#crumple like wet tissue whenever i think about it)

[yi3248]

reflection

[niamiya]

When you're all alone, I will reach for you.

Synopsis: You got ghosted by someone to which you didn't handle well, and now your roommate takes care of you 👍

Genre: fluffy fluff, comfort, a little angst??

A/n: TBH, I wrote this cause I actually did get ghosted by my crush recently (this might be me coping), so yeah 🤗 but hey, real-life experience makes the writing more realistic mweheheh (except i dont actually have a kaveh 😔) I like to write stuff based on my experiences and i love mah boy kaveh, anyways first post and sorry for any grammatical errors english isn't my first language!! Enjoy reading <33

Your crush had recently ghosted you, leaving you confused and depressed causing you to not want to leave your bed a rot there to the point your roommate, Kaveh, got worried. Whenever he returned from his work, he would usually catch you on the couch watching TV, but it had been weeks since he last saw you other than inside your room to the point that it felt like the place was filled with melancholy without yout presence, so he decided to check up on you.

"Hey, just checking up. Is everything alright? You haven't gone outside your room for a while now, can't help but be worried." Kaveh knocked on the door. The light from the living room shining past the slightly opened door to your pitch black room "I may not know what you're going through, but is there anything I can do to help?" He offered.

You jumped from the fact that kaveh had suddenly turned up to your room. You didn't think he'd be back this early since usually he would come back late due to him being an architect with possibly loads of projects, but even so, you covered yourself under the sheets not wanting him to look at you at this state which he did not take as an answer, he approached you and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Look, I won't force you to tell me what happened, but this is getting ridiculous it has been weeks. Could you at least let me take care of you? I can't see you in such a state," kaveh murmured. You can tell from the hint of his voice that he seemed like he genuinely cared about your well being, he had always been like that, caring about others more than himself, so much that sometimes you had to scold him about people taking advantage of his kindness.

But this time, it was different. It was you now who needed scolding for letting yourself rot in your room, skipping meals, ignoring and locking yourself from everyone over some person who broke your heart. This was the first time kaveh had to take care of you. He never saw you in such a vulnerable state (well maybe because you prefer to hide it) or it would always be the other way around because Kaveh would always put others first before himself which can sometimes not place a positive impact for his own good.

After a moment of silence, you realize he isn't leaving until you give him an answer, you slowly got up and let the blanket fall, revealing your puffy eyes and wet cheeks from the tears, pillow stained and crumpled tissues everywhere, your skin pale everything about you right now was so not you, you let out a hiccup and covered your face with your hands due to embarrassment, Kaveh gently rubbed your back making you feel more comforted as you sobbed more "I'm stupid, kaveh.. I wish I never wasted my time," you cried out to him.

He was listening to you tentatively, still rubbing your back while your words almost made no sense due to your cries and hiccups he was still listening, understanding your state, and trying his best to comfort you "Hey now, don't say that okay? You're not stupid at all. In fact, I think you did amazing. I've seen you giving all your efforts, and he just failed to see it, and it's not your fault," he admitted, truth to be told, he would always be the first person to hear what you have to say about your crush all the time even if it was a slight interaction, He had seen lengths you'd go through just to make your crush happy.

He removed your hands that were covering your face. Your vision was blurry due to your tears, but you could still see his figure wiping your tears with his thumb. "There there, you'll be okay. Trust me, I won't let you ruin yourself just cause one person broke your heart." he continued comforting you through it all to which you sobbed a bit. You thought that you'd have to go through this alone, but seeing your roommate now by your side gave you hope.

"I may not have much experience with this.. love thing, but I do know that not all people in this world are the same. You will meet someone who will notice all your efforts, so don't cry, okay?" Cheered kaveh, trying to find all the right words to say, all his words comforted your heart which was once shattered you couldn't help but pull him for a hug and let a few happy tears "thanks kaveh... for being here, I know you also have your fair share of problems to deal with, but you had always been so caring, " you whispered, with your hands around his shoulder.

"I'd do anything to see your 'too much energy' side again. In fact, I miss it, seeing you tell your day every time after I come back from work, so seeing you lock yourself away from everyone was devastating, " he whispered near your ear "you also have always been there for me when I always rant about my work, and I want to be there for you" he rubbed your back comfortingly confessing sweet nothings.

He slowly pulled away from the hug. "Come on now, you hadn't eaten any decent meal, right? How about I cook us your favourite meal for dinner?" He offered with a genuine smile. At that moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. You eventually nodded slowly. Your stomach had been rumbling all day as he gently took your hand, and both of you headed to the kitchen.

The light was almost blinding due to you being cooped up in your dark room for weeks, but the atmosphere felt comforting. The air felt fresher than the suffocating room. As you reached the kitchen, you sat down on one of the chairs as Kaveh prepared all the ingredients to cook your favourite meal. It's just a simple activity, really, but seeing your roommate so dedicated to cheer you up made you feel warm inside, he was smiling genuinely everytime he made eye contact with you whilst he was cooking the food.

Only then had you realized you were falling for your roommate.

______________________________________________

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Smut: Perks and Quirks of Being Tony Stark's Bestie

Based off this ask sent by @starkeristheendgame :

Are you even friends if you don't try to out-cum each other? (Could also be out-fuck)

Ty for sending that ask! It really got me inspired and motivated to write (which hasn't happened in so long so 😭💗) I feel like this fic is a bit odd but 🤷🤷 also, if the formatting's weird, sorry 😭 Tumblr fighting me on this

Notes: College AU, same age Starker, porn watching (some straight porn then gay porn), handjob, friends with benefits? Friends to lovers? (I also like to think Oblivious Idiots in love 😅)

WC: 3674 (AO3) 💗💗💗 There are certainly perks to being Tony Stark's best friend. Peter knows it well but he's never taken advantage. It's always been Tony that pushes him into accepting things or just drags him along for the ride. It'd been that way since they met in high school and while Peter got into MIT on his own merit, he never would've been able to afford the cozy two bedroom apartment five minutes away from campus on his own.

"As if I'd let my best friend stay in the dorms," Tony had scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "You'd think you'd know better by now, Petey baby. You're stuck with me so just shut up and say yes." There are certainly perks but then there's… other stuff. Tony's been called the genius of their generation but he also has a few weird quirks that Peter's not sure anyone else would understand. Or at least there'd be a few raised eyebrows if they knew.

When Peter walks into their apartment, he expects Tony to be furiously working on something in the kitchen or living room. If he's in the kitchen, whatever he's working on would definitely not be food.When Peter walks into their apartment, he expects Tony to be furiously working on something in the kitchen or living room. If he's in the kitchen, whatever he's working on would definitely not be food. He's not in either of the rooms so Peter pads over to Tony's bedroom. The door's unlocked and Peter unsuspectingly walks in. As expected, he finds Tony there and the other boy is sitting on his bed. Given the heat, it's not surprising that he's wearing a white tank top but little else. His pants are in a crumpled mess on the floor which leaves him in just his boxers. This is where most people would jump back or run away because Tony isn't just lazing around in bed. Nope, Tony has his headphones in and he's lazily jerking off, eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him. Peter's attention is caught by the slow, captivating strokes his friend makes as he plays with himself. It's only natural that that's where Peter's eyes go. The way Tony touches himself is almost hypnotic. His cock is flushed pink and Peter can see that swollen tip poke out whenever the other boy strokes downwards, squeezing along the length until he reaches the base. Peter enjoys the view because Tony makes an attractive sight. Neither of them are really into sports but Tony's body is still solid with hard earned muscles. While Peter has his hyped up metabolism to thank for his lean body, Tony's probably earned his from all the hands-on work he does fixing cars and engineering. Watching Tony like this… It has to be a pavlovian response because this isn't anything new. It's actually become a habit, someone walking in on the other and casually inviting the intruder for a jerk off porn session. Once he sees what Tony's doing, his own body quickly heats up in anticipation. Peter huffs and leans against the doorway, angling his body to hide the evidence away. His arms cross over his chest and he feels his heart beating in excitement. "Do you have any decency?" Peter quips, voice pitched loud enough to get Tony's attention. "Should I come back later?" The other boy pauses and pulls off one of his headphones. Instead of being embarrassed like a normal human being, he grins at Peter. He looks happy to see him which probably isn't the normal response someone should have when their jerkoff session gets interrupted. "Hey, Peter," Tony says and gives his cock a few slow tugs while he talks. "How was class?" He lets go of his cock and gives a nice, slow stretch as though he'd been in that position for a while. It bobs in the air, slick with lube and still achingly hard. Peter sympathizes because his own cock has taken an interest and it's now straining against his pants. Peter then notices the wad of tissues in the small trash can by the bed and his nose wrinkles. "It was alright," he answers. "How many times did you do it already?" Tony follows his gaze and it's only then that he ruefully smiles at Peter. "Do it? You mean, come?" He laughs a little, "You're so weird, Peter. Can't even say come?" Peter blushes but doesn't back down. "You're the one jerking off in front of me," he retaliates. "If it's more than five, I'm leaving." "No, no, don't go," Tony protests. "It was, hmm, twice?" He

shrugs, "You can still catch up." Twice. Tony has already jerked off two times. There's no rule that they have to wait for each other to start but Peter considers saying there should be. "I have homework," Peter hedges, a clumsy excuse because when do they not have homework? Tony rolls his eyes and pats the space next to him. "All the better to get it all out of your system. C'mon, sit down already," he says in an attempt to convince Peter. "Besides, I want your opinion on this vid." Peter pretends to consider it for a second but he's never needed much convincing. It's as he thought earlier, there are certainly perks to being Tony's best friend but then there's this… thing they have going on. Peter doesn't know what to classify it because it's not like they have sex with each other and they're definitely not dating. Tony's just like this, so carefree, curious, and wild. The older boy shows no hesitation when it comes to talking about porn or sex with Peter. It might just be Peter, though, because he's never caught Tony doing it with anyone else. Maybe mildly flirting but then, that's just Tony's personality. He likes to joke around, likes to flirt, and apparently likes to watch porn with Peter. Maybe Peter's the only one that isn't weird about this, about watching porn with a friend. He kind of likes that idea, that he's the only friend Tony does this with. "Okay, fine, fine," Peter says as he unbuttons his pants. Tony smirks at him once he sees how hard he is but Peter just rolls his eyes. What does Tony expect, really? It's pointless to try to hide it now. He does, however, nearly fold his pants and sets them aside because May taught him better. He moves closer and Tony scoots over to give him space. There's ample room on the bed, Tony has a king for some reason, but since they're watching the porno on Tony's laptop, Peter remains close enough that their knees touch. "Ready?" Tony asks but he immediately tugs the plugged headphones out. The telltale sounds of an adult film immediately spills into the room. High pitched moans and the dirty wet sounds of a mouth sucking on a cock. Tony's been on an oral fixation lately. The last two videos they've watched were blowjobs. They never really watch the same video twice because that defeats the purpose of Peter being there to critique it. He settles down in his spot, his left knee and elbow brushing Tony's while his right forearm rests on his thigh. His hand barely brushes against the bulge his erection makes in his boxers. "I'll give you a head start," Tony says to which Peter shushes him. The video that Tony's picked out today has a woman on her knees. She's working on her partner's cock, stroking whatever part of it that isn't in her mouth. Drool drips down her chin and her red lipstick is smeared on her face as she sucks her partner off. It's not exactly Peter's taste but he can tell the woman is Tony's type. Curly honey brown hair cut short to her shoulders. She reminds him of a girl next door type of person, someone he could bump into on the street and never realize she does these kinds of videos. He almost startles when he feels Tony nudge the bottle of lube against his arm. "Thanks," Peter says absentmindedly as he takes it. He's watching the video and his body is slowly starting to heat up. He only knows Tony's returned to jerking off because he feels the other boy's elbow bump against him. A glance to his side confirms it but when he looks up, a shock of heat sears through his body when their eyes meet. Tony doesn't look away so Peter has to. Heat blooms across his cheeks and crawls down his neck. He's always had a hard time looking Tony in the eye while they're doing this. The other boy's gaze is just always so intense like the subject to be investigated isn't the video but Peter. It's a silly thought though. "She's not as loud as the last one," Peter says to offset the awkwardness. His voice is calm and collected but inside, he's shivering from the memory of Tony's eyes on him. Peter squeezes his cock through his boxers. He's already so

hard that just touching himself like this has him trembling in pleasure. Without looking at his friend, he takes himself out. "Yeah," Tony agrees. He already sounds breathless and Peter dares to take a peek at him again. "It was a little distracting last time, all that moaning sounded really fake so I thought this might be better." Fortunately or unfortunately, Tony isn't looking at him this time. He's back to watching the screen, his hand curled around his erection and giving it the same slow teasing strokes as before. Maybe he's pacing himself since Peter still has to catch up. Peter hums in agreement and forces his eyes back to the video. It doesn't really keep his attention though and his mind wanders, eyes glazing over as he focuses more on the sounds filling the room. His mind seems more in tune with what's happening around him though and he zeros in on the sound of Tony's breathing as it turns into soft panting. His own breathing escalates to match his friend's and Peter jerks himself off to the sound of Tony's breathless panting, to the wet sound of flesh sliding against flesh next to him. He lets out a moan himself. It feels good to touch himself after a long day of classes and with Tony next to him, it feels even better. A sharp inhale next to him has Peter's back straightening as he looks at Tony who's biting down on his lip while watching the screen. Tony's eyes flicker to him and his white teeth press down on his bottom lip. "You better not come," Peter grits out even as he's holding back from releasing. "You– ah– You said you'd let me catch up." "Yeah, I won't," Tony grunts, "don't take too long though, I've been holding back for a while now." "Literally no one told you to," Peter says. His voice has lowered into a strained, breathy murmur. "I'm almost there so just– just wait, okay? You're distracting me." Tony rolls his eyes but ends up chuckling breathlessly. He stops stroking but starts massaging his balls. He lets out a moan as soon as he starts and that has Peter squeezing his eyes shut, his hips stuttering as he fucks his cock into his fist. His heart is going crazy and he stops fighting it. He spills right there, his load coming out hard and fast. It ends up getting over his stomach and he milks it out, squeezing the tip of the last few drops. When Peter finally finished, his nose wrinkles at the mess. "Should've taken your shirt off," Tony says, voice strained. Peter shoots him a friendly glare which softens when he finds that his friend is still holding back. Tony's face is flushed, his eyes bright with desperation. And yet, he hasn't come even when it's obvious he's ready to pop off. On the screen, the video is still playing but Tony grimaces. "Let's switch it up," he says while absentmindedly fondling his balls. "Sure." Tony leans forward a bit and uses the touchpad on his laptop to search around. Peter's trying his hardest not to stare at the other boy's erection. It doesn't soften in the least and Peter just wants to reach out and touch it. He wants to feel the warmth of Tony's skin, wants to hear what kind of noises Tony will make if he dares to do it. To touch Tony… "Okay, this'll be a little different," Tony says when he leans back into position. "But I don't think you'll mind. Tell me if you do and I'll find something else." A new video starts and Peter glances at it without much interest. Then he almost does a double take when he sees it's two men on the screen. Tony's never put in a gay porno before, he couldn't have chosen one now… Could he? "A threesome?" Peter says curiously. His heart is pounding and then it goes into overdrive when the two men start making out. "I can look for one next time if you want?" Tony offers. When Peter looks at him, the other boy has a lazy smirk. He's not bothered at all by the two men kissing on screen and Peter swallows down the spit in his mouth. "No, this is… this is good. It's fine," Peter says. He tears his eyes away and returns to the video. "You're hard again," Tony comments nonchalantly. Peter looks down and yeah…

Yeah, he's hard. He's watching a gay porno with his friend. Tony either picked up that this is more to Peter's preference or… Or this is Tony's preference, too. Either option makes Peter want to run away or hide under a blanket. He does neither because he's not going to make this weird. "You have good taste," Peter says, "They're both really hot." Tony chuckles beside him. "Damn right, I do." They both fall silent and they're both more engrossed in this film. Peter actually takes the time to invest in what's going on. Both men are attractive and hot as hell. They don't waste any time stripping each other off and the expanse of newly exposed skin has Peter squeezing his cock. Despite this, he can't help glancing at Tony. He can't help wondering. Their eyes keep meeting and this time, Peter doesn't look away. Neither does Tony. He greedily takes everything in, admiring the way Tony's hair, previously slicked back, is falling into his eyes. Tony's mouth is also slightly parted and a quick pink tongue flicks out to wet dry lips. Peter wants to bite at them. Something changes between them at this moment. They're watching both the film and each other. For Peter, his attention is clearly on Tony and it's Tony that's making his cock hard. But even if it feels like something's changed, Peter still toes the line of their friendship. "Are you getting close again?" Tony pants. He's struggling not to come. Peter can tell by how he's gently tugging on his balls in an attempt to hold off. Peter bites down on his lip cause he's not quite there yet but he wants to so badly. He wants to come with Tony watching him but he just can't seem to do it. "I don't think I can," Peter groans. "Ugh, Tony, I'm getting tired…" Something in his expression must give his frustration away because Tony shuffles closer which makes Peter's heart go berserk. Not only does Tony come closer but he moves behind Peter. His legs stretch out, bracketing Peter's body. Suddenly, Tony's so much closer. Too close for comfort because Peter had just said he couldn't come but like this, it'd be so easy. It fuels all sorts of dirty imaginations that he shouldn't be having about his friend but... "I got an idea," Tony says, pressed so close against Peter's back. Surely, he can feel Peter's heart thumping like crazy? "What do you– Oh…!" Peter's entire body would've basically jumped in the air if it isn't for Tony's arms around him. "It's not fun if I win all the time, so we should at least end this in a tie, right, Pete?" Tony says. "Lemme help, okay?" Peter's wide-eyed and his hips buck uncontrollably when Tony's hand settles over his own. There's no mistaking what Tony wants to do. He shudders when Tony grips his cock. Those sturdy fingers that Peter often admires press down on him causing him to tighten his grip on his cock. Tony's touching him… Tony's touching his cock. Tony wants to help jerk him off. Peter might just come right then and there. "Tony– You're… touching me…" The words come out as an embarrassing squeak but Peter can scarcely believe it. "Mhmm…" Tony murmurs, amusement in that one single hum. Peter had just started the obvious so of course, he'd be amused. In any other circumstances, maybe Peter would be too. Instead, he feels like he's dreaming. He's looking down at his body, specifically between his legs where Tony's tanned hand is curled around his. "C'mon, Pete, either move your hand or I'll move it for you," Tony says right into his ear. That gets Peter moving and he starts stroking again, clumsy with the added weight of another hand. It shouldn't feel good because their hands are bumping and Tony being pressed against him is making him so… so flustered. But it does feel good. it feels so good that Peter's fighting tooth and nail not to come right away. He doesn't want this to end yet. Eventually, Tony does take over. When he pulls Peter's hand off by the wrist, Peter just shudders and lets him. His hand falls to the side and he grabs the bed sheets just to have some sort of anchor. He squeaks when Tony adds more

lube. "Sorry. Here, I'll make you feel good…" Tony promises him and he keeps true to his word. He practices those smooth steady strokes on Peter's cock and Peter recognizes the motion. It turns him on so much, he's clenching his teeth to hold back all those embarrassing moans that want to escape. "Tony…" Peter gasps. "I-It feels..." "Too slow? Too soft?" Tony chuckles. "I got you, Pete. Relax and lemme take care of it." Peter squeezes his eyes shut as Tony increases his pace. His grip tightens a little but it's enough to have Peter gasping out his name again. It's exactly what Peter needs and he whimpers, hips twitching toward the delicious friction Tony's hand provides. His ears burn from the wet sounds Tony's hand makes while he's jerking him off, all those embarrassing squelches and not to mention the feeling… Tony's grilling him just right, giving him a warm, wet hole to thrust his cock into… How can something so simple as another person touching him feel so much better than his own hand? His hips continue to move, thrusting into his friend's tight grip. He's so aware of every point of contact between their bodies. "Isn't this weird?" Peter starts to babble, "The porn was one thing but Tony– You're touching my– Isn't this too much?" "Is it? I'm just trying to get you caught up," Tony says as though it's entirely reasonable. Then he chuckles and Peter shivers at the warmth of his breath fanning across his nape, "Are you even friends if you don't try to out-come each other?" It's so ridiculous that it makes Peter huff out a laugh even while his cock is now a leaking mess in Tony's fist. "You're ridiculous–" he gasps. "And you're about to cum," Tony says. Peter can hear the triumph in his voice. It's the last thought he has before Tony's hand squeezes him just right. He's coming before he even realizes it and the outpouring of pleasure has him arching his back, gasping and shuddering in ecstasy. Tony's arms keep him grounded, pressed as he is against the front of his friend's body. "Oh, fuck, yeah," Tony breathes. His head hangs between his shoulders and it's in the perfect position to see how his load comes spilling out of his cockhead, all messy and being milked out by his friend in gentle squeezes. He feels something hot and hard poke against his back. Oh, yeah… Tony still hasn't come. Despite having his orgasm milked out of him, Peter's body is still hot. Actually, it's even worse now because Tony's arms are still around him. Tony's face is still buried against his neck, his breath adding fuel to the heat inside him with every puff of warm air against his sensitive skin. The video has long since ended and Tony doesn't seem to care about putting another one on. It's just them now with no excuse for what they're doing. Peter leans back and he can feel Tony's cock rub against him, so hot and demanding. Tony grumbles when Peter pulls away but he doesn't get the chance to complain. Peter shoves him so he's lying flat on his back, those familiar brown eyes wide with surprise and arousal. "Since we're trying new things," Peter says, breathless and barely containing the urge to straddle Tony's hips. "Mind if I try something?" Tony's hands curl into loose fists before they relax and he gives Peter a look that he's never seen before. Bedroom eyes… Now Peter understands what those words mean. By the curve of his smart mouth and the dark, hungry look in his eyes, he's inviting Peter to do whatever he wants with him. "I'm always up for new things," he says then smirks, "Quite literally this time." The amused look on Tony's face quickly fades when Peter settles between his legs. He leans down, takes a hold of the other boy's cock by the base to steady it. It twitches in his hand and Tony's eyes are fixated on Peter's lips hovering over his tip. Peter loves the way Tony's watching him. "I don't mind if you win this time, Tones," he says, "so don't hold back, okay?" With that said, he closes the distance and takes Tony's cock into his mouth.

