muffling over hope and better days.

Cali does that, it unearths things.

It shakes the foundation you’ve cautiously built. Threatens to pull you through the soil back into the hole, looming in a corner like a shadow, ready to remind you that you’re not whole anymore—and to stop pretending you are. 

Dan is well-versed in your coping mechanisms. Approaching you before lunch, hand on your elbow—not noticing the pair of brown eyes which burned into the two of you through the blinds. You hadn’t meant to meet them, but it’s natural. A pull, a magnetism. A soft smile etched poorly across your lips as you allowed your friend to drag you away. 

The warm Colombian air clung to you both as you leaned against the marble embassy wall, the words washing over you as you dug your shoulder blades into the wall—pushing your feet into the ground. 

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“ “I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.”  Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.”  Sighing, you stare at the ground. 

Time moves too quickly. That’s what you think when you’re pulling into the spot outside the coffee shop. The radio on low, barely smothering the thick and jarring tension caused by you taking them both to the airport. 

Dan is the first to escape, opening the passenger side door before you can even murmur a request. Chris remains behind awkwardly, sitting in it—letting it thicken and boil as you continue to grip the wheel. The leather under your fingers warming, the veins and tendons in your hand rippling under your skin as you sigh before stepping out.

You don’t follow when he steps out from behind you—even if you want to.

Instead, you lean against your car, sliding your sunglasses on—not for sight, but for cover. Big, dark lenses that are large enough to cover the bags under them and the tops of your cheeks. 

It’s easier, means you don’t need to hide whatever emotion rises, comes, and crashes. You can let it drench you, stop it from festering and instead hide it, discreetly behind the shields covering your eyes. 

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes. 

The anger—the one which has become a part of you. The worries, which have been bubbling to the surface since you’d learnt it was them who were going. It all sits on your chest. Furious, like a dragon which can’t be tamed, all set to burn anyone in its wake in thick, boiling flames.

You let your fingers slide against your thumb, digging your heels into the pavement. 

Flickers of Cali come to mind.

The sun, the warmth—the yellow-walled apartment. The laughter, the flowy fabrics around your skin. Then it shifts, night falling in the edges of your memories, burning and twisting—tightening your chest as you remember scarlet stained hands, graffiti letters against yellow— 

“Hey,” Dan exclaims, his hand on your forearm.  You steady your breath, filling your lungs, placing your palm against the cool marble. Letting it thrum through your skin, and slide into your blood. Pushing into the floor with your heels, rooting yourself, grounding down.  “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.”  “I’m…” you meet his eyes, watching the rest of his face look as it usually did.  Stern. Difficult to read.  But his eyes were kind, swimming in concern.  “Please be safe.”  Snorting, he slowly releases your forearm. “If I had my way—“ “You wouldn’t even be going. You’d stick behind your desk, blah blah blah,” you tease, his elbow nudging you.  Dipping his head, he sighs. “But, ‘course I will. He will too.” 

It grows, the lump—the one which forms whenever you think about that place too much. When you let yourself think of late-night talks and ears pressed against sunshine yellow, allowing them to twist, morph and shift into a nightmare you survived—

Graffiti-covered walls; scarlet clinging to matted curls. 

Your hand shakes, flattening it to your thigh, staring into the shop—watching the two of them talk to the owner. The odd word making its way to your ears, not enough to know what they’re ordering.

You are cracking. Thick lines appear through your exterior, leaving holes for more things to seep in, to ruin, steal breath and pull you back under. 

There’s still pain under your nails from how hard you had to claw your way back to your desk. To the DEA. To stand straight and not quiver under the stares, hearing their thoughts: failure, failure, failure— 

“Got you a coffee.”

He’s holding it out, Chris. 

Blinking behind your shades, unsure when he’d returned, or how long he’d been standing there with his arm outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You’re thankful they don’t tremble when you reach out—your fingers brushing his as they do. Glancing past him, needing a focus, you watch the small vendor excitedly speaking to a less-than-impressed Dan, something which provides more entertainment than it should. 

It’s still there, the torment—the past which likes to torture. It makes your throat dry, making standing seem near impossible, especially as you stare at him. At Chris. 

Smirking, you shake your head. “How’re you getting to the airport?”  “How’d you know I’m not driving myself there and leaving my car.”  Arching your brow, you softly laugh. “Dan. The second time meeting you, you ranted about the ridiculous airport car parking prices. So, let’s say it’s a hunch.”  Shrugging, he fights with a smile. You can tell. He has tells—just like everyone. His being that one side of his lip slides up, just a fraction.  “I’ll take you.”  He arches his brow. “I was gonna taxi with Chris.”  Swallowing, you sigh. “Then tell him I’ll pick him up second.”

You say nothing—even if you think you should. So much history pulsing between the two of you as the sun slowly spreads its glow across the street. Chris just watches, staring through your lenses—trying to unmask what it is you’re hiding. 

As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t seen it all before—far worse than this. Seen you at the lowest, seen you on your knees, scraped and bruised. So, you watch him, until he tears his eyes away, staring down the quiet street as he sips his drink. 

“Thank you. By the way.”

“No problem. I know Dan’s feelings on airport car parks.”

Chris snorts, dragging his eyes towards you, but not quite landing. “No. For... whatever you said to Peña. To consider this—to consider me.”

Rolling your lips, you hold the cup tighter. Looking over his shoulder at Dan, dread filling the space left inside of you. It expands, pressing against the nervousness—making something more disruptive, more uncomfortable.

“I’m also… I’m sorry—for how I’ve been. And before you lie, to protect my feelings, like you always do—don’t. Because it isn’t.” 

You lift your chin, letting your glasses slide down your nose. It allows him a glimpse, lets him see your eyes, lets you see that familiar look in his own, an expression filtering across the face your fingers had once known so well. Slowly, just as your shoulders unknot from your ears, you watch him etch himself into someone you used to know. Someone you used to love, care for... want.

He sighs, smiling. “I’m sorry. I know why you ended things… and I get it. It made—makes—sense I just—I missed you. And…”

“I pushed you away.”

“If I hear from Stoddard that the two of you became friends—” “I will not be becoming friends with fucking Stoddard, Dan. I barely wanted you.” He smirks, nudging you. “You’re gonna miss me.” “I think you’ll miss me more.” Scrunching his face, he sighs heavily. “Maybe. You’ve got Peña, though.” Hands dropping from the wall, you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just seems like a good boss, you get on with him.” 

You take a sip from the cup, the caffeine exploding into your mouth—the rich, herbs and fruit smothering your tongue. It silences your mind, and allows it to settle. Returns to a low-simmer than an overboiling mess as you stare at your ex. 

The ex who used to be your friend. 

Rubbing the back of his head, Chris snorts.“Yeah, you did. But, I know… I know you, Lun. You were dealing with a lot. You were so strong, and yet so broken, and then we ended. And you, just...” 

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the ground, as his tongue sweeps over his lip. And you know.

You know, because you thought the same. 

It sat like an uninvited guest the moment you got back. Its presence had been more noticeable the moment you found yourself able to breathe, to stop yourself from shaking.

It grew larger when you flinched under his touch—when you purposefully curled away from him. It whispered in poisonous prose that it had been there before you left, but had worsened so much more because of who you were when you returned. It lay between you both as he snored, dreaming, and you lay, paralysed by nightmares that didn’t just play when you closed your eyes. 

Clearing his throat, Chris kicks a pebble, it bouncing down the pavement in the noiseless. “You just looked like you were doing better without me—and it hurt. And, I—I kept lashing out.” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. “I wasn’t…” you admit. “It hurt me too, to be without you.”

“Oh.”

It escapes a laugh. Short, but sweet—and very much genuine. It falls from your lips so surprisingly, his head snaps up, the moment growing, maturing as his lips rise at the edges as you add, “Oh? Really?”

Chris sips his drink, shrugging. “What do you want me to say?”

As you shake your head, you’re still sniggering, lighter, less obvious. “I don’t know, but I do know this is the first time we’ve been honest with one another in months.” 

“Yeah. I’ve missed you—not like that, but just…”

Nodding, you swallow. “I know.” 

His eyes meet yours, and all the unspoken words sound louder. 

They flutter like broken butterflies, flapping their damaged wings as you bite the inside of your cheek. Feeling the evidence of day-old teeth marks, the phantom twinges of panic that threaten to wrap their hands around you.

“Please be safe... I’d,” you stare at him, seeing—for the briefest moment—the person you lay in bed with, the person you made breakfast with and stole the sunglasses of. “I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

He nods, short but full of understanding.

And you think about it, curling into him. Letting your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. Your feet are almost moving, closing the distance to do so.

But he’s quicker.

The two of you falling into the old ways, your head finding the space along his shoulder, something sliding into place, something healing—one less crack somewhere deep inside of you. You let him hold you, let yourself be held—feeling the sting behind your eyes, the fear rising, before you glance over—finding, if anything, the most uncharacteristic smile on Dan’s face. 

You’ve always been good at remembering things.

Dates. Numbers. Faces—

They’re drilled into you—because you’re used to dialling them or because you have them banked somewhere in your mind. You knew Chris’s because the two of you had dated, you knew Van Ness’s because of lunch orders and after-work drinks; you knew Stoddard’s because he was who you reported to, and you knew the Ambassador’s because his clearance meant something.

But, Peña’s… 

You didn’t know it because you called him a lot. Didn’t know it because you’d rang him copious times—if anything, the two of you rarely spoke on the phone. But, you’d chosen to memorise it. Just in case. 

The same one you’d been dialling furiously for the last hour—eyes glancing to his desk, the one he’s been away from for hours. 

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Digging your elbow into the desk, you grit your teeth. Fixing, staring at a spot on the carpet—old, dried gum that’s worsened over time. Something—anything. Taking a breath, banishing yellow—trying to rid the feeling that the walls are coming in as you place the phone back into the hook. 

Peña has been gone for hours. 

Something he doesn’t do without telling someone. Not when he had plans, ones you heard from Stoddard. 

Since the file room, the two of you had been swirling around one another, but not colliding. He told you things, but things you already knew. The way it had to be, you assumed. A line the two of you had drawn because he was your boss—and both felt you should. 

But, you couldn’t turn off your worries. The niggling anxiousness that something was wrong. 

It had nestled somewhere deep, spreading and merging with the worries Cali had dragged up. Your nails tap in rhythmic patterns on your desk, trying to concentrate on your screen, the names, the numbers—

Stoddard isn’t concerned. 

Doesn’t think anything of it when Peña doesn’t answer. When the phone rings out. 

Even if the man worships the ground he walks on. The hero he couldn’t wait to meet, to shake his hand—ask him all things Escobar like the two of them would be best buds. 

Now, though, when something does feel off, it’s a shrug, it’s a shake of the head. ‘He’s likely following a different lead.’ The annoying part… Stoddard could be right. Something which annoys you more. 

That able to smother your worries, your intrusive thoughts for a moment. A sense of peace begins to mist over you, until it thrums inside of you again. Like it has since the airport drop off this morning. It all untwisting, slowly oozing out until it collects other things, creating more anxiety in a lab of your own making.

