#but the unwarranted hate drains. I can see how it drains. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and fire (11)

word count; 12,58

summary; following the tragic events of your last call, Vince has given the team a few days off, covered by other shift rotations, and coping alone can be hard.

notes; prepare for a few tears, but a lot of smiling and blushing.

warnings; reference to death, mentions of a funeral service, mentions of panic attacks, reference to injury, fire & arson.

The first tear fell the second your front door closed behind you. It was like a weight had been sitting on your chest, crushing you slowly for hours, from the very second you’d woken up this morning.

It had all been numb, seeming detached from who you really were, meeting members of Chuck’s family, introducing yourself, answering questions from the medical side of it all as they all stood confused as to what had happened to their son, and having to remind yourself on a mantra that you hadn't been at blame, as the unwarranted guilt threatened to topple over you at any given moment.

A beautiful ceremony of life, words that made the back of your throat sting as you sat in the church pews and listened to tributes, and the slight smudge of mascara under your eyes that you’d tried to clean up as your eyes watered, but you’d held strong throughout the entirety of the funeral. The dress sticking to your body felt too tight, like it was clinging to every inch of your skin, pushing in on you and crushing you from the outside.

He’d had a fireman’s funeral, the team deciding that despite never getting the chance to pass his exams, he would be sent off the proper way, and Vince had offered no argument. The morning started at the firehouse, nine o’clock sharp, the lights on the van flashing silently with the sirens turned off. The hurst had guided the pathway, lines of firemen along the edges of the cemetery as his family had arrived, and Newt’s hand had found your own to squeeze tightly as the black car had rolled to a stop.

His father, his uncle, his brother, a childhood friend, his best friend, and Thomas. Those six men carried the wooden box holding your friend to the front of the church for the gathering, respectful and calm, his mother offering a speech dedicated to the team, and you’d almost broken on the spot. There was something mentioned about all of you, about how proud Chuck made them all every day, and how much he loved what he did. Apparently, he spoke about you all to his family, at every chance he got. You felt like they were an extension of the team by the end of it.

Your social battery was drained; the simple small talk and polite exchanges you’d shared with everyone, but it had been overwhelming. You were no stranger to funerals or death, but you’d never lost someone so close to you before. It was utterly terrifying, to care so deeply for a group of people, to allow your walls to come down and let them in, only for the ever-looming threat of losing them to always be hanging over your head, and yet, somehow, it only made you stronger.

You suspected Chuck himself had something to do with that.

You’d placed a rose the same shade of red as the fire engines down on the top of his coffin, and whispered your thanks to him, for being your first friend in firehouse ‘21. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, you weren’t even sure whether you would have been able to stick it out there without his support, and without him, you certainly wouldn’t have the family you did today. You had him to thank for all of it, and you’d never be able to repay him.

You were invited out with them all, the family had booked a small conference room to go to, to share memories and chat, but the idea of it seemed like it might throw you over the edge, and you didn’t feel like having any more public breakdowns for a while. Your team had seen enough of you crying in recent weeks, and you felt like you’d done enough of that. You knew that Chuck wouldn’t want you to cry, he’d want you to make a cup of herbal tea - something stolen from Gally - and to watch a movie with Adam Sandler in or a rerun of Brooklyn 99, and he’d want you to smile, because that’s what he’d encouraged every other time you’d been sad.

He had never wanted anyone to do anything but smile, he was a ray of pure sunshine, warm and friendly and enough to light up any room or mood. You’d been sure to tell his mother that, and she’d held you in a tight hug that left you feeling weak, like you were being pulled down to the ground, the emotions overwhelming.

And so, you’d denied their request to join them as respectfully as you could, because you didn’t want to mourn surrounded by people. You didn’t want to do your mourning in a formal black dress that was smart enough for the occasion and heels that made your feet ache, watching as Newt pulled at the collar of his dress shirt, and the rest of your team wander around in the formal firemen’s uniform that was usually reserved for special occasions with a happier undertone, breaching on being tarnished, and you wouldn't let that happen.

So, you’d driven yourself home, eyes blurring a little and the clock tickling just past midday before the dam finally broke and you were slamming the front door shut a little harder than necessary. One gasping breath as you stood still, a second to follow, and then you were kicking off your shoes. The tears fell freely, hot and salty and unending as you sobbed, shoes abandoned and soles aching as you reached up to try and roughly jerk the zipper on the back of your dress down.

As you peeled it away from your body, you felt like you could breathe again, the pressure having been the opposite of soothing and you worry you were going to tear it in your haste to get it gone. It was chucked across the room, haphazardly into the laundry basket in the corner, and your stockings did rip as you tried to shed them from your skin. Elegant and professional, your appearance had been perfect, but you had felt the opposite. You felt broken, damaged and wounded and messy, like your emotions and inner feelings were leaking out for everyone to see, your deepest and darkest fears on display to be gawked at, your innermost worries open for public viewing.

It was a churning pool in your stomach, one that chilled you from the core, blood running cold in your veins, and you shivered a little. The smell of your perfume felt wrong where it lingered on the air from where you had sprayed it before, and you collapsed down in the seat at your dresser, hating the face that was staring back at you in the mirror.

It was wrong, you looked so professional, pointed eyeliner and a flick of lipstick, more makeup than you’d worn in a long time, but it was a mask, a shield to hide behind as you put up your defences against the pain you were experiencing, armour to wear to hold the pain at bay for long enough, but now it felt heavy. You grabbed for a makeup wipe, two coming loose and then a third, before you were scrubbing at your face. Flawless skin and artful designs were scrubbed away, your flesh blotchy underneath and flushed from the day’s events already, and it was only growing sorer as you scrubbed your skin clean.

The tears kept running, silent and slow as they flowed, and you struggled to even find the strength to push yourself back to standing up. The cold air in your apartment made you shiver, the simple but comfortable underwear was already feeling uncomfortable on your skin, everything did, now. Your fingers were shaking as they turned on the tap, trembling as you washed your face free of any remaining grime until you felt fresh, and you managed to get a handle on your tears.

They stopped somewhere between brushing your hair up out of your face and rubbing some moisturising cream onto the skin that was red and raw from salty tears. Tugging on your sweats and rolling them at the ankle away from your feet. Unclipping the bra from behind your back, it felt like the final restricting garment that was binding you to the pain of the day. It was left dropped to the floor, alongside torn stockings, kicked into the corner. You were fishing out a long-sleeved shirt from your dresser, the comfortable maroon coloured one with the hole in one sleeve for your thumb to slip through, when there was a knock at the door.

Nothing too startling, it wasn’t too quiet with the traffic outside, neither was it dark as light poured in from the sun outside, but you were one edge, and so the sudden intrusion on your quiet was shocking. Tugging the fabric over your head as you walked, and adjusting it across your front, you stuck your thumb through the hole and wiggled your fingers a little to grow comfortable, before you were opening the front door.

You were a little surprised to see who was on the other side. You had expected a neighbour, possibly the grumpy woman that lived a floor below, but you hadn't expected the towering frame of a familiar firefighter. He’d changed too, smart navy uniform swapped out for some jeans and an oversized jumper that would make him look smaller than he was if it wasn’t for broad shoulders and tall stature you knew lived underneath. Soft brown hair was freed from a white cap, and his face held equally as much sorrow as yours did.

“Thomas.. what are you doing here? How did you even know..?”

“I remembered. From the night we went to the vets. You pointed out which window was yours, I counted the floors, and tried to work it out. The resident two doors down told me where to find you.” Pink tinged his cheeks at the confession, and you laughed lightly, his hands rubbing together as he moved to stand up fully from where he’d been leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “I thought you might need a friend right now.”

“You didn’t want to go to the little get together his family arranged?”

“Absolutely not.” He grimaced, shoulders sagging a little more. “I loved Chuck, I did, but I don’t think he’d be mad at me for not being able to handle another few hours of his crying relatives looking at me like I was the one who failed them, because I was supposed to be his lieutenant.”

“You’re not allowed to blame yourself if I’m not.” You whispered, his eyes sparkling a little in amusement as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, before his gaze was dropping down again.

“Look, I know my presence is unannounced, and that I am crossing all kinds of boundaries right now, but you were the first person I thought of when I got home and started feeling alone, and so I got changed and drove here without really thinking about it. I know it’s wrong, and you probably need time for yourself, and so I can go if you want me to, b-”

“Don’t go.”

He let out a relieved sound as you cut off his rambling, rubbing a hand over his forehead, and daring to look you in the eye. “Are you sure? I mean, my company right now, are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure about ninety-nine percent of the things going on in my life right now, but I’m pretty sure you’re one thing I’m absolutely certain of.” He smiled a little at your words, something soft and adoring flickering over his features, and he held his arms out a little wider for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You didn’t wait, letting yourself topple forwards into his grip as your hold on the door to keep you steady and upright in your weakened state moved to him, letting him support you as your arms wrapped around his neck, his around your waist to pull you flush up to his body for support, and you felt like you’d finally found your comfort as his warm breath washed over your cheek, before his face was burying in your neck, and a sweet kiss was being pressed to the skin there briefly.

His hands dipped a little lower, no doubt feeling you tremble against his hold, knees buckling as you relinquished the last of your self-control and stability to him, to hook under your ass, and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him hold you a little tighter as he stepped blindly into your apartment, kicking the door shut and leaning back against it as he held you, and the presence of wet tears and muffled sniffles against your shoulder wasn’t missed.

You raised a hand, brushing through his hair gently, and taking the time to comfort him this time. You pressed a kiss to his temple, and again, before squeezing yourself around him a little tighter and letting him reciprocate the actions in silent acknowledgement of your comfort, as he let himself break down now he was behind closed doors, much like you had.

Your feet slipped back to the floor a few minutes later, when his heart had slowed and breathing calmed, and the moment of insure weakness had passed, leaving you to lean against him, staring up at red-rimmed eyes as his hands rubbed circles onto your hips, silence being all that was needed.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“Thanks for coming over.” Your words were barely even audible, shared into the space between you both, and he nodded his head, licking over dry lips, and clearing his throat slightly.

“It was really no trouble. Like, at all.” You smiled, forehead bumping against his chin as you leaned forward, before your cheek was pressing to his shoulder, and his arms were circling more fully around you for the hushed conversation. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to lunch, or something? We could hang out, try not to think about it all for a few hours.”

“God, it is lunchtime, isn’t it?” You rubbed at your eyes, gaze flickering to the clock on the wall overhead the open-plan kitchen counter. “I haven’t even had breakfast, yet, I felt too nauseous this morning to even consider eating something.”

“You’ve not eaten yet?” He pulled back a little further, his hands coming up to sit over your jaw, allowing his thumbs to sweep gently over your cheeks as he directed your eyes back to meet his own, and you shrugged, a smile on your lips.

“Oh, c’mon, Tommy. It’s not exactly anything new for us to miss meals in our line of work. I swear, that siren waits until I make something to eat to ring.” He chuckled, nodding his head, before pulling you forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands bunching up in the fabric of his jumper around his waist, holding onto him tightly and hoping it conveyed what you couldn't say with words, a silent offering in gratitude for simply having his presence. “My body would probably be more shocked at a regular eating and sleeping schedule than it would one missed meal and a day without needing to nap to get through it.”

“Well, I guess we’d better start with breakfast, then.”

“You haven’t had breakfast?” You questioned, hopping up onto one of the bar stools beside the kitchen counter, and you watched with some form of amusement as Thomas moved across the room to open your fridge, clearly making himself comfortably at home in your home as he rooted through the contents.

“No, I’ve had breakfast.” He hummed, beginning to pull things out and stack them on the counter. “Well, kinda’. I picked up coffee on the way to the.. on the way, and I got a couple of muffins to go, too.”

“Muffins do not count. I bet they were chocolate chip ones, too.”

“Only one of them was chocolate chip!” He defended himself, the fridge rattling a little as the door closed and he turned to stare at you from the other side of the counter, eyes narrowing a little, before a teasing smirk was appearing on his face once again. “They only had one chocolate one left, the other was blueberry, which is fruit, so it’s basically like eating an apple.”

“You’re so full of shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong that is, and how unhealthy that is, for a lieutenant of a fire station, no less.”

“Yeah, well, I have to live life a little unhealthily. If I didn’t how would I get cute paramedics to fuss over me?” He winked, the moment slipping away from you both for just a second as you gaped at him, feeling a warm blush race over your skin to find a home on your cheeks, and he chuckled to himself cheekily at his ability to make you so flustered, your eyes rolling but it was out of fondness as your head dipped. “So, pancakes? I’m really good at making pancakes.”

“You sure? Something about you just screams ‘I-cannot-cook-for-shit’.”

“I take that as a raging insult. I’m an excellent chef. An excellent and usually healthy chef, actually. I mean, I’m a lieutenant at a fire station, I’ve gotta’ stay in shape.” You scoffed, your words used against you again, and your eyes trailed along broad shoulders and arms for a second, taking in the muscles you knew to exist there that were hidden under a baggy jumper. “Are you checking me out right now?”

“No.”

“You totally are, you’re checking me out.” He gasped the words, reaching up to grab at his pecs like a woman would grab her tits, and you grinned at his actions, lips pursed together to try and contain it as your heels ached, and his jaw dropped, as though he was utterly modified and disgusted at the idea. “I feel so violated right now. Take your eyes off of me, this is disrespectful, my eyes are up here, you know.” He pointed up to his face, and you raised a brow, hopping down from your seat to around the counter, his gaze following you as you moved past him.

Pressing the button on the small countertop coffee machine and placing a mug underneath, you turned back to him, hands wrapping around his wrist to bring them down, your eyes dragging purposefully slowly over his chest, up to his face, and he there was a more serious look on his face as you did this time. Leaning up a little, his breathing hitched, eyes fluttering to sit hooded as he leaned in enough to bump his nose against your own, and you let out a breathy laugh. “It ain’t nothing I haven’t already seen, big boy.”

You pulled back, laughing at the shocked look on his face as he blinked to clear his mind, and you turned away to face the coffee machine, the man behind you stuttering a little bit. “You little tease.”

“Not a tease, maybe I’m just playing hard to get.”

You replaced the mug, making him a freshly brewed coffee too as soon as yours was finished, and Thomas was rooting through your cupboards to find the equipment he wanted. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or excited. Insulted, because, after all we’ve been through, I figured I’d at least have a place in the runnings, but excited, because you just admitted that I at least have a shot.”

“I thought you already knew you did.” You blew the steam from your coffee mug gently, and he found the mixing jugs he was looking for, his eyes twinkling a little as he glanced at you, turning back to the pile of ingredients he had made.

“Yeah, maybe, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“Hm.” You took a sip, settling yourself back in your seat, and watched as he began to crack eggs, clearly working on mental estimates rather than an actual recipe as he created a batter. “Well, for the record, you have a really great shot. Good ranking in the runnings, or whatever. Go for the gold.”

“Are you my top prize?”

“I could be.” You tried to convince yourself the blush on your cheeks was simply a bodily reaction to the heat steaming from the mug.

“Then I’m in it to win.”

“I hope so.” You whispered, the coffee machine beeping again as another cycle came to an end, and you nodded towards it, letting the moment be carried away, left on a high note, and not allowing yourself to overthink it or start to become doubtful of your decisions. “That coffee is for you, I made you a cappuccino.”

“I love cappuccinos.”

“I know, you like the foam on top so you can lick it off your upper lip.” He paused, glancing up at you, something you were unfamiliar with flickering across his features, before he was nodding his head.

He didn’t say anything, and for a second, you worried you had messed up somehow, that you’d done something wrong or freaked him out, or made an error, but you were certain you were right, you remembered Thomas telling you about his love for the frothy drink a few months ago when the station coffee machine had broke and you’d all had to make coffee from a kettle, and you’d seen him lick the froth from his upper lip with a grin every time he had one of the drink, when he thought nobody was looking, and he could be a child again for just a few seconds.

Then, though, you caught sight of the smile he was trying to hide, the way his face was lit up a little as he stared into the recipe, beating the eggs with a fork, a variety of other utensils laid out before him. He turned, placing a pan over the hob and starting it up on it’s lowest flame, before dropping a large wedge of butter into the pan to start melting, the lump sliding across the metal surface slowly as it began to heat up.

“So, these pancakes might be a little off. I normally use protein powder instead of flour, so, go easy on me.”

He added a large scoop of flour to the mix, milk being splashed in by eye-measurement only and some butter added, the pan popping a little behind him as it heated up, and you raised a single and slightly judgey brow at the unusual mix of quantities he was adding before mixing it. It seemed to work out for him, because somewhere along the line, it had formed a decent batter, and he was scooping out enough to slowly drop into the pan.

It sizzled at it cooked, his back to you as he worked at the hob, and you twisted a little more in your seat, facing forwards to the counter and resting your elbows on it, to be able to balance your chin on the top of your hands. Scanning your eyes over Thomas slowly, your cheeks flushed with heat a little as you realised you were very definitely checking him out, but you couldn’t help it.

His broad shoulders couldn't be hidden, no matter how big his jumper was, filling his frame widely. The muscles of his back became evident occasionally as he moved, the soft cotton of his jumper pressing to them but never becoming stained, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to cook as butter and oil in the pan popped, the veins along his forearms becoming a little more prominent each time he flipped a pancake over, or served it up onto a plate.

He was humming a song to himself, hips swaying a little as he occasionally mumbled a word or two, barley even audible to you as you listened in and you didn’t recognise the song but it sounded like something that would have been made in the 70s, your lips sneaking up into a soft smile. It was unusually domestic, it had been years since you’d ever had anyone to cook for in your own home, and you couldn't remember ever having anyone cook for you.

Well, bar when you’d been living at home, and a child, but that didn't count.

You weren’t blind to how attractive Thomas was; he was attractive in a beautiful kind of way. Soft chocolate-coloured locks and golden eyes that seemed to change shade with his mood, skin imperfect with constellations of pretty moles that only made him seem more like a piece of art. Of course, being the lieutenant of a firehouse team had its perks, he was often fitting in workouts at the firehouse on slow days between calls and you’d seen the stretch of his shirt across biceps and lean pectorals, and you’d been caught staring when he had comforted you after Chuck’s death. You’d been close enough to him so many times now that you were no stranger to the hard muscle under his clothes and soft but warm skin to cover it, or the long fingers on calloused palms that often found their way to you.

You’d just never really allowed yourself to be affected by any of it before now, putting up walls meant shutting out anything that might cause you to connect to someone, including physical attraction. Now, though, you’d been forced to take those walls down. You were happy about it, even if you weren’t happy today, but it meant noticing the more intimate things. It meant you noticed the scar on the side of his nose, almost indistinguishable until you’d been allowed close enough to see it, or the way the moles on his face continued all the way down along his flesh, but were more heavily grouped on his left side.

He turned, a plate for both of you in hand as the heat had been turned off, pan sitting there to cool, and he wandered over, pushing the condiments he’d assembled from your cupboards into the middle of the table, and you chuckled at the small collection of fruits he’d chopped on a separate plate; strawberries and apples, all you had, but he’d slipped something healthy in there.

“You want me to get the cutlery?”

“I found it. Third drawer across from the fridge.” He smiled, turning, and grabbing a matching set of knives and forks for each of you, before settling himself on the opposite side of the kitchen island, and you were already reaching for the syrup as he placed a piece of apple into his mouth, a satisfyingly loud crunch sounding out as he chewed it. Grabbing the knife and fork from the counter, your hands hovered over the plates, holding in mid-air before your first cut, and you could feel Thomas’ eyes on you. “Is it okay? I can make something else.”

“It’s perfect. Nobody has ever really cooked for me before.”

“You and Fry cook at the house all the time! He’s always making you meals.” He looked confused, brows pulling together and he sliced off a piece of pancake, stabbing it through a strawberry and sweeping it through some syrup, before chewing happily, and waiting for you to explain.

“No, that’s different. I mean, nobody has ever cooked for me before. Just made me food, in my own kitchen, for the sake of it. When I cook with Fry at the firehouse, that's cool, but we’re making lunch for everyone and he’s testing recipes. This is different. You didn’t have to come over and see me, or cook for me, or comfort me, but here you are.”

“Here I am.” He whispered, a sweet expression on his face as he chewed, eyes flicking between you and his food, and you finally chopped off your first piece, bringing it to your mouth.

You didn’t need to thank him, he already knew, just from your words, how much it meant and the message you’d been trying to convey had been shared. Every experience you made with Thomas was like something entirely new, you weren’t sure why or how it had happened, he was never someone you thought you’d end up in such a situation with, and if someone had told you six months ago that he was the person you’d be turning to in your grief, you’d have laughed.

It was good food, the two of you sitting quietly for a few moments, a grin on his face as you approved of his cooking, warmth spreading over his cheeks at the compliment, and it was well-deserved. You wondered why he didn’t cook at the house more often. The fruit between you was dwindling, though he had eaten the majority of it, and you were at least a third of the way through your food before he spoke again, this time, his eyes fixed on his plate, voice barely above a whisper, but it seemed to fit the delicate mood. “You looked beautiful today.”

You paused, swallowing your mouthful thickly, and Thomas’s fingers were tapping at the counter as the other one navigated his fork around his plate, watching it intensely as though it was the most intense action in the world, but he seems to sense your gaze, his lips pursed as he looked up, one shoulder rising and falling in a shrug.

“I think you always look beautiful, even right now when you want to cry, but you looked really beautiful today. Sad, heartbroken, but beautiful, too. In an epic Ancient Greek tragedy kind of way.”

“So did you.” You murmured, heat washing over your face and burning at you as his brows raised a little, and you let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Handsome, I mean. You looked really smart. And good. In your formal suit.” The word vomit was starting again, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips as he stared at you, but the hole was already being dug and you were just falling deeper, unable to stop it. “Not that your normal fireman stuff doesn’t look good, you look really good in that, too. Fuck, are you going to shut me up any time soon or are you just going to let me continue embarrassing myself?”

He grinned, toothy and wide, a sight that made your guts twist a little, and your stomach feel like you’d lost gravity for a second, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you. “I think it’s cute when you ramble.”

You were even more flustered now, cursing a little under your breath, and staring back down at your half-eaten meal, poking the top pancake angrily with your fork like it was to blame for your embarrassment.

“I also think it’s pretty cute when you get embarrassed about rambling, and you blush, and you get all flustered because of me. I like knowing I can make you flustered.”

“Shut up.” You scowled, and he chuckled, but gave in, quieting his laughter with another mouthful of his food, and silence took over again.

It was a few more minutes before the heat bled away, and you were able to look back up to meet his eye, finding the amusement in the situation now that it had passed, but the dark cloud of the day was still hanging over you both.

You poked at your food, stirring it around the plate for a while, and eventually, you had finished your meal, moving on to snacking on what was left of the fruit in the middle of the table. You appreciated the gesture, because you were certain that had you been left to your own devices you wouldn’t have eaten, you probably would have spent the whole day moving around in some kind of daze, wallowing in your pity before eventually dropping into bed. Tomorrow would have been a mess, and yet, it was looking a little more promising now.

“So, do you want to talk about how you’re doing?”

You paused mid-chew, looking up to face him as you felt more like you were choking down the bite of apple, rather than swallowing it, and you sighed, your bottom lip finding itself being worried between your teeth as you thought about it, before eventually shrugging. “There’s not much to say.”

You stood, moving around him, breaking away from the bubble you had created together in order to start loading up the dishwasher, any kind of menial task to avert yourself from the conversation, but he clearly wasn’t letting it go that easily. He stood, his empty plate following, slipping it onto the rack beside your things, and reaching for the pan next. “I know you’re not okay, but you’re not alone, because I’m not really okay either.”

“Tommy, it’s different.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t shut me out.” You closed the machine, loading it up with a capsule and pressing a series of buttons, the machine humming to life, and you turned around, leaning against it, arms crossed as you stared at the floor. It was more like a glare, as though the tiles of the kitchen had personally offended you, but it softened considerably when a finger hooked under your chin, dirty sneakers filling your vision as he stepped in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. “Stop blaming yourself, sweetheart. You can’t, because it’s not your fault. It was a whole load of unfortunate incidents that all came together, and you couldn't have known any of them. You did your best, you did everything you could, and sometimes even when you try your hardest, bad things still happen, but that's not your fault.”

You sniffed lightly, a soft sob leaving you before tears were beginning to slip free, and he wiped them away gently with his thumbs, both hands now cupping your cheeks, and you allowed yourself to once again be weak with him. Your hands were shaking, finding his forearms, smoothing along until you reached his wrists, the back of his hands, pulling his touch away from your face until you could wrap his arms around yourself and press your face into his chest.

He didn’t resist, instead, he lifted a hand to cup the back of your head, his cheek coming down to press softly to your crown as the other slipped around your waist to hold you close, and your cries were muffled as you clung to him. As you did, as you sought comfort from him and let your pain out, you couldn’t help but settle, decide that you were far too comfortable in his arms and with this team, too comfortable at this house to ever let it go. You’d always wanted a family, the bond that came with finding a group of people you could bare your very soul to, to find someone who would see you in your worst state as well as your best and still stick by your side, and you’d found it all.

Holding him a little tighter, you found the tears were slowing, misery was still weighing heavy on your heart, but it was a little easier to carry when you let them help you.

“Can you stay?”

“Stay?” He echoed, letting you pull back to wipe at damp cheeks, before you were nodding, and giving him the best smile that you could muster in that moment.

“Like, here, with me. If you don’t have anything else to do today.”

“Only thing I have to do today is you.” He smiled, and you knew there wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo in the words, but he seemed to realise the same moment you did, a laugh breaking free from your lips as his face flushed with a pink blush, sitting up on his cheekbones and spreading right to his ears, a shocked look forming. “That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“I gathered that.”

“What I meant to say, is that I don’t have any plans except being with you, for as long as you want me to be here.” You smiled, letting the moment go rather than teasing further, because the colour on his cheeks was already too much.

“Wanna’ watch a movie? I’m pretty sure we could get all the way through one without any distractions, there’s no alarm going off today. Hopefully.”

“Knowing our luck, your building's fire alarm will go off.” He teased, his arm lifting up to tuck you into his side and settle back over your shoulders, guiding you through the space to the couch and living room only a few metres away.

“Well, if it does, I know that I’m the safest I could possibly be since I’m here with you.” You tapped the tips of his nose as you settled down, Thomas slumping into the cushions and spreading out a little as you sat beside him, legs crossed under yourself as you reached for the remotes, trying to reset your emotions as you scrolled through the comedy section, deciding that it was definitely the time for something light-hearted and fun. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want is fine by me.” His hand found a place on your thigh, just above your knee, casual and relaxed, and you paused for a second. Glancing down at it, you realised your pause hadn't been from insecurity or anything unsure, but simply from the overwhelming shock of being so comfortable in the action. You didn’t feel put on edge, or tense, it just felt right, and you rested your hand over the top of his, his fingers spreading out to lace loosely with your own, and turning over to hold onto you properly. Pulling the appendage a little closer, your joint hands sat connected in your lap as you scrolled the movies.

You settled on something easy, something with a lot of laughs and giggles, and enough to boost your mood without even having to think about it. You shifted, spending a while sitting up, playing with the fingers of a hand that didn’t belong to you, before he’d seemingly had enough of that. Thomas lifted that arm about thirty minutes in, forcing you to settle back into the couch but wrapping that arm around your shoulders and pulling you backwards, tucking you into his side.

His fingers played with your hair, and you let a hand splay out over his stomach, and he felt like he was a permanent part of your life. It wasn’t a comparison to a piece of furniture, he wasn’t an essential but taken-for-granted piece of house-ware like a frying pan or a kettle, but instead, he was a comfortable addition that you didn’t feel like letting go of.

He was like a throw pillow or a blanket that went on the end of your bed, something for comfort and accessorising, something you could live without but would fight to have taken away if someone tried. He’d wormed his way in, you weren’t sure when or how, but he’d gone from hating you, to tolerating you, to accepting you, to caring for you, to something else. His nose brushed along your hairline every so often, soft smiles and muffled laughter as he kept his voice low, like the comments he made would shatter the mood if spoken above the whisper.

You never moved away from him. He never made you.

Rather, he held you close, and if there were a few times when the emotions all became a little too much, when the tears came again, when the crushing guilt you were working on dismantling threatening itself again, you would let the edge of his jumper soak up the tears and he wouldn't say anything, simple holding you close, and tracing patterns onto your skin as his fingers ran up and down your arm or held onto your shoulder, and if he got a little emotional partway through, or if at the only point in the movie when his arm unwrapped itself from around you, it was to wipe at his cheeks, or cover his face as he tried to protect what he had left of his emotional stability, you only squeezed him a little tighter.

You watched a second movie, one that you assumed was supposed to be a sequel to the first one you had watched, but you hadn't been able to follow the plot that much. Your mind was spinning, your thoughts like a tornado, ricocheting from every side of your brain.