[seizethecarpe]

Appetite || Dave and Griffin

Timing: Current Summary: Dave is hungry. Griffin knows the feeling. One is definitely coping better than the other with this.  Content: Animal death

His stomach was bloated. Blubber smeared his hands like oil slick, the breast of his shirt bloodied. His whole body trembled with a growing revulsion as he looked at the carcass laid strewn on the rocks, evidence of a messy meal. Seal fur was caught between his teeth. Less control than a starving dog. He swallowed uneasily, turning and wading into the water so that he might wash off the mess and sin. Jesus christ, there was so much blood all over him, covering his clothes like a coat he couldn’t take off. His stomach felt distended, filled like a stuffed chicken, but still, his mind whispered for more. At this point, it was sheer arrogance that kept Dave  in denial, but it suited him to pretend nothing was wrong. For some reason, he lurched towards land the second he saw a figure moving along the beachside hungrily, long before he realised why he was moving. 

 It was thankless work, looking for floaters, but someone had to do it. As far as Griffin saw it, it was a waste of good brains. Someone had to clean up what with the way the White Crest mortality rate went. Or it was a nice, rose-tinted glasses thought to see it that way. Truthfully, he was just hungry. That’s all it was. Death on White Crest’s shoreline wasn’t unheard of and he wasn’t against sifting through wet sand. The zombie could feel it, the way it tugged at his gut like a rope, and he wandered closer to the water. Something was nearby. Something dead. His teeth ground together. How was its head? Focused on the craving, it took him a moment for the rest of his senses to catch up. Such as noticing that he wasn’t alone and Jesus Christ, the guy looked fucking rough. His eyes flitted from the carcass--was that a seal?--on the rock and the guy coming towards him. Water edged close to his feet. There was something familiar about the movement. The zombie unlocked his jaw but didn’t move himself. “You alright there, guy?”

 Dave strode out of the water without pause, uninterested in whatever the man had to say, knowing only that the feeling drawing him towards the man was insistent and pressing. Maybe he’d be able to help whatever the hell was going on. All he knew was that his instincts were as demanding as a current, dragging him forward by his stomach. Perhaps he could even get a sna-

 Dave inhaled and lurched to a stop, six feet away from the man, who did not smell so appealing at all. His stomach twisted at the thought, still ravenous but repulsed at… at what? He hadn’t been considering eating the man. No one sane would do that, it wouldn’t even cross their mind. But this one… this one smelled like week old road kill preserved by a january freeze. In short: he smelled dead. “Don’t know,” Dave replied honestly, when his jaw started working. “Are you?”

 Griffin’s eyes fixed on the other man in a dead stare. The shuffle, the gait. The way the body moved after something it needed. Mix in a hint of restraint, shake in some desperation, strain it over some ice…The zombie’s head tipped back by a slim margin. He didn’t blink. “Don’t know either,” he retorted. He glanced back to the seal on the rock. Not his first choice but little really was. “...You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question. It had already been answered when the man stopped dead in his tracks before he could make it to Griffin. Dead meat didn’t taste so good. He lazily gestured to what remained of the seal. “That yours?”

 Dave dragged his mind back from the brink of starvation, sick with how full he was and how much more he still wanted to eat. Under the scrutiny of the man, unflinching and hard, Dave began to feel the first creepings of shame. He didn’t want to eat that kid, nor the woman in the lake, nor anyone else, but it was a need deeper than anything he;d ever felt. Even his hunger for revenge had never been so loud. Even now… would it really be so bad to eat a corpse? It’d taste a little bland, but that human flesh would taste so much better than a seal ever would. For some part of him, it’d still be a step too damn far, and the indecision threatened to tear him apart. Dave staggered, saliva dripping from his lips. “Something’s wrong,” Dave admitted, finally. “Never been like this. Never… not like this. I ain’t some beast.”

 Except now, blood stained, clothes torn, with a seal corpse behind him, he wasn’t so sure. His hesitation wavered in his stoic voice. He looked back at the carcass behind him, his body shaking. “Shouldn’t have done that. She had pups.” His first thought was how delicious those would be too.

 Griffin had never seen someone hunger for seal before. It was an interesting choice, to say the least. He wondered why that was. There were easier things to grab. Rats, the neighborhood dog, a raccoon or two. But it wouldn’t be the same. It never was. Even after he got his fill of Homeward Bound, there would always be that...emptiness. The zombie fixed the other man with a calm look as he dug into the pocket of his jacket to grab a handkerchief. Old habits, he thought to himself, before he tossed it over. “Yeah, ‘course you’re not,” he said honestly. “You’re just hungry.” 

 He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he thought, eyes on the seal’s corpse. 

 “Did you…” What was a good way to ask if someone had died? He hadn’t quite learned that one. “What happened to you?”

 Dave Dave caught the handkerchief out of instinct, and looked down at the crumpled material with something approaching shame. It already picked up blood stains from his fingers. He wiped the corners of his mouth, and a fatty strong of blubber smeared into the cloth along with all the blood and spit.

  "I don’t know," Dave admitted hoarsely. I don’t know. I woke up hungry a few days ago, and I keep eating, but it keeps getting worse. Like… like I��ve got some sort of parasite. I'm full, damn near bloated, but I'm still hungry." Ravenous. Ready to eat decaying meat even as it offered him a tissue. Dave could barely fit another thought in his mind other than the crushing command to eat. Like if he didn't, the very thought might consume him surer than a mermaid's bite.

 "You're dead," he stated after a long moment. "I'm not… I'm not going to eat you. I… it's fucked, I want to. I won't." Probably. He took a step back into the water. "We're not… we're not like that."

 “I am, yeah,” Griffin muttered, pale brow creased. “Seems like you’ve still got a pulse. Probably. Did anything...bite you?” He understood having the hangups, even if this man wasn’t...dead. Like him. There was a little confusion brewing in him at that. It took time to break down the mental barriers in place to prevent, or strongly discourage, people from eating one another. Like the whole idea of you could bite through your finger like a carrot if you really wanted to. Griffin wasn’t sure on that one. He and carrots hadn’t seen each other in awhile. He huffed a laugh, an odd sound in the quiet they shared marked by death and famine.

 “Thanks. I’m not gonna eat you either,” he said with a wry smile, then a slight rise and fall of his hand. “It was like this at the start for me too. Just a diner and...more people.” He gestured around him, a fanned out motion, before he glanced down and worked his jaw. “It gets easier,” he said. “The, uh, eating. You don’t think about it as much. It’s always there but it’s not...you always, you know?”

 Dave nodded slowly, as if he was briefly unconvinced by the assertion about his own pulse. At the question about whether he’d been bitten, Dave frowned, looking at the unravelling bandage on his arm that he wasn’t supposed to get wet, that he should have changed earlier in the day. It was increasingly hard to remember he had a body that needed caring for. Right now, he was more hunger than man. “A werewolf. It should make me sick, not anything like this,” Dave said, lowering his arm again, licking his lips as he looked at Griffin again. “Shouldn’t eat people. Shouldn’t eat seals, not like this.”

 “How does it get easier? I’m getting hungrier every day. My stomach’s fit to burst, but it’s like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” Dave insisted still, not realising how intently rude he was. “I’m not like you. The hunger- it’s not supposed to be like this. Not for me. We don’t… We don’t lose control.” He looked at the carcass behind him, entrails bobbing in the waves. They weren’t the signs of someone in control. He shuddered, dropping to his knees on the hard rocks, rubbing his face like he might snap himself out of it “I have to get away from here.”

 Griffin eyed the bandage. He wasn’t an authority on much, if anything at all, but he knew hunger. The death that followed it. It usually started with teeth and it ended, whenever it ended, the same way too. A werewolf. Right. Those were around too. It was becoming apparent that his knowledge of strange and unusual was frustratingly limited. A byproduct of avoidance. He frowned to himself before he echoed what the man said. “A werewolf? How do you know that it’ll just make you sick? I’m not...familiar with ‘em.” The question came from his own curiosity and the strange, sympathetic notion that maybe if the man talked about it, it might help. Wasn’t that what people said? Fuck if he knew what people said. The man seemed really hung up on the seal. “You shouldn’t eat seals like this?”

 “Maybe easier isn’t the right word,” Griffin admitted. “It gets more manageable. It’s all just... meat in the end. That’s all it needs to be.” All it has to be. The zombie held the man with pale eyes, his own pallor sickly and drained. Not the flash fever that this man seemed to be going through. As the man stumbled some, Griffin took a confident step forward and held out a hand. “You haven’t tried to eat me yet so...control.” He lifted and dropped a hand with a shrug. The step made the carrion call in his gut a touch louder. “Whatever this is, it’s different. I’ve never gone for seal before but...” He stopped himself. “There somewhere you can go?”

 Dave turned his head to look at the man looking over him, squinting at the sunlight shining in his eyes. Griffin’d never had a craving for seal, but Dave would bet his home that Griffin had died a human, before. Dave… well, Dave’d never been human. Maybe the werewolf had been a werewolf zombie, it’d explain the strange healing and the surviving being shot to a face. Dave panicked and touched his wrist,k but his heart was still beating loud and strong. For now. “Control. Feel like I’m holding on to that with a thread.”

 “Got my van,” Dave said quietly. Picked up a pebble worn smooth by the Sea. She didn’t do that to folks, she wore wrinkled into their faces and callouses into their skin. The quiet texture grounded him. “Too many towns nearby. Too many humans.” Dave rubbed his face. “Too much temptation. I need to get away away. Maybe on a boat. Ride this out. It shouldn’t work like this.” Because if he waited long enough, right, it had to go away. Washed away like the hard edges of his rock.

 “You’ve still got your mind,” Griffin said as he tapped a finger against his temple. “That’s something. Use both hands to hold onto that one.” A sardonic smile came and went. A funny thing for a zombie to say, he figured. The pull of the dead was strong. Had been ever since he moved closer to the man. A few more steps, water up his shins, and he was on the seal carcass. Crouched beside it and fingers prepped to peel the meat. At the mention of too many humans, Griffin picked his eyes up from the meat and cocked a brow. His tongue pressed against his bottom lip before he nodded in understanding. 

 “No humans here,” Griffin said with a puff of needless breath through his nose. “Haven’t been that for awhile.” The meat was slick in his fingers and when he swallowed it down, there was just a hint of salt. It wasn’t bad but he kept that thought to himself. He almost felt bad for the seal but it was dead now. It couldn’t feel anything. All it had left to do was rot and feed. It might take time for the man to understand that. If what he was going through lasted that long. “Do you think a boat’s a good idea? Where more...seals are?” He wiped the gore against his bent knees. “It’s your call but…” He paused and scrutinized the carcass, then looked at the man again. “This...hunger. It’s, ah, hell. But if you…” He hadn’t done this in awhile. “You’re not like me, we established that, but I get it. This.” A loose gesture was made between the carcass and the man standing. “If you need help...somehow, I don’t fuckin’ know, I’ll try my best.” More dead meat was torn between his teeth. “...That’s all.”

 “Barely,” Dave replied gruffly. “For a while, huh?” It was like the hunger had filled every inch of him, and now with nowhere else to fill, it had begun to squeeze him out like putty through a sieve. If it pushed hard enough, Dave wasn’t sure there’d be much left of him. He frowned as Griffin leant in to eat the carcass too, nearly tearing the zombie away. He wasn’t allowed. But then neither was Dave, and at the very least like this nothing would go to waste. Her body would be used whole, the way it was meant to be. “Out in the open water’s away from most things. Seals included. Better than this, it’s got to be.” Better than calling out a hunter. Better than admitting something was wrong that he couldn’t fix.

 “S��a kind offer. More than I deserve.” Dave grabbed Griffin’s arm sharply, squeezing tightly. There was hunger on his mind, thick as soup. Every second it mattered less that Griffin was less fresh than the carcass on the beach, that he was being kind and fucking understanding. There was a desperation to Dave’s hunger, stuffed full of flesh as he was. Nothing was hitting the spot, not fish nor squid nor seals. He needed to try something new, something better. “I think. One of us oughta go.” Before he tore out Griffin’s throat. His nose wrinkled, he looked back in disgust at the thought of wanting to eat anything, anyone, but mostly at the thought of eating anything so rotten.

 But his stomach gurgled loud of enough for even him to hear. He couldn’t quite get himself to let go. 

 “Yeah,” Griffin said. “A while.” He didn’t want to further elaborate and he was sure that Dave got the gist of it. One nearly empty cup of half-and-half, that’s what he was. He continued eating until the man grabbed his arm and he stopped. The grip was tight, desperate. There was a war happening behind the man’s eyes, the kind that cracked ribs and split flesh. Griffin nodded again. “You go where you have to go,” he said. “Wherever is...comfortable. To figure this out and shit.” And then tell me what that’s like, when you find this Shangri-La, he thought bitterly to himself. Such places didn’t exist. Wouldn’t ever. Not with things the way they were.

 As delicately as he could, Griffin unfurled Dave’s hand from around his bicep and stepped away from the seal carcass. Before he walked away fully, he pocketed his dirtied hands and glanced back. “I’ll see you around. Don’t forget my offer, huh?” Or yourself. The hunger had a way of eating at the self too. With a slim smile and a faint wave, the dead man was gone.

[blushnote]

Hello

↳ requested | 2.4k words

↳ jeonghan smut 

jeonghan gets kind of bored when he visits your family during the holiday break. it’s always exciting in the beginning – returning to your childhood home, smelling the homecooked meals organized on the dining table, flipping through aged photobooks to laugh at the much younger, much sillier versions of yourself. but then the nostalgia slowly fades, and you’re restless.

you know it’s fairly exhausting for jeonghan too. he has to greet all of your family and experience their inevitable downpour of slightly repetitive questions. he enjoys their curiosity, though he definitely has his limits, and on day three of the holiday visit you find him downstairs, crouched at a small, plastic pink table where he colours in chunky crayons with your five-year-old niece.

it’s painful to break the news to him, and you see the light rapidly dissipate from his eyes when you say: “my dad wants you in the kitchen again.” for the entire day, your family was occupied with preparing a christmas dinner. jeonghan could hardly fry an egg without a cloud of smoke billowing around the stove. you figured they were just looking to spend more time with him.

“no!” your niece throws one of her crayons across the table, “i want jeonghannie to stay down here! we’re colouring!” she starts to pout, and her cheeks puff out in harmless anger.

“see?” jeonghan says, “i can’t leave. it would be an offense.”

you fold your arms across your chest, conveying the helplessness of the situation. she pitches a reasonable argument, but it’s not going to withstand your parent’s persistence. you bend down and pat your upset niece on the head, lending her an apology that she simply huffs in response to. jeonghan knows his fate. he gives her a sweet hug and a kiss, then follows you upstairs.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur to jeonghan just before rounding the corner into the kitchen, “this should be the last time they ask for you.” to comfort him a little, you straighten out of the collar of his button-up flannel, and then rub your palm in lulling circles on his chest.

jeonghan shrugs, “don’t stress over it. at least if i ruin supper, we can get take-out.”

you laugh and push gently against his chest, “don’t ruin the supper, you idiot. just don’t touch anything.”

it feels good to see your boyfriend smile. though the last three days have been overwhelming, you discover that everyday there’s something to look forward to. for example, last night you stayed up late in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching old movies that you found beneath cobwebs in the basement. you even found an ancient tape of your parent’s wedding.

and tonight, you were looking forward to the house being completely empty. after the holiday dinner your family was heading to a party hosted down the street, as they did each year. you managed to avoid the entire situation by making up a false claim that you and jeonghan had already made plans to see the christmas light show on the opposite side of town.

jeonghan especially has been awaiting this night. to put it lightly – he hasn’t been able to fuck you in about a week, and while you’ve been tempted to have sex during the deep night when everyone else is asleep, you both know that neither of you will be able to keep quiet. you’ve been embarrassed enough in your lifetime. you don’t need your parents hearing your intimacy.

“hello?! sweetie, are you getting jeonghan?!” your father suddenly shouts from the kitchen.

you wear a fake smile on your mouth and shout back, “yes, daddy! we’re coming!”

grasping jeonghan’s wrist, you pull him into the kitchen, where your father turns around with an oven mitt on one hand, while the other holds a pair of giant, silver tongs. there are multiple pots bubbling on the stove, plates and bowls and cutlery organized on the dining table, while something appears to be cooking in the oven. jeonghan unenthusiastically rubs at his nape.

“you wanted me?” he says, clearly tensed.

“of course!” your father exclaims jubilantly, “i need you to get these spices out of the cupboard for me, so we can make one of my favourite sauces. you’ll love it, jeonghan. i guarantee it!”

your boyfriend creaks his neck around with the same fluidity as the tin-man, and gives you an awfully crooked smile, but you can only muffle your laughter into your fist.

supper became a nightmare, for multiple reasons. first off, jeonghan managed to burn your father’s favourite sauce, so he had to run to the store and purchase a much less palatable brand. secondly, your niece dropped the strawberry cake. thirdly, jeonghan was getting restless. you could tell he wanted everyone to leave the house for the holiday party as soon as possible.

you’re currently in the bathroom, washing the white and pink frosting from your niece’s tiny hands while an intense cleaning of crushed strawberries and pieces of cake transpires in the kitchen. jeonghan is next to you with a towel, ready to dry her hands. eventually, your niece is lead out of the bathroom by your sister, who decides it’s time for them to go home.

as soon as you bid your goodbyes and hugs, everyone starts to return to the dining table, though jeonghan grabs your elbow and yanks you into the bathroom.

he shuts the door, rakes a frustrated hand through his umber hair and immediately asks, “when is everyone leaving?”

“i-i don’t know,” you confess, “probably in the next hour.”

jeonghan grits his teeth. “i can’t wait an hour. i want you now.”

his hands fasten around your hips, squeezing them atop the fabric of your form-fitting black dress. he then pushes your back against the door, and his lips press warm, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. it’s incredibly difficult to resist him. you want to melt into his touch, especially when his teeth scrape softly against your powerful pulse. his hands start to push up your dress.

“n-no,” you grunt as butterflies rush to your abdomen, “j-jeonghan, we c-can’t—,”

his hand drifts up the tender inside of your thigh, where his index and middle finger come to press against your clit through your underwear. he rubs your flesh slowly, teasingly, attempting to sway your earlier conviction. his teeth nip at your ear, and something molten dampens between your legs when his tongue then licks at the firm bone of your jaw.

“don’t be like that,” jeonghan hums to you enticingly, “i can feel how wet you are, princess. you want me to fuck you now, hmm?” he pushes his fingers against the fabric, touching your slit.

“nn-not now,” you fumble with your words, “after dinner we ca—”

oh no.

you can hear your father shouting for you again. swallowing thickly, you attempt to flatten out the trembling in your vocal cords. he wants to know if you’re going to finish dinner.

“y-yes, daddy!” you yelp from the bathroom, “i’ll be there in a few minutes!”

for a short-lived moment, you lock eyes with jeonghan, and his gaze has morphed into something incredibly lustful and dark. his fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you inhale sharply upon feeling the digits stroke your folds, undeniably wet and glimmering with your own juices. he places the latter hand against the door, right next to your head, closing you in further.

jeonghan begins to push his index finger past your slit. your expression contorts heavily, like a crumpled tissue, and a tremor shoots through your legs, making them feel like jelly. the stretch is quite gentle and slight, but you feel the sensation deep in your core, to which jeonghan only increases your pleasure by slipping in his second finger. you moan softly, your walls clenching.

his knuckles stop him from pushing his slender digits any further. he curls just his fingertips, digging into your velvet-like flesh. jeonghan watches with delight as your mouth gapes open. he then leans in close to your ear, and you can practically hear the smirk in his words.

“you drive me crazy whenever you say that word, princess.”

his fingers attempt to loosen the tightness of your flesh. you can feel how he scissors them inside you, even the immoral manner in which your sweetness begins to drip down jeonghan’s hand. this kink of his – it was unbeknownst to you until this very moment, though it appears to have jeonghan wound up tremendously. admittedly, you think his kink is pretty damn hot.

you just told your family you’d be back at the table in a couple minutes, but that possibility has been continuously dwindling the second you announced it. maybe you could cum quickly if jeonghan allowed you, and nobody would suspect a thing. in order to do so, you’d have to abide to his desires. nothing satisfied you more than pressing your lips against his ear to whisper:

“oh? is that so? does it also drive daddy crazy when his princess does this?”

you grab jeonghan’s wrist and pull his hand away from your core. his fingers are sticky, glittering in your arousal that generously slicks the pretty digits. jeonghan watches you intensely as you bring his index and middle finger near your mouth, your pink tongue poking out to lap at your own sweetness. you close your lips around them and start to suckle, moaning softly in content.

jeonghan’s gaze is darker than any midnight sky. he simply can’t pry his eyes away from how you treat his fingers like his cock – swirling your tongue, slightly scraping your teeth, leaving messy trails of saliva and bobbing your head. additionally, the innocent fluttering of your eyelashes, as well as the fact that your family is down the hall, attempts to completely ruin him.

“you’re such a dirty fucking girl,” jeonghan growls lowly while pushing his fingers further into your warm, wet mouth, “what i’d give for this house to be empty. i’d bend you across every surface and fuck you like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you pull his fingers from your mouth and inhale a deep breath. a string of your spit catches the fluorescent light, leading from your swelled lips to jeonghan’s fingertips. he keeps his stare fixated on you while lowering his hand, moving it back beneath your dress; however, the playful nature of your expression is wiped clean when jeonghan rubs your own saliva into your clit.

he grins upon seeing your knees blatantly quiver, and your hand instinctually shoot out to grasp his shoulder. jeonghan lends the sensitive region plenty of attention. he massages the nerves and even slightly pinches it between his fingers. you yelp in a sudden jolt of pleasure, to which jeonghan has to shush you, reminding you to be quiet.

