#can i remember this from muscle memory alone. unfortunately: no

[catilinas]

*unhexes your flexagon*

[serejae]

margaret

myung jaehyun x doodler!reader

syno; a pencil lead you to him now

a/n ; uncapitalization is intended, some kissing, inspired on our beloved summer besides the exes factor lol :-), enjoy

it was a late night, jaehyun wasn’t home yet and you couldn’t quite fall asleep yet. so you decided to kill two birds with one stone. ever since you were young you had a hobby of drawing, it was normal for you to get asked from people to draw them. unfortunately for them your drawings don’t focus on people but rather sights. as you organized your old drawings you came across a dusty folder hidden all the way in the back of your shelf, curious to see what it is you grab it and clear the dust off. the cover of the folder doesn’t go unnoticed with masking tape messily on it with the words “DO NOT OPEN. YOURE CRAZY.” written on top. you laugh to yourself slighty and take the risk going against your past self. when opening the folder a tiny pencil falls out and all the memories suddenly flash back. picking up the pencil, you immediately sit down and go through the folder.

-

it was almost 2 years ago. you were sketching in a cafe when you got distracted by your phone that you didn’t notice one of your pencils falling out of your pencil case. someone suddenly diverts your attention away from your phone. looking up you see the most (not even exaggerated) mesmerizing man, his lips turn up slight and he clears his throat “sorry for bothering you, but your pencil fell” he said with a slight blush on his face and reddish ears. you laugh slightly and thank him expecting that to be the end of your conversation but to your suprise he paused for a second thinking about what to say

“are you here alone?”

the wise answer wouldve been no, i mean you dont even know the guy

“yeah”

“can i sit?”

-

while reminiscing the moment you played with the pencil, the pencil was special, not only because it lead you to jaehyun but the steps it took to realize you loved him.

there were 2 drawings of jaehyun. the only drawings you ever drew of a person

-

drawing 1 .

its been 2 weeks since you met jaehyun. you both had been talking regularly and you hated it: not because you disliked him or anything but rather the opposite. you found yourself developing a

crush. :-/

as you sat at your table shaking your good pencil between your fingers staring at the blank paper that seems to be staring at you back. thats when you started imagining eyes, nose, lips, a face on the paper but not just anyones face. it was myung jaehyun’s. you never had the urge or willingness to draw a person but something inside your soul was telling you to. trying to push the thoughts back you starting thinking to yourself

“i don’t even remember his face accurately”

“its been 2 weeks pfft”

*ding*

pausing at the notification you flip your phone over and the screen illuminates.

myung jae !

**ONE NOTIFICATION **

“if your not too busy do you wanna ft?:p”

fuck.

before replying back (a obvious yes) you scramble your desk for the pencil he had handed you that day. the pencil was tiny, you kept it because you kept forgetting to throw it away but once you find it you reply with a

“sure”

cant seem too desperate right?

and as he calls you and the screens connect, your met with a familiar face and start doodling. focusing on his voice and you drew, you looked up every so often studying his face.

after finishing you date the corner and shove it in the back of your drawer.

-

drawing 2 .

your crazy.

its been 9 months since you first met jaehyun and it takes every muscle in you to not draw him. you can’t feed into your delusional or into the thought that you might have a crush on him. at this point its more then a stupid crush. you would say you just really really really like jaehyun but you guys werent even dating yet and thats the problem.

everyday for these past 9 months the two of you have become incredibly close, might i add a little too close.

all you could think about was him and normally in situations like this you would draw things you like to get your mind off of whatever you were stressed about which sadly wouldn’t work in this situation

as he was what you like and all you could think about.

after a hour on debating (3 minutes) you sigh and open your camera roll, opening the album “mjae<{3” your favorite photo of him, one you didnt even know you took but there was something different about the photo

his eyes.

theres no way he couldnt feel the same about you, right?

shut up.

you stopped the thoughts and started doodling, sketching all the details on his face. youve memorized his face probably more then your own now that you think about it.

adding the finishing touches and dating it, you back away from the paper and stare at it

how does he have you wrapped around his finger so well?

grabbing your phones you search variations of questions into google

“why cant i stop thinking of a guy”

“how to know if you like a guy”

“does my crush like me????” you made sure to find one made bv a guy to insure accuracy.

unfortunately the answers didnt help you

they all lead back to love

and thats when you realized

you don’t really like myung jaehyun

your inloveeeeeeee with myung jaehyun.

jumping onto your bed you scream into your pillow and go into a rage. scrambling around your room you find a folder, empty everything inside, get tape from your desk and aggressively put the tape on there. taking your marker you write “DO NOT OPEN. YOUR CRAZY.” you stuffed the current drawing in there as well dug in your drawer for the previous one. once inside you grab the pencil that started it all and put it inside too. then shoving it to the back of your shelf.

-

a year after meeting jaehyun thats when he finally asked you to be his partner, he had asked to meet in the same cafe you 2 had met. you arrived on time while jaehyun was a bit late, you didnt mind too much though. while waiting you scrolled on your phone when you suddenly heard a voice

“excuse me?

i think you dropped this.”

you look up confused and see a bouquet of flowers with a sticky note attached to it

“be my partner? (plz)” as well a silly drawing of you and jaehyun as cat and dog. looking up you see his familiar face that has a reddish tint

“of course.”

-

you hear the door open snapping you out of your thoughts

“baby? im home!”

“at my desk jae”

you hear him shuffe his way to your desk and kisses you on the head before looking at your desk

“oh look! its the pencil i gave back to you when we first met, you still have it?” he laughed, his eyes shift over to the two drawings on the table of no other then, him.

“woah…”

he said as he picked up the drawings seeing the dated marks

“these are amazing babe, but i thought you didnt draw people?”

you look down at the pencil and smile

oh you couldn’t wait to tell him the storied behind the drawings

you looked up at the sticky note on your wall before opening your mouth

“funny story…”

[p0ckykiss]

stain on the sink - mingyu

summary - mingyu is sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at his phone. for some reason, he had thought that you, who has never even dyed your own hair, let alone someone else’s, would be the perfect person to bleach his whole head. you agreed after mingyu said he’d buy you dinner if you did it.

-> established relationship, kissing, fluff, sexual joke implication

the smell of bleach stuck to every surface in the apartment, no matter how many windows you opened. you knew it was inevitable but fuck, did it have to be so bad?

you walk back into the bathroom, the smell only worsening.

“your scalp burning yet?”

“i can feel it, but it's not hurting." you sigh in relief at that, you didn't want to have to drive mingyu to the hospital because of your combined stupidity.

you clean the supplies up off the sink, the box of leftover bleach finding a home in the back of the cabinet, shoves the plastic bag you'd received at the convenience store into the corner. after you're finished, you move away from the sink, nudge mingyu's leg with your own to get him to scoot over enough for you to sit. he complies, but even with the added space, you're thigh to thigh, the ledge uncomfortable as all hell.

mingyu looks up from his phone, meets your eyes before slipping a hand into your hair. he combs it back in the way he’d learned you like, done it so much it'd become muscle memory, repeats the action. mingyu thinks this is the most content he’d ever seen you, eyes shut and a soft smile laying across your lips.

you sit like that for a while, it could have been five minutes or fifteen. neither of you know, your only measure of time being that mingyu's phone had faded to black while he was preoccupied with you.

mingyu offhandedly comments, “your hair is so soft, i don’t think mine has been like that ever since i first dyed it,”

you remember that, the shock you felt when mingyu walked into your apartment with dark brown hair. the difference between his previously black hair and the dyed brown wasn’t much, not in reality, but to you it was like his whole world shifted. you can still recount how pleased mingyu looked with it, his laugh when you couldn’t find the words to convey his support. and you could definitely recall the newfound confidence mingyu had after, low hanging shirts and burning grins.

“i liked your dark brown hair, it suited you.”

mingyu hums, then asks, “is it your favorite?”

you don’t think much about his reply, mostly because you'd already spent hours debating this topic on your own, “no, i like that dark black you did a little more,”

“makes sense why you bought that then,” mingyu says, pointing at the unopened box of black dye that's peeking through the wrinkles of the convenience store bag. you may have attempted to persuade him into doing that instead, unfortunately without any luck.

glancing at your phone, you see that the timer you set has a minute left. you shove the screen in mingyu's face, disorienting the other for a moment. when his eyes focus on the numbers, he pats your thigh with his hand, stands up, and stretches his back.

“shampoo?” he asks, elbow stretched behind his head.

you hum in confirmation, get off the tub ledge and grab your gloves again, the tight nitrile meeting your skin once more. you pull the shower curtain to cover the outside, twist the knob to turn the showerhead on.

while turned away, you feel arms circle around your waist, chin digging into the flesh of your shoulder. though you don’t want to, you tug one of mingyu's arms away from you and bring him towards the shower.

“put your head in, dummy.”

mingyu surrenders, leaning forward into the water, allowing you to shampoo the bleach out. you can’t make a final decision yet, but in your unprofessional opinion, it doesn’t look half bad. sure, it isn’t an a-grade job, but you never claimed to be a miracle worker, only someone with two hands and box bleach.

when you're certain you've gotten it all out, you turn the shower off and grab a towel from the rack beside mingyu.

you begin to ruffle the towel against mingyu's hair, intentionally shaking mingyu's head side to side. he looks like a wet dog at this point, head drooped and yielding to the attack.

you think you're as far as you'll get with a towel and tap mingyu's chin to get him to look up.

though you were surprised when mingyu first dyed his hair, and you'd thought that was long enough ago for you to not be affected by any change to his hair color, you felt that breathless feeling from before all over again.

mingyu looked good, even with his shabbily bleached hair and old pajama shirt, because of course he did.

you have been staring for far too long, you know that. mingyu breaks the silence with, “so, you gonna give me a blow job?”

the moment is gone just like that, you slap mingyu on the side with the towel. 

“do you have no decorum, mingyu?”

“i meant the hair dryer,” mingyu quips, but the smirk on his lips says otherwise. 

“sure,” you reply, words coated thickly with sarcasm. 

when mingyu turns away to look in the mirror, leaning over the sink, hands running through his hair, he simply says, “thanks, babe,” before taking the towel out of your hands and beginning to hang it on the rack, in its previous spot.

“you’re so unfair,” you whine, and mingyu has the audacity to look confused, eyebrows scrunching as he looks over at you, extremely lost. you continue, “i bleach your hair, shampoo it out, and towel dry it, and all i get is a thanks? what happened to romance?”

mingyu laughs, head titling to the floor. you hold back a smile, knowing you've got him in the palm of your hand.

“romance? okay,” mingyu's hands meet your waist like they were built to be there, pulls you closer, breath hitting your lips. you like this more than anything else, even if the smell of bleach hasn’t stopped biting your lungs at every inhale you take. “thank you so much, y/n. how could i ever repay you?”

you find you don't need to answer that because your lips have already met, and words that didn’t need to be spoken are shared between your mouths, a secret for only you and the walls of the bathroom.

bleaching hair isn’t so bad. not when you get the reward of your still-gloved hands in mingyu's newly bleached hair and your bodies pressed against each other. you also get your free dinner, so it's a win for you in the end. 

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of fics where Louis and Harry have a one night stand! Of course, it often eventually leads to something more, but it starts with just one night. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Let's Get Naked & Explore. | Not Rated | 3,185 words

"Hm, I'd be embarrassed if I had any real morals." Louis smirked and pushed himself off the door ledge he'd been leaning against, walking further into the bathroom. "Good thing, too, otherwise we probably wouldn't have had all that fun last night." "Unfortunately I only remember bits and pieces." "Well, it's also a good thing I'm extremely talented at jogging memories."

2) Please Master | Explicit | 4,344

“I was staring at you”, Harry says quietly, his fingers dancing on Louis’ heated skin, “earlier, on the dancefloor. I know you noticed me. But you’re used to people staring, aren’t you?” Though the question comes with a chuckle, it feels to Louis as though he is being scolded. Scolded, for he is desirable, and innocent, and untouched, and irresistible. Words, all of which were said to him by Harry as he requested his company for his endeavors for the night. It was the manner in which he said them, with a drawl so slow it reminded Louis of the way he liked to pour honey in his tea in the afternoon; through a spoon slightly tilted, each drop a triumph of its own. Most he had liked how the words had melted his mind as hot water did to honey; persistently, inevitably. And, much like he does his tea, it appears he prefers his company – sweet, steaming, and alone. “I think you enjoy it. The staring. I think you find pleasure in knowing you are wanted, a thrill in being chased. How boring”, Harry says, appearing indifferent to Louis despite the cruel nature of his words. “It’s a pity. You enjoy feeling like a slut, but all you need is somebody to fuck the seductive little brat out of you.”

3) If It Hurts To Breathe, Open The Window | Explicit | 4,406

Louis looks wonderful himself, in a muscle shirt reading The Stone Roses and showing off all his own ink. His jeans are tighter than Harry’s, and there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is tatty and wild, and there’s a sex bruise on the bend of his elbow Harry didn't give to him.

4) Spark A New Flame | Explicit | 6,100 words

Louis is nineteen, Harry is twenty-one, and it's not all that hard to figure out what happens when they both go clubbing.

