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seriouslysnape · 1 year ago

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hello! can i get a severus lazy sunday morning with the reader? 🖤

Severus Snape x Fem! Reader Tags: None. Word Count: 1.1k "You can stay right here. I'll call you when it's ready."

It was the pattering of rain on the roof that initially woke Severus up. It drummed on the house and sprinkled across the windows. The trees outside rustled from the wind that whistled outside. He let out a slow exhale at the sound of the low rumbles of thunder rolling off in the distance.

Three days of solid rain was more than enough, and frankly, he was missing the sunshine. Nonetheless, there wasn't a thing he could do about the weather, so he supposed that griping about it wouldn't do him any good.

After all, it was hard to complain when there was a beautiful woman curled up next to him.

Severus was a bit of a stirrer in the mornings. He wasn't typically one to lounge around in bed, typically getting up and on his feet the moment that his eyes opened. But you, on the other hand, liked to gradually wake up instead of getting a fast start to your day. If there wasn't an immediate reason to get up, then you were more than likely going to stay snuggled in for a little while.

With that being said, he tried to keep his movements to a minimum to avoid waking you. He could bear staying wrapped up in the sheets if it meant you getting some extra rest. He was perfectly content with holding you close and watching the weather rage on outside through the window.

Unfortunately, he couldn't control the volume and intensity of the thunder that accompanied the rain. One booming crack of thunder spooked you awake with a hard flinch and a light gasp. The sudden reaction even made Severus jump a bit, his arms holding you tighter as a gesture of protection.

"It's all right," He nuzzled his nose into your hair, pressing a kiss just above the tip of your ear. "You're safe. It's just a storm."

His morning voice always sent a chill down your back. It was deeper than usual, groggy and sluggish. You relaxed at the sound of it, releasing a relieved sigh when you realized that your house wasn't being attacked by some outside force.

"Mm. Still raining I assume?" Your eyes fluttered closed again in an attempt to slow the hard thumping of your heart.

"Unfortunately." He grumbled, his focus on you instead of the storm.

"It's not all bad. I've had you all to myself for three days straight." You giggled, the sound of your laugh spreading a warmth over his chest.

"Darling, has there ever been a time where you didn't?" He answered.

He pushed some fallen strands of hair out of your eyes, a small smile appearing on his features as he admired your calm expression.

"Generally, no. But sometimes the duties of being a professor steals you away."

He couldn't deny that. Just being a professor could be overly demanding -- adding in being the head of Slytherin and some occasional administrative responsibilities could most definitely dry up the well of his free time.

Before he met you, he spent pretty much every night at the school in his personal chambers. He didn't see the need in traveling home every night (as easy and convenient as it might've been) if he had no real reason to. He spent all of his time at Hogwarts from September to June.

But after meeting you and having the pleasure and blessing of your lives intertwining, he had to learn how to balance his work life and personal life. Now, he traveled home almost every single night, unless he just couldn't get away from his office and/or classroom.

He did everything that he could to ensure that you were his top priority...although, sometimes he still fell short.

"We still have well over a month before the term starts," He remarked. "Plenty of time before my schedule gets overly full."

"What's on your schedule until then?" You asked, eyes opening just enough to peer up at him.

He let out a low chuckle when he kissed your temple, the vibrations running down your side and causing a brief tingle in your toes. He exhaled a satisfied hum when one of your legs settled between his.

"You."

Another roll of thunder rumbled, yet not quite as vigorous this time. You smiled at him, which caused a tint of a blush to appear on his cheek.

"Doesn't sound too busy then." You ran your index finger's knuckle across the apple of his cheek with a feather-like touch.

"Just the way I like it." He smirked.

A round of silence followed. The two of you were just enjoying each other's presence and taking advantage of the fact that you had absolutely nothing to do...not to mention having a great excuse not to come up with something to occupy your time.

The rain was relentless after all. Who in their right mind would want to go out in this kind of weather? It was a perfect setup for a day inside.

There were plenty of things to do around the house. The only problem was that you had already been doing them for three days now.

You could only take a crack at raiding and reading your entire library for so long. The house was spotless and lemony fresh, so cleaning was crossed off your list. You were looking forward to trying a new recipe for dinner, but you assumed that you still had an entire day to get through first.

"What time is it?" You asked, realizing that it could've been noon for all you knew.

Severus raised his head just enough to peek over you to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on the bedside table on your side.

"6:47." He answered.