“keep your voice down, princess. i know you love it when daddy touches you like this, but you don’t want to give us away, now do you?”

“n-no, daddy.” you mewl at a pathetic, small volume.

“hmm, you’re so obedient,” jeonghan purrs while rubbing firm circles against your clit, “now, are you gonna cum, baby? at least let me taste you before we head back to the table?”

your eyes squeeze shut, and you nod your head. jeonghan slides his index and middle finger inside you again while his thumb brushes down sternly on your swollen rosebud. it’s nearly impossible for you to remain silent, especially with the sound your slick makes as jeonghan thrusts against your golden spot, abusing it repeatedly, encompassing your face in heat.

“o-ooh, ff-fuck,” you grip onto his shoulders sternly, your jaw unhinged, “m’gonna cum, daddy, please please please, m-make me cum, daddy, please—!”

at this point, neither you or jeonghan care about your reckless mewling. if anything, it fuels jeonghan to pleasure you more intensely, until the pressure in your abdomen is simply too much and your entire world sparkles as you contract around jeonghan’s long fingers. he crushes his mouth on top of yours, kissing you roughly, teeth clashing with tongue and bruised, glossy lips.

“does that feel good, princess?” jeonghan taunts as your hips attempt to ride his hand, “does it feel good when you cum on daddy’s fingers? hmm? like the dirty little girl you are?”

your head thumps against the door. everything that surrounds you spins at an indiscernible pace, and you feel nothing but the fiery thrum of pleasure that melts throughout your body. you can hardly muster the energy to whine a response. in fact, you almost don’t note that the boy had dropped onto his knees, his fingers latching around the waistband of your underwear.

he pulls the fabric a little way down your thighs, biting his lip upon seeing how much of your arousal had doused the pretty material. then, he’s bunching up your dress, your eyes rolling back into your skull the second jeonghan’s tongue buries against your pulsing core. he licks at you ravenously, eating you out to a point where you’re on the very brink of collapsing.

“fuck,” jeonghan curses as your fingers glide meekly through his thick, coffee hair, “you taste so sweet, princess.” he parts your folds and laps directly at your honeyed centre, twisting his warm, slippery tongue deep inside you, even suckles on your poor clit. you’re trembling as though you’re built of toothpicks. the dinner seems like a distant memory, something purely fictional.

“d-daddy, pl-please,” you whine, tugging in futile grasps against his scalp. jeonghan then pulls your underwear back up and helps you to stand properly.

“sorry, princess,” he apologizes, “you know i’d be tasting you all day if you let me.”

“o-oh, i know.” you respond, smiling at him faintly.

though you’re completely tended to (apart from the wet, uncomfortable underwear), you can’t even begin to imagine how badly jeonghan must be aching in his pants. however, you’ve been away from the dining room for way more than a few minutes. a prickling heat overwhelms your entire face. there’s no way the family didn’t hear your earlier moans and pleas.

“what the hell are we gonna do?” you huff, taking a seat on the toilet, allowing your legs a momentary rest. “everyone definitely heard us.”

“so?” jeonghan counters, unphased. “let’s just stay in here until they go to their party. they’re not gonna interrupt us at this point anyways.”

you’d almost slap the smirk from jeonghan’s satisfied face if your legs weren’t reduced to complete mush.

“besides, when we’re alone, you can scream for me as loud as you want.”

[queenofcats17]

I was thinking about ES Benrey’s isolation issues and how they likely flared up while the evil G-man was trying to turn him into a replacement.

First part is here. 

Eternal Stream belongs to me, @liliflower137, @arcanist-valtrois, and @lady-lampblack

The original G-man replacement idea is not mine.

----------------------

The Benrey was proving more trouble than he was worth. 

G-man was loathe to admit when he was wrong, but he might have been wrong to simply choose the first person who might fit. It had just seemed so easy. The Benrey hardly had any memories, hardly had anyone who would look for him. He’d thought it would be simple.

Except it hadn’t been simple. 

The Benrey came with his own trauma that G-man hadn’t anticipated and didn’t know how to deal with. 

Most notably, his issues with isolation. 

Which, in retrospect, G-man should have expected given the Benrey had been trapped alone in a computer for two years. 

The first time G-man had tried to leave him alone the Benrey had grabbed onto his arm and refused to let go, begging for G-man not to leave him by himself. G-man had insisted he was only leaving to run an errand, which was true, but that had failed to remedy things.

The Benrey had remained inconsolable, screaming and crying and clawing at G-man’s sleeve. He’d managed to tear up the fabric of G-man’s sleeve rather badly with his claws and leave some deep scratches.

Even if G-man had erased the Benrey’s memory of his time of isolation, it seemed the trauma had remained, etched into his very consciousness. 

Even after G-man had managed to separate himself and leave the Benrey in the void, he’d returned to find the Benrey had torn apart what little furnishings G-man had left him with, both with his shapeshifted claws and with his powers going out of control. He’d reprimanded the Benrey for this little tantrum and removed his furnishings for a time, hoping this deprivation would discourage the Benrey from repeating his little meltdown.

But this failed to fix the problem. (And, really, he should have known that this would only make things worse. But he didn’t stop to think. Didn’t stop to consider Benrey’s trauma and its source. Because it didn’t matter to him)

Every time G-man left, the Benrey would destroy everything in a frenzy, often injuring himself in the process. Each time G-man would reprimand him and remove his furnishings in an attempt to teach him a lesson. 

This repeated over and over again, with G-man getting increasingly frustrated the longer it went on. He could certainly have controlled the Benrey, but he wanted a replacement, not a puppet. 

If this was going to work long term, the Benrey needed to learn and change.

In an attempt to ease the Benrey’s separation issues, G-man created a construct to leave him with. He assumed the problem was that the Benrey needed to be able to see and hear someone, so he made sure the construct was able to say a few words. Just simple phrases. 

...This had been a....poor decision.

G-man had returned to the construct ripped apart and the Benrey sitting in the middle of his once again ruined room with a dead look in his eyes. He’d taken a broken piece of chair and carved “LET ME OUT” into the floor over and over and over and over and over and over until the piece broke. The pieces of the construct littered the room like pieces of paper, lacking any real substance. If the construct had possessed blood, the Benrey would have been covered in it.

When G-man had spoken, ready to reprimand the Benrey once more, the Benrey had sprung up, moving faster than G-man had ever seen him move before. G-man was barely able to restrain the Benrey in time, the Benrey’s shapeshifted claws inches from his throat.

The Benrey was screaming incomprehensibly, still trying to claw at G-man’s throat while he sobbed, freezing and unfreezing time around them. Presumably, he’d worked himself into a frenzy after being left alone. Evidently, the issues ran too deep for G-man to fix in his capacity.

That was when he’d decided he needed to get rid of the Benrey. It was too much of a hassle to try and turn this wreck of a human being into a functioning replacement.

Time to move on.

.

He’d begged his supervisor not to leave him alone. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t be alone.

The thought of being alone, staring out at the blackness through the clear walls that made up his room, filled him with a sense of visceral terror. 

For some reason, whenever his supervisor left, he couldn’t help but be terrified that he was never coming back. That B was going to be stuck in this black void by himself forever. 

His terror overwhelmed his body, leading him to lash out, tear up everything in an attempt to find someone, something. 

He needed to get out. 

He needed to know he wasn’t alone. 

His supervisor’s ire grew each time he returned to find B’s destroyed dwelling. 

The times B spent without furnishings only made things worse. Each time he was afraid this was the time he would be left floating in the blackness forever. Each time made him even more desperate for human connection, even more desperate to not be left alone.

He’d been in a downward spiral that he didn’t know how to escape from.

And then his supervisor had left him with the construct. 

Seeing its blank face, hearing it parrot back those same words over and over...something in him had broken.

That rampage had been worse than any of the others. Holes in time and space had opened all around him as his claws dug into the flesh of the construct. It yielded easily under him. It was like ripping apart wet tissue paper. Only one thought occupied his mind. 

He had to get out. 

He had to get out. 

He couldn’t be stuck again.

He lashed out, both with his claws and the power his supervisor had given him, attempting to break down the clear walls that kept him trapped. 

But his powers weren’t strong enough to overcome the cage his supervisor had put in place, which had led to him taking out his anger by carving “Let me out” into the floor over and over and over until he tired himself out.

In the end, he’d been forced to crumple in the middle of his chaos and cry.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

[rockbell1003]

Hay fever and Headaches

Alright so I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this fic but I’ve been working on it for a while now and I’m just gonna say YOLO and post it. As always I hope you enjoy reading about Mal and Kai and feel free to message or send me asks if you wanna know more about them :)

I stifled a yawn against the back of my hand as I waited for my suitcase at the baggage claim, my eyes peeled for its blue plaid print. The flight from Chicago to Boston wasn’t necessarily a long one but I’ve always found flying alone a bit stressful, which was now catching up with me. Once I snagged my suitcase off the carousel I weaved my way through the crowd and parked myself next to an empty bench to check my phone. Kai had flown in a few days before me, to help his brother with the preparations for his wedding this weekend. The plan was for Kai to pick me up, but I had no new messages and I wasn’t quite sure where we were meeting. I scrolled through our previous messages just in case he had sent me more info that I missed, when I suddenly felt something cold and wet against my cheek.

“Holy-” I jumped and looked over to see Kai standing next to me with a Starbucks frappuccino in his hand that he was still holding dangerously close to my face, “ jeezus you scared me,” I muttered. Kai, looking overall pleased with himself just smiled, “you are so lucky that you’re cute,” I said as I took the drink from him.   

Kai laughed, “I know flying alone stresses you out, so I thought it would help,” he bent down to take my suitcase and I took a sip of my drink, a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino, which was delicious.

I narrowed my eyes, “You just know that the only way I’d forgive you for scaring me like that is with chocolate.” 

Kai shrugged, “maybe, or maybe I just wanted to greet my girlfriend with her favorite Starbucks drink,” he bent down to kiss me, “snf how was the flight?”

My ears perked up at the sniff but I didn’t comment on it, “it was fine, watched a lot of Naruto. How’ve you been?” I glanced up at him, trying to discreetly discern whether or not he contracted one of his travel colds or if he was suffering from hay fever. His hair was disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it a few times but his eyes looked clear and his nose didn’t look pink. 

Kai caught my staring and immediately knew what I was doing, “I’m fine Mal, just a little sniffly from the pollen, nuh..huh..thing to worry abou..huh-ITCHuh..snfl.” Kai brought his fist up to his nose to give it a quick rub. His cheeks tinged a bit pink from embarrassment at his poor attempt at denial and he wouldn’t look at me.

I let it slide and took another sip from my drink, “alright, so where we off to then?” 

Kai’s free hand grabbed mine as we made our way outside, “we’ll drop your things off at James’s and then we’ll meet up with him, Hannah, and the rest of my family for dinner.” 

Preoccupied with my delicious chocolate concoction I just nodded and followed his lead. 

✾ 

Looking over at Kai from my seat at the table I was mentally calling him out on his bullshit. His nose had gradually gotten pinker since he picked me up from the airport and I had counted five sneezes since we'd arrived at the restaurant. He brushed it off well, so that he wouldn’t worry his family but he couldn’t fool me. 

“So Mallory how was your flight?”  I turned my gaze away from Kai to his younger sister Erika who was sitting next to me. 

I smiled, “It was good, I managed to get through a good few episodes of Naruto and they gave out some really good crackers,” 

Erika laughed, “that’s always a bonus, sometimes plane peanuts just don’t cut it,” 

I smiled and agreed with her and we continued to chat until our food arrived, and since the only thing I had today was said plane crackers and my Starbucks version of a chocolate milkshake, I was starved. Perhaps a bit too eagerly I dug into my pasta and it was delicious.

“Taste good?” I looked up to see Kai smiling across from me as he gestured to the fork full of noodles. I swallowed and felt heat rise into my cheeks, hoping that the rest of his family didn’t notice, I nodded not trusting my voice….I also had no desire to stop eating. 

“What did you get? Snf” Kai asked as he ate a forkful of his own dinner. 

I swallowed my current mouthful and stabbed another noodle with my fork, “I got the pesto cavatappi, wanna try some?”

I started to scoot my plate closer to his so I could scoop out some of my noodles but I stopped when I saw Kai reach for his napkin and bring it up around his nose and mouth, “heptCH..huh..hih..giTCH-uh..snf” it took Kai a moment before he lowered his napkin back to his lap and everyone including myself offered him a bless you. A bit embarrassed, Kai just nodded in response and took the fork out of my hand to scoop some of my dish onto his plate. Once he was done and he raised his head to look at me, I gave him a look. The kind that meant, you know I saw that and now I know so don’t you dare lie to me about it but I’m not gonna bring it up cuz your family is sitting right next to us, his response was a small smile and mouthing the words, “I’m fine” so he didn’t draw any unwanted attention or worry from his family. I rolled my eyes and went back to my pasta, he could try to keep it a secret all he wants but there was no way in hell that I’d let him continue to hide it from me. 

✾ 

I was exhausted, moments away from a food induced coma and my head started to pound  from the long day I had. I wanted nothing more than to shower and faceplant into a nice comfy bed next to my obviously allergy suffering boyfriend...but said boyfriend had other ideas, like being a pain in the ass. 

We were staying in James and Hannah’s guest room while we visited, I sat on the bed to take off my shoes and Kai was rummaging through his suitcase, “James is gon..huh..hah..na hNXT-uh go out fo...hih hiITCH-uh drinks with some friends snfl… I think I’m gonna join him,”

I set my shoes down next to where Kai placed my suitcase and then turned to face him, “Are you going to take anything?”

Kai’s hands paused for a moment but he continued to rummage through his belongings, “Snf, I’m fine Mal, nothing to worry about,”

 I raised an eyebrow but he had already turned away from me and brought an arm up to his face, “ISHHOOOO...heiiSHOOO….SHOOO..Snf” 

“Bless you,” I said and handed him a tissue I took from the nightstand. He made a sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat and proceeded to blow his nose. That’s when I knew something wasn’t right, whenever I would bless him he would always respond with I love you, at least when it was just the two of us. It was silly and kind of embarrassing at first but he always said it back even if he felt like shit so at this point I’m concerned.

 “are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again a bit more timidly as I lightly rested my hand on his arm. 

“‘m fine,” he replied, bringing the tissue back up to his nose to give it a quick swipe. I brought a hand up to rub my forehead in an attempt to ease the pain of my headache, it didn’t do much to help the pain or my waning patience. 

“Alright, fine do whatever you want,” I said as I started unzipping my suitcase, “sorry that I care about you and the fact that ever since dinner you’ve been acting weird but I guess that’s none of my business apparently,” with more force than intended I opened my suitcase and some of my clothes fell out onto the floor, “since you’re being so stubborn about it I’ll just shut up and take a shower-”

“Are you okay?”

I looked up from searching for my pajamas to see Kai staring at me, his nose was noticeably redder than before. His fist pressed against the underside of his nostrils with the tissue I gave him crumpled in it. I roughly rubbed my forehead again, “no, not really, my head hurts and I’m worried about you but you’re being a stubborn ass-” I paused realizing what I had just said. I sighed and restarted, “I’m sorry, but my head hurts and I’m tired so before I say anything else that I’m gonna regret I’m gonna go shower,” I stood up, having finally found my pajamas and toiletries and walked over to the door.

“Mal, wait I’m uh...huh..heIISHOO..heITCH”

It might have been a bit mean of me but I didn’t stop to bless him this time, “have fun with James and your friends tonight. I’ll see you later,” I left the guest room and walked into the bathroom closing the door behind me.

✾ 

I let out a sigh as the hot water sprayed me in the face, I had a habit of speak first think later which normally just led me to saying something stupid or embarrassing. However, sometimes like today it leads me to say things I don’t mean. A habit that always seems to bite me right in the ass. As I stood under the spray I couldn’t help but replay what had happened in my head, I could’ve handled it better. I should’ve handled it better, I shouldn’t have pressed him and then bit his head off when he didn’t outright tell me what was wrong. Unlike me Kai doesn’t act without thinking things through- I let out another sigh and rub my head. No matter how much I think about what happened, it doesn’t change the fact that it did. It also didn’t help my headache. A bit reluctantly I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower and changed into my pajamas. 

“HUH!DJjj’SSHHtt!Uoo-HERRUSSSHHOOO!..ugh” Startled I opened the bathroom door to see Kai sitting to the side of the doorframe, his right hand scrubbing hard at his nose. 

“Kai, what’re you-?” I began to ask but I was stopped by Kai holding his hand up in a ‘one moment’ gesture before succumbing to more sneezes.

“HUH!Heh-HEPTCHUU...heh...hePTCH,” slowly Kai pulled himself up from the floor and scrubbed at his nose. His eyes were pink and were set on his feet, his nose red and twitchy. He overall looked like he would fall over if I just blew on him, taking his hand I tugged him into the bathroom and set him down on top of the toilet seat. 

“I’m sorry,” I said as I handed him a wad of tissues, he took them and cupped them around his face, alternating nostrils he blew his nose clearing the congestion. Once he was finished he bunched the wad in his left hand and grabbed my hand with his right. 

“Why are you apologizi’g?” he asked, his voice still a little congested, he sniffled, “I’m the one who...hih...whuh..hiNXTch-uh..sngk,” Kai turned his head to stifle into his shoulder, “fugk, snfl” he brought the wad of tissues up to his face and sniffled. 

I gave his hand a small squeeze, “bless you,” 

Kai turned back to face me and smiled his nose twitching, “lobve you,” I reached over to the vanity and pulled out a few more tissues, Kai tossed the used ones into the wastebasket and accepted the new ones from my hand. A bit reluctantly he released my other hand in order to properly blow his nose, with both hands steepled over his nose. 

“I’m sorry that I got mad and bit your head off,” I said, Kai paused his blowing but kept his hands and the tissues over his nose, “I was just worried about you.”  

He brought his hands down and proceeded to toss the used tissues into the wastebasket, “I know,” he clasped his hands together and let out a sigh, “I just wanted things to be perfect,” 

I placed my hand over his, “what do you mean?”

Kai purposefully wriggled his nose to dispel a tickle, “My brother is getting married in a few days and I..ih..hih..hiINXTch..uh, snfl, I didn’t want this,” he freed one of his hands from my grasp and gestured to his face, “to ruin it.” 

I raised an eyebrow, “so you thought denying that you have hay fever and not taking antihistamines was the answer?”

Kai let out a sigh and his shoulders drooped, “yes...no, I don’t know, it was stupid and I’m sorry that I made you worry,” he brought our conjoined hands up to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of my hand, “how’s the headache?”

I gave a small smile, “let’s just say I’m ready to take some Advil and crash for the night.” Suddenly Kai stood up and pulled me into our bedroom across the hall, sitting me on the bed before walking back out. Confused, I called out to him, “Kai, what’re you doing?”

My response however was a flurry of sneezes, “HAAAAESSCHEWWW!! HEPCHEWWWW!!! Heh...heh..HEESSSSCHEWWWW...sngkl...ugh, I’b taki’g care of you dow,” 

“Bless you!” I called out as he made his way back into our room with a glass of water in one hand and my toiletry bag in the other. 

“Lobve you,” he replied before handing me the glass, “here gibve be a bombend,” he asked before rummaging through the toiletry bag to find what he was looking for. As he did I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed him more tissues. “Here,” I looked up to see Kai holding out his hand which held my Advil in it. 

“Thank you,” I told him as I held out my own with the tissues and we exchanged our goodies. Once done I set my glass on the nightstand and curled up on the bed, closing my eyes as Kai shut off the lights. I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he adjusted himself to fit against my body, placing an arm loosely over me. I opened my eyes to take his hand, playing with his fingers, “I forgot to ask,” Kai hummed in response to let me know that he was listening, “what happened to drinks with your brother?”

Kai pulled me closer mumbling into my hair, “this is more important,” 

Smiling I closed my eyes and drifted off into a much needed sleep in the comfort of his arms.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (13)

CHAPTER 13: I Don't Want To Be Lonely    

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Yeah...last time wasn’t good. This is...well...

Warnings: Blood. Blood. Blood?

Word count: Should I be really concerned about the fact that my colleagues think I have had enough ‘days off’ when I was trying to help my family make arrangement for the funeral and he wake? Because I feel like I would be needing a day or two off in the future. For an emotional break. And my boss’ attitude is clearly not making it easy. Anyways. I’m still trying to be positive every day. Music helps. My brothers and sister help too. Hopefully this’ll pass soon. *deep breath* *nods*

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

"Can you please change the music. It is burning my ears."

"No."

Loki turns to look at Heimdall with a simmering stare before letting his fingers change the track. The contemporary harps change to classics. While Loki seems satisfied with them, Heimdall rolls his eyes at it.

"Seriously? Could you not be any more of a boring personality?"

"Why? Watching me throughout the day isn't enough for you now?"

"Shut up, Loki."

"Don't even dare turn back that sloppy thing you call musi-"

The harps come back again.

"Is this why Odin sent you out of the country? He couldn't stand you doing whatever you wanted, right?"

Heimdall just sighs. The music is turned back to the classics. The next five minutes of the ride are spent in brooding silence that is diluted by the violin on the speakers.

"I don't even understand why you would consider sticking to me like a fly when you could've been guarding your golden boy," Loki murmurs.

Heimdall swerves through the traffic on the highway, looking at the raven-haired man from the corner of his eyes, wetting his lips, taking his time to answer that question. "Frigga made me promise to look after you."

Loki doesn't say it but the slow blink he does clearly shows all signs of internal shocks he is feeling right now.

"I have my allegiance to the queen way before I came under the wings of Odin. Or Thor. And I've never gone back on my word to her."

Silence.

"I'm sure you haven't. M-the queen knows well to use them wisely. Especially in front of the king."

"Alright. Okay. Stop being so passive-aggressive. Kira is just in being angry at us."

"I'm not-" Loki stops and sighs, letting his arm rest on his window's lower edge while he massages the bridge of his nose. "How did she even know?"

"You recruited her, Loki. She clearly can connect the dots even if it’s slower than you. You should've known it won't be long till she figured it out."