5) Let The Beating Waves Come Drag Me Down |Explicit | 9,447 words

“Just try it, the worst thing that could ever happen it’s that you won’t like it” Niall had told him. And there he was, on the way to one of these pubs created for perverts, willing to break up the routine to try something new, something that terrified as much as excited him. One night to get swept up in passion, one night to let the devil get in. "Tonight, I’m going to make you scream of ecstasy Louis,” he said with a raspy voice full of control, making him tremble with anticipation.

6) Night Out | Explicit | 9,741 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

7) Make It Feel Like Home | Explicit | 10,587 words

Paris was supposed to be the city of love, who thought getting knocked up by your one night stand whom you're really figuratively never going to meet again?

8) Put It On Me | Mature | 14,890 words

Harry's bachelor party doesn't go as planned.

9) I Won’t Give Up So Come And Get Me | Explicit | 15,322 words

“I can’t believe you’ve roped me into this.” Liam sighs and looks at his best friend slash flat mate behind him through the mirror he is currently standing in front of. “What are you talking about Louis? How have I roped you into this?” Louis is lying sprawled out on his back on Liam’s bed, watching him try on his eighth top from a pile on the chair next to him. “You know perfectly well how. I was quite content spending my Friday night staying in watching Netflix with a takeaway and now I’m being forced to go on a blind date with some bloke while you make bedroom eyes at your new boy toy.” Liam turns towards him, hands on his hips. his face set in a deep frown. “That’s a load of shit. Firstly, I didn’t force you, you were perfectly up for it last week when I asked, you’re just getting pissy with me because you are nervous. Secondly, it is not a blind date. Zayn suggested that he meet you as you’re my best friend and then I suggested he bring along his best friend to make it a bit more even, who said anything about you guys getting together?”

10) Sweeter Than Wine | Explicit | 15,339 words

When Wizard!Louis goes to a muggle club for a change of pace, his one night stand ends up being much more than he bargained for.

11) Carried Away Like Butterflies | Explicit | 17,243 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

It was probably a huge mistake for Louis to let his former One Night Stand move into his spare room, especially when said One Night Stand doesn't seem to remember him.

12) Wait For Me | Explicit | 17,454 words

Moving to a new place always comes with a few challenges. For Harry, it’s trying to start over after his divorce, while still doing his best taking care of his son. Though just like every parent, he is not infallible, so some mistakes are bound to be made, settling into his new role as a single-dad. For his son, Davie, moving means he has to get used to all the changes happening in his life through no fault of his own. Discovering a secret passageway on their new property lets him form an unlikely friendship with the young man and his dog he finds on the other side.

13) I Put A Spell On You | Explicit | 17,525 words

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

14) The Wild Night to Memory Loss to Soul Mates Pipeline| Explicit | 17,628 words

“What the fuck are you on—holy shit,” Louis gasps, looking down at his own hand to see a white gold band wrapped his left ring finger. “Wh-what is going on?” “Sure is a conundrum,” the man muses, realization flashing in his green eyes. “I-I’m not married, I can’t be married,” Louis mumbles to himself, staring wide-eyed at the ring, heart racing a mile a minute.

15) Let's Make Christmas Merry, Baby | Explicit | 19,871 words

Harry and Louis have to play Mr and Mrs Claus at a frat party and don’t get on, but keep getting stuck under mistletoe until they do

16) Moonlit Reverie | Explicit | 20,961 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis has always dreamed of getting kissed under the Eiffel Tower since he was a child. After ending a long-term relationship, he decides to treat himself to his dream trip to Paris and finds a lonely handsome stranger staring at the Eiffel Tower surrounded by other couples. He never thought he would ask a complete stranger if they could kiss under the glowing tower without even knowing each other but there he was.

17) What Happens In Vegas... Doesn't Stay In Vegas | Explicit | 21,976 words

What should have been a fun one-night stand in Vegas turns into something a lot more complicated. Because getting married is easy but getting unmarried... not so much.

18) You’re The Light | Explicit | 31,285 words

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

19) Something Along The Lines Of ‘An Office Love Story At Christmas’ | Explicit | 43,148 words

Harry hadn’t planned on seeing Louis again, not after that night. When he finds out his only competition for a very desired promotion is Louis, he spirals into a mess of trying to be a better coworker and person right before Christmas in hopes that he can outdo Louis’ effortless effect on his office. If he manages to get his head out of his ass along the way, it’ll be a holiday miracle.

20) Love’s Truest Language | Explicit | 48,195 words

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow. “Where's your order forms, then?” “I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him. Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

21) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76,584

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby. Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes. Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

22) Love Will Tear Us Apart | Explicit | 204,151 words

It was only meant to be a one night thing, but when the country goes into lockdown, Louis Tomlinson finds himself stuck in windsor castle, in company of his royal fucking highness, Harry, the prince of England.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[salmonskinrolltf]

I’m an 19 year old jock, brown hair, brown eyes. Could you send a copy of the Dukes of Hazzard Seasons? I really like Bo Duke from the show. Something about his himbo redneck charm just makes me fall for him.

Your Be Kind Rewind tape and die have arrived! You roll the die because the web site said you should, but when you roll a 1, nothing happens. You shrug and pop the Dukes of Hazzard tape into your VCR, hitting rewind so you can make sure to catch every moment from the beginning.

As the tape begins to rewind, you think about how you always kinda thought it made more sense for Bo to be gay, or at least bi. He certainly always seemed to prefer the company of Luke to any of the women in his life. You figured he needed a wild, rough-and-tumble redneck guy who could show up in his life and shake him out of his heteronormative upbringing, show him how different it can be to have a little fun with another willing guy.

Unfortunately, that someone can’t be you. Bo’s not real, first of all. But more importantly, you’re too much of a clean-cut jock for that. You think back to your latest game, and how great the uniforms made the asses of the other players look. Especially that one guy - what was his name? you can’t remember - when he was going to make a… basket? Field goal? What sport do you play again? You shake your head as your memories go fuzzy like an old television that needs adjusting.

You decide to reboot your memory by tracking back to the most recent thing you remember and working your way back to the present from there. You cycle through the fuzzy colors and blurry shapes until you hit on something. Siphoning gas from the sheriff’s tank so you could go on a joy ride. Now that memory is very clear, thankfully. What did you do after that?

As you ponder, you feel a tickling on the back of your neck as your hair grows, slithering down in a greasy tangle. The tickling hits your shoulders, and then your mid-back. You shake your head and your mullet flutters against your back. God, you love that feeling. It was hard-earned, too, it took you years to grow all that shit out.

The next memory falls into place. Going mudding with some of your cousins the day after your joy ride. What a good time! You shake your head again and the tickling transfers to the front of your face as a greasy brown beard drapes from your sideburns down across to your chin, a mustache sprouting as the cherry on top of the unkempt, disheveled sundae.

You stroke your beard as you smile and remember going cow-tipping the next day. You picked the biggest cow, of course, to prove how strong you are… While you think about your prowess, your athletic muscles actually shrink down a bit, leaving you with skinny arms and a slim torso where your ribs are in plain sight.

Getting hot, you remove your shirt and stuff it in your back pocket. Your memories are finally traced back to the game you were trying to remember… That game of darts you were playing at the local bar the other night. God, Buck’s arms looked so daggum delicious in that sleeveless denim shirt. You scratch your chest and light brown hair swirls in a spiral pattern from around your nipples, eventually spreading across your entire torso.

And that last memory brings you back to the present… what was it you were doing right now? You were getting ready to watch something, right? It was a… A… You wanted to watch the sunset from Makeout Point, yeah that’s what it was. But you didn’t want to go alone, which is why you parked your truck here by the local bar. You look around to see a serene roadside bar, the trees gently swaying in the humid breeze. You wipe sweat from your forehead, glad you already took your shirt off so you aren’t feeling too overheated. It’s been a loooooong, hot summer.

Suddenly the squeal of tires distracts you from your reverie. A slick car pulls up and out climbs the most handsome blond guy you’ve ever seen in your life.

You chuckle to yourself. This guy is a hunk of all-American beef, but you can see a little sugar in ‘im. You know he’d be willing to experiment if a stud like you showed him the ropes. He wouldn’t be able to resist your sexual magnetism. You spit on the ground, then whistle, catching his attention. He looks over at you and you wink. “What’s your name, pardner?” you ask.

[m00nsbaby]

Why won't you love me?

Steven x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Mentions of Marc x reader, unrequited love, angst.

Word count. 2.3

Summary.

You say you can't wait and need to make a change, You told me it's so hard to be lonely. Why won't you love me? We're together, all alone tonight, So helpless from the other side, So why won't you love me? Can you tell me why, my love? Can you tell me why?

Steven really can't remember the last time he was happy.

Truly happy.

Last week, he felt joyful when he finally got a book he had been searching for a long time. This week, he watched a documentary about world history that made him smile, but he never went beyond fleeting moments of mild joy.

He knew well that joy and happiness were immensely different things.

And the thing was, Steven Grant not only carried the weight of a life filled with gaps or being Marc's protective cushion for any trauma he had to face; the universe thought it would be funny to add unrequited love to the mix.

"Hey." His stomach fluttered when you looked at him. Under his breath, he played with his sleeves that were longer than his arms.

You smiled back at him.

"Steven." You were resting on his couch after spending the night with Marc. You were wearing his t-shirt, and the neckline was so loose that he could see the marks on your neck.

His stomach churned.

"I don't know why… I thought Marc…" He stammered. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because Marc isn't here."

You laughed, but the furrowed brow in your expression revealed your confusion. Steven was used to people looking at him like that.

As if no one could understand him.

"Steven." The way your name rolled off your tongue stole his breath. "Don't apologize; it's your body too. If anything, forgive me for invading your space."

"I like having you here."

And you didn't say more; you just kept smiling and turned your attention back to the TV.

It wasn't that you didn't have affection for Steven; it was impossible not to love him, but you were aware of his feelings. You knew that if you made a wrong move, he would take it the wrong way. You would never forgive yourself for giving him false hope.

Nevertheless, he thought all night about how you let him sit next to you on the couch to eat his cereal, even allowing your feet to touch his leg.

The bond strengthened gradually, with small gestures that unfortunately never went beyond Steven's eye.

When Marc started to be in charge more often, Steven asked you in an extremely intimate way to take care of Gus now that he found it easier to lose track of time.

"You're the best." His cheeks were flushed when he handed you the chocolates with a name in a language you didn't even recognize.

"Steven, you don't have to thank me." You laughed as your arms wrapped around him for a few seconds. A friendly hug, such an immediate response that receiving a gift and thanking with a big hug seemed like muscle memory to you. "It's nothing."

Not to mention the times you organized his apartment, and more importantly, his books.

The way you cared for him and welcomed him every time your paths crossed always made him feel… important, special. Appreciated, perhaps was the word he was looking for.

Spending time with him was for you like spending time with your boyfriend's younger brother, although your time with Marc was sacred, so your encounters with Steven were very limited.

"Sorry," was the first thing he whispered as he blinked to adjust to the lighting of the place.

You and Marc had taken a nap on the carpet in your room, and your body felt numb, a switch with Steven had probably been triggered by a bad dream. His heart nearly stopped when he felt your fingers intertwined with his.

"Don't apologize, Steven," you repeated for the thousandth time, your eyes still half-closed as you stretched.

You assumed that both of you would go back to sleep when the silence lingered, but it was interrupted a few minutes later by the boy clearing his throat.

"I'm not sleepy."

And you laughed.

"Do you want to play Jenga?"

And in less than 10 minutes, both of you were sitting on the carpet, face to face with the wooden pieces in between.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you ever been drunk?" Yes, you had spent the same 10 minutes asking Steven how many of Marc's experiences he had lived firsthand.

There weren't many, to be honest.

"Never." And he pulled out his piece. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Do you… Do you see yourself with Marc in the future?"

The question made you smile, partly out of tenderness, partly because the idea certainly caught your attention.

"Of course I do, sweetheart." Ouch.

And you pulled out your piece.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Take a shot. Whatever you want." And it was that small action that triggered a horrible butterfly effect for Steven.

The night went well; you could safely say that you played for at least two hours because even though Steven hadn't consumed alcohol, Marc's body was more than accustomed to the delightful burn of the liquid running down his throat.

You continued until both were giggling and flushed from the warmth provided by the whiskey.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you kissed anyone before?"

Steven momentarily thought he hadn't heard you correctly.

"Huh?" His heart had done a 360° flip. "No, never."

And maybe it was the alcohol, but you felt disgustingly sorry for him. It wasn't fair that he was living his life this way, through someone else.

He looked at you, expectantly, as if the idea had caused one of those cartoonish lightbulbs to appear and light over your head.

You moved a bit closer to him, and he did the same, his body pushing the Jenga tower until it undid hours of work. Both of you stared at it for a few seconds before returning to what you were doing.

He was the first to close his eyes on instinct, and when he was just millimeters away, you took a moment to analyze his features.

It was fascinating how Steven and Marc looked so different even though they shared the same body. Steven's features appeared relaxed, without Marc's tense jaw or furrowed brow. Your fingers caressed his cheek, and like a puppy seeking affection, he leaned his head into your touch.

One more nudge, and you kissed his lips. Slow, soft, careful to let him set his own pace. The pace of someone who didn't know how to kiss back.