You wondered how Newt was doing, whether he was still with Chuck’s family, whether he was sick of having his cheeks pinched and shoulders squeezed in a tight hug by older family members and swooning relatives. He had a way with words, he had a way with charming people; charismatic and cheeky. He was able to find a joke or a story for any situation, and something about him put you at ease just to be around. He was like medicine for the soul, patching you up from the inside out and making flowers bloom in spaces that had been cold and frozen. Maybe he’d had enough, maybe he’d gone home, or perhaps he’d called Derek for support. You hoped it was the latter, you had high hopes for the two of them.

Your mind also brushed over Brenda and Minho. You had no doubt that the two of them were together, that they were comforting each other. You would see her soon, you made a note of it. Calling people up and asking them to hang out wasn’t something you were used to, but you’d make the effort for her. You’d take her for coffee, or lunch, or simply show up with a bottle of wine and her favourite snacks, and take a girl’s night that you were in desperate need of.

You were picking at a loose thread that was dangling from the inside of his hoodie, a different colour to the pal jumper, it was more of a khaki green shade, and you suspected it wasn’t a thread from his jumper but from the t-shirt he wore underneath, and you jumped a little as you realised that there was a voice in your ear, closer and sharper than the television, which seemed or have been turned down and had become muffled, and you startled slightly, a chuckle following it as you moved to sit up.

Your eyes had been drooping a little, you’d been close to nodding off, not having even realised it as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread and let your thoughts take over.

“You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?”

“Not even one.” You mumbled, glancing around, before rubbing a hand over your eyes, and noting the late-afternoon sun that was beginning to lower towards the horizon, fading light as the hours ticked on, and you sighed, shaking yourself down a little and his arm slipped free from around you to let you stand as you wobbled a little on legs that hadn't been used in a while. “I was thinking. I got wrapped up in my thoughts.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t saying anything important, I was talking about the movie.”

“I’ll be right back, just, hit rewind. And pause. I’ll focus, I swear.” He nodded, legs popped up on your coffee table and you weren’t aware of just when he’d made himself at home, an air of domesticity that he seemed comfortable in. The image was burned into your mind as you wandered away, closing the bathroom door and taking a deep breath. The cushions were spread out around him, he was nestled among them, head lolled back against the edge of the couch, feet popped up on the table, shoes kicked off by the couch somewhere and an obviously wrinkled patch on his jumper where you’d been leaning.

You didn’t want to let it go.

You flushed, the sound drowning out the occasional shuffling noises Thomas made as he adjusted himself, the squeaky springs in your couch, and then the sound of the tap to follow, lavender overwhelming your senses as your hand wash flooded the room with the pleasant scent.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, red-rimmed eyes and cheeks a little raw from salt, and you switched hot water to cold, cupping your hands under the faucet and bringing your hands up to your face as you leaned over, trying to ease sensitive skin and wash your eyes, wash away where eyelashes were still clumped together, washing away the residual pain. Like a cold shock, waking you up from the hazy slumber you were threatening to fall into once again, and the emotional turmoil of the day had been just too exhausting.

You snapped the scrunchie from your hair to sit around your wrist instead, the dull ache on your scalp eased as you ran your fingers over it, your hair sitting in odd shapes that only a hairbrush would be able to truly tame, and Thomas was looking at you already. “I want to take a nap.”

“I can head out.” He rubbed his hands along his jeans, reaching from the remotes as he lifted his feet down from the coffee table to the floor and switching the television off. You padded your way across the polished wood towards him, taking his hands in your own, and his brows furrowed a little. “What?”

“I want us to take a nap.”

A myriad of emotions moved across his features. He started with confusion, before he was moving to something between bashful and shy, a sweet smile following that and his expression smoothed over until he was simply staring at you, nodding his head slowly and twisting his hands more to lace the fingers of one hand together, and letting you guide him through the halls.

He followed after you, feet scuffing on the floors, and sliding in his socks, and he paused outside of the bedroom door as your fingers found the handle, pulling you to a slight stop, and there was a nervous look on his face.

“Are you sure?” You weren’t sure what he meant, and he seemed to sense it from the shifting in your expression, because his eyes left yours, flicking up to the closed bedroom door long enough to signal what he meant. “I just, well, I mean.. your bedroom. It’s a private space, y’know, and I know there’s this thing between us, but I just want to be sure you really want it.”

You only pushed the door open, stepping into it backwards and taking him with you, and his lips inched up at the edges into a fuller smile, gaze leaving yours to take in the room. It was still a little messy, you hadn't bothered to properly tidy up from before when he’d arrived and the blankets on your bed were still pulled haphazardly tidily from when you had crawled out of bed this morning with barely enough energy to face the day. He took it all in, observing the space that was so intimate to you, taking in every detail, and he watched as you pulled the curtains shut, blocking out some of the light to cast a darker atmosphere over the room.

His fingers were running over the books on your shelf, and you settled down onto the bed, edging your way up it and tucking yourself down underneath cold blankets, shuddering a little and peeling them back to make a space for him when he was finished observing. He took the hint, turning to see you, and stepping a little closer to the bed.

He rested a knee on the edge of the mattress, a hand reaching behind his head to peel his jumper up and over his head, and you didn't even bother to hide the lingering of your eyes on the skin that was revealed, before you were watching him shake his hair free and throwing his jumper away to rest on your dresser chair.

He crawled his way up towards you, pressed a prolonged kiss to your forehead, before flopping down onto the mattress beside you. You lifted the blankets up, tucking them around him as he made himself comfortable, one hand resting under his pillow beneath his head, and facing you as his legs crooked, and he adjusted the blankets more securely around himself. His eyes found yours once he was settled, something that was both awkward and comfortable at the same time, and he sighed as the feeling washed over you both.

You waited a moment longer, his other hand resting just above the edge of the covers that were sitting around your middle, before you gave in to the temptation swelling within you, and you reached out. Smoothing your hand over the top of his own tentatively, he smiles, turning his hand to weave your fingers together once again, like magnets, your hand now only having a home as long as it was wrapped with his own.

“Was Chuck your first loss?” His words barely reached your ears; they were spoken so quietly, and you were certain that in the entirety of the day, you’d yet to actually use your voice at the volume it usually was, in fear of damaging an already fragile aura.

“No.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly, your eyes sliding shut to hold back fresh tears that may threaten to rise, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter in support. “He was the first friend I lost, though.”

It went silent for a moment after that, enough time for you to get a handle on your emotions, before you were opening your eyes back up to meet swirling honey-brown that were watching you through a somewhat sleepy gaze. “The first loss of someone I really cared about was hard. His name was Ben.”

His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and you dared to shuffle an inch closer across your pillow towards his, the bedding barely even making a sound as you moved minutely. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I want you to know about me.” He let out a shaky breath, and you realised that this was perhaps the first time he’d spoken about it since it had ever happened, and so it was just as therapeutic for him as talking about Chuck was for you, even if you didn’t want to. “It hit hard, I liked him, he seemed like a cool guy. He was a lieutenant candidate with me, we were training together. It was competitive but all in fun and games, nothing serious. He was better than I was, he’d been preparing longer, he was definitely going to get the promotion when our house lieutenant retired. He’d been there years, I’d only been there for three months, but it felt like three days.”

You chuckled a little at his words, his expression brightening a little at the sound, seeming to perk up just slightly, and he tugged you a little closer, your cheek pressing to the end of your pillow as his own head remained firmly planted in the centre of the opposite one.

“We got trapped, burning building, it was all coming down. Nothing new. I was trained for the situation, and I tried so hard to get to him, but I couldn’t, he took a piece of debris straight into his abdomen, he was dead before I’d even made it across the room.” He choked down a lump in his throat, and your heart cracked a little in your chest at the broken look that flicked across his features. “I blamed myself for so long. I kept going over the moment, so sure there was something I could have done, that I could have run faster, asking myself if I hesitated just because of the job I wanted that he would have gotten.”

“Tommy..”

“I did all I could. I did my best. I know that now, and I don’t feel guilty, but sometimes it just hurts to think about it.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You could see that it was hard for him, and that he was reopening old wounds just to make you feel better, and it was a silent promise, something more permanent and solid, a confirmation that he was here for you, and that he wouldn't let you fall. That he was inside of those walls now and that he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon, his thumb playing gently with your own as you fell quiet once again.

“Newt’s first loss was a guy called Alby.” He eventually spoke, and you looked up to him again, brows raising slightly. “Before I even joined this firehouse. I remember Newt telling me about him, though. It took Newt a long time to get over it. He was new, basically a candidate, if they have that thing for paramedics. Do you? Have that kinda’ thing for paramedics?”

“We call ‘me greenies. Because on their first few cases, they usually look a little green, and throw up.”

“I like that. Greenies. That’s good.” He chuckled, and you shrugged one shoulder, letting him continue when he was ready. “He was the greenie, I guess, and Alby was the house chief. He took Newt under his wing, fresh outta’ the academy, early graduate at just twenty, and they became good friends. About a year in, they got in some trouble, Newt never really told me the full story, but Alby died on the stretcher to the hospital. Newt tried to pump his heart all the way there, he was sure that if he just kept pumping, his heart would start beating on its own again. It didn’t.”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, a pang of sadness for your best friend racing through your veins, and your eyes flicked over the edge of his pillow, contemplating getting a little closer, but he seemed to make that decision for you, shuffling himself up further toward you until his face was balanced on the edge of his pillow like yours, the soft pants he let out occasionally able to felt against the tip of your nose.

“Then, of course, there’s Brenda.” Your heart sank at the mention, and you knew she had to have lost someone along the line somewhere, but you hated the tone in his voice. “Arguably, the worst of them all. She really was the candidate, at a firehouse a few miles over, with her brother. He was a couple of years older, his name was George, he inspired her to become a firefighter. Apparently, they played firemen together ever since they were little, she followed in his footsteps.”

“I never even knew she has a brother.”

He lifted your hands up, instead of stretched out between your bodies, they were folded up near your faces between you both, resting on the mattress and holding tightly. “He was on Squad, she was on Truck - of course - and the Squad team got trapped on an upper floor. Everyone but her brother made it out. She finished her candidacy, passed her exams, and transferred to a new house, our house, she needed a fresh start.”

“Not that I don’t want to know, but, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to know that you’re not to blame, and that everybody blamed themselves after a loss, but we all moved on, because we found each other and we let ourselves grieve without holding onto it.” He lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you watched his lips move slowly along your hand, dragging along your skin.

“My first-ever loss on the job was a patient, in my first month. A stab wound victim, he died on the way to the hospital, while I was trying to hold the wound shut. I considered quitting, it hurt, not like this does, but it hurt because I felt like a failure.” Your smile only widened as his kisses moved as far as your wrist, his face inching ever closer to your own, able to taste the sweet syrup still on his breath from your shared late-breakfast hours ago.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because if you had then I wouldn’t get you now.”

His nose bumped against your own, his lashes tickling your cheek as lids lay closed and your own followed, darkness surrounding you as every other sense went into overdrive on him. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his nose brushing against yours and his breath tickling your lips, the tingle that shot along you at the barely present brush of his lips that you wondered if you were imagining it as so light when he adjusted himself on the cushion, but the connection you were waiting for never came.

Instead, you caught the sound of a soft sigh, and his hand squeezing a little tighter around yours, before he was letting go, and begging his hand up to sit over your waist under the covers, fingers spreading out until they reached your spine.

“Tommy?”

He hummed, nose nudging a little more roughly against yours as he’d begun to fall away. “Yeah, angel?”

“You’re not gonna’ kiss me?” Something breathy resembling a chuckle left him, and the hand from your waist ran up along your body, evading goosebumps in his wake until he was cupping your cheeks. When your eyes opened, it was to find he had already taken that step, watching you fondly, pulling away enough to rest on his pillow once again.

“No.” He eventually gave in, seeming to be lost in thoughts, and you felt your features rumple with confusion and disappointment. “Oh, sweetheart, I want to. I really, really want to. Have for a while, actually, but not now and not like this. You’re sad and I’m sad. Every moment we’ve had so far that brought up the chance to kiss you has been stressed, depressed and near-death.”

“But you are going to kiss me, at some point?”

A sleepy smirk, that had way more of an effect on you than it should be allowed to have, and he seemed to know it too, because it only got wider. “Oh, definitely. But when I kiss you, it’ll be amazing, and breathtaking. When I kiss you, you’re going to feel it. It’ll make you a little weak in the knees, but that’s okay, because I’ll hold you up. It’s going to be perfect, it’ll be a kiss you’re never gonna’ forget, so I don’t want our first kiss to be when we’re sad.”

You didn’t know what to say, a long beat passing, before your lips were pressing together, and you were unable to contain your grin. “Well, okay, then.”

You moved forwards, his laughter only increasing as your face pressed into his neck, rolling him onto his back as you let your full body weight fall against him, his arms wrapping tightly around your back. You pressed a kiss to his neck, any spot you could reach, and the deep and rumbling laughter he let out was replaced with something softer and cracking, lighter pitch as he bordered on giggling, squirming a little as you kissed just above the patch, sensing a weakness in him.

You moved up, before eventually, he was giggling without restraint, squirming at the tickling feeling over the featherlight kisses you pressed to his jaw.

“Alright, alright, cut it out, before I lose all of my masculinity.” He was pink along his cheeks when you propped yourself up over him to get a better look at his flushed face, sparkling eyes peering up at you with messy hair and a dopey smile to match, and that sight was definitely something you could get used to seeing.

This was all new to you, it was ever-changing and constantly evolving, it was unsteady and unsure and it made you feel nauseously anxious and yet ecstatically excited all in one, and you leaned down, the promises he’d made were you giving you the confidence to so so as your forehead pressed to his. “Nap?”

“Cuddle?”

“Yes.” He beamed, twisting his body like you weighed nothing until you were on your side against the mattress again. He pulled you over, adjusting you on your side to face away from him, before pulling you back into his body.

His arm wrapped around you, one spread out under the pillow to support your head, and you weaved your fingers with the other, bringing it up to your mouth to kiss the back of his hand like he’d done for you. He was resting behind you, legs tangled together as your bodies sat snugly to one another and he held you tight in a gripping hug, and you were able to drift off to the steady beat of his heart against your back and the feel of his body surrounding you.

“You know, it’s rude to text when you’re having dinner with someone.” you jibed, his gaze flicking up from his phone as his elbows rested over the empty plate on the counter, lamps making his skin look more golden and highlights in his hair seeming to stand out as the light outside had faded, the evening meal being the next thing the two of you shared; chicken nuggets from the bottom freezer drawer and homemade wedges as he refused to eat curly fries.

“It’s not my fault you’re taking ages to eat.” You scoffed, swiping another nugget through some of your tomato ketchup, and lifting it on your fork to take a bite. He picked up his discarded fork, stabbing it into one of your nuggets, stealing a smear of ketchup that left a mess on the plate, and putting the whole thing into his mouth at once, winking as you protested weakly. “Besides, I’m talking to the group.”

“How are they all doing?”

“They’re good. As good as they can be. They want to meet up for drinks in a little bit, they’re headed down to the bar we like.” You finished your food, placing your knife and fork down to match his, and chewing the rest of your mouthful, considering it all, and his attention was back on his screen as he typed away.

“Can I come?”

He paused, looking at you over the device, before turning it off and putting it down on the counter, the buzzing and lighting up going ignored as he stared for a second. “Seriously? I just, I mean, you’re up for it?”

He stumbled over his words a little, he didn’t mean to come off as rude and you knew it, and so you let it slide, shrugging and smiling a little as you hopped down from your seat to put the plates in the sink to be washed later. “You said that everyone else got past their sadness by being together. I’ve never had anyone before, but I would like to be with you all now.” His seat scraped along the floor, and a second later, arms were wrapping around your waist from behind in a tight squeeze, shocking you a little as he did, and you straightened up, twisting in his hold to face him. “Is that really so shocking?”

“A little bit. We’re kinda’ used to being shut out. They’re all going to be surprised.” He tapped the end of your nose. “A good surprise, though.”

“Well, I can go change into something that isn’t sweatpants, and we can go.”

His eyes dropped down, taking in your outfit as he let you go, seeming like he’d only just noticed your attire, and you wandered away, leaving him to whatever he was going to do, confirming his arrival to the rest and getting his shoes on, while you tried to find some suitable clothes.

Once you had pulled on a pair of jeans and a more comfortable and bar appropriate top to replace your pyjamas, you folded them, resting them on pillows that had only just gone cold, before straightening the sheets out, erasing all evidence of the nap you’d taken as your bed was reset. A pair of shoes came next, hopping about a little bit to get them on, before running a brush through your hair and checking you looked presentable enough to go out. There was no doubt that Brenda would look like a supermodel, she always did, grieving a friend or attending movie night, she could put everyone else to shame, but it was just another thing you loved about her.

As soon as you stepped out of the room, there was a whistle meeting your ears. Thomas had found his jumper again and pulled it back on, his shoes too, phone tucked into his pocket as he beamed at you, and you rolled your eyes, walking straight past him to the coat rack to find your belongings as you got ready to go.

“Oh, shut it.”

“Why? You gonna’ get all cute and flustered, blush for me a little bit? Sweet and shy?” He was teasing now, and you scowled, pulling on your coat and hiding your face from him as you grabbed your keys, batting yourself down for everything you’d need and finding it already in your pockets.

“I’m kicking you out.”

He laughed, wandering past you and into the halls of the building, letting you flick the lights off before locking up, and he offered his arm to you for you to link your own through, before guiding you down the corridors to the elevator.

A short car ride, Thomas holding the door of his car for you to let you in before opening it for you again when you arrived, commenting both times about something gentlemanly, before his hand was finding yours as the car lights flashed to signal it’s locking, and a fresh wave of anxiety was washing over you.

You wanted to see your friends and be with them, you truly did, but that didn’t make it any easier to take yourself into a crowded place when you were in such a vulnerable place. The opening of the door made muffled snap into sharp surroundings, the bar filled with people, crowds weaving among one another, and Thomas took the lead, shouldering through the people milling around the entrance politely. The cold air of the outside was overwhelmingly different from the stuffy inside, the smell of liquor and sweat overwhelming your senses, but it wasn’t a smell you were unfamiliar with. The music pumping through the floor was vibrating right up along your bones, pooling in your gut, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter as the crowds cleared once you passed the high tables and the dance floor.

You could just about see your friends, gathered around the largest booth with extra chairs pulled up, bodies constantly weaving in and out of your sights, blocking them from your view. Lips brushed your ear, a jolt of electricity making you jump, before you turned to find Thomas, his head ducked to speak to you but eyes flittering over the scene.

“I’m going to go buy everyone another round. What d’you want to drink?”

“Uh..” Your words died out, a little overwhelmed at the sight before you, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Just something cold and refreshing, maybe fruity. I don’t know.”

“I got you, don’t worry. Why don’t you head over to the table?” He gave you a final lingering stare as you nodded, before the two of you were parting, and you were left to try and make your way toward the table. Luckily for you, it was only a few metres upon leaving Thomas’ side that Brenda spotted you, her entire face lighting up and glass slamming down onto the table, before she was practically climbing over the men to get out of the booth, and all but pushing people out of the way to get to you.

A tight hug as she rocked you from side to side, clearly tipsy as she spoke faster than she normally would while mumbling into your ear about how happy she was to see you. The story Thomas had told you came back to mind, and you didn’t mention it, but you wrapped your arms around her just as tight and held her to you, a show of your love for her, belated sympathy for the tragedy, and comforting her as she needed it, weak inside even if she didn’t show it right now.

Newt followed, cheering a little, hair messy and cheeks flushed with warmth from the drinks he’d had and the temperature in the bar, and you were already beginning to grow overheated. He hugged you next, walking you backwards to the table as you giggled, and settling back into his seat as several other welcomes and greetings echoed in their place. You couldn't help it, the smile that broke free, the way you fitted in so perfectly, your anxiety melting away just from being with them.

“You’re here!”

“Is that okay?” You teased, Brenda shuffling back into her seat at the back of the booth, nodding avidly as she sipped at a glass of gin through a thin straw.

“Of course! We just didn’t expect you, you haven’t been answering your phone all day.” Your brows furrowed, hands digging into your pockets to find it. “I was worried about you.”

You located it, metal cold to the touch from where it had been abandoned for so long, and you realised that the last time you’d checked it had been before turning it off as you entered Chuck’s service, not having a chance to turn it back on before Thomas had arrived, and stole all of your attention solely and unwilling to share.

Turning it on at the side, the device flashed back to life, and you waited a few moments, before it reset itself, and all the notification you had missed began to flash through one by one. Multiple missed calls from various members of the team, the oldest of which begging Thomas, probably calling to let you know he was coming over, before alerts from only a few minutes ago, the groupchat you all had with recent notifications, and you chuckled at the volume of them all.

“Sorry, my phone had been turned off all day. I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear.”

She shrugged it off, and you placed your phone down to be able to shuck yourself of your coat, the heat growing stifling with the extra layer on.

“How’d you know where to find us? How’d you know we were here?” Newt piped up, and you let your cat hang over your arms, turning to face him.

“I, um, Thomas. He told me you’d all be here.”

“But I thought your phone was turned off, so-” He cut himself off, brain seeming to catch up in his slightly inebriated state, and you were grateful that the heat in the room would hide your blush as your skin was already flushed. “Were you with Tommy today? All day?”

An undeniably cocky grin split his face open, matching expressions following gasps that echoed around the table, and you scoffed, placing your coat down on the heap that had been built. “Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”

“He told me he was going to check up on you. I figured he meant, like, call you or something. He came to see you?”

You shrugged, the questions suddenly being shot at you, among teases and winks that made you stare at the floor, bombarded with gentle humour from your team. Newt was through the roof, Brenda was yelling louder than all of them about her ‘ship’, some gazes being given over to her from strangers, and Minho was trying to shush her while laughing. Gally was simply grinning like the Cheshire Cat into his beer, and your head was spinning too much to even process anybody else’s questions or remarks.

“Alright, well, I’m not drunk enough to start this conversation with you all.”

“Well, where is lover boy, anyway?” You rolled your eyes at Newt, before tipping your head back towards the bar.

“He’s getting you all a fresh round of drinks.” Your retort resulted in a cheer from them all, hands banging on the table in excitement; empty bottles, glasses, and cans rattling as the surface shook. “I’m going to go and see if he needs any help.”

“You spent the whole day with him, can’t we keep you for a little while?” Newt pouted, and you stepped away, sticking your lower lip out to mock him a little, before flipping him off, and making sure to wave the gesture at the rest of them for good measure, chuckles taking up all around.

“No, because you’re teasing me, and I need at least two shots to handle that.” He raised a brow, a mumble of ‘touché’ spoken into his beer and he smirked, before you were turning and weaving to the bar.

He wasn’t hard to find, tall and messy hair unmissable once you were set on him, and as you got closer, you realised it wasn’t the bartender he was talking to. A woman, not too far from your own height, dark curly hair and tight jeans, a blue eyes that were piercing as she spoke to him, and it seemed to be a hushed conversation as she leaned on the bar against him, two trays of drinks stacking up beside Thomas, his wallet sitting out on the bar.

You considered turning back, letting him have his privacy with whoever he was speaking to, and you paused in your path, ready to turn before his eyes were moving from her face to you, lighting up a little as he smiled, and there was no way you could backtrack now. He’d seen you, you had to at least go over and explain yourself, his attention moving back to the woman.

Her words went silent as you approached, and you smiled politely, her gaze dragging over you, before she was offering a polite smile herself upon realising you were stopping by their sides, and not just passing by.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just realised you might need a hand with the drinks.” You pointed to the two trays building, an empty laugh leaving you all, but the atmosphere was still tense. “You want me to come back in a few minutes, instead?”

“Yeah-”

“No, now’s fine, we’re pretty much ready,” Thomas promised, the woman by his side frowning, and you grimaced at the tension continuing to rise, gaze moving between them for a second. Thomas turned, paying for the drinks with a swipe of his card, and nudging a try toward you, while picking up the other himself. “I appreciate the help.” He mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple as you tried to balance the drinks, and you smiled softly, eyes catching his, hoping the affection was returned without you having to lean up and actually return it, risking toppling all the drinks you were holding. “I gotta’ go. I’m sure we’ll catch up or something another time.”

You stepped away from the pair, at least trying to give them a second's privacy without lingering, slow steps away from them and back to the table. “My number is the same, still. Call me, alright?”

He didn't reply, not verbally at least, Thomas falling into step with you a second later, and you couldn't bite back the curiosity on the tip of your tongue as no introductions had been made. You didn't know many other people in town, and if you were going to stay, it was probably wide that you got to know your neighbourhood; “She seemed polite. Who was she?”

He glanced at you, a complicated look on his face, and you realised it must be deeper than you thought, a list of names and suspicions moving through your mind, before he sighed away his worries and shook his head lightly. “Nobody important.”

You placed the drinks down on the table, accepting his answer, and the group shuffled up to make room for you all, greeting their lieutenant and thanking him for the refills as they grabbed their drinks. A bottle of something fruity and fizzy was placed in front of you, and it seemed satisfying enough, you weren’t overly picky about it, and it tasted fine as you took a sip. Perching on the leather booth, an arm you had grown familiar with throughout the day returned to sitting over your shoulders, and you settled into him without hesitation.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling at home as you sought comfort with your friends, moving on together, and letting your burdens be carried by friends and not just yourself for the first time in a long, long time.

#thomas #thomas the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #the maze runner #thomas/reader #thomas x reader #smoke and fire #SAF #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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sneezefiction · 5 years ago

Text

embrace

Tsukishima x Reader - Scenario

@belli-jelly’s event request: “#7 with Tsukki ❤️ thank youu!”

a/n: “embrace” with Tsukishima is such a soft idea. he just needs a hug and to feel loved n supported n stuff, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! <333

warnings: slight language, angst (but barely?)

wc: 1990

---

Tsukishima makes his ways through the apartment door, kicking off his shoes a little more forcefully than usual. The thunk of the soles on the tile embodies whatever vexation he’d been simmering in for the duration of the day. A weak, frustration-fueled sigh exits his body.

From the kitchen, you can already tell that something is off. He hasn’t called out to you with his usual, “Hey stupid, I’m home.” You hadn’t even received his typical text telling you he was leaving the gym. The tense silence seeps into the airspace as he makes his way toward you, Tsukki’s feet dragging with every step.

As he turns corner, you’re greeted by features taut with fatigue. It’s as though he’d been running on empty all day, barely making it home with only fumes of energy leftover.

Tsukki’s eyes were undoubtedly strained. The white, intense light of the gym combined with deep concentration kept him on high-alert with eyes wide open at all times.

His shoulders maintained a somewhat slumped position, losing an inch or two of height in the process. The mental weight of handling everything on his own had finally reached him physically.

This hadn’t been a good day, per se.

And if Tsukki had the energy to speak, he would probably tell you how much he would rather be in a month-long coma than experience that level of misery again.

But the hushed air remains and a bizarre staring contest takes place between you two instead of passing words. It’s hard to speak when you know that, deep down, words could never do his terrible days any justice. That even a thoughtful sentence or a well-intended comment would simply drown under Tsukki’s sea of thought, never resurfacing or coming up for air to be heard or understood.

He’s too exhausted to process even the shortest of loving dialogues. And you can tell.

So you sift through other possibilities.

Ways to calm him. To remind him that you care and want to look after him.

Should you make him dinner? He’s probably already eaten. Watch a movie together? No, the light would bother his tired eyes even more. Just go to bed? He would only continue to stir through his disappointments and be kept up by the throbbing of soreness in his legs.

As your eyes trickle down the length of his body, which is now leaning on the countertop as he takes a long sip out of his water bottle, you come to one final alternative…

But it’s always a bit of a gamble. A slight risk.

To touch or not to touch.

Would he lean into it like a self-satisfied, curious cat, tilting his lean body into your affectionate antics? Or would his brittle, biting character and miserable mood cause himself to crumble and fall away from the warmth and comfort of your smaller arms?

On one hand, you might experience your beloved Tsukishima’s gentler side. The one that held you as though he were a mama bird wrapping her wide-spanned wings around your precious form. Instinctively protective. A second-natured response to the way you circled your arms around his torso, tugging him into your field, requesting closeness and vulnerability. It could potentially get his mind off of the day and focus him on the here and now.

But on the other hand, Tsukki had a track record of off days. Jumping away from the soft glide of the pads of your fingertips. On those days, your embrace seemed to resemble that of a thorny, roseless bush to the wavy-haired blonde. The chance of him tugging away, leaving you drained and drooping, was higher than you had ever wanted to bet on. The possibility of him ending up at the opposite side of the bed seemed to increase after experiences like these.

And to be honest, you could never be sure if the touch-deterring wall he built up was to protect himself or you. Yet you always try to find ways to chip away at his salty, skeptical barrier without overstepping any fragile, unspoken boundaries.

It’s a simple concept. However, avoiding his sensitivities is an endless dance and is much harder than it may look. Especially at the end of a long day of pro-league practice, where sweat, sulking, and inferiority complexes don’t usually mix well.

But this was the only viable option left, so you get over your own worries and approach Tsukishima’s weary form. You stop just a few inches before him, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was even more beaten down up close. The defeated expression he carried in tandem with his worn-out demeanor made you physically ache for him.

