#can someone reset my brain please

[magical-xirl-4]

I just wanna feel safe for a good while and not in a constant lowkey state of flight omfg

[zukkaoru]

i love waking up after 3 1/2 hours of sleep and then still not being tired enough to fall back asleep another three hours later

[passerinesoncaffeine]

GOD. I AM OBSESSED WITH HIM.

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: [Mermaids Don’t Exist]

Summary: Jake continues to plays your knight in shining armour when tensions rise between you and an overly intoxicated patron. Bob brings up a mutual memory.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Witness Protection F!reader. Sexually degrading comments made towards reader. Sexual tension, trauma. Mentions of death & violence.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Still not writing as much as I once was but I’m getting back into the swing of things. Any comments, thoughts or concepts are welcome!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dreams mainly occur when the body falls into a stage of sleep referred to as R.E.M. Rapid eye movement occurs when the brain and body are finally able to completely rest. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that when your body is able to rest, it allows you to do so. 

“We’ll find you, Y/n!” 

Nightmares are typically thought to be an evolutionary conserved trait. Some researchers believe that nightmares provide a rehearsal for life-or-death situations. Before you lived one? You would have said something along the lines of ‘that checks out.’

“No no no no please, Patrick, stay with me—“ 

Some researchers believe nightmares to be a practical experience for many people as it allows the brain to run through multiple different algorithms to find the most desirable strategies, and solutions to often critical and complex situations. 

From a procedural standpoint, simply imagining doing an action can improve your performance.  

“I love you—take Charlie.”

This applies when we simply imagine doing an action such as playing the piano or running for your life after being run off the road, it activates something called a mirror neuron. 

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, girly.” 

In theory, the more nightmares you have, the more of those algorithms your brain is able to run, and the more prepared you’re likely to be for the daily struggle of survival. 

But evolution herself is seen by the scientific community more so as a tinkerer than as an inventor. 

“Oh god—please, not my baby, please! Someone! Help us!” 

So, that’s probably why you have the same nightmare over and over and over again every single night. 

Every morning you wake in the same way, with your face pressed into your pillow and your chest sinking into your mattress. Secretly, every morning you wished that your pillow would have suffocated you in your sleep so that today would forever be unobtainable. But you couldn’t do that, no. Not when the only way to bring a sense of worth to your life was to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

With a groan and a look that spoke volumes to your lack of self-esteem, you rolled onto your back and let out a heavy sigh. Your hands were quick to shield your eyes from the mid-afternoon rays beaming into your bedroom via the slightly cracked windows. 

“Your name is Y/n Y/l/n, you are doing the right thing.”

Guilt and grief aren’t linear emotions. They don’t have a perception of how much time has passed. Realistically it had been three years, six months, and two days since your entire world had been flipped upside down. But every morning, after seeing your husband bleeding to death as he sat pressed against the steering wheel, and having held your five-year-old son in your arms while he took his last breath, the wound was reopened.

And the clock always resets.

“Ah, there she is.” You couldn’t help but hang your head in shame almost. Penny’s glare from behind the bar was as piercing and sharp as it was endearing and playful. Like a woman who took no shit from no one. “You know, you’d think management would be here on time more frequently than whatever the hell this is.” All you could do was take the semi-serious scattering from the owner of the bar you’d been lucky enough to be set up with a pretty good gig at. “Get over here and give me a hand will ya?” 

“Sorry, Penny—” There wasn’t much more you could say to justify yourself. You woke up late, got ready slowly, and got lost in the steam of your mid-afternoon shower as you fought off the existential dread that was your current situation. “Flat tyre,” You shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal that you were currently twenty-three minutes late for your shift, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Yeah well, you can start by clearing off the table by the piano,” Penny smiled as she nudged her head in the direction of the unruly table of patrons that had surely had far too much to drink. “Think Rick’s had a little more than his liver would care to admit.” 

“Yeah righto,” you sighed as you came behind the bar, doing up your apron as you looked around at the utter mess that had become the place. “I’ll sort him out.” 

North Island wasn’t somewhere you ever saw yourself living, but that was the real kicker in all of this. You didn’t mind the picturesque town with clear blue skies and water that mirrored it. But being the outsider, being the new resident, being the Hard Deck’s newest manager was all some of these people saw you as. Six months in a small Naval town was barely a dint in the years some of these families had been living here. 

“Aw hello, Brewer!” Rick Spencer, the resident rioter, cooed as he beamed your way. For someone in their mid-sixties, he surely went alright. “What brings you in on this fine Saturday afternoon?”

Typical - If you could have, you would have rolled your eyes so far into the back of your head you would have fallen over. Instead, you chose to smile and settle into the nightlife festivities with a can-do attitude and a rather cheeky smile. 

“Came to check on you, Spence? How’s everything over here boys?” It wasn’t uncommon for you to entertain the banter most of the patrons would give you. Most of the locals had caught on quickly that you enjoyed a good laugh every now and again but also knew how to handle your own. 

But there's always one in every group, isn’t there? 

“Would be a hell of a lot better if the barmaid was a little more topless! Right boys!?” A man you hadn’t seen before interrupted before a roar of ‘yeahs’ and agreements were made. Fists and beer bottles along with spirits alike slammed against the tabletop. “Come on girly—” The man continued as you stood there holding the empty bar tray, ready and waiting to collect the empties that littered the table. “Get your kit off.” 

“I don’t think so, boys,” You politely declined the offer of public indecency. “Perhaps in another lifetime.” 

“Sorry about him, Brewer,” Rick explained as he shook his head and stood from his seat at the booth. “My nephew’s here for a few days.”  

“Yeah well, so long as he remembers I run the joint and can have him tossed any time,” You replied sternly. “Keep him in line, Rick.” 

“Oh come on now, sweetheart, I was only joking!” The man you only knew as the nephew chuckled as he overheard your comment. “It’s slim pickings around here anyway, you just look like the best of a bad bunch is all.” 

“Hey!” That voice, that far too familiar voice echoed through the crowd. “You speak to her, or any woman for that matter, like that again? So help me god I’ll punch your teeth right through the back of your skull.” Jake snarled as he came to stand in front of you with his back nearly pressed right into your chest. “Got it!?” The close proximity, the overwhelming aroma of the familiar cologne, and the notes of burnt orange and bourbon made your heart warm. It all had your heart beating against your chest with a force so intense you thought it might break through. 

“Yeah right,” the man only known as the nephew agreed. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll get on the waters for a while.” 

“That and a pretty big tip should call us even,” you added with envy conviction laced in your voice that you even had yourself fooled that everything was alright. “Let me just grab these empties for you fellas.” 

You didn’t mess around with it, you simply let the group fall back into their regular chatter as you filled your tray. 

Jake stood with crossed arms a little off to the side, eyeing off all the men who sat idly. Fucking pricks. 

“Been here all of five fucking minutes—” Jake could sense your frustration as you turned into him. At first, he didn’t move, he simply stood there drinking you in as you held the now full tray of dirty glassware. 

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” was all you said. 

With wandering eyes, Jake didn’t miss a single inch of you. 

“I know,” Jake smiled softly as he reached around to lead you back to the bar for a moment to decompress. His hand gently fell to the small of your back as you walked side by side, “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but just because you’re capable? Doesn’t mean you have to go it alone.” 

Alone, that’s all you’d ever been for the last three years. 

“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right,” the sigh that left your body allowed your shoulders to relax as you placed the tray onto the bar and slid it over for Penny to take. “Thanks, Jake, I owe you one.” 

Jake Seresin had never been the kind of guy who saw himself settling down. But when he first saw you, that thought hadn’t left his mind. 

“Name a time and place,” Jake teased as he sent you a wink. It didn’t take Jake long to find himself at home up by the bar, perched on one of the bar stools as he entertained his favourite bartender. “I’ve always wondered what our first date would be like.” 

“Do I look like I came down in the last shower, Seresin?” You knew Jake had a thing for you, it wasn’t all that hard to put together. But it could never work, not in a million years. Not when you were playing pretend on a professional basis.

“What’s that even mean?” Jake asked as he leaned his elbows on top of the bar, grinning ear to ear as he pressed your buttons more. 

“It means—“ You cooed as you leaned into his space, making it known that the flirting was welcome, but the end goal wasn’t in sight. “I know you’re just trying to get in my pants.” 

“Pretty good-looking set of pants if I do say so myself,” Jake teased as his eyes trailed down the expanse of your body, then back up. Those emerald cities of his were full of complex wonder and undoubtable loyalty. Something you could never give back. “But despite the fact I think you’re pants would look a hell of a lot better in a pile on my bedroom floor, I’m not just doing any of this for a chance to, well, you know what I mean.” 

You did know what Jake meant, and for all intents and purposes you could admit to yourself that it sounded very tempting. But you knew what the repercussions would be.

“Jake, that’s all very sweet of you,” you felt as if you had this very conversation every week. The gentle let down. The kind-ish conversation where you reminded the overly-confident and somewhat self-assured Aviator that you weren’t looking for love or lust, or anything. Besides, there were already too many people looking for you. “But you know, as much as I think you’re a good guy and friend, I’m not interested.” 

Jake stood silently before you, drinking in all that was you. From the lines etched into your forehead to the small scar that ran through your left eyebrow. He wasn’t listening, there was just something about you. Something so intriguing that he couldn’t stop trying to win you over. He couldn’t stop trying to get you to give him just one chance. One chance was all Jake wanted to convince you he wasn’t everything he knew people had told you he was. 

“What would you say if I asked you to–” Before Jake had a chance to finish his question, the echoing sound of a glass shattering into smitherings against the wooden flooring, interrupted his train of thought. 

“OOOIII– TAXI!” It was almost as if all the patrons, besides Jake that was, had all congealed into one as they yelled shouted and cheered towards the man who had dropped his glass. With a heavy sigh and a quick roll of the eyes, you knew you would be the one who ultimately had to clear the mess. 

“I should probably get back to work.” The silence that came from Jake was deafening as you pulled away from where you had been standing far too close to a man you thought you didn’t want. A man you couldn’t have even if deep down you really wanted. Life was unfair like that. You couldn’t have anything you wanted, anything you loved. Anything that made you happy in the smallest of ways. 

“There’s really no chance of getting you to agree to just one date, is there Brewer?” Jake watched as you made your over to where you kept the cleaning supplies in a small section behind the bar. 

“If you already know that then why do you constantly make such an effort?” It was the look on your face that told Jake everything he needed to know. There was no chance in hell he was ever getting that date. 

But Jake Seresin never gave up without a fight, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to now. 

“Because you gentled me, Brewer,” Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who wanted to settle down. He was always so content with the relations he chose to have and the way he chose to have them. Short simple quick flings. Girlfriends who lasted no longer than a year and one-night stands he’d promise to call but never got their numbers. But then there was you. “No one’s ever done that before.” 

“Please don’t put that on my shoulders, Jake,” You weren't sure how to respond to that, how to process that kind of admission. “Just lay off the heroics for a while alright? I don’t want people getting the wrong impression.” 

“That impression would be?” Jake questioned like you’d just insulted his very being. That it would be a crime to love him. 

“Jake, I have a job to do alright,” It wasn’t that you were angry or upset that Jake cared for and about you. It was more frustration on your part for not being able to act on your own feelings towards him. It had been three years since your husband died. Three years since you felt the loving embrace of another human being. That alone was enough to frustrate anyone. “Please, just–just, I need to get back to work.” 

The thing about nightmares is that they often don’t stick to their own parameters. Sometimes, you end up living a nightmare more often than you dream one. Right now? As Jake looked at you like you’d just shot him through the heart, you knew you were wide awake. Living a nightmare that continued to punish only the good. 

“You’re untouchable,” Jake sighed to himself softly as he shook his head in defeat. “The untouchable woman who won’t let anyone in, you’re too proud or something aren’t you?” 

“It’s just–” All you wanted to do was explain yourself, pull Jake aside and let him in on why you couldn’t allow him to love you the way you wanted him to. But no words came out as you stood there holding the old dustpan by your side. 

With every blink, you saw flashes of Patrick. The love you lost too soon, too suddenly. He made sure to haunt your dreams to keep you safe. For a brief second of all-consuming anguish, you saw him too. Standing right behind Jake, warning you not to. “I need to get back to work, I’m sorry.” 

“Right,” Jake clenched his jaw when he felt the word vomit about to spew from his lips. He wasn’t mad, rejection just wasn’t something he was familiar with. “When you get a chance, put a Budweiser on Bradshaw’s tab.” Jake pressed his lips together into a fine line of regret, instantly kicking himself for pushing. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the chase was as addicting as it was thrilling. With a simple knock of his knuckles on the bar before, he turned on his heels. Leaving you to stand there in your own self-loathing. 

Your heart sank as you watched Jake shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a head that hung so low you almost wondered if his neck would be sore. Guilt, shame, it all felt the same. But you couldn’t let Jake in, you couldn’t allow him into your life more than what you’d given him over the last six months. 

You’d tangled yourself in barbed wire so you couldn’t be reached by anyone. Unknowingly bleeding when as it digs into you more and more. You would think the touch of skin on yours wouldn’t be so terrifying, but you’d been bruised before. You couldn’t allow Jake to fall into your web of lies that kept you safe from harm’s way. If hurting him was the only way to keep him safe, you’d hurt him twice over every single day.

Perhaps it would be safer to stay the untouchable woman. 

***~***~***~***~***~****

As a child, there was magic in the mundane. You often found yourself missing the mermaids among the koi in the pond, their glittering scales reminiscent of a childhood fairytale. Summer mornings you’d make bouquets out of the same flowers adults would now mow away while wrinkling their noses at the weeds. 

You often wondered to yourself when the awe of the day-to-day faded away and when you stopped believing in your ability to see mermaids in the momentous world around you. 

“Another round fellas?” You tried not to think too much about the way Jake’s eyes burned into you like a fiery sunbeam as you stood behind Rooster. “Same old same old? The usual orders of Bradshaw’s table?” The squad, affectionately known as the Daggers erupted into laughter all the while Rooster remained silent and brooding. 

“You are all bleeding my dry,” Bradley sighed as you made the rounds and collected all the empties onto your bar tray. “Seriously, I know you aren’t all working for free, cough up.” 

“You could– just apologise for being a Neanderthal and I’ll close it out?” Your statement left a bad taste in Rooster’s mouth, he wasn’t one for apologising for things he didn’t think he’d done wrong. 

“I could,” the brooding moustache-having man replied. “But it’d be an empty lie.” There was something about Bradley Bradshaw that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. He wasn’t necessarily a bad person, he was–an only child. He probably never imagined mermaids among the koi.  

“Appreciate the honesty there, Bradshaw,” you chuckled deeply as you finished you collecting all the empty glasses and beer bottles. “Guess the next rounds on you.” 

“Here here,” Coyote chimed in with a Cheshire Cat grin. “All in a hard day’s work there Rooster, you always know how to piss off the barkeep.” 

“Works out in our favour,” Bob smiled as he passed you two empty glasses. “I don’t think I’ve paid for a drink of my own in a few weeks now.” 

“No, you just keep trying to convince everyone Brewer here was your first kiss,” Phoenix smirked as she finished off her beer. 

All the air inside your lungs felt like they had been sucked right out. The chills that ran down the expanse of your spine made your blood run cold. You stood tall with your now full tray of old beer bottles and empty glasses and sent a polite smile Bob’s way. 

“You still riding that wave?” 

“You just really look like Y/n from Nurellun Public,” Bob countered with an almost pleading tone. “She was my first kiss by the sandpit and I remember she had a little yellow dot in her right eye.” 

“Brewer has a yellow dot in her right eye,” Jake decided to enter the conversation from his place in the corner of the booth. “Tell you what Floyd, you must have been one shocking kisser if you got Brewer here to change her damn name.” The table erupted into a loud boisterous laugh as the Weapons System Officer sunk a little lower into his seat. 

You felt for Bob, being the butt of the joke was never a good feeling. But when your case officer relocated you to North Island, he didn’t bank on one of its locals being your first snog. You hated gaslighting the guy, but you had no other choice. Bob Floyd had to stay in the era of Meridamis and weed bouquets. 

“Like I told you last time Bob, you’ve got the wrong girl,” It was as nonchalant as it was dismissive. “My first kiss was with Johnny Bennett out at some random guys shed.” You had gotten used to lying about your life and who you were. At the very beginning it was almost impossible, but three years on? You’d gotten pretty good at playing pretend. 

Only you wished it could be with the mermaids in their fairytales. But much like all those mermaids and all those fairytale stories……you didn’t exist. Much like Johnny Bennett.  

***~***~***~***~***~ 

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[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 1 New Beginning

Please find instagram aesthetic here.

Post here explains how I've wrote it, I think it's quite simple.

This is the first part of my new series and I hope you enjoy xx (3k words)

“Do you ever think about how crazy it is that you’re an icon in Barcelona and yet your dad played for Real Madrid?”

“I try not to think about that. I think that bothers him more than me.”

“Does he have any Barcelona shirts?”

“Of course he does.”

…..

“David, how does it feel watching your daughter play for Barcelona?”