His hand, like muscle memory, went to your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline slowly, and all you could think was that no one had ever been so gentle with you. It was the slight pressure on your neck that made you react and pull away.

You did your best to forget it, but Steven thought about it every night that came after that.

Of course, after that, your relationship changed for the worse, and your encounters became even more limited by your choice.

"I saw it on my way here from work." Steven was offering you a beautiful yellow flower, one of those that seem to be taken from a magazine.

You half-smiled, taking the flower and examining it more closely.

"Thank you, Steven." There was no hug, and there probably wasn't a genuine smile.

You didn't exchange words with him for the rest of the day, but he watched from the headspace as you returned to Marc's arms when he took charge again.

That smile that was never directed at him, and that warm touch he would never feel while in control of the body.

Marc felt a lump in his throat, wondering why he suddenly felt so sentimental, without even imagining that Steven's broken heart was starting to overflow everywhere in a way that he no longer had control over.

Steven never liked being looked at with pity. That's what Marc's expression on the other side of the mirror screamed.

"I can't do anything about it, buddy."

Perhaps the most painful part of accepting his feelings for you was having to deal with the idea that Marc explained to him that it wouldn't bother him at all if he were involved in the relationship, but the problem was that you weren't interested at all.

"I don't understand." His voice choked, and Marc could only feel that pressure in his chest when you don't know how to help someone you care about. "I don't like being alone, Marc."

He finally sobbed, lowering his head and letting the tears freely run down his face.

"You're not alone, Steven."

"You know what I mean." And he did, but it was a topic he didn't even know how to address. It hurt him, but he couldn't force you to reciprocate.

In fact, he didn't even feel comfortable playing the friend who speaks well of you to matchmake. There was no way he wanted to get involved in that way.

"I love her." He whispered, his chest undergoing small contractions from the force of his tears. "I love her, Marc."

"I know." That was all he could say.

And although Marc didn't know how to comfort him, the worst part was when he was alone.

There was nothing that terrified Steven more than being alone, which is curious because most of his memories are of him being alone, except for his weekly calls to his mother.

His fingers brushed against your side of the bed as he wondered if someday he would have the privilege of being the one to wrap his arms around you to sleep. If someday he could feel your warmth closer to him than usual.

Tears never took long to come when he imagined himself in Marc's place.

This time he let them flow without protest, and all he could think was that his body was too emotionally drained to sob, scream, or do anything other than cry and hug his pillow, begging for this nightmare to end.

Would he ever have something that made him happy? Could he ever taste what emotional peace is like?

Although that distant future mattered little to him as his body curled up on the bed, exerting force on his pillow until his arms hurt. His love for you was killing him.

Or maybe, he had invested so much emotionally in you that he didn't realize he wasn't dependent on you. That if he wasn't happy like this, then something as trivial as having you wouldn't give him what he was searching for.

Life always dealt him bad hands; he had realized that a long time ago. But right now, on a Wednesday night, it only confirmed his theory of terrible luck.

Your legs were up on the couch, and the only thing illuminating the dark apartment was the TV light over both of you.

As it turned out, Marc had fallen asleep with his head in your lap. Your right hand had your fingers intertwined with his over his chest; you could comfortably feel it rise and fall with his breathing. Your left hand had been hidden in his curls for quite a while now.

Steven woke up, but he didn't open his eyes when he became aware of the situation, even though it hurt his heart.

Your fingers were so delicate that they gave him shivers, and without letting go of you, he slowly turned so that he was facing the TV. You took it as an insignificant movement; Marc always did it while he slept.

"I love you," you whispered when you felt him relax again. You placed a kiss on his shoulder and returned your attention to the screen.

Steven could only think that he didn't want the night to end. He wanted to stay there for life if that were possible.

In his throat burned the thought that it would be Marc who would wake up in that same position in a few hours, and he was terrified that this might be the most he could get from you, and he was sure that it would happen.

You didn't feel Steven's tears on you; you were too focused on the TV to think about anything other than maybe Marc was relaxed enough to drool on you.

"Can we talk?"

"I'd prefer that we didn't, Steven."

He swallowed hard, and you continued to pour your cup of coffee without looking at him.

"Please, just…"

The cup slammed onto the kitchen counter, and he jumped in surprise when you finally raised your gaze to him.

"No, Steven. There's nothing to talk about." You couldn't bear to listen to him; you had been avoiding it for a long time to avoid dealing with this.

The idea of having to finish breaking his heart made you feel like vomiting, but slowly you were starting to feel cornered by the situation.

"Don't do it, please." Your voice broke when you saw tears fill his eyes. He was trembling, and you didn't know if it was because of the multitude of emotions he had pent up inside him or if he was starting to fear your increasingly agitated reactions.

You didn't want to hurt him, but you had a limit that was slowly breaking.

"I'm not interested, Steven." He remained silent, looking at you with a pout that was probably impossible to resist. "I never was."

Maybe this was what he needed to open his eyes, to understand that you were doing this for his own good.

"I l-love you, I really do." He stammered. He had a whole list of things he wanted to say to you, but his brain simply refused to express itself confidently when he noticed how angry you seemed.

Your eyes were filled with tears now too.

"You don't, Steven." You had to take a breath to keep from shouting. "You don't even know me; we haven't even spent a full day together. Do you understand that?"

He nodded slowly. The slow movement finally allowed tears to flow freely down his face.

"I love Marc."

After those words, both Steven and you stopped hearing each other. You both muttered meaningless things while you hurried to the bedroom to get dressed, with Steven walking behind you trying to convince you.

Not having space for yourself was suffocating you, and you rushed out of the apartment, with the image of Steven, sweet, sweet Steven, crying as if he had suffered the worst loss of his life, etched in your mind.

[revserrayyu]

Real quick Wardance thoughts [part 2]

**SPOILERS** for everything happening after the final match. Basically some story stuff and a bunch of goodbyes, but it’s mostly just me loving every second the Yaoqing trio is on screen.

Seeing a younger Jing Yuan is precious, but it was made even better hearing Alejandro’s natural voice during this short scene.

I know Igor was mentioned at the very start of this event and was sort of a constant, small side story amongst everything else, but his history and reason for entering the Wardance really was unfortunate from what I remember (which isn’t much.) Shame he’s no longer around. I would’ve definitely tried pulling for him if he ever had the chance to be playable.

While Jarilo-VI is no longer a small, unknown ball of ice floating in space, I was not expecting it to have more visitors so soon. I wonder how the Belobogians reacted to seeing their first foxian. & is it safe to assume that our pilot, who refuses to fly anymore, took the Astral Express here? Because that’s what I’m going to believe. Also, Seele spotted! Huzzah!! (no Serval at all though. I cry. or Clara now that I think about it.)

More allies, let’s goooo! Dang, imagine how awesome it would be to see Belobog experience other seasons aside from a perpetual winter. Or to have the residents able to travel outside the city’s walls, free from any danger. I adore everyone from Belobog so much and I hope they get the chance to live such fulfilling lives. They deserve it!

I have not checked the museum for myself yet, but if this photo is actually displayed there now, then that is so cute. And I know I can’t be alone in thinking this, but because of the striking red hair, Igor must be some sort of ancestor to Luka, yeah? It might be a stretch but they even got similar big grins too.

Alright, enough of my favorite planet and onto my favorite trio. Jiaoqiu sweetie, I treasure those few days so much! I just wish you were spared from all the trauma.

What a way with words. A poet, even. And yes of course I chose the first option. I feel bad pointing out his little slip up, but I wanted to know his reaction even more.

Pfft, the fact they let him talk for so long without mentioning he was facing the wrong way.. I’ll admit it is a bit comical.

Awww honey no! Don’t apologize! If I were them, I’d move myself in front of whatever direction he was facing so he wouldn’t feel bad.

It’s okay, we don’t blame you! At least he says it’s only his eyes that aren’t of any use instead of himself. That’s thinking positively I guess. I’m sure he’s still quite capable in doing many things, even in a kitchen. I mean, the guy had his eyes closed 90% of the time anyway, so surely he can still cook up a decent meal while blind thanks to muscle memory and his expertise. The other two would gladly assist him as well.

How much you wanna bet our Jiaoqiu isn’t going to listen to any doctor’s order because he’s a healer and knows his body better than anyone else? Feixiao & Moze are gonna make certain he heals up properly. But maaann, I wish they showed us Feixiao in the crowd during the final match, if only for a split second.

A perfect trio. One who can’t compete because of rules, another who wouldn’t fight because that’s not his job and the other who shouldn’t, lest he end someone’s life by accident. Pretty fair reasons.

Moze is an absolute mood. I’m not a big fan of chatting either. Quite ironic, given how much I can ramble on about this game and its characters, isn’t it?

Her whole “lacking in worries, regrets and rivals” outlook on life is wonder and I love it but NOW our Lacking General has but ONE REGRET! Aaaah.. honestly, I do too. I regret not pulling Jiaoqiu, but IN MY DEFENSE.. Feixiao was right after him and I needed to save big for her. I also didn’t really have a team suitable for our healer to excel in.. but next time for sure! I’ll bring him home!

Son of a bitch they’re so precious and sweet I wanna scream. It’s a blessing in disguise that this entire goodbye scene wasn’t voiced because if I had to hear all the emotion in their voices for this conversation I would’ve been an even bigger, sobbing mess.

Pfftt, thank you Moze for focusing on the task at hand. We can always count on him to be blunt.

Yeah how about NO. I do not wish to see you guys leave me! I’m holding onto that “for now” with such a tight grip. Y’all better return sooner rather than later, you hear me??

I absolutely took my time taking photos of them. I love ‘em with all my heart and can’t wait to see them more in future arcs.. as long as nothing else bad happens. Surely my devotion shall protect them from any troublesome plot! You hear me, Hoyo? Only wholesome and heartwarming stuff from here on out!

I am kinda bummed Huaiyan turned out to be nothing but a unique looking npc. He might not have been a character I might’ve pulled for if he was playable, but he would’ve definitely had some cool combat animations I’m sure.

I know I’ve said it somewhere before, whether in a post of my own or in comments, but Fu Xuan is probably my least favorite character. I just.. don’t vibe with her at all. I dunno. With that said, I didn’t mind that she was practically absent from these entire last two patches. So yes, I called her sassy, lost and short.

Astral Express parents showing up fashionably late to the party. Ya think a black hole or orbital laser could’ve destroyed Hoolay’s blood moon? We shall never know. I do wonder how their own task with those fossils and Ruan Mei turned out though. That’s something I’m looking forward to hearing more about, especially since Yaoguang mentioned at the end of the 2.5 story that our mad scientist has just boarded the Luofu too.

Huzzah, the end~ Much less serious this time around but at least we’re finally done. I wasn’t a huge fan of the Xianzhou during our initial trip here during the story, but these last two updates were some of my favorites for sure. (and I promise it’s not only because of my Yaoqing trio bias)

[mourningliliesmorningglories]

“Passed Alger Brook Road, I'm over the bridge.”

Remus never thought he’d be sitting on this train once more. In this moment, he’s 14 again. The hills roll by and if he closes his eyes, imagines just hard enough, he can still hear the clamouring and giggling that used to belong here. The train is empty, save for Remus, a special trip just for him. In the worst way, this is all too familiar. Like the trunk remembers the axe, Remus can’t help but feel he is gently travelling towards a terrible thing.

“A minute from home but I feel so far from it.”

Remus had lived in London for so long that the Welsh had been bleached out of his accent. Hope and Lyall were long gone, finally resting. And Remus was alone. Home had always been where his heart had lived. Never Wales though, never a place, always a person. Cariad. Cariad. Cariad. With every beat of his heart, Remus knows where home is. He thinks of James and Lily and Harry. He thinks of a home that once belonged to them.

“The death of my dog, the stretch of my skin.”

He thinks of a home that belongs to him, of a basement with a torn up mattress and a master bedroom with a leather jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Remus could never understand how people could one day lock a door and never open it again. Until he did. Slowly, the cottage grew to be too much, bore a weight so goddamn heavy that Remus shouldered it all. That house held the three people he loved, “love” his mind corrects him. He wonders whether in 11 years of solitude, that house too, would be reluctant to see him again.

“It's all washin' over me, I'm angry again.”

In a way, only Remus could understand why James and Lily had to die. Unfortunately, there is always a greater good. There is always someone, ‘something’ his mind hisses, greater than him. The rage is dormant now. The war is over. Remus knows loss incredibly well, walks hand in hand with her most days. Instinctively, he tightens his grip on his thigh. It serves as a reminder. You survived the war. You lost everyone you love. You are real. You are neither punished nor the punisher. Not anymore.

“The things that I lost here, the people I knew.”

Remus takes a walk along the length of the train. Nostalgia’s sake and all that. The open compartment doors rattle gently and the seats are vacant. For some reason, Remus half expected to run into a brick wall at King’s Cross. He doesn’t know how to exist in this space again, how to walk the halls of the castle without feeling like a ghost instead. Mostly, Remus doesn’t know how he could look into James’ faces and Lily’s eyes again, and see them on someone else.

“They got me surrounded for a mile or two.”