“Tsukki… you’re not lookin’ too hot right now.” You let out a breathy laugh, slowly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to brush a hand through his messy hair, testing the waters.

He doesn’t flinch away from your movements, so you sink back down onto the soles of your feet, letting your hand run down the side of his face.

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly feel great either.” He shoots back, but there’s a somber, troubled tinge.

Tsukki inches toward you, looking away as he tilts the side of his head into the palm of your hand. Your fingers cup his cheek.

Everyone knew how Tsukki acted when he was annoyed or angry. Snappy, sarcastic comments would be strewn in an almost poetic manner, kindly crushing those under his scrutiny. Many had seen Tsukishima after a merciless game, beaten and worn out. He would still have a muted fire behind his efforts and would carry himself with dignity, even if he didn’t feel confidence rise inside of him.

But gloominess? It doesn’t suit him. Not now, not ever.

And currently, he’s emanating a dreary, depressing sadness, like being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella to shield you. It’s helpless and uncontrollable. Utterly humiliating.

You can practically feel the strain of the day radiating off of him. Tsukki had a tendency to wither slowly and cautiously. Not allowing anyone to watch as his snarky comments fizzled out and his sharp gaze gradually dull. By the look in his golden eyes, it was obvious that something in him had already snapped like an old tree branch. Battered and bruised by storm after brutal summer storm, finally shattering under the repetitive pressures of failure and imposter syndrome.

In the past, he had let apathy take over in order to not burden you. Withholding affection, thinking it would keep you safe from his sinking atmosphere when in reality he wished to drink in your tenderness. To fall under your grasp, sinking his head under your chin and lay across your chest.

But maybe it was all too much.

Too much to hold in. To carry alone.

“Kei…” At the use of his first name, he physically softens. Drawing his arms around your middle and clasping his hands behind your back, he gently rests his chin on your head.

“You can always lean on me.” You whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

Your words carry a deeper semblance. That you really are here for him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to lift him up.

You picked a good time for physical touch because he only pulls you in tighter.

He’s pretty warm and smells like sweat mixed with deodorant and his cedar-scented shampoo. You grasp the cloth and squeeze him into you, making sure to keep him steady and balanced. His breathing falls into a gentle rhythm, almost as though he were falling asleep standing up.

“If you weren’t so lanky I would pick you up, but you’re a damn tree.” You sigh, poking fun at him.

The touches were cathartic. Healing. Authentic. Your lighthearted comments kept things comfortable, hindering him from drawing away due to feelings of unworthiness or self-consciousness.

“Wow, okay, bold words for someone who can hardly seem to pick up a bag of flour. You couldn’t hold me even if you were my height.” He snickers, tension releasing and adrenaline wearing off from the high-energy day.

You shift to look up at Tsukki, your chin gently pressing into his chest. He’s already staring down at you. You can’t help that a blush works its way up your neck and onto your cheeks, the warmth from his unusual touch sending you unwarranted fuzzy feelings. As much as you wished this embrace could be all for Tsukki, you’d wanted to hug him with all your might for a while now.

“Y/n… Honest question, so don’t laugh at me. Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima breaks eye contact, arms shifting to lean your chest more on top of his as he sinks a little deeper onto the counter, his back supported by the ledge.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You inquire, eyes still fixed on him, searching his expression.

“I mean... You know when things are going to shit. You know when I need something. A back massage, a slap to the face, hell, even a coffee sometimes.” He snorts, trying not to take his own question too seriously.

You’re the one to sigh now. Doesn’t he know how these things work by now? That being in a relationship with him meant more than insulting the daylights out of each other and going out to dinner? Apparently even Tsukishima lacks a lot perspective when it comes to loving another human being.

“You’re stubborn as hell.” You state plainly, your face going blank.

“What?”

“You refuse to see that you need help too sometimes, babe. Hate to break it to ya, but I actually like listening to and hugging you.” You break into a small smile.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He rolls his eyes at your confusing sentence.

“Are you that dense?” You express with mock disdain at his response.

“Tsukki, I’m saying that you don’t burden me! That I want to be there for you even after shitty days like these! You’re an absolute dumbass!” You snicker and your smile reaches your eyes, crinkling and squinting as his meet yours.

Instead of saying anything, Tsukishima rests in place, dumbfounded.

It’s true, you always were there for him.

Cheering at every game. Cooking dinner for him when you knew he would get home way too late and practically starving. Letting him rant relentlessly about losses and seemingly endless practices.

So why was it that only after breaking down in every way possible, he would finally let you see his most vulnerable thoughts and fears. That he would allow you to witness his exhaustion only once it had reached its peak. That it took Tsukki completely collapsing to let you wrap you arms around him.

And you both guess that it’s because old habits die hard.

Tsukki would always be Tsukki. A little too cold and relentlessly set on drenching others in his never-ending supply of sarcasm. Reluctant to accept help until it was already showing through the bleeding cracks of his figure and laced within his pained speech.

Because for someone so good at putting up and breaking through blocks, Tsukishima needed help with the walls that he had built up under his skin over the years. He needed to see that he couldn’t always protect you from his fears, but that you would be there to help him fight them. Or at least hug them away when it all got too much.

And as he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, you know it will be okay. Because embraces like these are what chip away at walls of fear. It’s the first step and you can already feel the tension crumble away, allowing warmth to surround the two of you.

So you begin to remind him more and more that you like hugs. And he lets you hold him far more often, slowly but surely letting you deeper into his mind and into his arms. A much needed and highly welcomed addition to your everyday life.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

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icypantherwrites · 4 years ago

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To all of my fellow writers / artists here:

Please tell me I am not alone in dealing with the sheer amount of hateful, cruel, rude commenters and frankly at this point trolls on my works, as while I do not wish this experience on anyone I really hope for my sake this is not just happening to me.

For the past couple months I've been hit with an influx of cruel comments, of people posting hateful messages in regards to my author's notes requesting comments, of people telling me I write "disturbing, toxic" things, of people who, without prompting, launch a tirade about how much attention they feel my works receive and compare it to their own and get irrationally angry.

For the most part I delete these comments as responding to them, especially when 99% of them are anonymous accounts, goes nowhere and just invites these people to harass me more. But lately when I delete them (which to my knowledge doesn't trigger any sort of alert via email) I am within the hour lambasted by a flurry of comments from the person whose comment I deleted, which tells me they were sitting and refreshing on the page waiting for me to do just that or rise to their bait. Things insulting me, my works, telling me I can't "handle" criticism (of which a; I did not ask for and please don't offer critique on anyone's work unless they do and b; their comments were not constructive criticism in the slightest), and on and on.

Today was sort of the final straw as someone, without prompting, called my work disturbing and said they'd never read this particular story (Unspoken, in case anyone was wondering) and were only commenting now because I had said in the author's note I was looking to focus on updating just one or two fics at a time (I have currently 5 ongoing chaptered fics and it's getting to be too much and I don't like having a month between updates for some of them) and would be choosing the most engaged fics to update at this time and requested if fans of that story would like to see it regularly updated to please engage as otherwise it would be marked for hiatus.

This person attacked me for why it was on hiatus and why I was not able to post it (since it's a commission it has to be finished after all) and went off on me about my requests for engagement of the story and aired issues they had with me taking commissions and requests which is "illegal" (cough, one off commissions are not ;)) and clearly not knowing I donate a large chunk of what I make back to charities and Gofundmes because helping others helps me and I need a lot of emotional help these days xD

I deleted it and moved on, but within minutes this person came back attacking me again with a lot of the above notes including the fact I had to take commissions because I couldn't handle writing my own works, which bothers me personally as those commissions *are* my works as 99% of the time I create the entire plot from a very broad prompt and even if someone did have a bullet point list it is still *my* writing. I marked it as spam and have now set that particular story to comment moderation, but I am still bracing myself for a bevy of attack and troll comments I'll have to read through.

And I just... don't understand.

I post all of my works on AO3 for free; it's at almost 2 million words of posted content. I update regularly and post a few new one shot stories a month. I try my best to respond to comments when I have the energy and when I don't I keep updating so people can continue reading and hopefully that continued posting of content shows them how much I value their support.

But I'm hit with at least a troll a week, sometimes more, of just this pure hate and what I can only assume is jealousy in my comments section, something that I use to help and buoy myself and encourage myself to keep posting. I didn't ask for all of this hate. I am just trying to post my works and if people want to, they can find more on my Patreon but I don't advertise it whatsoever on my AO3. I'm posting my works there solely so I can share them with the fandom and ask for engagement as fandom is a two-way street and a little appreciation and support for art goes a long, long way.

And I don't want to set my AO3 where every fic needs comment moderation. I don't want to have to go a step even further and only allow logged in users to be able to read my stories. But I am slowly reaching that point and feel so drained and tired all the time and always bracing myself for the next comment to be something cruel and unwarranted and I just...

Don't know how long I can keep doing this for. Not like this. I want to share my works, but I can't keep sharing them and terrified each time I get a comment that it's going to be a cruel one. And so if anyone out there has been dealing with this regularly too, please tell me I'm not alone. Tell me if you have a solution, any advice, anything that could help. I'm tired. I'm drained. And I am at the end of my rope :(

#writing #fanfiction #fandom #trolls

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avewritesmr · 4 years ago

Note

Hi 👋🏻 can I get prompt list 2 #19 with skz changbin

Prompt: Peppering their face with kisses

Word Count: 892 words

Pairing: Seo Changbin x Male!Reader

Group: Stray Kids

Genre: angst, fluff

A/N: turned out more angsty than I had initially planned but failing exams does that to a person, I hope you like it 💖

Constructive criticism helps people grow and it helps them improve in their fields of study or work.

Telling a lyricist where they can improve a line in a song or an artist what technique they were doing wrong could help that person identify their weaknesses and work on them in a healthy way.

Sitting an idol in his early 20s in front of a bunch of men in their 50s who had very limited knowledge of the work that went into producing and having these men rip apart all the songs the idol had spent hours producing with nothing but harsh words and uninformed opinions was not constructive criticism.

It was nothing more than petty bullying, unwarranted hatred and ignorance.

Changbin had steeled himself during the onslaught of words, he’d swallowed the lump in his throat, hardened his face and sat tensely until the men had had enough and he had excused himself fists clenched and blood pumping in his ears.

The rest of the day had been tense, his members could see the storm raging behind his eyes and the smoke coming out of his ears.

Aside from a few silent hugs of comfort and pats on the back they had left him on his own knowing it would be what would make him the most comfortable at that moment.

Changbin appreciated the lack of prying comments and uncomfortable conversation. He was nothing but angry and he did not want his anger to flow onto the other members in a way that could hurt them, not when he had so little self control at the moment.

He had held out through the entirety of their dance practice and following logistics meeting but the line between calm Changbin and ready to kill someone Changbin was becoming very blurred after each passing hour.

The longer Changbin sat there the longer his anger festered and grew. He hated that feeling and by the time they had finished and were packing up to go home he just wanted that ugly anger to be gone.

By the time he is dragging himself through the front door his nerves are wound up so tight he feels like he is about to burst.

He is greeted by soft music in an unfamiliar language playing through his boyfriends apartment. He can smell food cooking and it makes him relax a little.

“You’re back, how was your day?” y/n is smiling at him from the kitchen doorway.

Something about y/n’s smile makes Changbin hurt. He doesn’t respond to the others question, he can’t respond with the lump in his throat.

y/ns smile fades slowly when he sees the tears welling up in Changbin’s eyes. He moves towards Changbin slowly, Changbin doesn’t move, he tries to swallow the lump in his throat but he’s just so tired.

Being as angry as he was is tiring, and doing it for a whole day has drained his energy and now he just wants to cry and let go of all the words that the board of idiots found necessary to tell him that morning.

y/n’s arms wrap around him, Changbin doesn’t have to tell him what’s wrong for the older to understand that he needs the comfort and Changbin is grateful for that.

Changbin lets himself cry then, the tears slowly falling down his cheeks, quiet sobs and shaking shoulder, he feels a little better when he lets himself cry. A relief he hadn’t imagined possible with the intense anger that had been haunting him all day.

When he runs out of tears to cry he slowly pulls his face away from y/n’s shoulder. The older meets his gaze with soft eyes and a comforting smile. Changbin wants to cry for an entirely different reason now.

He sniffles and tries to muster a smile to comfort y/n but he can’t quite find the energy to do it.

y/n just laughs lightly at his failed attempt.

“let yourself be sad, don’t push it.” Changbin nods his agreement to the statement and leans into y/n’s hand that has come up to cup his cheek.

y/n kisses his forehead, a habit he had gotten into long ago, Changbin loves when the older does it.

It is usually followed by a kiss to Changbin’s lips but instead y/n kisses his cheek and the corner of his eye. He kisses Changbins nose and his chin and every inch of space on his face.

It makes Changbin feel loved and the smile that comes to his lips when y/n kisses them isn’t forced.

Changbin tells the older of the days event as they eat dinner that night, the outraged expression on y/n’s face is comforting as well.

Changbin isn’t fighting alone, sometimes he forgets that.

Later he plays y/n the songs, one of them makes the older furrow his eyebrows in slight confusion at the lyrics, Changbin notes it down.

Constructive criticism, he decides as he is going to sleep with y/n’s arms wrapped around him that night, is the small comments about a strange word he added in his lyrics, it is the confused expression on someone’s face when a certain part of the beat doesn’t fit quite right and it is the warm reassurance that his effort is valid and his talent is acknowledged.

Screw a bunch of old men in suits, he has a nice boy who kisses his face and treats him like he is made out of porcelain, that boys opinions are worth so much more.

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xiphiathepeacefullsword · 3 years ago

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A/n: This Is actually the third written chapter of a story I started called 'The script', which was a sort of introduction story to Algorithm And D!Bug. The previous chapters are complete cringe, and I will not be posting them. Unless I am asked to. Apologies, this particular post is very long, and it seems like I'll have to split this chapter into two parts.

Sparsely edited

°°°°°°°°°°

Blade blinks rapidly, throwing her palms to her face to shield her eyes from the surprisingly bright light above her. She squeezes them shut tightly, moving her hands to feel around in the dirt, the familiar sensation of delicate petals between her fingers bringing back fond memories of past missions.

And some not so fond ones.

Blade takes a deep breath, laying there a few moments to gather her thoughts, opening her eyes to allow them to adjust to the rest of the cave. Waking on this bed of flowers left Blade, not drained but, it was a state Blade never usually got to experience. The quiet cave and the soft petals beneath her emptied her of all her usual hyperactivity. Of her unwarranted paranoia. This small underground field filled her with a strange sense of serenity, her constant need to be moving and working in some form or fashion just melting away. For whatever reason, this small patch of flowers at the bottom of a mountain lifted her necessity to be constantly on edge. These fields the only place she found any peace, as if she belonged right with the flowers beneath her.

Perhaps she should take some home to plant in the garden. Blue would like that. Blade smiles faintly at the thought. She really couldn't wait to get back home to all her boys, despite how much she claims to despise them.

Blade rubs a petal between her fingers, and plucks it from its stem, bringing it to her eyes, expecting to see the sunshine yellow of a buttercup. Blade stares blankly at the petal, and after a moment she creases her brow, twirling the petal in her fingers. In front of her eyes wasn’t the usual shade of yellow, instead Blade held a blue-purple foliole. In Blades hand was the petal of an aconite flower. Blade bolts up and surveys her surroundings, ignoring the lumps that were her comrades sleeping bodies, her eyes quickly skimming the earth she lay on. Everywhere Blade can see, reaching even beyond where the sun's light could reach, are hundreds and hundreds of aconite flowers, bathing the cave in a menacing purple aura.

“What the hell…” Blade looks around in befuddled wonder, her mouth agape as she stares at the flowers.

"Strange innit?" Blades gaze shoots up to an upper wall of the cave. Hammer stood upside down on the ceiling, a fistfull of purple flowers pressed to her face.

"It's always buttercups." She said as she descends from the wall, swinging her unoccupied arm like a young child. "Every single timeline we've been to is always crawling with buttercups." Hammer stops in front of Blade and eyes the plants in her hands with interest.

"But look at these." Hammer giggles "a strange, purple flower that seems to glow with magic." Hammer shifts her eyes to look into Blades confused face. "What's different about this place?"

As Blade stares into Hammers face, her unease and trademark distrust come back tenfold, annihilating any sense of solace she had felt before. Blade quickly bolts up out of the flower bed, dusting herself off as she silently curses herself out for letting her guard down.

"That's," Blades glare becomes downcast, her head tilted downwards and her eyes somewhere past the flowers at her feet. She hated not knowing. Not understanding.

She shakes her head roughly, and she looks back up at Hammer. "That's not why we're here. What do the flowers have to do with the mission." Blade begins to march towards the sleeping body of Collar. "We've wasted enough time here already. Wake up Twin, we're moving out."

"Aye aye captain!" Hammer skips over to Twins bodies as Blade turns to lift an unconscious Collar off the ground, only to find her staring straight into Blade's eyes.

"Wussup." She drawls and blinks slowly, before turning over onto her stomach and stretching out in a cat like manner, the following yawn exposing a pointed fang. She places her hand on the ground to push herself off the dirt, freezing midway as she spots the flora beneath her. She stays there frozen for a worrying amount of time before pushing herself off the ground.

She throws her hands in the air to stretch once more, before turning to Blade and sticking her hands into her sweater pockets.

"What in the fuck." She aims the statement at Blade with her usual blank expression painted across her face.

"Tch hell if I know. I got here when you did."

Blade and Collar turn to the sound of a surprised scream on the other end of the cave. One of Twin stood, spinning in circles as she stared at the grown in astonishment, while the other sat and gathered up groups of aconites in her arms, marveling in their magical aura. The only flower she ever saw glow like this were the echo flowers, and those predominantly grew in waterfall.

Twin throws the flowers into the air and collapses onto her back, rolling around in the glowing petals as if it were snow, Hammer laughing hysterically and Twins childish display.

Collar chuckles, and Blade holds back a surprised laugh, disguising is with a gruff

"OI!"

Blade makes her way to the spot Twin sits, her uneasiness growing steadily the longer she stays in this mystical cave, and Twin greets Blades glare with a broad smile.

"Have you ever seen anything like this!?" She sais as she palms the glowing flowers. "I didn't know any other plant underground glowed like this!"

Blade glares down at the flowers, trying her best to ignore whatever uninviting aura was seeping from them.

"Get up. We've got shit to do."

Twins' childish grins fade, and Hammers ever present smile falters for a moment. "Y-yeah of course!" Twin stands, pocketing purple petals on her way up.

"Twin." Collar calls from across the cave. "Put 'em down."

Twin derps out, her fistful of aconites suspended above her jacket pocket. "HuH."

"Put 'em down."

Twin stares at Collar a few moments before dropping the flowers back to the ground, standing straight as they fluttered back into their place in the dirt. Twin walks past Blade, disappointed, but unquestioning of Collar's decisions. Collar never explains herself, but she always has a reason. No matter how outrageous the demand.

Blade continues to look down at the unfamiliar plant, only breaking eye contact when Hammer walks past her, placing her hand on her shoulder.

"Whatever it is you're feeling" Hammer mutters to Blade, her smile never fading and her gaze never wavering from Blade's concerned expression. "You're right. There's something…unnatural about this place. And not in the usual magical sense."

Hammer taps Blades sweater once, before skipping off to follow the others.

Blade glares at the flowers a moment longer, before following after Hammer.

Collar watches as Blade strides up to the familiar archway, where the other three stood awaiting her. She watches her fearless leader take a deep breath and crack her knuckles, trying her best to ward off the uncertainty forming in her gut.

"Ready?" She asks, earning determined looks from everyone around her.

"Born ready!"

"You know it!"

"I mean I could use another nap."

Blade rolls her shoulders and fixes her mind to focus on the task at hand, not some stupid flowers. "Then let's do this."

Blade steps through the arch, fully prepared for anything that could be thrown her way.

The girls file into the next room, a patch of grass sat at the center of the stone floor. Blade stops, and glares at the still figure seated in the grass. Twin and Hammer exchange looks, giving mutual shrugs, confirming neither knew what it was. It wasn't a temmie, which they'd be completely used to seeing, temmies taking the place of floweys in most swap timelines. But it had scales instead of fur, and orange spikes jutting from the back of its head. A striped sweater draped over it's apparently armless figure-

Oh!

"Monster kid." Collar drawls, debating whether or not to approach the child's lifeless, drooping form. She decides to, taking a step towards the back of the familiar and friendly monster.

"Eya kid-"

Twin flinches shamefully as monster kids head abruptly shoots upward, and he quickly turns it to face the girls, his face emotionless and his round eyes blank and shadowed for a moment before filling with their usual wonder and enthusiasm. He jumps up from his spot, his thick orange tail helping him off the ground as he scurries into the familiar open doorway, made from marble pillars and slabs of stone. He trips and lands on his face halfway there, to which Twin has to suppress a snicker at.

Hammer runs around Blade, chasing after the monster in excitement at the thought of capturing the seemingly frightened child.

"HEY! DAMMIT HAMMER! COME BACK HERE!" Blade calls out in angry surprise before following suit. Twin tries her best to stay on Blades heels, and Collar simply sighs and hovers after her companions.

She's just through the doorway, when she stops short behind Blade, who is staring up at the doorway atop two massive purple staircases. She watches as the small monster sprints to the threshold and looks back at the girls, his mouth moving as if he is saying something. He then runs out of sight, the head of a small bunny monster replacing him.

The bunny's eyes widen with childlike awe, and they race after their playmate.

Hammer and Twin continue their meaningless pursuit of the small monster child, Blade taking a hasty moment to dash towards the carpet of leaves between the two staircases, where a bright, shining ball of magic resided, Twinkling in almost a knowing manner, as if aware of Blades misplacement in reality, as all the salvares, as the girls called them, did. Blade scowls as she places her hands on either side of the mass of light, holding her breath as her hands close around it. The star expands for a mere second, giving off an indescribable heat, before shrinking to nothing, leaving Blade feeling cold from the inside out.

Collar watches the affair take place, her eyes steady on Blade as she turns toward her, her chest rising and falling shakily. Collar looks her in the eyes, a silent questioning of Blades condition.

“Im fine” she breathes out, before bounding up the stairs after her allies. Collar skims on the air, being sure to keep pace with her agile companion as she bolts through the halls of the ruins. Blade bounds through another opening, skidding to a sudden halt at the sight before her, her eyes wide as saucers.

The walls of the long corridor are adorned with elegant lanterns, each glistening with bright fire magic, chasing away any and all darkness from the massive hall, which Collar grimaced at, much preferring the usual shadows that hid in the cracks and corners of the ruins.

But that isn't the first thing Blade notices. Her jaw is agape at the various monsters roaming the corridors of the ruins, and not just the expected vegitoid or whimsun. Blades wide eyes processed many of the snowdin and hotland residents wandering around the halls, chatting amongst themselves, oblivious to the presence of the out of place characters they passed by.

Children ran through the hall, paying no mind to the strangers they bumped into.

Shops and stands are set up and booming with business as far as the eye can see, a festival-esque atmosphere wafting through the ruins. Blades face twitches as she spots Twin and Hammer weaving through the crowd, one of Twins bodies holding a mountain of snacks she can barely contain within her arms. Hammer holding two cones of-

Are those webs?

Candied webs?

"Uh oh." Collar mutters when she notices Blades skin begins to smoke as she makes her way towards her distracted companions, Collar taking her sweet time following behind her, willingly getting lost in the sea of festive monsters.

"Are. You. SERIOUS?!" Blade flares angrily, her hair converting to flames momentarily in her irritation. Twin turns to her rapidly, a few bags of food slipping out of her hold. Her bright smile fades instantly, as her other body pokes Hammer insistently. Hammer turns to look at the distraught Twin, following her line of sight to where Blade approached.

"Oopsie." she squeaks, her smile widening with amusement at the anger of her companion.

"We've been down here for one MINUTE and you've already strayed from the damn mission! And for what, A game of chase and some junk food? We don't have time for these distractions! I can't bel-"

Twin raises her hand abruptly, Blades clenched fist twitching in response. "What. Twin."

Twin silently reaches into her pile of snacks, pulling out a bright red bag from the depths of the hill of treats.

"We got you fireballs."

"..."

Blade glares at the offending candy, her gaze cutting up to Twin once before she snatches the bag from her grip.

"You're forgiven..BUT JUST THIS ONCE!" Blade points a finger at Twin, receiving a mischievous smile and a dutiful salute.

"Whatever you say, fearless leader!" Twin giggles out.

Blade rolls her eyes, and the bag of candy disappears in a small flash of pink lighting, the orbs pinned up in her hair glowing in correlation.

"Well since that's out of the way!" Hammer chirps sharply, her eyes nearly manic and her smile strained with anger. "Where the hell is Collar?"

Blades face contorts in confusion at Hammers inquiry. She turns to look behind her, extending her hand to grab what she assumed would be Collars head.

"What do you mean she's right her-" the color drains from her face, and she stares dumfounded at the spot her hand hovers over, positive her smaller friend had been trailing her closely the entire time.

“FUCK!” Blade screeches, ignoring the parents around her throwing her disapproving glances as they cover their children's ears. “SHE WAS RIGHT BEHIND ME I SWEAR!” Blade turns back and forth in circles as if she would appear out of thin air, which was expected from Collar, who had a tendency to sometimes pop up out of nowhere and scare the living shit out of anyone unlucky enough to be the victim of her silent arrivals.

Blade looks back up at Twin and Hammer, her concerned expression shifting into something of further unease. Hammer stood stark still, unblinking and apparently, not breathing, staring Blade straight in the eye, a menacing smile painted across her face.

“Blade dear, where the hell is our sister.” she utters quietly through her grit teeth.

“sh-she was RIGHT HERE!” Blade barks out, her volume failing to hide the slight tone of fear in her voice. Hammer's decietful smile stretched outwards, thinning as her eyes squinted accusingly at Blades flustered face.

“well obviously she’s not. there. NOW.” Hammer hisses. Her eye twitches at the sound of an obnoxious crunch to her right. She sharply turns her head to face a passive Twin, who was watching the ordeal closely as she shoved handfuls of hard candy into her mouth.

pussy

laNguAgE

(pussy)

reAlLY?

“Twin.” Hammer sings sweetly, leaving Blade to exhale in relief.

“ye?” Twin answers dumbly, not regiristing the malice painted on Hammer's face.

“Do you know where Collar is?”

“...uh. no?”

Hammer seizes Twin by the Collar of her sweater, lifting her to match her impressive height.

“then stop gorging yourself on candy and HELP ME FIND OUR GODDAMNED SISTER.” Hammer pronounces each sentence sharply, her eyes piercing Twins with a smouldering intensity.

“Y-yeah, whatever you say-” Twin squeaks out nervously, her other body quickly depositing the snacks into the orbs holding up her hair. Hammer drops Twin back onto her feet and dusts off her hands, her furious smile never faltering.

“Well then girls, let’s get cracking shall we?” she chirps.

\-----------/

Collar lazily meanders through the crowded halls of the ruins, her passive expression masking the discomfort of being in another unfamiliar place. She weaves through the mass of monsters, avoiding any physical contact with any of the strangers as she tries to slow her heartbeat, attempting to focus her mind on finding somewhere more secluded to sit and wait for the others to eventually find her when they've calmed down. She continues to amble throughout the ruins, as the crowd thins slowly but surely as she loses herself to her thoughts.

Shed always liked the solitude of the ruins, though she never got to explore her own until after the barrier was broken. But in every tale timeline the ruins were quiet and peaceful, and with so few inhabitants, Collar didn’t feel overwhelmed with the presence of unidentified characters or potential threats. It was small, and everyone knew everyone.

That’s the same reason she liked the tale snowdins so much. It was a tight knit community where everyone had each other's backs, and the town wasn't plagued with betrayal and the unbridled distrust of every person you glanced at. She was surprised the first time Blade had sent them all to the tale universe. Everyone was chatty and friendly and talkative and oh so trustworthy.

As if everything was okay.

As if they weren’t all slowly dying beneath the surface of the earth.

Sometimes Collar wonders what would have happened if she never met Blade and the others. What would her life have been like if Twin and Blade had never stepped out of that portal and tried to kill red. What would have happened if Hammer hadn’t come out of nowhere and beat the living shit out of them.

Collar laughs at the memory.

But

What would have happened if they hadn't asked Collar to come with them when they left?

What would have happened if she’d refused to go when they asked?

What would have happened if she never felt that compelling connection always dragging her toward the others?

Would they still be trapped underground?

or would Blade still be a homicidal maniac?

and would Twin still be a world hating recluse?

Would Hammer-

Well Hammer hasn’t changed much.

But whatever that was. Whatever thing kept calling her to them, whatever voice that was that told her to take Twins hand and step through that portal. That told her to leave red behind despite how much she wanted to stay, whatever it was that pulled her obstructed SOUL to follow the others and explore, no matter how much her mind and body despised the thought of ‘adventure.’

That voice was the best thing to ever happen to her.