“It’s the best feeling in the world. I’m guessing you were expecting some kind of rivalry but I’ll always support my daughter.”

…..

Barcelona, February 2023.

One down, nine to go.

It was like clockwork in your brain. Training would finish, everyone else would rush to get back into the training room and get back to their everyday life. Yet here you were, on your own, just how you like it. You and the ball. Free kick after free kick after free kick. Ten in total, all from different areas, all with different aims but each one just as equally important in your brain.

Barcelona was a dream. You were here with the best players in the world but you hated letting anyone down. Every little mistake was over-analysed, picked at all because of who you were. At the weekend it was a wonder save which stopped one nestling in the top corner but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t gone in and therefore didn’t meet your expectations.

The expectations you put on yourself, multiplied by that moment four years ago.

You loved your father but many people probably didn’t understand that there wasn’t a gene for taking good free kicks.

Unbeknownst to you, all of this was about to change. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“If it’s another journalist, tell them I’m not interested.”

You couldn’t be bothered with whatever reply the press officer would tell you. It was the same every day. Someone wanted to speak to you, you said no. They came back the next day.

You’d think they’d get bored after four years of consistent turn aways but that was never the case. You did the press conferences, the interviews after games but a sit-down full-length interview was not something you felt like you could ever handle.

So you carried on, resetting the ball in the correct spot. Back to just you and the ball.

For February it was a sunny afternoon in Barcelona, the sun was still shining for the mid-afternoon with minimal wind. Perfect conditions to practice and as your teammates had pointed out you hadn’t needed any more persuasion to get that training vest on, your tattoos on full show. Along with football they were your biggest passion, your phone was full of tattoo inspiration and little doodles you did when you were bored, they were a big part of you and maybe the image you wanted to create for yourself.

You took inspiration from everything, football, the environment, your father. Growing up many would say you were already a carbon copy of him but the tattoos were the icing on the cake. Your mother may not have been as happy about them but they promised to accept all your passions and that included turning up every few months with a new collection of tattoos to show off.

…..

“Maria, is she copying you?”

“You’ll have to ask her. No of course not, I would say we take great inspiration from each other. We’ve got a few matching ones, I’ve done a few on her and she’s done the same to me. That’s kind of what started our friendship.”

“You both have ‘looks can be deceiving’ on your necks, is that true for her?”

“Depends on what you think of her. Maybe some find her scary but you have to find out if that’s true yourself.”

…..

You could hear someone approaching you, watching as you took the next kick nestling it into the bottom corner underneath the imaginary wall.

“Y/N, have you got five minutes?” The unmistakable voice of Sarina. Many people would love Serena Weigman to turn up at their training session, not you. Not now.

Shit. You almost didn’t want to turn around. Maybe if you stayed facing the other way she would leave. Leave you be in the bubble you’d created for yourself, nothing good could come out of this conversation.

But of course the Dutch woman wasn’t going to leave that easily, edging closer to you. “I only want to talk.”

“I gave you my answer a year ago.”

“Lots can change in a year. Five minutes. If you still want me to leave after, I’ll leave.”

Maybe it was worth hearing what she had to say. Nothing could change your mind anyway, you’d hear whatever she had to say and then she could leave.

You knew what she was here for and it didn’t surprise you what came out of her mouth next. “I want you back, I name my squad next week and I want you ready to play for us at the World Cup.”

“And I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The fans are not that accepting, the players don’t deserve to be drawn into that drama because of me.”

“There’s always drama in football.” Maybe she had a point but off the back of the Euro’s success the lionesses have had nothing but positivity from the media and public. “We’ve lost Beth, we’ve lost Fran and I think the players would welcome your experience in that position. It’s your decision but I know deep down you want to prove people wrong and I want to give you that opportunity.”

“Some would say I don’t deserve that.”

“It will be different this time.”

“How?”

“It’s been four years, everything’s changed. We protect you guys, you have support systems in place, we have support systems. It’s not individuals anymore, it’s a team.”

“I made that decision to protect myself.” Almost four years ago you’d sent that letter, asking not to be selected for international duty again. They had no choice but to accept it and when Serena came into the role she approached you but you told her a tournament on home soil was not something you could mentally cope with. Not yet. “Why would now be different?”

“I’ve watched every game you’ve played in the last 18 months. I know you may not see a difference in yourself but I do, the interview after you lost to Lyon showed your spirit, your drive. I need players like you, it won’t be easy but I don’t want something that happened four years ago to stop you showing the world how talented you are.”

You were conflicted. Of course you’d love nothing more than to prove all those who bashed you before wrong, to make a difference on the world stage after winning every trophy you could with Barcelona. On the other hand it was just opening a can of worms you’d hidden all those years ago. Although you were only in Spain it felt like a different world, you turned your comments off on social media and they never came back on. Interviews were a no-go and your former friends were now distant acquaintances.

“Can I think about?”

“Of course you can. Like I said, the squad goes out on Tuesday so I need an answer by Monday. Any questions, I’m coming to the match on Sunday, maybe I can speak to you after?”

“Thank you.” With a soft squeeze to your shoulder she was off, except now you couldn’t focus knowing you were about to make a decision which would change everything.

…..

“You seem distracted.”

In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to accept the dinner invite from Maria and Ingrid but you knew your best friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. The three of you along with Frido were sat at their dinner table, tucking into the tapas you’d ordered from your favourite restaurant and it wasn’t lost on any of them how your mind was elsewhere. Casually picking through your food was a total opposite to the way you usually devoured this.

“Y/N?”

You’d been debating on the way whether to speak to someone about it.

Maybe your dad? He’d gone through something similar but he was in Miami and would only just be getting up.

Your mum? She was the most rational option but she would never understand that pride of pulling on your national shirt.

Your therapist seemed the best option but the earliest session she had for non-emergencies was tomorrow.

“Y/N!” In your own little world you’d even forgot to answer their questions. “Are you alright?”

It could help speaking to them, couldn’t it? “I had a visitor after training. Sarina Weigman.”

“Shit man, I thought you said no.” Maria Leon was your best friend from the moment you stepped foot in that training room, you bonded over everything from tattoos to food. You’d been her wingman in getting with Ingrid and had a mutual understanding of each other’s situations with your respective national teams even if the circumstances were very different.

“She wants me back but I don’t know, this feels different from last year.” If Bonnie, your 5-year-old beagle, adopted 3 years ago to signify a new chapter in your life, wasn’t by your feet they would definitely be anxiously tapping the floor right now.

“They probably feel your absence more because they’ve lost other players.” Frido added some context. “Not that you wouldn’t have always walked into that team but now you definitely would. You’d be their main player.”

“I can see you’re considering it.” Ingrid pointed out. “When she came last year I could see you were like, definitely no, now you haven’t turned it down immediately.”

“There’s no right or way wrong to feel,” Maria tried to comfort me. “Only you can decide if you want to go back there.”

“I miss it.”

“Of course you do.” Ingrid agreed. “You wouldn’t watch all their games if you didn’t.”

“It’s just the fact that I’m comfortable here, I have been for so long and now I’m going to throw myself back into four years ago.” Four years ago when you’d been forced to move away from your club at the time in Chelsea and accept the fact that one mistake had changed everything. “Plus the media attention, no-one wants that in the lead up to the world cup.”

“They were your friends, I’m sure they’d understand.” Frido tried to make you see that side of things. “Shit happens in football but what happened to you when completely over the top of that.”

“I isolated them.” Of course you had friends in the squad at the time, in fact best friends. But as soon as you made the move to America you slowly distanced yourself from them as they did to you. You hated letting them down and completely understood that being associated to you meant unnecessary exposure where perhaps they would not want it.

“So you’ll make friends again.”

You’d changed as well, grown into a completely different person in that time. Your appearance and attitude on the pitch were a distinct opposite to the crippling shyness you had yet to shake off. “Maybe.”

“You will,” Maria assured you. “Plus I think Bonnie told me she wanted a sleepover with me.”

“Oh did she?”

“I’m not swaying you either way but if that’s what you want, I’ll support you all the way.”

“We all will.” Frido added wrapping her arms around you to bring you into her side. “We love you.”

“Thank you, I love you all too.”

“Speak to your dad, maybe even your mum. I’m sure they’d want to help.”

One of the funniest moments in your life had to be watching your teammates introduce themselves to your parents when they came out to watch your first match in the Blaugrana. Watching their nerves dissipate when they realised how down to earth, especially your mother was, when it came to their children. Of course their name brought so much extra attention to you but you couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing.

Maybe it was their words that made you do it but subconsciously you knew the best thing to do was to ring them. So as you got into bed that night, once you got back, Bonnie at your feet watching, you rang the number you’d had memorised for years.

“Hi baby.” His voice almost brought tears to your eyes. Although you tried to be as independent as possible, wanting to be your own person, you sometimes wished you could just go back to spending every night in his arms.

“Hi dad.”

“What’s wrong?” You hated how easily he could read you, how those two words were enough for him to know something was wrong.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know dad.” Out with it. “Sarina Weigman came to visit me today, she wants me to go and join them in the next international break.”

“And what do you want?”

“I think I want to.”

“You think?”

“I just know that if I do I’m just going to be brought back to that moment.”

“Then you’ll go back to a moment where the referees made a terrible decision. Football fans are fickle you know that as much as I do but you’ve watched it back enough to know that nine times out of ten nothing happens. The commentator did you no favours, Phil didn’t stand by you as he should have and the media hung you out to dry.”

“I know.”

“But as awful as it was it made you the person you are today and your stronger now then you’ve ever been before. If you want to go back then you’ll make it work. I know you will.”

“Thanks dad, now how is…”

,,,,,

“How many times have you watched that tackle back?”

“Over a thousand times.”

“Do you think you should have been sent off?”

“Of course not.”

……

You loved Barcelona, from the moment you stepped through those doors 3 years ago you’d been welcomed in and never looked back. In 2019 you moved to America but your year out there was plagued with depression and homesickness resulting in a lack of game time, when Barcelona came calling it was a difficult decision with your family ties but they had a project, they had a good set up and you knew the onus wouldn’t just be on you. The first six months were still tough, working out Spanish football to both play with your teammates and counter the opposition but by the end of the season you felt at home for the first time in 2 years.

Your role this year had been heightened by the loss of one of your midfield partners in Alexia, but you were adaptable and that’s probably how you found yourself 4-0 up, having just scored a second goal in the second half.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” Mapi whispered giving you a half hug as you walked back into your own half.

“Shut up.”

“I bet she’s panicking that you might turn it down now.”

“She’s got other players Maria.”

“But none of them are you.”

The match stayed at 4-0, some of the youngsters coming on to see the game out.

You’d never been in a team like this, of course you had little arguments and there were small groups within the team, but everyone worked so hard for each other. And with that came the protectiveness, when you joined you were only 21, now 24 and the older ones took you under their wings. You’d been daunted a lot at the fact of playing fellow English players in the Champions League but they’d been your shield for those moments.

It blew your mind when the younger age groups joined you and they speak about that moment. Most of them staying up late to watch it making you feel old. But that meant they came to you for advice a lot of the time. Maybe this time though it was time to get advice from them.

“Hey little one.” Maria Perez was the first one you spotted in the changing room. “You played really well today.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling about being called up?” It was only yesterday that the Spanish squad had been leaked and she was once again in it.

“Excited, another opportunity to prove myself.”

“I like that you see it that way.”

“Everyone should, it’s no different to playing here, as long as you be yourself you can never be disappointed.”

…….

@jillsmithjournalist: Serena Weigman is present at the Barcelona match. No current England players are playing however star player Y/N Beckham scored twice. Beckham has not played for England since she withdrew from selection in August 2019 amid public backlash and a rumoured feud with England manager Phil Neville. Could a return be on the cards?

@newlionesses_x: Surely she can’t just pick and choose when to come back.

@wslfan: Fine without her last year

@england123: Liability for England

@barcelonafan: All you hating on Beckham are crazy, one of the best players in the world and you don’t want her back because of something that happened 4 years ago, grow up. Could tell she struggled when she joined us but this past year she’s been exceptional, people change, mistakes happen (even though she should never have been sent off in the first place)

…..

You’ve known your decision for a long time but you still delayed giving it as long as possible before you could wait no longer. You could see she was the only one left in the hospitality area as you entered, the table she had chose overlooking the pitch you’d just performed on.

This was what you wanted and now it felt only right to give yourself that opportunity again.

“I’ll do it.”

[updatingranboo]

ranboo tweet... uh

["This was such a good joke and I am appalled by the fact that it has not gone absolutely bonkers viral. I mean is comedy dead? I just dont understand how a regular human being can read the word "Greans" (A combination of green and jeans) followed by an image of, well, green jeans, and not absolutely evacuate themselves in laughter.

I believe this has something to do with the fact that comedy as we know it is dying. It has become too mainstream in todays media and that is the main problem. Gone are the days where silly little guys in their silly little hop hats are able to go "knock knock" and absolutely change the world. Nowadays you have to have so many things that go into a joke for it to remotely even be funny, setup, punchline the whole ordeal. Whatever happened to just a simple Practicality joke? Whatever happened to just being able to slap someone and be the headlining act?

The world is so full of so called "comedians" these days it makes me sick. All these people do is spend hours writing and practicing their act in order to try and sway an audience to have a good time listening to their words. For SHAME! Comedy used to be just two people on a stage just slapping eachother and going "knock knock" for twenty hours. Whatever happened to the good ol days where people just laughed at whatever someone said because their brain hadnt fully developed?

This is why I believe that I am going to start performing my comedy acts to a bunch of babies. An absolute hoard of newborns. I will make my jokes to them and they will laugh for they truly understand what humor should be. I will go to a hospital in that little room they have where it is very easy to switch said babies and cause a bit of a ruckus, but instead of doing that (very funny joke) I will simply perform for them and relish in their cheers and guffaws.

It is sad that one has to turn to performing to just babies in order for the world to understand the complexity of ones said humor, but alas if its what I must do its what I must do. Maybe one day we will revert back to absolute comedy anarchy, where the chicken has not yet crossed the road, but until then I will continue to strive and push forward in this dark age of comedy.

Maybe a complete reset of what we find funny is in order, maybe we have lost what humor once was for us. We obviously have considering my VERY FUNNY TWEET does not have a bazillion likes and has not spun off at least 30 million movie deals. (Please note that this joke is satire, and Ranboo stands in solidarity with the SAG-AFTRA strikes. Support actors and writers. -A message from Ranboo)

I spent time and effort making this tweet, I saw the green jeans in front of my eyes (which are very squishy) and my neurons fired and made this absolute gem of a joke. I was excited to share it with the world, I tweeted it nearly right after I saw it, excited to see what new adventures this tweet could bring me. I went to bed all cozy smiling like a child on christmas eve night, excited for the morning. When I woke I turned to check my phone instantly, my eyes racing to see the like total. What would it be? 500k? A million? I was surprised that my dms hadnt blown up with a personal message from every billionaire going "let me give you all of my money I can never make anything as good as your "Greans" tweet" but It must have been a glitch.

I was appalled to see that my tweet had only 30K??? 30K for the pinnacle of all of human achievement? A slap in the face of innovation is what it felt like. Like when that thomas edison guy ate a stolen lightbulb or something idk what he did really but I remember the person who made that lightbulb which he ate probably felt really sad and I felt really sad so I felt a deep connection with that person.

I quickly fell into a great depression, this is what all of my life had lead up to: one sad tweet. I didnt see the outside for years because of this tweet. I thought to myself "why would they do this?", "Isnt humanity supposed to be kind, supportive, and have a sense of humor when it comes to differently colored jean jokes?" (dcjj as I call them), and "Man I should probably have a burger" (I did) (very yummy) but as I ate my burger all I could taste were my TEARS as I chomped into it from the top down. It felt like I couldnt do anything right. Until thats when it hit me.

Im not the problem, EVERYONE ELSE IS! My humor isnt "bad" or "unfunny" or "makes me want to find a microwave and cause it to malfunction so I either become the hulk or die" (Please do not try this. -Another Ranboo message) It has to be that simply I am so far ahead in the world when it comes to comedy that my time has simply just not yet come! My jokes will be funny to a different generation, which will be frowned upon at first but I will quickly be welcomed with open arms, and told that I am an innovator, a true scholar of all that is funny.

And so I wait for that day. I wait for the day that people look back on my Greans tweet and realize, that without a doubt that it is the funniest thing that they have ever seen. The problem is not with my joke, the problem is with the world, and thats what makes humanity beautiful, is that it evolves, it changes, it doesnt stick to its mindset that a tweet that has the word "Greans" followed by a pair of green jeans doesnt get a BAZILLION LIKES! I wait for that day, and for those of you who are with me, I hope you wait patiently as well. Stay strong."]

[justice-artblog]

Random thought but, do yall think Saiki would have made a good accidental villain?

Like, bear with me here, a lot of this is just my own headcanons mixing with canon.

But you have a being here that does things on his own whimsy. Teleports things in and out based on price, has a psychic presence so wide that other espers sometimes suffer because they can't see their own things. This being has telekensis string enough to level entire cities, has a power that destroys islands- destroys NATIONS- if he so pleases.