Logically, he knows “No.” is as good an answer as any. He made sure that there were no more favours, no more secrets. Remus knows that from 11, the castle cared for him. He also knows that care and respect go hand in hand. He has no debt to the castle but he does have duty to fulfil. For every man who obeys his duty, there is another who cannot. A prison cell briefly flashes in his mind, then a cupboard under stairs, then a set of silver handcuffs.

“The car's in reverse, I'm grippin' the wheel.”

The train shudders and stops. The sky is dark. Remus’ eyes are closed. He inhales deeply and lets muscle memory take over. His steps now echo down the empty train carriages. He is just as tall as the last time he stood here. This time, he leaves behind four giggling boys. He leaves behind the weight of a head in his lap. The image is superimposed into his eyelids. Remus hopes that everything that ever existed still exists in moments, even though we don’t get them back. The doors slide open and he steps onto the platform.

“I'm back between villages and everything's still.”

For the second time in his life, Remus John Lupin has the sudden and crashing realisation that he is totally and utterly alone.

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Hey does anyone remember Running from a Nightmare? I just did and um, finished the first half of it in the hopes it'll get me to finish the second some day soon already

I guess one can read this without any context and as a standalone brother's story but just in case

[Words 3,096]

———

Sonic has been feeling on edge for a couple of days now.

At first, he chalked it up to his sixth sense on the lookout for Eggman cooking something up again since the doctor was uncharacteristically quiet which meant the hatching of a new plot. But after his latest scheme was successfully trampled by yours truly and the steady build of anxiety in his gut didn't stop, he began to suspect something else was amiss.

Soon enough it felt like he was being watched.

Now don't get him wrong, he knows the amount of enemies and, uh, "fans" alike that like to keep a not-so-discreet eye on him, this didn't feel like he was seconds away from being jumped though, it felt like he was being, studied?

The feeling faintly lessened when he was among people, on the back burner but still stewing in there. It was alone where he kept his quills bristled and legs ready to either bolt or kick in any direction necessary.

This caused him to prefer crowds or at least one or two of his friends by him at all times. Obviously Tails noticed it as a weird behavior, Sonic wasn't exactly the overly clingy type, but the hedgehog dismissed him easily at first.

Still, knowing that someone or something had its sights trained on him wasn't the most comforting feeling. He assumed that maybe Eggy had sent one of his bots to spy on him, but then couldn't come up with a sensible enough explanation as to why. They had known each other since he was a hoglet, and Sonic kept no secrets that he was aware of, not to mention subtlety was never Eggman's thing. So what could this observation be for?

It was getting harder and harder to suppress his paranoia, especially after a couple of not-so-peaceful naps that left him sleepless. And others aside from Tails began to notice his odd behavior too.

Not that he didn't appreciate the concern but so far it really seemed to be on him alone. No matter what would come of it Sonic would deal with it swiftly and with no sweat. He was sure of it.

If the perpetrator's goal was just to offset him until they could strike, fat chance.

In the end, Sonic's friends knew not to pry because he'd just shut off further, so the subject dropped for some time again.

Unfortunately in that 'some time', Sonic's state gradually slipped into worse.

Tails complained over blue fur and quills messing up his furniture, nightmares that hadn't gotten to Sonic since he was a little guy running around a giant world with no start or destination began to haunt him, and things that no longer bothered him evoked unpleasant memories and sensations. Eventually, it landed him trapped on a picnic where Amy, Knuckles and Tails were determined to get him to talk.

Except there was nothing to talk about. It was all just a minor inconvenience that cost him a few minutes of sleep here and there and made him just a bit sloppier when dealing with the Doctor's usual badnik swarms. Minor inconvenience one too many maybe, but even if he wanted to, he didn't know where he'd start complaining about nothing.

He just needs to run. That's usually what solves his problems and what he felt the itch forever since this whole wrongness gripped him.

He crashed the picnic that they had been planning to have for a few months now. Feeling sorry for it of course, but he hoped they understood. It wasn't a big deal, he was just tired and needed to go take a nap somewhere.

That is what he told them anyway, but the stop wasn't at Tails' workshop, a comfortable tree or warm patch of moss he passed while trying to run away from an invisible presence.

So he ran.

—

Sonic came back hours into midnight, his legs brought him home by pure muscle memory.

Once he entered Tails' workshop, he wordlessly collapsed onto the nearest couch. His presence didn't go unnoticed though, as soon as he crashed, a little fox stood above him with a worried look.

"Hm, 'sup bud. Isn't it past your bedtime?" Sonic forced a lighthearted tone, which the fox definitely wasn't buying, seeing as he deadpanned.

"Is that really the first and only thing that bothers you."

"You bet it is, I care about the health of my dear little bro." Even if tired, he couldn't pass up an opportunity at a loving jab, but instead of the pout he expected, Tails' face was overtaken by a genuine annoyed expression.

"I do too, you know."

And Tails glared, crossing his arms patronizingly.

Oh come on, Sonic thought he made it clear this wasn't a big deal! He just spent the past seven hours dealing with it, safely calling the case closed. "Bud, I'm fine, you can drop it."

"Like hell I can! When was the last time your ugly mug has seen a mirror?"

The younger's voice was gaining a dangerous edge, but Sonic wasn't up to dealing with a cranky fox in his state. It was none of his business.

Still, even if pestering, Tails did it because he cared. So the hedgehog could do the least by responding. Dramatically of course, trying to break the other's offense by widening his eyes and clutching his chest as if he was physicallh hurt by the comment on his appearance.

Tails didn't seem entertained by that at all.

"You look like you haven't slept for a full week Sonic. Something's up and you refuse to tell me. You refuse to tell anyone. Why."

Ok fine, he'll bite.

The last few days have kind of blurred together which usually doesn't happen, but even the great hero of Mobius has his off days alright.

But now that it's mentioned, he hasn't seen his own face in a while, too focused on looking behind his back just to be safe. He doubts it's as bad as Tails makes it out to be, but he elects to, if anything, at least hear his brother out before making another convenient excuse out of here.

"I don't feel like dragging you out of a fight in case you collapse in the middle of it y'know."

"Why do I always have to play mind games with you."

Tails sighed and plopped onto the couch next to him. Seems that he's strategizing at blocking out the exits huh.

Sonic wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to hear that since the other just mumbled it under his nose with a sigh.

Mind games, as if. There are no mind games, simply things that are inconsequential and that he can take on his own so he doesn't see the reason in sharing them. Yes talk about your feelings and reach out if you need a hand or whatver, but what was there to talk about.

Confess that at best he was being paranoid and brushed off or at worst get his friends dragged into a mess he could've solved alone and feeling the same way? Hard pass.

Still biting back his irritation the hedgehog tried to reach out a comforting hand. He didn't feel like messing anything up between him and Tails when it in a pointless midnight argument and Chaos knew just how annoying the kit could get once he got an idea in his head.

"You guys are making a big deal out of nothing, really–"

"Because even the mildest inconvenience you have is too sacred for me to know apparently!" Tails suddenly swatted at his hand and glared at him,

"But Gaia forbid I go to bed five minutes after your arbitrary bedtime!"

Sonic, too shocked to respond and Tails finally over with his patience, wordlessly stared at each other. Tension seemigly materialized in the physical form between them with something more sinister seeping underneath it.

Neither of them spoke up. Instead, Tails' scowl dropped and went back to just a mildly annoyed yet very serious pout.

Now Sonic would just classify this as a symptom of lack-of-sleep-crankiness his little bro suffered from quite often, but it always took a bit more than two deflection attacks to get him to snap like this (was he really wearing everyone's patience so much?) Not to mention he wasn't a big fan of how annoyed he felt at his little bro either. Something about this was off. Again.

Seven hours of trying to get his mind off things wasted apparently.

"No. You'll try to hightail it out before morning and avoid everyone until you think we've all forgotten about how miserable and tired you look. Again."

"Hey, look I get that you're upset with me and all that, but if you keep this up I feel like I'll say something I shouldn't and regret it once I get some sleep in my system, so I'd call it a night and–"

Tails rudely interrupted him. And while Sonic appreciated the concern, he truly did, he.. well yea fine Tails' got a point. Now Sonic won't say that was exactly his plan but he would most likely end up doing that.

"You'll tell me what's up now or- or I won't sleep. Ever."

God fucking damn this kid.

Sonic pressed his lips into a thin like stared at him, just as Tails did the same. Neither of them dared to blink either, and usually, that would lead to the brothers letting go of the argument and dissolving into giggles and snorts, but not this time. Something made it feel like laughing in this situation was impossible.

It was obvious Tails waited for him to crack but this was an immovable object against a more persistent, immovable object. Yet between stubbornness and little brother pettiness, versus impatience of a tired hedgehog was an obvious winner and Sonic ended up breaking the eye contact and throwing it down towards the striped yellow and blue rug that sat under the couch.

Good, ok fine. But don't you dare blame him for fearing that someone is gonna shank you out of nowhere anytime and no matter where you are almost for full twenty-four hours.

He could see the snarky victorious glee in Tails' eye and Sonic bitterly accepted defeat, trying to gather his words.

He guessed that another way to avoid an argument was to just spill it, but at this point, it was an actual hit to his pride. Whatever. Tails asked for this.

"Do...Do you have a feeling that someone has been watching you?"

"Not really? No." Tails tilted his head slightly after the initial shock of him actually managing to break through to Sonic.

"Is that what's got you so on edge?"

The hedgehog nodded, partially regretting to finally confess about something so trivial.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Didn't think t'was that important." Sonic shrugged. The cat was out of the bag so might as well. He could brush the feeling of being an unreasonable asshole about it under the rug though, you just can't win in some situations.

Tails merely facepalmed in defeat and mumbled "Of course you didn't" under it.

"What? if someone has a problem with me, they better take it up to my face no?" Sonic managed to put up some semblance of a fake cheerful attitude into his tone to levitate the suffocating heaviness the workshop fell under ever since he got in. He landed a gentle elbow into the fox's arm which consequently shook the other one off his face.

"If you truly feel like you've been stalked this whole time, at this point, whoever it is most likely has more than enough information about you to be just as confident about taking it 'up to your face' you idiot."

Tails didn't return his attitude in the slightest if the exasperated voice and tired eyes were a lure to anything. Sonic could only manage a nervous chuckle in response

"Yea, I guess, I guess you're right."

"Guess? C'mon, I'm always right!" Finally, some light returned to Tails' eyes at that "Though I'm not sure if I want to be this time." It went out just as fast.

Sonic sighed as words came to him easier than he thought they would

"I really just didn't say anything because I worried it might be nothing." Tails gave him a condescending side eye "And in hindsight, that was a really stupid way to think." And then he scoffed with the same sarcastic energy.

"It's not like you ever not think stupid."

Tails grumbled and leaned into the armrest away from Sonic.

"You hate it when I go on analysis spires and here you are, doing the same thing except in the opposite direction and with no evidence to back things up."

The hedgehog snorted

"Really? 'Analisys spires'? Is that what you call 'catastrophizing everything' now?"

"Well hey at least I take into account the potential risks always." Tails playfully jabbed his finger into Sonic's shoulder "Unlike someone!"

Playfully. That unnerving edge in his voice was gone. Even if Sonic still felt like any smile or laugh had to be disingenuous and forced, it lifted some of the burden off his chest.

After that, they sunk into a bit more peaceful form of silence. It still felt just a few shades off but hey, Sonic will take what he's given.

He looked over at Tails sitting practically on the opposite side of the couch, tired blue eyes stared forward onto nothing particular and he sat hunched over the couch's armrest, his double tails serving as a blanket.

Sure now he can confidently say this whole ordeal was behind them but it still didn't feel quite right.

Sonic reached a hand over to the kit, but stopped himself halfway. Should he?

"Hey." Stupid question of course he should, that's his little brother sulking about.

"We'll get to the bottom of this eventually."

Sonic leaned closer to the kit and ruffled his already messy bangs. The quiet, barely suppressed giggles that followed smothered over any doubts showing their ugly heads. Sonic scooted all the way to the fox, and then took it one step over and squished the other between his body and the armrest.

"He-hey get your big butt away from me, you're crushing me!"

"No can do little grumpy sir!"

Tails tried his mightiest to push the hedgehog away while he was uselessly locked in a side hug. Suddenly his legs were swiped from underneath him and a horrifying realization followed. His attempts to kick himself free were futile as within seconds he was held trapped in his big bro's arms.

What followed was pure horror and torture.

Sonic rocked the younger from side to side, who periodically got his head hit against the couch, Sonic's mouth that planted an annoying kiss on his forehead and then his knees in his face from how over-exaggerated the movement was.

"Not fair!" Tails cried and then bit a bluff strike into the air, too close to Sonic's nose for his liking, but that didn't deter him one bit.

It was all but adorable actually.

Sonic's shit-eating grin didn't falter in the slightest and he finally felt like it was genuine.

"One day you'll be strong enough to break free I'm sure of it." Nothing but pure, unchallenged smugness radiated off of the hedgehog as he squeezed the ball of golden fluff in his arms. He tried to sneak in yet another kiss when he was stopped dead in his tracks by a paw slapped over his mouth.

When has that sly fox managed to free his arm from his inescapable grasp!? Sonic couldn't let that act of rebellion stay for long, so he poked the younger's side with his thumb. Tails then immediately recoiled with an involuntary giggle escaping his mouth while he was easily subdued again.