The lights from the small local shops and big hotels next to the highway are a blur to Loki's eyes. He tries to close them, hoping to remember the last time he saw you happy with him.

"I don't think she has it in her to avenge herself."

"She's not weak, Loki."

"She's too pure, Heimdall. She does not deserve that. No kid deserves that. And she does not deserve to be in this perilous world." The eyes aren't even trying to focus at the scenic dusk anymore. "She doesn't belong here," he whispers to himself.

Heimdall's hands grip on the steering a bit too hard. "She's stronger than she looks. I'm sure she can take care of herself. And when she can't...well, she has a lot of people lookin' out for her."

Loki smiles before furrowing his brows. "I think what you call looking out for is practically called being creepy, Heimdall."

Heimdall twists his jaw. "You better watch your mouth before I broadcast your live feed to the world."

"You'd be doing the world a favour."

The groan and chuckle are interrupted by Loki's phone ringing over the SUV's speaker with Robert's name flashing on the screen.

What did she do now, is all Loki can think when he swipes the green icon to take the call. "Robert."

"Loki-"

His name is but a broken sob escaping a set of aching lungs from the other end of the phone, pushing both Loki and Heimdall to the literal edge of their seats. The sobbing doesn't stop. Before Loki can even tell him, Heimdall is taking out the orbs from his pockets, picking up the one that glows vigorously and planting it in a slot right next to the wheel, calling out a screen over the dashboard to pin-point the location for him.

Loki's heart is beating fast, that usual raging ache being replaced by spasms of concern when Heimdall is putting the car in overspeed to reach where that little blimping yellow dot points on the screen.

.

The silence of the hospital is haunting to say the least. Even this early in the night just two people sit in the waiting area under the weak fluorescent lights- one of them flickering at nonperiodic intervals. The receptionist sits laid back with a mobile in their hand, playing a game. A family sits on the upper floor, the kids eating chips while the mother pats the smallest of the children to sleep in her lap. The other mother is preventing herself from nodding off to sleep, time and again removing the crease from the papers in her hands, sitting up whenever she sees a doctor walk by. The floor above that is empty. Most of the lights have been switched off and the janitor is cleaning the floors, making them ready for the crowd that will rush in first thing at the crack of dawn to consult the doctors. The topmost floor is the only one brightly lit. It too is fairly empty- no waiting patients or visiting crowds- but for the doctors and nurses going about. The corridors carry the smell of disinfectants. Two nurses are walking down, laughing and joking about something. The minimal sitting outside the ICU has just one figure sitting there, fingers gripping on to fingers, nails being dragged down the skin on the back of the hands to feel something other than that noise of the heart ripping out of the chest. Feet being unstable- tapped now then due to the restlessness. Eyes being wiped away time and again with the tissues one of the nurses were kind enough to hand out. Now even the little soft paper is crumpled to its last bits, wet and beyond recognition. The cold draft coming in through every open door and exit does not help the already shaken nerves, but it does keep them awake.

The door to the ICU opens and your trembling legs get up from the seat with a wobble, your bloodshot eyes looking behind the doctor before anxiously settling on her. She speaks. The words do not settle in the first time. Nor the second. It takes a couple of repeated loops to understand what she's saying. She's calling out your name really softly, asking you if you're okay. You simply nod. She directs you to the corridor and you watch Robert wheeled out to the same direction she's pointing. He's covered in bandages and respiratory-mask along with more than one IV drip. He's being taken somewhere else. You want to go too. Be with him. But your legs don't move. They can't. You do try taking a step, but it ends up hurting everything inside you.

Don't leave him, your inner voice says, pushing you to walk and stop again. This time your legs stop on seeing Heimdall and Loki standing at the end of the corridor, looking like they've seen a ghost. Or something worse.

One look into Loki's eyes and you can feel yourself wanting to rush towards him for comfort because your frail heart cannot take it anymore. But the mind wants to force every rational thought upon you, instead making you walk towards his figure that is also managing to close the distance between the two of you.

"Are you alright?"

The cracked heart is broken into smithereens at his concern. You just nod because speaking will take a toll on you, gesturing to the room where Robert's been taken.

Loki hasn't missed the red marring your blouse and pants, smearing your neck and hands. His relief in seeing you stand in one piece is diluting the shock he is feeling on speculating what all you have gone through these past two hours. He wants to straighten your hair and pull you in his embrace. He wants to let you know you're safe. But he doesn't know if he any longer has the authority to do so. And he would rather kill himself than cross another line that might end up hurting you.

"The doctor's allowed us to see him," Heimdall breaks the morbid trance between you two, forcing you to walk inside.

.

The beeps and hiss of the machines on the other side of the mirror fill the mute room where you and Loki sit- Heimdall stands, looking out the window, his hands in his pockets, the eyes sharp at any movement outside, his ears listening to the police officials trying to take your statement.

"You were facing the direction of the shooter and Robert was behind you," the officer named Gary breaks off, "but then you say Robert fell over you."

Gary's partner Sasha rolls her eyes.

"As I said," you try to keep your voice smooth, "Robert pushed me away, he tried to cover me and got...he got..."

Gary still isn't satisfied. "Again, was it a push or was it a cover?"

Loki tsks, rolling his eyes and looking at Gary with the will to choke him there and then. Sasha has seen that look way too many times for her partner.

"Gary," she begins, "she's in shock. I think we can give her the benefit of the doubt and carry on our investigation at the shooting point. Come on."

"But-"

"Gary...come on."

"Sasha, be a good officer for once and see this interrogation through. Shock or not, she's gotta recall the events and tell them for what they are. Otherwise, it all looks fabricated."

"Officer Gerald," Heimdall speaks from the window with the authority that the two uniforms are only used to in their office, "why don't we have a word outside?"

Heimdall turns and Sasha can see some wire inside Gary's system trip as his stance changes within seconds.

"Y-yeah. We were leaving anyways. To check out the uh that parking lot."

"Very well then."

Sasha would be lying if she says she isn't feeling something tingle between her legs on watching that man move the entire mood of the room with just his presence.

The officers make their exit and the silence tries to return again.

"I'll talk to Kol to amp up the security. You two should get some rest," Heimdall states before leaving the room.

"Come on," Loki gets up, "I'll drive you home."

"It's my fault."

You look up towards Loki. "He's here because of me." The last word breaks into broken chords.

Loki comes and sits down beside you. "Kira, it's not your fault. You did not know what was going to happen. Robert was there doing was he was supposed to do. And he clearly did his job well. Because you're here. Alive and breathing. If anyone is going to pay it'll be the person who did this to him. Who tried to-" he tries to keep his breath steady- "do this to you."

Loki can see the marks on the back of your fingers, redness painting your skin- a sign he's is quite familiar with.

"Are you okay?"

You bite your lips. pressing your hands against each other. "Russo asked me to come work with him."

Now, this wasn't something Loki was expecting to hear. 

He has to gulp down this information in order to keep his senses.

"Oh. So... you've thought about it?"

You turn your head to look at him, nearly scaring him with that look in your eyes followed by an offended scoff. "I'm not leaving you for him."

He tries to hide it but the positive swell in his chest brings an involuntary smile on his face.

"That man is shady."

"Why? Why do you think so?"

"The file Robert had made had the names of everyone working under Russo in Anvil Corp or for Anvil Corp. Donatella's name was in there."

Just when Loki thought that cliché of a man could not surprise him anymore.

"And him asking me to come away with him then clearly didn't sound like he was just doing it for personal interests."

Now Loki just wanted him dead.

"Miss Kira?" A nurse called out from the door.

"Yes?" You answered, both you and Loki wondering what it was about.

"Are you ready for the examination?"

You blink and sit there frozen for a few moments before nodding a confirmation and getting up, Loki mirroring you.

Both of you meet Heimdall in the waiting area on your way to the floor downstairs.

"Kol's all set up. Four men will be guarding Robert's room."

"Are they trustworthy, Heimdall? I don't want anything compromised for Robert."

Heimdall nods. "They're Robert's men. Believe me, they'll be doing more than we'd ask without us asking. For him."

"Make sure one of them brings him a hot cup of that Manali tea he likes. Along with croissants from The Irish Baker. That's a bakery cum cafe by the turn to Beverly Avenue."

Heimdall has to pause for a moment when he has to retake the moment in and realise the genuine concern in Loki's eyes.

"Yes, I'll make sure of it." He assures. "Come, I'll drive you home."

"No, you go ahead. Kira has her examination right now."

"Loki," you speak up, suddenly realising you've been calling your boss by his name, "I think you should go."

The change does not go unnoticed by the men either. But Heimdall rather not talk about it. Yet.

"No, I'm not leaving you h-"

"Kol can drive me home. Or David."

"She's right," Heimdall acknowledges, only earning Loki's judgmental glare, "for all we know this could be an attack on you. It's not like that hasn't happened before. Four men will be by Kira's side here. And you're coming home with me. Now."

"I'll be fine," you reassure your boss with a weak smile.

"Heimdall will wait here with you then."

"Will you just take him already?" You straightway talk to Heimdall, letting Loki take a very light but hurt gasp.

"Okay fine. I'm going," Loki agrees ultimately, "but you better get home soon."

And in that one soft moment when you're looking into those clouded green eyes, you want to take his face into your palms and assure him that you will. While Loki, at that very moment wants to take your face into his hands and beg you to let him stay and be there for you; for he doesn't want to let anything happen to you. He wants to make sure you're safe.

"I will. I promise."

Your words create an echo inside him. And he has to take that echo with him when he steps away from you to walk away and go home.

.

"So, what do you think?"

"My bet is on Andrews."

Heimdall brings the engine to life. Loki takes out his phone to dial Tez.

"That man never liked me anyway," Loki mutters ever so casually, "but I would not rule out a few other names."

"I'm tightening your security," Heimdall announces, "I hope that's enough for all the people who want you dead."

"Aw," Loki scrunches his nose a bit, "they'll only see me dead when I want to die, Heimdall. You should know that by now."

"Tez," Loki's attention is on the phone now, "I'm sure you've heard of the events by now. This is code sapphire. You know what needs to be taken care of, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Tez confirms.

"What's code sapphire?" The lines on Heimdall's forehead are somehow working really well for Loki's amusement.

"There are days when I wish you don't know what I am doing by every literal second." Loki fastens his seatbelt. "This is one of those days Heimdall."

.

The plates are cold over your bare skin and the air conditioning is really not helping at all.

"Is this really necessary?" You ask whoever is standing outside the x-ray room. "I just fell on the ground. That's actually pretty usual for me."

No answer.

You sigh and are about to slouch over when a flash works its way throughout the room.

"Anything else?" You- out and dressed up- ask the nurse who's been instructed by the doctor to carry out certain standard check-ups.

"Just a few more minutes," the nurse answers before picking up a pen a board with a checklist.

You groan internally and try to find the energy to go through the interrogation again.

"When was your last meal?"

"Uhh...it was...I don't know the time exactly. It was lunch on another continent so my guess is seventeen hours. Give or take a few." You simply shrug.

The nurse eyes you with a cocked brow and you cannot help but feel a flare of judgment lingering in those eyes.

"How's your eyesight?"

"I use glasses," you point at the ones you're wearing a bit too obviously. The nurse just sighs.

"Are you sexually active?"

"No."

"... I'd suggest you don't lie on your medical report."

The nurse is still moving her pen on the board when she makes that blunt remark that really rubs you the wrong way.

"Excuse me?"

An eye roll later the nurse is watching with a resting bitch face.

"I mean, come on, girl. I saw the man who was with you tonight. You don't need to hide that you're some big hotshot's lady."

"Okay," you raise your finger to address the frustration growing inside you, "it is none of your business who I do or do not sleep with. All you need to worry about is the information you're being provided."

She looks at you before exhaling a 'whatever' and going back to her sheet.

"You don't have to cry just 'cause you're his mistress."

Oh my God!

"Linda, I'd suggest you get out of the room before the patient sues you for harassment."

A sweet voice calls out from the door and you turn to watch another nurse standing there with her arms crossed across her chest, staring down at the other nurse.

"I was jus-"

"You should go," the blonde-haired nurse announces, bringing forward her hand to take charge, "I'll take care of the rest."

The former nurse clearly doesn't look happy but she lets go of the paperwork and walks out saying something snarky under her breath.

"I'm really sorry about that," the new one apologises, "the staff is usually really nice here. I'm Harleen."

"I'm Kira," you respond.

Harleen's presence somewhat lights up the room. And her smile only adds to the radiance she is emanating. She makes the effort to go through your chart and write what all reports are pending.

"We are all done here. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

You try to think of something that you might need to know. Your hand goes to your neck and the abnormality in touching it reminds you of something.

"Oh, I had a necklace I was wearing before I went in for the x-ray. I can't seem to find it. I kept it here on the table."

Harleen gestures you to wait and walks around the table to open a drawer and take out a little basket where you can see the pendant Tony had gifted you sitting in a silver loop.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Kira. Here," she takes out something from the drawer and hands it over to you, "take my card and call me if you are in need of any help."

Thanking her, you walk out of the room while closing the silver chain around your neck, nearly scared by Kol's uninformed greeting.

"Kol," you greet the man dressed in a black suit and smelling of a cologne that is surprisingly light to the senses.

"Ma'am," he greets back, so do the two men standing behind him, "this way, please."

You sense the presence of more of Kol's men behind you, curiosity getting the better of you and turning your neck around to watch two more men keeping a considerable distance. All of them are wearing an earpiece, keeping in touch by the second. Kol's auburn hair has been all moved back with a generous amount of gel, which reminds of something that Billy does.

The thought of him sends a shudder down your spine and you force your brain to think of something- anything- other than those dark, endless eyes.

The walk down the lift and towards the entrance is silent but it's made awkward by the foreign eyes looking at the men- and then decisively at you and your bloody clothes- wondering what is going on in the hospital at this time of the night. Your fluttering heartbeat does not help the meandering thoughts either but the chilly air fighting to touch your exposed skin as you step out does help dissipate the unwanted heat rising up inside you.

Before you can cover all the stairs to reach the footsteps of the building, another one of Robert's men is bringing Robert's SUV to a halt.

Kol steps in front to open the door for you before getting in from the other side. The rest of the security gets in another car save for one- who settles down in the passenger seat in your vehicle.

The cars are pulled out of the driveway and manoeuvred through small streets till they hit the road taking them to the highway. The dull yellow lights are the same shade as your heart right now, trying to grasp the reality of one of the closest person to you lying in the hospital. It is my fault, no matter how Loki sees it, you have convinced yourself.

"Robert will be fine, ma'am."

Kol seems to have read the tension on your face. Am I that transparent?

"We'll get the person who did this to him." He is making you a promise. He knows better than anyone- thanks to the years he's served- how it feels for the one who got away.

"Thanks, Kol." Your weak smile is the only gesture you can manage till you are looking back out the window at the lights passing you by. The smooth driving skills of whosoever is at the wheel are putting you to sleep. So, you close your eyes and try to see that which makes you feel safe. The darkness is filled with a lit-up corner where Loki stands smiling at you. "Come home, Kira," he says softly.

I'm coming home.

Eyes closed, the rest of the body is sensing the ups and downs and the turns of the car.

Whenever we are asleep, dreaming of falling- be it from the sky, a bridge, a car, a cliff- we do not feel the effect of that fall till we are reaching the surface, about to hit it with maximum velocity, which then jerks us awake, or sometimes changes the scene to something entirely different. That is what happens to you when the cargo truck hits the SUV from the other side, sending the vehicle to topple on itself and roll over multiple times. The seatbelt keeps you in place throughout as you watch the glass shatter and fly everywhere around you. Your hands are up and everywhere, not being able to find anything to hold on to. All this while Kol has you covered, shielding you from stray glass and gravel- besides anything deadly that could possibly be flying your way at any given moment. Everything registers inside you only when the car- or what is left of it- comes to a stop. Upside down.

First, the breaths go shallow. Next, the body registers the uncomfortable position it is stuck in. The eyes take in the surroundings- a disgruntled Kol freeing himself to fall down on the roof of the car, glass falling down from your hair, a bloodied hand lying hanging from the driver's seat. When that hand comes in view, your eyes do not leave the trail till they see the body hanging upside down with a broken neck.

The already shallow breaths are now turning into hyperventilating streaks. Kol registers the shock you're feeling right now and tries to move towards you. "David," he calls for the man in the passenger seat, "cover us."

The man is already out of the vehicle, up on his legs, disappearing somewhere ahead of the barrels on fire in the middle of the highway.

"Kira," he nearly eats up his groans and pains and when he takes your arms in his, "shh, shh, I'm here. Breathe. Breathe. Breeeathe."

His patient soft voice is readily obeyed by your teary eyes. Just as the third breath is taken in a shot goes off somewhere in the night. This time it is not that easy to be mistaken for a cracker.

"Kol," your cry is barely a squeak.

Two more shots go off.

"Shh, shh, I'm gonna get you out of here. Look at me. Do as I say. Here, fix your hands on the roof. Come on. Yes. You got it. Sure? Okay, I'll undo the belt now. Ready? Three, two-"

You are laying down on the roof, trying to feel your legs while Kol's hands are helping you get up and out from your side of the window.

The shards prick your palms. But the gunshots behind you are a horror that is shutting down every other pain response in your body. The throbbing of your veins is only adding to the understated panic.

Getting up you look behind to watch Kol standing by the wrecked car. You take a faltering step towards him and stop dead as you watch him go down on his knees before his upper body hits the hard road beneath him.

You do not know whether it's the shock of watching your one way to safety go down in one mean swing or the figure clad in black camo behind him, standing with its hands to either side- one of them holding a gun. The dark goggles shield the face beneath. But none of the shades of black can hide the blood dripping from the heel of the palm that holds the gun.

The figure just stands there. Frozen.

You wait for it to make a move. It waits for you to take one wrong step.

It doesn't even look like it's breathing. You are gasping for breaths.

It tilts its head just enough for you to notice. You take a step back into the embrace of foreign arms keeping you in place as a hand tries to cover your screams before netted darkness is thrown over your eyes and your writhing body is dragged away from the remnants of point of intentional disaster.

The goggles come off to let the ignited remnants of tonight’s catastrophe be reflected in dark boundless eyes.

[holy-hyuck]

Sunshine

There’s nothing quite like sunshine on a rainy day.

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

P.S: Happy (very late) birthday to my baby! I hope you had the best birthday in the world (let’s ignore how it’s been nearly two weeks).

You inhaled, a deep breath through the nose as you let your eyes close, feeling the tears prickling your eyes, sitting just behind your eyelashes, not enough to roll across your skin. Your hands were outstretched in front of you, the impossible task left untouched. The sheet of paper looked at you tauntingly and you balled your hands into fists.

You felt the warmth on your skin, trying to break through its surface, through the material of your jumper, to disappear into the suffocating air.

Your teacher was cold, wrapping a thin cardigan tighter around her frame, refusing to open the window. You watched the rain leave a residue on the window, still feeling the itch of your wet jeans on your skin, and you understood why.

After walking through the rain to school for over thirty minutes, you weren't looking forward to doing it again. You looked at the clock, sighing. You swear the hands haven't moved in the past ten minutes. Was it broken?

Supporting your chin on your hand, you stared at the empty page in front of you. Moments ago, you asked your teacher for help but she instructed you to look in the textbook, which you have read before. Twice.

You hated feeling the way you did; stupid. Like the simplest of tasks were too much for you. You got frustrated with yourself, and you were nowhere near the end of the school day, when you would finally be able to climb into your bed and fall asleep, leaving the worries in the world outside of the one you dreamt of.

The gloominess outside and on your face only got worse as hours passed by. Your friends didn't bother you at lunch, your teachers were in no mood different than yours, your parents couldn't pick you up from school, and it was raining every minute of this never-ending day.

With your backpack slung over your shoulders, you took your jacket off and placed it above your head in an attempt to shelter yourself from the falling rain, alas failing miserably, as you rushed through the busy streets to get home.

You met your neighbour, Renjun, trying to enter the house next to yours the same way you had. He sent you a wave with his hand, but you opened your doors without sparing him a glance and slammed them behind you, rattling the glasses sitting atop the countertop. Dropping your backpack by the door and throwing your shoes off rather violently, you ran a hand down your face, finally letting the tears fall.

You rushed up the stairs to your room, closing the curtains whilst simultaneously rejecting your other neighbour's wave. You crumpled the velvet in your fists, letting them down and collapsing on top of your bed, defeated. Burying your face in your pillow, you let out a muffled scream, the tears free-falling from your eyes darkening the material pressed tight against your skin.

Your phone vibrated, sending tickling sensations along your stomach and you spared the screen a glance. Ultimately, you rejected the call, letting your cries lull you to sleep.

A gentle shake of your shoulder disrupted your sleep. You looked up, rubbing your eyes, your cheeks sticky from the dried tears.

"Wha-?" you muttered, gazing up at Renjun who gave you a pitiful stare.

"Come on, move." He nudged you, pushing himself onto the edge of your bed. "You didn't answer my call."

You sighed, letting out something between a groan and a whine, picking up your phone and looking at the rejected call.

"That was only fifteen minutes ago. Wasn't it clear I didn't want to talk?" you snapped, bringing your hands up to your face to cover your mouth, yawning.

"Yikes." He made a face. "Get up."

"No." You crossed your arms, maintaining eye-contact with the boy.

"(Y/n)..." he started, going to grab your hand but you pulled it back and pinched his shoulder, making him bounce back and wince in pain. "Ow, you little! Okay, fine, so be it!" He left the room, rubbing his shoulder whilst sending you a death glare.

You smirked, for just a moment, before you remembered your foul mood and fell back onto the covers, shutting your burning eyes.

"What now?" you asked, an exasperated expression on your face. Renjun's face was no different as he stood with his arms crossed. Next to him was Jeno leaning against the doorway of your house.

"You're annoying," Renjun informed you, matter-of-factly, pushing himself into your house. Jeno trudged behind him, sending you an apologetic smile.

"Why, thank you."