The list ever-growing, collating— 

Van Ness. Fiestl. Javi.

It worsens when you call the number from earlier. The one for the plane he’d asked for, after you’d handed Peña the blue folder. You’d studied his features and committed each expression as he read the contents of it. 

If you blink, you still see the way his face lit up, the realisation that dawned over him—it was like magic. Like perfect sunsets and those mornings there isn’t a cloud in the sky, making your cheeks warm, especially with the way he’d stared at you after.  

“You okay, sir?”  Your heart quickens in your throat as he stands, tapping the blue folder against his palm.  “You got plans tonight?”  “What?”  “I owe you food.”  Shaking your head, you lick your lips. “No, you—“ “You bought me lunch yesterday, I’ll buy you dinner. Tonight. Here.” Stepping around your desk, you feel his eyes on you. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.” 

You know you’re rattled. Sensitive.

Split open at the poorly sewn seams, panic seeping out of every orifice imaginable as you bounced your heel into the embassy carpet. But, something told you to be—something outside of anxiousness and concern. Something not easily stifled by reassuring thoughts and hopeful thinking as you stared into the dirty, bathroom mirror. 

It’s heavy in your hand—your phone. Slowly placing it back into its position as you process what you’d heard. 

“Stoddard…” you mumble, swallowing the forming lump in your throat. “Neil?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel it, the ground shifting. Your vision sliding, blurring just at the edges as your pulse quickens. “He didn’t—um. He didn’t get on the plane. Peña”

He doesn’t say anything—barely even a frown. Just leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk—as though Peña disappearing is something which happens regularly. 

As though he’s someone who would vanish on the day he sent two agents to Cali. 

The silence should unnerve you—usually, it does. 

It normally allows everything to breed, to worsen—double and multiply. It allows that string to stretch again, it always so close to snapping, as its plucked and plucked, shivers through you. 

Night has come and snatched the day. The office having slowly emptied over the last two hours, Stoddard having left fifteen minutes ago at best. You should go too, leave—try and sleep and reset. 

But, you slide into Peña’s chair, staring over the contents of a file that you’re not taking in. Instead, it’s for show. A pretence as you chew the inside of your cheek, spreading your fingers out over the small patch of his desk not covered in paper. Just feeling the wood, the smoothness of it. How cold it is. The chill stretching and weaving up your wrist—

“Oh, cariño…I didn’t know anyone was still here.“

You’re on your feet instantly, palms pressed against the desk. Eyes having landed on brown eyes and a figure that makes your heart stop. And then, relief. He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive. Well. Whatever bit of you you’d been gnawing, releases, freeing you. All the thoughts, ones of him being taken, of him lying in a pool of his—

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

Barely able to say it any louder. 

Swallowing, finding yourself quickly smothered and wrapped in something you’d forgotten could exist in the last few hours. The sight of him almost forces you to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him. You stop yourself. Just. 

Dropping your chin, you watch through your brows as he throws his jacket and tie over the chair opposite you, blinking back thankful-tears as your fingers halt from drawing against the swirls in the wood of his desk.

He’s watching you, and as soon as you notice it, it’s all you focus on. They’re warming you, tracing you. Like he’s unable to tear himself away, staring stares at you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes you almost believe you are.

“Surprised to find you still here. It’s late—even for you.” 

Snorting, you feel warmth slide up your cheeks. “Well, you did promise me dinner...”

He traces his jaw with his finger, a puzzled look on his face as he straightens, and your eyes take in the way his top two buttons are undone, that his hair is tousled—that he looks good. Alive, safe, breathing, and so good. 

Him all golden skin and a pair of eyes that made you want to see every expression flutter across them. Just like normal. A normal you try to camouflage, dress it up in disdain and faux-annoyance. 

Clearing your throat, you stand, stepping around his desk, not letting a finger fall from it. Suddenly needing it to ground you, to focus on—stop the shakes from your early worrying when everything felt like it was on fire.

It’s at the last moment you watch it bloom over his face—the realisation. 

“Shit… I’m so—cariño…” 

Shrugging, you lift your head. “It’s fine, I was just teasing—“

“I had—fuck, I had no signal. I’m—“

“Peña. It’s fine. I was messing with you. Where were you—to not have a signal?”  

His jaw tightens, dropping his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. “Stechner took me to a jungle.”

“Course he did,” you snort, taking some of the discomfort. “Lemme guess, because of our visitors? I know I shouldn’t say this, but—“

“He’s an asshole?”

“Such a fucking asshole.”

You laugh, merging with his. Both of them escape, puffing out of you both as you feel a thread loosen around your throat.

He’s looking at you again, differently than before. The silence from the rest of the building, the late hour providing nothing but quiet.

You’re sure your blood has ignited, simmering in your ears, head and chest. Something fluttering, wings brushing your ribs as you swallow it all. Needing a distraction, scrambling for one, remembering—

“Fiestl and Van Ness—“

“I know. Managed... I called them in the car. They’re staying there, they have…” His voice trails off, head tilting. 

You knew that. 

Had spoken to Dan. Almost wanting to tell him that—a flicker of annoyance stemming through the earlier worry—bite that you’ve been here, taking calls for him. 

But, Javi’s eyes are narrowing in the way he does when he’s figured something out. You can’t stop it, a mere passenger to the way your body warms under his sight—ears burning as you watch the corners of his lips twitch. 

“Why are you in my office, cariño?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you straighten your spine. “Stoddard isn’t great at answering your phone.”

You find yourself swallowing when Javi takes a step closer, eyes burning into his, the same as his are burning into yours. His screaming Liar. Noticing him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. 

“I spoke to Stoddard—before he left for the night.” 

You swallow. 

Don’t push, you silently plead. 

“Come on. You can tell me the truth.”  

It’s fragile, easily able to shatter—the thin wall the two of you have built since the file room. The professionalism, the decency he was intent on giving you. You’ll tear it down yourself single-handedly if he keeps looking at you how he is, observing as he stops in front of you, drinking you in with his deep, velvety eyes. 

Licking your lips, you take a deep breath. “Stop hunting for—”

“Were you worried about me, cariño…?”

It pulses—the truth. Even if he says it with that tone, the one which is always accompanied by a smirk. The one which makes your skin flush with warmth. 

It mixes with the rattling around inside of you, the one born from actually worrying about him. It's all thrumming, vibrating. Making it hard to swallow as you lift your chin, almost defiantly. 

Then he says your name. 

Not Luna. Not your surname. Your first given name. 

It’s too much. The proximity, the scent of Earth, smoke and something so distinctly him. The silence made it crumble, blending with his smirk. You watch how it unfilters from his cheeks as he swallows. Being replaced by something far more annoying—concern.

Smiling, you hold his gaze. Realising you have little energy to fight. 

“And, what if I was, Javi?” 

It’s subtle, the shift in his eyes. The change to the way his lips had been turned upwards. All minimal. Barely much at all. His face only half-illuminated by the lamp on his desk, but it’s enough to see the effect his name has on him. It’s enough to make the air difficult, like it’s being squeezed from the room, his lips parting before closing. No words left to say.

He’s surprised. So much so, Javier Peña has been rendered silent. 

You consider leaving, taking your embarrassment with you, dipping your eyes as you fumble for an excuse—

And then he whispers your name. All breathy, almost like he did that night after the bar. As though he doesn’t want you to leave—it makes your eyes snap up. 

They shrivel, the thoughts of leaving. Vanishing as if they never existed, to begin with. 

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match. 

It’s instant the way your lungs ache—burning—when you crash your lips to his. Your fist is full of his collar as your heart thumps, over and over—hammering and knocking, banging and smashing. 

It’s messy. Far too desperate and uncoordinated. But it’s also bliss.

It’s freeing. It’s worry, and relief, and a sea of other things.

Your palm places flush with his neck, fingers clutching at his jaw as you feel his pulse thump against you. Alive, he’s alive. Repose settles over you, calming you as you taste cigarettes on his tongue and coffee on his lips. 

A taste you’ve come to crave more than your own bag of beans in your bottom desk drawer.

His hands grip you, fix you against him—little, to no space being left. Not that you want there to be. If anything, you want to remove the barrier of clothes between you. Have him press you against his desk, create a new reason to blush in his presence—

Wrenching your lips from his, you lean back in his palms, finding bewilderment and confusion flashing across in a storm. Swallowing, you size him up, how his eyes are darker and his lips are parted.

“You fucked anyone in your office, sir?”

It hits him, the question—an array of emotions fluttering across his features. “Fuck me...”

Smirking, you take a step back. Hands sliding down his arms until you release his fingers, and your lower back meets his desk. 

It allows him a moment—one to make a choice. A moment which stretches on far too long, your already frayed endings becoming frazzled with anxiousness. Then, you watch your daydreams play out into reality. It’s beautiful, and fascinating—and fucking everything. Studying the way his micro-expressions bleed into major ones, feeling his eyes rise, so inky and full of swirling lust, pulling you in like a siren song. It makes your throat dry—he makes your throat dry. 

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

Baby.

The word curls around you, dripping into your ear as your hands come down to rest on the edge of the desk. Watching him shift his jaw from side to side.

“Surprised you know that word, Peña. It’s quite long.”

He snorts. Nodding, eyes dropping to the floor. His fingers twitch at his side, thumb brushing over his index and middle, before he looks up. 

Banished is the doubt, the attempt at decency. His frame closes the gap quickly—quicker than you count on. Doing so in a number of strides, you don’t have a chance to count, before he’s on you. Lips crashing against yours, tongue licking past your teeth as you grasp fingers full of his hair.

It’s intoxicating, being kissed by him. 

He’s like fire in your bones and air in your lungs. Losing yourself in him until you run your lips across his jaw, enjoying running your prints up and along his neck, feeling his pulse again—before sliding back up into the soft curls of his hair as you take him in. 

The two of you drink one another in, lost in a moment that’s all your own. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes from him. Thankful when he reconnects his lips to yours, all desperate to kiss you. 

So much so, you’re sure he does it with the sole intention of ruining you—of taking everything from you, leaving you with nothing.

You’d let him. You are letting him. Allowing his touch to consume you, to render you useless and breathless. 

If you were younger, less scarred—less fearful of getting hurt—there’s more you’d hand him. More parts of you that you’d let him into. Likely spill your secrets, worries and deepest desires—and not hide behind smirks and flirtations.

Instead, you offer him mild submissiveness. 

Hands falling from his neck to your trousers, undoing them—the metal grating against metal sounding, making him groan. It vibrates against you, feeling it in your chest as you let them fall to your ankles with a thud. They’re followed by your underwear, a simple pile, one he helps you step out as he helps slide the bare back of your thighs over his wooden desk.

His hand is quick to sweep files, notes and post-its into a messier pile than before. 

You don’t focus on it. Try not to. Choosing instead to busy your hands with undoing his buttons—reuniting your lips with his. Craving him, not needing him. A solid difference—a considerable one. Because you can admit you want the feel of him—whether it’s the way he stretches you or his fingers across the inside of your knees.