"Nah-not fair! Cheater! You're cheating!"

"Using my enemy's weaknesses against them in battle is not cheating!" Sonic proudly proclaimed and drilled his thumb into his brother's side one more time which rewarded him with a couple of strained snorts and giggles from the other. Chaos Tails was trying to stay angry so badly that it was comical.

"Stah'aap!!" Tails cried and perhaps Sonic did feel a pang of sympathy for the poor fox. Dare he even say, have mercy.

"Let go-!" Completely desperate, the other now tried to swat at Sonic with his namesakes. All it succeeded at was shove a face full of fur into the hedgehog's face and maybe that was the goal all along.

After splattering the hair out of his mouth Sonic grinned when seeing the obvious fake pout Tails was putting on.

"Only after you smile." Sonic teased and planted yet another kiss on his whining brother's forehead, who then promptly slapped his face with his tails yet again.

"Oh c'mon smile a little?"

Tails frowned.

"Itty-bitty smirk?"

Tails frowned even harder.

"Pleaseee, just for a split second?"

Somehow, Tails' frown deepened even further and he ended up looking like the picture definition of a "comically grumpy baby." Sonic paid it no mind tho, he'd rather have a grumpy baby brother than a genuinely angry one. Whatever it takes to get a smile on that little muzzle of his, even if it meant he had to be a little bit annoying to get there. He could see it won't be long before the little guy breaks.

He gradually laxed his hold and Tails either didn't notice, or was hoping Sonic would lower his guard so he could escape.

Either way, the veil of dread and unease was all but gone and forgotten as he held his little bro in his arms, now just gently swaying back and forth with his chin rested atop the other's head.

Chaos when was the last time he just held him like this? Hmm gotta be pretty long ago now that he's wondering, better savor the moment before Tails ruins it by "being too big for hugs and cuddles now" which was pure nonsense in Sonic's correct opinion.

But as seconds ticked by and Tails did not move or make a sound, the hedgehog couldn't sit still in anticipation any longer and finally leaned back to look over.

What he found was his lill' bro fast asleep, with the most peaceful expression on his face. A fond smile made its way across Sonic's muzzle.

Perhaps there was nothing stopping him from following suit. This was a long day after all and maybe, just maybe, now that some things were settled and he wasn't sleeping alone, he'd get some proper rest at last.

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 4

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 4 Warnings: Language; stalker behavior; abduction; vampire blood violence and thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death; reader panic attack

A/N: Thank you for all the love on this fic!! This one holds a special place in my heart, so hope y'all enjoy ❤️

2023

Just a dream. 

Only a dream.

You have to keep reminding yourself. Because thinking any differently just… rots your stomach.

It doesn’t help that it’s all so vivid. You can still see the handsome features of Max’s sharp profile in the parking garage lot lights. You can still hear Charles’ mellifluous tones inside his elegant home. You can still remember the crippling fear followed by blinding relief.

… And that’s when you woke up in your bed. Utterly alone. Utterly discombobulated. Utterly just… exhausted.

The workday hasn’t treated you any better, unfortunately. The company is still evaluating their options after Xavier’s passing and you’re supporting however they ask you to. Somehow, it only feels like your workload has tripled, though. At least, it helps keep you distracted from… well, whatever happened last night.

“Just a dream.”

With a sigh, you take another sip of your tea, letting the heat and herbal flavor wash over your tongue. After leaving the office, the last thing you wanted to do was go back to your disconcertingly empty apartment, and the coffee shop around the corner has always been a favorite. With cushy chairs and secluded nooks, it’s a perfect place for you to keep working through your email backlog long after the setting sun paints the sky black.

And to keep you from not dwelling on the unsettling memories of Charles’ handsome smile or Max’s broad shoulders. Or the inexplicable fact that George seemed to be the whole reason that they… well, that you supposedly dreamed this crazy dream.

“Just a dream.”

With another sigh, you rub at your stiff neck and glance up at the ceiling. Your muscles pop and creak with the motion, relaxing even as your mind continues to churn. Just what the hell are you going to do now? Do you do anything? What even can you do? It wasn’t real, right? It didn’t happen, right?

Right??

You glance back down at your laptop, reaching for your tea when a sudden knock on the window makes you jump. With wide eyes, you turn and the sight makes your stomach drop to your feet. George’s handsome, smiling face peers down at you through the glass as he waves enthusiastically. Words fail you as you sit, just stunned to see him so… so suddenly. He motions towards himself and around the building, and your heart rate jumps as he walks towards the door.

Your mouth goes dry at the implication, and quickly you debate if you can chug your tea and pack your belongings quick enough… but no such luck.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a night owl.” George says with a kind smile as he approaches your small table.

Despite the unease churning in your stomach, you can’t bring yourself to be rude. “I’m not… at least, not usually anyway.” Your offer a small smile. “My boss preferred early morning meetings.”

George’s face softens with concern. “I can’t imagine how hard of an adjustment it must be for you… I don’t think I would be able to set foot in the building again if my boss died.” He nods at the chair opposite you. “May I join you?”

Your anxiety ratchets to a whole new level, and you work a dry swallow down your throat. Why are you so ridiculously nervous? It was just a dream… it was, right? “S-Sure.” You say with a nod, exhaling a heavy sigh. “I’m just… just trying to wrap some things up.”

“Oh, man, tell me about it,” George sighs in return, gracefully sitting opposite. “It’s like the work never ends, I swear. How many people can possibly have so many legal troubles all at once?”

A smirk lifts the corner of your mouth. “It is a bit crazy… seems like it’s a byproduct of our modern world. Every time you buy something, you buy the right to sue someone, I guess.”

“Except that’s the funniest part.” George laughs softly. “People don’t even know what they’re buying. Each time they blindly click on ‘I agree’ in the terms and conditions boxes, they could be agreeing to sell their firstborn, for all they know.” He shakes his head as his face falls. “It’s sad how many case reports I write where the answer is just to quote some paragraph of the vendor’s terms agreement and then, case closed.”

You hum in agreement. “That’s why we get paid the big bucks, right?”

George scoffs. “Yeah, right. Maybe someday… or maybe if I was my boss….” He trails off, and silence hangs between you. His blue eyes linger on your face, and you quickly glance down at your laptop, suddenly unable to stop nagging words that churn in your brain.

“And paramount for your own safety, never look him in the eyes.”

Another spike of anxiety stabs through you as you wet your top lip.

“Forgive my asking,” George says quietly. “But are you alright? You look… unwell.”

Your heart lodges in your throat as you scramble for words. “I’m fine, I just….” Your palms turn sweaty against your laptop as you refuse to look up. “It was just a day, you know.”

“It’s more than that, I think.” George’s shadow shifts closer on the table. “The dark circles under your eyes speak to at least one sleepless night.”

“I-I didn’t sleep well last night. Hence, the bad day today.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Sounds like you should call it a night – may I… as corny as this may sound,” he says bashfully. “May I walk you home?”

An anxious sigh escapes you, and you can’t hold back. “Look, George – that’s really sweet of you, and you’re very thoughtful for asking but I… well, I don’t know if we should speak anymore.”

A stunned beat of silence passes, and you chance a glance up to catch the surprised set of his mouth. “My goodness,” he says, more bewildered than offended. “That seems so sudden, but look, whatever I’ve done, I fully apologize – I never meant to offend you or intrude. You could have just told me no when I asked to join you.”

“I know I could have, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just been… hard, lately. And I don’t…” you sigh heavily. “Ugh, I don’t know what to think.” Bracing your elbows on the table, you drop your head in your hands, grasping for a moment of clarity. If your meeting with Charles and Max wasn’t the dream you think is, then just why should you believe them over George? After all, it was Charles and Max who maybe kidnapped you last night, and George has done nothing but offer you kind support at every turn.

Perhaps that should make him all the more suspicious.

A chilled hand comes to rest gently against yours still holding your head. George’s skin is soft and his fingers firm as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Again, if you’ll forgive me,” he murmurs. “It looks like the last thing you need is to be alone right now. Perhaps an ear for your troubles is just what you need.”

“I think I just need to go to bed.” You say to the tabletop, not thinking about the tender brushes of his thumb against your hand.

“Well, if you’d really like… I could help with that, too.”

Your head jerks up, a flush rising in your cheeks at his blatant innuendo. Despite all his proper manners to date, he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed as the hint of a wicked smirk lifts his lips. It tugs a flustered smile to your own face as you withdraw your hands and shake your head. “I… definitely don’t think that’s a good idea,” you sigh and go for broke. “I was warned about you, you know.”

His eyebrows climb to his hairline. “Warned about me? Oh, no,” he laughs incredulously. “By whom? It couldn’t possibly be someone at work… I haven’t been there long enough…”

“It was…” you pause as you scramble to answer. “Err, my boyfriend.”

George fixes you another look of astonishment and you deliberately focus on a point over his shoulder. “No way… that’s just insane you’re actually dating one of my mates and he never told me. Well, come on – now I have to know!” His face brightens with an amused laugh. “Is it Lewis? Or Mick?”

You nibble your lip, shaking your head. “No.”

“Well, how about Fernando? Or… maybe Charles?”

Your spine stiffens as your breath catches. Just why the fuck did he say Charles? It’s not possible that he just conjured that name out of thin air. There’s no way in hell that should have happened… coincidences like that just don’t happen.

Do they?

Your stomach sours as your mind races into overdrive. Oh, fuck, what have you done? Have you just ruined everything?

“So, it is Charles.” George says with a definitive edge, and you dart your hopefully not-too panicked gaze up to him. But clearly, the look on your face has told him everything he needs to know as he fixes you with a suddenly hard, assessing stare.

You force your eyes closed, quickly turning your head. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, and God, you need to leave. Now.

George clucks his tongue as he shifts forward in his chair. “I must confess that’s disappointing. Both of him and yourself.” He shakes his head as his mouth tightens with resolve. “I really thought you were smarter than that. Smart enough to see through him… to see that what he’s doing is just wrong.”

“I don’t have the first clue what he’s doing… or what you’re talking about.” You say, shaking your head, frustration tightening your voice. “I don’t have a fucking clue about anything going on here!”

“But he gave it to you. You have it, don’t you? Xavier didn’t have it.”

Fear ripples down your spine, mixing with your confusion. “I-I don’t have anything… he’s given me nothing.”

George’s sharp gaze runs you up and down as his nostrils flare. “Yeah, I can see that, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know where it is.” 

He moves faster than you can blink and the breath punches from your lungs at the impact. You’re on your feet, held by the impossible strength of his slender arms as your mind spins. Your back connects with the solid wall as he cages you close, and while the impact is gentle, the rush of motion leaves your vision blurred. A cry lodges in your throat as his hand finds the smooth skin of your neck, pinching off the sound. Your hands try to claw at him, but he’s too strong and you’re too trapped. 

Some distant part of your mind wonders why any of the other patrons in the shop aren’t rushing to your aid, but it’s drowned by the panic that threatens to consume you. 

A whimper escapes your lips as you pry at the iron grip of his hands. “Please… George, I don’t-”

“And it doesn’t matter.” His voice drips with wicked sin as he hovers by your ear, so close to feel the puffs of his words on your skin. Because he doesn’t breathe… he doesn’t. “Your fear smells delectable,” he murmurs as you tremble. “I imagine it must taste even better.” 

“N-no,” you gasp as a tear slides down your cheek. “Please, don’t…” 

Another tear rolls down your cheek as he nuzzles along the exposed side of your neck, and you feel the scrape of teeth along your skin. Terror grips you tight as you claw at his shoulder, desperate to flee, helplessly caught in the trap of his embrace. 

“Were you this frightened for Charles, hmm?” He pulls back just enough to reveal the deep sapphire tint of his eyes and sharp, pointed canines that steal your breath. Your eyes go wide, fixated on the unnaturally lethal teeth as he holds you closer. He hums in open appreciation as he lowers his head. “I can’t imagine how he resisted you…” 

His cool lips seal against your skin before the solid weight of him is ripped away. You draw a shuddering gasp as the weight of him lifts from your throat and you watch with blurred vision. The face from your dream - Max - stands just a little shorter than George but seemingly more powerful as he wrenches the slender man around as if he weighs nothing. Max’s superhuman strength dominates the rapid confrontation until George lays on the floor, seemingly unconscious. 

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you gulp for breath, wrapping your arms around yourself. God, you’ve never been attacked like that… or assaulted, or so close to being… well, what exactly was George going to do to you? His teeth… fuck, you’ve never seen teeth like that, either. It’s like… like something out of fantasy. 

Or horror. 

Incredulity mixes with the confusion and terror and panic overloading your system as you heave for breath through uncontrollable sobs. 

“Careful, hey - just calm down.” Max’s disconcertingly familiar voice echoes above the roar of blood in your ears. “You’re alright. He didn’t get you.” 

“But I don’t -” You gasp as you exhale another rushed, tearful breath. “I don’t know what’s happening. I didn’t do… anything!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Max nods with an apologetic shrug. “You’re… collateral damage, I suppose.” 

Another sob wracks your fame as you struggle to gulp down air. “That’s not helping!” 