He has a power to infinitely reset time, sending everyone into a neverending loop if he so wants. He can erase and persuade your memory to the point you might not even know what you really want anymore. There was a time where hair was the odd colors of blacks, browns and blondes only- but maybe thats how it was before this being? Or maybe it was always like this?

Like- being stuck in an endless timeloop (and not knowing why) can drive anyone crazy.

And the thought that someone finds out (I'm a sucker for it being his friends) and then just grabs Saiki's hand, desperate and pleading.

Cause while his actions may seem cruel, Saiki is not a cruel person to them

"Please, please let us go."

"You'll die."

The miscommunication of people thinking that Saiki is immortal- and who knows, he could very well be- vs the actuality that he just isnt atrong enough with his limiters to hold back a fucking volcano.

And all he wants to do is keep his favorites alive.

I dunno, this is just brain vomit at this point, but it would NOT leave my psyche (hehe)

[reineydraws]

Hey Reiney! i've been following your Renkaza comic for some time now and it's kind of gotten me into the ship. Would you happen to have any fic recs to get me started?

im so honoured my comic got u into the ship! (@sshcomic for those who don't know! 🫶) i love giving out fic recs omg thank u so much for asking!!!! i have 15 for ya haha.

i'll have specific recs under the cut, but first i wanna just say that anything by emilieee @e-milieeee ; dragonsandcryptids @lesbiansanemi ; and tippertupper are great places to start! they're amazing writers with a good body of work and i've definitely gone through a lot--if not all--of their renkaza stuff! please check them out!

word count is rounded to nearest thousand btw! :) smoke and mirrors + demon's choice are big inspirations for my comic, if ur coming from there!

i've also realized these can be pretty lengthy so if u want recs with shorter word counts just lmk and i'll comb through my bookmarks for <15k. but anyways!

Smoke and Mirrors by emilieee (272k)

canon happens in modern times au, where akaza ends up as kyo's apartment neighbour, tho kyo doesn't initially realize akaza's a demon. it's emotional! it's plotty! akaza mentions kokushibo made all the kizuki's fake id's and i still think that's hilarious! it's got one of my fave enemies to besties akaza & shinobu plots ever! please read this!!!

last sunrise by DragonsAndCryptids (182k)

akaza turns kyojuro by accident bc he bleeds too much into kyo's open wounds during the mugen train fight, and neither notice until it's too late. shinobu notices too and decides perhaps that this might be a prime research opportunity... uh-oh! the ethical quandries are good in this, and shinobu while flawed is very well-written. renkaza also end up with a soul bond. another emotional one but god is the journey amazing. tw for some torture scenes that could be graphic.

Small Fire of Winter Stars by phabulousphantom (66k)

modern au where akaza is a tattoo artist and kyo runs a teens program at the local community centre. it's one of my faves bc i just love stories about jaded people opening up and finding love and trust again, and this is exactly that. i also love the ensemble cast in it. the teenagers are adorable, especially inosuke who is a problem kid that finds something aspirational with akaza. thinking abt this fic is making me smile again!

Camp Kasugai by si1verbird77 (20k)

also modern au where renkaza are both counselors at a summer camp. kyo runs a percy jackson program, and he and akaza fall in love over the summer with the help of the deep trust that camp atmospheres usually end up fostering. kyo and sen, and akaza as well, also touch on the grief of losing parents, and the nature of camps as a place to grow into yourself and how time keeps moving. it's nice. i love this one a lot.

Inertia (series) by TipperTupper (23k)

akaza saves kyo from freezing to death, and kyo marvels at the compassion and humanity that akaza seems to hold in his muscle memory. ends up digging a little bit into akaza's trauma both as a human and as a demon controlled by muzan. sanemi gets a little mad about it in the third part and it's funny. overall vibe of the series is warm.

The Neverending Night by apodis (155k - incomplete)

when i say this fic rotates in my brain 24/7!!! akaza gets stuck in a time loop that resets every time kyo dies. it explores akaza's nature as someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for loved ones, and it's interesting bc at first kyo hates him, and then he starts to realize there's something wrong with akaza's memories bc of muzan, and he starts to really see how self-effacing akaza is. it's SO good, and the realizations both kyo and you as the reader have build and layer as the story progresses. akaza and kaname (kyo's crow) also build a friendship that is so important to me.

Demon's Choice by Celeste Gladnick (lairMorbidon) (69k - incomplete)

akaza defects early and joins tamayo, and so many more people are alive as a result. kyo in this one is interesting bc he's bigoted against demons thanks to his upbringing in a slayer family under abusive shinjuro, and refuses to see that akaza is anything other than dangerous, despite literally everyone else sticking up for him. extra fun bc he crushes on butterfly assistant hakuji without realizing that it's akaza in a human guise. akaza himself also has some deeply held trauma he doesnt quite realize he has.

what i wouldn't give by DragonsAndCryptids (59k)

senjuro becomes terminally ill and his end is fast-approaching. akaza, who's been bothering kyo on and off for two years since mugen train, hears about it and offers to help by turning sen into a demon. at first, kyo gives a hard no, but as his baby brother's illness progresses... well, anyone would get a little desperate, wouldn't they? love this bc one of my fave things abt renkaza is pushing kyo to his moral and ethical limit lol.

if you fly (say you won’t come back) by apodis (10k)

siren au! well, akaza's a siren, and kyo is the caretaker of a house that sees many different travelers. akaza's just the latest one. i love this one bc it's fantastical elements are wonderful, and it builds a very interesting world. as the reader, you have a lot of questions and it's an experience getting them answered. it's also prettily written. :)

Little Fighter Boy Comes Marching Home by VTheTrashKing (19k)

akaza gets de-aged by a demon's blood art, and kyo comes upon a little human boy with black hair and blue eyes, a chip on his shoulder and a very implicitly sad past, what with the criminal markings on his wrists and the way he insists he can take care of himself. another one of my fave renkaza things and kyo getting bowled over by hakuji's tragic story so i loved the way he puzzles it together in this one based on the little boy in front of him, and just finds one sad thing after another.

“Don’t die, Kyojuro” by Lenasaurous (24k)

akaza lets kyo live and often tells him not to die. kyo, who's life is often visited by death considering his occupation, begins to rely on akaza's immortality as a demon, and depend on his company as a constant--that is, until akaza passes out from not eating, and stays down for the count. uh-oh. (i also love this fic 'cuz there's this scene where akaza tries so hard to make kyo like him by giving him herbs and helpful plants, even tho kyo doesn't really want him around at that point, and it's so sweet and so sad. i wanna give him a hug!!!)

Memories behind broken glass by GammaRays (58k - incomplete)

this is the akaza whump fic of my dreams lol he gets captured and experimented on by shinobu (and it can be grisly so tw for that). kyo lured him into a trap to get him captured and ends up standing guard and starting to question his morals when it becomes clear that shinobu is being intentionally cruel. as the torture experiments go on, akaza also becomes so delirious that he begins to remember his human past. kyo loses it a little. it's good.

All the things a cup can hold by Liatheus (9k)

akaza takes shinjuro demon hunting lol. this is actually more of a shinjuro character study with side renkaza, but i love it specifically for a scene near the end where they all have tea, and ruka's empty place at the table feels obvious, and kyo and shinjuro are sort of crying about it. i also love that it explores the way shinjuro used to be a hashira, and how akaza investigates his strength in that sense. shinjuro's strength is an important aspect to kyojuro that doesn't often get delved into, and it makes sense to me that akaza sort of looks into it, as someone who loves kyo's strength.

Hello Again (the weight of memories welcome me home) by VTheTrashKing (15k)

this one's more artsy than anything but i love sci-fi as a genre so i'm reccing it lol i'm being self-indulgent. for whatever reason, throughout his life, akaza gets visited by various hashira. it's all very timey-wimey and the renkaza is more implied than anything, but there's this scene where akaza's being held trial at a hashira meeting, and then a future sanemi and future giyuu come out of nowhere to protect him and shock the living daylights out of their past selves, and it's so wild. i love it so much.

the milk incident by lattelesbean (4k)

this is just funny haha! short and fun read. modern soyama twins au where akaza's a café barista and accidentally puts his foot in his mouth in a very embarrassing way, bc he was too busy thirsting over kyo, his latest customer, to double-check what was about to come out of his mouth lol. i am still laughing.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin��� yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 10

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Warnings: smut (oral/m receiving), talks of period intercourse, detailed PTSD flashback, graphic death of character discussed, self-deprecating talk, language

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

Author's Note: This is a heavy chapter--- Big time PTSD flashback so consider yourself warned! Also, I purposely chose to not use characters in the flashback from the movie Sand Castle. I just didn’t want to kill off anyone’s fave character, so we are going to pretend this flashback was another mission from another deployment right before Sy retired not related to the movie. It was just easier for my conscious to write it that way. 

Part 9

All night long I have nightmares about the war. I wake and try to reset myself like the therapist taught me with deep breathing, water, change of environment, etc.; but nothing is working. I maybe only get about 2 hours of sleep total and I’m exhausted. I still go on my run to try and exhaust myself even more so that maybe tonight I will pass out into a dreamless sleep. I try to fake enthusiasm for whatever Nana is rambling on about in her phone call to me on the way to work but I’m sure she can tell that I’m starting to spiral. Alex can tell that today is one of those days so he asks me if I’m good and when I grunt at him he keeps his distance. God, I’m an ass but I’m obviously not good and I just can’t talk to him about it. Nobody really understands except the boys that I was with when it happened and several of them are dead now. I’m supposed to be their leader and I feel like I should have my shit together. My nightmares continue to worsen throughout the week and I feel like I overcompensate by working harder or exerting myself in more difficult physical pursuits in hopes of tiring my body and my brain out. I forced myself to run four additional miles on Friday even though my leg quickly protested. I focused on pushing through the pain and ended up having to ice my leg after work.

Friday evening finally rolls around, and Emma shows up at the house as planned with a little overnight bag in tow and homemade banana pudding. I’m cooking us some chicken and veggies out back on the grill when she arrives and I feel like I calm a bit just being in her presence. She still looks absolutely adorable as she shows up wearing comfortable clothes-a tank top and soft shorts. I love that she’s feeling relaxed enough with me to just be her most authentic self. After we eat, I fill my belly up with her decadent dessert and I swear I see stars. She’s quite the chef; as if she needed any more of a direct line to my belly or my heart. Assuming she’s still on her period, I ask her if she’s feeling alright and she nods but doesn’t offer more. I suggest we get in bed and watch a movie and she gleefully agreed. We get all cozied up in bed and she chooses a rom-com to put on. Not my first choice, but I’ll do anything to make her smile like that. It’s nice having someone other than myself warm my bed. We fall asleep easily tangled in each other and I’m relieved that I have no nightmares. Maybe Emma is the cure to my nightmares? Or did I really succeed in tiring myself out enough that I slept too hard to dream. Either way, I’m not complaining.

Saturday morning. I wake up at my usual time and smile to myself at finally getting a decent night of sleep. I lay in bed watching my girl dream before I decide to get up and go for a run. If it’s the exercise that helped me sleep last night, I’m not going to miss the opportunity to do it again. I leave a little note on Emma’s nightstand and decide to only run two miles today so I don’t fuck up my leg more than I probably already have. When I get back home, Emma is still a mess of hair and sheets and I can tell that she never missed me. Her hair is halfway across her face, one of her breasts is almost spilling out of her twisted tank top, and the covers are tangled all in her legs which brings a smile to my face. For someone so effortlessly beautiful, she’s kind of a mess when she sleeps and I can’t help but find that to be one of the most endearing things ever. I attempt to take a quick shower and am surprised when ice cold hands wrap around my stomach as my eyes are closed under the spray of the water and I jump like a cat. 

“Damn woman! Your hands are ice cubes.” I say as she laughs uncontrollably.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She says as she hugs me from behind. 

“I woke up and heard the shower running so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I joined you.” 

“Always, join me Sugar. My favorite showers are the ones with you.” I tell her as I turn around to see her. She’s got her beautiful hair tied up in a bun on top of her head and I shift her so that the water runs down her body to warm her up. I spy her adjust the temperature higher and I can’t help myself.

“What is it with women taking showers equivalent to the heat of lava?” She smiles.

“We are colder than you are. Gotta warm up somehow.” She presses a sweet kiss to my lips before turning around and washing her body. I can’t help but stand there like a creep watching her but I’ll never turn down an opportunity to see her wet and soapy.

“I hope you don’t mind that I hijacked your shower.” She smiled sweetly.

“Darlin’, I was done anyway. Now I’m just here for the show.” I arch my eyebrow at her as she spies my obvious erection.

“Let me help you.” She seductively suggests.

“I can help us both.” I offer but she shakes her head.

“Still on my period.” She replies without making eye contact.

“So?”

“We can’t have sex when I’m on my period!” She looks completely shocked.

“Says who? You know, sex actually helps relieves cramps.”  

“But..I might get blood on your…”

“Dick? What’s your point?”

“Isn’t that gross?” 

“Sugar, I told ya, I’m a man. A little blood isn’t going to scare me off. Now if you’re not interested because you don’t feel well or you just don’t want too, I have no problem with that. But, if you’re not interested because you think I’m going to be grossed out or something, I promise I won’t be. You can have me anytime you want, Sweetness. There’s no pressure either way. If you’re uncomfortable with it, I won’t mention it again.”

“Maybe give me some time to come around to the idea of it. I’ve never really considered it as an option.”

“Sure thing, babygirl.”

“You are something else, Bear. You mean it when you said I can have you anytime I want?”

“Mmhmm.” I say as her fingertips trail down my abdomen and she wraps her hand around my throbbing cock.

“Can I taste you?”

“Always, but don’t feel like you have too. I’ll be alright if not.”

“I want too.” She says before pushing me towards the shower bench and taking me in her mouth. In no time at all, I’m coming down her throat after receiving one of the best blowjobs of my life. She has my legs trembling from the stimulation and I can’t help but caress her cheek and kiss her gently when I come back to reality.

“my EmKay.” I whisper as I kiss her tenderly.

“Your EmKay?” She asks. 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Funny, I don’t remember being asked to be yours.” She haughtily replies.

“Ya’ ain’t going to make this easy on me, are ya?” Shit, what am I doing. I should have thought this through. She shouldn't want to be with me. The unreal blowjob has me not thinking clearly.

“Now why would I do that?” She retorts with a smile. I palm her cheek so that she’s looking right at me.

“Will you be my woman?” I ask seriously. Fuck it. Why not?

“Only if you’re my man.” 

“Well, I’ve been told that I’m a bear, but I’ll be your man too.” I joke before pressing my lips against Emma’s in a feverish kiss.

As the water gets cold, we finally climb out and get dressed for the day. I decide to take Emma out for breakfast at the diner in town before we go in search of furniture for her guest bedroom. Her parents are arriving next weekend and it was adorable when she shyly asked me if I’d be willing to meet them. I assured her that I’d be happy too and to just let me know when.

We spend a few hours at the furniture store where Emma purchases a matching bedroom set before going to a mattress store and trying out all of the mattresses to determine which would be a good purchase for her guest bedroom. They are able to deliver it same day which is nice so we pick a time for it to arrive that afternoon. We then head to a department store so she can pick out curtains, bed linens, and other odds and ends that I’m told a room requires like lamps and decorations. Being a single man for the majority of my adulthood that was mostly away in the military, I didn’t realize how much work women put into buying all of this shit. Why does she need the guest bath towels to match the hand towel in the bathroom? Or all of the little knick-knack items she bought to go on the dresser? I’m even more confused when she was discussing bed trains? No bed skirts. I’ve slept on friends couches without even a blanket but she’s really rolling out the red carpet for her parents. It’s a bit concerning if they are expecting all of this from their daughter who has lived here for under two months. Maybe they don’t expect it and she’s just trying to show them that she’s a capable adult who plans on settling here. I watch as she spends a small fortune trying to get everything in order for their visit. It’s obvious that she values their opinions. What if they don’t like me? I’m certainly different from the preppy type of guy that they’re used to seeing her with. I’m kind of rough around the edges and although I think I’m pretty smart, I certainly don’t hold advanced degrees. I’m broken from my thoughts when Emma asks my opinion about curtains. It’s sweet that she wants my opinion but I’m a fish out of water when it comes to decorating.

We load up all of the stuff and head back to Emma’s house where I get started hanging curtains as we wait on the furniture and mattress delivery. Emma orders us pizza and we munch on pizza and beer for a while. I’m regretting all of my additional workouts after I finally get the bed put together and the mattress put on it. Emma tried to help but she’s so little I didn’t want her to hurt herself so I ended up just man-handling it myself. She had washed the new bedding and put everything together before we took a look at it and she dove across the top of the bed. Emma patted the space beside her and I laid down next to her on top of the comforter. 

“I’m fucking exhausted and I didn’t even lift the heavy stuff.” She exhaled.

“I didn’t realize it was so much work to put together a bedroom. You sure know what you’re doing though.”