To need him means something else. Something under lust and fucking on a desk. It means letting him in, enough that you could tumble, fall—risk scarring your heart, soul and sense more than they already are. 

He knows it. Must do. You can tell from the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to knock down your walls and paper over old pain. His fingers hunt for the switch, the one which slides the imaginary door to your secrets. And his tongue, he tries to carve it into a key to unlock everything about you—discover the reason you protect yourself, hide, conceal. 

For now, he takes this. Having you in his office, his groan as you palm him over his trousers—as he hisses into your mouth. You equally take each sound you can have, like the sound of his belt undoing, and trousers falling to his ankles. Working him slowly up and down. How he’s trying to push you over the edge by curling two of his fingers inside you, finding the spot that made you coo his name. 

He stops, and so do you.

Both of you panting, watching his forehead meet yours as he tugs your hips closer. 

He’s beautiful. Something you had known before, something you had witnessed and accepted. But, this is different, the lighting, the intimacy—the earlier worries. 

Your hand curls against his cheek as he slides the head of his cock through your slick walls. Body aflame with arousal, with want. 

I’m glad you’re okay, Javi. Glad you’re here. 

It’s easy, the way he steals your gasp with his lips. Your hand clutches his side as he stretches you, making you feel so full—eyes clenching shut as you forget how to breathe. But your lips—oh, your lips don’t forget how to kiss him. They remember how to take as much of him as they can get. 

The same way you begrudgingly take how slow he rocks himself into you, that his forehead finds yours, and cariño rolls in soft murmurs from his perfect, kissable lips.

It’s worse when it’s slower, impossible to deny how perfect he feels—how good he makes you feel. 

“Thought of—fuck—nothing else.” 

He talks more when he’s sober, you're not the same.

Thankful you hadn’t helped yourself to his liquor, afraid you’ll be telling him how thankful you are he’s okay, that he’s back in his office. Alive. Well. Breathing. That he’s kissing you, that he’s fucking you. 

Instead, you find yourself unable to stop yourself from clutching him close. From smiling as he captures your lips, to smothering any moans and whimpers as you whisper his name. 

He grasps your hip, ghosting his mouth over yours, “I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Shit, Javi.” 

He peers down, a glint, a smirk—eyes speckled with the reflection of the lamp. Your head falls back as he helps you lift your leg. Just enough—until your heel meets the edge of the desk.

The groan he emits fills the air, and stains it. Feeling him so much deeper, creating so much pressure as he slides in and out. Your own moans stifled, buried, drowned in your throat with sheer fucking will— because he’s so impossibly, perfectly fucking deep.

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

Your eyes are already closed, the pleasure quivering, building. If your eyes open, if you meet his, you’ll lose—let him in, let him see you, all of you. He’ll undress your mind, peer in and see the broken mess behind the well-put-together woman he’s been thinking about fucking again.

That you cannot lose. Not him. Never him, but also not this—this perfectly matched game that could go on and on until one of you ruins it.

He breathes your name. Gruff. Peppered with pleasure and bliss as he snaps his hips against yours. It’s easier to shake your head as his pace quickens, as his grunts punch into the air.

“Need to—fuck, cariño—need to hear you—“

“No, Javi. Just you. Only y-you.”

One of your hands grips the desk, digging into the wood—enough to leave a mark. The other grabs him, the back of his neck, fingers digging into skin and hair. 

You arch your back, feeling only then his palm on your spine—having balled up enough of your blouse to keep it from being in the way. His hand slides under, fingers spreading, curling you closer, rooting you to him.

As if his cock isn’t doing that. As though it isn’t dragging through your walls, stroking parts of you which makes you almost see stars, light and fucking heaven—

“Give it to me, cariño.”

His hip presses against your lower calf, hitting that spot over and over. The sound of your arousal growing, the slick noises as he pounds into you, drowned only by his grunts and your whimpers. 

Tilting your head back, you take him in. The hair which is in strands, jaw tight, sweat building on his neck as he looks down at you like you’re everything. 

It almost pushes you to let go—let it wash over you, and then you hear the softest whisper from his lips.

“Please.”

Your eyes open, basking under his gaze—and it rips through you. Tears you into pieces as his name carves into the air, and he fucks you through it. His hand grips you tighter, keeping you as close as he can. For as long as he can.

Your focus is on feeling it—from head to toe. How it ripples, travelling to every nerve as it sets you alight. The rest only comes back to you slowly, the way your lips are already meeting his as he groans your name as he coats you in his release. 

It’s only when he slows, does the dull ache in your nails greets you, splinters carved into your skin. 

Javi waits a moment, drawing a shape on your lower back with his fingers before he slides himself free from you, leaving you empty. The low light casts shadows that make him appear softer. 

You almost are able to convince yourself it’s the lighting, but then he bends down to retrieve your clothes. Sliding your leg through the fabrics, seeing a gentler part of him showing through. You have to close your eyes, hiding from it.

Knowing you’re falling, descending. Still hearing the sound of him coming with your name on your lips—understanding what he meant when he said he liked the taste of his name on your tongue. 

You liked the taste of yours too. More so when it graced the air in a chorus.

Please. 

Please, he had whispered. 

You feel his thumb sliding up your thigh, garnering your attention again, flicking your eyes open as fabric follows his fingers. You smile, mirroring his, slowly realising that you’re losing the battle of keeping him out—greeted by kinder brown and flecks of softness.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.” 

Swallowing, he lifts his hand, thumb brushing the side of your lip as he parts his lips, all set to say something or another. But the phone rings. 

Another interruption—a yank back to reality. Standing, flinging yourself from his desk as he moves to  take it, trying not to listen, but listening all the same. 

His eyes meet yours—and you realise in an instant the call is important. His tells showing, unable to be masked from how you’d cracked him open only moments ago, staring until he mouths Fiestl.

Your heart hammering, pounding, waiting and waiting until he places the phone down. 

“They… they’ve found Gilberto Rodríguez.”

chapter five ->

[harringtonstilinski]

Always The Babysitter - Chapter Twenty-Two: The Flayed

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 3,322 Warnings: lil' angst, lil' fluff, falling elevators, confessions?? 👀 Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! You're welcome, bye!! If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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Yup. We’re still falling. And still screaming, Steve having joined us. We were holding on to each other for dear life.

“Sweet shit, I’m gonna die!” I cried. Yes. I was crying. I was scared shitless.

Dustin’s screams of, “Shit! Shit!” came through the rest of our screaming.

“We’re going down, we’re going down!” Steve yelled.

“Ya’think?!” I yelled back at him. “We’re gonna fucking die!”

“Yeah, no shit, Harrington!” Robin yelled at the same time I did.

“Why don’t these buttons work?!” Dustin yelled.

I swear, we were all about to start having a screaming/yelling match. If we weren’t in the situation we were currently in, I’d be laughing my ass off, but… I couldn’t do that because… of the situation we were in.

I had Steve screaming in my ear, my own screams I’m sure going right back into his, Dustin and Erica were fighting over the buttons. Robin, I’m sure, was probably holding on for dear life, screaming at the top of her own lungs.

“Come on, press something!” Steve yelled.

“Just press the button!” I screamed.

I have no idea what happened next, but what I did know was that I was basically sitting on top of Steve, my whimpers sounding through the air as Steve held on to me, both of us breathing heavy.

“My groin,” Steve groaned.

“What?” I asked, looking at him.

“You fell on my groin.”

“Oh, shit!” I quickly made to stand up, giving him a moment to gather himself in that… region.

“Is everyone okay?” Robin asked.

I went to answer for myself, but Steve cut me off, saying, “Yeah, I’m great, now that I know that Russians can’t design elevators!” while walking toward the control panel.

“I think we’ve clearly established that those buttons don’t work,” Robin said.

“They’re buttons. They have to do something.”

“Yeah, if we had a keycard.”

“A what?” Steve and I asked.

“It’s an electronic lock.” Robin moved to the control panel, standing on the other side of Steve as she said, “Same as the loading dock door. If we don’t have a keycard, it won’t operate, meaning–”

“We’re stuck in here,” I breathed, my eyes dancing around the floor.

“Yeah.”

“Just so you nerds are aware,” Erica said. “I’m supposed to be spending the night at Tina’s, and Tina always covers for me. But if I’m not home for Uncle Jack’s party tomorrow and my mom finds out you four are responsible, she’s gonna hunt you down, one by one, and slit your throat.”

“I don’t care about Tina,” Steve said. “Or Uncle Jack’s party! Your mom’s not gonna be able to find us if we’re dead in a Russian elevator!”

“Hey,” Dustin said. I looked at him, his eyes cast up above my head, pointing. “What if we climbed out?”

Stacking up a bunch of boxes, Dustin was the first to climb out, Steve following him.

Feeling on the verge of a panic attack as Steve asked Dustin about climbing, I sat down in a corner, pulling my knees up to my chest. Resting my forehead on my knees, I sighed and closed my eyes.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been like that, or how long I’d even been asleep for, but I stirred awake, feeling fingers lightly stroke my arm. Looking at their owner, I smiled a little, seeing Steve sitting next to me.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Honestly, I didn’t even know I fell asleep,” I chuckled. Looking up at hearing Dustin’s voice, I heard him repeat the same thing over and over again. Groaning, I went to get up, but Steve’s hand on my arm stopped me.

“I’ll go,” he said before pressing a kiss to my temple. He got up, going over to the boxes they’d stacked to begin his climbing. “Hey. You gotta take it easy on that thing, okay? You’re gonna drain the battery.”

I couldn’t hear anything else after that, other than Steve shushing my little brother.

“So,” I heard Robin say. “How long have you and Harrington been a thing?”

Smiling a little, I said, “Like, 8 or so months.”

“Anything beyond kissing and hand holding?”

Darting my eyes between hers and Erica’s, I said, “Little ears, Robin.” Turning my sights up the ceiling of this damned elevator, I heard Dustin say, “What are you doing?”

Narrowing my eyes a bit, I whispered more to myself, “What?” before hearing what sounded like a stream of water. Getting up from my spot, I turned around and looked at the wall, sighing to myself and closing my eyes. “Baby, move your stream!”

I sighed again just before I heard something banging. Turning to see what it was, I watched Erica smack the container filled with that green stuff against a metal barrel. “Wait, Erica, don’t do that!” 

“Hey, hey!” Robin said, running towards the young girl. “Be careful, careful, careful!”

“We don’t even know what that is.”

“Exactly, Olivia,” Erica said. “It could be useful.”

“How?”

“We can survive down here a long time without food, but if the human body doesn’t get water, it will die.”

“I hate to break it to you, little Sinclair, but this-” I pointed to the green stuff in Robin’s hands, never taking my eyes off Erica. “-is not water.”

“No, but it’s a liquid, and if it comes down to me drinking that shit or dying of thirst, I drink.” She smiled at the end of her sentence, causing me to roll my eyes.

“God, you are a Sinclair,” I muttered.