Collar's soft smile quickly fades as she falls through a hole in the ground, gracefully landing face first in the dirt.

“Nice one.” she murmurs into the dirt before sitting up on her legs, swiveling her head around slowly, eyeing the empty room incredulously.

How far did she walk anyway, she thinks to herself as she stands, dusting the purple dirt from her white pants. She spins on her heels, approaching a doorway she spots to her left.

she emerges where she started, staring over a field of thin darkened soil. She sighs heavily. She hates mazes, while Blade and Hammer had some sort of strange fascination with the things, she never found any enjoyment in them. Why spend an hour lost between walls and other barriers when you could just go over it. She does just that, levitating over the accusing puzzle.

her feet tap softly on the dirt in the next room. striding over to the row of rocks in her path. all three are situated on pressure plates, the spikes across the room already receided underground, most likely to avoid any accidents with the visitors in the ruins. Collar continues to the other side of the room, stopping momentarily to eye the Twinkling light across from her, floating silently above a patch of cherry colored leaves.

She extends her hand out to it experimentally, her stance unsure as she holds her breath. she makes contact with the glowing ball of magic, only to deflate when her hand simply phases through it.

“I don't know what I expected.” she murmurs to herself, walking past it into the next room, oblivious to its flickering in and out of reality.

Collar approaches a more narrow hall, another patch of red leaves covering the ground.

just leaves?

nothing else?

where the heck is-

(shut up, read)

Collar stands still in the patch of fallen foliage, her blank face threatening to contort in confusion. She reminds herself that it's a different timeline, so of course, things would change. including the location of certain characters. she'll see blook eventually. you can't just erase a character out of a code. Even in w̶̮̹͛ȉ̸̬̦͈͒n̶̘͐̐͜ḡ̷̝͍̯͝ ̴͉̯͛d̷̙̺̐̕ị̸̇̃͘n̶̼̍̍g̴̝͙̎s̶͍̼͕͒̔́ case there are still traces of him scatterd here and there.

Collar turns into the doorway to her right, a small square shaped room lies behind it, covered in spider webs. Collar ignores the sign, tossing an unknown amount of gold coins into one of the smaller webs. watching in a strange enjoyment as multiple small black-purple spiders skitter down the tough threads, counting the glistening currency, working in perfect coordination. a small mass of spiders collect near Collar, three donuts stacked on eachother. Collar plucks the sweets from the spiders, smiling softly and utters a quiet thank you.

in the next room lies six patches of more unstable ground, all of them caved in already, probably from curious children or klutzy guests. Collar takes her time peering into each one, finding them all abandoned. all except the last one, which is occupied by a single large froggit, its pale back turned toward her. Collar floats down into the hole lazily, being sure not to fall on her face for a second time, she doesn't need another mouthful of dirt.

Collar stands unmoving in the small cavern, giving the froggit plenty of time to sense her presence. She kicks a pebble when the small monster doesnt turn to face her, allowing a small cough to escape her lips, attempting to catch the froggits attention. Collar's eyes dart around the room uncomfortably, genuinely wanting to avoid approaching the monster without its permission.

“Uh-” Collar whispers out, taking a tentative few steps toward him (her?) it.

“Y-yo.” Collar stands over it at this point, staring at the top of its slippery head. The froggit doesn't make any indication that it heard her, staring unblinking and unmoving at the purple wall, and as far as Collar can tell, there's nothing special about that particular row of bricks.

Collar taps her left foot shallowly, staring at the same wall the froggit faced, contemplating her next move. She takes a deep breath and forces her foot to still. She looks down at the froggit and pulls her hand from her pocket slowly, praying to god the froggit doesnt recoil from her touch or start an encounter due to the unbridled contact. Collar inches her fingers closer and closer to the monster's skin, softly placing it to the top of its head.

Only for it to go straight through its head as if it wasn't there.

Collar is the one to recoil, her eyes widening at the hand shaped hole in the froggits head, ever so steadily growing in size, the emptiness inside it eating it from the inside out. The air around the froggit pops, and a buzzing sound fills the room as the last of the monster deflates into the ground, leaving its spot empty and wanting. Despite the event that just took place, Collar stares dumbly at the wall, her eyes lidded lazily as if everything was fine.

#undertale #oc #xiphiawrites #L:xv #algorithm #d!bug #undertale ocs #undertale writing #i actually really liked this story

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deansawthetvglow · 5 years ago

Text

Emphasis

2.1k

destiel first meetings, deancentric, potential for more story. cas is like barely in this

“death is promised to the bee whose sting protects the colony”

he’s 24, it should be gone by now, he needs to grow out of it but god dammit, there it is. a constant looming presence. the fact of the matter is, dean winchester has a severe phobia of wasps, bees—anything that buzzes past him that he can’t identify immediately— and he can’t help it. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, in fact he kind of loves bees, he knows how important they are, how his mom used to love them, and dammit he’s an adult and he needs to get over it already. (it’s kinda why he loves hunting, they’re either in the car (dean keeps his windows rolled up) or out at night sneaking into some monster’s lair)

so it’s decided, dean’s gonna suck it up and find a therapist. he goes with the third one in the phone book, she looks kind (hot), and she specializes in anxiety disorders. dean sets an appointment.

he starts attending weekly, thanking the fraudulent card he carries that he’s not spending real money on this endeavor. his therapist, Lisa, is easy on the eyes, so it helps the sessions feel more palatable. he also ignores how, every time she asks him a question, he feels so vulnerable it hurts. he’s always on the verge of tears there, but he’d never admit it. he’s thankful his dad’s out on a string of solo hunts and he can keep grounded here, at least until he can wean off the sessions.

on a tuesday, dean finds a dead wasp on the windowsill of his motel room. he nearly bolts from the room, but something is keeping him grounded. he takes deep breaths like lisa recommended, he closes his eyes for a moment and just repeats “it’s dead, it’s dead, it can’t hurt you, it’s dead.” when he opens his eyes, and the wasp is still there, he feels a bit better. he doesn’t do anything about it, just cohabitates with it until his thursday session. he tells lisa about it and she quirks her lip up in a half smile. she has a glint in her eye that almost scares him, but after all this time, he trusts her, he honestly does. at the end of their time, she stands and tells dean she’s got homework for him. he almost groans, but he keeps it to himself. she pulls out one of her desk drawers and presents dean with a small mason jar. she places it in his hands and gives him a mission: get the wasp into the jar and bring it with him for next time.

he’s nervous already, but he nods, he wants this to work, he needs this to work.

when he gets back to the motel, he opens the door, peeking at the windowsill to make sure it’s still there before he pulls himself into the room. it takes him an hour of pacing, tears brimming, breaths shallow and panicked, before he finally gets the courage to do it. he grabs a pen from the side table and walks to the window. he holds the open mason jar under the sill, lines his pen up behind the wasp and squeezes his eyes shut as he sweeps his pen across the surface.

when he opens them, the wasp is sitting at the bottom of the jar and dean nearly drops it, but he convinces himself to get the jar top and seals it with frantic, shaky hands. when the wasp is secure, he sets the jar on the sill and collapses into bed. it felt terrible, but he did it. he fucking did it.

on his drive to the practice that week, he puts the wasp in the passenger seat so he can keep an eye on the jar. even carrying the thing is torture as he ascends the stairs to lisa’s office. when he gets to her waiting room, she’s already got her door open and he enters, trying to keep cool as he sets the wasp on the table between them.

she grins like she’s so incredibly proud and dean’s heart swells with it for a moment. she asks him to tell her about the experience, which he does, watching her taking a note here or there, or asking a clarifying question. when he finishes, they only have a little time left, but she asks him to lay down on the couch and close his eyes to relax. he feels her presence by his side. she tells him to keep his eyes closed as she explains what’s going to happen next.

“dean, with your consent, i would love to begin exposure therapy with you. all you’ll have to do today is hold the jar above you and observe the wasp.’

dean nods, his heart beat already quickening. he opens his eyes on her say so and she places the jar gently in his hands. he grounds himself, and then brings the jar above him. the underside of the jar is much more clear than the patterned sides. he can see the wasps body, dull with decay, but a wasp nonetheless. lisa asks him to describe it to her. he does.

when he walks out of her office that day, he feels a bit lighter. he leaves the wasp with her because it’s nearly rotted and she’ll dispose of it properly. when he walks the path back to his car, a bee buzzes by, he flinches, but that’s all. no tears, no running, just a flinch. he grins.

saturday comes and dean decides to go to the farmers market. he hasn't been in a long time, maybe not since he was a kid, but he figures he’ll show off his improvement to himself a little bit. when he gets there, the sun is hot and bright, baking down on the colourful tents out before him. his goal is to walk the whole thing, stopping to smell the roses along the way. it goes pretty well until he goes to pick out a peach for lunch and he spots a bee on it, basking in the sweetness of the fruit. he pulls his hand back fast and keeps his eye on it, his mind going blank with fear and silencing the sounds of everyone around him. suddenly there’s a buzz behind him and he’s running. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, and yet he’s doing it, running back to baby. he makes it almost all the way until his adrenaline wears off a bit. he slows to a walk, but he’s on high alert. suddenly he can see everything. he can see the paper wasps floating above the grass, he can see the bee settling into a bunch of sunflowers, he nearly throws up when he sees one trailing behind a woman's leg, so close it’s nearly touching. he covers his ears, hoping that the loss of one sense will help deescalate the situation. it helps a bit, and when he’s finally at baby’s side and quickly getting in, he takes a breath. he lets himself cry then. head against he steering wheel. he was doing so well but suddenly he feels like he’s back at step one. he failed. his tears don’t let up until his energy is drained from the day. from the heat of the sun, from the rush of adrenaline, from the emotions pouring out of him.

until the next thursday, dean stays in during the day. he doesn’t want to fail again.

he tells lisa as much at their next session. she looks at him with sympathetic eyes. he hates it.

lisa says he is getting better, it just doesn't feel like it because its a process. she smiles. he frowns, trying to grasp that concept. it doesn't feel right to him. the validation, the praise, it feels unwarranted. he closes up a little bit and thats when lisa says it.

“i can prove it to you.”

he quirks an eyebrow at her, dejected face softening into interest.

when the day is over, they have a plan. next week they’ll be meeting at heaven’s hives (dean thinks it sounds more like hell).

it’s thursday and dean is driving, white knuckles showing from his grip on his steering wheel. he’s grateful the apiary is just fifteen minutes out of town, it means the anticipation can’t build up (not that it hasn’t been for an entire fucking week). when he turns onto the dusty road with an arch above it baring the apiary’s name and a few carved bees on the poles, he lets himself take in the sounds of the road below him. it’s like white noise, temporarily drowning out his fears.

when he reaches the end of the road, it’s at a small white house surrounded by flowers. he can see some structures out by the side of the home, but he looks resolutely ahead and stalks to the front door. just getting there has his heart racing, there are bees buzzing all around him and he feels himself wanting to crawl out of his skin as he knocks on the door. suddenly, it’s quiet. his thoughts pause as he stares at the man who opened the door in front of him. he’s tall, just a few inches shorter than dean, and broad. his hair is raven black and effortlessly tousled. he has this big gummy smile and his eyes are crinkling up at the sides. his eyes. his eyes are so blue, they look like they could belong in space, planets hanging alone, away from time. he clears his throat finally to say hello. the man, castiel, opens the door further and invites dean in.

lisa is already sitting at the table, drizzling honey into the tea she has in front of her. the first thing dean notices is that the window behind her is open, a soft breeze causing the delicate white cloth to blow into the house. he tries not the let it affect him, but when he takes a seat, he makes sure his back is towards a wall and his eyes can watch the window.

castiel sits next to him and brings him a cup of tea too. he doesn’t drink tea much, but it would feel rude to reject an offer from their host.

castiel reaches across the table to pull the pot of honey from in front of lisa. dean watches her observe the motion, but he’s pulled from her when he hears a low voice beside him.

“dean. lisa has informed me of your situation.” he smiles and keeps dean’s rapt attention. dean is holding his eyes, not looking away. cas breaks it first, and says, “look” with a nod to his hands. dean’s mind would go elsewhere if he weren’t so fucking amped up with anxiety, but he looks. castiel’s left hand is holding the tiny honey pot and his right is stirring the golden sweetness. dean’s mesmerized as castiel’s voice narrates next to him.

“this is honey. it is the product of bee’s hard work. it’s a beautiful thing, dean. pure honey can quite literally last forever. a bee works her entire life to produce this product that will outlast her tenfold, and that’s an understatement.” castiel huffs a small laugh and dean quirks a small smile, still watching the hand stir the honey. “your fear-- dean, look at me,” dean lifts his eyes, “your fear is valid. it is one of the most common phobias across the globe. however, your fear is unfounded. i would sacrifice myself to be stung a thousand times over if it meant we could keep honey. if we could keep the trees and plants that bees pollenate and tend to. even if we could live in a world without bees, i wouldn’t want to, because they are small, and determined, and fuzzy and they are god’s most pure creation.” his eyes sparkle as he’s talking, dean is fighting to hang onto every word instead of drifting into the fantasy that is the man before him. “bees have a stinger to protect their colony. they will die to protect their own. i have a very strong sense that you are much like a bee, dean. i have faith in your abilities to overcome this.”

dean doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he’s crying. tears are falling from his eyes silently, blurring the images of cas and then lisa as he turns his face from them.

not once in all of their sessions did he cry in front of lisa, but now he’s overcome with a tidal wave of emotions and it’s all because castiel (bees)waxed poetic and compared him to his greatest fear. god the analogy hits so close to home it hurts. he finally turns back to the table where castiel and lisa are sitting patiently, waiting.

“i have faith too.”

#destiel ficlet #deancas #destiel #i might continue this on ao3 but this felt like the natural stopping point #if anyone wants to help me continue it i would not be opposed #i wanted it to be more destiel but sigh whatcha gonna do #slowburn if it was a full fic #my fics #king !!#angel !!#deancentric #dean winchester #lisa braeden #but its platonic i promise

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ashes-in-a-jar · 4 years ago

Text

Tma relisten Episodes 6-10

(Still really long)

Alot of really important details that are going to be very relevant later on. Very facinating how early on you find these out. Relistens are good.

Episode 6 squirm

It's a good thing tma doesn't do much of sexual encounters and their connection to entities. While I'm sure that's a thing that in any realistic universe would exist avoiding it was a good choice. This statement was *shudder*

Interesting that she had no visible mark on her. Also being repulsed by police stations because the sectioned officers could have helped.

Naked in the streets after lighting his apartment on fire. What an image.

So technically the worms were in the archives 3 times: when Jane made her first statement, when Timothy hodge made his and when Jane attacked. The worms are very familiar with the magnus institute.

"This story is concerning. Not because of Mr. Hodge’s experience, although I’m sure it was very upsetting." ace Jon talking very technical about "experiences"

" though obviously it’s a tragic loss of life, etcetera, etcetera." Jon being Jon.

Ecdc are aware of Jane and corruption typical attacks which is off the bat interesting world building.

He's skeptic here because of lack of evidence but does admit the existence of a threat in Jane Prentiss

Also! He knows of her from before probably when he was a researcher. This confused me on first listen because I was trying to remember if she was ever mentioned before this. But she wasn't.

Episode 7 the piper

Wilfred kind of sounds like martin in some way but maybe it's just me assigning poetry to anyone like him.

But he hated apathy which might be very Martin like

Gentle sadness and creeping fear from the music. For violence of war... Is that what it means to immortalize it?

It's really cool that the concept of music in this podcast is associated specifically with war and unwarranted violence. There's a very strong statement in there somewhere that needs to be explored.

God this statement was intense. Lying for such a long time in that trench surrounded by violent death. But what's most interesting is that this statement doesn't feel like a supernatural one and yet... The piper was with Wilfred throughout the various battles and bouts of violence until the moment it was officially over. But in a very subtle way.

The description of the piper is really intense with the 3 faces. I think I missed it the first time but hearing that representation of war and fear is something I'm going to look for in artistic depictions now.

Wait. Who is Joseph Rayner? I know of Maxwell but never heard of Joseph.a victim instead of Wilfred? Collaborator with the Slaughter? Hmmm

I wonder how Accidental it was that the statement from 1922 was filed in the 2000s. Maybe to show that the piper never really leaves and the war never really ends. Ever.

Episode 8 burned out

Wow Hilltop Road already! I forgot how many of the first episodes were so important to the plot later on.

"That side of the road backed onto South Park with fences marking the bottom of each garden." this is wrong btw. Hilltop Road in Oxford does not run along Sount Park but is perpendicular to it, meeting it in the corner with Divinity Road which meets with Morrell Avenue which is the road running along South Park. Just FYI because I had to look this up to get a good picture. But I guess Morrell doesn't sound as exciting as Hilltop (which isn't even at the top of the hill smh)

Ivo lensik describes Raymond fielding as white which makes me automatically think he is not. Just a thought that popped in my mind.

Huh. His family had a history of schizophrenia. And his dad was obsessed with fractals. Being followed by The spiral (all the bones are in his hands) was also part of this story really interesting.

Agnes had mousy brown hair and looked like Raymond! Not red hair ( at least at first) like I pictured. Also she was a hell of a creepy child...

So did he time travel? Seeing the moments of Raymond's end? Seems like time doesn't work right in that place anyway.

Web person being devout church goer is also an interesting touch

Father Edwin Burroughs! I forgot he was here too! The knock reminded me of Mr Spider *shiver*

The priest explaining that the church exorcized demons but what not decisive if ghosts exist was hilarious. Jon dismisses paranormal but asks Martin if he's a ghost is opposite of the church.

Hmmm the web pushing him to cut the tree to uncover box from antique table...

Apple full of spiders ugh. Maybe something web was trapped in there by Desolation and ivo managed free it as Agnes was dying.

"We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree." wow that's an obscure thing to find well done Martin!

Jon still looks for credence for this story despite the schizophrenia that could leave him skeptical.

"while I trust Mr. Lensik’s testimony of his own experiences about as far as I can throw a bleeding tree," again Jon with his special brand of jokes.

Episode 9 a Father's love

The Montauk's story! I always thought their family had one of the most tragic ones. The hunt is a really cruel patron with its forced hunger and having other entities use them as tools.

Julia telling the truth of the story to the Magnus Institute instead of the police is also heartbreaking. How desperate and alone she must have felt drowned in that awful literally unbelievable story. The magnus institute feeds off of those people too.

So many of the hunt end up in police it's just... Such a strong statement against that establishment. What do we do to make that less of a horrible, unjust, all consuming system? That feeds on the hunger of some and the abject fear of others? And it doesn't have to be supernatural. It's interesting how season five, of all seasons, is the one that gave us that perspective. The non supernatural one on the subject while the world itself is so far away from the natural. God everything about this idea is so heavy and painful.

I kind of hate Julia's fate because of her background and how much alot of its beginning was out of her control. It's like Daisy. The hunt can never be forgiven no matter how compulsive it is.

The dark that took her mother turned her into part of it? Like the dark liquid?

A dark room to develop his photos of his victims huh? A play on words here.

Oooh they put a heartbeats in the soundscape really cool actually.

So Montauk killed other dark members that tried to leave? For the ritual? Like Julia's mother?

The hunt compelled him to keep the hearts as trophies? which is very self destructive of the hunt to do. Or is it part of the dark ritual with the sacrifices that the heart had to be kept?

I think Montauk was trying to slow down the ritual as revenge that night, rendering the sacrifices he helped create useless. Which is why pitch came after them that night and dissappeared once Montauk finished his ritual.

Sourcing the Serial killer enthusiast community. Love that the archives use whatever source of info they can access.

So Maxwell dissappeared in 1994 from public eye land yet the cult kept working towards a ritual. But now in secret? Their timeline always confused me.

Episode 10 vampire killer

I never noticed Trevor came right after Julia! Oooh this is so much connecting the dots so early on!

Vampires are so disturbing here makes you ever wonder how the hell media like twilight were ever created. But hehe the monster ****er community has always been a vibrant one. Not these vampires tho.

Trevor is so sassy I love his statements. Like Julia it really makes me sad how consumed he became at the end and how awful his death was. Once again the tragedy of the Hunt.

"I taught myself to read, I read as much on the subject as I could, and it isn’t covered often or clearly in those books I have found." can you imagine what kinds of books he might have found during the sexy vampire Era? This is a hilarious picture to paint.

So vampires feed off of blood and not fear which is an interesting creature to have in this kind of universe. Although hunters are also like that but there is still alot of fear and awareness involved with that while the vampires try to conceal themselves until the last moment.

There's alot of mosquito imagery in these vampires which is... Ugh

Also interesting how many time Trevor just uses the vampire's full name. Never shortened and never talked about in another title. Sylvia McDonald this Sylvia McDonald that. Also the other vampire. They always had a name that was psychicly imposed on the victims to be remembered fully. Very Stranger behavior.

Ahhhh the one vampire weakness... Drrrugs.

It's also very flammable which sets interesting precedence to setting unnatural things on fire to make them disappear.

Alard dupont comes in a later statement right? Yeah in 56

Martin was there when the statement was given which was 2010 and in 2016 he's 29 so he worked there for a while! At least since age 23 perhaps we'll find out even earlier. And he was still scared to be found under qualified after all this time! Oof...

I wonder how draining it is to give a statement that it kills someone who is sick.

The government is in on this! Looking for the teeth Trevor gave the institute... Somehow that strikes me as hilarious in the world building of this podcast. And it really leaves Jon no choice but to concede that there is something to the statement even if he refuses to use the term vampire like Trevor did so freely.

#Pfft i was so into this one i forgot to tag #Tma #jonathan sims #Tma hiatus liveblog #magnuspod #julia montauk #trevor herbert #Jane Prentiss #The magnus archives #hilltop road

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writingsofmyimagination · 5 years ago

Text

28 Days

This is part of the KSmutClub Monster Smash Project - Prompt Werewolf

Jimin X Reader Werewolf AU (Tiny bit of Jungkook x Reader)

Summary: A late night run leaves you coming down with something. A Cheating Boyfriend. Whole new world opens up to you which has been under your nose the whole time. Everything within you heightens.

Words:10387

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, SMUT OFC! (Slight BDSM themes, Switch Jimin)

Hope you enjoy :) I had soo much fun writing this! Have some potential ideas for a part two so let me know what ya’ll think :P.

Day 1

Eyes wide, heart racing. Sweat began forming a thin layer on your skin; you were freezing.

The contradicting temperatures of your body refused to settle. Swallowing was uncomfortable with how dry your throat was; you peered over at the silhouette of your sleeping boyfriend held there in exhaustion as you slowly left the warmth and comfort of the bed

Thank god I didn’t wake him

The gem had answered your panic stricken phone call earlier that evening after a dog big enough to be a wolf had chased you while on your evening run. The noise of the awful snarl still ringing around your mind like a pinball machine. Even In its frenzy it had thankfully only managed to leave a semi deep scratch etched into your calf. It seemingly realised its actions and charged away. It bled all the way to the emergency room; it definitely didn’t warrant emergency attention but Jungkook forced you saying it’s a wild animal and ‘you got to make sure you get shots, don’t want you dying of rabies on me’ you remember him joking. You reminded him rabies was more of less non-existent in the country but he was probably right. They put skin closures across it as it wasn’t serious enough for stitches and put a standard sterile white dressing over to protect it. It may not have been serious but it was fucking long, nearly most of your calf. The first dose of your antibiotics was working its way through your system already; they’d decided to give some intravenously.

Avoiding the minefield of clothes trip hazards you made it into the living room, the pale moonlight was converting to a pale dawn. The glass coffee table in the middle of the room danced with shimmering grace in the glow. The light dimmed in the kitchen area, too far away from the window. You hit a switch which illuminated the under cupboard lights bringing life to the marble sides; the carpet turned into tiles, feet not appreciating the temperature or softness change. Reaching up into the cupboard for a glass, you jumped when the front door opened. You was just in one of Kook’s oversized shirts and in this position your underwear was definitely on show. No longer on tip toes you turned as his older brother waltzed in launching his holdall silently onto the sofa which absorbed the noise.

Short leather jacket adorned with zips, simple white V neck shirt tucked into black skinnies and leather biker boots. Yep his standard attire. He looked too good even though you hated to admit it. His eyes were worn and withered, exhaustion seeping off him. Your presence in the kitchen knitted his brows together but you spoke first.

“Jeez Yoongi you like hell, what happened to you?” you spoke softly.

“Could say the same to you” he countered nodding down at your leg.

“Guess I win!” You admitted “I got attacked by a dog, but like it was massive! I was running and it caught up with me out of nowhere and…”

His head popped up from behind the fridge door from where he was busy searching for sustenance.

“Wait… by a dog? How? Where?” Concern blossomed in his naturally dark eyes.

“As I WAS saying, I was running and it just caught up with me and his claw just caught my leg. It kind of backed off when I fell and ran off. Did I say it was huge! Like beaming yellow eyes too!” you placed your glass on the side behind you and leaned against the work top arms folded.

“Yeah but WHERE?” he asked curt.

Jeez he can be so cranky when he’s tired

“Erm… In Crest Park Woods” you responded ignoring his bluntness like you would assignments; also hesitant as you knew your location would likely trigger…

“I’ve told you both not to go there at night! Shit” he barked albeit quietly, huge frown announcing displeasure. He suddenly seemed agitated, almost panicky with his movements.

“Well I tell you to put the dishwasher on and you ignore me the same” you bit back defensive against his unwarranted agitation.

“Besides I’m fine, I didn’t need stitches, the doctors gave me antibiotics, stop being dramatic”

“Why did you let her go” his harsh words directed behind you. Jungkook had appeared in the living room doorway, heavy eyed and rubbing them to some form of life. His hair poofy and messy, shirtless, trackies hanging onto his hips admiring the view above.

“Hey, I can’t tell her what to do man, I was training for most of the evening, got her call when I was getting changed” even his words were sleepy.

“You know I tell you it’s not safe at night” he reiterated

“No parks or woods are safe at night in this day and age Yoongi” Kook piped up.

“Y/N please come back to bed, take the weight off your leg” he pleaded drowsy.

It was too early for this.

“Fine” you droned eyes rolling your disapproval quietly grateful to be out of this situation which you could sense was starting to sour.

“Oh you can’t tell her what to do?” You heard Yoongi jab at Jungkook as you left. As you’d expect from brothers they bickered, but they generally had a pretty solid relationship, I mean Yoongi was letting Jungkook live with him rent free while he was at Uni. He did annoyingly well for himself. Since you and Kook had been together he’d even let you more or less live there too; he was scarcely home and you’d prefer to have some privacy with your boyfriend here instead of your cramped hall room. You showed your gratitude by making sure everywhere was clean and tidy and making sure there was always enough of dinner left over for him in the freezer whenever he decided to come home.

“What are you…doing?” you mumbled still paralysed by sleepiness. You were half aware of Jungkook not-so slyly sliding his hands under your shirt groaning happily cupping your breasts, pushing up closer behind you, you didn’t really need to know what he was doing or wanted, you could feel it.

“Seducing you idiot” he toyed, fingertips gliding down your side, your thigh. Switching direction and coming up on your inner thigh teasing the way he knows your weak for.

“Yoongi baby” you reminded, annoyingly your room backed onto his and you struggled to be quiet sometimes. You’d faced many awkward glances with Yoongi too many mornings and you didn’t want to start again.

“He’s out” he breathed onto your skin at the back of your neck.

“He’s never out in the morning” you blurted out contesting him

“Exactly” before his lips latched onto the side of your neck dragging a gasp from your throat. You couldn’t fault his logic, your body way ahead of your thinking pushed back into him.

“Jesus baby how hard did you cum?” You got asked rhetorically in your state of euphoric exhaustion.

“You mean how many times?” you added chuckling within the breaths you were struggling to take. Collapsed side by side, hot messes perspiration soaked.

Sex with Jungkook was never terrible, far from it! But today everything felt amplified, everything had a surge of electric exaggerating every touch, the strength of the contractions of your muscles were on another level.

You’d never felt anything like it; your brain flooded with oxytocin, you drowned happily.

“My plan to keep you off your feet for a bit longer was a success then” he mentioned before downing the rest of his glass of water from the bedside table

“Seriously Kook I have a scratch on my leg, It’s not like it’s…” You felt the blood drain from your face, your skin went deathly cold, your body heated up from the head down simultaneously. Lurching from the bed; adrenaline making sure your muscles could carry you to the bathroom.

The last 5 minutes you’d touch wood not brought anything else up. Kook was still on hand, holding your hair off your face gently stroking your back. The typhoon in your stomach had mostly dissipated but you still hugged the bowl like your life depended on it.

“How you doing beautiful” he asked from behind

“Yeah I think I’m good” He took your response as a cue to release your hair and went and grabbed you some fresh bottled water from the fridge.

“Where did that come from?”

“Beats me” you sipped in delicate mouthfuls from the glass anxious to not disrupt whatever was settling your stomach.

“You don’t think?”

“What?” you answered

“We’re always careful right?” his words were hesitant as his brain scanned through every last time between you.

Shit! We’re 23 this will not be it!

Some superficial nausea returned as you too tried to remember every last time.