“Thank you. I just pick what I like. I couldn’t have done it all without you though, so thank you, baby. I can’t wait to have them visit and see that I’ve got my shit together here. That I’m not some dumb kid who needs rescuing. I’m able to handle myself.” Ahh, so I was right about that. It’s about proving herself to her parents.

“I think they’ll be impressed, Sugar. I know I am.” I smile at her before yawning.

She kisses my lips before scratching my beard gently. 

“Can we go back to yours, shower and then go to sleep? I’m dead on my feet.” She asks as she stands up and fluffs the new pillows. Why are there like 5 pillows that will just get thrown on the floor? Seems wasteful.

“You still want to come back to mine with me?”

She nods. “I want to be with you and the pups. Since they are at yours, it wouldn’t make sense to get them and come back here. I always sleep really good with you…Unless you’re too tired for a sleep over.” She says sheepishly and I wrap my arms around her.

“Nothing could be better than having my girl in my bed with me.” I tell her because I’m beginning to believe it’s the truth. “Let’s go.” 

We turn out all of the lights and lock up before heading back to mine. Emma’s car is still parked out front from where she left it and it makes me happy that she wants to be here with me. There’s a summer storm approaching and the wind has picked up which has Emma’s hair twirling in the breeze. I pull the patio cushions inside when I let the dogs out to do their business. After a quick shower because we are both too tired to do anything but clean ourselves, we do our nighttime routines before climbing into bed. Emma snuggles next to me with her head on my chest and I’m confident that it’s going to be a good night as we drift off to sleep.

It’s hot, but more than just hot. It’s sweltering. I can feel the sweat rolling down my chest and my back. It’s the type of unbearable heat that has your clothes sticking to your skin the instant you walk out of the mess hall. Then you add your gear, and the added weight from your gear plus your sweat soaked clothes is a certain feeling that I’ll never forget. I smell the smoke of an explosion further in the distance. We have our orders and it’s my job to lead our special forces team in to execute our orders exactly like planned. The problem with that is that most things never go as planned. It would be easy for this to be a cookie cutter mission where we get in and out and go back to base and fuck around for the rest of the afternoon. No, this will require me thinking on my feet at every turn. It’s what I’m trained for, hell, I’m the best which is why I’m the captain. I’ve got seven men with me whose lives rely on me assessing our situation and giving correct orders. They are sons, husbands, fathers, brothers, and friends who have people waiting on them at home. Each order I give is weighted by the knowledge that I’m responsible for them. We’re crouched in different positions behind the old dilapidated building that the informant said our guy would be in. The sun is glaring across our faces but we’re in the best position we could be in for this mission. We’ve been after this specific hostile for months and never been this close to him before. We can hear men inside the building, yelling in Arabic and moving around so we must remain completely silent. If we can hear them, they could hear us. We are ghosts that can’t be seen or heard but must work as a team for this to go smoothly. If one person spots us, it will turn into a close-range gun fight that I can’t imagine we will all win. I inhale deeply and even though there is dust on every inch of myself and the ground, I try to focus my thoughts. 

As I am about to give orders to direct my guys to move on to the next step of our plan, I hear the tell-tale whistle of a bullet zipping through the air. I swivel to the left with my gun and look for the insurgent. I can’t see anyone but the bullet buries itself in the left shoulder of Waites across the way from me. We were fucking set up. I swing my gun back around and that’s when it happens, I hear the bullet and feel it explode into my lower left thigh at the same time blood spews from my friend, Goodwin’s head who had crouched beside me when I stood to look for the shooter. My leg gives out and I instantly drop down into the dirt to where I’m level with Goodwin’s face and it’s obvious, he was killed instantly. His eyes are still opened and he has a massive wound to the head. Anthony. Fuck. His girlfriend is expecting a baby girl in a few months. My leg is burning from the inside out but my adrenaline spike helps me ignore the pain and I grab my gun and instantly start shooting towards the rooftop where I believe the sniper might be. I hear Brown screaming before I realize he’s got Waites against the building and is yelling into the radio for help. I watch as insurgents start coming out of the building we were casing and I start taking them out. Lowell goes down. Setas is either hurt or attempting to provide aid to Lowell. I can’t tell but I never stop shooting. Ramirez is also trying to find the source of the ambush with his own gun. Bullets are flying, many from my own gun as I empty the clip into the only building the sniper could have been on, Browns pleas for backup, along with Waites heavy gurgling breaths fill my ears. I feel a hand on my arm and flinch.

            “Austin! Captain…Captain Syverson. Look at me.” Two hands on either side of my face help me focus in. “St..Stand down. You are safe, the threat has been eliminated. Your superiors have given orders to return to base for further instruction. Do you understand?” 

I blink against the water that’s dripping down my face. Emma?

“My men. The injured men in my unit. Where?”

“They are at base getting medical. Captain, I need you to confirm that you understand me.”

I blink and then nod slowly. “Roger that.” I mutter distractedly. I look around. I’m in the backyard of my house, leaning against the brick exterior in my underwear. I have my pistol tucked in the back of the waistband of my boxers and I’m wearing the boots I leave by the back door. In my hands I’m clutching my old hunting rifle that I keep on the top shelf of my closet. Shit. I’ve done it again. I’ve had a PTSD nightmare, but this is so much worse because Emma is here to witness it. I look over at her. She’s crouching on her knees in front of me wearing nothing but my water-soaked t-shirt and panties while she’s barefoot in the mud. Water is dripping from the ends of her hair from the rain that’s pouring down on us. She looks terrified and concerned. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” My throat aches either from unshed tears or maybe I was yelling earlier.

“Austin, baby, are you back?”

I nod. “Emma, I’m so sorry.” I mutter as tears mix with the rain that drips down my face. This is what I was afraid would happen if I got close to her. If I let her in. I would relax and then my past would quite literally present itself.

“Baby, don’t be. You’re okay, we’re okay.” She tells me as she reaches towards my face that’s now aimed at the ground.

“Aika?” 

“I left her inside. I know you said she could help but I wasn’t able to tell if your rifle was loaded and I didn’t want her startling you and there being an accident.” 

Jesus. She was afraid I’d shoot my own dog, because she’s right, I was nowhere near my right mind. Here we are over six months since my last flashback yet this was the most involved PTSD episode I’ve ever had. Thank fuck I keep my ammunition locked and separate from my guns for situations like this. 

She stands and reaches to help me up but I can’t let her help me stand. My leg feels as though it has been shot just yesterday but that could be a result of me crouching on my knees in freezing rain outside in the middle of the night, not just the psychological pain from my flashback. 

“Come on baby.” She takes the rifle from my hand and I don’t protest. I follow her silently back to the house. The air conditioning on our soaked skin has both of our bodies covered in goose bumps. Aika bounds to me whining and crying and I sit down in a chair from the table and run my hands through her thick fur. I bury my face into her back and focus on breathing. My palm clutches my leg that’s radiating phantom pain from where I got shot. Emma appears next to me with a towel but hesitates. 

“Can I help you clean up a bit?” She gestures with the towel.

I nod and she leans down and starts wiping the mud off of my legs. 

“Sugar, I…”

“Baby, nothing needs to be said. I’m okay, and you are going to be. Would you take a warm shower with me?” I look at her and want to just burst into tears. How is she so kind and understanding after what I just did? After what I could have done?

“Please?” She urges and I nod. I follow her to the master bathroom and watch as she turns the water on. Aika stays close and sits down behind me in the bathroom floor. I have no idea what time it is in the night or early morning or how long she’s been awake dealing with me. Emma pulls out two fresh towels for us and then whips the sodden shirt off of her torso before removing her panties. She looks at me and then slowly and gently eases my soaked boxer briefs down my legs before taking my hand and pulling for me to get in the shower. Once I step in, steam surrounds me and I take a deep breath. I’m exhausted, flashbacks always take the energy out of me and it’s not like I’ve been sleeping great this past week. Emma begins lathering a wash cloth with soap and gently starts cleaning me. I stand there perfectly still and let her do what she wants as I attempt to think of anything that I could say to make this situation better. I’m aching with embarrassment. Once she washes me, she quickly washes herself before turning around and caressing her hand on my cheek. She leans down and picks up my wrists that were laying limp by my sides and wraps them around her waist before putting her own around my neck. My eyes are aimed down focusing on the suds swirling around the shower drain.

“Baby, look at me.” She says with the sincerest and worried look on her face and that’s when my resolve breaks. I bury my face into her neck as the hot tears stream from my eyes. I can’t seem to stop them and I ache when I hear myself let out a sob that sounds so painful and broken even to my own ears. Emma tightens her arms around me and guides me back to the bench that we once used for a much different form of intimacy. Emma curls herself around me and holds me tightly while I fully break down. Once my breath starts to come easier, I carefully pull my head from her shoulder and try to clean my face up.

“Let’s dry off and lay down.” She says as she turns off the water and starts toweling me off. I gently take the towel from her, not wanting to be babied but not wanting to seem ungrateful. Once we dry off, Emma hands me some boxers and she tosses on a dry shirt and panties on before we sit on the bed. It’s silent and I feel like I have to say something.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must be thinkin’ but I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I woke you, scared you and I’m sorry I’m so fucked up. I completely understand if this is the last time I see you.” I say quietly and she looks shocked.

“Austin, I’m not going anywhere. This is what relationships are about. Holding each other through the good and bad. I’m not scared and you’re not fucked up. You’re haunted and although I don’t know the details of it, I want to help you through it. Even if you don’t want my help, I’m not leaving you.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I should be better. I survived, Damnit! I shouldn’t have any problems. Goodwin, Lowell, Waites, they are the ones who died. I just got shot in my stupid fucking leg after leading them to their deaths!” I sob.

“You are allowed to have problems. Their deaths are hard on you but you are not responsible for it. I don’t know what happened, but I know it’s not your fault.”

“The informant set us up, we were ambushed. Goodwin, God. Goodwin got shot right in front of me. I watched the life drain from his eyes. He has a little girl that he’s never met. If I had questioned the mission from my superiors or done more digging on the informant, they would all be alive right now. I had to look at their family members at their funerals and I’ll never forget the grief from their loved ones. Goodwin’s pregnant girlfriend, Lowell’s widow, Waites’ mom. I still see them sobbing over their caskets in my mind. I didn’t deserve to live when they didn’t get too.” I finally say out loud. I take deep breaths attempting to calm my body from going into another spiral.

“Bear.” Emma reaches for me.

“It’s been years and I still get like this. Hell, it might be getting worse. I don’t think this is something I’ll just get over. I’m too fucked up, Emma. You deserve someone who doesn’t have these types of demons.” My eyes blink heavily.

“You are not fucked up. I deserve you because you treat me better than I’ve ever been treated before.” My eyes droop and I know it’s a result of the flashback. When I have them, my body goes through the trauma all over again so when the adrenaline finally stops coursing through my body, I basically crash.

“Love, you look exhausted. Can you try to sleep for me?” She asks and gently pushes for me to lay down. My head is resting between her breasts as she lays back on her back. We’ve never laid like this before but it’s comforting.

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving. Aika’s here and so is Mills.” She tells me while caressing my head but my eyes are already closed, too heavy to fight staying open longer. I wrap my arm around her waist and within moments, I’m deeply asleep soothed by the steady rhythm of Emma’s heartbeat as she caresses my scalp.

Part 11

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood

[cattimeswithjellie]

Stream Recap, PearlescentMoon, 6/11/24

((I started recapping this one before I knew it was going to be a six hour redstone marathon stream. It has taken literally all day, so I will probably think twice before doing one like this again. My knowledge of redstone is too limited to understand everything that was happening, so there are chunks of the middle of the stream where the recap is basically "redstone continues." Impulse and Skizz playtest Pearl's game near the end of the stream and it is very fun!))

3:50 Pearl opens her stream and greets the chat in audio-only mode. She tells chat she just woke up after being up all night and sleeping late. She got plenty of sleep, just at a weird time. She apologizes for postponing the stream yesterday and said she was making the video a priority for someone who was holding their own video waiting for hers. (It was Tango.) Today’s stream will have spoilers. She wants to do a couple things on the minigame today but she can’t make too much progress on the interior because she has to film an intro first. Chat is complimentary about the new video and Pearl says she is probably going to keep the new editing tweaks for redstone-type videos. She’s also going to keep the Editor Pearl overlay. She admits that the snow transition was a happy accident.

7:20 Someone told Pearl that the new video is engaging, which is what she is trying to do with her videos. Feedback sticks in Pearl’s brain, and some people have said on Twitter where they don’t know she is seeing it that while she is a nice person, her videos are not engaging. She is trying to make that better. Chat asks if Pearl feels okay, she tells them she usually wakes up a little congested but is fine. She talks more about finer points of the new video. She knows she can’t please everyone, but feedback that she could be more engaging in her videos is legitimate critique and she wants to keep improving.

10:10 Pearl and Chat talk about what it means for a video to be engaging. They talk about the different ways streams and YouTube videos and podcasts are engaging, and Pearl mentions how she deliberately changes up camera angles when there is a lot of talking in an episode. A chatter admits that the most recent video was not their favorite because redstone goes over their head. Pearl agrees that her audience is not a redstone audience and assures Chat she will not be getting too overly intense on redstone in her videos.

14:20 Pearl switches video on. She is logged into the server and standing at the start button for her Wordle game. She tells Chat that the Wordle invention VOD is up on her second channel for people who want an eight-hour stream of Pearl doing redstone. Something she didn’t show in the video is her adding the diamond barrel. Every Wordle attempt costs one diamond. She didn’t put that part in the video because she had 40 minutes each with Bdubs and Tango and had to do some severe editing. Hermits who fail the Wordle can try again by paying another diamond, Hermits who succeed should not play again til reset. She has plans to make a leaderboard so people can track their streaks.

18:00 Pearl wants to know if an item that bubbles to the top of a bubblevator will stay or despawn. Chat is not sure, but enough people think it will stay that Pearl takes their word for it. She wants to make a randomizer for the game supplies so players don’t have to randomize them at the end of their games. She says they can test the bubblevator despawn issue and test it, but if it works, bubblevating the supplies and then dropping them into a hopper is a great randomizing solution. She digs into the wall to create a test bubblevator. Chat offers suggestions for refining the resetting system. Pearl considers options for triggering the bubblevator, using freecam to examine the redstone she already has in place. She wants to be absolutely sure that the “success” items don’t come out together and first.

23:40 Twitch is having some minor resolution problems, but the stream is generally all right. Pearl goes and gets some water. She fills the bubblevator and throws a bunch of building blocks into it, then writes some signs to explain how the system will work. She discusses the finer points of reset with chat. A chatter suggests killing the player to reset the game, which makes Pearl laugh. A chatter can’t wait for Scar to break the game. Pearl says the only way to break the game should be going into the walls and actually fiddling with the redstone. She demonstrates some ways that players cannot break the game.

28:50 Pearl describes a timing problem where the game kept trying to play the fail sound while she was filming, but she added a pulse extender to fix it. It makes her very happy that she knows enough redstone now to be able to fix things when they don’t work right. She learned so much during her eight hour stream, but now she needs to keep doing redstone so she doesn’t forget it. She also needs to memorize item sorters.

30:30 Pearl checks the bubblevator. It does not work, the building blocks have despawned. She is disappointed, but has a minecart method she wants to try next. Minecarts are good because they take items super-quick, which will help solve the problem of dropping loose items onto a hopper and walking away, leaving them to despawn. Pearl goes out to collect some logs. A chatter suggests that an item does not despawn if a dolphin is playing with it. Pearl thinks that’s a funny idea, if impractical. Chat says that a multiple minecart system is what Tango used for the Decked Out shuffler. Pearl thinks about this, as well as thepossibility of a dispenser-based randomizing system.

35:00 Pearl realizes she is talking redstone like a redstoner and wonders what the heck has happened to her since last week. Chat embraces her new redstonification. She gathers up supplies for more testing. There’s a little bit of room in the existing redstone, but it’s going to be tight. Before Pearl starts redstoning, she thanks chat for donos and subs.

41:20 Pearl is happy to live in a place that doesn’t require driving or walking everywhere. Driving in a city is so much worse than public transit, but she also doesn’t have to walk a long way. Where Pearl lives, some things are walkable and she can drive to other places, and that is perfect. Chat agrees about avoiding city driving. She tells a story about getting stuck in LA traffic, which is even worse than Melbourne. She wishes she could enjoy the observatory she visited out there more, but it was right after TwitchCon and she was feeling horrible. A chatter asks if she’s been to Singapore, but she has not. She continues talking about public transportation and tells a story about a train that never showed up and required an expensive Uber ride to not miss D&D.

49:00 Pearl continues catching up on subs and donos. She considers whether there is something she can be doing while she’s talking, but there’s not much that doesn’t require brain effort. She is jumpscared again by having subs over 50 months, which seems like such a long time.

52:00 Pearl talks with Chat about Pokemon as she heads down into the redstone. She is very against the idea of brown Cyndaquil. Chat agrees about recent downgrades in Pokemon. Pearl says Platinum is the last game she loved. She begins installing the randomizer system. She needs to be careful because if the water-stream goes out of control, it can mess up a lot of redstone. Chat contributes ideas and critique about redstone as she builds.