“Then, what will?” Max counters, glancing around before he motions down at George’s motionless figure. “He won’t bother you for a while yet, and no one else here will remember this.” 

You raise your hands to your head as a splitting ache threatens to crack your skull open. “That’s not… what I meant…. This - this is so fucked up!” 

“Come on, you - you should really calm down.” Max tries again as he steps forward, and you instantly step back. 

You have to keep the distance between you. You can’t let him get you. You can’t let him play you like George… you can’t let him take you like he did last night… you can’t… you just can’t  - 

“Breathe,” Max’s voice suddenly sounds far away, faint over a growing buzz in your ears. “It won’t help if you hyperventilate -” 

Darkness consumes you. 

1943

Ever since the Spanish Inquisition, Carlos has lost his taste for religion.

Perhaps it’s because he was arrested off the street with no explanation. Perhaps it’s because the priests drove needles under his fingernails to get his confession for sins he didn’t commit. Perhaps it’s because he was sentenced to death by purifying fire by the very church he spent his life honoring.

But perhaps it’s because he was saved by a devil masquerading as an agent of heaven. And that devil gave him a whole new life.

Not that Carlos still considers his sire to be a devil. Nor himself, for that matter. 517 years have long given him perspective and patience to understand the identity of ‘vampire’.

Even though his eternal existence is confined to nightfall and subsists feeding from mortals, he still tries to make the most of it. Over the centuries, he finds that his appetite for contribution far exceeds his appetite for confrontation – and that’s what leads him to Italy.

Or what’s left of it.

The Allied advance towards Rome has stalled in the harsh winter months, unable to break through the heavily fortified Nazi lines. Wounded soldiers pour in from the front lines around the clock, and no one asks Carlos any questions as he tends to them by candlelight. The pungent odors of death and decay don’t bother him, and the sight of blood has long stopped tempting him.

But if he’s honest with himself – as he lays for dreamless rest in the wee hours of dawn – it’s the men’s agonized cries that haunt him the most.

Perhaps he’s just a glutton for punishment. Perhaps Catholic guilt never abandoned him after all. Perhaps he is just too empathetic.

He doesn’t let it slow him down, though. Wearing a soiled uniform from a fallen soldier, he moves among the dim shadows, surveying the rows of wounded men trying to sleep. Coughs permeate the air, combined with low whispers, whimpers and moans – there’s precious little peace to be found, but somehow, Carlos knows this is where he belongs.

A soldier’s high-pitched gasp echoes in the crude tent. It’s closely followed by a moan and cry of anguish, and Carlos weaves through the cots towards the source of the sounds. The man’s fingers clench with a white-knuckled grip on the bedcovers as he writhes in obvious pain. Carlos doesn’t know what brought on the sudden fit, but there’s precious little that he can do for the soldier. Except….

“Here, be still.” Carlos shushes quietly, reaching a hand down to cup the soldier’s youthful face. “Look at me… just at me.” His gaze connects with the panicked agony in the man’s hazel eyes, and Carlos reaches out.

The soldier falls quiet, stilling against the bedcovers as Carlos’ thrall takes hold. Gently, he eases the soldier’s head down against the pillow. “Descansa ahora, mi hijo.” Carlos whispers, satisfied as the man’s eyes drop closed before he moves his hand down to the poor excuse for a blanket and resettles it over the soldier’s gaping uniform. Most of the shoulder fabric has been cut to make way for the doctors and bandages, and there’s little else to ward off the invasive winter’s cold.

“I thought Spain was neutral.” A British accented voice calls out softly. “Yet you wear a British uniform.”

Carlos turns and finds another soldier propped against his flat pillow, staring at him with sharp ice blue eyes. Most of the mortals seem content to ignore him, but through the grime marring the man’s face, Carlos can read the open curiosity. “I’m Spanish through my father, and British through my mother.” Carlos says, reciting the easy and familiar falsehood. “So, here I am.”

The blue-eyed soldier blinks up at him. “It’s obvious that you have a way with people.” His gaze slides down at the now quietly dozing soldier. “Not everyone can do that.”

Carlos shrugs as he steps over towards the soldier. “I’ve been told I have a gift for helping people.” He reaches down, tucking the blanket tighter around the man’s legs and the scent hits him. Gangrene always tinges blood with a rotten musk, and if this soldier hasn’t lost his leg yet, he soon will. Carlos swallows the thought as he gently arranges the blanket around the festering wound. “You should be sleeping.”

“In this place?” The soldier replies with a scoff and a weak shake of his head. “Yeah, that’d take a miracle.”

True enough, dark circles sag under his blue eyes, not helped by the sharp angles of his gaunt face. Carlos blinks down at him as he speaks. “How long have you been here?”

A baffled smile cracks the Briton’s face. “Are you serious, mate? Time has no relevance in hell.”

“This is not hell.” Carlos counters with a quick shake of his head. “I think Hell would be more merciful than this.”

“Well… I’ll let you know when I get there.” The soldier’s eyes drop closed as a hard swallow works down throat. “It’s gangrene, they say. Lack of supplies prevents them from amputating, and maybe I should be grateful for that, but now… I’m just waiting here to die.”

“Everyone here is just waiting to die.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“Humans have been dying for centuries and will continue to do so, even without global war.”

The soldier nods as his mouth pinches to a tight, frustrated line. “Then, may flights of angels sing me to my rest.”

“Shakespeare.” A fond smile comes to Carlos’ face. “Not many people quote him anymore.”

The soldier arches a brow. “Did they ever?”

Carlos nods. “Around the 18th century, I think it was – his plays were very popular throughout the continent.”

“You must be a historian, then.”

“Something like that.”

The Briton’s blue eyes narrow. “And here I thought you were a doctor.”

“Whatever I am, I’m certainly not that.” Carlos says, glancing up as he overhears a gurgled cry above the other sounds of human noises. “Now, you should really try and get some rest… what’s your name?”

The corner of the soldier’s mouth lifts with a wry smirk. “Dead Man Walking… or rather, Laying.” He glances up at Carlos. “What’s yours?”

An answering smirk tugs to Carlos’ face. “I’ll tell you tomorrow after you sleep.”

“If I’m still here, that is.”

Carlos runs his gaze over the prone man before nodding definitively. “You will be.” He rests an encouraging hand on the man’s thigh. “I promise.”

*

“Maybe I was wrong.” The soldier says the following night. “You’re not a historian or a doctor… you’re a philosopher.”

Carlos shakes his head as his brow furrows with suspicion. “You’re quite intent on finding out what I am.”

The man shrugs weakly. “I’ve had little else to do but watch, and talking with you last night was the most stimulating conversation I’ve had in ages, and you’re… you’re different.” He tilts his head as if trying to understand. “Somehow, you don’t just look, but instead you see. You don’t just touch, instead you feel. It’s obvious that you care, but you… you’re so indifferent to it. As if you know it couldn’t possibly touch you-”

“And you’re far too perceptive for your own good.” Carlos cuts him off swiftly, stunned by the gravity of the soldier’s words. Rarely has he ever met such a keen mortal. Rarely has anyone ever observed him so closely. As the hunter used to stalking his prey, the realization is unnerving and perhaps troubling. Has he been too obvious? Would others start asking questions? Would he need to relocate to a different unit before long?

“I’m dying and you know it.” The soldier says quietly. “What does it really matter what I am?”

Carlos cuts him with a sharp glare in the dim candlelight. “Everyone matters. Every soul at every moment, no matter how long their moment.”

The soldier glances around the tent in contemplation as the sounds of life and death echo around them. When those blue eyes reconnect with Carlos’, they hold something infinitely sad. “My name is George. George Russell.”

“Carlos.” For once, he doesn’t hesitate to give his real name. “Carlos Sainz.”

*

“What do you suppose happens after we die?” George asks two nights later. Fever flushes his skin, and his breathing holds the faintest waiver. The putrid odor of gangrene drowns out every other scent as Carlos approaches his bedside.

Honestly, it’s a question Carlos has wondered about for 500 years as countless generations rise and fall before his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’ll get to learn the answer for himself, but he’s hardly the person to ask. “I can call for a priest, if you like.” He answers softly. “I’m afraid I… wouldn’t really know what to say otherwise.”

George’s eyes drop closed, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. “I just hope it’s warm, you know… on the other side. I don’t care if that means heaven or hell.”

Something about that gnaws at Carlos’ heart. He doesn’t know why George has gotten so under his skin, but he can’t recall the last time he was so taken with a mortal. So taken that he… “What if I told you,” he starts carefully. “That death doesn’t have to be the end. That it can be… a transformation.”

George snorts faintly. “Then, I would ask if you’re sure you aren’t a priest.” A tremor seizes his voice as he rasps for breath. “Isn’t that what they all say? ‘Death is just a beginning….’”

“Mortals have always found that thought comforting.”

George’s blue eyes go wide despite his weakened state, staring up at Carlos with newfound, bewildered realization. “Mortals… implying that you’re….” His voice trails off as a visible swallow works down his throat. “I knew there was something off about you, but for the life of me… I couldn’t place it.”

A sad lift comes to the corner of Carlos’ mouth. “You asked me if I was a historian, or a doctor, or a philosopher – I’m not any of those things.” He shakes his head gently. “I’m just someone who has lived over five centuries of lifetimes.”

“Five centuries….” George echoes in a faint, rattling whisper. “That… that must be… nice.”

“You can judge that for yourself… if you want.” The unspoken offer hangs in the air as Carlos holds George’s gaze, heavy with the gravity of intention. He’s careful to hold back his thrall, though – this needs to be George’s unimpaired decision.

Another swallow works down George’s throat and his lungs rattle with fluid as fever burns. “If I want… to become like you…” His eyes break away to glance down at his dying body. “And it’s not already too late…?”

“No,” Carlos reassures. “But you’re nearing the point of no return.”

“Would you have chosen differently?”

It’s a question that Carlos has long asked himself, but each time he does, he’s taken back to the squalor of his dungeon prison cell. To the agonizing pain that crippled his hands and the tarnish upon his soul for the lies that he told just to ease the pain. Pushing the sickening memories away, he shakes his head. “No,” he says with conviction. “The men of the Inquisition only knew savagery without mercy, and this… this transformation was a blessing. And I still try to treat it as such.”

George stares up at him as if just truly seeing him for the first time. Perhaps Carlos should feel a little guilty for sharing his experience with immortality – not everyone adjusts to it or finds ways to pass the endless stream of days. But even in the short time Carlos has known George, the bright blue-eyed mortal has continued to surprise him.

“Then, how…” George sighs with a grimace. “How do I receive that blessing, too?”

Carlos fixes him with a firm, solemn gaze. “Is that what you want? I need to hear you say it…”

Another hard swallow works down George’s throat, but he holds Carlos’ gaze with determined resolution. “Yes… I want it.”

Carlos nods gently, casting his gaze about the tent. There are too many witnesses, and really, it’s best to be alone for such an intimate, vulnerable moment. “We’ll need to go away from here, outside… to draw less attention.”

Despite his frail state, the corner of George’s mouth ticks up. “Hopefully I won’t die before then.”

Carlos takes a second to focus on the steady rhythm of George’s heart before shaking his head. “You won’t.” He reassures as he starts to pull back the bedcovers. “Your lungs may be filling with fluid and your flesh rotting, but your heart still beats strong.”

George’s face flashes with incredulity. “You can hear all of that?”

“And smell it.” Carlos catches George’s gaze. “Soon enough, you will, too. Not in yourself anymore, but in others…” He lifts his head for one last survey of the tent. “I’m going to carry you out of here, but you need to stay quiet if we want to go unnoticed.”

A weak snort that ends in a gurgle passes George’s lips. “I can’t imagine you carrying me will hurt any worse than I already do.”

“I hope not.” Carlos agrees as he works an arm under George’s knees and behind his shoulders. Up close, the pungent odor of dying, rotting flesh nearly makes Carlos wretch, but he forces himself to focus. “On three,” he says softly. “One, two… three.”

A whimpering groan sounds in George’s throat as Carlos hefts him from the bed, holding him close against his chest in a bridal carry. George’s breath comes in quick, shallow draws as he bites down on his lip, and Carlos starts towards the main tent flaps, careful not to jostle George any more than he needs to.

He nearly makes it through the dim shadows before a stern-faced doctor steps in front of him. He glares down at George before staring up at Carlos, his face full of disapproval. “Where are you taking this man?”

“He asked to see the stars, sir.” Carlos answers without flinching. “For one last time…”

The doctor darts his wary gaze back down to George, looking him over in quick assessment. “In his condition, as cold as it is outside…” he pauses to look back at Carlos with a hard, grim truth. “His bed won’t be waiting for him.”

George summons a weak – perhaps it’s meant to be a chuckle, but his voice rasps and rattles too much. “I won’t need it, doc.”

A helpless, heartbroken expression cracks the doctor’s face for the briefest of seconds as he nods and steps out of Carlos’ way. He tightens his hold on the man in his arms as he shoulders his way out of the tent and into the bitterly frozen night. Shivers immediately seize George’s thin frame as he curls in closer to Carlos, and Carlos does his best to offer a shield against the wind. But the cold is too suffocating, too biting.