Robin pressing her ear against the wall of the elevator caused my eyebrows to furrow in utter confusion as I said her name, a “shush” coming out of her mouth in response. She moved the table, climbing it before poking her head out of the shaft door. “We’ve got company.”

Erica and I quickly moved to the table where I made sure she climbed the boxes carefully to reach the top of the elevator before I followed her out, Steve helping me to my feet before closing the door.

The five of us either knelt or squatted while Steve watched the guards through the small square holes as they moved inside the elevator to retrieve a couple of boxes before going back out. I watched as my boyfriend looked at Erica, who was holding on to that green goo for dear life.

Just as soon as the guards left and the door was closing, Steve jumped back down into the room, just in time to put the container under the door, holding it up a few inches. One by one, we all crawled under the door, Steve looking at it on his way out, the glass on the container starting to give.

Once the glass gave, the liquid started to sizzle on the ground, like food being placed on a hot Hibachi grill.

Quickly standing, Steve said, “Jesus Christ,” as the goop ate into the floor.

“Still wanna drink it?” I asked, looking at Erica.

A few seconds later, I heard Dustin say, “Holy mother of God,” before we all turned to face what he was looking at; a super long ass hallway that seemed to stretch for what seemed like the whole country.

“Well…” Steve said next to me, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together. “Hope you guys are in good shape.”

Putting my hand on Dustin’s shoulder as Steve walked me by him, I said, “He’s looking at you, Roast Beef.”

“Let’s go, come on.”

“Why me?” Dustin asked.

“Because you’re wearing a Roast Beef shirt,” I said, walking beside Steve down this gigantic hallway.

~~~

“I mean, you have to admit, as a feat of engineering alone, this is impressive,” Dustin said.

Steve was giving me a piggyback. He claimed it was to help keep his strength up or something, I don’t know. All I did know was that I really wanted to nap.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, groggily.

“It’s a total fire hazard,” Steve added, slightly shifting me.

“No stairs, no exit. Just an elevator that drops you halfway to hell.”

“They’re Commies,” Erica said. “You don’t pay people, they cut corners.”

“To be fair to our Russian comrades,” Robin said. “I don’t think this tunnel was designed for walking.”

“Speaking of,” I said, turning my head to face Steve’s profile. “Do I need to start walking again?”

“No, baby, you’re good,” he said, turning his head to kiss my cheek.

“Get a room,” Robin grumbled before adding, “But think about it, they developed the perfect system for transporting that cargo.”

“It all comes into the mall like any old delivery,” Dustin said. “And Steve, put her down. She’s not helpless.”

“And then they load it up onto those trucks and nobody’s the wiser.” Shifting me again, Steve wondered, “You think they built this whole mall just so they could transport that green poison?”

“Shift me again and I’m walking,” I said.

“You’re slipping.”

“Then let me walk, dingus.”

Steve set me down as Dustin said, “I very seriously doubt it’s something as boring as poison.”

Shrugging after grabbing Steve’s hand, I said, “Maybe I’m just talking out of my ass here, but what if it’s a gate?”

“Yes, you’re talking out of your ass,” Dustin said, before continuing, “It’s gotta be much more valuable, like promethium or something.”

“What the hell is promethium?” Steve asked.

“It’s what Victor Stone’s dad used to make Cyborg’s bionic and cybernetic components,” Robin said.

“It’s a radioactive metal,” I said, looking at Steve’s confused profile.

“You’re all so nerdy, it makes me physically ill,” Erica said.

“No, no, no,” Steve said. “No, don’t lump me in with them.”

“He’s definitely not a nerd,” I said.

“Why so sensitive, Harrington?” Robin teased.

“He’s afraid of losing cool-points to a 10 year old.” Looking at Steve, I smiled, seeing a not so happy look on his face. Shoulder bumping him, I said, “Oh, come on. I’m just teasing.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t know jack shit about Prometheus.”

“Promethium,” I corrected. “Prometheus is a Greek mythological creature.”

“All I’m saying is it’s probably being used to make something,” Dustin added.

“Or power something,” Robin said.

“Like something to open a gate with,” I suggested.

“You’re still on that?” Dustin asked.

“Jeez, Dusty, I don’t know! I mean, with the shit we’ve dealt with for the last two years, it could be possible!”

“I was thinking more of a nuclear weapon, Liv.”

“Walking towards a nuclear weapon,” Steve said. “That’s great. That’d be great.”

“But if they’re building something,” Robin said. “Why here? I mean, Hawkins. Seriously. Of all places. At the very best, we’re a toilet stop on your way to Disneyland, but maybe that’s it…” Her and Erica continued walking as Steve, Dustin and myself stopped walking.

“You think the Russians know?” Dustin asked.

“About the–” Steve said.

“What I’ve been saying during that conversation?” I said, crossing my arms.

“They could,” Dustin said.

“So, it’s connected?” Steve asked.

“You two aren’t listening to me, are you?” I asked, looking between both boys.

“Maybe.” Dustin.

“How?” Steve.

“We’re breaking up.” Me.

“I don’t know, but it’s…” Dustin said, glancing at me.

“Possible,” both boys said.

Steve looked at me like what I had said just now registered. “Wait, we’re breaking up?”

“Oh my god,” I muttered, walking forward to Erica and Robin.

“No, wait, are we? Because that would suck!”

Turning around to face him, I quickly put my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him towards me. My lips met his in a passionate kiss, but before it could get too hot and heavy, I pulled away, pressing my forehead against his. “That the kiss of someone who wants to break up?”

“No,” he whispered. He went to dive back in for another kiss, but a throat clearing stopped him.

“Before you decide to have sex with my sister, can we please get going?” Dustin said.

The radio going off with a Russian man’s voice coming through the speaker brought Steve and I back to reality.

“Walkie,” the boys said, rushing over to Erica.

I had to steady myself on the bars next to me, Steve and my brother having almost knocked me down.

Robin had the walkie in her hand, reciting the Russian words, all of us kneeling on the ground. “It’s the code.”

“Wherever that broadcast is coming from–,” Dustin said.

“It’s close. And if there’s one thing we know about that signal…”

“It can reach the surface.”

Robin looked up at the ceiling before saying, “Let’s go.”

~~~

We somehow made it to a hiding spot behind what looked like a big A/C thing, the five of us crammed between it and the wall.

“Steve, are we clear?” I asked. “It’s getting crampy in here.”

He leaned forward a second before moving his whole body out of the way. “Okay, clear.”

One by one, we piled out of the hiding spot, following Steve. 

“Okay, that was close,” Robin said.

“Too close,” Dustin added.

Did I mention that we were almost spotted by a few Russians? No? Oh. Well… we were.

“Baby, this is dangerous,” I said, speed walking to reach him, my fingers sliding between his.

He tightened his grip on my hand, almost like he was telling me he was going to protect me from danger… like he always did. “Baby, we’re fine. The rest of you, relax. Nobody saw…”

“What?” I asked, looking from him to in front of us. “Holy shit.”

I couldn’t describe the room we were looking at because I didn’t know how to describe it. It seemed like a hub almost. There were guards keeping… well, guard. People in what looked like hazmat suits, doctors. Looked a little insane.

I made eye contact with a guard on accident, pulling Steve to a new hiding spot where we all crouched down, pressing our bodies against the railings next to us to try and hide our bodies.

“Red Dawn,” Dustin said.

“Oh, shut the hell up, Dustin,” I gritted.

“I saw it,” Erica said. “First floor, northwest.”

“Saw what?” Steve asked.

“The comms room!”

“You saw the comms room?”

“Correct.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive. The door was open for a second, and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”

“That could be a hundred different things,” Dustin said.

Turning my sights to Robin, she said, “I’ll take those odds.”

I looked at Steve, shrugging a little bit. “We need to find a way out, babe.”

He sighed like he didn’t want to have to do this, but knew there wasn’t another way out. He shook his a little before looking around the red metal box we were hiding behind. Everyone else followed his lead while I stayed put. When he pulled his body back, he faced me a little. His eyes stayed locked on mine while his hand went to my cheek, his next words directed at the whole group. “We’re gonna move fast, and we’re gonna stay low, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Steve placed a kiss on my forehead before turning back to face the front, moving in a crouched position to the grates that were catty corner to us, myself and the other three following his every move.

We stayed there for a moment before moving again, Steve turning to shush us for a moment. I watched him turn his head back forward, tucking his hair behind his ear. Damn, if that didn’t do things to me.

Hearing a door panel beep, I did my best to look around him, watching as a man in a lab coat walked out with an opened file folder in hand.

Steve slightly stood to watch the man pass by before reaching back for my hand and pulling along with him, telling the rest of the group, “Let’s go!” as we moved to the closing door, reaching it before it actually closed.

We silently went inside of the room Erica talked about as Steve stayed at the door, ready to close it once our little group was inside. I turned around, spotting a man in a Russian Army suit sitting in a chair. 

The man turned to face us, setting down his headset and standing to face us. He moved to grab something from his waist, both of my hands moving to Dustin and Steve, both boys standing on either side of me.

As the man did this move, Robin stepped forward, hand out as she said “Tread lightly!” in Russian, saying it again at his confused look before he asked us something in Russian.

“Silver cat,” she said, making a tail motion with her hand behind her as she said it again. I only knew she was saying this code to him because we heard a million times as she was translating it.

The Russian man said something else that I didn’t understand before Robin looked back at us for a moment before saying, “China?”

The guy scoffed, reaching for what I now know to be a gun a split second before Steve yelled and ran towards him.

“Steve!” I exclaimed, feeling a hand tug me back.

Steve wrapped his arms around the guy's waist, sending him back before he was tossed to the side by the Russian. He went to swing, but Steve backed out of the way, dodging the guy’s fist. Russian Dude grabbed Steve’s uniform and slung him over to the table next to them, Steve’s chest meeting the tabletop before he elbowed the guy’s stomach as he grabbed onto the back of the sailor uniform Steve wore.

Steve grabbed the intercom thing, switching it between his hands before smacking the guy across the face with it, sending his face to the table he sat at before hitting the floor unconscious. Steve breathed heavily, moving his hair out of his face. 

“Dude!” Dustin said, gaining Steve’s attention. “You did it! You won a fight!”

“Holy fuck,” I said, regaining his attention after he looked down at the man. “I love you.” I rushed forward, grabbing his face with my hands, my lips meeting his in the same kiss we shared in the hallway.

We pulled back a little, pressing our foreheads together for a moment before he breathed, “You love me?”

I nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah.” Pulling back to look into his eyes, I ran my fingers through the side of his hair. “I do.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Because I love you, too.”

“While that’s beautiful and all,” Dustin said. “We have a mission to accomplish.” I watched as he moved towards the guy, taking the keycard off of his belt.

“What are you doing?” Erica asked.

“Getting us our ticket out of here.”

“You want to walk all the way back?”

“Well, we can hang out for a little, relax, have a little picnic maybe,” Dustin replied, sarcastically.

“Have a picnic?” Erica said. “We came here for the radio!”