“Yea…h?”

The response wasn’t as confident as he wanted. You’d recently switched up contraception to the implant as your pill taking had become sketchy at best.

He returned from the drug store with a test and had also acquired an abundance of sweet things for you.

“Whoa where are you off to” his tone disapproving of the fact you were up and dressed lacing up your black boots.

“I told you I feel absolutely fine now” you pressed finishing the last bit of toast in your hand. You saw his frown come to fruition and you stopped any response with a kiss. Your hands caressing both his cheeks.

“I promise I’m fine. I can’t miss this lecture. You’re the absolute best. Now are you going to let me do this and then leave?” In his absence you’d pretty much convinced yourself that the pair of you had been careful and it must have been the antibiotic’s or something.

He sulked on the bar stool around the breakfast island where you’d implicitly told him to stay while you waited. His eyes were wide, worried as he stood up when you walked back into the room.

“See told you” handing him the negative test like the massive I told you so sandwich it was.

“Am I free to go now?” you teased as he tugged on your jean belt loop catching you in between his thighs.

“You’re free to go” he per-missed only after you’d kissed him and told him he was the best. Again.

Day 7

“Ugh!” you shivered, Sambuca burning horribly down your throat, your shot glass turned and slammed onto the side. Face creasing up in that Sambuca after taste disgust.

“Hey Y/N we going start cards against humanity you in?” Your friend Laura called from the centre of the living room playing a link in a chain of a circle of people from your class and a few others.

“Obviously” you called back. She’d dragged you to a house party in an attempt to help you get drunk and to forget about Jungkook for a night.

Jeon fucking Jungkook!

He’d decided to destroy your nothing but amazing year relationship by getting so blind drunk he ended his night with someone from his swim team on his dick a few days ago. He confessed straight away. You ended up in a rage filled teary mess and he just dissolved into a balling mess pleading; every apology saturated with remorse. You made damn sure you didn’t care how loud you were in Yoongi’s place. You left leaving Jungkook there completely ended with.

You were a wreck. With that wreck aside you were still a physical wreck, still suffering with sudden bouts of sickness, excruciating pain all topped off with ridiculous hornyess. You could even swear your smell and taste were better. The Dr’s had done some tests including another pregnancy test; everything was annoyingly clear; no clinical answers in sight.

“Hey you need a drink in your hand to play” Hobi announced shoving yet another vodka and coke in your hand as you sunk to the floor cross legged next to him.

Apparently Hobi and some of the other dance majors can really fucking drink. Put your class to absolute shame!

The music was at a reasonable volume but to your ears it was pounding, your vision was fuzzy and your mind a pleasant haze. You took yourself off to the kitchen for the actual sensible purpose of grabbing yourself some water and then popping to the loo.

On your return your floor seat was by taken.

He smells so fucking good.

Jesus what’s wrong with me

“Hey, can I have my spot back” You were practically stood over him, his back towards you as you just faced the messy black hair.

Your heart beat shot up irrationally; nothing prepared for your how beautiful he was, like seriously if anyone needs a Prince Eric casting you’d found him. The dark hair did not dim the brightness of his smile nor the mischievous look in his eyes as he took ALL of you in; your scent, your simple but apparently effective attire of a tight fitting with sleeveless white top tucked into a pair of high waisted jeans. He dropped his knees fully crossing them.

“You can sit here if you like” smirking; his tongue grazing the side of his mouth and tapping his lap. A few chuckles at his quip from the circle.

“Don’t you think you should at least try that with a girl whose in your league or at least get me a drink before you ask for anything like that” you bit back bemused, sure your eyes were glimmering with insincerity. He was not out of your league, this guy was the reason leagues were created in the first place.

“Oooooohh” Hobi and few others cooed in unison. The guy’s eyebrow shot up above a smile before he chuckled and conceded

“Touche”

“Of course you can sit back here” his tone suddenly lighter, genuine.

“Seeing as you missed the introduction, Y/N Jimin, Jimin Y/N. He’s just transferred to Dance” Laura said her tone laced with a childish disgust.

“Don’t have to say it like I’m disgusting” Jimin said falling into the sofa opposite you.

“Oh I do” Laura joked.

Until the game finished you just couldn’t concentrate; Jimin’s gaze was like a black hole, absorbing your attention with no mercy. Easily dragging laughs out of you as he eventually joined in the game. You noticed the sparkle his eyes always shone when he looked at you; you could even swear there were sometimes strange yellow flecks that danced amongst the coffee brown.

“I am done” you announced standing up, taking a second to stable your alcohol infused state.

“Yeah I think we all are” Laura agreed.

“Jimin can walk you to your room he’s going that way” Hobi pushed. Jimin and you once again got sucked into each other’s gaze. The pounding of your pulse felt deep in your stomach.

What the fuck is going on, this effect is not normal, even with how hot he is

“I think I can manage a short walk across campus”

“I am going that way, May as well, pretty company is always good”

“LAME!” Laura toyed.

“Fine, I suppose your right” underhandedly returning the compliment.

“So what’s your major” He idly asked

“Virology”

“OOFF, heavy” he observed.

“You are not wrong” you agreed chucking, grateful for the cool breeze to sooth your sudden increase in body temperature.

“I assume you know Hobi and Laura from Dance?”

“Yeah just like she said I just transferred, the uh dance teacher and I did not see eye to eye at my old uni”

“Dance hey”

“Something amusing?”

“From your look I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years”

“And what look is that exactly” He inquired genuinely curious.

“Well I mean leather jacket, ripped jeans, slightly baggy t-shirt, I mean I pegged you more maybe for like music or even maybe biomed”

“I mean it’s too early to introduce pegging” he toyed, mischievous.

“Ooookkkaay, like I may be drunk and we may have just played cards against humanity but we are not close enough to discuss that shit!” Hitting him in a playful manner on his arm.

How it escalated you don’t even know, you’d ended up shoved against a wall in the stairway of your dorm building; his hands grabbing everywhere they possibly could in a rough manner. It wasn’t something you were used to it but fuck could you get used to it. His mouth catching your heavy breaths, lips hungry on yours. It was like a fire had been ignited that you never knew you had. And it was with a stranger, but it felt so right. Your hands were not innocent either, oh no! You were pulling him to you in sheer desperation.

“Please tell me we’re near your room” he panted already scrabbling at the buttons of your jeans.

“Well I mean if you wouldn’t have pounced on me you’d have discovered we are really close” wasting no time in having your hands trailing his abs

“Couldn’t help myself, you just smell so good…”

Ditto!

He was shoved on your bed immediately. Leg straddling his waist; both your shirts already scattered on the bedroom floor. His hand gripped tightly in a fistful of your hair controlling the force of your kiss.

Until he stopped.

“What?”

“We shouldn’t”

What a time for a change of heart you sighed to yourself

“Serious?” mouth already pouting sitting back on your legs and his erection straining against his jeans.

“I mean god I want to” his lips were plumped up from all the attention.

“But you’re waaayyy more drunk than me and It wouldn’t be right, and I want to make you sure you remember how good I’m going to fuck you, even If I have to starve myself of this” applying pressure down your trousers feeling you over your underwear, your moan ricocheting into the room

“Fine! But don’t tease” you ordered slapping his hand away, climbing off him lying next to him in a huff.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise”

“You better make sure it is! You probably shouldn’t stay here though because there’s no way I won’t make you beg for me to fuck you if you’re here too long.” You teased.

“Ooo fighting talk huh? You’re probably right. I’ll see myself out. You can make yourself cum thinking about me though, I won’t have any objections to that”

“Well you’ll never know will you!” lip between your teeth as he flashed his smile which was so saccharine saturated you were at risk of a coma as he left.

Again in your drunk state you happily walking into a huge mistake

*knock knock*

“Y/N?”

Giving Jungkook no more time to talk about anything; you dragged him into a heated, completely lust filled kiss which he accepted no questions asked. He was pushed onto the sofa; him forced underneath you.

“Yoongi… could be home… any minute” he managed in between the assault on his lips.

“Shut up” you demanded tugging at his shirt, a desperate plea grinding on his crotch. He returned in kind ridding you of your pyjama top. Putting you underneath him on the sofa, leather cool against your skin. Yanking your trackies on the floor before chucking off his. You tugged on his long hair; wanting to avoid the pain he followed the direction of your pull gaining leverage over him enabling you to be on top again. His cock pressed against your folds

“Wait don’t you… want warmi…” hands resting at your side fingertips gently indenting your skin, hair half covering his eyes.

“Nope” you interrupted sinking down onto him cutting off any more words, replacing them with breathy moans.

“Fuck” he breathed rolling his head back. He always absolutely loved when you used him just to get off.

Your hips rocking rough, desperately seeking the relief you needed. Hand gripping to his chest enjoying the muscles beneath your fingertips rippling. You started clenching around him still dragging yourself closer.

“Jesus if you keep doing that I’m not going to last much longer” he whined. Knowing your body and the lack of clit stimulation was hindering your orgasm he tried to help. You swatted his hand away. He was delusional if he thought he deserved that. Pinning his hands above his head he got the message. The visual stimulation of you circling hurriedly on your clit had his eyes rolling up, fists clenching. As always he managed to hold off until your muscles starting convulsing around him before falling hard into his own release.

Apparently once wasn’t enough for you, easily going another couple of times before completely crashing in his bed. Another mistake.

Day 8

You woke up alone.

Thank god

There was however a note

-Let’s talk when I’m back - JK

How about no, he could go away for the week coming back to nothing!

You scrunched it up, feeling a slight pang of guilt for giving him hope.

Mouth dry, you headed to the kitchen

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here again” Yoongi admitted slouching around the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal.

Thank god I put on a shirt

You rolled your eyes.

“Please don’t, apparently alcohol causes me to make massive mistakes” you blurted out.

“Sorry he’s your brother” you added

“Its fine, we’ve all been there and he’s not exactly in my good books. I’ve give him hell don’t worry. He’s been a mess all week”

“Good!”

Excruciating pain spiked through your stomach rippling out to your chest. You doubled over in pain. Yoongi rushed over to support you, firm hand gripping at your waist and arm

“Im fine, I’m fine” ushering him away as the moment passed. More dreading what was next, the nausea and sickness.

“Here drink this” Yoongi handed you a homemade looking drink in a glass bottle. The army green liquid was lumpy and the thought of it anywhere near your mouth increased your nausea ten fold

“I feel sick already, definitely not” sipping the water that Yoongi had also sweetly provided.

“I’m serious it will take the nausea away in a heartbeat, just a mouthful, trust me it’s an old recipe of my grams” One eyebrow considerably higher, you gingerly took the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Opting not to even dare sniff it pinching your nose and swallowing; face scrunching shaking your head. For good measure you chugged the rest of your water and still held your nose for the taste to completely pass.

Boy wasn’t lying

“I am not even going to ask what’s in that but Jesus it worked”

“Probably best you don’t, and you’re welcome” he beamed.

“Well I guess I better get out here I got some serious revision to be getting on with”

Day 15

It was 1am, you were staring blankly at your work books, black lines of font all blurring into a mess in front of you. Your eyes rolled as you found your coffee cup empty. You were in a student café which had the genius idea of opening weirdly unsociable hours for all those late night crammers. You frequented this place a lot. The super comfy sofa area often had groups trying to cram together, people dozing from too much reading. You always took your refuge at a table, always sat facing one of the windows, you found the orange hue from the streetlight calming and not having to make eye contact with anyone else in the café suited you right down to the ground.

You’d found a small piece of paper in your jacket that Jimin had slyly slipped in the pocket a few days ago, you’d completely procrastinated texting the number. Not trusting yourself with how you’d act if your meeting again was anything like the last. Not that you didn’t want it.

Thinking about him apparently had the memory of his scent which now flooded your sense. Out of nowhere a coffee cup appeared beside you briefly masking the smell. You removed your headphones and turned to the source of the coffee giver.

The smell was not from memory.

“Latte with an extra shot” he announced

“I asked the server what you had before” he mentioned in response to the perplexed look primed his way.

“Umm, hi, thanks” he helped himself to a seat opposite, mere moments into your interaction the hunger was already festering.

“Not gonna lie I’ve been waiting for your text like an impatient child” he confessed stroking the side of his cup, looking down avoiding the eye contact.

“Sorry, I’ve just been swamped and I may have been staring at your number desperate to text but I didn’t know what to say”

“How about, hey, fancy meeting up to finish what we started” he joked, you closed your books attention drawn completely to him

“Oh you’re putting that straight out there then” feeling the flush of blood rushing to your cheeks, his shoulders shrugged, devilish smile returning

“If you don’t ask you don’t get. I would have happily responded to that”

“Well I mean normally I’d say buy a girl a drink first but I guess you’ve just ticked that box”

“Exactly”

Your walk to the halls was longer than normal. Under the cover of the poorly lit areas of the campus the pair of you hungrily shoved each other against trees grasping everywhere lips barely parting. You suspected your back was at best grazed.

“I don’t…even know why you do…this to me, I hardly know you” you panted slamming your door shut with Jimins body hard against it.

“Fuck knows but I feel it too” In a brief moment you was apart his eyes scanned you before literally tearing your shirt off buttons popping everywhere.

How strong is he? That’s like a movie thing

Your bra was unclipped with one hand before it joined your shirt.

He’s got moves, give him that

He picked you up from under your behind, legs wrapping round his waist. Your turn to be shoved against the door. Your back was definitely grazed, the pleasant sting confirmed this.

Your neck, collar bone was plastered with blossoming red marks. He even sunk his teeth in at the curve of your neck.

“Enough foreplay” you breathed. He chuckled through a growl which went straight to your core.

“Impatient” he stated a smirk growing wide bunching his cheeks up.

“Can’t wait to test that”

“My dorm mate is away tonight” the pair of you cocking your eyebrows. He set you down, backing you up until you knocked into the table, tugging his white v-n off, fingertips digging into his sides pressing him flush against you. He came willingly. Taking one of his hands you guided him under you the waistband of your unbuttoned jeans. Gasping finally having the contact against your folds.

“Want me much?” in response to how wet you were. You just dragged him into a kiss.

“Can’t have you waiting that desperately for me can I”

“Please don’t make me” you whined as he rushed to have you step out of jeans and underwear.

“You’re beautiful you know that” he exhaled drinking you all in. You were pushed hard half on the table, perching as he dropped to his knees.

Unbeknown to you he could smell your arousal the instant it started pooling. It completely intoxicated him like nothing before.

A deep growl escaped his throat nipping at the inside of your thigh. As weird as it was to hear such an animalistic growl you’d be lying if it wasn’t sexy as fuck.

He teased, lips going everywhere it wasn’t throbbing. He sensed your frustration from a mile off.

“Say please!” he ordered, smirk felt against your thigh.

“Fuck…Jimin PLEASE!” you begged. Hand flying straight to tangle in his hair. He sucked at your bud answering your plea with warm harsh flicks of his tongue.

“Want more?” Warm breathe fanning at your core.

“Mmmhmm” was you all you managed with your head rolled back. He granted your wish thrusting two fingers inside and going back with his tongue flat licking wide stripes.

“Don’t stop” you whined, feeling your leg muscles tighten. He granted your again as he sped up quickly pushing you over the edge pulling even tighter on his hair. Satisfied accomplished smirk was graced him.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you” he forewarned. Pulling you off the desk spinning you round, bending you over kicking you ankles apart. The light clinking of his belt causing a surge of excited anticipation which was delayed a few seconds by him putting on the condom. Slicking himself with your arousal before sinking into you.

“You feel just as good as you taste” he moaned before his hips began bucking into you. You turned to respond but you was met with him in a harsh movement turning your head to the front wrapping his fists in your hair tugging you harder on him. You settled digging your finger into the outside of his thigh.

“Jesus Jimin” you wailed. Jungkook was rarely rough with you and only know you realised how much you’d missed it.

“Too hard?” he asked slowing down pulling nearly all the way out teasing at your entrance awaiting further instruction.

“Fuck no” you cried, he slammed back into you; your free hand balling up into a fist. His free hand made its way round your waist. You went and met his hand, allowing you to take the lead his hand resting on yours gliding him in between your legs.

Boy gotta know how you like it!

“Ready to cum yet” he grunted, noticing how jerky his hips were going; he definitely was. The sleek words at your ear selectively just heard ‘cum’. You did what you thought he’d just told you.

“Jesus how tight do you wanna go” he spluttered as he came. He left you panting slumped on the table while he went to the bin. Managing to stand he pulled you into a kiss hands at your cheeks, soft against your flushed hot face.

“Give me ten minutes and we’re going again” he said almost in a whisper.

“You have five and I’ll damn make sure you’ll be begging me to let you cum this time”

Day 16

You stirred, rolling onto Jimin’s chest, which for a moment threw you. It was nice, his natural scent a comfort when combined with the soft contact of his skin. It also provided more than comfort, currently a chimera of comfort and also a ridiculous turn on for no reason whatsoever.

Christ, It likes I’m on heat or something

Safe to say you was now awake. His arm weakly fell round your waist, still in a sleepy daze. Taking your time, creeping your fingertips stepping lightly down his chest, his stomach finally ghosting up his thighs. His thighs were actual masterpieces of tone and muscle you’d be graced with.

The grip on your hips increased slightly when your hand wrapped around his cock

“Mmm morning to you too” he mumbled shifting to be more flat on his back. Biting your lip through glazed over eyes you started moving your hand. As he grew in your hand and his eyes finally opened dragged awake by your movements and you grinding light circles against him.

“That’s so good” still in a sleepy mumble. When you stopped he let out a whiny exhale and you shrunk down in between his legs.

“Will this be better?” you teased licking a stripe at his tip.

“I think you should show me it is”

“I think we should play a game” you suggested lifting your mouth from him after not letting him cum three times.

“You’re torturing me already” he panted. Your arm mopped up any saliva that had accumulated round your mouth as you sat up. You abandoned him in favour of bringing some toys for you to play with.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No” he agreed, chirping your shoulders up you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sunk down. In a natural move his hands went to your hips. You allowed this. When his hips bucked up into you. You did not allow this.

“You are not doing that” you ordered tightening your thighs at his waist

“What?” he breathed, face like it’s the most ridiculous cruel thing he’s ever heard; rolling your hips savouring how he felt inside you

“You are not to move. At ALL!”

“You are going to lay there and not move while I make myself cum 3 times on you”

“You can do that?”

“Yep, you do not buck your hips and you do not cum understand. Then I promise you can have me how you want” One thing about being with Jungkook. His stamina was ridiculous and he damn sure trained you well. You rocked your hips.

“What a reward!” he breathed your movement catching him off guard.

“Hope you like be…..”

You clenched around him in response. Grabbing the first of your selected toys; your bullet. He was way more vocal than JK and it was amazing. It was beautifully soft considering also melodic, his laboured breathes in between really hit as his head rolled back. His fists twirled in the sheets beside you pouring every ounce of will against his want fuck you.

“You’re doing so well” you panted, heat flowing across all of your skin enduring the aftershocks of your second orgasm. Your leg muscles growing tired from the constant tensing, your nails had left small red half crescents in a pretty field on his chest.

“I’ll treat you just a bit” Offering him the remote of your wand vibrator.

“I don’t think I can concentrate to operate that and not to move” he whined.

“You damn well better try you” You whined curtly kissing him in a desperate hurry. Considerately he put it on the lowest setting first, this time you would definitely need to move. So you did rocking your hips back of forth careful not to move up and down; judging from Jimin’s moans he wouldn’t be able to last with that kind of motion.

“Je…sus this is so hard” he panted, knocking the speed up to full, the area of the wand reaching more than just your clit; vibrations radiating out to the spring in your core on which were near breaking point.

“Ahh almost…there” hands firmly griping his shoulders, his face leaking frustrated concentration.

“Please cum baby” the plea came in a sweet desperate moan. His words moaned like a sexy mantra sent you over the edge; crying out even louder when he pushed up into you once in a hard thrust.

“You know you’re the first person I’ve ever even partially submitted to” Jimin was sprawled out your bed catching his breath with you equally sprawled next to him

“Yeah? How come”

“I like to be in control, but with you I don’t know, it just feels different, like I want to do anything with you as long as it gets me against you”

“Well I’ll take that as compliment” you preened.

“How in control do you like to be?”

“Oh you’re going to find out” he warned

“Now who’s got fighting talk?”

Seemingly fully recovered like nothing has happened, he clambered onto of you. Your hands pinned above your head.

“Now you said I could do what I wanted with you” any hint of the soft adorable voice had gone, fire ravaging behind his eyes.

“I did” eyes scanning his body smirk growing across your face.

“Well you’re not leaving this room until I’m done with you, if anything gets too much tell me, if you like something in a different way tell me. Okay?” his head nuzzled in your neck taking in your scent, noticing the shift in your heart rate. You nodded also swearing you could even hear his racing pulse.

“You’re so beautiful, it just blows my mind” he breathes angling straight for your neck.

You napped until noon, but was it even a nap if you’d been completely fucked half into a coma?

Your body was wrecked. You felt bruised in the best way possible, red flowers had bloomed all over your body. Each one a sweet token of how good his mouth felt on you. But right now you wasn’t bothered about how exhausted your body felt, pain suddenly ravaged your senses to beyond caring.

“I’m fine” you wailed, tears trickling down your cheeks. The pain had now moved from your stomach to what felt like everywhere.

“Jesus Y/N you are not fine!” He argued, hand gently stroking your back as you were curled into as much of a fetal position as you could.

“Just give it a minute” you pleaded.

“It will go away”

You hated he hated to see you like that so feeble and helpless. The pain passed as you’d accurately predicted.

“Can I take you somewhere?” He asked, you wasn’t going to say no to the gooey chocolate of his eyes, hair draping lush over his forehead.

Opting for some loose ripped boyfriend jeans and a grey hoody pulled up shrouding as much of you as you humanly possible. The pair of you walked off campus; hand in hand. His hand took ownership of yours the second you’d locked your door, and how beat you were you were not going to refuse any sort of comfort.

You’d stopped caring about the potential of Jungkook seeing you as it had already happened. You’d had the messages begging first. They quickly turned into downright anger at you moving on so quickly. He even had the audacity to accuse you of already seeing Jimin behind his back. You made sure you told him where to stick any contact with you in the future.

You walked down a familiar street. Emerald green leaves adorning the trees in a row either side of the newly re-laid road.

Where are we going?

Just as you were about to pass Yoongi’s place, Jimin directed you down his path.

Now I’m lost

“Uhh Jimin wha…” His door was already knocked. Yoongi of course answered. Nothing but bafflement burnt onto your face as his face came into view. Yoongi’s face grew equally confused.

“Yoongi you gotta tell her for god’s sake, she needs to know” Jimin was stern, taking no no’s for an answer as he ushered you inside passed Yoongi who had no words as Jimin near enough barged passed.

“Tell me what? What’s going on?” Your voice raised amongst the confusion

These guys know each other?

you stood arms crossed, eyebrows together leaning on the breakfast bar. The boys looked at each far too sheepishly, wordlessly communicating.

“You might wanna sit down”

“Yoongi seriously just tell me what’s going on” Jimin looked at you before looking down, a deep sorrow had started to diffuse of his aura, it turned your stomach.

What on earth

Legs carrying you and your exponential rage out of the house. Your eyes felt puffy even though the tears had yet to leave your eyes. Apparently rage causing them to evaporate.

“Leave me alone” Now the tears started as you shunned Jimin who was trying to hurry behind you.

A werewolf, a fucking werewolf!

Your thoughts had fused, overloaded with unbelievable information. Yoongi and Jimin confessed to apparently being werewolves, apparently Yoongi was the alpha of the so called little pack of people who are apparently also students.

“Are you all on crack?” you had exerted. Your refusal to believe what they were saying left them no other choice than to shift in front of you. You froze, two majestic huge wolves in front of you, Yoongi larger than Jimin. They were both black furred for the most part; Jimin’s wolf had a white diamond under his neck, breaking up the darkness. Before your brain could process the ridiculous sight you’d witnessed they’d changed back…naked! Thankfully they were behind the island. They told you the dog that scratched you was a werewolf and all the pain and issues were due to you turning and your body preparing for the first full moon.

“Y/N slow down!” Jimin pleaded. You ignored him.

And on top of all that, Yoongi admitted that as soon as he realised he sent Jimin in your path to keep an eye on you and make sure you was okay. The betrayal from both these boys was painful you couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap them both or not.

“No, what makes you even think you can come with me? Everything was a lie” you spat.

“No it wasn’t” He defended

“You heard Yoongi when he’d smelt we’d slept together, he scolded the shit out of shit me! Surely that proves that wasn’t what I was told” You’d stopped stomping away, his eyes were glistening under the moisture collecting in them

He was right, but none the less you were still furious at him and at Yoongi. You had about two weeks to get your head round this shit before you had to shift. On full moons werewolves have to turn, no choice whatsoever. After your first transition you can then elect to turn into a wolf at will at any other time of the month…apparently.

“Well why did you do it then, if Yoongi had told you specifically not to then?” He tried to bridge the gap between you, offering you hand. All he got in response with a glare.

“I just couldn’t help it, you’re just incredible!.

We couldn’t help it! You corrected in your head

“I think we’re essences” You met his comment with a blank look, arms folded waiting for an explanation.

“It’s like an animaly thing” he explained

“It’s pheromones, but werewolf specific ones. It’s not super common really, when two werewolves have pheromones that … bounce off each other I guess, It amplifies attraction exponentially. Hence why we literally can’t help it, our primal senses are essentially pulling us together” Your shoulders dropped, arms unfolded and went to your hips. His face contorted in apology.

“So what you’re saying is this” you waved to the pair of you back and forth

“Is made up and chemical?” shrouding your disappointed from your tone. He eyes widening, filling with panic

“What? No no, I mean well kinda. For the whole matching pheromone thing to actually work and kind of activate there has to be an attraction already. So it just kind of amplifies It I guess? Yoongi tried to explain it to me once and I was way to out of it to take it all in”

You couldn’t bare the pained expression which was slowly spreading on his face, this guy was a good one despite how much right now you wish he wasn’t

You’d calmed enough to accept Jimin as you allowed yourself into the pull of the embrace. Now the tears fell, down your cheeks and onto his shoulder. You nudged your head into his neck and let the rage filter out until there were just sobs of fear and overwhelm. One hand stroking the back of your neck, the holding firm at your lower back. His scent tranquil, steadying your panicking system, slowing down your manic mind.

“Am I going to be okay?” you sobbed, bleary eyed looking for his for comfort again and again.

His smile was relieved if it was anything and leaned back away from you slightly, sweeping the strands of hair from your face.

“Of course, you’re with us now. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. We look out for our own”

“What if I hurt somebody? Will I remember? I don’t want to hurt anyone”

“You won’t, not with us. On full moons we remember very little it’s more like a red mist clouds your mind” You panicked

Not helping!

“But…Yoongi is a good alpha and makes sure that we are all secure and can’t get out and hurt anyone. When we turn, when we chose to we remember and have full control of ourselves it’s just the one night”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“To be honest he should have but I think he was just in denial and upset about it seeing as you were friends” You both started walking together in the direction of your halls, even in the state you was and as angry as you were you still wanted him with you.

“Wait is JK a…?” the words flooded out

“No no, he has no idea either and that’s how Yoongi wants it”

“So who turned me then? It must have been one of you guys right?” he stopped, hesitant, collecting his words before continuing his delicate steps.

“No… It was another wolf from another pack” The pair of you finally reached the park, the other side was the campus and your bed! You took his hand earning a small relieved smile.

“Why say it like that?”

“They’re kind of dicks, and they certainly don’t have any care in the world about chaining themselves up or hurting people”

“Oh… I won’t turn out like that though will I?” this time you were the one that stopped walking.

“No” he chuckled.

“I’m sure they were assholes before they were turned, it’s just that it’s a bit risky our pack taking you in as our own”

“Oh?”

“It’s just a weird pack thing, essentially we’ve nicked one of their babies and that generally is frowned upon even in the wolf world”

“But they just attacked and left me?” You could feel a lump form in your throat, now feeling like a huge burden.

“I know, I know this is where the whole they are a group of dicks comes into it. Please don’t worry about it, that’s for Yoongi to deal with not you. They probably don’t even know what happened that night. Come on let’s get you home” His hand escaped yours and pulled you close to him, arm draped over your shoulder.

“Can you stay?” you asked with a weak saccharine smile.

“If you promise to not cry again tonight” he offered.

“I think I can manage that”

Day 28 – Day of the full moon.

Your concentration was non-existent in your first lecture, your insides felt like they were crawling; a constant itch that couldn’t be scratched. You were irritable as fuck. You didn’t make it to your second lecture. You were opting for your room with closed curtains, imagining the quiet solitude on your way from campus. The quiet of your thoughts were quickly consumed by the smell which certainly never meant any quiet.

“Are you stalking me now Mr Park?” You turned knowing from the strength of the scent exactly where he was. Sweat covered, dark hair clinging to his forehead. The glistening muscles hidden poorly by the loose low vest top, you could even make out his v lines sat above his shorts through his damp shirt. His hands trailed through his hair pushing it back off of his forehead.