You shut the door behind them, waiting for Renjun to explain himself. You knew Jeno was probably dragged over here by him, otherwise, he wouldn't even talk to you today.

"Renjun's just worried," Jeno told you after a minute of silence.

The aforementioned scoffed. "I am not."

“You don’t seem in the mood.”

“And I’m not. I just wanna-ugh, I wanna bury myself under all the blankets I can find and not have to wake up until-”

Renjun groaned, getting up from the couch and grabbing your hand, then dragging you out of your house. From your peripheral vision, you saw Jeno closing your door with the key you left on the kitchen table, and following closely behind the two of you. Renjun opened the door to his house, pushing you inside and leaving it wide open for his best friend to enter.

“The fuck-” You were ready to lunge at Renjun but he dodged before you could hit him, extending his arms towards the single armchair in his living room.

Donghyuck sat there, as confused as you were. His silver hair sat on top of his lashes, his doe eyes glimmering as a smile tugged on his lips. You haven’t seen him in a while.

“Hey-” he breathed, his lips curling up.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your mood,” Renjun whispered. “Jeno and I will be going. There’s this new movie I wanted to see.”

You stared at him, incredulous. Tears welled up in your eyes, exhaustion seeping through. “You hate the cinema.”

“I know.” He rubbed your arm, leaving you with your boyfriend. You watched, for a second, as the door closed behind them, wanting to go and hug him, even though you knew Renjun hated showing affection. He still hid so much love behind his tough exterior.

“Hey,” you said, finally turning around to look at your boyfriend.

“Hello, sunshine.” He extended out his arms, waiting for your embrace. “How’s it going?”

You pouted, your feet quick to push you towards the warmth of his arms. You choked back a sob. “Absolutely shit.”

Both of you chuckled as he lay down on the couch, letting your head fall on his chest, and letting your silent tears bleed through his shirt. With your legs tangled, breaths mixing together, and hearts beating as one, you felt safe, safe enough to cry about your day.

He let you stay like that for a while, the ticking of the clock almost lulling you to sleep but you willed yourself to stay awake. You couldn't utter any words even if you wanted to, not knowing where to start. This morning, this week? What happened, or how it made you feel?

"Do you want to talk about it?" His breath blew the little strands of hair around your face, tickling your cheek before sticking to the drying tears.

"Not really," you mumbled into his clothes. You took a few shallow breaths as he nodded his head, before you lifted your face off his chest slightly, finding a better position. "Just give me a second."

And he did, waiting until you were ready to talk, even if you never would be. He was boisterous, energetic, lighting up the room whenever he walked in, but you brought out a softer side of him. With you, he felt the need to protect you even if you didn't need it yourself. He wanted to keep you in his arms forever, out of harm's way. Most of the time, what he needed to protect you from was your own mind, and all the different ways it tried to destroy your glee.

Finally, you sat up, wiping your eyes with the tissue he handed you and running a hand through your hair. Then, you began to talk, rambling about one thing then briefly mentioning the next. You jumped between topics and everything you've endured these past few days, before getting to today's events that shaped your mood.

Donghyuck looked at you with worry glistening in his brown eyes, and a few times, he swore he felt tears building up in them too. Watching you upset physically pained him; he felt his heart thumping in his chest, afraid of every bad thing you said. All he wanted was for you to always be happy because that's what you deserved, but he knew it was too much to ask for. Every angel falls down once in a while.

You exhaled deeply, clearing out your lungs and your head full of negative thoughts with one breath. "Can you stay here with me? Just for a little while?" You looked at him with puppy eyes, but you didn't even have to ask, he would have stayed anyway. He'd do almost anything you'd ask for.

"Of course," he said, stretching out his arm and pulling you into his embrace yet again. He inhaled the scent of home in your hair and sighed in content, laying his chin atop your head.

Your hand fiddled with the keychain attached to his jeans, letting it pass between your fingers. You were so lucky to have someone like Donghyuck in your life. You knew that life would never be the same without him. You thought you were the happiest with friends like Renjun and Jeno, but Hyuck brought even more light into your life.

He chased the dark clouds away. He turned midnights into summer mornings. Donghyuck was your source of happiness on rainy days. You always wondered how he managed to do it so effortlessly, but after a while, you stopped wondering. All you wanted to do was appreciate him and bathe in his sunlight.

He was the sun after all; he made everything brighter.  

[secret-rendezvous1d]

D E C E M B E R  1 S T

REQUEST someone else mentioned pubes talk, and I thought it would be hilarious if Harry was trying to do something romantic like cooking a Christmas Eve meal but naked and there was singe-ing (not singing!).

Hello.

Hi.

Welcome to Blogmas, 2018!

I’ve been so excited for December to come around and it’s arrived so quickly. I love this time of year and I get to be festive on here and away from here and that makes me incredibly happy; Blogmas is one of my favourite things to do on here and I’m pleased that it’s back again... and I can only hope you enjoy this year as much as you have other years. 

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read. 

This little something takes place during the December of 2017. When they’ve conceived Persephone and are on the verge of finding out that they’re going to a mum and dad! It’s not too Christmas-y but I can assure you that the rest of Blogmas will be festive, all around.

Enjoy! xx

When he’d woken up that morning, Harry had been in a specific mood where all he wanted to do was show off love and affection towards his wife.

A glance to his left showed him fluttering lashes against pale cheeks and a face that looked a little worse for wear after having been hit with a rough, sleepless night from the moment they had decided to settled down and had routinely started getting ready for bed. After a cruel round of nausea, that didn’t seem to let up and leave as just a phase, that had knocked her for six. She had had an excitable demeanour that had been filling the house with laughter and her shrill cackles throughout the evening, cracking jokes and giving his bum pinches and squeezes when he passed her by, singing Christmas songs into a makeshift microphone (which was a clenched fist that she held in front of her mouth) and she had managed to keep a conversation about sex and having a night of pure passion - ”to bring Christmas in with a good night” what she had won the argument with - on the table. 

But that person had moulded into someone that lost all strength to cooperate within the click of a finger and had depended on Harry tending to her every need; waking her up when her head lulled to lay on his shoulder, guiding her up the stairs when she made it clear that her eyes were bleary and misted over, holding her tightly when her balance had been thrown off with a guttural feeling that she struggled to hide, and undressing her when her limbs felt heavy and dead.

An empty bucket occupied the space in front of her bedside table, a glass of water sat upon a woven coaster that his mother had gifted to her on her very-first Christmas spent as his girlfriend, a crumpled and dirty tissue had been thrown onto the top of the table, and a thermometer - that had been used in a frenzy, by Harry, after he’d finished panicking about her sudden illness and after he had tucked her up in bed once he dressed her into something warm and comfortable - was placed upon a book that sat adjacent to her lamp. A receipt sticking out from a page because she had lost her bookmark and needed a little something to keep her place. The painstaking silence that filled the bedroom as she slept, that was usually a silence that he liked to use as thinking time or as a time of reflection or to use to his advantage as he thought about song lyrics for new singles and songs for future albums, allowed him to hear her jagged breathing, the bubbles of her gut and the whistle that came from her nose with each out breath that pushed through from her lungs.

And even though she looked somewhat serene and peaceful, she still looked sick... and he hated that.

He hated seeing her so low, hated seeing her so down in the dumps and with a pucker on her brows that didn’t seem to loosen up, hated hearing her be so self-critical of herself and homing a permanent frown upon her face whenever she looked at herself or saw a glimpse in a shiny surface. He hated seeing her look so unhappy that a kiss and a cuddle and a crack of a silly joke couldn’t even bring a smile to her lips, hated how she felt so lethargic and he hated how she wanted to be on her own so she could sleep and get better without passing anything to him - because she had always deemed him as more important and never wished to tear away his happy spirit for more than a day - and he absolutely hated how he couldn’t take away any aches and pains.

He hated that one the most.

Because not matter where her aches and pains came from, he wanted to take them from her in an instant. Just so she never had to endure something so bad and so unpleasant. 

Rolling onto his side, the mattress creaking beneath his weight, he delicately brushed his fingertips over her forehead and brushed her fringe away from her clammy skin. Thankfully, she didn’t feel as flushed as she had done before they both fell asleep but she still felt tacky and sticky and there were traces of sweat that had trickled down her jawline and disappeared behind her ears in a trail that was purely controlled by gravity. Resembling the look of tear-streaks but in no way were they. She squeaked in her sleep, her mouth moving in a motion that looked like she was chewing on something and sounded like a wet muscle sucking upon another, before her eyes fluttered open to start the day. A faint glimmer from a street-light outside their home, that was one of the many consecutive lamps that lined their Hampstead street, shone through the slit in the curtains and allowed a glow to form silhouettes on the walls and shadows upon her face from her features. Glowing in the colour of her eyes before she rubbed them with her fists.

“Good morning,” she rasped, a lopsided grin on her dry lips as she brought her hands up, groaning in delight whilst she stretched her arms above her head and pushed her knuckles into the fabric headboard behind their heads. Mewling and arching her back as she removed the kinks and the sleep of her limbs and let her whole body relax and flop beneath the duvet. His eyes watching her with concern. “What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just look very lovely this morning,” he crooned, cupping her cheek with his palm and running his thumb across her cheek. He sounded cheesy and he knew that because, well, how could he see her in the dark? But she had grown so used to his sweet nothings being vocalised over the years, which always made her feel better, that she would take them over a simple ‘good morning’ any day of the week. His bare fingers feeling strange against her skin, since she was used to the sharp tingle of the cold metal of his rings against her warm cheeks, and she rather loved how they stroked her so mutedly. Her head tilting into his touch as a show of her appreciation. “Are you feeling better? You sound much better.”

“I feel a little sick still. A little wobbly, as well. Knees feel a little bit like jelly. And, is it weird that I can’t make proper fists with my hands?” She asked curiously and innocently and looking at him with a concerning look in her eyes. Sleep still evident in her voice as she spoke, stretching her arms into the air and fanning her fingers out for them both to look at, before wiggling them and curling them into a loose fist to prove a point to her question A gentle laugh leaving his lips as he rested his arm over her belly, hitching her t-shirt up with his wrist and palming the soft plump of her tummy - because that had always helped with period cramps, and belly-aches in general, and he had an inkling that it may have helped with making her feel a little more content. “But I’m fine. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think I’ll projectile vomit like I did last night. A sleep did me some good.”

He bumped his nose against her shoulder, inhaling a musky scent that he had always seemed to associate with sickness and being poorly, and puffed out the deepest sigh. He knew, firsthand, how she was feeling; regardless of being ‘a freak to staying healthy’, so she would call him. Because even ‘health-freaks’ fell ill. 

Particularly as an active youngster with a social-life that took him off all over Holmes Chapel, he was prone to catching illnesses - from his friends at school to his sister, who liked to bathe in the sympathy she gained from those around her (and still did, and she found herself boldly admitting that), to the strangers that he passed, who seemed to have no respect for anyone around them as they coughed with no hand covering their mouth and sneezed with no tissue. Whenever he fell sick, or whenever he woke up with a poorly stomach or a sore head or clammy skin that, once he jumped on Google, he found out were symptoms of something yet to come, there was a smell that lingered in the air and it was one that he had grown to associate with having to be lazy, having to eat soup and dry toast and having days off for a reason. 

Not so much as he grew older but he caught the odd germ, that lingered in the air and clung to everyday objects ,and the occasional tummy-bug from something that didn’t quite settle well with his stomach  and the smell always seemed to find a way back to him. That made him smell odious, more than he would smell after a hard session at the gym, and made him feel gross. To the point where he would have slept in the bath if it was safe enough. It made him feel young, like he was the young pre-teen who wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world and watch Lord Of The Rings on the television in his bedroom and drink cups of warm tea and eat bowls of tomato soup until he felt better again. 

And he couldn’t wait for the day when he felt fresh, smelt good and looked youthful and radiant again.

“Sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling okay,” she confirmed with a nod, “I’m a bit hungry though. I could do with some toast. Maybe some porridge drowned in sugar.”

“Shall we, uh, let’s just go easy on the thick porridge and go for something a little softer, yeah? A couple of pieces of dry toast, maybe?” He suggested. Her elbows pushing down into the mattress and holding her upper body up from the bed, hair knotted at the back of her head and tendrils sticking to her face with dried perspiration, as she frowned at him with distaste. If there was one thing she hated... it was dry toast. The neck of her t-shirt looked worn-out and over-stretched and sported the occasional hole within the dirty-white cotton that had a picture of Fleetwood Mac peeling off of the front, in tiny flecks that looked like paint peeling on a vintage wall. “I know you hate it but I think some dry toast would be best for you this morning. Maybe an apple or a banana, too. Just to see if you can keep that down.”

“And what if I do? Will you let me have some porridge then?”

She sounded seductive, her voice lowering an octave and a pout on her lips that only came out when they were in the bedroom, and he shook his head with amused disbelief. That was just like his wife. The woman who could still crack jokes, still play on their hormones, still make him horny and turn him on and still be in the mood for sex when she was ill. 

“We’ll see, baby,” he hummed tiredly and rolled onto his back, clasping his hands over her belly and staring at the ceiling as YN kicked away the duvet and sat up on the mattress, “we’ll see. I’ll make you something better for lunch.”

The silence lingering in the air felt tranquil. Cars driving down the street, kids screeching and cackling their high-pitched laughter on the way to Hampstead Heath, parents calling out their names and scolding them to ‘be careful by the roads’, birds tweeting their birdsong in the trees and the neighbours’ gates creaking closed as they arrived and departed their homes to embark on long and tedious journeys to spend Christmas with their families. 

She reached over and placed a flat palm on his ribs, scratching his skin lightly whilst his eyes fluttered shut, her eyes lingering on him as he laid beside her; his long eyelashes resting on his prominent cheekbones, his eyelids wrinkling as he squeezed them shut in an attempt to salvage any more sleep he had, his short fringe curling at the ends and in need of a thorough wash because it was starting to look like straw. His jawline was decorated with patches of messy scruff and his upper lip seemed to be adorned with a stretch of stubble that he, quite probably and much to her dismay, would shave off during his morning routine.

“Are you busy today?” She asked, breaking the silence capturing his attention as he peered at her with one open eye, “I don’t want you to be busy today. I want you to stay inside and look after me.”

“I thought you were feeling better. You don’t need someone to look after you if you’re not sick,” he breathed out and smirked in her direction, “did you lie to me? You know what happens when you lie.”

She feigned a cough, before faking a heavy groan and gripping her side, before she sniffled and attempted to reach for the bucket beside the bed.

“Don’t muck me around, darling,” he cackled, “said you were fine.”

She sighed and her shoulders dropped south. Like a reversed shrug that didn’t quite make it all the way. 

“I’m not busy until the new year, baby, no. You know that. I told you after me and Jeffrey had that argument over the phone about me going to America for an appearance on a show out there. I’m all yours till you have to share me again,” he teased, pushing the duvet off of his body and kicking it towards the end of the bed with his bare feet, “but I wouldn’t be obliged to you wanting me to stay here, forever and ever, so we don’t need to share each other with anyone.”

“Told him to sod off and he didn’t know what that meant,” she snorted and ruffled her fringe with her fingers, to remove the tickle that was brushing over her forehead. Sitting himself up, he crossed his ankles and reached over for his mobile that was charging on his bedside table, pressing the home button and revealing a photo of himself and YN, from the year of 2012, with complete awe on their faces as they sat on the stage at Madison Square Garden and took in the view before them. A smile on her face as she scooted closer to him and nestled into his side. “It would be nice if we could stay here forever and ever. I like spending time with you.”

“You can spend time with me for forever and ever,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing her knuckles with the calloused pad of his thumb, “got married a few months back so you’re stuck with me forever. Which means I’m stuck with you forever.”

“Unfortunately,” she joked, turning her face to press a kiss to his cheek but catching his ear lobe as he jerked away from her in fake annoyance. Her lips pressing against the shell of his ear in a kiss before she realised where she was laying her mouth. 

“Oi,” he struck her with a flick of his foot, catching her ankle with the tips of his toes, “don’t kid me around, baby. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I adore you and I love you and,” he paused for what seemed to be a dramatic effect when, in reality, he was letting his mind work wonders on how he was going to show off his love, “and I’m gon’a prove it to you later, n’all.”

“How?” She wondered, a glint in her eyes as she looked at him, “tell me. Don’t make it a surprise.”

“I’m going to cook you dinner. We’re going to go against our typical tradition of a takeaway on Christmas Eve and I’m going to cook you everything you could ever dream of. Mash, chicken, chargrilled veggies. The lot. Since you’re feeling better and all,” he grinned and pressed a strong kiss against her forehead, dropping his phone to the space between them and scooting his bum towards the edge of the bed, “you’re not going to do anything but put your feet up and relax. Do some blog writing, edit some of your photos, plan recipes or photoshoots, or whatever else you do. Let me do something for you since you’ll be on your feet Christmas Day.”

Despite them having this year to themselves and not having that many people to cook a meal for - what with YN’s parents away on a warm getaway for the festive period and with Gemma and Michal heading off to Michal’s parents and Anne spending Christmas Day with her friends in Manchester - they still had people to see and presents to gift to those nearest and dearest to them so they both knew, and they knew every year, that they would never be able to have a proper sit down, with no unwanted interruptions and no sudden invitations to hang out at the local pub with Nick, until the evening. When they could wind down with bottles of wine and left over pigs-in-blankets and stuffing balls whilst watching the soaps and the Christmas television that was scheduled to air. When they could kiss under mistletoe that was put up just for them, when they could wear ugly jumpers without anyone having their say in how hideous they were, when they could go to bed before nine and get away with it because it was just the two of them. 

And they couldn’t wait. 

“Aren’t you just a darling, huh?”

“I do my best to impress,” he threw over his shoulder sent her a strained wink with a green eye. A click of his tongue partnered that motion before he stood up and stretched his back. One hand braced on one hip as he arched his body and rubbed his belly with his other hand. “Come have a shower with me. Freshen up.”

“Fuck!”

His profanity startled her.

Her tea having spilled over the brim of her mug when she jumped at the break of the pleasant silence, dribbling down the white ceramic held between her hands and landing upon her knitted sweater in brown droplets, that looked like a children had drawn raindrops. The sudden jerk of her body shooting a chill through her limbs since she’d been so content with one specific position, set up perfectly so she could rest her laptop on her thighs and her camera on the thick cushion at the back of the sofa and where her mug was in arms reach and the television remote was right in front of her, that the air had a sudden temperature change and goosebumps rose upon her skin.

“What did you do?” She called, apprehensively letting her fingers hover over the lid of her laptop before deciding to close it and take a look at what damage he had done. Lifting her feet from the arm of the sofa, she placed them upon the ground and pushed her laptop to the empty sofa cushion beside her, leaning over to set her camera and her SD card delicately upon the coaster Harry had previously used for his own coffee mug before announcing that he was going to disappear into the kitchen to start cooking them dinner. “Harry?”

There was a clatter of pots and pans before his  head peered around the frame of the kitchen archway with a displeased look upon his features and his hands clasped over his apron-covered crotch. A heavy handful of the laminate material scrunched in his palms, forming pleats up the chest, and revealing a little bit of fuzzy thigh from the red hem.

“So, uh, do you remember that discussion we had this morning?”

“We have a lot of discussions,” she reminded him, standing from her place before halting and allowing herself to take in his exposed shoulders, his bare hips and a nipple peeking out from the chest of the apron hanging down his body, “are you cooking naked under there?”

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes and released a hand to run his fingers through his hair, “the discussion in the shower that we had this morning. When I asked if you preferred me shaved or... messy,” he prompted, cheeks flushing pink as he watched a smirk toy with the corner of her lips and a raise of her eyebrow that made him want to cower with embarrassment. A look of ‘I know where this is going’ threading her features together and he huffed out a heavy breath, blowing a few strands from his forehead, “don’t. I know what you’re about to say.”

“Why were you cooking naked?”

Her cackling laughter entices a reflexive smile to appear upon his lips, revealing two front teeth from a pillow of pink flesh, as his green eyes looked down towards his pigeon-toed feet clad in a pair of her woollen socks - which had proven a difficulty when he was a good few shoe sizes up from her own - with one pulled up to his mid-calf and one bunched around his ankle.

“I was, uh,” he coughed into his free fist and gave her a sheepish smile, “I was trying to be, uh, I was just trying to be sexy for you, you know? But I think I might have, uhm, I think I might have singed some hair down there when I reached up to have a play with the fan of the cooker because the vegetables got a bit too steamy and, I was bloody lucky to have missed the goods, but-”

“H,” she sighed, stretching her arms out and wiggling her fingers as she forced herself to step closer to him, a frown on her face as her amused expression disappeared into a look of concern and worry, “you know that I already find you insanely sexy. Even dressed in this monstrosity,” she snorted and snaked her arms around his waist, wrists ducking underneath the cotton strands tied at the middle of his back and letting her fingers tickle around the broad stretch of his back, “you don’t need to impress me anymore. We’re married.”

“Heeey,” he grumbled into the thick material of her sweater. His hands hitching up the heavy hem before settling his palms above the elastic of her pyjamas trousers and upon her hips, squeezing her to his front as she hummed with content against his naked shoulder, “I do need to keep impressing you or else you’ll see through everything else and realise I’m not as great as you think I am.”

She scoffed and shook her head; “that’s rubbish and you know it.”

He chose not to respond and felt her lips press against his shoulder in a gentle and reassuring manner. 

“I think I burnt the chicken, as well. Or, at least I did something to it because it looks black.”

“I love you because you tried but I will love you even more if you stopped what you were doing and didn’t end up burning the house down the day before Christmas,” she mumbled against his skin, tiptoeing and taking a sneaky glance over his stature to scan the mess he made (that she would most likely clean up whilst he disappeared to dress in something much warmer for the time of year). A bowl of lumpy mashed potatoes, a chopping board covered in carrot skin and chopped red onions and tomato juice that had seeds floating in the puddles, the microwave door left wide open and there was a pan on the cooker that was steaming away - and she dreaded to know what he had concocted. Or had planned to concoct. “Do you want me to order in a takeaway? I’ll save you ruining your dignity.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile before unravelling his arms from around her waist.