“This plan is way better,” Dustin said. “If I knew Steve could knock out a Russian–”

“He did say he could take him out yesterday,” I said, turning to face Dustin a little.

“Oh, don’t defend him.”

“Why not? He’s my boyfriend,” I retorted, crossing my arms. “You’d do the same with Suzie with a Z from Utah.”

“So, you believe me about Suzie?”

“We’re not talking about Suzie!” I exclaimed.

“Then what is this about?”

“It’s about getting out of here–”

“Guys,” Robin said, gaining all of our attention. “There’s something up there.”

We all followed her up the stairs and through the door as quietly as we could. We walked up the pair of windows, looking out at what I was right about.

“Holy shit,” Dustin said.

A laser device that was being used to open a gate.

Leaning down a little bit towards my brother, I said, “Told you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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A/N 2:  hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note: i absolutely love it when gaten screams shit. it's the best thing ever, lol

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Posted on March 25, 2024

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Sixteen - Prompt: Binge @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 731 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Barty ignored Frank’s good-natured prattling with this bloke with the in-progress dragon tattoo and focused on the door that he’d heard slam closed after Evan walked by. He was fairly certain that it was the one that led out to the smoking area. The urge to chase after him was strong, but he knew better than to act on it.

His hands flexed against the sides of the table when he heard the faintest rumble of Evan’s voice. A phone call, maybe. Barty hoped it wasn’t with another bloke. Murder would be a shit way to start this week.

“Yeah, it can be rough the first time,” Frank said, leaning forward to squeeze Barty’s shoulder. “When you’re an old pro like Barty here, it’s nothing. How many times have you fallen asleep on my table, mate?”

Barty cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “No idea. A lot.”

He wasn’t sure if Frank was trying to relax him or warn him. Either way, the message was received. Barty hated how perceptive his flatmate was.

“You fell asleep? Really? How?” dragon tattoo said.

“The vibrations are relaxing.”

Frank lifted the back of his own shirt and pointed. “Happens more often than you’d think. See this one, on my back? Passed out for a full four hour session. Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

Dragon tattoo gaped at him, shaking his head. Frank grinned and swivelled back around. He loved to show off for the newbies.

“I can’t imagine that!” Dragon tattoo said, eyes wide. “I’m just trying not to tear up in there.”

“Rosier can be a little heavy-handed, but he’s bloody good too. You definitely want him for a piece like that. He’s patient.”

Barty nodded in agreement as he glanced back at the bloke Evan was working on. Dragon tattoo had introduced himself when he wandered over, but Barty wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t caught his name. What he did catch was Evan storming out after Barty’s comment about him being brilliant.

He is brilliant though. It wasn’t a lie.

“Good to know! This is my kid’s artwork, so I wanted to do it justice.”

Kid? I was right then. He’s probably straight.

That was more comforting than it probably should have been. Evan was a professional. It cost Barty an obscene amount of money and multiple weeks to convince him to break his “no clients” rule. Now that he’d broken it though…Evan could do it again.

Frank's loud, booming laugh interrupted his thoughts. “Yes! I prefer to wait until all the episodes are out and binge that whole season!”

“Same, but I have no self-control,” dragon tattoo replied. “I can’t help myself!”

Barty twisted at the waist to meet the bloke’s gaze. “Better fucking try.”

“What?”

Frank tensed his grip on Barty’s leg. That was definitely a warning. He knew he was acting irrationally, but he didn’t care.

“Control yourself,” Barty said, glaring pointedly at the bloke. “Around him.”

Dragon tattoo stared at him incredulously, then blinked very slowly. “Him who?”

“Ignore him. He’s obsessed with Rosier.” Frank shoved Barty back down onto the table roughly. “Calm your tits, arsehole.”

“The tattoo artist? Why would I—”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Frank said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s a bit dramatic, that’s all.”

Dragon tattoo made a hasty exit from the conversation as soon as the door slammed again, announcing Evan’s return. Barty tried to peer over his shoulder, but Frank still had his hand pressed in the middle of his back.

Look at me, Evan. Come on. Say something. Anything.

“Alright, Rosier?” Frank called cheerfully.

“Fine.”

Barty forced his muscles to relax and pressed his cheek against the cold black leather. A strong scent of antiseptic leached out of the fabric. The familiarity of it grounded him a little.

Even if he couldn’t see, speak to, or approach Evan, Barty needed to be near him. He couldn’t stay away. Hearing his voice was comforting. It was only a one-word answer forced out with half-growl, but it was something.

Frank leaned forward and flicked the back of his ear hard. “Don’t be an arsehole or I’ll kick you out. Not everyone wants to have their guts rearranged by your ex.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

“His dick is that good, huh?” Frank teased. “Are you addicted to it?”

“Love is a serious mental disease,” Barty deadpanned.

“Prat. Which one was that?”

“Plato.”

Next Part>>>

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Return to the Water

Chapter Two: Stupid New Legs

AO3 one two three four five six seven eight nine

Falling off the earth’s face, I watch your eyes glaze. I taste the salt on your skin.— Simple Creatures, One Little Lie

Lea’s scales prickled at first, and then they burned like they’d been doused in acid. As they dissolved into smooth, pale skin, her throat also began to burn as it reworked itself for speech above water. Her hisses and whimpers of pain turned into screams and sobs, and the human was babbling, asking what the hell was going on and how he could help, as if he hadn’t already done enough, and then the pain finally—finally—ebbed. Her skin ached, as did her throat, but at least she didn’t feel the need to scream anymore.

“What the fuck, what are you—“

“I knew human men were foolish,” she gasped out hoarsely, “but honestly, how could it be more obvious that I’m a mermaid?”

“A what?” he sputtered in disbelief.

Lea snapped her gaze up at him again. “Yes, a mermaid. And you’ve stolen my season.”

“I don’t understand—“

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered in annoyance. “Just my luck to get stuck with a freakin’ mate.”

“A what?” he squeaked. 

“A mate,” she snapped. “My body is under the mistaken impression that we have agreed to…” She thought better of finishing her sentence. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure out a way home without that.”

“Can… can I help?” he asked hesitantly. “What’s, uh… what’s your name?”

She pursed her lips. “Lea,” she said, pushing herself up as best she could so as to sit.

Her legs were bare, and she had one of those weird scale-free butts. She’d never seen a bare human one, and was terribly uncomfortable with the prospect of him seeing hers, even though it was new. She tried to situate her legs so he wouldn’t see the area of her body around her hips that humans seemed to like to conceal.

He was staring at her chest with wide eyes, a flush spreading over his high cheekbones. “That’s… that’s a pretty name. I’m Timothée.”

“What’re you staring at?” she asked suspiciously.

“You don’t have anything covering your, uh…” His gaze was still fixed on her chest, so she glanced down at herself, only to find that her seaweed wrappings must have come undone when she pulled him ashore and were gone, resulting in her breasts only having what cover her hair provided; not that she didn’t have a decent amount of hair—she would later discover it reached the bendy part of her legs; her knees, as they were called—but rather that her breasts were on the larger side and therefore difficult to conceal. Strands of her hair were plastered to her wet skin— how had she not noticed?

She squeaked in horror, covering her breasts as best she could with her arms—though with their size, it really just meant she could cover herself from the nipples down, and they were pressed tightly together, displaying more cleavage than she was used to—and trying to scoot herself backwards into the water. Her stupid new legs weren’t fucking cooperating, though. They were weird and numb and she couldn’t seem to move them.

“Can I help?” the man—Timothée—asked again.

“I think you’ve done enough, human,” she informed him, still trying to force her stupid legs to work.

“Oh.” He blinked down at her, looking confused. “What have I done, exactly?”

“I told you, you stole my season.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” he admitted. “Something about, uh… mates, you said?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You needn’t concern yourself with that.” What did he want? Did he want the same thing her father had wanted from her mother, to use her body—somehow, she didn’t know how, exactly, strictly speaking—and hurt her? She wouldn’t let him. She’d rip his throat out with her teeth if she had to.

He frowned. “Okay, uh… look, let me help you, okay?”

“I have no reason to believe you actually want to help me,” she informed him slowly, watching him with wary eyes. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a particularly tasty fish; do humans eat each other or something?”

“Oh, um.” He reddened further, swallowing. “No, I— I’m sorry, your skin is so pale that it caught me off guard. I’m just trying to help, I swear. Getting you back home, like you said, or helping you with your, uh, your season? It’s my fault you’re here, isn’t it?” He hesitated. “I dunno, I just want to help.”

She glanced down at her skin, which was almost translucent under the light of the rising sun. She supposed it was paler than his. “Can you change me back?”

“Back into a mermaid?” he managed, blinking very rapidly at her.

“No, into a dolphin,” she said sarcastically, her discomfort and fear overriding her usual anxiousness, making her prickly. “Yes, into a mermaid. Obviously.”

“Not that I know of; I didn’t even know mermaids were real until just now.”

Lea knew one way he could change her back, but it was out of the question. She raised her eyebrows at him, tightening her arms over her breasts. She felt terribly strange about the idea of him seeing them again. “Then how could you possibly help me?”

His hair was plastered to his face. Why was he so pretty? It was incredibly distracting and it made her all the more anxious.

“I don’t know,” Timothée admitted, “but I want to help. You— you saved me, y’know? I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, well,” she said tightly, “you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Should I take you to a doctor, maybe?”

Lea shook her head firmly. “Your doctors can do even less to help me than you can.”

He brightened at that, kneeling down before her in the wet sand. “So there is something I can do?”

Shit, she thought. I slipped up, how do I—

“You said before that I ‘stole’ your season and then you mentioned something about getting stuck with a mate. Did you mean me?”

Lea bared her teeth at him again, hissing in warning, and lowered herself closer to the sand to search for her obsidian knife without looking away from the threat he posed.

“Did you just— did you just hiss at me?” he sputtered in disbelief. “And— and what’re you looking for?”

“My knife,” she informed him, still watching him closely. “Don’t come closer, human, or I may slit your throat once I find it.”

Timothée's eyes widened, and he shivered. “You saved me just to kill me?” 

“I expected to be back home by now whether I saved you or not,” she pointed out. “I’ve never killed before and I’d rather not start now, but if it’s between that and you doing to me whatever twisted things human men like to do to females of your kind, then yes, I’ll kill you.”

The human stared at her in shocked disbelief. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly, placatingly. She bared her teeth at him again, and he said, “No, really, I just want to help.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Would your knife make you feel better? I can find it for you.”

Lea snorted, the sound oddly melodic to his ears. "Help? How could a human possibly help me?"

Timothée hesitated, as if unsure of how to answer. "I... I don't know. But I have resources, connections. Maybe there's something or someone out there that can help you. Please, just give me a chance to try.”

She stayed low to the sand, feeling safer there, somehow. “If you truly wish to help me,” she said slowly, deliberately, “then yes, I would like my knife back.” After a moment, she added, “And some seaweed, please.”

He looked at her funny, but nodded and moved swiftly away from her.

She could breathe easier with him further away from her, but she didn’t feel as if she could tear her gaze from him. Not without her knife on hand, at least.