“No” he denied out of breath

“I knew what time your lecture finished and so timed my run around it” he explained.

“So you timed your run so you could see me come out of my lecture? Sounds like stalking to me”

He responded with a strong punch to your arm.

“Would you rather have someone else stalk you?” he queried hooking one arm over your shoulder, one of your hands held onto that hand and as you both walked together in perfect sync.

“And I came because I want to know how you are? Full moon day is never a good day, especially when it’s your first”

“I’m going insane, feels like I’ve got all this energy, my skins crawling. The smallest thing agitates the fuck out of me” He squeezed your hand noticeably harder.

“Why do you think the rest of us do nothing, I can’t believe you didn’t listen to me and went to class in the first place. Want my advice?” You stared back at him knowing full well he was going to give it to you anyway.

“Running, It takes the edge off trust me” resolute in his words.

“I hate running, I’m not fit enough” you complained.

“Well have you tried since you were bitten? You’ll have incredible stamina now and you’ll probably enjoy it”

“I think I’ll pass today, I’m feeling way too irritated for that. What time do we have to meet the others?”

“Half six so we’ve got a few hours, don’t panic. In fact I think there’s a few things we could do that might help relax you” You didn’t need to ask what they were. He’d pushed you up against a tree, lips dancing heated with yours, his hands already tugging your blouse out of waistband in pursuit of skin. With him nuzzled at you neck kissing and nipping at your favourite points earning him gasps from your lips. Your eyes nervously scanning the park around you. The path you’d just been pushed off was under two rows of high trees in bright green bloom. No one was around. Every touch of his lips or his skin on yours was more electric than normal, every sensation amplified; the pool of warmth between your legs desperately having your core already gagging for attention.

“Jimin…please…take me home” you whined, you needed him so fucking bad. He groaned at your neck coming up to meet your gaze, the animalistic yellow flakes burning hot around the coffee brown circles.

“Your body is telling me you want me now” a surprised squeal and moan flew past your lips as his hand had flew up underneath your denim skirt and circled at your already engorged bud as well as gliding his hands through your arousal. You grabbed his wrist to stop him, pulse surging with a chimera of fear and pleasure.

“No one’s here” he reassured

“And I’ll hear if anyone’s coming. Remember, super hearing!” he doubly reassured. You too had the enhanced hearing and apparently you were not used to using it to your advantage. Your grip on his wrist faltered opting instead to hurriedly to grip at his shirt, refusing him to be anywhere but against you. The rays of the afternoon sun were bleeding in through the gaps in through the trees, illuminating just how exposed you really were. It was exciting.

“I had no idea you were so filthy” the words were breathed so close to your lips, his finger teasing at your entrance thumb gently swiping at your clit.

“Shut up!” you snapped

“Just fuck me already” you ordered, your hands aiming for his member underneath his shorts. He stopped you. Instead dropping to the floor ghosting his hands up either side of your leg, your eyes hungry, fixed on the devil smirk that wasn’t in his lip bite. Your hands interlinked behind your neck growing more warm.

Hitching up your skirt only to pull your red lace thong down getting ruffled in the bark at your feet.

“You’re seriously not going to go down on me in a park”

“Am I not?” Eyes glistening with satisfaction, the smell of your arousal clouding every bit of judgement he had. His eyes were quickly filling with unbridled lust. You didn’t even get a chance to reply, leg hitched over his shoulder. Your head rolled back into the tree

“Ow! Uhh!” Jimins mouth attached to you licking your folds stopped and gazed up at you as you rubbed your head where it stung.

“You okay?” his chin already glistening.

“Yeah, please…carry on” he chuckled and planted his face back in between your thighs. One hand secured to your hips the other etching dangerously closer your entrance. One of your hands was failing to grip across the rough bark, the other tangled in his hair.

“You better cum for me again baby” Jimin urged gently placing your leg back to the ground. He grabbed your chin forcing you into a kiss, not caring you could taste your own cum on his lips.

“What here?” the panic seeping back into the bottom of your stomach scraping more at the fear of being so open and exposed.. He paused eyes looking left utilising his enhanced hearing, checking for any approaching people..

“What? You’ve already just done it once. We better be quick” shoving you around and your chest into the tree. He yanked your hips back; kicked your legs apart already taking himself out of his shorts.

“Don’t think that will be a… uughh” Jimin easily pressed into you

“Problem”

“Good…fuck I’ll never get bored of how good you feel” he praised commencing the bucking of his hips. His hands slid and trickled up your arms to cup around your balled up fists; hips thrusting stronger reaching that velvet patch inside you. You un-clenched your fist allowing your fingers to cross with his.

“You better cum quick beautiful someone’s coming” he stuttered in your ear. Oddly, the heightened risk of your exposure had you clenching around him

“Pleeaasee… keep doing that” he pleaded with desperation against your neck. The conscious intermittent tensing of your core had the muscles holding more pleasure each time.

Desperate relieved climaxes ravaged the pair of you; he left no time for you to enjoy the come down leaving you. Apparently there was no time to recover your underwear from the floor as he sorted himself out. You swept your hair hurriedly over your right shoulder; Jimin lost control and managed to clamp his mouth down hard at where your shoulder and neck met. It being ‘that’ time of the month his teeth were sharper; you’d been left with a nearly full mouth bite on your skin, tiny dots of blood had started emerging through bits of the red mark

“It’s not enough is it” he asked in breathy recovery.

“No” annoyed at the satisfaction that you was yet to feel. Hungry smirk on his face, his normal coffee coloured eyes melted into a boiling swirl of chocolate.

“Welcome to full moon day” he grabbed your hand and started walking with you; leaves and twigs crinkling under you. A person entered the woodland tree cove glancing your way mildly puzzled why you weren’t walking on the path.

“I’ll be fucking you again before my cum’s even finished leaking out of you” As sexy as his words were it was going to be an uncomfortable rushed walk to your dorm.

Apparently he didn’t want to wait the distance to your dorm so he directed you to his. His living space passed you in a flash before you shoved him onto his bed; he stripped himself as you went to his bottom draw.

“Will this be enough?” enquiring holding the short handled flogger and pinwheel in your hand.

“Better see if it is” he challenged. You rushed off your clothes in an impatient flurry

“Please ….” His impatiently fuelled whine escaped as you straddled him. Your needs mirrored his but you was slightly in more control this time round.

“I’m not ready yet “you lied, and he knew it.

His chest blooming red in strips where the leather had struck.

“Harder” you granted his request putting more weight into the pin wheel on his chest, pricks of blood bubbling up from the tiny holes.

You couldn’t explain it, everything you felt was intensified today, yet you feel you needed to max out your tolerance which was apparently infinite today. You assumed it was the same for him. The throbbing in between your legs became unbearable, a screaming siren refusing to be silenced.

“How about now, I’m begging you”

“Is that really begging though? I can’t even tell how much I need to hear you whine for me. I need to feel you so bad. Maybe I should just get myself off to watch you squirm” you rocked your hips so his member could feel just how bad.

“Noooo, I can’t, come on that’s not fair, you’re feeling what I’m feeling right now. Please let me fuck you, I want you shouting my name, I want your muscles to ache, I need you quivering around me while I fill you up”

“Mmmm much better” kissing him harshly while you let him flip you on your back.

“I’ve never wanted to beg for anyone before, you’re just on another level”

“I’ve never let anyone have control before, you’re just too intoxicat…” The pleasure of him pushing into your shocked your system, you’d never felt anything like it, you were almost worried how much your climax was going to ruin you. If it was going to be like this every full moon the fact your life had been turned on its head it was worth it and you’d even look forward to it.

“Jesus, I’m going to be waiting for the full moon so much, this is incredible” his head dropped. The dark hair hanging shading his face as he needed a moment.

I swear he’s reading my mind

“I’ve got to go slow otherwise I might explode” he breathed in between a sloppy kiss at your mouth

“Agreed” his hips rocked in even bucks leaving him fully inside you for a perfect second before painfully slowly leaving you; tip hovering at your entrance. The slow build up was blissfully exhausting. Muscles already struggling to hold the tension. His chest flush to you; a thin layer moisture starting to permeate from the contact; him being overwhelmed rendering his arms incapable of supporting. All of his energy focused onto not losing control. His palm spreading across the bottom of your cheek and neck. The only support he could manage was on his forearm pushing into the mattress. Head nuzzled in your neck; he couldn’t get enough of your scent. Every time you fucked, his head already gets drawn there; like a bee to the most delicious pollen.

Fingertips digging into his lower waist; a wasted attempt at diffusing the painful tension building in your core.

Out of nowhere his hips stuttered, teeth latching onto your already sore neck. You didn’t think you were ready but the deepness of his moan; so deep and melodic sent you spiralling over the edge. Your climax ravaged your system for what felt like ages; to the point you couldn’t take it. Like you had a choice at this point; your spasming muscles swept your body into a tsunami of feeling; washing all strength from you.

What weight wasn’t on you was now dropped onto you. Heavy pants permeated into the room.

With him still inside you and the pressure against your clit was feeding your aftershocks; you knew he’d picked up on this when he’d starting moving in gentle circles. The sensitivity was too much!

“Alright! No more please” you pleaded, he obliged rolling over next to you exhaling a chuckle

“Well that was… intense” you finally managed.

“I can’t even right now, I’ve never experienced something so damn euphoric” You knew it was mostly down to you being essences or whatever but you still took it as compliment for the sake of your ego.

“Shit!” you exclaimed when you clocked the time on your phone. Shooting out of bed rummaging everywhere retrieving your clothes. Jimin equally panic stricken, the last thing he wanted for your first change was to not be in a secure environment. You wouldn’t cope with not knowing if you’d hurt anything or anybody.

Your legs ached and burned by the time you’d power walked to Yoongi’s second house, yes second!

The basement was a hive of activity. You’d been shocked to learn Hoseok and Laura were also of the wolfy nature. It did kind of baffle you how a dance and Virology major became such good friends. All of the guys had welcomed you and bonded to you as one of their own. Yoongi’s shoulders relaxed when his eyes finally reached you.

“You guys reek of sex” You was unsure if this was a casual scold or an amused statement, his stoic face gave nothing away. The others chuckled

At least they have a filter to not say anything, avoiding you the awkwardness of the blood rushing to your cheeks. The clank of the metal gates rattled through your sensitive ears as they were shut. Each caged now occupied by a person slowly undressing.

“It saves the clothes” Jimin explained without prompting; he was shoving the bag with your clean stuff into a metal grey cabinet at the far end of the cage. Any oxytocin racing your system was purged and replaced regretfully with adrenaline. Your heart rate raced with fear slowly filling your eyes.

“You’ll be fine Y/N” Hoseok called.

“It will be morning before you know it” Yoongi added placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You leapt into his arms and squeezed him tight; when you felt a squeeze back he pulled back.

“Go on” he prompted.

“You’ll be with Jimin, you’’ll be fine, he’s probably the sweetest natured out of all of us” You offered a weak smile, any confidence drained. Jimin took your hand and lead you into your confinement. He shut the door reaching through the bars and turned the key and left it in the lock.

“Shouldn’t we take it out?”

“Wolves don’t tend to have thumbs, we’ll be secure I promise” He tried to keep his response as sincere as possible but a definite smirk leaked through; corrupting his lips.

“Hey I’m new to this!” you complained. He motioned his fingers beckoning you to him, you really wanted to pout and refuse but your body beat you to it carrying you to him. His hand sloped at your cheeks

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you want me to chain you up?”

“I got it” you confirmed slipping out of your jeans and jumper. Your eyes were scatty, no one but Jimin could see you exposed but being in such an open space still made you slightly uncomfortable. The nippy draught instantly dragged goose-bumps onto your skin; covering you.

“Wish you were chained up under better circumstances” He clinked the heavy shackles shut round his ankles, he sat knees up leaning against the wall in nothing but his boxers staring up at the ceiling.

“Wish you realised when to be more appropriate” You teased back, not fully against the idea he suggested.

“You’d hate that”

“I suppose that’s true” you confessed sliding down to the floor in your underwear

“You’ll lose them” he pointed directly at you, you followed his finger direction as best you could; assuming he meant your underwear.

“I’d rather lose one set a month than sit in cage completely naked”

He held his hand up in defeat agreeing with you.

“What happens now?”

“We just wait, you’ll probably turn first seeing as you…”

Every nerve you had burst into flames, ricocheting through all your muscles as the shift took hold of you.

#bts smut #ksmutclub #kscproject #kwritersworldnet #smutcentralnet #sub-bts-network #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #btsguild #jimin smut #park jimin #BTS jimin #28 days #jimin x reader

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ladylynse · 5 years ago

Text

Forewarning: All Dipper knew was that there was something buried in some special thermos behind the shack; all Danny knew was that he had no idea how he’d gotten here. Inspired by this artwork by @hashtag-art and begun for @bibliophilea

Happy New Year, everyone!

Chapter 2 [FF | AO3]

-|-

Danny knew magic when he felt it.

Well.

He could recognize it, anyway. Usually. Unless the magic came with a memory wipe. Between Desiree, Dora’s amulet, Circus Gothica, the Reality Gauntlet, and everything else, he was getting pretty good at picking out it or its effects.

That’s why he knew it was magic that held him in this stupid circle.

It was also why he wasn’t wholly sure he could just burn through a part of the chalk drawing with an ectoblast without bad consequences.

And just about when he was ready to risk those consequences (because he did not want to know what an attempted exorcism would do to him), he found himself with the unfortunately familiar weight of a clockwork medallion around his neck.

Clockwork floated on the edge of the circle, not far from the two kids who had released Danny and then trapped him here. Clearly, whatever bound Danny wasn’t strong enough to bind him. Not that Danny really expected it would be, with Clockwork being who he was and the kids possibly targeting Danny after seeing him earlier. But if Clockwork was here now—

“You are where you need to be,” Clockwork said as Danny opened his mouth.

Danny frowned. “Yeah? Why can’t I call Jazz’s cell? Where am I? When am I?”

Danny didn’t really expect Clockwork to give him a straight answer—it was Clockwork, after all—but the ghost shifted to that of a child and replied, “Welcome to 2012.”

Ice filled his chest. 2012? 2012? He’d been stuck in a thermos for five years? No wonder his call to Jazz hadn’t gone through! She’d be in college now, maybe through college by now, or trying to get a masters degree, or a PhD, or—

Or she might not be.

No. He wasn’t going to jump to that conclusion, wasn’t going to assume this was like last time, not when this was all he had to go on, not even when Clockwork was the reason he was here. Clockwork, who wasn’t supposed to interfere. Clockwork, who refused to interfere more often than not. Clockwork, who saw it all from above and had very clearly forgotten what it was like to be part of the parade, if he’d ever even known that.

“Are you serious?” Anger was safer than panic, and he had good reason to be angry. Clockwork had never talked to him about this, whatever this was. Not like the last time he’d sent Danny to the future. “My family probably thinks I’m dead!”

“Technically speaking, you are.”

Danny hissed through his teeth. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to rip me out of my life and shove me in a thermos and stick me somewhere on the other side of the country. You can’t just put me wherever you think I need to be! I just lost five years of my life thanks to you!”

“You’ve been held in stasis for over thirty,” Clockwork said mildly as his form changed again. “You’ll be returned to your own time before your friends and family realize you’ve taken a detour.”

A detour? That’s what he was calling this?

“This isn’t a detour! Just because you can put me back where I came from, doesn’t mean I haven’t still lost that time. And what do you mean, thirty years?”

Clockwork’s expression didn’t change even as his face shifted, growing younger again. He didn’t deign to argue with Danny, instead saying, “The tapestry of time is scarred here. Further interference is…discouraged.”

Danny crossed his arms. “What the heck do you call this, then?”

“A correction.”

“Why do I have to be the one to fix it? It’s not like the Observants don’t know to watch me. If they think I’m meddling in the timestream again—” Danny broke off. “Wait, what do you mean further interference? What did you do here before?”

That earned him the barest shadow of exasperation crossing Clockwork’s face. “The interference was not mine.”

“Until now.”

That might be a slight thinning of the lips. It was probably as much as he was going to get from Clockwork, anyway. “Seeking to repair what others have damaged before reality becomes unstable is hardly unwarranted interference.”

“So a stitch in time saves nine? Wow, I did not realize that expression could be applied literally with time travel. But that still doesn’t explain why me.” Clockwork said nothing, and a horrible thought occurred to Danny. “Except. Wait. You said thirty years. I…. You’re trying to interfere without the Observants knowing, aren’t you?” He pulled a face. “Why thirty years?”

“That was the point of least interference, when your placement would have the smallest effect.”

“So how come I don’t remember anything?” He tried not to let it show how much that bothered him, but it did. He wasn’t sure what he’d been doing before this. Hanging out with Sam and Tuck? Fighting? School? Homework? Nothing seemed clearer than the rest.

He couldn’t remember if he’d been in the Ghost Zone, but he definitely didn’t remember seeing Clockwork.

Still, he hadn’t come out of the thermos wearing one of Clockwork’s medallions, so it’s not like Clockwork just ambushed him, sucked him into a thermos, and dropped him here. And…it must still have been Clockwork, right? Because point of least interference was still interference, and thirty years was definitely time travel when it was thirty years in the past. Or twenty-five and— Whatever. This had to be Clockwork. That had to be why he was here now. Not whoever else was messing around with time.

“You’ve seen the dangers of an uncontained future,” Clockwork said, and it took Danny a second to realize he was ignoring Danny’s question instead of answering it. “Similar destruction is almost certain here. If they stay on this road, they will find themselves on a path from which they cannot turn away. You must warn them.”

“How is that my job?” Danny wanted to ask why Clockwork didn’t just warn them himself, but of course that would be interfering. As if this weren’t already blatant interference. “Why can’t someone else do it? Anyone else? I don’t even know these guys.”

“Perhaps not yet,” said Clockwork as his form shifted again, “but you know the dangers they face. They wish to pierce the fabric between dimensions, between realities, and will release more than they realize if they succeed.”

Danny scrunched up his face. Too bad he couldn’t just straight up tell these guys not to mess with interdimensional portals, but Clockwork wouldn’t be happy with him spelling out the future like that. Even if he did, Mabel and Dipper wouldn’t believe him when he had no other details than that. They’d just think he’d spied on them. Telling them would probably make them more likely to keep doing everything they were doing. “Let me guess: containment of whatever they let out isn’t gonna be simple?”

Clockwork didn’t answer, but Danny supposed he didn’t really need an answer. Clockwork wouldn’t have said anything about it if it was easy. And Danny wouldn’t have been dragged out here to interfere if these people weren’t playing with fire. Or rather, interdimensional portals.

“There’s, um, a path where they win, right, when they don’t listen to me and do this anyway? Because that’s going to happen. Nothing I say is going to make these two trust me.”

“You must warn them,” Clockwork repeated.

Danny didn’t know if that was a yes, but it hadn’t been a no, so he counted it as a win. This was Clockwork, after all. Danny knew there were lines, and he knew he’d crossed those lines, but he wasn’t entirely sure where those lines were—and which ones Clockwork was happy to ignore. More than the Observants were happy with, sure, but beyond that….

“Can I go home after this?”

No immediate answer. Bad sign. Very bad. There shouldn’t be any reason Clockwork wouldn’t just say yes if all he had to do was give these guys a warning they probably wouldn’t listen to. If nothing else, Clockwork would know it would be a way to make Danny immediately play nice and do what he was told. So for him to say nothing….

That meant Danny was supposed to do something else, something Clockwork figured he’d do if left to his own devices. Something Clockwork didn’t think was worth telling Danny, or maybe that he didn’t think Danny would actually do if he were told about it, or—

“I do get to go home after all this, right? There’s not some other detour you expect me to make first? I just need to warn them not to do whatever they’re thinking about doing, and then it’s over, and we’re done, and I can go back to Amity Park the same day I left it?” Because that was part of the problem. He couldn’t just go home from here because it wouldn’t be the home he knew. And even if next to nothing had changed (unlikely; his parents were inventors, after all), he couldn’t risk being caught (especially if his parents had five years worth of ghost tech he’d never seen before). That would require too much explaining.

Unless they already knew everything, in which case it would take less.

Or next to no time at all, if they didn’t take it well and he had to—

But he didn’t want to think about that possibility. He much preferred thinking that Jazz was right, that they would accept him, even if it took a little while for them to get used to the idea or even if they asked him a bunch of rather intrusive questions. And, right now, he much preferred not knowing, just in case the little voice in the back of his mind was right and ignorance was bliss. And—

“Why…why am I really here, Clockwork?” His voice came out as a whisper, drained of anger and instead tinged with desperation. What was he missing? Surely Clockwork wasn’t just being cagey because he didn’t know. Or maybe…maybe he didn’t want Danny to get involved in whatever the kids were doing? Or maybe he did, and just couldn’t risk saying it without the Observants noticing what he was doing?

“Warn them about this path,” Clockwork said gently, “and your own will become clearer.”

Danny hated that answer. It told him nothing. It guaranteed nothing. It was too vague when things mattered this much.

But he also had a better idea of when he could push Clockwork, when begging or wheedling for favours would work, and this wasn’t one of those times.

Danny sighed, settling down in the middle of the circle and holding his head in his hands.

Clockwork was probably being as helpful as he could, even if there was a chance a part of him was also being lowkey as spiteful as he could after Danny’s last time travelling fiasco. Danny kind of owed him for that. There had probably been some pushback from the Observants, and Clockwork must have borne the brunt of that because Danny had never faced any consequences once the timeline was back on track. And this…. It should be simple enough. There were worse ways to repay a favour.

But still.

A little warning would’ve been nice.

-|-

Dipper didn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t going to trust the phantom—if it even was a phantom, since for all he knew, it was just a different sort of ghost trying to trick them into thinking it was a phantom by calling itself one. At least, it wasn’t living up to the whole ‘phantoms cause pain to those who summon them’ bit in the journal. Not that he was complaining. It would just be nice to know what he was dealing with for once.

Maybe the pain part didn’t come until the phantom escaped the summoning circle?

“What….” Mabel hesitated and looked at him, but he didn’t know if asking questions would make things worse. She plowed on when he didn’t stop her, asking, “What are you talking about?”

“If you stay on this road,” Phantom repeated, “you’ll find yourself on a path you can’t turn away from. That’s it. That’s the message. I’m apparently a messenger now. Don’t shoot me.”

“Who are you supposed to be a messenger for?” Dipper asked. The strain of keeping Phantom contained was worth it to get some answers. The journal…. He couldn’t figure out why Phantom’s section in the journal had been coded differently, and he would rather find out as much as he could.

“That’s…not really important.”

Assuming Phantom would be helpful. Dipper should’ve known better than to hope he’d be forthcoming about everything. “How is that not important?” he demanded. The author of the journals—

“You won’t know who it is anyway. He’s, uh, not supposed to interfere as often as he does.”

Interfere? What was that supposed to mean? Interfere with what?

“Try us,” Mabel said, crossing her arms. “We’ve had an interesting summer so far.”

Understatement. And maybe a bit more information than Dipper would’ve liked to give away, even if it was completely vague.

“Fine.” Phantom looked defiant now. “His name is Clockwork. Happy now?”

No. He’d never heard of Clockwork. Dipper had no idea who he was supposed to be. Or, more accurately, what.

“Why’s he sending us messages? And through you?”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just really unlucky. And maybe because he thinks you’ll listen? Clockwork’s not the most helpful guy out there. I’m surprised he interfered at all. I’m surprised I got dragged into this.” He said this last part with a sneer, looking to Dipper and Mabel’s right.

Dipper didn’t need to look to confirm that there was nothing there—nothing visible, anyway—but he did anyway.

The apparent absence of something did nothing to reassure him.

Phantom sighed, his annoyance draining away. “Okay, look, I’ll be straight with you. I don’t know why I got drafted to play messenger boy, but it’s probably because I owe him a favour, and he’s not supposed to be doing this kind of thing. Interfere, I mean. Which means that if he is, it’s big and you should listen to me. So stop whatever you’re doing. Drop it. Walk away. Your future selves would thank you for it if they had the chance. It’s probably a lot of pain and suffering or it wouldn’t be on Clockwork’s radar.”

“Pain and suffering, huh?” Mabel echoed, glancing at Dipper. He knew how she felt; he hadn’t expected Phantom to warn them of the pain he was going to bring in an attempt to trick them into releasing him, but it just meant they needed to be on their guard. If they hadn’t had the journal, they might have fallen for it.

Phantom nodded, not noticing or not caring how uncomfortable they were. “Clockwork wouldn’t interfere for something small. He thinks other people are messing around, though—I don’t think just you guys? I mean, not you you, you’re too young, and if this started thirty years ago or something, it couldn’t be you…unless you’re time travellers?”

“Did you want us to be?” Mabel said slowly.

Phantom blinked. “What? No!”

“Then we aren’t,” she said, and Dipper glared at her and kicked at her leg. He couldn’t really put any strength behind it, and she’d probably been half expecting it, since she didn’t flinch. Phantom might not have noticed the movement, though. Or the glare. If he did, he didn’t react to it.

“Time travel is impossible,” Dipper said pointedly, switching his gaze back to Phantom.

Phantom just stared at him. “I’m a ghost, you’re keeping me trapped inside a magic circle, and you draw the line at time travel?”

Dipper nodded. “It’s not possible. You can’t go faster than the speed of light.” He wasn’t a great liar—Mabel was definitely better, and she wasn’t particularly good, either—but he wasn’t about to tell Phantom that they knew time travel was possible. Or that they had time travelled and run into another time traveller. Phantom might tell them more if he thought they were ignorant of that.

“You’re using magic. And talking to a ghost. What part of that do most people consider possible?”

“Actually—” Mabel started.

“Forget I asked,” Phantom interrupted. “My point is, if you don’t believe in time travel, you should, and if you don’t believe in interdimensional travel, you should, because something along those lines is in your future if you don’t stop all this. Which you should.”

“Because you said so?” Mabel asked, and Dipper kicked her again, this time less subtly. He didn’t care if Phantom noticed that one.

Phantom snorted. “Because whatever it is is bad enough that it merits forewarning. Courtesy of Clockwork. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Bit of a circular argument,” Dipper muttered, not quite quietly enough that they wouldn’t hear him.

Phantom groaned. “Fine, ignore me. Just let me go.”

“No. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

“Who said I was going to hurt anyone?” Phantom spluttered. “I’m not! Seriously, I’m just the messenger here.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’d say if you were planning on hurting someone and wanted to trick us into letting you out.”

He caught Mabel’s eye again and saw the trace of worry on her features. She knew he was bluffing. She knew he couldn’t do this forever, that his strength would give out and the magic within the circle would fade. The symbols could only hold power for so long. With Phantom being as strong as he was—or Dipper being as weak as he was; whichever was the main reason behind why it had taken so long for the spell to work in the first place, though it might be both considering he was still fairly new to magic—Dipper wasn’t sure they had much longer.

Judging by the increasingly frustrated look on Phantom’s face, though, he didn’t know that. Which at least meant the magic wasn’t noticeably weakening yet. It would buy them a little time, but—

“If you insist you’re not going to hurt anyone,” Mabel said, “then you don’t need to keep secrets from us. Keep talking, and then we’ll let you go.”

That was one way of putting it. If the spell was going to collapse on him anyway, at least they might be able to get something out of Phantom. Not that they’d know if it was truth or lies, but at least it would be a starting point. And that would be better than nothing.

Phantom threw up his hands. “I gave you guys the message already!”

“No, she’s right,” Dipper said. Mabel smiled at his words as if she hadn’t expected him to approve. “You’ve hardly told us anything. What do you know about the author of the journals?”

Phantom looked confused. Dipper didn’t think it was feigned, either. “What journals?” He looked at the open book and added, “So that’s not a magic book? Or is it just a journal full of spells that you’re not calling a magic book?”

“It’s a resource, not a book on magic.” Not alone, anyway. But if Phantom didn’t recognize it or know anything about it, he wouldn’t be able to help Dipper figure this out. And it meant if this Clockwork person had written the journals, Phantom didn’t know about it. Dipper flipped the book cover up just enough to show the symbol on the front with the three emblazoned on it, but Phantom just shrugged. Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely didn’t know anything.

Which was funny, considering he was in it.

Mabel clearly had the same suspicions, since she said, “You have to know something. The author of the journals is the reason we found you.”

Phantom frowned and flicked his eyes to the still-empty spot beside them. Dipper couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. After a few long seconds, Phantom admitted, “I don’t remember how I got here. I’m not lying, okay? I really don’t know. And it’s bugging me. That’s why I wanted to know if you knew Vlad. This is the kind of thing he’d do to me. And then Clockwork….” He trailed off. “He won’t tell me my own future or anything else about yours. But if you’re trying to find out more about whoever wrote that journal, and if they wrote me into it, well, that’s probably what Clockwork’s warning was about.”

“The author hasn’t been wrong about anything that’s turned up before,” Dipper said.