It doesn’t take him long to spot a half-splintered, rotting tree trunk that stands lone sentry on the outskirts of the military encampment. It takes even less time for him to sit with his back against the frozen bark and situate George between his outstretched legs. With George’s back flush against his chest, Carlos can feel each tremble that shakes George’s bones, feel each rattling breath in his rotting lungs.

George tips his head up, gingerly looking around. “You know, they are beautiful.” He says wistfully. “The s-stars… until you said something, I… I had forgotten they were up there.”

Carlos wraps a comforting arm around George’s stomach, holding him close. “That’s important, you know.” He says softly as he turns in towards the young Briton, nuzzling the young man’s cheek. “To keep finding the beauty in this world no matter how ugly things get.”

“I-is that w-what 500 years has taught you?”

“That,” Carlos agrees softly. “And much more.”

George attempts to draw a deep breath, but between the cold and his failing lungs, he stutters out a cough. “I’m ready – p-please…”

Carlos bares his fangs, dragging his nose down George’s jaw towards where his jugular rests just beneath the skin.

“W-will it hurt?”

Carlos shifts to tuck in closer against George’s neck, affection stirring in his chest as George’s arm wraps around his, holding onto him. “Yes,” Carlos whispers against George’s skin. “But whether it will hurt more than the pain you’re already feeling, I don’t know.”

George’s fingers grip Carlos’ forearm and his heartbeat quickens as the scent of fear fills Carlos’ nose. It’s unfair how sweet mortal fear smells, even when it’s heavily tinged with the acrid odor of death. He blinks the thought away as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of George’s neck. The hot spill of blood washes over his tongue as he seals his lips to the punctured skin and sups in long, steady pulls.

Strangled moans die in George’s throat as he arches into the sensations flooding his body. Each time Carlos hollows his cheeks, the strength of George’s grip on his forearm fades and the rhythm of his heart slows. The Briton goes limp altogether and the moment is critical. Raising his own arm, Carlos pierces the vein on the underside of his wrist and presses it to George’s parted lips.

A transfer of blood and venom. That’s all it takes.  

The mechanics are really quite simple even if the biology behind it escapes Carlos’ understanding.

Once he’s sealed both wounds, he tips his head back against the tree and waits. But it doesn’t take long before George starts seizing and convulsing in his arms. 

Series Main List

Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r @hollie911

[clovermarigold]

Daggers & Daffodils Chap.23

Dagur x Reader

LESGOOOOOO!!! Three updates in a month! Looks like we have a somewhat solid update schedule guy.... wonder how long until the burnout hits. Sorry if the chapter is a little shorter than usual, just wanted to get something out before school steals all my attention.

Dagur had grown a lot in the past three years, grown in madness, grown in delusion, but also in muscle and height. Two of which were currently on display as he towered over your laid out form, holding the dagger in his right, your ankle in his left. 

"How did you know about that" he spun the blade in his hand with ease relaxed and staring down at you. "Y/N, I have gone three years without so much as your voice. So, when I look at you, I take in everything" he slid the knife back into your boot, moving so he can lay on the bed next to you. Dagur shifted to wrap his arms around you, holding your side into his chest while he rests his chin on your head. It was awkward, at least for you it was. Dagur, content to bury his nose in your hair. As stiff as you were, you couldn't help but melt into the softness of the sheets. Who would have thought the chief of the Berserkers would be so diligent with keeping his linens clean. 

"Never say that, again unless you mean it" he said the word with venom as if cursing the very memory. Maybe saying that you and Dagur would never be together wasn't the best thing to do immediately after making him upset minutes earlier. But it was something that was in your mind, an unfortunate truth. Sure, a part of you still cared for Dagur and missed when you were able to be with him, but that was before the war. "I do mean it" Dagur released one of his hands around your waist to grip your chin to look at him. "Then say it" you remembered the last time he did this; made you challenge your feelings. It was a similar situation to this, just a different ship and a different time. 

You were a fool to think you would be able to face him alone. You had honestly believed you had trained yourself to deal with Dagur, no one could; he was wild and unpredictable. Your silence was answer enough for him it would seem, as he cupped the side of your face. "What can I do to make you forgive me".

"Leave my brother and Berk alone, forget the dragons, forget your revenge" Dagur seemed to think for a moment before releasing you and sitting up and walking to the center of the room. "My love, you know I can't do that" you sat up quickly to stare at him. "You say you love me" you asked. 

"I do!" his answer is instant a glimpse of his more deranged tone seeping through. "Then forget it all! If you love me, you'll leave them alone". Dagur's eyes turn wide, his pupils narrowed and crazy. His hands are suddenly gripping your arms, squishing them to your sides, as he looks down at you, insane. "I love you. I love you, and that's why I'm doing this" his grip tightens to the cusp of pain, but not quite. Uncomfortable and firm you can't move to gain distance from the now worked up Berserker, "As long as Hiccup is alive, he'll try to take you from me".

"Because you're crazy!" your arms were released and Dagur stepped back enraged. "You- you... AAAAGGGHH" Dagur spun around away from you, carding a hand through his hair, "I'm getting some air!" he yelled slamming the door as he exits. 

The faint sound of a scream and a splash told you that Dagur no doubt threw someone overboard, which made you feel a slight amount of guilt for the poor bystander that happened to cross his path after your argument. 

Dagur was upset, no, livid, to say the least. He understood that he had a habit of making rash and less thought-out decisions when it came to you. But they were always in your best interest. And you- You just had to be so well equipped to getting under his skin. He wasn't mad at you per say. No, he could never be mad at you, but he was irritated. You knew all the perfect spots to hit to get him worked up. And usually he loved that, to him it was a testament to your bond. But right now, he really wished you would take a moment to realize he was doing this for you. 

Being called crazy wasn't an insult, not when you said it. But that glare you fixed it with, along with your vocal and visible demeaning nature was. Dagur would never say it (to anyone but you), but he loved it when you would get angry. The way your hot and narrowed eyes would be on him, and only him. It was likely stemmed from the lack of your attention he was given in his youth. But he planned to make up for it ten times over once the two of you got married. If only you could see that. If only you could see all the joy and freedom this would bring. But until then Dagur was stuck outside, away from you, throwing anyone that got in his way overboard.

The stopping of the ship brought Dagur's attention away from his irritation. His mood did a 180 at the realization that the treasure would soon be in his possession. This was just a temporary issue; you were being stubborn out of habit not out of malice. It would be gone in a couple weeks, and if not, Dagur had some ideas of how to get it out of your system. 

"This is it" Gustav said stopping at the mouth of the cave. "Why are we stopping" Dagur asked. "No reason, I was just kind of impressed that you trusted your men enough to show them exactly where the treasure is hidden. Especially when there's so much of it" the brat in question had a point. Dagur trusted himself to be able to scare his men back in line when they got unruly, but that didn't mean they couldn't try. 

"Stay here" Dagur called to his crew, gesturing with the dragon eye. "Why" the sound of Savages voice was grating to his ears. Dagur played up his pondering before letting out a loud stream that sent the outcast found berserker cowering backwards, "Oh, uh. Let's see, uh... I don't know. Maybe because... I said so!!!".

"Oh, good idea, sir. We'll stay here and uh... guard the prisoner" Dagur sent a maddening look back at the tall man. "Uh, the queen" he corrected. Turning sharply Dagur walked over to Gustav forcefully placing the dragon eye in his hand for Fanghook to activate. The dragon eye illuminated an orange yellow light, casting the map onto the rock in front of them. "Ah, I see. You outdid yourself, Hiccup. I love this thing". And with that the pair and the made their way into the cave. one of which, unaware to the approaching dragon rider.

You however are in a much less open area, still locked in Dagur's quarters.  The sound of soldiers marching outside the door told you that unfortunately, they were smart enough not to leave the ship unattended. "Ok, come on brain, think" A glint from the small window in the room gave you an idea, but without a getaway plan, it would take Dagur a matter of minutes to find you once he realized you were gone. However, the faint outline of a black shadow approaching the island told you that your getaway was already here. Pulling the knife out from your boot you wedged is between the pane and the wood of the ship to use as leverage to pop the glass out. 

Unfortunately using both hands to leverage the glass was not the best idea, as the glass came out farther than expected and fell to the ground shattering. The door began to rattle as berserkers came running over struggling to unlock the door. Without hesitation you threw yourself out the window landing in the shallow waters of the island. Looking up you could see the glinting yellow scales of Silver Tongue flying above, invisible to the oblivious and distracted Berserkers. Quietly to swam along the beach line till the ship was out of sight. 

Silver Tongue's beating wings kicked up large plumes of sand that stuck to your wet form. "Alright buddy, let's get out of here" Silver Tongue let out a huff and low groan, the two of you taking off back towards the edge. 

As it would turn out, Gustav had planned to stay behind in order to steal back the dragon eye as well as get the treasure. A plan that by some miricle had worked. 

"Gustav I-" Astrid was interrupted by the teenager placing a finger to her lips and shushing her, "Uh-uh, stop right there, sweets. I can't stay. My mom would kill me. She usually notices I've been gone after about three days". 

"Or she just enjoys the quiet for three days" you whisper earning an elbow from Hiccup as well as a high five from Tuff. "Alright, Fanghook, let's go. You take care babe. Don't worry, Gustav will be back soon!" the boy and his dragon then lifted off the ground back towards Berk. 

 Hiccup moved to open a small wooden chest. "What's that". "Oh, just something I found at the bottom of that cave" he held up a blue crystal eye lens. "Oh, a new lens" Fishlegs said. "Yeah, there was treasure in those caves after all. The dragon eye was giving us clues on how to find it all along. We just weren't looking in the right place". Fishlegs' eyes widened, "And if there's one of these out there, that means there has to be more".

"Huh, and to think we never would've found that without Gustav" Astrid said making you wince. "I'd rather not be in debt to him right now thank you" Hiccup gave a light laugh. "Alright, awesome. Let's just go tell Gustav" And on cue all of you screamed a stream of no's. 

This was the beginning of a new adventure. 

[katierosefun]

16 "You were calling out, in your sleep. You said my name." with jwds cause i'm a sucker for comfort ♡

thank you for the ask, anon!! // from these prompts

Dong Sik’s grabbing onto a wrist even before he comes to. He doesn’t even know why, not at first, until light floods from under his eyelids—and when he opens his eyes, Joo Won’s staring down at him.

Dong Sik releases a breath. His whole chest hurts, like he’d been running for miles on end and had only just been forced to stop. His arms hurt too, and his legs, and his head. Maybe he really had been running—maybe he’d been running for the whole night, and he’d only just remembered to come back to bed.

Except that doesn’t make much sense. Dong Sik isn’t a sleepwalker, let alone a sleep runner—but his chest still rises and falls as though he’d been racing.

“Slow down,” Joo Won says quietly, a warm hand spanning on top of Dong Sik’s chest. As though he’s forcing the breath right back into Dong Sik’s lungs through only touch.

And yet, it still works. The weight settles straight through Dong Sik’s shirt, down through bone and muscle and somewhere, Dong Sik’s heart slows its drumming. “Breathe.”

Dong Sik inhales. He finds Joo Won in the dim light, his eyes shadowed by too few hours of sleep and too many hours of work. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I woke you.”

“Don’t,” Joo Won says. He curls towards Dong Sik, chin resting against his shoulder. He pats his hand once against Dong Sik’s chest, again. Dong Sik feels it in his bones. His entire body hurts too much to move, but he manages to tilt his head towards Joo Won’s, enough for their foreheads to touch. “Where were you this time?”

It’s an old game that they play, during these kinds of nights. Whenever the memories rushed up a little too close to the surface, when neither of them could sleep for some reason. Or when one of them was waking up at odd hours again. Dong Sik had thought they were fine, for at least a while—he can’t remember the last time he had a nightmare, and yet.

“The office,” he says quietly, tightening his grip around Joo Won’s shirt. “I just came in.”

Joo Won stills for a moment, and then he pats Dong Sik’s chest again. “Bad?”

“Bad,” Dong Sik says. He inhales again, drawing Joo Won close. “Very bad.”

Joo Won doesn’t ask for the details, and Dong Sik doesn’t feel like divulging. There are certain things that he’ll only mention in the morning, when the terrible things feel less likely to happen. For now, he just stares up at the ceiling and feels Joo Won’s hand against his chest and tries to keep breathing.

“It makes sense,” Joo Won says after a while. “You were calling out in your sleep. You said my name.”

Dong Sik’s throat closes. “Was I,” he says.

“Mm.” Joo Won rests his cheek on Dong Sik’s shoulder.

“Who knows,” Dong Sik says after a beat. “You could have figured it was just a dirty dream.”

“Hm.” Joo Won pinches Dong Sik through his shirt. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Ha. I thought I was doing a good job,” Dong Sik says. He rolls his head over so that he can look at Joo Won. His partner’s face is half-hidden in Dong Sik’s shirt, and the room is still a little too dark to make out much more than just the vague outlines of Joo Won’s face, but it’s enough.

Joo Won sighs into Dong Sik’s shirt. “Don’t fool yourself,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “We’ve gone over this before. All of it.”

That’s also true.

Dong Sik forces himself to smile. “Fair enough,” he says.