After several minutes, he returned, knife in one hand and seaweed in the other. She watched him closely as he lowered the knife to the sand several feet from her before standing back up and nudging it towards her with his weird human body. The second it was in reach, she snatched up the blade, swift as lightning. The familiar bone hilt was comforting in her palm, and, feeling more secure now, she gestured to the seaweed with the blade. 

Timothée nodded, hesitantly stepping towards where she sat and dropping the seaweed before her. “Can I help?”

“No,” she said flatly. “Not unless you go get me a piece of cloth large enough to wrap my useless human legs in.”

“Uh…” He hesitated. “Yeah, I can… I can try to find something.”

Lea nodded, resting the knife within grabbing distance and beginning to weave some new seaweed wrappings for herself. She disliked him being able to see her bare breasts.

It didn’t take her long to weave her wrappings anymore (stupid things were always falling off when she got jostled too much), so when he returned awhile later, she was already tying them around her body with deft, practiced hands.

“I got you a towel,” Timothée said, sounding rather hesitant.

Lea held her hands out to accept the sandy piece of fabric he was offering her and laid it over the lower half of her body.

“Can’t believe I lost my other one,” she grumbled to herself in annoyance, tightening the knot of seaweed she’d tied between her breasts. “It had pearls sewn into it.”

“Huh?”

She looked up at the human. “I was talking to myself.”

“Oh.” He paused. “What were you talking about? What had pearls in it?”

“My wrappings.” She gestured to her chest vaguely, and he glanced down at it.

“Oh, you… covered up…” He sounded disappointed, almost, and she recalled her mother’s warning that human men had a strange fascination with the bodies of women. She glanced briefly at where her knife lay in the sand, the obsidian glinting in the light of the rising sun.

“I need to find a witch,” Lea informed him, not bothering with a segue.

“A what?”

“A witch,” she repeated impatiently. “Someone who does magic. There are some who live amongst the humans; I know there are. I need to find one.”

“Why?” he asked slowly.

“To change me back,” she explained slowly, an expression of disbelief and frustration on her face. Were all humans this slow, or was it just him?

“O… kay,” he enunciated carefully. “I’ll help you however I can.”

She looked him up and down, this long, thin human man. “Alright,” she decided after a long moment.

“Okay, great. We should go find a resort or something.” He jerked his chin in the direction opposite the water. “There’s one over there. C’mon.”

He turned around to start walking away. “Hey,” she said grumpily, “I can’t walk, human. How am I supposed to get from here to there?”

He turned back around, staring at her pensively. “Okay,” he decided. “Wrap the towel around yourself if you want.”

She frowned, confused, but did as she’d been told. It looked like some of the wraps she’d seen some human women wear. She’d only just tied a knot in the fabric at her hip when she was lifted off the wet sand.

Big thanks to my beta @lilmaymayy Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey @shycreationdreamland @gossamer19

To be added, please ask 💗

[synamartia]

Ya'll... when I tell you about the fucking week I just had...

So by now all of you are aware that my phone died and I wasn't able to be online until I could get it fixed. Well! Come to find out, it would have cost more to fix the screen than to just buy a new phone outright, so I just did that. It was a downgrade, but with all the issues my old phone was having aside from the cracked screen, it's still ten times better than what I had. Bought the phone, got everything transferred, went about my day as usual and went to bed early that night.

Guys. When I woke up, I thought I was fucking DEAD I felt so shitty. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. All I knew was I was freezing my ass off while sweating like a warthog in a sauna, I couldn't see straight, and my throat hurt so bad I couldn't speak. That's not an exaggeration, I literally couldn't speak - let alone eat or drink. Found out I was running a temp of 103 the first couple of days and all I did was sleep, and my tonsils were so swollen that even drinking water was painful. Eventually my fever broke and the swelling did go down, but now it fucking BURNS when I swallow anything like I just downed four shots of Everclear with a tabasco sauce chaser. Still not sure what exactly it was, but so far no one else in my house has gotten it, so I'm not even sure if it was something contagious - which just brings up a shit ton of questions about what it was and how I got it. i also can't sneeze without pain shooting down my neck which is great cause it's ALLERGY SEASON YAY

So, suffice to say, my tolerance for social interaction has been very minimal this past week and I haven't had a chance to get any writing done (at least it was my weekend off). I'm still not back to 100% but I'm getting there! Just wanted to give you guys a quick update, so now I'm gonna go take a zinc tab, get my kids in bed, and then try to crank out that teaser I promised ya'll~! ❤️

Side note: the 23rd was my youngest daughter's 4th birthday, and this kid. Omfg she cracks me up. So bedtime rolls around and my kid, she's watching these DIY videos for like fidget toys or whatever, and she sees one of those pimple popping toys. She runs up to me and is trying to get me to watch it (I'm barely conscious at this point btw) and she points to her forehead and tells me that she has pimples on her face, and that she needs one of those toys to pop instead. She literally just turned 4, and I tell her pimples don't happen until you're a teen (in my case, at least), and that she's got about ten more years to go before she's a teen. Then I ask her if she knows how long ten years is, and how far away into the future it is. She screams yeah, so I ask her how far.

This kid. This fucking kid. She proceeds to press herself against the wall of our living room, then runs across the length of it and down our hallway until she straight slams herself into our bathroom door (sort of like inexperienced skaters stop themselves at a roller rink by skating into that half wall), then yells back at me "THIS FAR!" I fucking died it hurt so much but I couldn't stop laughing 🤣☠️It was worth it though! ❤️

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

i feel like augustin was making paddy's storyline a bit less bleak than it was historically and i was looking forward to seeing what they would do with them in s2. well, i guess joke's on us for getting attached to a frenchman...

I put off answering this ask because I KNEW that the moment I did I would start rambling and it sounds like that time has come so I am sorry in advance my friend

But, yeah, you've hit the nail on the head. Part of my attachment to having Augustin in s2, and to Augustin and Paddy, is specifically the fact that I just would really, REALLY like for Paddy to heal. I know that historical Paddy Mayne never really recovered from Eoin McGonigal's death, but they have taken other narrative liberties with the show and characters, and also, and this is kinda snarky, I just don't think that makes for a very interesting storyline to watch? Obviously grief in real life CAN be, and often is, like that, but when you are watching a show, you don't wanna sit through a character stuck in the same loop of grief for four seasons. Especially because (1)this show is not a tragedy. Yes, tragic things happen, but an important element of tragedy is the futility of the characters' actions to prevent the tragedy from happening. While this story STARTS with a tragedy, that first jump that doomed so many of them, we know that it won't END that way, because we know that most of these men will live, and more importantly, we know that their actions are not futile. With that in mind, the idea of Paddy's ending being him alone with his grief doesn't really sit well with me. Also because, (2) it's not like it would be hard to showcase that a part of Paddy will forever be defined by the loss of Eoin, while still giving him a healing process and a happier ending than he got to have IRL (there is a whole other rant here about how queer people engage with historical fiction and especially biographical historical fiction, which I actually wrote a wholeass essay about a few years ago lmao. Anyway).

And at least for me, it's important that part of that healing process DOES involve him having a romantic relationship again (I would be fine with it being just implied, the way it was with Eoin, though I would prefer it if it wasn't, because if Stirling gets to fuck his made up girlfriend in the sand, then Paddy should be allowed to kiss a man, but I digress). And the reason for that is that... ok, let's talk about Eoin. We actually know SO little about Eoin. There are hints here and there, but Eoin's main role within the story is loving Paddy (and also dying. And haunting the narrative). Which is fascinating, because I feel like while Paddy is casual about it, he does have a bit of a Thing about being unlovable and unlikeable - he tries to own up to it, but he slips a few times, like when he remarks that he will go to Stirling's funeral because Stirling liked him, FOR SOME REASON, and also his general deer-caught-in-headlights look when Eoin offers him affection, like he can't quite believe it's happening. Which is partly why the loss of Eoin hits SO hard - because Eoin loved him, in spite of everything about him, Eoin loved him so much that it was his main defining trait. And I fully believe that once he died, Paddy also saw that as losing the only chance he was ever going to get at love, because who else could ever love him, when he has the heart's invisible furies within him?

And THAT'S when Augustin enters. He meets Paddy at his absolute worst, he watches him try to prove to him how ~fucked up and terrible~ he is...  and he is immediately delighted. Like, yes, Paddy and Augustin drive each other up the wall IMMEDIATELY, but also Augustin likes him SO MUCH. My man watched Paddy try to shoot himself in front of him to prove a point, after manhandling him into the sand and holding a knife to his throat, and then was like omg girlllll are you single? Yes and that's why you are like this? Oh I am sorry but also good to know. AND THEN HE WATCHED HIM ATTACK HIS FRIENDS BECAUSE OF A FUCKING PIANO and was still just so happy and charmed when Paddy's way of apologising was cooking them a gazelle and suffering NO consequences. Like GOD he was down SO bad SO quickly, and that was after seeing the absolute WORST of Paddy, and sure, that's because Augustin is also insane, but so is Paddy, so they'd be great together. And I think that would have been so meaningful, for Augustin to grab Paddy's cheeks and squeeze them and go, "FUCK YOU, I AM GOING TO LOVE YOU, WITH ALL THE DEMONS". Can you imagine? What it would be like for Paddy, who thinks he's never going to be loved again, to have someone who doesn't just love him in spite of the warning signs, but because of them?

The way I see it, with Augustin out of the picture, there are two possible routes the show can take. The first is remaining closer to history, probably giving him some sort of healing process that involves his community but without a romance, accepting that Paddy's chances at romantic love really did die with Eoin. Which would be, like, fine, but I have already explained why I don't love it. Or, they give Paddy a different romance, but the thing is that I sincerely doubt they are gonna be able to manage something that's as interesting as whatever Paddy and Augustin have got going on - they've really captured such a unique, fascinating dynamic, and I don't think they could replicate it with a different character. Similarly, the new character would either not experience Paddy at his worst, which makes the romance less meaningful imo, or they would just have to make Paddy regress to episode 5 levels of insanity again, which would not be especially interesting to watch, since WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN IT.

so, yeah. tbh I am just going to put on my clown nose and large shoes and bright coloured wig and hope that we get Augustin back for s3, cause I do genuinely think he is the best character progression possible for Paddy. and also because I want my insane frenchman back goddamnit

[eddiemunsonappreciationsociety]

MY WORD IS MY BOND

Part Four: You appeal to a girl like me, told me every blessing has a scar

Can he call me?

I mean yeah, he can call me.

Do I want him to?

Yeah.

I mean no.

No.

I shake my head, trying to clear my brain of the brown-eyed fog.

Goddamned love spell.

I pick up my phone and tap away

Do you think that's a good idea?

The reply is instantaneous

Yes.

Can't argue with that.

Can't argue with that.

My phone jumps to life almost as soon as I hit send.

"You do not know the meaning of playing it cool, huh?" I say into the phone and he chuckles in response.

"I don't need to play it cool, I invented cool." he teases, voice like gravel and honey all at the same time.