“So long as it’s a takeaway Wagamama’s then I’m good with that decision. I’m in the mood for-”

“Chicken katsu curry with extra curry sauce and some chicken dumplings on the side,” she guessed and he pinched her hip with his thumb and forefinger, “I can read you like a book, mister.”

“Oh, so it’s not because you’ve ordered that for me a thousand times before?” He scoffed and strained away from her with a cheeky smile on his mouth, “or is it because you’re going to order something you don’t really want and then ask me to swap meals because you really want the chicken katsu curry because it’s ‘your favourite’?”

“Well then,” she gave him bare bottom a pat with her fingers and wiggled out of his hold, “if you’re not going to offer your wife your meal when she wants it, then, a divorce may be on the cards.”

She spins on her heels and attempts to walk away from him, in the direction of the ‘menu drawer’ in their hallway cabinet to grab the takeaway menu, but his hand wrapped around her wrist before she was out of his reach. His arm pulling her back towards him.

“How about you go nuts? Get whatever you fancy. We can have some for a midnight feast if we get hungry.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, I’m exhausted and I’m feeling a little achy so the only thing I’ll be doing, come midnight, is sleeping.”

“I doubt you’ll be sleeping after we’re done giving Santa a show,” he waggled his eyebrows, “he won’t be getting mince-pies and milk tonight. He’ll be getting a live sex-show.”

“You’re gross,” she squawked with surprise and pushed his chest with her palms, pushing herself away from his body, “go upstairs and get dressed into something warm, please. Before you do yourself and your body hair any more damage.”

[eene-fangirl]

The Bloody Nose [An Ed, Edd n Eddy Fanfiction]

Note: I know I have posted and reblogged this about a thousand times but this piece will be going in with my creative thesis. If you could please read and leave a review that would be awesome! This is one of my favorite eene stories that I have written.

Eddy didn’t want to be in school that day, not like he wanted to be there any day of the week. Edd forced him out of his house that morning by sending Ed in on him and dragging him to school against his will. He should have just faked being sick to get out of the math test he was obviously going to fail. The day dragged with its usual slow pace. It was finally lunch time. He wasn’t able to enjoy this break as Edd was on his back trying to get him to study for the upcoming test. “And here is 5 divided by 75. Can you figure out this problem, Eddy?” Edd pestered. “Doubt it.” “Come on, Eddy. You set the problem up. Put the five outside the divided box. Now how many times does five go into seven?” Eddy stared at the problem. “How should I know? Seven’s bigger than five.” “Very good, Eddy. Now put a zero here. Now add 7 and 0 and now you can…” Eddy crumpled up the piece of paper. “This is useless! Why are teachers teaching us this stuff?”

“Eddy, that was easy. Just tell me what the answer could have been.” “Oh, oh, I know, pick me!” Ed yelled raising his voice into Edd’s ear. Edd wiped off the saliva from the side of his face, but still gave Ed a warm smile. “Yes, Ed, what is the answer?” “15!” Edd looked startled and calculated the problem. “Why, Ed, that was brilliant! How did you figure that out?” “Figure what out?” Ed dumbly laughed making his two friends roll their eyes. Much to Eddy’s dismay, the bell rang for next class. “I shoulda just faked being sick.” Eddy said on the way to class. “Now, Eddy, if you at least studied for tests you could get through this in a breeze. But,  don’t cheat your way out of this.” “Cheat? When have I ever cheated?” Eddy said oblivious that he was already in the room. The teacher gave him her glare as he walked past to sit in his desk. Great, now he was going to be watched the whole time. The test was handed out. It had three pages. The teacher was expecting him to pass this? What a joke the school system was. Eddy scribbled against the paper, filling in random number. Guessing got you the correct answer once in a while. He slumped against his desk. Not even ten minutes went by. Something slid down from his nose. He wiped his hand against it. Eddy’s eyes bulged when he saw blood smeared on his hand. His heart pounded as he blocked the blood coming out. “Double D, you got any tissues?” Eddy whispered to his friend. Edd at first looked concerned, but then his look changed to being annoyed.  “Really, Eddy? A fake nose bleed? That’s a new one.” “I ain’t foolin’, just get me…” “Shh, get back to work or the teacher will be angry.” Eddy turned to Ed, but didn’t both asking when he saw him shoving tissues through his nose and out his ear. “I’m a clown, Eddy.” Eddy felt his breath catch in his throat, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. He waved his hand rapidly to get the teachers attention. Her face was hidden behind a magazine.

A drip of blood slid off his finger and landed on his test paper. In a second, Eddy ran out of the room. Edd shook his head. Why did Eddy have to do this? He was a smart kid, he was too lazy to show it.

The little red puddle caught Edd’s attention though. He used pretty convincing fake blood.

A realization came into Edd’s mind. Edd put on a rubber glove and dabbed it in the red puddle. He inspected it through his magnifying glass and sniffed it. Edd slumped in his chair. It was blood. Eddy was telling the truth. “Excuse me, may I use the restroom?” he asked.

Edd walked out into the hallway. “Eddy?” How could he mess up this big? He should know whenever Eddy was in trouble. He had that rare scared look in his eyes. Edd needed to find Eddy and fast.

Eddy burst through the door of the bathroom and yanked a paper towel out and threw it under his nose. He had to calm down. It was just a nose bleed. ‘You gonna give me that last cookie?’ 'No, I got it first.’ The blood was seeping all over the towel. He got rid of it and ripped another one out. 'Did you just say no to me?’ Yeah, what are you going to do about it?’ Blood dripped on his shirt. Eddy’s heart pounded even more as he tried to wet his shirt and tend to his nose at the same time. Eddy ripped one paper towel after another with no sign of his nose bleed coming to an end. 'Same thing I do to every kid who say no to me.’ 'uh… mom…” 'Mom and Dad are gone…“ Eddy felt as if he couldn’t breathe and for the fist time he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked as if he was in a horror movie. Blood dribbled into his mouth and it was the most awful taste ever. 'Now, did you learn you lesson about saying no to me?’ 'My nose…” 'Don’t worry, this is the best way to learn the hard way.’ Eddy reached for the last paper towel. Kevin stole it from him. “What’s wrong, Dorky? Spring a leak?” Eddy’s fingers gripped the counter. He didn’t have a paper towel to block the blood from coming out. The bottom half of his face slowly began to get covered in blood.

Blood dripped into the sink. Kevin saw this as a second chance to get back at Eddy for making fun of his fear of shots a week ago.

Kevin forcefully bent Eddy’s head down making him watch each drip of blood hit the sink. “Just keep holding your head down, dork. It’s better that way.” Eddy could see the vile smile, but then looked through the mirror and his image resembled his five year old self. “Drip…” Kevin taunted. 'What’s that, I hear a car in the driveway…’ “Drip…” 'Welp, I’m off, hope you learned your lesson, pipsqueak.’

Edd came running around the corner. He stopped upon noticing a blood stain on the door. “Eddy…” “Drip…” “Kevin!” Edd shouted appearing in the bathroom. “Can’t you see you’re traumatizing Eddy? Out, now!” he yelled only making Kevin chuckle to himself. Edd threw a new batch of tissues under Eddy’s nose and instructed him to hold his head back. “Calm down, Eddy. Everything is alright.” Edd said to Eddy. Edd put Eddy’s hands under the water so he could rinse the blood off. Eddy was barricading the tears in his head. He was being such a baby, overreacting about a dumb nose bleed. But, it was all over his shirt. He watched as the blood swirled around with the water and disappeared down the drain.

Edd held Eddy up when he noticed his friend becoming dizzy. “Come on, Eddy. let’s get you to the nurse.” Edd said guiding his friend into the hallway.

Almost everything was a blur to Eddy after that. The nurse tended to his nose for the longest time and never left his side. He answered questions about how long his nose bleed for and if he was dizzy or not.

His head hurt and his legs felt heavy whenever he stood up. He almost felt sick to his stomach. His heart continued to pound. He stumbled his words as his hands continued to shake.

Edd stayed by his side the whole time. He refused to go back to class wanting to make sure his friend was okay. He talked about how Kevin taunted Eddy in the bathroom. The chance of Kevin being in trouble made Eddy feel a little better.

Eddy stared up at the ceiling in the little room. His brother hitting him happened when he was five and yet it would never leave his mind. He lied on the floor for almost a half hour before his parents came in the door. That was weeks before his parents ordered his brother out of the house. Edd entered the room with his belongings. “Here are your belongings, Eddy. Your mother will be here soon.” “My mother?” This was the fist time Eddy said something. He noticed how frightened he sounded. “The nurse doesn’t believe it’s a good idea for you to stay in school. You lost a lost of blood. This is only for safe precautions. Eddy felt relieved that he got his wish, but he didn’t want it to be this way. "Would you like a glass of water, Eddy?” Eddy wasn’t able to keep the glass steady. Edd patted his shoulder. Eddy didn’t know what to say. He noticed how they’d been fighting a lot lately. Edd was a true friend through the ups and downs. If only he could have been there during that time when his brother… Eddy didn’t want to think about that because the tears were creeping into his eyelids. “Sorry, I made you miss your test.” He said to Double D. “It’s no trouble, Eddy. I can finish it after school.” Just then Eddy’s mother showed up. She showed deep concern when she looked at Eddy. “Oh, Eddy…” “I’m okay, mom, really.” The nurse had Eddy’s mother step into her office to talk while Edd helped Eddy put on his coat. “Now just go home and get some rest. Don’t do any physical activity or you���ll only make your nose…” “Hey!” Eddy interrupted making Edd jump. His rambling was making Eddy more annoyed, especially in this state of mind. “Thanks.” The two friends stared at one another. It was rare whenever Eddy thanked him. “You’re welcome, Eddy. Ed and I could come by after school if you want us to.” Eddy smiled and he left with his mother.

It was a quiet ride home. “Eddy, if you need to talk to me about what happened, we can. I know nose bleeds have a…” “Mom, I’m fine. I just want to forget about it.” Eddy curled up in his pillow and closed his eyes. With sleep the day’s events slowly began to fade. He knew everything was better once his friends jumped on his bed to cheer him up.            

[technicallymilkshakes]

Seeking 53/1101

Member: Zhang Yixing Genre: Slice of Life / Fluff Word Count: 2654

It’s an hour ‘til sundown over the river. You’re sitting next to each other on a bench. Neither of you looks at the other.

“I can’t believe it’s been three years already.”

You kick your leg out, shoe scuffing into the dirt. It’s not a particularly good day to watch the sun set. It’s been overcast all day, hot and muggy to boot. Yixing sits next to you, tugging the t-shirt he’s wearing away from where it sticks to the skin of his abdomen. His hair is gathered up in a small ponytail secured with the hair tie he had taken off your wrist earlier. It’s unfair, you think, how handsome he looks like this. Meanwhile you’re fairly certain you look almost as disgusting as you feel.

“Neither can I,” he replies.

You shift your head enough so that you can see his face from the corner of your eye, watch as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple to his jaw. You flap your hand in front of your face, testing how well the air moves around it, and then move to fan him.

He leans back against the bench, legs spreading open as he closes his eyes. You fan him for about a minute and then your wrist gets tired. You stop. The gnats that had dispersed at the first lazy ripples of air descend once more.

There is no silence. The cicadas are too loud and there’s a girl sitting three benches down singing and playing the guitar, although she stops to fiddle with the tuning pegs whenever someone passes.

“Ice cream,” Yixing says suddenly. “Buy us some ice cream.”

He’s still sitting slumped against the bench with his eyes closed. You haven’t agreed yet, haven’t said you will, but he’s wearing that dreamy half-smile. The one where his cheeks pull up enough to lift the corners of his eyes even while they’re closed, and his dimple only just shows. He looks childish like this. Endearing.

You stick your tongue out. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. He hadn’t even asked.

It takes a minute of willing yourself to move before you can get up. The back of your shirt is damp with sweat and as you walk down the path in the direction of the convenience store, your shorts cling uncomfortably to your thighs. You pass the girl with the guitar who has once again stopped playing and you say to her, “Keep your chin up. You sound good.” She lifts her head and there’s something like wonder in her eyes.

All the way to the convenience store, you can’t keep a smile off your face.

The smell of the insect repellent you sprayed earlier becomes much more apparent in the cold, air-conditioned vacuum of the convenience store. There are a couple other customers inside, each perusing the aisles with a single-minded purpose. You skirt along the edges of the shop until you reach the freezers. You bask in the chill that comes from the open door just long enough for your flesh to begin pricking into goose bumps before you grab a Nougat Bar for Yixing and a Melona for yourself.

The cashier clerk checks your items quickly and puts them into a bag without you asking. The ice cream puts you out 2420 won.

Yixing isn’t where you left him. A familiar folk song compliments the rhythm of the chirring cicadas, accompanies you to the bench where he now sits with the guitar girl.

“I hope that thing isn’t bothering you,” you say, swinging your bag.

The girl jerks her attention up, fingers slipping from the strings with a disjointed twang.

“She’s talking about me,” Yixing says from where he’s digging in the bag. He makes a delighted noise in the back of his throat when he spots the Nougat Bar. He nudges the girl with his elbow as he opens the wrapper. “My favorite,” he confides.

You take the bag back from Yixing as everyone scoots on the bench to make room for you. It’s a tight squeeze between three people and a guitar, but it works out with the girl sandwiched between the two of you.

Her name, she tells you, is Subin. She’s quiet, only talks when asked direct questions. You find out she’s a highschooler. She wants to study music production. Her parents are supportive, she confesses, but her uncle who works in the music industry encouraged her to find a different route.

The market’s too saturated right now. You won’t make enough money. It’ll be too hard to find your voice in that environment. Start somewhere else and, if you’re serious about music, you can come back to it. It won’t be going anywhere.

“He made a lot of sense.” She stares at her nails as she talks.

“Sounds like it.” You sit back. This isn’t exactly how you envisioned your Sunday going, about to offer advice to an impressionable young woman when you’re likely as lost and confused as she is. You guess life can be a bit funny like that. “But the reverse is true, too, you know. There will always be other jobs waiting in the future. If you find that music production isn’t your thing, you can always move on, learn something else. Besides, if your uncle’s in the industry, maybe he can help you score a job.” You see Subin shake her head a little. “Or at least give you tips on how to avoid rookie mistakes. I’m not saying that I’m right or he’s wrong. There are pros and cons either way. They’re only different paths to travel. If the view isn’t so good, you can always cut through the woods. I’m sure you’ll find a good prospect eventually.”

Yixing finishes his Nougat Bar. “I think you should choose the path that makes you the most happy. Oh, but make sure you leave bread crumbs behind you!” You roll your eyes and pluck the popsicle stick from his fingers, place it in the bag. “That way someone can find you if you get lost.”

“But Yixing,” you say dryly, “what if the birds eat up all the bread crumbs and find her first?”

His eyes widen in horror and then his lips purse. “I didn’t think of that.”

Subin giggles when you whisper ignore him.

You fish your Melona bar out of the bag. “Here,” you say, “have some ice cream.” It droops in its packaging. “Sorry. It’s a little melted, but it should still be good.”

She takes it with murmured thanks. As expected, it’s begun melting and she has to hold it upside down so that it doesn’t drip over her hand.

“Do you mind if I…?” Yixing finishes his question with a gesture towards Subin’s guitar.

“No! Go ahead.” She lifts her arms so he can pull it into his lap.

“This is the song you were playing before, right?” He starts strumming, slowly at first and then picks up the tempo with a grin.

She abandons the ice cream for a moment, a smear of green on her chin. “You know it?”

He nods, meets your eyes as his grin burns into a smirk that sits smoldering on his lips and scorching in your stomach. “It’s that one’s favorite.”

He’s right. It is. You heard it for the first time at a party your neighbor was throwing. The host had gotten drunk and pulled out his guitar and played this song. He played it slow and forceful, and when he began singing, voice lilting soft and melancholic, it made your heart shiver. You couldn’t understand it all at the time; he was slurring and you could only pick out a few words here and there. But you learned, later on, that the lyrics sing of being homesick for your lover.

You break eye contact when Subin shifts in her seat to face you. She’s staring at you with reverence. “It’s my favorite, too.” Behind her, Yixing ducks his head over the neck of the guitar and you know he’s one breath away from laughter from the way his shoulders are hunched.

Yixing transitions easily into another song and Subin hums along. When she leans over to whisper “he’s really good” in your ear, you can only smile proudly in response. You sit through one more song like that and then you excuse yourself to go to the drinking fountain. It’s dark by now and the artificial lights glow evenly. The shadows of moths flicker across the sidewalk.

From your back pocket, you pull a crumpled tissue, clean, and wet it at the fountain. Water droplets trail you back to the bench where Yixing has moved on to a more upbeat song. Subin watches him, swaying back and forth in her seat.  

You hand the tissue, still sopping, over to Subin and point at your own chin. “You’ve got a little something…”

She grabs it with both hands, swipes it in broad strokes along her chin. The excess water puddles on the ground between her feet along with the melted dribbles of melon-flavored ice cream.

“Did I get it all?” she asks, and the sheen of water on her skin reflects, for a moment, orange in the light.

“It’s all gone,” you confirm.

Once she’s done cleaning her hands, she drops the tissue into the plastic bag you hold up for her. She says “thank you,” and you can sense the night pulling at her. A moment later, a phone goes off. The vibrations spread through the bench to your thighs.

Subin pulls her phone out and opens a notification that you try not to read over her shoulder. The guitar echoes its last notes; Yixing must sense it, too, how the evening is carrying these last moments away along with the music. He sets the guitar down on his lap and brushes his fingers across the lacquered wood.

Fingers darting over the screen, Subin informs you that it’s her mom. “I should get going.” She asks to exchange KakaoTalk IDs with you, and while it surprises you, you readily agree. Yixing hands the guitar back to her.

“If you ever need help with the music thing,” he adds, “I know a few people. Just let this one know and I’ll get the message.” He tilts his head towards you.

She stares for a moment, her eyes looking a little intense. “Thank you again,” she says, hugging her guitar to her chest. “For the ice cream and… for everything else.” She bows, sends a timid wave and a smile, and then departs without once looking back.

Yixing bumps his hip into yours. “Ready to go home?” You bend down to grab the plastic convenience store bag but he takes it from your fingers and slips his other hand into yours.

Walking together like this, it’s nice. Neither of you feel any pressure to speak, although Yixing does make up a short jingle about the effects of littering after seeing a discarded candy wrapper on the walkway (he ends up putting it in the plastic bag with the rest of the trash). It proves to be annoyingly catchy when Yixing interrupts your unconscious humming by laughing at you. All further attempts to cajole you back into joining him are rebuffed.

It goes on like that until you’re most of the way home, when you can’t help but give voice to something that’s been bothering you.

“Don’t you think you were being a little too modest back there?”

“What do you mean?”

“‘I know a few people.’” You scoff. “You are one of the people.”

He gives your arm a small tug. “Not yet,” he says with an easy smile.

“Close enough. Just because she didn’t recognize you--” “No one recognized me. And what about you?” He looks both ways before leading you across the street.

“What about me?”

“Subin seemed really grateful for your advice. You were good with her; I think you helped her a lot.”

His gaze on you is intent. You shrug uncomfortably in response, avoiding his eyes and shifting your own up to the sky.

“No stars tonight.”

A low cloud ceiling frames all the highrises of Seoul, compressing the light of the city upon itself. For this time of night, when everyone is drunk on their last moments of freedom before the working week starts, the sounds of urban life seem strangely muffled. They trickle down to you rather than sweeping you up into a confusion of noise. Poised in front of your building entrance, head craned upwards, you think you might be a little bit drunk yourself.

“The stars are always there even if we can’t see them.”

“Yes.” Your next words are sticky sweet on your tongue and you savor them. “But I’m learning that the sky doesn’t always have to have stars to be beautiful. I also like it like this.”

His shoulder brushes against yours.

“I like it like this, too.”

The two of you release hands when you shuffle one after the other into the elevator, but you come to rest side by side naturally, close enough that your pinkies graze.

“I was jealous of Subin. Am jealous.”

Yixing reaches out and presses a button. The number 17 lights up. The doors close.

“Why?”

The elevator makes for an odd confessional, but it is not uncomfortable between the two of you.

“She’s taking her first steps on a brand new journey and yet she already knows that you’re right behind her.”

Floors 9, 12, 14 whizz by. Seconds later, the doors glide open on the seventeenth floor. The ride has been so gentle it feels like you haven’t moved at all.

Yixing follows you out, a hand pressed lightly to your back. Together, you turn left down the hall, pass all the doorways to the sequestered lives of your floormates. His hand travels up your spine to curl in the hair at the nape of your neck. It’s that action that halts you more than reaching the front door. He doesn’t let go when you turn around to face him, continues to fondle your hair, fingertips occasionally dipping to skim still damp skin. His eyes can’t seem to settle on one place: your eyes, your cheeks, your lips.

“It only took her one day. Why must I wait three years?”

His eyes, shrewd, find yours. Fingers abandon your hair, stroke now across the roundness of your cheeks.

“Did a bird come along and eat all the crumbs I left behind for you?”

He pinches your skin, only enough for you to feel a warm pressure.

“I guess it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to start another trail.”

He leans in and presses a kiss, warm and chaste, to your right cheek. He lingers a second, two, and you can feel how the tip of his nose digs some into your flesh. A soft exhale removes his lips, but his hands slide down from their place on your neck to rub circles into your clavicle.

“I’m having a small get-together next Saturday. You’ll be there?”

You are numb and tingling all over, barely able to register anything over a rush of emotion. Happiness, embarrassment, disbelief…You swallow, lips falling apart, and he keeps staring at you with eyes like spring, like summer.

“Yes.” The thumbs pause in their circles, press down into the bone. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles a smile that is not blinding, but that simmers; one that feels almost cool enough to touch, but the longer you hold it in your memory, the more it burns until it overwhelms you.

“Okay. Saturday.” And then you watch as your neighbor walks away and disappears into the apartment one door down from yours.

In three years, Zhang Yixing has given you 52 kisses, distributed mostly across your cheeks.