Phantom crossed his arms. “Well, from the way you two are looking at me, he’s wrong about me. It’s not like I’m going to snap and kill everyone. Seriously, let me go, I’ll be gone, and everything will be back to normal.”

He’d been forced to summon the phantom, and now it was trying to trying to trick him into releasing it.

Of course, if they didn’t do something soon, it would get free anyway.

“How did you….” Mabel broke off, bit her lip, and looked at Dipper. Then, turning back to Phantom, “Danny. The boy who was in here earlier. What about him?”

Phantom swallowed. “His name is Danny Fenton.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, and Mabel knew to hold her tongue, too. Phantom squirmed, one hand reaching up the rub the back of his neck. They waited, but he didn’t volunteer any other information.

Dipper sucked in a breath, deep and long, and let it out slowly. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He clenched his hands into fists, afraid that if he didn’t, it would be too easy for Phantom to see him shaking. “And?” It came out as a growl, and Phantom flinched.

“And he’s a friend.”

That was a lie. It had to be. Dipper looked at Mabel and saw that she didn’t believe Phantom either. But Phantom had straightened up, and though Dipper couldn’t see it, he could feel Phantom reaching one hand behind him to prod the boundaries of the circle. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but trying to hold the spell together was becoming more and more like trying to hold water cupped in his fingers. It was draining fast now, and—

“Look, just stop this business with the journals and finding whoever wrote them,” Phantom said. “What’s coming if you keep going the way you’re going isn’t good. It’ll be like…like you’ve opened Pandora’s box. The one from the myth, not her actual box, although that, too, if it’s on the wrong setting….” He trailed off. “Please?”

“We can’t,” Dipper said, hoping it would get Phantom to argue with him. But his voice was shaky now, and he couldn’t—

The spell dissipated, and Phantom smiled before vanishing.

-|-

“Is he gone?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Dipper admitted. He leaned back against his bed and closed his eyes. “Probably not, if the journal is right about phantoms.”

“What if that’s not what he is?” Pain and suffering might be in their future, but it hadn’t started immediately. What would Phantom gain from waiting? He already knew they expected it, and he had to know Dipper was weaker now than he would be in the future. Sure, he didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to exorcise him, or at least that she’d never tried doing that to a ghost before, but it shouldn’t stop him from jumping on an opportunity to strike while they were down.

“I don’t know.”

Mabel tried to swallow down her fear at Dipper’s repetition. The cryptic message about Phantom had been coded differently than anything else in the journal, and it hadn’t even been near the pages on ghosts and exorcisms. Maybe he really wasn’t a phantom like he pretended. Maybe the author hadn’t even known what he was. Maybe that’s why the author had never specified what was in the thermos that Dipper had found.

There’s something stuck in some special thermos buried behind the shack….

She wished Dipper had had a chance to examine the thermos before Phantom had taken it.

“What about his warning?”

That prompted Dipper to open his eyes. “We can’t stop. He’s not really here just to warn us. We wouldn’t have found him where we did, the way we did, if he’s telling the truth about everything.”

Mabel said what Dipper didn’t: “And that doesn’t explain Danny.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Dipper must have no idea what did, no real idea that he didn’t think was too much of a stretch, or he’d have said it.

“So we don’t listen to him?”

“He hasn’t really given us any reason to trust him.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said quietly, “that’s what I thought.” But she couldn’t get Phantom’s abrupt change out of her head, the way he’d been pleading with them to let him out before breaking off mid word and moving faster than she’d been able to see. He’d…changed. In a split second. Still asking them to let him go but with less desperation than before.

He’d claimed that he didn’t know more than what he’d told them, but she didn’t believe that any more than she believed that Danny Fenton, whoever he was, was just some friend. As if they couldn’t see the similarities. As if they had never been tricked before by someone pretending to be someone—something—they’re not.

Even if Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom weren’t the same person—ghost, creature, whatever—they had to be connected. Why would Danny Fenton have come here? To scout out the territory? To try to find Phantom, if Phantom hadn’t sent him? But then there had been the phone call to his sister, before he ran out….

“He talked about other dimensions,” Mabel said slowly. “Do you think he’s from a different dimension?”

Dipper didn’t answer, instead pulling the journal towards him and flipping through it.

“Do you think it was the author of the journals who wrote that note about him? Or do you think it was someone else?”

More silence. Mabel didn’t like that. She much preferred Dipper to talk her ear off with explanations or theories, at least when she had none of her own. She’d rather ignore his ramblings than not have them when they needed them.

“Is this a trap?”

“I hope not,” Dipper finally said, settling on a page in the journal and showing it to her, “but we better be ready for when he comes back in case it is.”

(next)

#danny phantom #gravity falls #phantom falls #danny fenton #mabel pines #dipper pines #clockwork #fanfiction #crossover #dp fanfiction #gf fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #gf snippet #dp snippet

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kob131 · 5 years ago

Text

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4l1pL3ATN0

Let’s break down Vexed’s Weiss video, shall we?

“You know how i feel about Weiss, she’s my favorite character.”

Vexed, what does that even mean? Considering how invested you are at this point in the show’s failure, I don’t know if “favorite character” means “character I like” or “My go to shield to deflect accusations that I hate the show.”

“Weiss worked because they had a plan for her-”

They also had a plan for Blake and you proclaim her as the worst so clearly that doesn’t mean anything.

“Weiss could have been selfless and traveled with Qrow and Maria to hand over the relic-”

*slams down a huge stack of papers*

1. Cordovon SPECIFICALLY said WEISS could come home. She never said anyone else could come as well. And considering her attitude, there is a good reason to assume she WOULDN’T let anyone else with her.

2. Weiss coming home would likely result in the Relic landing in Jacques’ hands. Even if we didn’t know already that Watts was going to meet with Jacques (which would end with him getting the Relic), Jacques is shown to be self serving and pretty damn weak. Meaning if someone threatened his life for the relic (say, a psychotic scorpion Fanaus?), he’d probably hand it over. And Weiss would logically have no way of stopping this. After all, she escaped in part thanks to her weapon (which Jacques would take from her) and Klein (fired). If either DID happen, you’d screech ‘Stupid for the sake of the plot!’

3. There is no way for anyone to sneak with her. You can’t hide anyone away in the ships for that long, they can’t take Qrow because why would Cordovon let Weiss take back a suspicious bird and she’d be powerless on her own.

4. You screeched for two years that spiliting up the main cast was a terrible idea and now you demand that they should have done just that? Way to flip flop.

5. You’d bitch about the others letting her go as ‘letting their friend be kidnapped and shipped back to her abusive household.’ You already twist so much to benefit your agenda so I know this for certain.

This shit was pointed out a year ago. Get with the program.

“Why didn’t Weiss go back?”

*jabs above* In your own words: it’d be ‘stupid for the sake of the plot.’

“Let’s play a quick game-”

Yes lets.

“5 seconds to answer: Why did Weiss escape to Mistral?”

Because she was being coped up in a room by her father, thought her sister was in Mistral and escaped to go find her..and she didn’t know where Team RWBY was and the source of her escaping was Jacques’ abuse.

That took me a nanosecond. It took you several months to ask it. Speed up.

“If you answered: ‘to escape her father’ You are wrong. If you said “To meet up with team RWBY, you are wrong. She did it to find Winter-”

Yeah huh, smug asshole?

Mind sating WHY she went to find Winter?

... No? Strange. One would think explaining a character’s actions would be your priority here to show it doesn’t make sense.

Oh right. You didn’t explain because the explanation was exactly what I said: She didn’t know were Team RWBY was and she was escaping her father. Both of which DO NOT APPLY in this situation. Gee, it’s almost like context and truth is your fucking Kryptonite.

“Why didn’t she offer to take the relic to Ironwood?”

Because it’s stupid, forces her back into the same situation she was in before and goes against the thing you screeched for years about.

“Weiss thinks she’ll be taken back to her-”

She KNOWS she’ll be taken back to her father. Cordovon specifically said “I’ll take you HOME”. You played the fucking clip were she said that Vexed, is your short term memory shot?

No wait, he had to write out the script, record the audio, find the clip and download it, edit this all together and post it. AT least because I would assume he would do the bare minimum of research to make sure he wasn't spouting shit. So either he is so assured that he’s right he didn’t even pay attention to this VERY OBVIOUS detail or he’s relying on the audience’s negative perception of RWBY to cover his tracks. This is why I do not accept the idea of Vexed Viewer making mistakes like this: he spends weeks making these videos. I can catch myself making stupid claims with posts that take an hour to type up. Clearly he should know better.

“Oh wait, they didn’t take her back to Ironwood-”

Which is noted by the characters to be something unusual and unexpected. So to present this as a rebuttal to Weiss not wanting to go back to Atlas is to expect the characters to know the plot and script instead acting on known information (like, you know, human beings?).

“Oh look at all these times Jacques should have been able to be taken back to her father because you claim she’s a minor!”

No one has ever argued that Vexed. As I have shown, she KNEW she would be handed over back to her father because that was the offer CORDOVON GAVE HER.

This is blatant strawmanning to avoid the fact that the actual argument against you can’t be denied. And since you refuse to not bitch like a self entitled brat, you won’t admit you were wrong.

“There is no downside to Weiss return-”

“Cordovin: (sighs) If Miss Schnee has truly come to her senses and wishes to return to her family, then, of course, the Atlas military will escort her home. But the kingdom will not be responsible for her "friends" of... questionable character. (glances at Blake specifically upon saying her last statement) “

Reminder we have just passed the five minute mark. Of a twenty two minute video. And Vexed has made, being abnormally generous to an unwarrented degree, two demonstrably false to the point of lying arguments.

Starting to realize the sheer volume of his failures?

“I had to believe that a protector of the world would rather be with her friends than save the world”

*glares up at everything said previously*

No, you WANTED to believe that. You CHOOSE to believe that. You ACCEPTED it over far more rational, simple and according to you, convenient explanations.

Unless of course, you’re looking for anything and everything to bitch about in RWBY and this is your confirmation bias.

“The writers decided for Weiss to be annoying in Volume 6′s Brunswick part.”

Oh? So these parts should be so bad that they override your supposed ‘favorite character’ right? You aren’t just bitching and completely contradicting that criticism shield your dredged up right?

“Weiss screams loudly and starts hyper ventilating-”

Funny thing is he uses Keiven from Home Alone putting on after shave to say Weiss Screamed louder...even though they sound about the same (Weiss just has a higher pitch from being a woman) and Keiven screamed longer.

Not to mention that in the original scene, it was being played like a horror scene. Same music, same angles, same pacing: it’s to sell how disturbing and unsettling the sight of these bodies are. Of course, if you were just going off memory and Vexed’s footage, you wouldn’t know that.

“Weiss is a trained warrior and fought at the Fall of Beacon were people were dying left and right-”

A. Weiss isn’t fully trained yet. She was a first year at Beacon and had two more years at least.

B. Huntsmen are not warriors. Their training is not built to break them like a soldier or warrior. Not to mention Weiss grew up in a relatively peaceful time so it’s not like death was a close up constant like this (unless you count the WF which is different.)

C. Number of times Weiss has seen a dead body on screen before now? ... Zero? Hm, guess Vexed ‘convienently’ forgot that.

D. Any off-screen deaths Weiss would have seen at the Fall of Beacon you would have bitched about as not being shown. You bitch about stuff on a lower level (he’s bitched about the phrase ‘Oh God’ before) so there’s a perecedent for this/

And E. These bodies are in a different situation than any in the Fall of Beacon. Those are freshly killed bodies on a battlefield. Weiss would be expecting those. These are mummified bodies in a civilian setting, with the killer nowhere in site and out of nowhere. No shit she’d be shocked: Yang (someone who lost an arm) is also acting the same and Qrow (a seasoned warrior who actually DOES fit your description) is shocked too.

Once again though, this stuff wouldn’t come up in your mind because Vexed doesn’t acknowledge it or consider it. Thus you’re being guided away from these issues.

Starting to see how sneaky Vexed is?

“Weiss is being dumb and could break through the cellar door!”

Once again, he’s being sneaky, splicing this next to the body discovery point, trying to make them seem like similar situation...even though the moment he is talking about is them running from the Apathy. Grimm that have been shown to be immune to regular weaponry. AND is making them sluggish AND is advancing on them. She’s panicked and all the shit Vexed is pointing to takes time and concentration: stuff their situation is ROBBED of. And yet again, you wouldn’t know that because Vexed NEVER GIVES CONTEXT HERE. Only after this is stated.

“I know you guys are saying in the comments-”

Just another strawman. Vexed is pretending to addressing points by making up weaker ones. Even then, his bullshit counterargument “The Apathy drain your will, not make you a damsel in distress” kills his OWN argument as a lack of will would cause Weiss to lose concentration and fail.

For Vexed’s argument to work, Weiss would have to either not be panicking (stupid and unrealistic) or ignore her own powers’ limitations (bad writing).

“Thank God Yang was down there-”

Ruby had just disintergrated the Grimm. They were given a reprieve. Once again, Vexed doesn’t show this.

“You can’t have her be fearless now-”

She’s neither trapped nor panicking nor being affected by the Apathy. The fear bullshit is on you.

“*Vexed cringes*”

Oh look, that thing I was doing about ten minutes ago. Catch up Vexed- Oh wait, you’re too busy gutting your own eyeballs.

“We don't see Weiss in Atlas-”

Gee, not like we have to set up the Ace Ops, set up Ironwood, Winter and Penny again, set up Watts and Tyrian’s threat, set up Robyn, work through all of this and much more and end it all. It’s almost like that’s fucking SECONDARY to telling the story and as you showed, Weiss already has moments in Volume 7.

So I guess Vexed is basically saying “Volumes 4 and 5 weren’t THAT bad” since he’s been begging the CRWBY to go back and overstuff the Volumes AGAIN.

Next part has him actually praising the moment between Weiss and her mom. Sounds good right? It would...if it actually matched Vexed’s standards.

How many times has he ignored things like distance, positioning and the such in things like the Adam Vs. Yang and Blake fight just to push his bullshit through to the audience? Just how many moments that would qualify for, in his own words ‘well written, well directed moments’ just so he can prove a point?

At the very least before, I could give a bare minimum level of respect for Vexed for sticking by his principles, as stupid as they are. But no, he just praises a scene because he likes what happened in it even though stuff of similar quality he overlooked or bashed.

“Weiss just gets handed her proof about her dad and doesn’t have to do anything!”

Except endure being shot at by her mother and there’s nothing that's been shown before that could be used as proof besides this. What do you want, proof to magically appear in Jacques’ office? To have Weiss gain fingerprint scanning tech despite never showing that before? To have Jacques be excepetionally dumb? At least we get something respectable out of Weiss’ mother here and it isn’t a huge leap in logic like the others.

“I’d have more of a problem if this scene wasn’t so good and I’d have less of a problem if this made sense for Willow. It doesn’t but this isn’t her video-”

No no no no no.

No.

After all the tangents and bullshit you’ve pulled in other videos AND THIS VIDEO, you denying proof for something you call ‘a point of contention’ is pretty fucking rich of you. Just because you like a scene doesn’t mean you can just ignore the problems with it, same with the inverse too. How is this any better than a Yang fanboy ignoring issues with scenes involving Yang because they like it?

Literally all you had left was your own daman principles, Vexed. Now you’re burning them.

“One thing the writers have made very clear is Weiss really enjoys dunking on her father-”

Using her ignoring her father’s call in Volume 3, her breakdown at the Atlas Elite and her talk back to Jacques in Volume 4? One of which is not ‘dunking’ (or extreme humiliation) and the other is only partially about her father and mostly about how detached the elite of Atlas are.

“-SO I shouldn’t be surpised she came in like a-”

Not even gonna let you finish that shitty reference. That was just unnecessary and not even funny. It feels more like a combination of a Family Guy cutaway for it’s abruptness and a fanboy cheering for it’s framing.

“The Jacques being taken down scene was bad because it was matter of fact and silly instead of emotionally driven-”

Vexed, the issues Weiss has with Jacques is rooted in his abuse of her and her family, his entitlement to the family business and his business practices harming her family name. This takedown has nothing to do with any of these. She is not confronting him about the damage he has done to her and her family nor the damage he has done in his pursuit of growing the business. She is confronting him about the election fraud, a story point.

No shit this isn’t emotional- Weiss’ emotional ties here are SHALLOW. It would ring hollow to the audience for her to make this emotional because she has no emotional attachment to the actions he performed. All she would have is it being her dad, which isn’t enough.

Then again, from the perspective of a Weiss fanboy, this would look bad because that moment you’ve been writing in your head didn’t happen. I should know.

“*Vexed bitches about a joke about Weiss not knowing if she can arrest Weiss because ‘hur dur book smart!’*”

She’s not an officer, she’s a Huntress. I don’t think they can actually arrest people.

“This should have been between father and daughter in an epic moment-”

*rolls eyes*

Vexed, look at this scene. Look at all the other shit happening here. Then remember the people dying to the cold in Mantle.

What makes you THINK it was meant to be that way? Hell, what makes you think that would be a GOOD IDEA?

.. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“I wanted to see the sister dynamic that has been missing from RUby and Yang-”

You had your chance in Volume 6. You ignored for Bumbleby bashing. You don’t get a say.

“Hur dur, characters ssay things we know already!”

Gee, it’s almost like Weiss and Winter talking about this was to restablish were they were because a certain group of people made it certain that they needed everything spoonfed to them or else they throw a tantrum.

“Ironwood done nothin’ wrong!”

There’s Vexed’s pandering again.

The man made no attempt to talk anything through until he was forced to with Mantle. He lied to Team RWBY about Amity and made them operate under false information. And I have made the fuck ups in Ironwood’s plan in Episode 11 VERY clear.

Stop pandering to the RWBY hate crowd and have some fucking principles.

“Oh, Weiss lied to Ironwood! How hypocritical”

*holds up a piece of paper saying ‘That’s the point’*

“Why would it bother Winter that she’s chosen as the Winter Maiden? ANd why does she say that she wasn’t given a choice when she said she was ‘proposed’?”

gee, wasn’t it you guys who claimed Ozpin proposing to Pyrrha wasn’t giving her an actual choice? Hm, I guess things change...when they benefit you.

“Wow, Weiss is so bad for not telling Winter about the Relic!-”

COnversation wasn’t about that and it wouldn’t come up, nor is it a particularly serious thing. But nice try Vexed.

“Weiss runs away because she pains to carve out her-”

Wait a minute, didn’t you say that Weiss was going to Msitral to find Winter? Hmmm, awfully inconsistent of you vexed. Almost you lie constantly for your own benefit.

“HOW MANY TIMES WILL YOU TALK ABOUT FINDING YOUR OWN WAY?!”

Gee, didn’t know that, by your own admission, three times in four Volumes was SOOO awful.

“This is how they treated their relationship?”

As a narrative tool to emphasize a theme of the Volume? Good on them.

“You know, everyone still thinks Weiss is this pampered heiress-”

One guy said that. In the entire Volume. About self reliance and finding your own path.

“Weiss never said a word to Robyn and didn’t support her-”

You know Vexed, what’s the difference between you and a whiny Bumbleby shipper bitching about them not kissing yet? You sound so entitled and so whiny about you not getting your way. Your arguments are breaking down into disjointed bitching, just like an entitled brat.

It’s fucking pathetic.

“Maybe she’ll try her luck doging the coronavirus at RTX! Maybe she was too busy watching Gen:LOCK.”

Aw, what’s wrong? baby didn’t get his undeserved baba?

I can’t believe how much has changed Vexed. You’ve pretty much outed yourself as an entitled fan perpetually whining about the show not being the way you want it. You have no respect earned. You have no principles. You have no standards. You don’t even have an end goal: all you have is your whims.

Pathetic.

#vexed viewer

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themusicplayedherlife · 5 years ago

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Growing Up (18)

pairing: steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, pietro and wanda m., clint, natasha, maria h., sam w. word count: 3k+ warnings: some angst, some doubt and a little bit of fluff summary: its time to clean things out, but you might not be as okay as you’re trying to make yourself seem a/n: eeeeeeeek so close to the end

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There are 365 days in a year.

Over 4,000 days were spent hating a man that only wanted to right a wrong that was done to him. 4,000 days used to crucify and push him away when all he wanted was to spend time with you, his eldest daughter.

“It’s not your fault,” a gentle voice whispers into the dark room as warm fingers trail up and down your back.

But isn’t it?

“You didn’t know.”

It doesn’t matter. The unwarranted hatred you pushed on him is despicable; the hurt you inflicted on him is unforgivable.

Soft lips press against your temple. “Talk to me.”

There’s nothing to talk about, you mentally convey, pressing yourself closer to the tall, muscular body pressed against yours, stuffing your face into his chest.

Steve sighs, and his hold on you tightens. “I don’t think he hated her for what she did.” He says it so gently into the air that you barely catch it. “He was angry, yes.” He tugs on your strands gently before weaving his fingers into your hair. “But he never hated her.”

Your face reacts, twitching into an unpleasant frown. “How do you know that?”

“Because he understood,” Steve starts slowly, thinking over his words carefully, “Tony… he was… he was a good defender. The reason he was able to win his cases was because he understood both sides. He didn’t just tackle the case as the defense, he also became the prosecutor. He stood on both sides, fighting both battles.”

You drink in his words, mulling them over as they twist and turn in your mind, trying to get you to understand.

“He understood why your mom did what she did because he looked at it from her side; he understood because you were the only thing either of them had left. And he knew they would both fight at nothing just to be able to have you for one last moment.”

You pick at his shirt. “But did she have to stoop so low?” There had to have been other options. “Was shared custody so bad?”

“Desperate people do desperate things,” he speaks into your hair, words a little muffled.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” you admit. “Or that I’ll forgive her, I just—“

“I know,” he says, confident that he does. And maybe he does know. Maybe he knows better than anyone. He’s been by your side since Tony died, seen you at your worst and best and most of all, he’s been by Tony’s side, too, watching him struggle with the fact that his eldest daughter wanted nothing to do with him, both living their lives separately because of a desperate lie.

You press against him and allow the heat of his body, the caress of his fingers in your hair, and his soothing lips against your skin lull you to sleep, knowing that tomorrow, no matter how you feel about your mother and this horrible situation she created, you have Maria, Steve, and the twins in your corner.

The morning is quiet, not a single peep from the twins or Maria. Usually Maria would be up already, dragging her small body to your bed and trying to wake you up—weekend be damned. But today, this morning, she’s awfully quiet and you’re starting to think it might have to do with the twins.

You breathe in, campfires and clean soap engulfing your senses.

Steve’s chest rises and falls rhythmically, and his voice comes out as a raspy whisper. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you greet back, shyness seeping into your voice.

He chuckles, his sweet voice hoarse and sleep ridden. “Sleep well?”

You stuff your face into his chest, allowing his arms to wrap around you completely. “Yeah. You?”

“Sleeping with you by my side?” His chest rises and falls deeply. “Best sleep ever.”

You laugh and his chest rumbles with his own laughter. “I don’t want to get up,” you mumble and he hums, his fingers weaving into your hair. You sigh contently and stretch languidly, your toes barely grazing his ankles.

“Then don’t.” He wraps his arms around you, leg thrown over your waist and caging you in. “Let's stay in bed.”

“Steve,” you whine with a laugh. “I have things to do.”

“Mhmm, like what?”

“Like cleaning out the house.” His hold on you grows lax, and he pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. You smile up at him, wide and as bright as you can muster. “I think it’s time I make this mine and Maria’s home? Don’t you?”

His blue eyes search yours, flying across your face and he cups your cheeks as if to keep you in place, as if you’d move away from him, deny him the opportunity to drink you in. You’d be stupid to deny him that right.

Birds chirp outside your window and you swear you hear Maria’s giggles coming from outside and Pietro’s loud laugh, but it all washes away when Steve’s lips descend on yours in a lazy, sweet kiss.

Kiss swollen lips, gentle touches, and bright blue eyes are all you feel and see for the next few minutes, the unconditional love and care Steve has for you pouring into you with every brush of his lips.

“If you keep kissing me, I won’t want to get out of bed,” you confess airily into the small space between you, haphazardly counting every individual lash fluttering against his skin in your mind.

He chuckles and he bumps his nose with yours, parted lips barely brushing against yours. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm, such a shame.”

His eyes twinkle and you can’t help but press your lips against his once more, and if it takes you another hour to get out of bed, it isn’t your fault. It’s his.

Tony has a lot of paperwork you realize as you sort through his office. Most of it are drawings by Maria that he most likely couldn’t bring himself to throw away. You shuffle through them, smiling at each one—stick figures of Pepper and Tony, and of shapeless animals, and colorful houses. Her drawings improve with each one.

Your smile grows wider when you come to a different drawing. Four figures are standing in a meadow of red flowers: there’s a red head, tall and wearing a white triangle dress—Pepper, she’s holding hands with a tiny stick figure, a pigtailed brunette wearing a small, pink triangle dress—Maria, and next to her is what you assume is you, taller than her but shorter than the figure next to her, smiling and holding hands with her and him, tall stick figure in rectangle pants and blue shirt—Tony.

She once asked, “We’re family?” Maybe it wasn’t directed at you at all.

You feel foolish for thinking she never saw you as family, when she always has. This drawing is proof of that.

You put it aside to frame it the next chance you get.

“Where do you want these?”

You pause to look over your shoulder. Pietro stands at the entrance of the office with a box with the written word: clothes that was stored in the garage. “Take them to Wanda and Maria. They have the clothes pile.”

He nods and disappears down the hallway.

Placing the rest of the drawings in a box, you’re taken by surprise when a folded paper falls to your feet. You eye it curiously as you pick it up. It’s worn, like it’s been opened and stored away so many times, but kept safe and guarded. Following the lines, you carefully unfold it.

Colorful lines greet your eyes and your breath stalls in your throat, hand slapping over your mouth to keep you from gasping aloud.

A row of buildings of different color are etched onto the piece of paper, blue water colored hastily and out of line, a simple boat that looks more like a banana floating in the middle of it while it carries a little stick figure holding a much taller one by the hand, identical curved lines spread wide on their round faces. Your name is written messily in the corner and right under it, in much neater writing than your messy one are the words; one day.

You slide to the floor, eyes scanning over the drawing endlessly, trying to desperately convince yourself that it couldn’t be yours, that he couldn’t have kept it all this time—why would he?

“Daddy! Daddy!” You started from your place in his office, dragging the book with you as you ran to him, not caring that you were slurring words. “This really a city on water?”

Tony, who had been reading over something looked up and smiled when you shoved the book of different places around the world in his face. “It is.”

“Can we go, puhlease, daddy?” You glanced up at him, doing your best to wobble your bottom lip.

He chuckled. “Better learn how to swim first, kiddo.”

You frowned, staring at the picture in your book. “You think momma will sign me up for swimming?” Mom didn’t seem to like it when you wanted to do things without her anymore.

He picked you up and settled you on his lap, staring down at the picture over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. If she says no, I’ve got your back.”

You beamed, eyes wide with excitement and childlike wonder. “So we can go?”

“One day,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Tiny arms wrap around your neck from behind, warmth spreading around you. Maria's soft voice echoes in your head, reminding you that Tony did love you. He always loved you.

Your eyes lift from the paper and standing at the door is Steve. He watches you, eyes soft and warm and restraining himself physically from running to you by grabbing onto the door frame. Instead, he stays in place as Maria holds you as you allow yourself to cry.

It takes two weekends and a couple days in between to clean up the house. Truthfully, most of the time, you find yourself hating it; hating yourself, hating this, hating Tony, hating mom, everything. It’s emotional and draining and it takes a lot of breaks and quiet moments to recollect yourself, but you somehow manage, especially when you tell yourself to be strong for Maria.

It’s hard to part with Tony and Pepper’s things. Especially now that your feelings are all over the place; it’s like you’re giving up a part of them that you never allowed yourself to see and learn. It breaks your heart.

It’s even harder for Maria.

She clings to your waist, watching as Steve and Pietro load a rented truck with the things that you don’t really need, but could have kept if you wanted to. You had both agreed there are people out there that need them more than you.

She’s trying to be strong, but the tight hold on your waist says otherwise, and you don’t blame her. While you’re giving up a part of them you never tried to get to know, she's giving up every single thing she knew about them and loved them for. But Maria understood that it was time to move on, for your sake, and hers. And with Steve’s help, you did compromise. You both kept a couple of things of theirs that you just couldn’t bare part with. You weren’t letting go of Tony and Pepper completely.

You smooth her hair out of her face and she looks up at you with red eyes and you flash her a watery smile that she returns.

“I’m okay,” she says, as if reading your mind. Your thumb caresses her cheekbone as you cup her jaw, gently pressing her closer to you. “We’ll be okay.”

Yeah. You will be.

With the last of the boxes on the truck, Wanda turns to you with a patient and caring gaze. “You ready?”

“Readier than we’ll ever be.”

You help Maria into the passenger side of the truck and then slide in yourself after buckling her in. Steve hops into the driver's seat and looks at you as he starts the truck. You give him a small nod and smile and with one of his own, he pulls out of the driveway.