57:50 Pearl successfully places her system without drowning the redstone. It doesn’t look quite as nice on the display side, but she is all right with it. She adds a timer to finish it up, and makes sure both hoppers are lockable. Space in the redstone area is getting tight. Chat suggests removing one hopper entirely, which helps. Pearl figures out what needs to be done in what order for it all to work properly. She warns chat that this will be Pearlstone, and that means it will not be pretty.

1:07:00 Pearl finishes connecting up the randomizer to the system, then has sudden concerns as to whether it will actually randomize the items as they come in. As the system is set up now, the dispenser dispenses before it is full, which means it will not have time to randomize. Pearl and chat devise a system to fix this and increase the randomzation. A chatter points out a problem in the line with a pulse extender and Pearl fixes it, while quizzing chat til she understands what the problem was.

1:12:00 Pearl begins working on the hopper clock on the opposite side of the new randomizer. There is not very much space available. She goes back and redoes some of the redstone she just made to add more room. She pops out to collect some scaffolding and thanks chat for subs and donos.

1:17:00 Pearl returns to working on the redstone. She falls off the scaffolding a few times and sarcastically declares how much she loves it. She runs out of smooth stone and grabs more. Chat suggests learning to color-code redstone, Pearl says maybe next time. She and chat have a conversation about the function of a reversed signal and a pulse extender. She explains to Chat the initial problem with reset that needed the pulse extender solution.

1:23:00 Pearl prepares to test the redstone. She set a new word yesterday but Tango was too busy flinging Skizzleman into the Void to actually play it. She tells Chat to close their eyes if they don’t want to know the answer for this week, then decides to leave camera mode and hide it so Chat can’t spoil it to anyone. One she has arranged the supplies appropriately for the correct answer, she brings Chat back and presses the solve button. The win celebration happens like it’s supposed to. She tests the fail. The fail happens like it should as well. Pearl is pleased. She hides the game again to unload the letters, but some become lost in the system. They are stuck in the dropper because she pressed the reset, but everything is okay. Chat sees some of the letters. Pearl decides to change the word and asks chat to guess. They guess it correctly.

1:29 Pearl shows off some of her prize bundles and says she is going to change some of them to be more themed. Chat suggests changing the theme every month or week. She does not want to retexture the dyes into letters, it’s no longer on theme with the shop. She also likes that it’s a little more vanilla. She tests the reset again and realizes she needs to adjust the water stream. She tests it again and this time everything comes back in a random order.

1:34:30 Pearl sees a flaw in the system. She thinks there might need to be a delay on item release or the correct letters might always come back first, ruining the randomizing. Further testing is needed. She collects her redstone supplies back up while talking with Chat about the possibility of flower crowns for rare prizes. Pearl needs to buy more fireworks, but not just yet. She starts doing the redstone to add the delay.

1:43:00 Chat is attempting to help with the redstone, with varying amounts of forcefulness. Pearl reminds Chat that there are lots of different ways to do redstone and people advocating too many methods or being too pushy about their preferred way can make it uncomfortable to do redstone on camera. The redstone is expanding rapidly.

1:49:50 Pearl tests the randomizer. The signal strength is difficult to calibrate, it is either too weak to activate the randomizer or too strong and sets it off early. Pearl begins calibrating the system to get the correct signal strength for the result she needs. She releases a bit of water but fortunately it only kills one bit of redstone. An Australian streamer raids in and compliments Pearl on the new video. She chats with them a bit about ancient city raiding in a hardcore world being nerve-wracking.

1:54:15 Pearl tests the redstone again. The delay is too short. Pearl explains the problem to chat, chat suggests “more comparators.” There is not much room to add more redstone at all. Pearl contemplates moving other redstone to make more room. She digs into the wall instead. She decides to do another proper test with the actual letters. Chat tells her that her redstone is reversed. She changes it, apologizing that she is not as cool as Tango and is doing Noobstone.

2:02:00 Time for the test. Pearl throws letters in in alphabetical order to see if they get scrambled nicely. It did not work because things came back into the chest too quickly to get randomized. Pearl has a big thonky-thonk about what to do next. Another streamer raids in. Pearl starts troubleshooting again.

2:09:00 Another test, it’s looking better, it will randomize til the letter G instead of C. She needs a long enough delay to send the whole alphabet through the system. Chat suggests an Etho clock, she says she is not very familiar with it, but will lean on chat if they help her build one. She replaces a patch of Pearlstone with a hopper clock, following instructions from Chat. Chat tells her she needs at least 17.6 seconds.

2:18:00 A chatter asks if Pearl is calling the game Wordle. Pearl says no, it’s Wordle-inspired, but she won’t call it that. She shows off the signs she put up at the entrance and says she took suggestions from the chat: the game is called “Dye-duction.” You use dye to deduce what the word is. “Pearldle” was a close runner up but is hard to say and a little cheesy. She returns to the redstoning.

2:25:00 Another test. The randomizing is working, but it’s still too short. Things are still getting stuck in the system. She decides to try extending the clock and also needs to fix the locking conditions on one hopper. She tests it again. It does not work. She studies chat, hoping for answers. Chat has suggestions.

2:30:00 More troubleshooting. Pearl accuses chat of misleading her when she was in fact right all along. Most of chat just seems a little confused, but of the chatters trying to help, the votes are split between “correct” and “wrong.” Pearl says this is why people don’t do redstone on stream.

2:36:40 Pearl spots a creeper down in the guts of the redstone and is Not Happy about it. She asks it to please not blow up her redstone. She gets her bow and takes care of the creeper with no damage done. Pearl asks why it always has to be a creeper and never a zombie or skeleton. Redstoning continues

2:41:00 Pearl takes a moment to process, thanks subs and donos. She is an hour behind on her donator thank-yous and has no idea how she is 2:42 into the stream. False raids into the stream. Pearl continues to disbelieve that she has spent this much time on a randomizer. She’s fine. She’s fine. Attendance is down for the stream, but chat is fine too. Pearl chats with False’s raiders. Chat asks if Pearl needs a snack or a drink, but she is fine. She has a drink. False and her chat have been doing base design. Pearl likes how everyone has been building bases in stages this season, it’s neat! Redstone continues.

2:53:00 Pearl loses some of the letter dyes from the system when they shoot out of the water stream. She finds all of them except light gray, and enables freecam to look for it. As she swoops around, she briefly dips out of the room and into x-ray view. There is a chasm below, which contains a number of mobs, and something that looks like a green room or tunnel with a white stripe along it. Pearl finds her lost dye and pops back into her body, mentioning she saw something down there she hadn’t meant to look at and is just going to ignore. She rearranges her letters in the box and does another test. The piston is very very loud and the signal is too strong. All the items get stuck at the top of the water stream. Pearl tries to put the items away but activates the circuit again, so the items spit back out again. Test failed.

2:57:00 Pearl disables the circuit and collects up her letters again. She decides to try again with a different repeater delay and yells at the hopper clock until it behaves itself. She reloads the letters for another test. Things are much less obviously broken on this test, but the hopper that should release stays locked for longer than is ideal. At the end of the test, though, the letters are randomized and in the chest. Victory!

3:03 Pearl resets for another test, this time to make sure that the first-in-first-out problem doesn’t cause any hints. She points out that she has added something to the system that can break. She runs the test again. The chest does not randomize very well this time, despite everything going through the system. Another test has the same result. Pearl figures out what is going wrong and discusses possible solutions with chat.

3:16:00 Redstone work resumes. Pearl has a solution in mind, and she hopes to do it without flooding the room. Pearl and chat briefly forget how many letters are in the alphabet. A chatter gives her an idea that will allow her to switch the game to allow for the entire alphabet later if she wants it. She likes that idea and decides to implement it.

3:24:00 Another test. It looks good in the water stream and stops when it needs to. Pearl is excited. The chest is nicely randomized. The hopper clock is not finished yet, and she has not solved the first-in-first out issue with the correct answer letters, but it’s progress! She goes to adjust the hopper clock and runs the test again. Again random, and with better timing, but the letter K is stuck in a dropper. She tests again. Letter C gets stuck in the same place. She adjusts the timer a little bit and wonders how this became a redstone stream. Everything works!

3:32:00 Pearl prepares for a full playtest. She walks chat through the gameplay and decides doing a reset on the reset barrel is not worth it. She does a playtest and pretends she doesn’t remember the word. The moment the letters are out of the chest, it begins cycling. She discusses possible fixes with chat. Chat suggests a “do not touch” potato that stays in the chest, but Pearl is certain that it will be touched consistently by Hermits because Hermits don’t read things.

3:38:30 Pearl admits that a “do not take this block” block is the easiest solution, but she’s trying to minimize points of possible breakage. The biggest consequence of moving the block would be a loud noise, so the problem is fairly small. Pearl comes up with a solution involving sticky pistons that might be effective and might be silly. Chat thinks if it works, it’s not silly. She tries out the solution.

3:45:00 Time to test the fix. Pearl simulates a reset and giggles “It’s working” as the items begin to circulate. She asks if she actually fixes it, with a solution she came up with herself and didn’t get from chat. She is very proud. Chat is very proud of her. She reorders the letters for a full randomization test. The test runs successfully, though with a couple patches of ordered letters. Time for a playtest.

3:50 Pearl reorganizes her inventory and sets up for a playtest. She adds the correct letters. The win condition runs successfully, but she forgets to put away the winning letters before reset. She tries it again. It works successfully, there is no sign of what the original word was. Pearl is pleased. She gets a nosebleed, but not a bad one. She stuffs a bit of paper up her nose to stop it. Chat tells her she needs Etho’s Kleenex box, but she points out that every tissue removed from that box is one less layer of sound dampening.

3:56:30 With four minutes left of stream time, Pearl says they couldn’t possibly have cut that finer. She decides to do a quick fail test. She puts in “PATHS,” then changes it to “PEARL” because it has some needed letters. The fail test works. Pearl doesn’t like that she can’t do a true playtest because she always knows the word. She thinks about asking Impulse to playtest for her. She puts in “SHELF”, another good test. She plays “FIELDS” and gets the win condition. She resets again and decides to ask Impulse to play. The correct letters are in the first five slots. Pearl needs to put a timer on the letter release. She decides that she has nothing big to do tomorrow, so she’s going to go overtime on the stream.

4:04:30. Back to the redstone. Pearl does another win test and looks at the way the chests empty. The letters randomize on this go-through. She wonders if she was just unlucky. She tries the test again and asks if Impulse is streaming. Chat says no, Impulse is sick. This test has three correct letters at the top and two at the bottom. Pearl is mostly satisfied.

4:14:20 Pearl invites Impulse to play a game. Impulse says “Depends” Pearl asks if he wants to play or not. Impulse asks if it will kill him. Pearl assures him it will not. He agrees to play. She invites him to the flower shop. She resets the game, cleans the playing room, and goes to find Impulse. He’s a hard guy to find.

4:18:00 Pearl finds impulse at the flower truck. He sounds pretty rough, but says he’s okay. She asks if he’s ready to play Wordle. He says he likes Wordle, and that he is proud of her for doing redstone. She leads him to the new shop and shows him around, then welcomes him to Dye-Duction. She tells him she’s just going to watch him play and see what happens. He doesn’t have to pay today.

4:20:15 Impulse reads some of the instructions aloud. Pearl reminds him to guess words and not just letter combinations. Impulse admits he didn’t read enough of the book to know where things are. He goes back and reads the book. He plays through the game with some small guidance from Pearl on the technical aspects of the game. He plays “SPACE,”

4:26:40 Impulse tries to think of a second word. His dogs start barking at the landscaper and he leaves for a moment. He comes back and says it’s hard when the dyes are not in order. He plays “BEING” and still has no letters in the right spot.

4:31:00 Impulse tries to think of another word. Pearl assures him there’s no pressure, she’s had people watch her do redstone for the past four hours and she knows from pressure. She tells him it’s really quite simple. He says it’s _not._ She asks what Impulse says when he’s doing redstone, like how Tango and Mumbo have catchphrases. He admits he hasn’t got a line, but Chat is bopping.

4:34:15 Impulse is struggling. Pearl is amused. Impulse plays “THEIR” and has one letter in the right spot. Still no more letters. Impulse is getting squeaky with Wordle-related distress. Pearl realizes that having each letter only once makes Wordle considerably harder and that random letter combos might be okay to counteract that. She mutes herself in-game so she can laugh at Impulse.

4:40:40 Impulse wants a sign he can write on. He tries it out, then realizes he can’t see his inventory when the sign is up. A sign would at least let him save guesses. Pearl and chat discuss custom textures to make the dyes look more lettery.

4:43:00 Impulse plays “FIELD” and gets the win event. He is happy and gets the prize. He reads the book and puts the supplies back in the box. He presses reset and tells Pearl the game is impressive and enjoyable. He isn’t used to playing Wordle under pressure and is sweating about it, but in general it was fun and he’s going to cut the footage to make it look like he guessed very quickly.

4:47:00 Pearl says she isn’t going to do signs but people can use whispers or an actual piece of paper to make notes. Impulse gives back the bundle because his game was comped, but Pearl says she’s going to reset the game and open it today or tomorrow so he can play. She says she’s going to rig up a hint barrel for people who get really stuck. She asks if he wants to see behind the curtain.

4:48:20 Pearl gives Impulse the redstone tour. He jokes about how she needs documentation for all this. She tells him she used his sorters for the game. He said he saw her screenshot while he was on his cruise and was proud to see his sorters. She thanks him for helping her test. Chat suggests naming the shop Dye On The Inside. Pearl and Impulse talk about how lack of repeated letters and only five guesses can make things harder. Impulse thinks no repeated letters is not bad, just hard to learn to think about.

4:51:00 Pearl explains that she’s trying to eliminate user error from the system. Impulse agrees it needs to be spam-proofed for Grian. Pearl needs to add a few more rules to the book before the game opens. Impulse says the game is cool and leaves. Pearl is pleased with the test run and knows she needs to install a locker room and hint barrel. Chat remembers that Impulse didn’t take his stuff. Pearl sends him a message.

4:54:10 Impulse sneaks in and grabs his stuff. Pearl explains her next video will be less about the game and more about stocking the actual shop. Before she ends, Pearl wants to do a few last things, but chat wants Skizz to test the game. Pearl sends him a message, asking “Would you like to play a game?” Skizz is always up to play a game. Impulse says he heard that in the Saw voice. Pearl says that was the correct way to hear that. She discusses the possibilty of making the game a death trap. It would be pretty difficult. She sets up a new recording for Skizz’s visit.

4:57:00 Pearl and Chat decide that easier than a death trap would be a chest where if the contestant loses, they need to pay another diamond to get their stuff back. Easier, but diabolical. The reward would have to be very good to justify that. She examines her bundles again and decides which ones to switch out. Chat suggests adding coupons to the bundles, Pearl likes that idea. Skizz doesn’t know where the shop is, so Pearl gives him directions.

4:59:00 Skizz and a creeper arrive at the flower shop at the same time. Pearl warns Skizz off while she deals with the “green cucumber.” She is very impressed with Skizz’s green shutter shades from Mission Possible. Skizz asks if he’ll be playing Wordle. She says yes and asks how good he is at it. He says he doesn’t like to brag, but… She leads him downstairs, introduces him to Dyeductions, and has him read the book.

5:00:30 Skizz looks at the book and is dismayed by nine pages. He reads the book aloud. He loves the “no letters twice” thing. Pearl adds a few editorial comments for things she’s going to change or that he doesn’t get. He accidentally picks up the book, sets it down, and loses track of it. This is because he is losing his connection, because he instantly falls offline.

5:03:00 Pearl hopes that Skizz didn’t fake losing connection so he doesn’t have to play Wordle. She talks to chat about color choices and waits for him to come back, which he does. He says everything crashed. He finishes reading the book and drops his inventory into the barrel. Pearl critiques his crowded inventory. Skizz gathers his supplies and readies for his first guess. He can’t remember what starter word he wants to use. After a moment of thought, he plays “HORSE,” because eliminating an H eliminates all H blends. He gets one letter, not in the right place.

5:08:30 Skizz clears the board and sets up for his next guess. Pearl creates a sign to remind players of which letters are not included in the game. Skizz is nervous! Pearl tells him not to be stressed. She creates a sign to remind players that letters do not appear twice. Skizz plays “CLEAN,” a word that pleases Cleaning Lady Pearl. He gets a letting in the right place and a letter in the wrong place. He clears the board again. He is so impressed by Pearl’s redstone prowess. Pearl tells him she had so much fun making the game.

5:14:00 Skizz tries to figure out his next guess. Pearl is impressed by his deduction attempts. Skizz says not having letters on the textures makes it hard, but Pearl tells him she is still not sure what to do about this. She mentions that all the vowels are flowers. Skizz says I before E except after C and promises he is actually good at this. He says he’s going to edit this to be much faster. He continues muttering to himself and looking at letters while Pearl thinks about Mission Possible.