You’re beginning to think he likes you.

(On Saturday, you will try for 53. Maybe on the lips.)

A/N: Thanks to @riverbearrr for putting up with me when I basically coerced you into giving me a drabble prompt. I have here neither a drabble nor a prompt (it was abandoned early on), but I do have something finished and that’s what matters. Thanks goes out as well to my two butt-kicking anons and anyone who popped in on the live writing. You kept me accountable. And thank you to my readers who, to my continued mystification, remain through multi-month droughts for little stories like this one. I hope you enjoyed it.

[leatherjacket-lovesong]

julian - echolalia (ongoing)

It starts with Russell Barker. Three weeks into first term and he's got little Peter Finch — bespectacled, freckly, owner of a constant runny nose he never has any tissues for — backed up into one corner of C-block's corridors, growling. You don't know what the altercation's about, you're lining up outside the art room with the rest of your classmates, minding your own business — or should be — but you can see a lot of jaw jutting and head cocking, and snotty-nosed little Finch is shaking so hard you're surprised he hasn't pissed his pants. From your position down the hall, Barker is a thirteen-year-old, five-foot-six brooding wedge of brutally shaved head and crumpled un-tucked shirt, and you'd be lying if you tried to pretend you have no idea who he is. He's been strutting around with a chip on his shoulder since he turned up lugging a JD sports bag full of Benson and Hedges on day one. You don't think he's made any mates yet. Tommy Harlow tried to talk to him during lunch the other day and ended up down the nurse's office with a bloody nose. You're fairly certain that's precisely where Finch is headed too. On your left, Edward Posenby leans into your shoulder, crunching a spearmint Polo against your ear. "Bet you a fiver Finch starts bawling his eyes out." To which Bobby Summers, craning in from your right, breath all lemon ice tea, counters, "Bet you a fiver he doesn't." And you're not sure whether it's because your friends are trying to capitalise on someone else's misery, or because poor snivelling Finch really does look like he's about to burst into tears, but for some bizarre reason you find yourself stepping forward. Twenty-six pairs of watchful eyes follow your every step down the corridor. Twenty-six lungs instinctively hold their breath. Edward Posenby starts taking more bets. Drawing closer to Barker and Finch, your heart pounds. But not because you're afraid. Because, really, you're not. But for some other, still-to-be-discovered reason. Unfathomable in all of it's namelessness to you now. And as you draw closer you can hear him. Snapping teeth in snapping jaws and voice like an oncoming freight train ready to run you down.

"Was you lookin' at me?! Was you?? Was you lookin' at me, ya mong??" He's interrogating Finch, of course, but it's you who speaks up. "He wasn't." You say, folding your arms, still unsure where — or who — this mysterious bravery has been borrowed from. "But I was." Barker, leaning so far into Finch's face he's practically diagonal, turns his head, slowly. "And who the fuck are /you/, nonce??" He's got the kind of features you'd see only briefly outside of school — and that'd be when he was in the middle of mugging you outside the local corner shop. All severely scowling brows, and scarred spiteful mouth and kinda smudgy looking street summer tan that's half sunburn half dirt. He doesn't really belong here. He's not the well-thought-out, prodigious boarding school sort. (And you don't know why you immediately desire to know /more/...) "Kaminski." You tell him, holding your ground, "Julian Kaminski. It's Barker, right?" But Russell doesn't confirm your comment, just immediately swings himself round to face you, with a balled up fist, then pushes his face close to yours. "In that case, /Julie/, you wanna fuck off before I put you on the floor." He smells like wet grass and secondhand smoke. And while he's intimidating, definitely — his presence is so overbearing it makes you feel infinitely small — you're not /afraid/ of him. Not like Finch, who you can see quickly slipping away to safety in his moment of freedom. And that's why you're able to say the next words that arrange themselves into a mocking comeback. And why you don't mind so much when you're sitting in the nurse's office five minutes later, holding an icepack against your cheekbone. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, mate. You might give me a hard on." It starts with Russel Barker. The boy who's bite is most definitely /worse/, funnily enough...

---

As the bruise across your cheek fades from purple to yellow, Barker's tyrannical fist-shaped lovebite spreads like a contagion round your year group. And by the time you wake up in the morning with your reflection assuring you that it's finally gone, you're pretty sure he's stamped his blotchy swollen calling card on almost everyone. Not that you're keeping track of Barker's malicious endeavours. (You're really not.) But when you're miles from home, living among three hundred other teenage boys for months at a time, word gets around. And he's not exactly easy to miss. Not when he insists on tucking his pants into his socks, skulking round indoors with his hood up and spending every other ‪Saturday morning‬ in the bathroom maintaining the meticulous vertical lines shaved into his right eyebrow. "His dad's dead." Tommy Harlow tells you, as he skips stones across the lake, water sparking like flames in the early October sun. "His mum got loads of compensation from the army." Bobby Summers says, kicking his way through mounds of gold and russet leaves one November afternoon down the woods. "Whatcha betting he's a terrorist?" Edward Posenby whispers, leaning into your ear as you string tinsel round the assembly hall, "He's half Pakistani, you know." By the time you come back to school after spending the Christmas holiday at home, Barker still hasn't made any mates. He has, however, gained a small squadron of spineless sycophants, who follow him about, imitating his every move. You're not sure whether they latch onto him through fear that he'll otherwise batter them (or blow them up) or whether they've targeted him as something from which to leech power like parasites, but you do know that every single one of them got a pair of white Nike Air Max trainers for Christmas — just like his — and a monochrome camouflage printed Super Dry cagoule. And you do know that every single one of those suddenly sweary, suddenly swinish boys, passing round half-smoked cigarettes behind the tennis court and saying 'bruv' too much, are posh upper-middle class toffs who idolise Bach and call their parents 'mummy' and 'daddy' whenever they go home. 

Because, let's be real here, so are you. (Sans the mummy and daddy bit, of course...) So the next time you spot Barker picking on Finch, this time using his newly acquired crew to block Finch's way into the bathrooms unless he coughs up a two quid 'entry charge', it's an easy decision for you. Finch isn't a mate of yours, per-say — to be honest, you think he's a bit of a hopeless cause — you've just got a strong moral instinct and you're not quite sure why, but it appears every time you see someone in pain, whether it be emotional or physical, it somehow makes all your insides hurt. Plus, you're still not afraid of Barker. And his fake gangster tag-alongs are an absolute joke. So it's a two pound coin slipped from your own pocket into Finch's hand to get him out of the line of fire. Then you and Barker, tense, agitated, nose-to-nose. "You and all, Julie." He snaps, bristling down at you from under his hood, "Four quid for you, innit. Double or no entry for puffs." And you don't regret your response. You really don't. "Puff? Me? What're you wanting double off a puff for? Gonna come in the toilet with me and suck me off?" You don't regret it at all. Because when you look in the mirror the next morning, Barker's famous lovebite is back across your cheekbone.

---

After the number hits double digits, you start to lose count of how many detentions you and Barker are forced to sit through. And though they're punishments for situations in which you're the victim (kinda) you don't really mind them all that much. You are, after all, a flourishing academic who chose to attend boarding school for the educational benefits — and you're cheerful for any extra study time to feed your brain and broaden your horizons. Barker, however, doesn't appear appreciate being stuck in a classroom on a Saturday afternoon, while all his mates hang round the park without him, quite as much as you do. "Yer a dead man, Julie." He snorts, low, as he kicks the back of your chair, jolting the pencil in your hand. "Gon' kick fuck outta ya next time I get ya on yer own. Believe, bruv." You carry on sketching, smirking a bit into the palm of your free hand. Because his threats are empty, you've sussed out that much. Sure, his punches are authentic and all the bruises they leave behind do genuinely hurt. But unless you actually hit him /back/, he quickly gets fed up after a couple of one-sided blows. And /you/ don't hit back. Because /you/ know countering violence with violence doesn't do any good. (And okay, maybe you also kinda enjoy the way not fighting back really winds him up.) So when Mr. Peterson steps out of the room to go make himself a coffee, leaving you and Barker alone in the class, it doesn't bother you at all. It doesn't even bother you when the sound of his textbook snapping closed and chair legs scraping across the floor signify movement. And it doesn't bother you when he leans over your shoulder, the coarse velcro-like feel of his skull scratching your ear while the sharp, spiced scent of him clogs up your nose. It does bother you when he suddenly snatches your sketchbook, however. And it does bother you when he holds it high in the air while he struts to the opposite side of the room. "What you drawin', swot?" He tilts the sketchbook diagonally, head following at a ridiculous jaunty angle while he frowns, as though working out which way is up.

“Give it back." You're out of your seat with your hands on the desk, half surprised at the volume of your own voice. Because there's a foreign lump in your throat now. An unfamiliar sensation in your chest that feels a lot like a knot. And while there's nothing in there that you're worried about Barker seeing -- it's all flowers and animals and architecture. You are worried that he might do something to ruin all of your hard work. "In a minute, Picasso. Chill out." But it's hard to chill out when Barker perches on the edge of the nearest desk and in all of his brusque direct naivete begins to leaf through. And it's hard to chill out when the perpetual furrows creased into Barker's forehead begin to slowly iron themselves out and one corner of his permanently down-turned mouth begins to coyly twist up. "You gonna be an artist, or something?" He asks, coming to the last of your sketches, then immediately rewinding to flip backwards through. The question catches you a little off guard. You're poised ready to save your sketchbook from being spitefully ripped to shreds, not have a conversation about what you're gonna do when you grow up. It takes longer than it should for you to formulate an answer. And even when you do it's a shit one. "Haven't really about it that much. I'm not sure."

"Oh. Right..." He seems miffed by this revelation. As though he simply cannot comprehend why you might want to do anything else. He goes quiet for a moment. Looks like he's rearranging the furniture in his head, until, "You should, though, innit like. Like, this stuff's buzzin', ya get me? You got talent and that. Proper skills, man. I'd be an artist if I was you. Get all Banksy up on that shit." Get all Banksy up on that shit, sure. If your parents weren't constantly talking about you becoming a surgeon, or a scientist, or going to Cambridge to study law... But you don't get to explain this to Barker. You don't have the time to explain it, even if you had wanted to. Because in the next second Mr. Peterson walks back through the classroom door. And before you know it your hands are filled again with your sketchbook. And half an hour later a paper aeroplane nosedives over your shoulder, decorated with Barker's heavy handed, half-backwards scrawl. "UR DRAWINZ R SHITT PUF." 

---

When the snappy days of spring give way to luxurious summer evenings, you sit on the edge of the lake, pant legs rolled up, feet creating ripples in the warm water, feeding the mallards dinner leftovers with Tommy Harlow. Harlow's a strange hybrid of a boy, tall and leggy, in the middle of a very awkward stage of angular growth in which all the arms and legs of his clothes are inches too short, but with cherubic round, constantly pink-tinged cheeks and a head of bouncy angelic-blonde curls. The two of you share a dorm, and you'd say he was your best friend, if you were forced to name one. He's less of an opportunist than Edward Posenby, more thoughtful than Bobby Summers, and absolutely nothing like Barker's lot. He's also the owner of an extremely patchy furred, extremely well loved, stuffed rabbit named Barnaby. And so that's why, when Harlow poses the fateful question, you don't mind very much. "Jude?" "Hmm?" The tiniest gang of duckling thugs peck impatiently at your shinbones. Harlow appears hesitant. He stalls. Breaking off bits of stale cafeteria sandwiches to placate the hungry little hoard. "Are you... I mean... It's been spreading around a lot, and lots of people have been saying stuff, and I was just wondering, and thought I might as well ask... but..." You hear him inhale a breath. For bravery, you imagine. "...About you fancying other lads? ...Is it... true, that?" And then, added hastily even before you're able to fully register the first part, "Because like, it's okay, you know. If you are. It won't change anything. It doesn't matter at all. Just because of all the rumours, I thought I'd ask you, you know." Another forty-five degrees around the circumference of the lake, Barker's mates tussle among themselves, threatening to wrestle one another off the edge of the bank. While Barker himself, heavy shouldered and gently browning from the slightest of sun, stands apart from them. Staring down at his reflection, busy seasoning the water with cigarette ash, no doubt. Something in the epicentre of your chest stings. Like a grain of salt wedging into a paper cut. Surprising. But not really enough to /hurt/. 

"To be honest..." You start, turning your head to Harlow, "...I haven't ever thought about that one." There's a lot of stuff you haven't thought about, you suppose. Like, what you /really/ like and dislike. Like what you want to /do/. And maybe it's just 'cos you're not a very opinionated person. Or maybe it's because the majority of your decisions so far in life have been made /for/ you. But in eight or nine or ten years time, a boy with a scowl just like Barker's — and half the ego, to boot — will call you a coddled little spoilt cunt, and it'll be like receiving a thousand paper cuts all at once. (Because the truth hurts.) You look back across the water just in time to see Barker leaning forward, a long column of slowly oozing saliva dangling like a pendulum from his bottom lip, until it dissolves his reflection with a sudden momentous drop. With your hand on your chest, you clutch instinctively at that slightly sore spot. "I mean, I haven't thought about it, but... I don't think I do." 

---

The first time it happens, it's because of the bird. Mangy looking thing, barely half feathered, you wake up to it making distressed little chirps outside your window as it limps around the yard. It's concrete grey, like a pigeon, but it doesn't appear able to fly. Just stretches its wings out time and time again, tests out three or four ambitious hops, attempts a handful of flaps, then crumples onto its right side, head first in the dust. You watch it for a while through the glass. Heart swelling every time it flashes that hopeful wingspan. Stomach plummeting at every failed take off. Until you just can't stand it any more. The helpless despair. The will it/will it not. And you run outside dressed in your pyjamas. And deftly scoop it up into the plush folds of your dressing gown. "It's a dove." Mr. Davenport tells you, as you stand over his desk in the biology lab, holding out the bird. "In a bad way, mind you. That's a few broken bones there." He gently stretches out the injured wing. The dove squawks. "And that lack of feathers won't be doing her any good." "Can you fix it?" Mr. Davenport laughs. "Kaminski, I'm a biologist, not a veterinarian." "Please." You press him, speaking around the growing, prickly lump in your throat. "Please just try? I can help. I can do whatever you need me to. Only... she's never going to live if I just let her go." And so you spend the rest of the morning holding her still while Mr. Davenport fashions a tiny splint out of lollipop sticks which he ties onto the injured wing. And you spend lunch time foraging in the grass beside the lake for worms while Mr. Davenport punches air holes into a little dove sized cardboard box. "Let her rest tonight. Then put her out again in the morning." He says, as you crack open the lid to post a worm, still writhing, through the gap into the dark. "Sure." 

"I mean it, Kaminski. Don't go getting attached. She /has/ to go." Gotta fly high, you think. Gotta grow all those beautiful feathers back. Soar through the clouds. See every corner of this gigantic, remarkable world. "Of course." You say, tucking the box safely under your arm, then turning for the classroom door, "I know that." You just wish somebody had informed Barker's lot about that, too. Because when you and your new friend get back to your dorm, all five of them are gathered outside the door, waiting patiently for you to return. 

---

Later, when Harlow finds you curled into a ball down a deserted corner of the library, with your head in your elbows and blood on your shirt, you'll tell him you don't remember what happened. Later, when you're standing in the headmaster's office with that same blood drying brown on your collar, as efforts are made to contact your parents, you'll refuse to talk. And later, when you wake up in your lonely studio flat in the middle of the night, ice-cold sweat sticking the sheets to your back, you'll dump a quarter bottle of whisky into a coffee cup hoping the nightmares might drown. Because you're not a violent person. And you don't like it when innocent things get hurt. But humans are cruel and ruthless creatures, selfish and ignorant at a cost of every other living being in the world. And you're going to be better. You are. You are. "Wossin the box, Julie?" It'll seem like a dream when you look back. All hazy and out of focus, muffled by the abrupt panicked pounding of your heart. You're not afraid of Barker. Still not afraid of his little gang. But you worry, suddenly, enormously for the bird. You clutch the box tighter under your arm. "Nothing." The dove ruffles her feathers. Chirps. "Dun sound like nuffin' to me, bruv." You'll remember the feeling of cardboard slipping out of your helpless grasp. The surprised shouts. "It's a fucking bird!" Laughter. "Only bird he'll ever have!" And then how small and wide-eyed she'd looked clutched tight in Barker's fisted hand. And you'll remember the amusement puzzling across his face as he'd studied her. The naive ignorance as he'd pulled at her make-shift splint like a curious child. Then the pained squawk. Subsequent fierce peck. And howling "FUCK" before immediately dropping her to the floor. And you'll remember how you acted on impulse. Driven entirely by electricity and emotion and rushing of your blood. And you'll remember canting forward with intention. And the way Barker's nose cracked perfectly in the spot between your eyebrows. 

But you won't remember the bird. You wont. You wont. You won't remember the way she'd fluttered lamely around the feet of Barker's little crowd. And you won't remember scrambling about trying to scoop her back up. And when one of the dickhead's shoes comes down with pin-pointed accuracy and sickening force, you won't remember the /crunch/. And you won't stand out on your balcony, seven years later, ‪at three am‬ with a mug full of whisky, listening to the traffic and the drunks, trying desperately to erase those eternally haunting dream echoes of the sound. You don't remember what happened. You promise, you don't. 

---

Directly after the dove incident, the sickness comes. You can't explain it. You somehow don't have the intellectual ability to fathom the ailment into comprehensible words. And it's a bit silly, really, all things considered. Because your Dad is a general practitioner. And your Mum's a nurse at the local hospital. So if anyone should be able to communicate how they feel medically, it's you. But you can't. You don't know how. Because this illness, this sudden contagion that plagues you, isn't something tangible. It isn't something you can feel with your hands in the form of raised temperatures or swollen tonsils. It doesn't show up in blood tests, or saliva swabs. And there are no red, itchy rashes, or wheezing coughs. This sickness is invisible. And it morphs it's shape from day to day, week to week, month to month, so you can never really grasp it. Never really wrap both your hands around it and pin it down. Some days, it's a debilitating migraine, confining you to a solitary pitch black room. Other days, you spend countless hours completely immobile, staring stupidly at the wall. Some times, just the thought of food makes your stomach churn. Other times, you eat so much you make yourself wanna puke. Some nights, you'll sleep for fifteen hours or more. Other nights, you'll restlessly pace the floorboards until the sun comes up. 

And all the while you stop drawing. And all the while you forget about those pages Russell Barker complimented in your sketchbook. Partly because your hands shake so much you can't hold a pencil. But mostly because you just don't care any more. About anything, really... The future. The present. The past. Harlow. Barker. You. The only reason you're still breathing is because it's autonomous and you can't switch that part of your functioning off without putting in effort. Effort that requires motivation and energy that you just. don't. have. "You're just very sensitive." says your Mum. "Rest up and you'll feel better soon." "Medication." says your Dad. "The boy's had enough rest. /Medication/ is the cure." And so after two months off sick from school, you're sent back to full time boarding with a repeat prescription for one hundred milligrams of Sertraline and a doctors' note. It doesn't really help. You're not sure, honestly, what it's even supposed to do. But when your Mum calls, you lie on the phone. "Yes, I feel better." And... "No, I don't want to come back home." Not that it matters anyway. Because later, when you're older. When you wish your very last run in with Russell Barker one fateful winter night had ended any other way. And when you've survived walking out into oncoming traffic because you just don't see the point in looking either left or right any more. You find the mulberry wine at Christmas helps you to fall sleep, fast. And your Dad's whisky at New Year stops the constant pain in your chest that feels as though someones trying to smash their fist through your heart. And you decide to change your medication. And you write your own liquid prescription. And it works. And it's great. Great for you. Fucking /incredible/ for your art. And you feel better. You feel better. You promise. You do.

[just-jordie-things]

I Want You Here - Allison Argent

listen to the song here

An ache, so deep, that I can hardly breathe;

This pain can’t be imagined

Will it ever heal?

“y/n, y/n we gotta go!” A begging Scott.

“y/n please! Please just get up we have to!” A crying Lydia.

“We have to go, if we stay the police will be here any minute!” A pleading Kira.

But you couldn’t move, you couldn’t blink, you couldn’t look at your friends, you couldn’t breathe.  How could you even think about moving an inch, that would involve leaving the only girl you ever loved, the only one who ever loved you back, behind.  For good.  Your eyes were downcast, wide, wet, and staring at her cold and rigid form.  Her face paled, besides her dark lashes, and red blood covered lips.  There were a few tears on her whitened cheeks, some hers, some yours.

“We gotta go! y/n it’s time to go!” Scott yanked on you now, your girlfriend’s father taking the girl from your arms.  His own cries as he stared down t his only daughter, and the only family he had left.  You couldn’t fight against Scott’s strength so you just fell limp in his arms.

“Allison” Was all you whimpered out weakly as he whisked you and the others to Stiles’ jeep.

Your hand so small

held a strand of my hair

so strong

all i could do was keep believing

was this enough?

She giggled next to you, both of you snuggled together on the sofa as you watched the film.  Sure, a ‘dream first date’ wasn’t usually bing in pajamas and watching old movies while eating junk and popcorn, but you’d known the girl nearly your whole life, so it didn’t really feel like a first date.  You looked down at her, her head resting atop your shoulder as her eyes sleepily watched the film.

“I could sit like this forever you know” She said, an arm folding up on your chest, her elbow resting on your leg while her fingers found your hair, cascaded over your shoulders.

“Mm” You hummed, your head lying against hers.  “I know” You murmured back, and you felt her lips pull into a big smile.

“It’s nice” She added quietly, and just nuzzled more into your body.  You pulled the blanket that you had off of you, and more over top of her.  “I waited a long time for it”

“I did too” You admitted, not really paying attention to the movie anymore, but your gaze still on the screen.  “But it was worth it” The girl smiled again, and reached her open hand, the one not playing with your locks of hair, and intertwined your fingers with hers.  This drew your eyesight to your hands rather the tv.

“Indeed it was, Allison”

I wanna scream is this a dream?

How could this happen

Happen to me?