The ride to the shelter is quiet, the only sound coming from the radio station. Occasionally, you catch Steve staring at you and every time you do, you’d smile. The arm wrapped around Maria lifts from her small body to rub his shoulder, hoping to ease his worry, and it works because soon he’s more relaxed in his seat, no longer rigid.

Another thirty minutes in traffic and soon you arrive at your destination, a shelter for families from low income neighborhoods to come together and do activities and have healthy options for food, as well as a place to stay for families that have been forcibly relocated or lost their homes.

According to Steve and Maria, Tony and Pepper would donate a hefty amount of their personal savings and would hold charity events to help raise money for it—it being the Avengers Shelter. Before Steve made the suggestion, you had heard of the place, but you didn’t know Pepper and Tony were somehow associated with the foundation.

Apparently, they kept their donations a secret from most, never reporting it in their taxes. And the charity events were credited to the firm, not them, even if they were the hosts.

(“They saw no point,” Steve answered when you asked why. “Didn’t believe that good deeds should be announced, just… done.”

You frowned and leaned your head against the window. If you had known, maybe your stubborn ass wouldn’t have minded being linked to Tony and the firm so much.)

You help Maria out of the truck just as the back door of the place opens to reveal Sam, who flashes you a wide grin. At the familiar face, Maria wiggles out of your hold and runs to him, greeting him jovially. Clint and Natasha appear behind him along with a few other employees from the firm that you recognize.

Natasha gathers you into a tight hug as you greet her. “Come, let's leave the boys to do the heavy lifting.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but he agrees with his wife. “Go, take a tour, you’re gonna love the place.” He surprises you with a small kiss to your cheek before joining Steve and the others.

Natasha laughs at the expression on your face. “Well?”

Your eyes meets Steve’s and he tilts his head towards the shelter and you bite your lip before nodding. “All right.” Maria skips back to you as you hold your hand out for her.

You follow Natasha inside and immediately, apart from all the noise of children laughing and playing, are hit with cinnamon and nutmeg?

Natasha, noticing you sniffing the air, smirks and leads you to a closed door. “Baking classes. I think they’re making cinnamon spice cookies.”

Maria’s eyes light up. “Can I join?”

“There’s another class in an hour that you can join,” a female voice behind you announces, one that Maria seems to recognize because her head perks up and she smiles brightly not just at the opportunity to be in the class, but the person. “Hello, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, yet. My name is Maria Hill.”

You accept her handshake and return her polite smile with your own name.

“She’s the Director of the foundation,” Natasha explains as Hill leads you deeper into the place.

A child runs between your group and apologizes loudly, screaming something about being late for some kind of practice. Hill shakes her head fondly, calling out to the child to be more careful.

“So,” you start, glancing around and taking in the picnic tables with adults and children eating or helping one another with something—homework, paperwork, projects etc. Hill called it the Open Space. “You’re the reason why this place is so well taken care of and loved.”

She looks at you over her shoulder briefly before leading you outside to grassy terrain and Maria excuses herself by asking for permission to go play. Natasha goes with her. “As much as I’d like to take the credit, it’s actually all thanks to Nick Fury and your father, Miss Stark. They founded this place when it was most needed. I’m only helping grow what they’ve built.”

That news is a revelation to you. “I didn’t even know they founded this place.”

“Tony did prefer keeping some of his achievements private, surprisingly enough,” she jokes as you watch over the children playing on the small field. “But Fury has never shied from his accomplishments as Director, even after retiring he likes to remind me that he’s the reason they were able to secure this plot of land.”

You snort.

“I want to thank you,” Hill suddenly says and your head whips in her direction. “For the clothes and everything. I know it isn’t easy to give up their things, especially so soon after…” It’s been a couple of months, a little over half a year, but it still feels so fresh.

You press your lips together, one side lifting slowly. “It’s not, but we have to learn to let go at some point, don’t we?”

She studied you for a moment before smiling warmly at you. “As long as you take your time.”

Your pull at the hem of your shirt. “Miss Hill, if there’s any way I can help—“

She grips your shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, Tony and Pepper made sure that even after they’re gone, we’d be financially secure. We are, however, always looking for volunteers. And a secretarial position just opened up, if you’re interested.”

Your eyes widen. “I’d love to volunteer, but I don’t know about the job.”

“You’re still a student, correct?” You nod and she smiles. “Well, you’ll always have a job here, Fury made sure of that. Said that if his favorite ankle biter ever came around asking for a job, that we made sure we had one.”

You cringe; that definitely sounds like Nick all right. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs. “Don’t be. I’ve seen your resume.” You raise about eyebrow at that. “Besides Fury doesn’t vouch for just any body and I trust his judgement.” Her eyes move from your face to over your shoulder and she offers you one last squeeze and smile before pulling out a card from her pocket and handing it to you. “I should be heading back inside. If you have any questions, let me know.” You thank her and she gives a quick nod before leaving you.

Hands settle on your shoulders and they shake you gently, playfully. “What do you think so far?” Steve asks, his lips close enough to your ear to brush against your skin.

You lean back into him. “Why did Tony try to hide this?”

His hands travel down the length of your arms and they wrap around your waist, securing you against him. “He didn’t,” Steve answers, a little hesitant and that’s when you know it’s not because he wanted to hide this from you. It’s because you didn’t want to listen.

Your eyes water as Maria plays with the other kids, chasing them around the courtyard. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

His hold on you tightens and your hands land on his thicker ones. He presses a kiss to your temple. “No. You didn’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“But I could have,” your voice cracks and your head hangs low. “If I had just—if I hadn’t been so angry—“

He sighs and it tickles your ear, but you don’t move, allowing him to take hold of your hands as his warmth leaves your back. “I want to show you something.”

He leads you back inside and you look back at Maria and Natasha, finding Natasha’s eyes on you, a small smile on her face.

“We won’t be gone for long,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand.

Steve leads you upstairs, towards the offices of the staff and stands in front of the door. He lets go of your hand and turns on his heels to look down at you. “This—this was Pepper’s and Tony’s office.”

Your heart leaps and your take a step back. “Steve—“

He reaches for your wrist, holding it gently in his large hands. “I think… I think you should see this.”

His blue eyes are gently and full of patience, searching your face for who knows what. You shift on your feet, wondering whether or not you should convince Steve to take you elsewhere, but instead you let out a loud sigh and nod. “Okay.”

He lets go of your wrist to reach for the doorknob. “For two years now, Pepper was dividing her time between the firm and this place, so most of everything here was hers, except for—“ he opens the door and he steps aside to let you in, but you immediately regret it.

It’s another punch to the gut and your heart can’t take it anymore. It was so much easier when you thought Tony didn’t care about you, so much easier when you hated him. Now your emotions are all over the place and you don’t know what to make of them anymore.

On the right wall, opposite of the left wall full of bookshelves is a mural, a very familiar mural. Your little drawing that you made years ago covered every inch of the wall. How—?

“Tony wasn’t planning on just asking if you could be Maria’s guardian during the trip to the cabin, he was hoping you’d go to Venice with him the summer you graduate,” he whispers. “He wouldn’t stop talking about how when you were a little girl, you loved the idea of a city floating on water.” He chuckles, stuck in his own memories of Tony. He sighs fondly, his own eyes most likely on the simple mural of your five year old imagination. “He wanted to make that a reality for you one day.”

One day.

There isn’t going to be a one day because you were horrible, because you couldn’t for one moment give him a chance! Because your mother was vindictive and full of pettiness. Hatred, sorrow, confusion, every single emotion known to man crawls in your stomach, fighting upwards towards your head, pounding and pounding, trying to win a lost battle. You stagger back, but his arms wrapping around you stop you from falling on your ass. “I—“

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You breathe harshly and he gently coaxes you to turn to look at him, but you keep your gaze fixated on his shirt. “Steve, I—I think I need help,” you whisper.

His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your head to meet your gaze. “Hey, whatever you need, sweetheart, I’m here for you.”

Your lashes cling together, your nose burning as the tears begin to spring up. “No, Steve. I think I need professional help. I can’t—I’m feeling too much and I feel so overwhelmed, I—don’t know what to do,” you whisper harshly. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore!”

If it’s possible, his eyes get even softer and his bottom lip wobbles with yours, understanding and compassion flashing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Then we’ll find it. We’ll find help.”

You sob, pressing yourself against his warm body and cry, mourning for the man you never got to know, for the hurt your mother has caused, for the little girl that’s relying on you, and most of all, for the little girl who used to wait for her dad she thought had forgotten about her.

a/n: we’re getting closer to the end and so much is still being unraveled and somethings are slowly being answered. the next chapter (or two) will answer a lot of unanswered questions or might even bring up new ones, who knows -insert winking emoji- lemme know what you thought and maybe your theories?

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #reader insert #marvel imagine #steve rogers fanfic

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andersunmenschlich · 5 years ago

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Episode 18: The Man Upstairs

All right—let’s see how long this one takes me. Listening, writing, listening, writing....

[August 8, 2020: begin!]

This statement was given in December 2008 by someone named Kristoff Rudenko, and has to do with (as the episode title might suggest) a man who lived in the apartment above the one our statement-giver moved into sometime in 2002, later in the year. Apparently the place was called Welbeck House.

I have some experience with people living above me. The apartments I choose as a photosensitive tend to have people upstairs of them. What can I say? Basements are nice when light hates you.

Kristoff saw the man for the first time the day he moved in.

According to our statement-giver, the man was leaning out of his window, smoking... while wearing a hooded jacket pulled up so tight it obscured most of his face. Now, I don’t smoke, but that seems like a rather odd way of doing it to me. Surely it can’t be that convenient to stick something into your mouth while you’ve got your face all wrapped up? At least I’ve never seen anyone doing it that way. Even in quite cold weather people seem to prefer to leave their faces mostly exposed while smoking.

The weather on this particular day, Kristoff says, was gray and overcast with the possibility of rain later. Hmm. Is this the type of weather in which one would wear a coat while still technically indoors? This is a genuine question: I’m a cold person in many ways, and often wear jackets when others wouldn’t.

Well, perhaps it is that cold, or perhaps the man upstairs also possesses an unnaturally low body temperature.

He certainly possesses an unusual odor. Our statement-giver describes it as “halfway between the smell of a pavement after rain on a hot day and chicken that’s starting to turn,” which is difficult for me to imagine.

The man, leaning out his upstairs window, watches Kristoff move in for a while. Then, between one trip and another, he vanishes. Presumably he finished whatever the heck it was that he was smoking. One wonders: did the smell come from him, or from his unhealthy little treat? Our statement-giver doesn’t tell us what it was the man was smoking, forcing us to make do with the vague conclusion that it must have been something common for the time and location.

Wandsworth near London, later in the year 2002... a cigarette?

It could, of course, have been a cigar, a pipe, a marijuana roll-up, a hookah, or almost anything else, since we’re not told—but I assign higher probability to a cigarette than to any other possibility.

...Ha. Why, yes: I do have a certain fondness for precise and detailed information. However could you tell.

Speaking of precise and detailed information, Kristoff admits he had no idea whether the man upstairs was a man, he just decided to assume—which is an admission I like, because frankly I think admitting you’re making an assumption is a step up from making the assumption and apparently never even noticing that it is an assumption, and might be incorrect.

Kristoff also gives us more information about his own internal workings by letting us know that, despite not knowing why, he was “slightly spooked” by the encounter. Something in this other tenant’s manner, he says, shook him.

Well, being stared at by someone for the better part of half an hour might be a bit unsettling, don’t you think? Smell or no smell.

The man upstairs is apparently reclusive and stays quietly in his own place most of the time, with only his smell wandering around bothering people. Kristoff has another go at describing it and comes up with “rotten and earthy,” but also notes that it stays out of his place—which I think is interesting, don’t you? In my experience living downstairs from people, scents come right on down, floors and ceilings no obstacle to their passage.

Despite this, Kristoff gets in the habit of burning scented candles. Of course, all candles have a scent. I have a habit of using candles and lamps for lighting, and I’m familiar with the various odors—but specially scented candles are, I think, nice when you’re in the mood for them.

Returning to Kristoff Rudenko: Things were pretty all right for the first two years.

In 2004, however, the banging started.

It’s the day before our statement-giver’s 37th birthday, and he’s clearly planning one of the many sorts of party that I don’t enjoy, since he’s unpacking a whole crate of beer when the noise begins.

Ten minutes of banging, which seems to start on one of the walls in the apartment above, but then moves to the floor, and is vigorous enough to make our story-teller’s light sway with the force of it. This hammering carries on (presumably moving the whole time) for nearly a full hour. Kristoff, despite being the social, party-throwing type, apparently has enough normalcy in him that he does not want to interact with the tenant in the flat above him, and so he simply puts up with the noise until it stops.

This reminds me, for no particular reason, of the time Walmart was selling coconuts for fifty cents.

I bought one. I brought it home. And then I spent far too long trying to get the confounded thing open. Really I should have given up the instant I tasted the milk after holing and draining it—that liquid did not taste right—but I’ve never liked coconut milk and so I thought perhaps that was the problem.

When, after what felt like a small eternity of increasingly vigorous abuse, the coconut finally cracked open, I was delighted. The people upstairs from me were probably also pleased, though I really couldn’t say for certain.

In any case, the coconut was exactly what I should have expected for 50¢.

Kristoff Rudenko has his party, and manages to annoy the family across the hall so much that they actually come and ask him to turn his music down. He, meanwhile, is pleased that the man upstairs is apparently back to being a thoughtful neighbor. I wonder how many people are actually aware of their own hypocrisy? “Boy, I’m sure glad that one neighbor isn’t annoying me! This way I can focus on annoying my other neighbors. Whew. Big relief.”

The man upstairs is quiet for another two weeks—then, apparently, it’s hammer time again. Walls first, then floor, and after about an hour, silence again.

Every two weeks.

Must say, that would aggravate me, too... and I’ve been putting up with random banging and unannounced water shut-offs since I moved into this new place at the very end of May. Sharing space with other living things? Not, in my experience, an excellent idea.

Furthermore, buying an apartment in Welbeck House is essentially the same as buying a very small house built right up against your neighbors’ houses, so....

No landlord. No housing association, even.

Kristoff Rudenko carries on not talking to his upstairs neighbor about this regular percussive behavior, and simply stews for about six months, at which point the mail service accidentally delivers a package meant for his neighbor to him instead. It’s not a box package, mind you. It’s one of those shipping envelopes for smaller packages, and is apparently simply stuffed with padding (not a bad idea when sending anything even slightly breakable through the mail).

Finally, Kristoff goes upstairs and knocks on the door of the flat above his own, taking along the package addressed to that flat—a package meant for someone named Mr. Toby Carlisle. It’s an excuse, you see. Now he’s not just there to complain, he’s making a delivery and incidentally mentioning that Mr. Carlisle’s banging and thumping is bothering him.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how difficult people sometimes find it to complain about perfectly complainable things? And yet at other times they’ll throw a completely unwarranted tantrum over something as silly as a store being out of pennies.

Truly, humans are fascinating.

[August 9, 2020: continuing]

Mr. Toby Carlisle seems to have had an effect on the place where he lives. The wooden door looks older and more beat up than any of the other apartment doors in Welbeck House (which, according to Kristoff Rudenko, all seem to have been replaced fairly recently), and the carpet directly in front of the door is a bit stained, like something’s leaked out from Mr. Carlisle’s flat. Also, there’s no apartment number, no nameplate, nothing to identify the place or show who lives there.

I suppose that might explain the misdelivery. Bit difficult to get packages to a place with no address or name on it, isn’t it?

Kristoff knocks on the door.

No one answers.

He knocks again.

This time he can hear someone coming towards the door—but the possibly carpet-muffled footsteps stop on the other side of the door and then there’s just nothing for a while. Total silence. Our statement-giver is about to knock again when, unexpectedly, the door opens.

It doesn’t open much. Just a crack. But it’s enough for Kristoff to A) see that there don’t seem to be any lights on in the place, B) get hit by a whole lot of horrible smell, and C) tell that there’s someone standing there.

“What do you want?” apparently-Toby-Carlisle asks.

Kristoff Rudenko does the package thing. You know: “Uh, I got a package for—are you��?” and so on.

Silence again. Then, suddenly, a thin and pale hand with long and dirty yellow fingernails and a dark red mark that might be an injury of some kind on the back of it shoots out and snatches the package. The door slams.

Well, it’s not a terribly polite way of receiving packages, is it?

Adding lack of proper cleanliness to the other charges, this Toby Carlisle left a disgusting smear of some sort of thick, off-white liquid on Kristoff Rudenko’s jacket sleeve when he so rudely grabbed the package from him, and the stuff smells terrible. In fact our statement-giver says he had to throw the jacket away because the unbearable smell would not come out.

Really now. Is it so difficult to maintain a level of hygiene such that you don’t leave rotting goop on everything you touch?

Kristoff Rudenko, it seems, decided not to knock on the door again and broach the subject of the fortnightly banging. Frankly I can understand his desire to go away and not come back, but it seems to me that he’s unlikely to get a better opportunity.

“Yes, one more thing,” he could say. “That hammering you do every two weeks; what on earth are you doing? And is there no way to do it a little more quietly?”

He’s right there at the door, after all. It’s a very convenient location.

Instead, Kristoff goes away and doesn’t try again. “That was it for a long time,” he says. “The man upstairs was named Toby and he was a disgusting shut-in who smelled rancid and occasionally made hammering noises. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something I could understand and live with. Two years passed like this, and I had almost forgotten about him, to be honest. He had become just another part of my life, and could be lived around.”

I find that remarkable. How does one forget about continual eruptions of horrible noise? Even “almost”? It seems like the kind of thing which would drive me absolutely bonkers.

And I speak from current as well as past experience, because the “temporary maintenance issue” that’s still, after more than two months, waking me up in the middle of the day and shutting my water off at inconvenient moments... this isn’t a thing I’m likely to forget about, nor even almost forget about.

It’s very annoying.

But Kristoff Rudenko, it would seem, has managed this apparently impossible thing, and so he didn’t really think about Toby Carlisle until late 2007.

[August 13, 2020: back from work]

At this point, our statement-giver has decided to move to Sheffield to be closer to his ailing mother, and so he’s trying to sell his place. This is difficult, because eventually every prospective buyer asks the looming question: “What’s that smell?” The third set of viewers even points out a stain on the living room ceiling, which they assume is the result of a leaky pipe.

I’m pretty sure it’s not a leaky pipe.

Kristoff tries to get hold of a plumber, but for some reason they can’t get to him before next week. So he has to wait, and in the meantime the smell gets worse and the stain gets... stainier.

“As it grew, it started to turn a dark yellow in color, and glistened ever so slightly when the light hit it.”

Doesn’t sound much like anything you’d expect to come out of domestic piping. I’m reminded of blood plasma, or melted fat—both of which I’d expect to smell rather worse than simply “rotten and earthy,” though I suppose the second one might smell a bit like “chicken that’s starting to turn.” Hmm.

In any case, Toby Carlisle isn’t answering his door anymore.

When the male plumber turns up, he touches the ceiling and it just... collapses. Kristoff Rudenko describes it as “buckling and tearing like wet cardboard.”

Disgusting gunk comes out of it, too. Sickly yellow fluid with viscous white lumps, you say? No, that doesn’t sound like anything I’d expect to find in a ceiling (nor in a floor, come to that).

Kristoff Rudenko throws up.

The plumber, presumably due to lots of experience with gross things, only looks like he’s about to throw up, and excuses himself.

[August 15, 2020: continuing]

Once he finishes vomiting, Kristoff Rudenko is furious with the man upstairs. Understandably. What sort of horrible neighbor does a thing like that to someone else’s ceiling? Come to that, what kind of person would do something so repulsive to their own floor? Whatever type of individual this is, they’re clearly one in need of punishment.

You see, it’s not a good idea to let people do things which inconvenience others too greatly. Even if they’re not harming you at the moment, they may in future—or others, following their example, may. Deviation from standard social behavior is only acceptable to a point.

Storming upstairs to pound on your neighbor’s door, you may say, seems like a bit of a deviation from standard social behavior.

This is true.

When punishing someone for deviant behavior, it’s acceptable to deviate a bit yourself. This is part of what makes it so satisfying, I think: when punishing someone else for hurting you, you’re allowed to hurt them. Allowed, you understand? So long as you don’t seem to harm the person in question more than those around believe they harmed you, you have a free pass.

Since this Toby Carlisle has actually damaged a place in which multiple people live, Kristoff Rudenko is free to tell him off considerably. Maybe even hit him, if he seems belligerent or particularly unrepentant.

It’s a very good situation for Kristoff.

When he begins to bang on the door and shout for the man upstairs to come out or he’ll call the police to fetch him out, the door swings open slightly.

It isn’t locked. I wonder how long it hasn’t been locked? I wonder how heavy the door is, that normal knocking wouldn’t push it open (and pounding only moves it slightly). Maybe the carpet’s especially thick, because Kristoff Rudenko has trouble opening it. He manages to get it open enough to allow passage, but for some reason can’t open it all the way.

He fumbles for a light switch, and finds one. There’s something on the wall beside the switch, though: something soft and wet.

The light comes on.

Someone’s been redecorating. Now, personally, I don’t understand the urge. I only started putting things on my walls after a visitor commented on their utter blankness—something about how it didn’t look like a human lived there.

I am, of course, human. Human, human, human. Just look at my neck!

That said, it seemed to me that it might be a good idea to decorate a bit more, and so I put up a few reproductions of classic paintings.

...I was later informed that this, too, was somehow suspicious. Really, I don’t know what anyone expects from a normal apartment. Mine has floors. It has walls. It has ceilings. I’ve put towels and washcloths in the bathroom and kitchen, a jacket in the closet by the door, clothing in the closet in the bedroom; I’ve got a toothbrush, toothpaste, a sleeping bag, and even some food in the fridge—and perhaps most importantly, I have not plastered any of the surfaces in my apartment with meat, either raw or cooked. What could be more normal?

At the very least, I think it’s fair to say that Toby Carlisle’s apartment is considerably more abnormal than mine.

“The light that came on was weak and tinged with red, but it was enough to see by. I looked around, and saw that every surface, the walls, the floor, the tables, everything except the curtained windows, was covered in meat.

“Steaks, chunks of chicken, even a whole leg of what I assume was once lamb, had been nailed everywhere. There were layers of it, the newest additions simply stuck on top of the old, and a putrid yellow-white rot could be seen where the oldest pieces had long since turned to liquid. Flies buzzed thick in the air, and maggots carpeted the place. Looking up, I saw the light too, had been smeared with meat, causing the place to be bathed in that dull red light.”

Now, I have no objection to red light, particularly when it’s not especially bright. In fact I prefer it. But this method of obtaining it doesn’t seem sanitary.

Our statement-giver doesn’t tell us whether the meat in question is cooked or uncooked. Perhaps he can’t tell. Once piece of it, however, is probably uncooked: the body of Toby Carlisle, lying in the hallway. The face is no longer hidden, and apparently it’s so riddled with holes that Kristoff can’t tell where the eyes used to be.

This seems unlikely, since eyes tend to be in roughly the same place on every human body, and usually they’re fairly symmetrical. So are there a lot of “puckered, septic lesions and holes” in the same places on the right and left of Toby’s face above the nose?

If so... well, I do appreciate symmetry.

Moving apparently on instinct, Kristoff Rudenko calls the police.

And then, with the phone in his hand, his eyes fall on the thing in the kitchen. Toby Carlisle’s been doing a craft project!

“There, in the center of the floor, was a pile of discarded meat and bone, stacked almost as high as a person. It seemed less decayed than the rest of it, though that foul yellow fluid oozed from it, and ... when I looked at that heaped pile of meat, it moved. I don’t know how—I don’t know quite how to explain it, other than to tell you that it opened its eyes. It opened all its eyes.”

Now, that’s interesting.

A thing built out of meat and bone from... where? The supermarket, probably, given the location. So—dead things from which the life’s long since departed. But there’s life in it, isn’t there? And what, I wonder, has happened to the life of Toby Carlisle?

Personally, if I were going to give a craft project life, I wouldn’t give it my own.

Do you think Toby Carlisle meant to sacrifice himself to this? Or was it an accident? And where did the other eyes come from? I don’t know how things are in your supermarkets, but where I shop most meat doesn’t come with eyes. Surely the only available eyes would be the ones Toby Carlisle once had? Also, what is it with The Magnus Archives and eyes? I’m certain I’m not imagining it now: there are eyes everywhere in this show.

“The next thing I remember,” our statement-giver says, “is the police’s arrival, and a lot of questions from officers trying to hide the fact that they had just finished vomiting. The pile of meat was gone, though the bits that had been nailed to the walls and floors remained.”

So... Frankenstein’s monster left.

But let’s pause and have a think about this. In late 2002, Toby Carlisle already smelled funny—yet he was quiet and the smell wasn’t overly intrusive: just a few whiffs here and there. In July 2004, he starts banging.

I think we can assume this is when the carnal redecoration began. Walls first, then floors, yes? Kristoff Rudenko never mentions the ceiling of Toby’s apartment aside from a note regarding a light fixture. Is rotting flesh nailed there too? Did our crazed meat-painter smear the ceiling with blood and fat? Or did he leave the ceiling itself untouched? These are the kinds of details I’d like to know, and Kristoff Rudenko is not being particularly helpful!

Six months of an apartment papered and carpeted in beef and chicken and lamb and so on and then, in early 2005, Toby Carlisle receives a package.

...A “thick and soft” envelope.

Now, you can have meat shipped to you through the mail, but that is not the right way to do it. There are regulations for the shipping of meat in, I think, every country on Earth. You can’t simply pack meat into an envelope and send it off, that’s a biological hazard!

And yet it’s only in late 2007, after three years of rotting meat, that Kristoff Rudenko says “the smell had begun to pervade my whole flat.”

I would have expected the odor to become a problem long before that! Perhaps our statement-giver has an unusually poor nose... or maybe Welbeck House was built to a truly enviable standard of insulation.

In any case, a hazmat team has to be called in to clean the place up.

Kristoff Rudenko does not mention how the police responded to the dead body. He says nothing about an investigation into either murder or suicide. Does this mean Carlisle’s monster took his old body with it? Does it mean that the police went with either “suicide” or “natural causes” as an explanation for death? Or does it mean that they simply didn’t do anything with it at all, officially—cleaned everything up and pretended it never happened?

Information! Why are we missing so much information? Ahh, well... I suppose these episodes would never end if everything was gone into in as much detail as I’d like. All things considered, this is fine.

Kristoff Rudenko moves in with some friends in Clapham:

“People who are very clean, and don’t mind the fact that I have recently become a vegetarian.”

As someone who has occasionally felt tempted to partake when passing roadkill, I can’t say I understand this reaction. It’s true that I like my meat closer to living than to decomposing, but that is the natural progression—for all living things, vegetables included. First they live and grow. Then they die. Then they rot. We all know this, yes? So why should seeing things at the end of that process put you off eating them at an earlier point?

Well.

Jonathan Sims says, “Looking into this one has proven a bit tricky, as police, hospital and even fire department records give wildly conflicting reports.”

So! I take this to mean that each department wrote up reports it thought worked as plausible explanations—without consulting with one another. In short: they cleaned everything up and pretended the event itself never happened. It’s the gas leak by the Mion River, handled by a bunch of people who aren’t with a single organization (like the Holy Church).

We’ve got a date for the discovery, though: October 22, 2007.

Ah, and Carlisle’s monster didn’t take the body. “The cause of death was listed as gangrene,” which doesn’t seem terribly believable to me. Who dies of gangrene these days? With antibiotics available everywhere?

But then Toby Carlisle, even aside from rituals involving bringing unnatural life to monsters of flesh and bone, wasn’t exactly usual.

Who knows? Maybe he did cut himself on something, and elected to leave the infection entirely untreated. It isn’t as though he’d have to visit the hospital for a little cut—recluse that I am, I’ve treated enough of my own injuries to know what can and can’t be handled at home. A little soap and water, hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol, a tube of triple antibiotic ointment, a sterile bandage... unless you’ve actually cut your arm open and gotten something unusually nasty in the wound... and even then! gauze and a packet of sutures should take care of the worst you’re likely to get at home.

Was Toby Carlisle the type to simply let his injuries, small or large, fester? I suppose he might have been. He certainly doesn’t seem to have cared about keeping his living space clean and healthful.

Kristoff Rudenko hasn’t died yet.

And Incredibly-Competent-Assistant Sasha has turned up Toby Carlisle’s financial records, which seem to suggest that he was making money somehow, but it was all going to pay for his place—and where was he getting the meat? There are no records of purchases made in person or online.

Assistant Tim, despite asking everywhere, hasn’t been able to figure it out.

Assistant Martin is still having stomach problems, it seems.

[August 16, 2020: concluding]

And Head Archivist Jon, like me, is bothered by not knowing where the meat was coming from. Given that it obviously wasn’t coming from any of the more conventional sources, though... well, maybe some of those cold cuts came with eyeballs after all.

Still, I’d very much like to know whether any of the eyes that thing opened were (or had been) human.

#The Magnus Archives #episode 18 #commentary #late to the party

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