5:17:20 Skizz decides on a word. It is “FIELD.” He bops all the letters into place. Chat is so excited. He gets the win condition and is very pleased. Impulse, who was stream sniping, yells “woo!” in chat. Skizz explains that when he and Impulse play Wordle, they share their results. A word guessed in two tries is a twofer, a word guessed in three is a woo. Pearl tells Skizz he did it in faster than Impulse with one less try. He demurs, saying he may have done one less try, but he doubts he did it faster. ((He did it much faster, in about half the time it took Impulse.)) He asks to take a peep at the redstone using freecam. He asks Pearl how she is both an amazing builder and an amazing redstoner and accuses her of hogging all the cool. Pearl says she’s not really a redstoner, but Skizz scoffs at that. He tells her not only did he have fun with the game, he was very impressed.

5:20:10 Skizz puts away the supplies and resets the game. He looks at his bundle, the orange and red dyes. She tells him he can keep it and tells him about her plan for new bundle rewards. Hoffen is doing the bundle texture. Skizz tells her he has an enormous amount of pink dye if she needs it. Pearl gets most of her dyes from Keralis, but she won’t say no to dyes. She tells him the shop will be open in a week or two, but the game is opening very soon, with one word per week. Chat is still busy loving on Pearl after Skizz’s compliments.

5:23:00 Skizz thinks Pearl could charge more than a diamond for the play or the hint, because the bundles are so nice. He promises to play again as soon as the word resets, then leaves. Pearl heads downstairs and realizes she forgot to ensnare Skizz in her Mission Possible task. She says she thought about doing it before he finished the Wordle, but he was very dialed in. She still has plenty of time. She has not told Chat what the task is. She wants to come up with a better sto- a better thing anyway. Chat asks if it’s in her video and she remembers yes, she did put it in the video. She’s still not going to give it away in case of lurking Hermits, but she’s going to get something better put together before she completes the mission.

5:26:00 Pearl says the worst problem so far is hermits not noticing the droppers. She thinks about ways to fix it. Chat suggests adding a sign with the date that the game was last updated. Pearl agrees, and talks again about the leaderboard and locker room. Otherwise, the game is done!

5:28:00 Pearl says it’s time to end the stream. She asks what it is about redstone that makes these 5+ hour streams. She must be having fun if she lets it run so long! She could actually keep streaming, but she has stuff to do in the gaming district. This week is birthday week, so she has family stuff to do, plus she uploaded late and has less time to make her next video. She wants to get back to her Friday release schedule. She needs to figure out what will be in her next video before she makes it, too. Her birthday and Kahn’s birthday are both this week, but she will not take a week off. Taking a week off is so bad for the YouTube algorithm. Right now she is very happy with everything she’s doing on the server and has been having a lot of fun. She tells chat she’s streaming again tomorrow

5:31:50 Pearl realizes she has not read out her notifications for three hours. She is embarrassed and blames redstone streaming. She wails a bit, then starts thanking her subs and donos. Pearl and the chat have a mutual-appreciation party for a little while. Pearl thinks Chat is wonderful, and that things are better now than in older streams, with less backseating and more support. She liked streaming back then but even more now. There are fewer trolls (she thinks this may be because she gave up facecam) and more peaceful building. She likes how Chat offers good suggestions in kind ways. Chat is loving this and feeding compliments right back to Pearl. Pearl says she feels good after every stream these days. Some people in the community give fair critique but in painful ways that makes people feel bad instead of making them better, and that has happened with other creators she knows recently, but her chat is excellent. Pearl also says she understands a fraction of what Tango felt when he finished Decked Out.

5:44:40 Ollie Orionsound appears in chat and asks about the game, so Pearl gives him the very short tour of how the redstone works for the game itself. Ollie thinks it is “so cool.” After the tour, Pearl says she needs to end stream now. No Hermits are streaming Minecraft so she raids into Jono, who is mixing the Poe Poe song, and ends her stream.

[wandering-winchesters]

Do It.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3,408

Summary: The reader is taken captive and has given up hope of being rescued or escaping. Yet when Dean does appear, his life is the one at stake.

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, swearing, mention of weapons, injuries.

Requested: No

A/N: This has been floating around inside my brain for awhile and I finally managed to find the time to write it down. I apologize for the lack of posts, I am in the process of buying a house and it has been an emotional rollercoaster. As always, please let me know what you think. xx

Masterlist

It was not often that I would accept defeat, I was too stubborn for that. I have lived my life by the philosophy that there is always another option, a way out, some way to make the outcome different than what I feared. It had gotten me pretty far, I had managed to get out of some pretty sticky situations. It was a natural occurrence when spending time with the Winchester boys, hellish situations seemed to follow them wherever they go. They made friends easily, but enemies even easier.

That is how I wound up here, bound to a wooden chair. Zip ties digging into my ankles and wrists, my body aching with every breath that I take. I can feel the bruises forming on my skin every second that I am forced to sit on this god forsaken excuse for a chair. My jaw aches, forced apart by the t-shirt that had been stuffed into my mouth to keep me quiet. The only sound in the room besides my own labored breathing was the clock ticking away on the wall. Each twitch of the second hand mocking me louder than the one before. It had been hours, I had been here for hours. 

From the moment I had managed to open my eyes, I had been fighting against the restraints. Panic had been held at bay until I realized that the knife that I kept hidden in my clothing, for times such as these, was no longer there. A curse would have left my lips, if it could. Internal curses had sufficed, my brain a constant swirl of colorful curse words and a means to escape. The only thought that kept me going was the Winchesters. They would be looking for me, Dean would search heaven and earth to find me. Unless, he wasn’t able to look because something had happened to him. 

No, stop that. Dean is looking for you. Sam is looking for you. Hell, Bobby is probably out looking for you. Breathe.

I force myself to reset my breathing, taking a sharp inhale through my nose. I stretch my neck in either direction as far as I can, closing my eyes and allowing a rush of oxygen to flow over me. 

Think. C’mon Y/N, Think! 

My eyes snap open and once again I survey the room, looking for something, anything, that I can use to my advantage to get myself out of this goddamn chair. Nothing. There is nothing within reach and the chair is bolted to the floor. 

What kind of person bolts a chair to the floor? 

Fear once again begins to creep in, a shroud of darkness impeding my thoughts. My breath catches in my throat as my heart rate increases ten fold. There is nothing I can do to stop it, I am truly stuck. All at once my thoughts come crashing down on me. I am stuck sitting here until Sam and Dean find me or until Gordon comes back. That thought is a punch to the gut, Gordon. He knew what he was doing by taking me, he knew that Dean would come searching and in turn Sam. It was a trap and there was nothing I could do about it. 

The floor above me creaks and I freeze. I close my eyes, attempting to shut off every sense except for my hearing. Footsteps. Someone is coming, the question is who? I steel myself, my eyes closed except for a sliver. I sit and wait, praying to any God or Angel that might listen. The door creaks open, slowly, ever so slowly and I hear not one but two sets of footsteps enter the room. 

“Y/N.” His voice is hushed but it is enough. My eyes snap open, relief floods over me as I see Dean. He is quick to holster his gun and close the distance between us. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern and he crosses the floor to my side in two strides. I wince as he gently tugs the gag from my mouth and I flex the stiff muscles in my jaw slowly, easing my mouth fully closed for the first time in a few hours. A hiss leaves my lips as he moves to undo the zip-ties on my wrists, the sharp edges of the plastic had already caused multiple small cuts to form around them. 

“Who did this to you? Where are they?” Dean asks, his voice still hushed. It is at this moment that I remember the urgency that lies around this moment. 

“It was Gordon, he got the jump on me in town. I have no idea where he went, he knocked me out before he tied me up down here. Be careful Dean, he could be anywhere.” 

As I speak Dean continues to to work on the remaining zip ties, he’s on the last one when Sam quietly enters the room. Our eyes meet and he gives me a soft sympathetic smile, followed closely by a frown as he takes in the scene before him. 

“Gordon’s nearby, Sammy. We have to be careful.” Dean mutters, his knife tugging against the stubborn plastic still wrapped around my ankle. I yelp as he finally gets it to snap, the plastic leaving one final mark on my skin. Dean is quick to help me to my feet, his hands steadying me gently as I ease myself into a standing position. Every muscle in my body is screaming in protest, aching from the sudden movement. 

There is a loud clatter from the room above us, Dean glances at me and I nod, he immediately jumps into action, flying towards the stairs. Sam is right on his heels and I can hear them moving quietly towards the disturbance. The pit in my stomach builds again, this doesn’t feel right. It all seems too easy, they were able to walk right in and it seemed as if we would be able to leave without incident. I follow the boys towards the kitchen, slowly and every step more painful than the last. Yet the need to be in the reach of Dean outweighed everything else. I make it to the top of the stairs, my body aching with each step. I turn the corner and begin to head towards the room that I can hear the boys moving around in, I am almost to the doorway when my progress is halted. An arm slips around my waist, yanking me back roughly into the body behind my own. A hiss leaves my lips as a blade is pressed firmly against my neck, the cold steel causing goose bumps to rise on my skin. 

“Shhh, better not fight it Y/N. Wouldn’t want to make you lose that pretty head of yours.” Gordon whispers in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin cause a wave of nausea to flood through me from his touch. He pushes me forward with the arm that is still wrapped around my middle, forcing me towards the room where Dean is, my Dean. I square my shoulders as much as my current situation allows, unwilling to allow myself to appear weak in front of this awful excuse for a human, well vampire. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Gordon announces our presence, keeping a tight grip on the knife pressed to my throat. He presses harder as Dean whips around, his eyes locking onto the situation before him and anger overshadowing his prior expression. His chin tips down, his gaze fixed on the life at my throat. His forehead relax, but eyes dark. His lips are parted and his chest heaves with exertion, absolute fury coursing through his veins. 

“Don’t touch her!” He spits taking intentional steps towards us, an action that Gordon meets by pressing the knife against my throat tighter. An involuntary whimper leaves my lips as the blade slices through my skin, leaving a deep, but not deadly cut on my neck. Dean halts, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. HIs eyes now focused at the point where the blade meets my flesh. 

“I wouldn’t make demands here, Dean. You don’t exactly have the upper hand.” I can’t see Gordons face, but I can picture the smirk that is plastered across his face even though he’s behind me. My eyes are focused on Dean, pleading silently with him to look at me, but he doesn’t, his eyes remain locked on Gordons. 

“What do you want?” Sam asks, stepping into view besides Dean. His hands are raised, displaying that they are empty and that he is not currently a threat. Gordon laughs, the vibrations from the sound traveling through my body due to the close proximity. 

“Oh Sam, you know what I want. I want the two of you. She was just bait.”  Sam watches carefully, his face calm and unreadable. 

“Then let her go. Take us instead.” Dean spits, one of his hands coming up to rake mindlessly through his hair. 

“No, Dean don’t do th-“ Dean stops me with a look, his eyes fierce and I understand what he’s communicating. He has a plan and I need to just go along with it, for everyones sake. I bite my tongue, keeping quiet and waiting for his next move.  I’m caught off guard by Gordon loosening his grip from my body, before he shoves me away from him. I fall hard, my knees and hands hitting the wooden floor abruptly. In the moment, I don’t notice the pain. I’m too focused on getting to Dean, I scramble to my feet and close the distance to where he’s waiting. His hands tug me behind him as quickly as he can, he steps between me and Gordon. Shielding me from danger as he always does. I dig my fingers into his shirt, balling the material in between my fingers, in an attempt to keep Dean close. It doesn’t last long. Gordon demands that Dean face him like a man, and of course, Dean follows through. 

Dean steps forward, his fists balled by his sides, fingers twitching to find solace around Gordon’s throat, but he wouldn’t risk putting me in danger. 

I am not alone for long, Sam must have closed the distance between us, because the next thing I know he is tugging me behind his tall frame. His body fully blocking my view of the horrible scene before us. I step to the side, ever so slightly, just enough so I can still see Dean, I can’t bear to take my eyes off of him. Not now. Not ever. 

A sob rises in my throat as I see what I had missed in those brief seconds hidden behind Sam. Gordon has a knife to Deans throat, similar to how he had it to mine seconds ago. But this time, Dean is standing in front of him, facing him. His eyes are boring into Gordons, a glimmer of rage flashing across surface of the green orbs. His lip twitches up into a sneer, silently daring Gordon to finish what he started, end it. 

“Y/N, close your eyes, you don’t need to see this sweetheart.” Dean says, his voice barely loud enough, but I hear him. I don’t realize that I am walking towards the two of them until Sam grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and sheltering me within his grasp. I hadn’t realized that I was protesting and yelling at him, I could hear myself. I couldn’t feel the tears falling down my cheeks. 

--

In that moment, my life flashes before my eyes. More specifically, the life that we had shared together. The day I had met the love of my life, so many years ago, when we were still children. It was a couple years after Mary died, I lived in the same neighborhood that they did. I knew that Sam and Deans mother had died, but I had never interacted with them. I fell off my bike in the street outside of their house, scraping my knee in the process. I had burst into tears, in the natural way that a six year old would when they got hurt. Dean was only a little older than me at that point, but he helped me up and walked me home. An act of compassion, that I would find out later was unusual for the older Winchester. 

How, years later in high school, Dean beat up a group of boys that had been bullying me. Something I wouldn’t find out until after I graduated. He was always protective of me, but I could never really figure out why. We lost touch for a few years when I went to college, I would call him on occasion and get his voicemail and when he would call me he would get mine. Phone tag in every regard. It wasn’t until the day I lost both of my parents, that we finally reconnected. None of my friends understood how that felt, the loss of a parent. But I knew who would. I had called and left him a voicemail, pleading with him to return my call, that It was urgent and I didn’t know what to do. Well, instead of calling, he tracked my phone and showed up at my door. An act that freaked me out at the time, but now I can see why he responded in that manner. 

We have had many fights over the years, varying in seriousness. Some of them petty disagreements that would end in playful fights. Others, volatile and filled with anger and one of us storming out. This was how I found out about the supernatural world, he had been dodgy and unresponsive. It made me angry, we had just started dating and I could never get him to give me a straight answer as to what he was doing and where he was going. So I followed him, right into a nest of vampires. That was a bad night, but I see now that he was just scared. He didn’t want to lose me, he couldn’t lose me. Just like how in this very moment, I couldn’t lose him. I was terrified at the looming possibility that tonight is the last night that I would see him alive. He could die. He was about to die. 

--

I snap back to reality, my face still buried in Sam’s jacket. His hand is cupping the back of my neck keeping my head pressed against him, not allowing me an inch of wiggle room. I knew he didn’t want me to see what was about to happen, but I wanted to. I needed to see for myself if Dean died, otherwise I would never believe it. 

I fight against his grip and I gain an inch, the ability to crane my neck enough to see Dean again. Still in the same position that he had been in moments before, only now there was a trickle of blood running down his neck, similar to the one on my own. 

“Please, Gordon, don’t.” I plead, fighting harder against Sam’s grip on me, but I can’t move any further. I can’t get any closer, I can’t stop him, I can’t take Dean’s place. “Do it.” Dean spits, his eyes unwavering from Gordons. Even though I know it’s not possible, Deans eyes seemed black. Emotionless and dark. As he finished his sentence, his jaw clenches and he lowers his chin, a small grin replacing the frown that had been there moments before. 

I am confused, why is Dean grinning? He seems almost elated at the prospect of his life being taken away at the hands of the evil man before him. It is only then, that my eyes drift past the two of them to the dark doorway behind them. I see a shadowy figure and almost scream out a warning, before I realize I recognize the way the shadow is moving. It’s Bobby. He is completely silent, the way his feet drift over the floor completely silently and he makes his way towards them. His machete raised high and poised to strike. 

“Oh I will do it and with pleasure.” Gordon smirks, his muscles flexing in order to apply more pressure to the blade. But just as he begins to pull his arm back, to then return in a slicing motion, Bobby pounces. Bobby lunges forward, his machete slicing though not only the air, but Gordons neck. There is a satisfying and gut wrenching thump as his head hits the wooden floor. I scrunch my eyes shut, no longer needing to see what was going on in front of me. We were safe.

The second danger is no longer looming, Sam’s grip on me loosens and I am bolting. I throw his arms off of me and run straight to Dean. I wrap my arms around him so tightly that he takes a quick step back and it takes him a second to return the embrace, but he does. I let out a sob that I didn't know I was holding in. I snake my hands under his shirt, seeking comfort in the warmth of his skin. An action that we are both very accustomed to, a calming routine that helps the both of us. He presses a kiss to my forehead first and then my lips, before he whispers soothing words in my ears, none of which stick around long enough to register.

"You damn idjits, you're lucky I followed you." Bobby grumbles, wiping the blade of his machete with a dirty towel he must have found on the floor. A small argument breaks out between the three men, Dean jumping to defend their actions. It ensues loudly, until my knees nearly give out from underneath me. Dean notices and grips me tighter, his sentence cutting off in the middle and his attention is fully devoted to me once again. It's then that he takes in my condition, the multitude of cuts and bruises, the dark circles under my eyes.

"I'm dizzy De." I whisper, resting my forehead against his chest, my arms slipping down to my sides.

"I've got you sweetheart, let's get you home."