This isn’t fair

This nightmare

This kind of torture

I just can’t bear

You sat at the Sheriff’s station, body shaking from the cold and trauma.  You couldn’t really think straight.  Scott and Lydia was next to you on one side, Isaac on the other.  Lydia was leaning against Stiles, who was sat on the end, her empty hand held tightly in Scott’s.  No one touched you.  Maybe because they knew better, knew that you weren’t at the stage of closure, hell, you’d barely been in the stages of grieving at all.  You’d say you denied it, that she was still there with you, but you didn’t even know how to be in denial, when you barely understood anything happening.

I want you here

“It’s okay, y/n” The Sheriff said when you walked into his office.  “I want you to know that right now, anything you say, is completely off the books, it’s just you and me” The man was like a father to you.  No.. maybe an Uncle.  Basically he was family when your family couldn’t be.  Before the Argent’s, the Stilinski couch was a home sweet home sign to you.  You nodded your head, and sat down at the seat across from his desk.

You weren’t even planning on speaking, but suddenly it all came out.  From the beginning of the night, you and her giving each other a mini pep talk about safety, and to yell the second either of you needed help.  Even if it was for the smallest thing.  This was common, whenever anything dangerous and supernaturally involved happened, you reassured each other.  But what was different, was that it had ended with you telling her that you loved her.  A word you hadn’t used with one another yet.  Oni had showed up before she could say anything in return to you on the subject.

I waited for so long for you to come

Then you were here

And now you’re gone

I was not prepared for you to leave me oh this is misery

You told Sheriff Noah how you’d only looked away from her for a second, one tiny moment, a glimpse away.  But when you’d fought off the Oni attacking you, and turned to look at your girlfriend, it was too late.  There was already a blade piercing through her abdomen, and your whole world came crashing down in a matter of seconds.

Are you still there?

You didn’t even shed a tear through your entire story, any tears you had left had been splattered over her clothing as you’d pleaded with her to stay strong.  You begged and cried elfishly, telling her you didn’t know how to go one without her, that she was your purpose, your anchor.  But she’d shaken her head, and told you that you needed to find a way, because she believed you needed to be happy.

“Find someone new, you will”

“I can’t-”

“You can, y/n.  I love you, I love you so much”

“I love you too…”

“Then move on and be happy… please?” You couldn’t stop shaking her head at you.

“You make me happy, you’re the only person who will ever make me happy” She’d smiled, just barely, but you saw it.

“I love you, y/n”

“No Allison, please, please don’t, please” But it was already too late.  You gathered her close in your arms, sobbing and screaming, as her hand fell to the ground.  “But.. but I loved you”

I wanna scream is this a dream? How could this happen Happen to me? This isn’t fair This nightmare This kind of torture I just can’t bear

When you finished your story, you just stared blankly at the desk.  The Sheriff stood, in silence, and offered you a box of tissues, but you shook your head.  The man set the box back down, but not before noticing your hands in your lap, fists in tight balls, nails digging into the skin of your palms.  He almost said something, in fact his mouth was opening to say something, but you’d already stood abruptly and walked out of the room.  Scott stood, walking near you.  His arms were out just a little, and when you’d registered that he wanted to hug you, you pushed past him, and left the building.  You didn’t want some shitty pity hug.

I want you here You wanted her. God help me… God help me… Breathe…

You walked in the cold midnight hour, hands still in tight fists shoved into the pockets of your bloodied jacket.  Not all of the red substance being yours.  Some of your friends, some of the monsters, some of-

You went to the only place you felt you could release your anger, your sadness and pain.  The one place that was a safe spot for you and-

You sat at the Beacon Hills Preserve, right up on the edge of the overlook.  Your legs swung over the cliff, a fifty foot drop below you.  At one point in your life the height scared you, but you felt too numb to care about silly fears now.  Seeing that your worst one had come true when the love of your life-

You screamed, you screamed curses, words you’d never used before in your life.  You ran and stomped over the small area.  You ripped the flowers out of the ground, her favorites.  You crumpled them in your hands, accidentally holding them too tight, then throwing them off of the cliff, and watching them fall, still screaming about how fucking ugly they were without her holding them.  Then went back to kicking at threes, kicking up dirt, yanking on your hair as you screamed and screeched for anything.  Swearing, asking for God, asking for-

I wanna scream is this a dream? How could this happen Happen to me? This isn’t fair This nightmare This kind of torture I just can’t bear I want you here I want you here I want you here I want you here

The sad thing about this all, is that you were depressed long before the events that had unfolded tonight.  But it never got this bad.  Because you had a cure.  No, not the pretty pink pills in a bottle you took twice a day.  But your medication came in a tall brunette with round mocha eyes.  Your medication came in sweet random kisses.  Your medication came in dates to diners and old films.  Your medication came in soft hands holding yours.  Your medication came in whispers of forever while wrapped in white sheets.  Your medication came in banter all day long but promises of care.  Your medication came in driving around late at night with a blasting radio and loud but fun karaoke.

Your medication your happiness came in Allison Marie Argent.

An ache so deep

That i can hardly breathe

And it always would.

[reusedtoit]

A Southern Naturalist’s Guide to Weeds

When you start gardening for the first time, it can be pretty darn overwhelming. You have clandestine dreams of heirloom tomatoes reaching toward the sky, only the best muscadine vines pouring over your white picket fence. What really happens? A bunch of dead, brown leaves on plants that were supposed to provide you with extra homegrown, veggie goodness. And you begin to tell people: “I just don’t have a green thumb.”

Believe it or not, the green thumb is a bit of a myth. The key phrase here is “a bit.”  Why? Because I do truly believe that plants have an ethereal ability to know if the people who care for them are actually doing so diligently. Also, because I know for a fact that there is an actual method - a science, or rather, a variety of sciences such as chemistry, biology, botany - behind gardening.

When I gardened for the first time, I was thrown straight into the fire. I worked on an organic farm my first year of college and had to learn how to garden on a semi-large scale. I learned about raised beds, tilling, weeding and watering. As much as I struggled with the physically demanding job as a snot-nosed freshman in college (from the New York City metro area, no less, in the middle-of-nowhere Georgia), I did learn some valuable lessons during my time at the farm.

Although there are a lot of recommendations I can give you (like researching what to plant during each season), I wanted to start out with one major recommendation that, if not used, can really throw off a natural green thumb. This is to learn how to weed. 

Okay, yes, weeding isn’t the sexiest thing. Especially if you’re a lover of all green things like me, it can seem backwards at first to start tearing plants out the ground. But if you want your garden to work, believe me - you gotta get out those weeds.

First, I’m going to be straightforward with you all. What some gardeners call “weeds” aren’t always weeds. In my mind, a weed is not just something that is ugly/something you don’t want in your garden, a weed is any plant that threatens the growth and survival of the plants you do want in your garden. Often, many gardeners just take out what looks ugly and can even leave behind more nefarious plants because they are aesthetically pleasing (daffodils, dandelions, honey-suckles, English ivy are some examples). For me, weeds are synonymous with invasive species, which I will explain in detail in a moment. Furthermore, I would like to note early on that some of the weeds I list are in fact woody, meaning they are plants that produce wood as structural tissue. This is distinct from herbaceous (non-woody) plants, which are the opposite and are often what we think of when we think of weeds in our garden. However, woody weeds can often be found in backyards, front yards, forested areas, even in parking lots and they should also be treated as plants we simply don’t want around. 

Now that I’ve laid that groundwork for you, I’m going to also note that this weeding guide is going to cater toward my Southeastern friends, so apologies for my bias. However, I will still implore you to read on because knowing common weeds and how to remove them not only helps you and your garden, but is also essential for the health of forests. As I alluded to earlier, many weeds are actually things called non-native invasive species, or NNIS for short. There are actually some non-native species that are not invasive, meaning that they do not cause tremendous ecological problems when introduced to a new environment, but most do. Think about it. If you were plopped in an entirely different ecosystem with no natural competitor or predator, wouldn’t you thrive? 

That’s why these NNIS are so darn tricky and given the recent MULTI-million dollar lawsuit won by a school groundkeeper who used Round-up, I think it’s going to become more and more useful to be able to properly ID and manually remove weeds.

English ivy is everywhere. I mean it. Landscapers use it for ground cover (good to combat soil erosion; bad for trees) and colleges drape it alongside their art history buildings. Yes, it may be pretty, but you know that its unadulterated growth means something sinister. English ivy is very easy to identify - on trees, on the ground and even creeping into your garden. Look for the green leaf that looks like a stereotypical ivy leaf and go ahead and take it out. What’s great about English ivy (never thought I’d say that...) is that once you start pulling on it, pretty much all of it can be pulled out. You just need to engage that upper body strength and keep pulling like a game of tug-of-war. You’ll likely end up covered in dirt, but isn’t that why you wanted to garden anyway?

Cherry Laurel. I kind of love this one to be honest with you. I know, I know it’s bad, but what’s cool about cherry laurel is you can use it to impress people by grabbing one of its glossy leafs, crumpling it up and shoving it in that person’s nose. Ask: “Smell cherries?” If you ID’d it right, they will definitely smell that fruity fragrance emanating from the crushed up leaf. Cherry laurel is less likely to be found in small gardens, but you’re very likely to see it in your backyard, local park or while walking along a forest trail. Look for super glossy green leaves.

If you don’t see this one in your garden or backyard, I’d be surprised. This is the dreaded monkey grass, or liriope (a funny word to hear in some southern accents). Monkey grass will dominate your garden, backyard or local woods. Look for the purple small flowers and, if you don’t have time to dig into the soil and pull out the whole root system (which is insane and you will most definitely need a soil knife for), at least cut those flowers before they seed. Then come back for the rest. 

Speaking of grasses you will never seem to be able to get rid of: crab grass! If you don’t find crab grass sprouting up in your garden, I will literally give you $20. I’m not joking, this stuff is everywhere. It’s incredibly difficult to pull, unfortunately, and you can pull what you can, but you may have to chemically treat these ones. If you want to avoid that, I would recommend digging a deep circle around the grass and pulling out as much of a roots as you can. You can identify crabgrass by looking for blades of grass that look about as big as your fingers (they are sometimes called finger-grasses, I believe). Look for thin “stems” at the bottom and wide blades. 

Virginia creeper. And yes, it is actually creepy, because this weed is in fact poisonous. Parthenocissus quinquefolia (say that five times fast) is in the grape family and actually has oxalate crystals in its vines that cause a rash. I would recommend pulling this out with long sleeves and long pants, as well as gardening gloves. Its leaves are easy enough to identify, with distinct five-leaflets. 

I see this one on the highway. I’m not even joking. Japanese and Chinese wisteria (Wisteria floribunda and sinensis, respectively) is easily identifiable once it flowers, because of how purple its flowers are. Look for a cascading effect of flowers, with the flowers getting smaller as the plant bends downward. This one is difficult to pull if it gets out of hand. You can try to kill it with 20% vinegar or good ole’ hand pulling. 

What would be this list without privet? What’s tricky about privet is that it’s actually a group of shrubs which are diverse in their morphology. It is sometimes identifiable by distinct blue-black berries and/or small white flowers. Chinese privet is the most common because it can really grow anywhere, in sun, shade, wet soil, dry soil, etc. Pull it out by the roots whenever and wherever you can.

Dandelions! You are so, so, so likely to find this sprouting up in your garden and guess what? Unlike so many of the other weeds I’ve discussed so far, dandelions actually do not hail from Asia, but from Europe. Also, some good news for you, hand-pulling isn’t really the move with these guys. I suggest mowing these or picking them (pull out roots if possible) for your dinner table’s vase. Basically, destroying developing flowers before they are able to mature into seed distributors prevents the opportunity for new germination, thus reducing the amount of dandelions you see next year.

Although I could go on for ages, I wanted to go ahead and wrap up with this one. Kudzu is similar to English ivy in that it is incredibly prolific and grows quite quickly. Kudzu is also more likely to be found near woody areas and possibly along the sides of residential structures. The idea with kudzu is to cut it to the ground first, so it has no chance to keep growing upward. After that, continuous mowing and clipping and even hand-pulling at the root will reduce the amount of kudzu you see each year. Look for vines with broad leaves and possibly small purple flowers. Find it, kill it.

Best wishes on your fight against the invasive weeds! Remember, my inbox is open for any comments/concerns/questions or corrections you’d like to make to this post. As always, thank you for joining me on this journey to living a more sustainable and eco-friendly life. May your green thumb become greener!

art credit: Grace Easton of Gracedraws

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New Post has been published on http://flexeasy.net/index.php/2017/09/23/fascias-relationship-to-chronic-pain-and-joint-degeneration/

Fascia's Relationship to Chronic Pain and Joint Degeneration

COLLAGEN’S RELATIONSHIP TO FASCIA

Collagen is the building block of all connective tissues. Some collagen-based connective tissues like bone and most cartilages, are part of your body’s load-bearing framework. Their purpose is to withstand “compressive” forces, while grossly maintaining the body’s shape. On the other hand, you have the elastic, collagen-based, connective tissues, whose chief job is to overcome the “tensile” forces that are constantly trying to pull joints apart. These particular tissues don’t need to be able to bear heavy loads, but instead, must be able to stretch and elast (to at least a slight degree) while resisting tearing. These “elastic” collagen-based connective tissues include ligaments, tendons, muscles, and fascia. It is fascia we are concerned with here.

Although you may have never heard the term “fascia” before, you undoubtedly have seen it and know what it is. It is the thin (almost translucent), white / yellow membrane that tightly surrounds muscles – or a pot roast. Deer hunters in our area call it “Striffin”. The term “fascia” comes from the Latin word meaning “band” or “bandage,” which is appropriate, because it is like a very thin ligamentous sheath or band.

A GENERIC DEFINITION OF FASCIA:

“Fascia are the tough layers of fibrous, collagen-based connective tissues that permeate the human body throughout. Fascia is the thin, cellophane-like, connective tissue that surrounds muscles, groups of muscles, blood vessels, and nerves; binding these structures together in much the same manner that plastic wrap can be used to hold the contents of a sandwich together. Fascia is the tissue where the musculoskeletal system, circulatory system, and nervous system, all converge. Fascia consists of several layers, and extends uninterrupted from the top of the head to the tip of the toes. Like ligaments and tendons, fascia contains closely packed bundles of wavy collagen fibers that are oriented in a parallel fashion. Subsequently, healthy fascia are flexible structures that are able to resist great uni-directional tension forces.”

WHAT DOES FASCIA DO?

Be aware that most anatomical drawings do not show much fascia. This leads to the erroneous view that fascia is not an important tissue, even though it makes up approximately 1/3 of the tissue that is found in a muscle. There are several critical functions of the fascia:

It binds and holds muscles together in a compact package.

It ensures proper alignment of the muscle fibers, blood vessels, nerves, and other tissue components inside the muscle.

It transmits forces and loads, evenly throughout the entire muscle.

It creates a uniformly smooth surface that essentially “lubricates” the various surfaces that come in contact with each other during movement.

It allows the muscle to change shape as they lengthen or shorten.

As long as the individual collagen fibers that make up the fascia, are aligned in parallel fashion to each other, the tissue is stretchy and elastic (think about long hair that has been combed out. If you run a comb or brush through it, it glides — smoothly and unrestricted). But what happens when fascia is injured?

INJURED FASCIA

When fascia is stretched beyond its normal load-bearing capacity, it begins to tear. Bear in mind that these tears are so microscopic that they never show up on an x-ray, and only on rare occasions (possibly the Plantar Fascia) will they show up on an MRI. Fascial tears can be caused by sports injuries, repetitive trauma, car wrecks, postural distortions, falls, child bearing, abuse, etc, etc, etc. Very often people have no idea how they ended up with fascial adhesions.

Whenever a muscle is impacted (contact sports, falls, abuse, etc), or overused (lifting weights, running, over-training, heavy or repetitive jobs, etc); collagen microfibers form in between adjacent layers of fascia to bind them together so that the muscles can heal. These microfibers act like a cast. Unfortunately, they do not go away after the area has healed, and tend to accumulate over time. This means that over time, the elastic, collagen-based tissues (particularly muscles and fascia) get increasingly stiffer and less stretchy.

Once fascia is injured (stretched, pulled, torn, etc.), the microscopic fibers become disrupted and deranged. Instead of fibers running parallel to each other in an organized fashion with their normal degree of elasticity / flexibility, the fibers now run every possible direction — in all three dimensions. This is called a scar, and as you can see, scar tissue (no matter how microscopic it is) has an extremely diminished amount of organization and elasticity. Interlock the fingers from one hand with the fingers from the other, only do it with the fingers pointed in all directions. Now try to slide the hands back and forth. See the difference in flexibility? The fact that the fingers are running in a non-parallel fashion to each other greatly diminishes flexibility.

Also notice that when the fingers are interlocked randomly, they will no longer lay flat on the table. Facial adhesions act the same way. When fascia is injured, individual fibers run every which direction, in all three dimensions. This means that the fascial membranes no longer lay flat like a piece of paper. Instead, they are more like a wadded up or crumpled piece of paper. Unfortunately, injured fascia frequently heals in this tangled, twisted, and wadded-up manner.

We can also think of this fascial scarring and adhesion in terms of hair. Remember our example of well-manicured hair that a comb or brush glides through easily? Now think of the exact opposite. Think of a hair tangle. What happens to hair that is not well taken care of, or was slept on wet? Instead of the individual hair follicles lying parallel to each other in a neat and orderly fashion, they become tangled with the individual hair fibers running in every conceivable direction. The result is a tangled mess — a ball of hair that takes forever just get a comb or brush through it. “Hair balls” can be so restrictive that just trying to get a comb through it, pulls and causes great pain. This is even more true with fascia. Most people are unaware that fascia is believed to be the single most pain-sensitive tissue in the human body!

INJURED FASCIA LEADS TO LOSS OF MOTION, & LOSS OF MOTION IS THE KNOWN CAUSE OF JOINT DEGENERATION

When the organization of the parallel collagen fibers of fascia are disrupted by injury, a host of really bad things begin to happen. The first thing that occurs is restriction of joint motion. Understand that if you have tissue restriction, you will automatically have some degree of loss of normal joint motion in the corresponding area(s) of the body. Also understand that loss of normal joint motion virtually assures you that sooner or later there will be pain – even if you are not yet experiencing pain. Unfortunately, pain is not the worst thing that is caused by loss of normal joint motion. That would be degeneration.

Loss of, or abnormal joint motion, is the known cause of localized joint degeneration. When I speak of “localized joint degeneration“, I am talking about things like calcium deposits, bone spurring, and loss of articular cartilage or disc height. Degeneration is a great example of a “vicious cycle“: Loss of joint motion causes joint degeneration — and joint degeneration causes loss of normal joint motion. Repeat. As this cycle spins around and around, it causes pain.

STOP! Think for just a moment. Pain is nothing more than a by-product of the vicious cycle. This is why pain pills and other similar measures (drugs), mask symptoms of Chronic Pain (ineffectively, I might add) without ever addressing its underlying cause. In many cases of Chronic Pain, the underlying cause is fascial restriction and microscopic scar tissue.

Think for a moment how problematic this whole scenario is. Fascia is the single most pain-sensitive tissue in the body — yet it does not image well with even the most advanced imaging technologies such as MRI! What does this mean? Those of you who have dealt with Chronic Pain long enough, know exactly what it means!

It means that when you go visit various doctors (orthopedists, pain specialists, neurologists, etc) they run all sorts of tests, and then look at you as though you are crazy. Or maybe they look at you like you’re a drug seeker, or trying to get Social Security Disability, or trying to win a work comp settlement. Or maybe they just chalk it up to hard work and too many sports. Or maybe they just tell you that you have “arthritis” or “fibromyalgia” in order to get you out of their office. Or maybe they just use that old and trusted standby, “After all Mrs. Smith, you just aren’t as young as you used to be.“

Whatever the case, the result is almost always the same. A blank stare and the recommendation for more pills — or maybe even corticosteroid injections. The latest medical “treatment” for Chronic Pain involves putting people on SSRI’s (anti-depression drugs) while trying to convince them that their Chronic Pain is the result of depression; when just the opposite has been proven to be closer to the truth. (Clinical Depression has not been shown to cause Chronic Pain, but Chronic Pain can cause Depression).

YOU WERE PRESCRIBED “WHAT” FOR YOUR INJURY?

Oh, and how about your doctor kick you a few more times while you are down. Scientific studies have repeatedly shown that beyond the wide array of dangerous, and even deadly side-effects to the kidney, liver, and heart; both NSAIDS, and cortico-steroids actually deteriorate collagen-based tissues — severely and rapidly. This is why doctors will usually ration the amount of cortisone you can have, even if it helps your pain. The Journal of Bone and Joint Surgery published a study over a decade ago that said if a person has more than one cortico-steroid injection in the same joint, over the course of their lifetime, their chance of developing premature deterioration of the affected joint is 100%. Gulp!

IF THE DRUGS ARE SO BAD FOR MY CONNECTIVE TISSUES, WHAT DO I DO?

Instead of treating the Elastic Collagen-Based Tissues (Muscles, Tendons, Ligaments, and Fascia) using the outdated model based on the old belief that “inflammation” (“itis“) is the primary cause of the majority of the problems in these tissues; I believe patients deserve something better – something that actually works.

Because the very drugs that doctors use to reduce inflammation are actually known to cause deterioration of collagen, you should begin to see that something is rotten in Denmark.

I use something called I.I.R.E.C-B.C.T. (Instrument Induced Remodeling of the Elastic, Collagen-Based Connective Tissues). This form of Tissue Remodeling is not the latest electronic “gizmo”. Nor is it some “Johnny-come-lately“. It has been around in various forms (particularly in Chinese Medicine) for thousands of years. However, it has only been around in its current form for twenty years or so. It allows the doctor to find and effectively address Fascial Adhesions or “osis” (osis means that tissue is deranged and not merely inflamed).

To learn more about the ways that Fascial Adhesions are causing Chronic Pain and joint degeneration in epidemic numbers (pictures, research, testimonials, etc), please visit Destroy Chronic Pain.

Source by Dr. Russell Schierling