His voice makes my heart race a little, I feel myself briefly falter.

"You initiated a phonecall "

"What's your point?"

"I haven't had a willing conversation with my friends on the phone..." I think "maybe ever."

"I am older than you by a bit, I suppose, I'm being far too old-fashioned. Should I send you some memes first?" his tone is playful

"How old are you?" I blurt out. "Shit, sorry is that rude?"

"No, not rude." he finally says after his laughter dies. "But I'm not going to give you vampire chat without a date."

"What do you mean?" I squeak out. I switch over to watching New Girl to feel some sort of comfort. My heart is racing.

"We have to build trust, I get that. I want us to get to know each other but I'm not giving away the good stuff for free. If you go on a date with me, I'll answer any questions you have."

I pause and think about the offer he's presenting.

"We'll see."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes," I warn him.

"But it's not a no." and I can hear the goofy smile in his voice.

"What are you doing?" I try and steer the conversation away.

"I'm just about to finish my bottle of whisky and my joint and probably watch TV until I fall asleep."

So vampires sleep? Interesting.

"Sounds a little like mine, but I'm waiting on Chinese. And swap the whisky for gin."

I can't keep the grin off my face as we speak. My cheeks hurt.

"What are you watching?" he asks, I hear a lighter and him inhale on the other side of the phone.

"New Girl, it's about my fiftieth watch through but it's funny every time. "

"Oh, I actually enjoy that one."

My door knocks, making me jump.

"Are you ok?" his voice is more alert.

"Shit, yeah, my food is here. Wait there." I put my phone on the table as I retrieve my food and tip the driver. I bring it to the living room to the awaiting plate. I top my glass up with my homemade gin and pink lemonade and pick up the phone.

"Back." I sigh, sitting down and tucking my feet under me, and the phone under my chin as I dish up my food.

"What did you get?"

"Salt and pepper tofu, mock duck in plum sauce, and veggie fried rice."

"You're a veggie?" I can hear teasing in his voice.

"Mostly. Are you laughing at me?"

"No, I think I just won a bet with myself."

"What are you watching?" I expertly divert the conversation once again.

"The Mandalorian."

"Solid choice. Grogu is the best."

"Yeah, he's cute as fuck." Eddie agrees.

I take this opportunity to pop a piece of crispy tofu in my mouth and I can't stop the moan that comes from me as my mouth explodes with the salt and pepper seasoning.

"You cannot make noises like that when you're on the phone with me." his voice is tinged in something that makes my stomach squeeze.

"Sorry," I find myself blushing.

"No, it's..." he clears his throat. "You don't have to ever apologise to me."

His voice is steady now, sincere.

I wake up late Sunday, I don't feel any surprise as I see it's just gone one in the afternoon. Eddie and I had talked well into the early hours, it feels like we covered everything but barely scratched the surface. I stretch my arms and legs under the duvet, enjoying the comfort and rest that tingles throughout me. I try to stop the smile on my face because I've pulled my cheek muscles.

I didn't even know that was possible.

I roll over and retrieve my phone from the bedside table and I have two messages.

Eddie:

Good afternoon, I have just woken up, I had such a good time last night, and I hope we can continue talking today.

Stella:

Good morning my sugar lump, I will be over after 1 with brunch so have a joint rolled.

She'd sent that over an hour ago and I jump up, heading to the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine. I open my rolling box and wave my hand over it and a joint begins to roll itself as I continue to make coffee, knowing I'd woken up because I could sense Stella getting near.

I feel some of my energy leave me and I am now a little sleepy.

I don't usually like to use magick so frivolously, it takes more energy from me when I do lazy spells because it's using magick for an idle reason. But sometimes a little fatigue is better than the Sunday wrath of your best friend. Whilst the coffee is brewing I type a quick reply to Eddie.

I said we would get to know each other when we said goodbye, it wasn't just the homemade gin talking - pinky promise.

Seconds later my front door opens, it's Stella letting herself in with her key.

"Hey you little slut, where the fuck did you get to?" she demands, coming through to the kitchen and dumping her armfuls of food on the table. She has at least three different types of bags.

This is our ritual if we both have a day off together, a table full of food, a little smoke, a little drink, and something funny to watch.

"He left and I went home." I shrug, handing her the rolled joint and a lighter as I go about making our espresso martinis.

"Nuh-uh, I have been patient. Tell me everything."

I take a breath and spill the goods. I don't stop talking as we take the food (sushi, breakfast burritos, and freshly made cheesecake) and sit down, I don't stop talking as we switch on Jurassic Shark, I don't stop talking as we smoke, and I don't stop talking as we head back to the kitchen for more espresso martinis.

I tell her everything, but leave out the vampire stuff. Stella, my best friend of twenty-three years, knows I am a witch but I have never revealed any other supernatural goings-on to her. She just enjoys me making her spells and summoning things when we're too drunk to move.

"So, are you going to see him again?" Stella demands, putting her feet on my lap as she stretches out, Elphaba purring on her stomach, Chance curled up by my feet.

"I don't know." I sigh as the film finishes, I select Llamageddon from the suggestions and sip my drink.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she asks, incredulously.

I realise there's no proper way to explain a no.

"I just- I don't know."

"You weirdo, you just said you had a boss time talking to him, you literally just relayed an entire night of talking without taking a breath."

I shrug and she blows her fringe out of her eyes, exasperated.

"If you don't sit on that face, I will." Stella's tone is a warning. She laughs as she's my face. "I'm joking, please don't hex me."

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And I... Chapter Four, a Malevolent Fic

Demands and dessert.

Final fics of Surrogate, season one: 3/4. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

----

John was not okay. “How much longer? Is he okay? What are they doing? Where did they go? What are they talking about?” And he wailed yet again: “Does Arthur still need me?”

Hastur was silent.

It’s been about ten minutes, the All-Mother said again, having answered this volley a dozen times already. With the humans gone, she’d stretched out, her form warping and expanding to something a bit more comfortable. Guises were fine, but she preferred not to wear them. I’m not bringing them back until you two have a little chat of your own.

Hastur was silent.

“I will not talk to him,” John snarled. “After what he did? I’m not saying a fucking word.”

I’m not giving you a choice in the matter, sweetie. She got up, clopping forward on a thousand rolling hooves, and two gentle hands pressed the mug back into Hastur’s hands. Now, Hastur… you’ve disobeyed long enough. I understand what you’re going through. I really, really do. She cupped her hands around his, so motherly, so tender, even though those hands could simply squeeze and turn his flesh to jelly. But I need you to drink.

He finally looked up as though coming back into this world. “Why?” 

Because when that little girl comes back, she’s going to need you, the Black Goat said. And when you get back to Carcosa—when you go home—you’re going to need to be at your best. But before that? You two need to have a talk. Face to face, no Arthur in the way.  

Hastur looked at the drink. Sure. It didn’t matter. He drank glumly, staring at nothing.

The selenine worked instantly, flooding his torn limbs with power and repairing the new tears in his cloak with the surge of magic.

Hey. Hastur? Listen to me. A tentacle gripped his chin, forcing his mask upward, forcing him to meet her million eyes. I know our last meeting did not go well for you, but I need you to understand: I’m rooting for all four of you. I brokered a deal with Kayne that, frankly, might have traumatized that girl a little bit so I could give the four of you time to put each other all back together. But that’s not going to happen if you and John are at each other's throats. Do you understand me?

“I…” Hastur seemed to be struggling to respond.“I… you… want me to… talk to John?”

“I’m not fucking talking to him!” John snarled. “There’s nothing fucking to talk about!”

You two can start by… Oh, well, he’s probably a bit too fresh of a wound, but how about this: you two should start talking about what happened the first time John was in the Dreamlands. With Arthur.

“Why?” said Hastur again.

“Because you fucking tortured him!” John snapped. “We had to fight for our lives—you fucking destroyed any ounce of self-confidence he had left. All he thinks about are the scars, and what happened in… in the… Faust, and…” He writhed, tentacles lashing, eyes pinpoints of furious golden light. No, not furious. Horrified.

Hastur was silent.

“I had to watch, over and over,” John said with a shudder. “Every fucking time he had to take a bite of Faust.”

“Yes,” said Hastur, softly. “Yes. I was cruel.”

“Cruel? Cruel?” John was shaking. “You fucking tortured both of us. I had to relive his death over, and over, and you know what? I’m not you. I realized how fucking bad it was, and I tried to stop.” That shudder again. “But you just kept coming. You wouldn’t stop. And then you fucking brought his kid into it, you miserable fuck.”

Another long pause. That just seemed to be Hastur’s speed at the moment. “Yes. Yes, I did. I did those things. I cannot undo them, Piece. What do you want me to say?”

“You can start with my fucking name!” John shrieked. “It’s John! John Doe, my name is John, and I don’t care if you don’t like it because even if we merge, I will be reminding you of it, every second of every minute of every hour, and you can’t fucking take that away from me!”

“As you wish.” Which was perhaps not the expected response. “I will not take it away from you.”

John was huffing, chest rising and falling with every breath—every breath that was brand-new, the sensation of air rushing into lungs, past teeth, down his throat. “And stop trying to take Arthur away from me too,” he said, his voice cracking. “I already lost… I lost my body. I lost my autonomy. I lost my… our…” And his voice cracked. Shattered.

“Our son.” It’s rough. It sounded like Hastur had smoked for a thousand years. “Yes. I did that. I will not take Arthur away from you.”

“But you keep trying,” John sobbed—and that golden fire began to spill from beneath his hood, over his hands as he pressed them to his face in a curiously human gesture. “Oh, gods, I don’t want to leave him. He changed me. I’m so fucking grateful that he changed me, and I never want to go back to being anything like you. We lost our son, and I didn’t—I didn’t even remember him, until you prompted me. I can’t lose Arthur too.”

Another pause. Hastur’s breathing is deep, heavy. “I will not take Arthur from you.” Lower still. “You love him. You should tell…” But it just trailed off, like a candle going out. 

“It’s not that simple,” John groaned. “It’s—it’s just not.” But his head rocked back, then, the hood falling away from his—their—face. “But you get it, now. What you did to him. And…” He took a deep breath. “Fuck you, but thank you. When he threw us, you saved him. Saved us.” Another breath. “And you saved her. That… I think that means more than anything else, especially to him. That stupid fucking idiot then went back in to save you.”

“Foolish.” Soft. Condemning.

“Moronic.” Frustrated. Affectionate.

Hastur was barely audible. “Any further demands, Lord John?” There was no tone to it, no inflection.

John squinted at him. “I want Arthur to start getting dessert again,” he said. “When we go home. He’s done all the work. He’s earned it.”

Hastur’s cogs seemed to be slowing back down. “He may have dessert.”

John was quiet for another moment. “You really do love her. Don’t you?”

“I would not have returned from my son’s place of sacrifice, did I not.”

“Arthur was right,” John said softly. “She changed you. Just like Arthur changed me.”

Hastur was silent.

“I’m sorry,” John said, his voice very quiet. “I wish we had known what we knew now, years ago. Maybe things would have been different, then.”