--

That's what he does. He is quick to pick me up, his hands gentle with me. How we got from the abandoned house back to Bobby's is a story that you would have to ask him. The second we climbed into the back of the Impala, I was asleep. My head tucked under his chin and my arms wrapped around him as firmly as I could manage. He carried me into Bobby's house, setting me down gently onto the kitchen counter. A mumbled, stay put, the only thing he needed to say. He addressed all of the injuries he could see, nearly waterboarded me with the amount of water he made me drink. Insisting that I was dehydrated and if I didn't drink, he would make me go to the hospital.

He was now fussing over a smudge of dirt on my forehead, a dirty washcloth pinched between his fingers.

"Dean," I sigh and reach up to push his hand away. "I'm okay, baby. I promise. I'm here. You're here. Let's just go to bed. Please." He doesn't budge and attempts to return to his previous task, his tongue pinched between his teeth. I push his hand away once more, holding it down against my knee this time. "De, please. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep in your arms." This time he listens, a sigh leaving his lips and he nods.

The second we got into bed he was asleep, a restless and anxious sleep. A slumber that I knew would soon turn into nightmares. The grip that he had on my body was tight, almost unbearably so. Yet I knew he needed it, just as much as I did. I shift slightly, allowing myself to be pulled even closer to his sleeping body. The love that we shared was unimaginable, I couldn't do any of this without him. I truly hope that tonight was the last time I would come that close to losing him. I close my eyes and allowed sleep to overtake me.

Little do I know, that was far from the last time something would try to separate us. It was only the beginning.

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester

[cinnamoneve]

hi hi!! congratulations on your 100 followers! can i request a nanami fic with prompt no. 29 please?🤩

also, i love your works!! can't wait to read more of them!💗🌻

prompt #29 - "i'm beginning to think i imagined you all along"

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ "cornerstone" by arctic monkeys

part of my 100 follower event <3 masterlist | make a request !

ee thank you for the sweet words nonnie !!! sending you all my love :) this is my first nanami (and angst) piece so i hope i could do your boy justice (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ thank you for requesting!!!

nanami took the breakup harder than anyone expected.

his friends, family–even he was shocked at how unprepared he was. after you moved out, he searched for any kind of solace he could. no-contact was especially hard on him. all he wanted to do was call you up and mend your relationship in any way possible..

but it all became too much. the love died out, eventually, as it seemed to always do. you and nanami had a phase where you weren’t lovers, just two people living together, going about your days with no passion for what once was. there was stonewalling, periods of no communication, and extreme feelings that seemed to bottle up and pour out at the most unfortunate times.

it would be best if it was over. and it was a difficult decision for you to make. it was hard seeing him cry together with you, but it was for the best if you cut ties.

maybe you’d come back to each other. if you love something, you let it go, right? and if it’s meant to be, it comes back to you, right?

right?

evidently, he wasn’t good at letting go.

he wanted to be better at it. he understood. there was a gap in time where he let you be. savored the no-contact because he wanted to respect your wishes. and it all got to him worse than he thought it would. maybe he could stage an ‘accidental’ meet-cute, and the two of you could fall in love all over again. 

so he’d put on his best outfit, one he made sure you liked, and caked on the cologne he wore when you first started dating. scent is one of the most potent senses, he argued, that one whiff would carry you back to the best times.

the moon and all her stars laughed together, knowing that the scene before them has played out time and time again.

nanami occupied anywhere he could to try and find you again. in one bar, he could swear that there was someone who laughed just like you.

in his best attempts at being inconspicuous, he hovered around the bar area just to steal a glimpse at your twin. 

or what he thought was your twin. turns out, the person just laughed like you. and that’s all there was to it. a laugh that plagued his mind, at this point. a laugh that warmed him with only a thought; one that continued to ring in his ear even if he couldn’t remember the last time he heard it.

god, what he’d kill to bathe in that laugh one more time. to really soak it up knowing it’d be his last. he can’t believe some of the last words you exchanged were underneath the anger of an argument.

he’d grown tired too. work was especially bad, and by the time he’d gotten home he had run out of understanding. he was uncharacteristically quick to snap, easy to upset. eventually, you decided it’d be best to say nothing at all rather than risk it.

the relationship felt like a timebomb, just minutes from detonation. it finally seemed to give when it needed to.

there was more unsaid on his end. 

he traveled to the next bar. maybe you’d be here instead.

it was a place you and him frequented when life got to be a little too much. every so often, a date night was in order to reset it all and start over with a clean slate. he’d order your favorite drink, something stiff for himself, and an appetizer for the two of you to share over the hours you’d spend catching up.

it was a little check-in with one another. he hasn’t been here in months.

he was beginning to see you in everyone he came across. it was getting painful. all the faces and voices made his brain a little fuzzy. chalk it up to the alcohol, maybe to the lovesickness; nanami couldn’t tell.

the atmosphere was warm, but he felt anything but. the overwhelming smells of mixed drinks and various bar foods were starting to get to him. the music was a little bit too loud, glasses were clinking too much for his liking, and he could start to feel a headache forming just behind his eyes.

you’d have the remedy. you’d know how to make him feel better.

he didn’t have you to go home to though. to play up his illness a little bit too much, so you’d baby him and dote on him even if you knew he was exaggerating.

nanami kept up a hardened attitude, most of the time. with you, it felt like he could be soft and more open than he usually could be.

you were his blanket. and even if you didn’t know it, you still were; nanami hated himself for this. it was hard to be all alone again. everyone was starting to look like you.

they’d order your usual drink, say a word that you pronounced funny one time, wearing a color that you swore you looked bad in, even though you never did.

pieces of you were everywhere. in everyone. love is evident in every corner of this bar, because you exist and everyone has a little part of you in them. you’re the embodiment of it. it was hard to not be with you like this.

nanami thought he was losing it – no one could put a finger on where you’d been, if they’d seen you, or recall any details of what you’ve been up to since the break up, and it was slowly driving him insane. it seemed like the relationship, and you in general, were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. there wasn’t a trace of you anywhere. in the bar, in the world, in his apartment; just existing in the cavity of his very being.

so he left. he called a cab and waited anxiously for it to pull up. not usually an anxious man, nanami fiddled with the apartment keys in his coat pocket in an effort to look busy. shuffling in, he made light conversation while the driver followed the gps closely back to the cold apartment waiting for him. 

the window was cracked and the night air was electric with conversation and scents of the bustling streets at night. the air carried the smell of you into the cabin.

not your perfume or the soap you use, but the way the nape of your neck smelled when he delicately kissed your shoulders. it smelled like a sunday morning in bed, getting out of bed at the very last minute to get your day started. it was you, it was you, it was nothing but you.

the driver could’ve taken a left at the petrol station as a quick way to cut the ride in half. if he were a better man, nanami would’ve helped the driver out to get home and be with you quicker. but just for tonight, he’d sit in this cab a little bit longer with the window wide open.

all content © cinnamoneve 2023. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

[necromancelena]

hey can someone reset my brain to factory settings pretty please?

[frozenjokes]

sculkfan135

ao3 link

tw: medical trauma, medical needles, child neglect, child endangerment

LOOP 20

It was a disorienting thing to wake up, it always was, especially the more time that had passed since you’d died and your fellows had lived on, but for Cub this was not an issue, because at the back of his mind he knew that he was not meant to be awake.

An easy fix.

Someone who could only be Cleo leapt on him, grabbing his wrists as his fingers just barely grazed the gun at his bedside. She was yelling at him, but he wasn’t sure what she was saying or what he’d done to deserve this. The post-reset calm he felt was beginning to subside, panic like needles pushing the walls of his composure thin. It was the sculk, the sculk was taking him, it would not let go no matter how many doctors piled on top of him, holding on, holding on as if they stood a single chance against the parasite that wanted him so much more.

They thought they knew so much better than him, didn’t they. As if there was any other way to stop him other than a bullet in his brain. Cub knew. Cub knew, and he told them just as much, but they didn’t listen, they never listened because they just knew so much better than him.

“It’s in my brain,” Cub breathed, breathed because he was winded, because his doctors were fighting him and they were yelling at him and he did not understand, nor did he care to listen when he knew they knew nothing, “It’s in my brain, don’t you understand? You don’t. You don’t. It’s clear to me, it’s clear, and you can see it in there with your scans, but you can’t see my mind, you can’t see its residence. Genius idea to keep me here, in the cage where my body can’t bloom, but you’ve forgotten my mind, don’t you understand?”

It was clear to Cub. Clear as day, clear as anything, as a dog’s bark versus a cat’s meow, he understood with the clarity one might reach at their personal enlightenment, bright and overwhelming but so equally simple. For true stasis, his mind would need to loop back as his body did, no development, no learning, no achievement kept. How stupid for them not to have realized; minds still tire from loop to loop, even when bodies are rested. Brains still wither under the weight of loss, men are still driven to madness. Diseased minds still progress, they must, there was no other explanation, and there was only one true solution. But Cub did not know if he could take it anymore, or even ask another to do it for him; intrinsically, he wanted to live. There was no other choice but to live, that was clear, and the certainty of the thought calmed him. His doctors loosened their grip, and instantly, just to spite them, he thought of fighting again, of making a scene, but they weren’t trying to hurt him, not now. Stupidity wasn’t a crime, he supposed.

“Turn off the light.” he demanded, he made sure to be firm, because these useless doctors never listened, “Turn it off, I can’t hear you. Get off of me.”

His doctors receded, good, they had no value otherwise if not to listen. Cub did not reach out, but still his fingers came across something soft, soft enough to create a void as it left him, a feeling so empty that Cub had to chase the fleeting sensation. He flexed his fingers and after a moment it returned to him, more tangible, almost solid. The lights flicked off, and almost instantly he fell at ease. Gosh, clearly these doctors had never seen him before, never been in contact with his Earthen tormentors, they could follow directions, they were far more advanced peoples. Eyes half closed, the heartbeat of the closer caught his attention. Quick, erratic almost, or perhaps that was its breathing. Cub couldn’t say it made him feel anything. He just noticed.

Chasing his own quiet desires, he moved to pet whatever his drifting hand had chanced into. Slowly, it drew closer, and Cub felt very pleased at its presence. He felt very little about animals, but he’d never known doctors to keep them.

It must have been an arm at his fingers, thin and bony and not ideal for petting, but it made him curious regardless; he had only a few animals growing up, but they never made it to old age. Foxes and coyotes got the cats. They didn’t know what got the dog, but it had run off into the woods one day and never came home. Cub remembered feeling angry, young as he was. Not angry that his parents had not made much of an effort to find her, but angry she’d left in the first place, that she’d left him all alone in that quiet house. At eight years old, Cub had put forth a lot more effort into finding her than anyone else. In the chill of an early December winter, not even wearing a coat after the first snowfall, he had understood why she’d gone. The forest had so much more to offer than the drab cottage he spent most days, always assuming the grass that led into the thicker trees was just.. the edge of the world. No, the world was so much vaster than he had even imagined.

His continued venturing into the woods had been under that lost dog’s name, but one or two more trips onto the overgrown trails and he’d long forgotten her.

Cub trailed his fingers down the arm of this new animal, wondering what a doctor might keep in their office. A dog, maybe? Therapy dogs were a thing, though Cub had never known one personally. He found the hand, and knew nearly instantly this was not the case.

“Cat claws,” he mumbled, thoughtful in his examination. “I find needles to be a lot like cat claws, is that why you like them? I can’t imagine keeping them in your office is very sanitary, but what do I know. Do they keep your patients calm?” Easier to control them that way, Cub had the thought, but despite not speaking it aloud, the cat must have read his disdainful mind, pulling away to Cub’s great sorrow. Cub reached to catch it again, but only found the rough material of [his] a doctor’s corduroy jacket.

“No,” he breathed, unaware if what he was feeling was anger or sadness, “Where did you go? You used to be soft,” he furrowed his brow, his panic rising in earnest. He tried to open his eyes, but he could not see, he’d forgotten, he wasn’t meant to, he was afraid of what might happen to him if he could, if he found his glasses, but no, he was too turned around, he’d been fighting too hard, those damn doctors, he could hear them deliberating, they were talking about him, they had meant to trick him and now- Cub sat up, stopping short on his escape attempt when that softness returned to the backs of his hands, the large paw pads of the doctor’s cat returning once more. Oh. Okay.

Against the will of his racing heart, he laid back down. The paws drew back, and while Cub mourned their loss, they were not completely gone, the bed dipping at the end as a large weight crawled up. Wow. This was a big cat. Cub felt its fur between his legs as it settled on his thighs and knees, beginning to purr as if that were its civic duty. Gingerly, Cub reached to pet, his hand ending up somewhere between its chest and shoulder, Cub was pretty sure at least. Absently, his fingers traced the fur.

“It’s not your fault you’re stupid,” Cub mumbled, drifting into that unsteady peace once more, “People get stupid when they try to save themselves, and I know I’m in the way. I know you know that killing me is the only way to stop me, me specifically, but your job isn’t to kill me. It’s about understanding. I know you hate me, I’m in your way. You’re in mine. It was.. always going to be this way.”

Cub paused, considering the static of his own mind. He expected more thoughts to make their way across the scape on their own, but when he watched, he saw no words on the vast expanse. Just static. Just empty space. Was this how he was meant to be?

“You didn’t stop my infection. Did you know? Physically.. I look alright. I look the way I’ve always been since you mutilated me, inside and out. You tore off my skin with those gloves, it was my skin, I know I must have bled.. You did it with those needles too, stuck me right in the stomach, right by my belly button, I know it, I felt it and you told me, you told me like I’d ever administer the medicine by myself. You knew it. You showed Cleo how to do it too. You made them watch. They told me they didn’t but I know they were.. Cat claws.. I think if I did not know, I might mistake it for cat claws. I know.. I know what you told them. If things get bad.. if I don’t survive long enough.. Not once have they tried to force it on me, I’ll have you know. They’re not as stupid as you. The only way to really kill me.. You have to commit. You’ll never understand me. Cleo knows. That’s why they’re better than you, among many, many other reasons.”

Cub wondered if his doctors were still there. They hadn’t moved in some time.

“Two years is a long time. How about five?”

The cat could not purr as effectively as his doctors whispered to each other; Cub suspected it found them similarly irritating. He did not try to listen in. The words slid off his ears like oil to water. He heard shuffling somewhat distantly, searching through boxes neither of them had touched in.. well, five years, likely. How much dust might have accumulated in all those years? He preferred to hear the purring, so he did. As simple as that.

Unfortunately, Cub did know what was coming. He knew it as well as he knew cat claws, something he’d learned more than a little about in the past months. He felt Scar’s paws at the hem of his shirt, and he fought reality as it threatened to crash back into him, he wanted to go back, go back gobackgobackGOBACK to when he never would have known, to the woods, to the pine, to sting of winter on his nose, to the joy of chipmunks and rabbits and even the bears, he’d even take the bears, ANYTHING, anything but this-!

He screamed when they held him down, he kicked and scratched and cried and even when it was over he cried, he could feel it, his skin, did they know when they pulled that it hurt, it hurt, IT HURT, that was his skin, it was connected to his skin!

When they left him he still cried, he cried for his dog, his lost dog, abandoning him in that house, leaving him all alone, dooming him to the physical pangs of loneliness that haunted him for the rest of his childhood, the rest of his life, it was all that dog, his dog had left him and now look what he’d become!

The doctor’s creature returned to him then, whether it was that lost dog or not, Cub was wretched enough to believe anything. Dogs were less coordinated than this, but they had such sharp elbows, Cub remembered their elbows, and those calloused paws from living outside on the concrete, yes, Cub had found her finally, she’d come home after all those years of searching, after the decades that had passed when Cub had gone back home, an adult, to look for her one last time.

“I got sick, looking for you,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He was home. Sometimes this happened, pieces of himself falling away, drifting until all that was left was a fuzzy, light mind. Or maybe it was the opposite, someone small and hurt pushing forward, demanding to be met. Thinking further than the sensations of fur on his fingers was suddenly a monumental task, but that was alright, he had his dog, he loved that dog, she was so, so soft, and more than anything he longed to bury his face in her side, but she rarely tolerated it, and right now there would be no worse fate in the world than her leaving his side.

“You knew.. You used to go with dad when he went to treat the land. He had that big wheelbarrow, I remember. Mom let me paint it with her..” Cub hummed quietly, “Treat the land, get those nice government checks. He let me help sometimes, ‘-you want to go in those damn woods so bad.’ Only half. Only use half. You only needed half to get the most of it-” Cub avoided saying the word, he’d always had trouble with it, the ‘sc’ and the ‘l’ so soon after, but not before the ‘u,’ it was too overwhelming to try many days “-enough to pass the inspections at least. The rest you could sell, ‘Off the record, of course.’ It’s like.. free money. That was pretty cool.”