Joo Won sighs again, letting the hand on Dong Sik’s chest slide over so that his entire arm’s curled over his waist. It’s about as close as they can get to each other in this position, with so much skin on skin contact that makes Dong Sik’s breath typically stutter, except tonight—tonight, it’s welcomed in a whole different way.

“Clingy bastard,” Dong Sik murmurs.

“That’s right,” Joo Won replies quietly, his voice a rumble against Dong Sik’s ear. “Unfortunately for you, Dong Sik-ssi—I’m not going anywhere.”

Dong Sik swallows the lump rising in his throat.

“Unfortunately,” he says, and for the rest of the night, he doesn’t ever loosen his grip on Joo Won.

[pastelwitchling]

Hello there 😃 I’m not sure if you’re still taking prompts but if you are at be a follow up to chapter 54 where Maria comes over asking for Michael, Michael tells her no and then after she goes Alex lunches himself at Michael and more sexy times happen?

***

Michael and Alex were lying in bed, Alex asleep for the first time in days in Michael’s arms after a long, long night that made Michael smile into his hair at the mere memory—when a knock sounded at the door.

If Alex hadn’t been struggling to sleep for so long, he would’ve woken at the sound. As it was, Michael had just enough time to muffle his ears so that he only stirred briefly before settling again into his pillows. He pressed his forehead to Alex’s temple, wanting to groan.

Who was bothering them now? He wanted more than anything to stay in bed, hold Alex tighter, fall back asleep against him, but one more knock could wake Alex up, and then he’d feel the need to deal with it. So, moving as slowly as he could, Michael stepped out of bed, tucked Alex in, and hurried to the door. He opened it to find Maria on the other side, as glamorous as always in the early morning sunlight.

Michael really wanted to get back to his husband in bed.

“Hey,” he smirked. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you want?”

She tilted her head at his shirtless chest, and raised an unimpressed brow. “How horny are you? Are you at least letting him take breaks?”

His smile tightened possessively. “He doesn’t want any breaks from me. Cut to the chase, DeLuca, I’ve got a hottie in bed I need to get back to.”

“Then I’ll make this quick,” she said simply, and stuck her hand in her purse. She pulled out a wad of cash. “I need you to come over to the Pony real quick to fix my jukebox. You’re a master with that stuff, you’ll go in, do your thing, and be back in no time.”

Michael pursed his lips at the cash, and tapped the wad against his palm. “Why do you keep asking me? Why don’t you just hire someone?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry,” she scoffed, “do you have somewhere to be?”

He frowned. “Yes, Maria, I do,” he said, handing her back the money. “With my husband.”

Her eyes widened, stung. “Guerin, it’s not like I’m barging in on your date nights or anything—”

“It’s more than that,” he said, an edge to his voice, and he paused, looking over his shoulder. He closed the door behind him so that Alex wouldn’t hear them. “We dated. I turned him down for you. Don’t you get that?”

“Yeah, but . . .” she shrugged, waving a dismissive hand. “We were both in a bad place then.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Michael argued, remembering the unshed tears in Alex’s eyes as he’d said with such shame and embarrassment that he hated knowing Michael and Maria were alone together all the time. He hated that Michael followed at Maria’s calls at all. Like he wasn’t allowed to be jealous or upset or possessive, and was afraid of Michael’s reaction to his insecurities.

“Every time I’ve gone into a self-loathing rage, he’s calmed me down and told me he loved me,” Michael said, “and he doesn’t think he can tell me when he’s scared. So no, DeLuca. If it makes him even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, which it does, then you can hire someone else. Are we done here?”

Maria couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, so she just nodded, brows furrowed. Michael went back inside, closed the door behind him, and peeked into the bedroom. To his relief, Alex was still asleep. His rosy cheeks, dark hair on the white pillows, and tanned, muscled arms hugging the blanket in Michael’s place made him look so angelic that Michael almost didn’t want to touch him if not to risk disturbing him.

But he knew Alex, and he knew his husband would rather Michael take every chance to feel him than leave him alone. He bit his lower lip, pushed off his jeans, and eased back into bed. This time, unfortunately, Alex did wake.

“Huh? What, what happened?”

“Shh,” Michael said softly into his hair, running a hand down his naked back. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. I was just getting some water. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm,” Alex curled into Michael’s side and nuzzled his chest. “You feel so good.”

“Good,” Michael smiled, slipping a hand through Alex’s hair and closing his eyes, content. “Because I don’t plan on moving.”

***

Thanks for reminding me to do this one! I'd wanted to, and almost completely forgot.

[merv606]

(Mercy)

That SPOILER REVEAL

about Terry’s mum being Romanian blew my mind. I’m still headcanoning (at the moment) Terry’s dad being an American of Irish descent haha. Both Silver senior and junior definitely have a thing for dark haired, dark eyed, olive-skin beauties methinks ;D I am wildmass guessing here and speculating, but I like to think that this was Terry’s mum’s mansion, or it was from her side of the family, but it fell into disrepair during the Soviet Union era. After the Iron Curtain fell, it went back to Terry, and he modernized it over the years. I can picture him taking Daniel on a tour of the mansion, and telling him of its history. Maybe Daniel sees a portrait of Terry’s mum, and wonders why she reminds him of someone he can’t place his finger on…

Oh, Danny Danny! Lol.

Okay a now I know someone has hacked my phone and got my notes 😂

Spoilers

“Who’s that?” Daniel asks, pausing long enough that Terry manages to get a few feet ahead of him before he turns back to his boy.

They had been walking in sync.

Terry’s eyes follow Daniel’s, falling on, to Terry anyway, a familiar frame.

“My mom.”

Daniel picks up the photo. Nothing is really off limits between them.

“She’s beautiful.” Daniel remarks, and she is. Dark hair with darker eyes, offset by olive skin and a generous mouth.

“Yes she was,” he says, walking the few feet back to Daniel.

“I’m sorry.” You can tell he means it. His boy feels so much, sometimes; for himself, for others.

“It was a long time ago,” he comes to stand by Daniel’s side, looking down but not taking the photo from him even when Daniel offers it back.

“You don’t really look anything like her.” In truth, Daniel would say he’d pass as her kid - back when he was younger - more than Terry probably ever did.

“No, the dark hair is what I got for her. Everything else was my father. Unfortunately.”

“You never got along with him?”

Terry pauses, a look crossing his face as his fingertips trace the photo - like he’s trying to remember the shape and feel of her through muscle memory alone.

“He was ….” the other man stops, looking for the right words, which is odd for Terry, he always seems to know what to say. “He was not easy to get along with.”

Daniel can see it now, a look in her eyes that when he looks at her son now before him, he sees mirrored.

“She deserved better,” Terry finishes, placing the frame back.

[fandom-susceptible]

Supernatural Rewatch S1E6 Skin

Is the color balancing this bad for the whole series or is it just the site I'm watching it on? Everything's so washed out.

*wheezing* oh my god I forgot Sam being like "oh I'm an innocent college student just like you but Dean's totally a cop" to convince his friend Becky they could help. Like these two really just spout off the most insane stories about each other to strangers and the other one just rolls with it.

It hurts me watching Sam try so hard to maintain friendships outside of hunting and Dean be convinced he shouldn't. Because Dean couldn't.

The random leanings into animals being aware of the paranormal is kinda hilarious in this show with it being so inconsistent. Like right here, this one dog's aware of Shit Going Down with the murder. But this only comes up at random intervals.

"That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen" Sam says. Have you looked at much video, Sammy? It's. This is random eye shine.

Okay but fr what ARE they doing there at 5:30 in the morning? Also, can Sam stop bitch facing for two seconds and answer the question instead of dragging everything out?

What made them think the ambulance going by had anything to do with their case?? This is in a city. Ambulances go by all the time, unfortunately, for good reasons and bad.

Why do these two keep having conversations about their cases in broad daylight in public? It's a wonder they weren't caught more often than they were. Or were the cops just over there like "yk what we don't get paid to go after the crazies that we don't have a current crime connected to." Also why didn't they get in worlds of trouble opening a manhole cover, again in broad daylight on a busy city street right next to a crime scene?

Can Sam quit bitching and just acknowledge that Dean's right about the lying to his friends bit and how bad it can go?

Sam can't see shit apparently, and also can't aim.

Again, these two should be in worlds of trouble for fucking around with manholes in busy public areas.

Sam walking around trying real hard not to tip anybody off, meanwhile Dean just runs down the street with a gun in hand. How many times has he been arrested?

Ok props to Sam for calling the shapeshifter on his shit so quickly, but also be a little more decisive bro this is how we end up in shitty situations.

Jensen's acting is phenomenal. I also think it's interesting how the shapeshifter (from Dean's POV, speaking from Dean's memories) says "I know I'm a freak." The stress pattern there on just the first "I", as if it isn't that Sam's actually different - it's that Sam doesn't know, refuses to know, that he's also a freak. And it's that ignorance that lets him have that shot at a normal life, it's that ignorance that Dean's jealous of. Then we get into Dean's abandonment issues, straight into the deep end, the shapeshifter pretty much confirming that Dean's sluttiness is a substitute for the real connection he wants but isn't getting from anybody.

What the hell was the yell back there when she screamed, Jensen? It wasn't even like, a Menacing Roar noise, he just fuckin yelled the same way lmao, it's so funny

why is the makeup identical on every woman the shapeshifter's attacked this episode. I could swear every single one has had the bandage wrapped around the head, bruising on the cheeks, three lines of blood dripping down the right shoulder, hair caked in the same spot . . .

I remember the shapeshifting scene really hitting me in the creepy feelings the first time I watched this but this time I was just fascinated by how much Jensen's changed over the years. He packed on so much more muscle over the next four years alone.

They really just like tying these men up don't they? And Dean is so much more relaxed about it than Sam is, and there's so many fun headcanons you could pack into that. Is it angst? Was he just trained to it? Or does he just Like It?

"Did Jessica know?" "No, she didn't." Yeah, because you weren't. doing it then. Sam. "What can I do, it's my family" you're literally only back because you've got it out for Jessica's killer, it's still about you, mfer. Why do you try to pretend it's for Dean?

Do they ever go back to St. Louis? I could swear they do. Shouldn't it come up more that Dean's wanted for murder there? They had the one season where the FBI were hot on their tails but then the angels started getting involved and we suddenly got a whole lot less of the consequences of the boys' actions.

[diaryofamadfatwoman]

Moving On

Welcome to Week 3 of my journey to better health.

I had lunch with my sisters on Friday, so getting on the scale on Monday was a real nail biter. Drumroll please... unfortunately, I only lost one pound for the week. Although I M.ade A.djustments D.aily following our delicious Mexican Food meal, my effort did not pay off as well. But I am not defeated. I am pressing on.

On my Health Management System I engage my cooking skills, and you can too, or enlist a willing cook.

My daughter introduced me to Red Lentil Spagetti and I bought a tray of vegetable kebobs which I cut into smaller bites, seasoned and sauteed'. After boiling the spaghetti, I simply topped it with the vegetables and sauteed' shrimp. It was delicious but next time I will boil the spaghetti in a broth and toss it in olive oil for added flavor. Here is a picture:

This is an Eating Well dish. Any meat protein would work here, but it can be eaten alone as the spaghetti is high in protein and gluten-free. It also contains protein-rich mushrooms.

According to an online nutritionist I follow, real food contains enzymes that promote healthy metabolism. All our organs participate in burning energy so it is important that our liver, kidney, gallbladder and digestive system is healthy. Additionally, deep sleep, exercise and fasting also improve metabolism. And what more is metabolism than energy...the fuel that keeps our bodies running.

I imagine that if we think of our bodies more as machines, it will be easier to comprehend that it needs just enough fuel to get us from point A-Z per day simplistically speaking, rather that hoarding excess calories that weigh us down, right? Afterall, we cannot overfill a gas tank can we?

There is something to be said about a good man who happens to be your husband. I should be in good shape thanks to my wonderful husband. Many years ago he bought me a treadmill, a stationary bike and even resistence bands. Unfortunately they have become like 'against the wall' art. He even bought me a nice massage chair for days when my muscles are sore. He is really just that kind of guy. However, it is down to me to show my appreciation by taking advantage of all these resources.

When it is warm we walk 2-3 miles daily. Now, in the winter months, we tend to nest and I have not been using my exercise equipment; however, one night while watching TV, I felt like walking inside the house and so I do it one hour every night. It has been great. Because I am concerned about my balance and strength, I practice standing on one foot and have added countertop arm presses. The stronger we are in our older years the fewer falls, and therefore, the more stable we are. If you are young, start moving and keep moving right now.

I was reminded this week of a good resource to help me move and gain strength. She is a firecracker of a lady on YouTube named PaulaB. She does timed exercises for older adults. I plan to incorportate some exercises from PaulaB and start using my resistence bands this coming week. I will let you know how it goes.

Although it is difficult to choose to keep moving, it is a choice to take my thoughts captive and move on.

Did you know our brain has a drain system? A good night's sleep removes toxins from the brain into the venous sinuses. Imagine the focus we can have, memories we can retain! Gives a whole new meaning to brain drain. Reminder: Keep drinking...water or tea, that is.

Well that is it for this week. Thanks for joining me. If you missed them, you can catch up on the two previous blogs and remember to like, share and follow.