“I did this,” Hastur said. “I crashed this ship. All has foundered. Lost; lost. It is lost.”

John stared at him. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said. “It’s not all lost. Arthur has been telling me for years that things have changed, and he was right. He was right about a lot of things, and never fucking once has he ever said anything bad about you to that girl,” he snarled. “Arthur has been doing a better goddamn job at navigating this than either of us. He’s fucking put himself back together after you broke him, for that girl. He saved you, and—” his voice broke again. “He’s been trying to convince me to… to reunite with you.” He let out a soft sob. “That fool.”

“You put him back together, John. Let us not deceive in the wake of our loss.” And without hesitation: “It would be poorly done, I think. Though I fear his safety could be at issue.” Whatever the hell all THAT meant.

John paused. Stared up at him. Yes, whatever the hell all that meant. “You’re going to have to put in the work,” John said, beginning an entirely different conversation. “But Arthur trusts you. He’s a fucking moron to do so, and there are things I will never fucking forgive you for. But, for Faroe… It doesn’t matter.” He took a breath. “She’s just a kid, Hastur. And you’re her Dad.”

“Yes.” Hastur still looked at nothing, monotone. “She will thrive. And Arthur will have his dessert. And I will try to help you. We should return home. Soon. Is there aught else you wish to say to me?”

Well, this guy was obviously fucked up. “Are… Are you going to be okay?” A beat. “Are we going to be okay?”

“You will. I… don’t know.”

“Are you willing to try?” His voice is firm. “For her.”

“I would not be here otherwise. John…” And then he stopped again.

There was something familiar about this moment. Something eerily like a night six years ago. The stuttering communication, the drifting thoughts. “What?” said John.

“I am glad you have changed.”

John was quiet for a long moment. “I’m glad you’ve changed too. I think.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe… Maybe we can both fix all this. Together?”

“Fix.” Hastur just said the word, flat. In his head, he heard the moment again, pleading to no one—too late, too late, please, he just needed more time—“Let me fix this. Let me try. My son, I…”

There had been no more time.

“Fix. Repair. Restore.” A pause. “Rebuild. Or… Or maybe just build something, instead of destroying.”

Hastur didn’t answer.

“Hastur.” It’s a growl. “We’re going to. Alright? We’re fucking going to fix this, if I have to drag your big squirmy ass behind Arthur with my hand.”

Hastur managed one, low laugh, a single heh of barely-surviving humor. “John… I would give all the gold in the treasury to see you manage that.”

John’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll call you on that, so I can buy Arthur some clothes that aren’t fucking yellow.”

Hastur paused. “Ah,” he said, as though that statement made him realize something.

“What now?” snapped John.

Aw, boys, Shub-Niggurath sighed. This is just lovely, I really hate to interrupt. Are you ready?

Hastur stood. He did not face her; he stood quiet, his head bowed. “Yes.”

The Great Mother twisted, contorting herself into a form easier on the eyes of mortals, and when she waved her hand, Arthur and Faroe stepped from the trees, faces streaked with tears, hand in hand.

They were perfect together. Hastur saw it when she was three; he saw it now.

He ached.

Her expression broke. “Daddy,” she sobbed, and she ran directly into his arms.

He gathered her up, but hesitantly, hesitant, and shuddered. “I’m so sorry, Faroe. My daughter. I brought all of this upon you. I thought to spare you pain, and I have not. I failed you.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice soft and hoarse. “We can talk about it w-when we go home. Can we go home?” She sank into his many arms, pulling his tentacles around her like a blanket.

His sigh was so deep. “Yes, my daughter. Now.” 

One second, honey. They need this.

Arthur stared at John. “She forgave me. She forgave me, John.”

John crept closer to him, inch by agonizing inch, hovering—and he glanced at Shub-Niggurath.

Go ahead, baby.

“But you said—”

I’m keeping everything all wrapped up so you don’t accidentally blow him up. Go ahead.

And John… reached. He reached with his left hand, hesitant and halting, and gently his fingertips brushed against Arthur’s right hand. “Arthur,” he whispered, a shadow wrapped in cloth of gold.

Arthur stepped right into him, fearless, almost as if it was a relief to press his face into John’s heat instead of just being out in the open. He clung.

John’s arms snapped shut around him. He was hugging Arthur, and he would have sobbed if not for the fact his tears would burn his foolish, magnificent human. He buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, felt the flutter of the man’s pulse against his mouth, took a deep breath—gods, he would remember this scent forever.

Arthur made a small sound, and tension melted away from him. He was aware as John wrapped more and more limbs around him, aware he was being closed in, but it didn’t… feel bad.

At all.

“John,” he breathed.

John’s tentacles crept up Arthur’s legs. 

Arthur shivered once.

This was getting scary. Time for a redirect. “Arthur. Shake my hand,” John rumbled.

“What?” Arthur said, a laugh on his breath. “All right, you whacko.” He twisted just enough to manage it.

John gave it a vigorous shake. “I—I missed you. I missed you! My friend!”

Arthur managed a laugh—and John knows Arthur’s laughs. This one is light. Lighter,  maybe, than any he’s heard in years. John began to laugh too. It was still dark, and huge, but it also bright, and there might have been a flash of teeth in the darkness beneath that hood, but it was alright because it was John. John.

John, his friend.

John, his—

Oh, I hate to break the two lovebirds up, Shub-Niggurath sighed. But we’re short on time. Ready?

“No,” John said.

Arthur stayed leaning, squeezing every last second of contact from this. “As ready as we’ll ever be. I guess.”

Close your eyes, Arthur. It’ll make this a bit easier.

He looked at his daughter (and Hastur, too, though his mind refused to contain that image).  Then he looked at John. Then he obeyed.

He felt John return before anything else—like the sensation of putting on the watch one always wore, or returning a ring back to its finger, or sinking into the warmth of one’s favorite sweater, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing. He sighed. “John?”

I’m here, Arthur.

“Glad you’re back. It was empty in there.” He wiped his leaky eyes.

I can tell. Cobwebs all over the place. There was a pleased rumble in it.

“She forgave me, John. She knows. And she forgave me.”

His left hand took his right. Tell me all about it when we get back?

“Yes,” Arthur said softly. “I will. Where’s…”

“Here,” Hastur murmured. Faroe lay in his arms, quiet, her arms wrapped around one of his tentacles, and Nibbles pressed against his other side, for once not fighting him, biting him, snarling. 

Again—he did not grab.

Hesitant. That was the word. It did not fit him well.

Three steps ahead. To your left. There.

“Hastur,” Arthur said, his voice gentle. “Let’s go home.”

#

The portal home was quick. Effortless. Hastur suspected that the Great Mother may have eased their passage, and at this point he was far too tired to question it.

The throne room was dark and empty—it must have been close to midnight. Gingerly he set Arthur down, Faroe shortly after. Nibbles shook and trotted after, her face splitting in a great yawn.

So quiet, though. Unnervingly so. He lacked the emotional currency to deal with it. “We… must rest,” Hastur said, and it was not a command.

Hesitant.

Faroe swallowed. “Can I go to your room tonight?”

“Yes.” Hastur’s voice was soft. “Perhaps we all should—”

The lights shut off with a bang, like some old fashioned spotlight, and they all jumped.

And from the dark, from the far end of the room, a single voice stuttered through what could barely be called a tune. “Ha… ppy birth… day…. To you! Ha… ppy birth… day… to you. Ha… ppy biiiiirth…day….” The voice grew. “Dear… Farooooooe…”

And suddenly lights blazed, shocking, blinding, directly in their eyes.

Hastur grabbed them all, even Nibbles, holding them close, but there was no sparing this. The bizarre sound of an audience cheering wildly came from who knew where.

And then he was there, right in front of them, holding a messy birthday cake. Diminutive, comparatively, just the size of a human being—but his shadow stretched, and stretched, and grew behind him, eating the rest of the room, so that it seemed like the spotlit place where Hastur, John, Arthur, Nibbles, and Faroe stood was the last island of existence left in all the universe.

“Happy biiiiiiiirthday,” Kayne belted, “Toooooooo youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!”

The unseen audience exploded in applause.

Kayne winked. “And… action.”

Somewhere, a grandfather clock struck twelve.

------------

Notes:

Hastur’s quote was from "The Wreck of the Hesperus" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

[faunandfl0ra]

TIMING: A couple weeks ago LOCATION: inflorescence PARTIES: Conor & Karen SUMMARY: Conor tries to explain to a stubborn woman that he doesn't have the roses she's searching for. He's no jedi but he knows how to get rid of a nuisance. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

“There’s no need to raise your voice,” you fucking moron. The words remained stuck in his throat. Keeping it inside certainly couldn’t count as lying, but it hurt him anyway not to tell that woman his truths. 

She had walked in already 10 minutes ago, with the hopes, the dreams, that he made a bouquet of pitch black roses for her. He didn’t like roses. People always wanted roses. He didn’t like monochrome, monotype bouquets either. Nothing about the bouquets already made and sitting on shelves made one think that this was the place for those. He preferred to work with locally grown flowers, with seasonal flowers too. Black roses were technically possible to find, in the middle of summer, in Turkey. He had told her this. He had told her this four, maybe five times already. 

 Still, she persisted. 

“You’re lying,” she finally spat. The faun sighed, his shoulders dropping as he stared at a piece of lint on her shoulder. Her outfit was otherwise spotless, curated to look flawless. The urge to pick at it was repressed, and he picked up a pen from the cup on the counter, making it turn on the edge of his middle finger. “I’m lying?” He replied, his expression remaining the same, jaded one he sported most days. “I sell flowers for a living, I won’t make a lot of money if I lie to -” She cut him off then, shouting LIES, LIES, LIES. He didn’t like when people did that. Why did people do that ? “I saw my friend’s Facebook story,” she spat, pointing her finger in his direction. Again, why did people do that ? “She had a dozen black roses delivered to her, and she tagged your shop in the post.” Though he understood only half of the words she said, something about her story didn’t sit right with the faun, who would have been aware if his shop had a Facebook page. 

“I want my fucking flowers,” her voice kept on getting more shrill. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyeballs, in an attempt to contain himself. He didn’t see her get the pen cup on the counter and throw it on the floor. He just heard it fall and shatter, the pens scatter around, and the sound of her voice as she shouted : “Look at me and give me my FUCKIN-” he should have seen this one coming. “Shut the fuck up,” he didn’t scream often, he cherished his quiet too much. Conor’s eyes locked with hers for the first time. She opened her mouth to say something, but like a fish, wasn’t able to produce a sound. If he’d known a bit more about his species, he would have known that the havoc she was causing was the perfect ground for chaotic energy like the one he exuded naturally. When was the last time he had fed anyway? “Why don’t we go look at the flowers in the back?” She nodded her head with enthusiasm. This was disgusting. To think that some fae did it all for fun. Taping a paper on the front door Back in 10 minutes, it read, Conor walked after her, picking up his violin’s case from the backroom. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t forget to give her back her voice once he was done.