“I think we were poor.. I don’t really know. We didn’t buy very much. Not my mom or my dad, they really didn’t like to buy things. Both of them liked to hunt. They’d go out together with their rifles, and sometimes they’d come home with a buck or even a bear, a black bear, that’s what, it was so cool. They didn’t let me out with them, didn’t let me touch the guns. It made me sad. They didn’t want me out with them. Sometimes I got to sit outside while they processed the meat together, even if they didn’t want you around most times.. You weren’t always a very good dog. Barking on the chain.. It was really happy when it was just the three of us out there though, god. I don’t know if they ever knew I loved it. They never told me when they got home. Never called inside to let me know. Every time they left into the woods, I just waited by the window. Sometimes I watched you, sleeping out there on those warmer spring days. You knew when they got home before I did.”

He remembered it. He remembered it so well he could have been home right now. Sitting on the couch on his knees, looking out the window and waiting. A surge of vulnerability left him grasping at the animal across his legs, wrapping his arms around it, he needed more, there was no seeing past that gaping need, and Cub pulled the creature toward him, toward his chest. It mewled softly, readjusted, but ultimately accepted its fate. Cub couldn’t see, no, he still could not see, but the internal image made him giggle softly, even if the warm feeling was short lived.

Sculk sickness came around every once in a while in their family. Two or three times a year; it wasn’t a big deal. His father had a vaccine, the cost covered by the government since he worked with sculk control on their acreage of land, but his mom tended toward getting the treatment as it came, those treatments being covered by their insurance. For Cub it was a little more complicated. Kids couldn’t take the high doses of medication that adults could, not all at once at least- it wouldn’t kill them or anything, it just wasn’t a very good thing to have all those chemicals in your system at once when you weighed so little. So instead kids took antibiotics in the form of pills, similar to what you’d take for an ear infection, at least that’s what Cub’s mom had told him. He’d never had an ear infection before.

His dad and uncle got into a lot of fights, words Cub was assaulted with even through the thick oaken door of his bedroom, head buried under his largest pillows. He’d never thought there was anything wrong with him; sculk sickness was a normal, but brief inconvenience in his life, less trouble than the common cold. His parents always seemed to know before Cub did; they all ate the same food, all contracted at the same time. Cub had gotten quite good at going to the doctor and taking those pills, he was quite proud of himself, but his uncle seemed to think they were a very bad thing.

His father’s brother was a pediatrician, he worked at the same practice Cub went for his own annual appointments, but Cub never got the sense his uncle liked him very much. His uncle wasn’t over very often, but in those days after his dad couldn’t take Cub to the doctor anymore, he was around far more often.

Cub had done something wrong. He wasn’t supposed to get sick this much, his uncle preferred he die from an easily curable sickness than give his father more of those antibiotics, Cub knew it was true, there was no other reason he’d withhold them when his father begged for just a small stockpile, just to be safe, enough to last them through to the end of the year. His uncle threatened all sorts of things; to have the property investigated, to turn his father to the police for mismanagement, child endangerment, he wanted to have Cub taken away, Cub had heard his father say it, heard his mother scream at the both of them to quiet down when their voices boomed so oppressively that the house shook.

They got the medicine, in the end. The day before his sixth birthday.

The next week, his uncle would come to the house to examine Cub, probe him for sickness. Strip away all his clothes, his privacy, his protection, move him physically, touch without asking, it only stopped when Cub cried, wailed until his father came between them, comforting him only with the words that this would be no more than a weekly occurrence, just until the end of the year. Cub had screamed.

It only took two weeks for ‘weekly’ occurrences to become monthly. Cub would not speak to anyone days after his uncle’s visits. If he was given advance warning, he hid under the covers of his parents’ bed, but they stopped giving warnings when he threw open the front door and attempted to run away.

It was only two months later he’d gotten sick again, but his mother knew before his uncle had the chance to find out, and the illness was treated quietly. As far as Cub knew, his uncle was never told.

It confused Cub when on the fourth day of his antibiotics, his father did not give him any more. The duration was usually a week, and he recognized the pills; they weren’t any different.

He’d been told he only really needed to take them until his symptoms subsided; no need to waste the rest of the pills when we might need them later. We might not be able to get any more. Cub had already known his uncle was evil, but it was an unbelievable crashing relief to hear the words from his father’s lips.

The end of the year came and went, five total visits from his uncle by the New Year, and Cub had no words to express the utter relief that he’d never have to see him again.

Life continued.. as normal. Cub was allowed to visit his doctor again in the instances he got sick, though he had violent reactions to his clothes being touched, eliciting concerned responses from the adults around him. He didn’t want to talk to any of them, any doctors, but they wanted to talk to him, they wanted to ask him questions without his parents around, to which he only screamed, clinging to his mother like they might forcibly drag him away if he did not hold tight enough. However this resolved itself, Cub never knew.

He never took a full dose of his antibiotics again. His father was just as stingy with those pills as he was with money, a trait Cub had violently inherited. He hated the sculk. He hated the sickness his family seemed so prone to- the faster it left him, the better.

Only once Cub had lied about feeling better before he really was, desperate to save that precious extra pill, but the regression came hard, and it had taken so much of their stock to kill it that Cub had been sufficiently scarred from ever trying anything like that again.

Cub was just as afraid of his uncle at the age of ten than when he was at six. Every time he showed his face in their house, the whole family turned to ruin.

No more hunting. No more sustaining that hefty portion of your food from those damn woods. It’s not safe, it’s especially not safe to medicate as often as you have to, and I can’t in good conscience let this go on any longer.

Cub remembered locking eyes with him, the spark of recognition, pity, evil. Cub had bolted out the back door.

He heard those footsteps behind him, not his mother or his father, and he ran faster, heaving, near tears, but the chase had stopped abruptly as [presumably] his father caught his uncle before he could take another step off the porch. The two of them screamed, his uncle screamed that Cub was running away, running into the woods alone, they had to get him before he went too far, Cub remembered the words that had fueled his terror, legs pumping faster. He didn’t remember what his father had said in response, he was quieter, but Cub remembered his uncle’s response:

“HE WHAT!?”

Cub was back before sunset, as per his parents’ curfew, but he lingered near the back, terror-struck when he saw his uncle’s car still sitting in the front driveway. His mother must have seen him through the window. She told him it was okay to come inside, and stricken back into silence, Cub could not respond, but he did not believe her either. He would not come inside until she convinced him it was safe, that no one was going to jump out at him, that his uncle just wanted to know Cub made it back home, that he was waiting in the car. Cub’s father had called out the front door, told his uncle that Cub was home. His uncle yelled something back, inaudible, but Cub didn’t like the regretful way his father turned back to look at him.

“He just wants to see you, and then he’ll go.”

Cub tried to run, caught by his mother. He didn’t scream as he’d forgotten how, but it was with great terror he attempted his escape, even as both parents herded him toward the front door. The second Cub was in view he was released. His mother moved swiftly to block the back door, but Cub was only interested in burying himself in his blankets, bedroom door slammed shut behind him.

There was no more hunting after that.

It was confusing for Cub, not getting sick after that. It took him a long while to understand it; he tended to take most things at face value, but this didn’t make all that much sense. If the food from the forest was making them sick, then why had they been eating it for so long? They did get sick once in the following year, but his mother had said it was unlucky, a bad patch in the garden, and while his father had been quite anxious, nothing had come from it. As always, they’d just taken him to the doctor. As always, Cub took his antibiotics until he stopped showing symptoms.

He continued to wonder, but he was never very good at formulating his questions, and any mention of the sculk or hunting put his dad in a foul mood. Both his mom and dad were distinctly unhappier in those days; Cub couldn’t bear to be around them sometimes, the oppressive nature of the house pushing him to spend far more of his time outside.

There was far more for him in the woods on their property. He peeked down rabbit holes, climbed trees looking for birds’ nests, watched bees and wasps in their hives, conquered stumps like towers and made homes for himself by weaving together bushes.

This was nothing new, but seventh and eighth grade were particularly bad years for Cub, the age where kids started growing out of their eccentricities and abandoning all things deemed childish with reckless abandon, leaving Cub even further behind than he’d felt before. Trying to join them in their sprint toward growing up exhausted him, so instead he sat and watched quietly while the ties of his already few friendships grew thinner and thinner.

He was humored in school most days. But he was never wanted.

Maybe it had always been this way. Maybe Cub was just starting to grow attuned to it. Either way, outside of school he did not talk to anyone his age, he did not go to hangouts or birthday parties, he stayed in the woods. He preferred it; really he did prefer it, but it would have been nice to have a friend who liked the same things he did.

He filled the holes in his heart with books; foraging specifically interested him, he wanted to identify every plant and tree and bit of foliage in the woods that made up his backyard. He was consumed by it those two years, ambling around with his books, matching the pictures to the trees and staring longingly at blackberry bushes- he was certain they were blackberries! It took him a while to actually work up the courage to try and eat them, only doing so after watching the birds consume them en masse with a growing jealousy in his heart, and afterwards he laid on the forest floor for a whole hour, waiting to die for the cardinal sin of eating an unknown berry in the forest.

But he didn’t die. And then he got excited. The summer leading into autumn of his eighth grade year was one of his most adventurous, and it was a small miracle he didn’t poison himself. Not because he couldn’t tell the difference between edible food and poison; no, he was just about an expert in the flora of his backyard, but because the poison looked so tempting, didn’t it? The real forbidden fruit. Cub wondered a lot about Eve from that bible story, and thought she died to a very reasonable cause. Did she die, actually? Cub sure didn’t remember, but God was not a very nice man. If God was truly good, why would the poison look so edible? Why did he put poison in their backyard in the first place?

October that year was when he got sick, at least, that was when he noticed. Maybe it was stupid thing, but Cub wasn’t super aware of his surroundings on a good day, and in relation to his body? Forget it. He hardly looked at himself in any detail when he showered or changed, how was he meant to notice the dark lines forming just under the skin of his stomach. He hadn’t even gotten a fever.

For all the times Cub had contracted sculk sickness, he had never identified it by himself. He knew what it felt like after his mom pointed it out, but she had always gotten ill at the same time he was, and she was good at spotting the lines, even when they were faint. And they were always faint; there were zero instances in his family where the sickness was not caught at its first physical manifestations.

The lines on Cub’s stomach were dark. They weren’t very long; just little things, they might have even been hair if Cub really squinted, but..

It didn’t bother him. He didn’t even feel sick; he’d rarely ever felt sick before, but surely he would have started feeling something by now, right? How long had this been here? Not more than a week, surely. Even sculk sickness after a week usually looked more severe than this, he was pretty sure. It had been a while since Cub had seen a picture.

His attention had been captured, as well as his curiosity. He was not afraid, not even a little bit; he had plenty of antibiotics, and he was even old enough for adult treatment now. He just wanted to see what it would do. Just for a week.

A week turned into a month much faster than Cub could track. Really, he hadn’t meant for it to be this way- he was going to tell someone but-

It was an utterly stupid thing. Utterly stupid.

He thought it might like him. He knew it was crazy, he knew it even at thirteen, but it wasn’t spreading- Well. It was. But sculk was fast, it was supposed to be fast acting and on Cub it was slow, it was so slow, it had hardly reached up to his chest and hadn’t even touched his back! Cub was enchanted just watching it, why was it like that? It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Why on him? Cub was going to tell someone soon, he just-

One month turned to two. It was uncomfortable now, deeply uncomfortable, Cub could feel it under his skin, it itched, it itched so badly where he could not reach, and he was starting to get sick, actually ill, feverish and puking; his parents were certain he had the flu. Usually they got their shots late December.

But Cub was afraid. He was afraid to tell anyone, he didn’t want to tell, he didn’t want them to take it away- Those thoughts had alarmed him, the switch from just Not Telling and Actively Hiding his sickness equally jarring, but Cub had never had great impulse control. However, by the time the sculk seemed to be an actual problem, he felt as though he had very little choice. Maybe that wasn’t accurate. Maybe he was just afraid of the punishment he’d face when he was found out, but.. He didn’t know. He was afraid. Afraid of losing the sculk like he feared death, and he hadn’t ever feared death before, not to this extent, but now losing the sculk seemed to be the worst thing that could ever happen to him, and he couldn’t let it happen.

And then he threw up in bed, right in front of his father. Darker than it was light, but not without the spots of silver that Cub had started likening to stars.

There was no hiding that under the covers, under baggy clothes and turtlenecks.

He was rushed to the hospital. His parents asked so many questions, most of which he could not answer. In part because he was rapidly losing the ability to speak, but beyond that, he truly just did not know how. He did not know ‘why.’ Cub accepted this fate with a heavy apathy, maybe even a soft relief that his secret had finally been found out, but internally his mind still buzzed with a sharp panic, just not sharp enough to fight back.

At least not until they tried to remove his shirt. After that, Cub stopped speaking altogether, completely silent for the following two weeks.

Two weeks. The length of time he was determined to have been sick; possibly a little longer. Too much longer, and he might have suffered irreparable damage. He was told many times he was very lucky things hadn’t progressed any further. The sentiment didn’t make him start talking any sooner.

He never corrected them. Even now, no one ever knew.

Cub did not know why. Why he failed to say something, failed to tell the truth after it was all over, continued to fail, and why, even after so much time, he still couldn’t bring any of this to words.

Whatever the reason, this was all going to his grave.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

i got a massive brainrot w/ sagau stuff like

do you ever think of how when you play the game and don't advance the main story, what would happen if someone turned aware of it? like ive been putting off starting the liyue archon quest in my alt and it never occurred to me how convenient that we start the quest just as it happens to be the rite of descension.

so like picture this: little npc background chara reader who developed self awareness, either by a vision or something entirely like a glitch, and now since the Traveler has yet to start the aq the day before the rite just loops.

they've practically memorized all of the responses and paths and all the shenanigans because why are they stuck in this loop, why won't the next day just go on already?

so probably out of boredom and maybe desperation, they decided to mess with the Snezhnayan diplomat.

"please go out on a date with me"

they did and they had a good time surprisingly so the next day, reader does it again.

and again.

and again.

until one day, when they're about to do it, something changes. Childe somehow loses control and out comes a furry moth monster. Rather than run away and be terrified, they're excited af because holy shit something new!!!

moth man seemed sentient as well and hugged reader back.

apparently, all those times they went on a date, moth man clearly remembers

just a food for a thought lmao idk how this goes from here

anon, you have the BIGGEST BRAIN EVER, i love this!!!

at first, you're absolutely terrified- waking up over and over in the same day, the exact same scenes playing out before you time and time again, and no one knowing what you're talking about, asking if you're feeling alright or if you've had enough sleep- you feel like you're going insane, trapped in this endless, repetitive nightmare. even if you do something different, everything resets the next day- you can't change anything, warn anyone, or do anything to help stop this madness, and it claws at your being as the days stretch into weeks, then months of a repeating cycle

so one day, on a whim, you stride up to the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger and ask him on a date

he seems surprised at your confidence- it's less confidence and more a steeled resolve to try anything to keep yourself from losing your mind- his boisterous laughter filling the bank as he places his hand in yours and accepts, ocean-colored eyes swirling with emotions you can't quite place. you almost feel guilty, as a citizen of Liyue, for being this close to a Fatuus, but it's fine, because it'll be gone tomorrow- it's just to keep yourself sane

yet, you find that you enjoy your time with Tartaglia more than almost anything else. for the first time in months, you feel happy.

so you go back the next day, and the next, and the next. slowly, you grow more and more attached to the Harbinger and the way he holds your hand so gently, swipes his fingers across your cheek like you're a rare, wonderful treasure, looks at you with all the fondness and affection in the world. soon you're looking at him the same way, daily greetings becoming softer and shoulders becoming less tense as he gazes at you with a combination of delight and astonishment and adoration in his eyes

you wonder, when you're falling asleep on that repeated night, what will happen to you and Tartaglia when time resumes

one day, just like all the others, you wander into the bank to invite the Harbinger out as usual, but find him mysteriously absent. with a frown you survey the building, hoping to see the familiar head of ginger hair but with no luck. Ekaterina directs you upstairs, and it suddenly occurs to you that something has changed, something about the day is different. you climb the stairs and knock on Tartaglia's door, heart thumping in your chest, and when no one answers you crack it open yourself and stare into the single-eyed gaze of a strange monster with fluffy ginger hair

it's certainly Tartaglia's room- you can see his coat hanging on the wall- and when the creature slowly approaches and kneels to your height the resemblance abruptly hits you. this is Tartaglia- the beautiful monster with a crimson mask and sharp claws and a flowing, shimmering cape is the Fatuus you've been falling in love with- and when he cups your cheek in his talons you nearly start crying. Tartaglia- or the Foul Legacy form of him- purrs soothingly as you step into his embrace and lean your head on his shoulder. he looks at you the same way Tartaglia did, except multiplied by however many days you spent at his side, his Abyssal nature recalling every blissful moment, from the anticipation of your arrival to the dreaded goodbye at night. with a soft croon, Foul Legacy gathers you into his arms and sets you in his lap, claws drawing comforting patterns and circles onto your back as your own hands wander up and bury themselves in his copper hair; the Abyssal monster relishes getting to hold you in his arms, having your hands run through his hair, your body leaning against his chest, instead of watching inside Tartaglia's mind and despairing whenever his mortal half forgot you and your blossoming, undying love

somewhere in Teyvat, a clock ticks and moves again