"Oh, that is so early," You gawked. "I'm too awake to go back to sleep though."

"Shall I make us some breakfast then?" He suggested. "You can stay right here. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Pancakes? Coffee?" You asked, a glittering admiration for the man talking sweet to you shining over your face.

"Of course," He nodded. "Whatever you want, angel."

He peppered kisses across your nose and down your neck, bubbly giggles and squeaks sounding out from your chest. You managed to squeal out an "I love you" through laughter and shrills.

He couldn't understand how someone like you could love him so much. He liked to think that he had done something in his life to deserve some like you. But in reality, he knew that he was just plain lucky.

"I love you," He returned the endearment before whipping the covers off of the bed, ignoring your hiss of disapproval. "Pancakes are on the way."

Once he was on his feet, he pulled the covers back over you, chuckling at the way you shimmied further down with a gleeful whimper. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before leaving to whip up the best stack of pancakes you had ever tasted.

"Enjoy the rain, my love."

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x fem! student #severus snape x female reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #severus snape one shot #severus snape oneshot #severus snape imagines #severus snape imagine #severus snape fluff #severus snape fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #seriouslysnape

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m1ssunderstanding · 4 months ago

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Notes on Nowhere Boy

Finally posting the long version of the close-watch I did for @sleeper9's Fete zine. The bad thing about me is I hate spending money and love pirating shitty quality versions of movies. The good thing about the Beatles fandom is we're used to dealing with grainy pics. Anyways, here goes!

The opening ten seconds really do set the tone for the film, and here's why. It's the opening of A Hard Day’s Night where the boys are running from a hoard of screaming fans and George biffs it. John sees him go down, laughs, and keeps running. Only here, it's just John. George’s fall has been erased, making John into a cocky, if slightly insane, little lone hero.

Mimi: do I ignore you? No. So please don't ignore me. Me: ummm, yeah you do ignore him, Mimi. Enough to leave deep psychological scars. But it's fine. Moving on.

Ugh, Uncle George is so sweet! I wonder how much of John's sweetness he learned from him. I wish we knew more about him.

Actually that was Jim that set up a cord running into Paul's room from the radio downstairs. But it fits Uncle George's character, so it works.

Why did they make Mendips look a lot more working class than it actually was? No fancy iron fence, no pretty hexagonal outcropping, no stained glass veranda?

Aaron Taylor Johnson is nailing it though. The laugh sounds very John, and this posture? Perfect.

Okay but if that doesn't heartbreakingly encapsulate John and Mimi I don't know what does. Uncle George has just died. John goes to Mimi, wraps her from behind in a tight embrace and lets out a sob. Her response is to push him away. “Please, let's not be silly. If you want to do that, go to your room.” Alright, it's making me feel things, it's winning me over.

John making his cousin Stan go and ask Mimi where Julia is is also extremely accurate. Always had someone to do the dirty work for them, all of them.

Mimi's concern as John's going to visit his mother in the “bad” part of town is very good to have in too. “And you will be careful, hmm? Careful who you talk to.” And John's response, “it's only Blackpool, Mimi.” It's true. It could've been Speke, or the Dingle. Which Quarryman did I read saying Mimi didn't like John even leaving Woolton?

John's hurt little face when he finds out his mum, all this time, has been less than a bus ride away is a very clever way to show us his painful confusion about the whole situation.

Trying to remind myself that this is a very anti-Julia pro-Mimi movie that will try to make me think she's crazy. But it sure is doing a hell of a good job. She hasn't seen him in years and suddenly she's hand feeding him desserts, kissing him every chance she's got, flirting all over the place. “Do you know what it means? Rock and Roll? Sex.” “Don't tell Mimi, alright? This is our little secret. Promise me.” And to a poor affection-starved boy, that's going to feel good. That's going to put thoughts in his head like “this is how it should be”. I mean I know she was wild and fun and sexy and irresponsible. And I know John did have weird thoughts about her. But I hope she wasn't actually this crazy.

But the weird Freudian thing aside, he's got to be so terribly confused hearing the woman who effectively abandoned him declaring her love for him. Between Mimi and Julia, John would've had such a messed up idea of what that word meant.

The Daily Howl, my absolute beloved!!

Nowhere Boy John watching Elvis: damn I've gotta get the girls screaming for me like that! Actual John watching Elvis: he's so beautiful! He's perfect! I'm in love!

Also I do not think sixteen year old John was that good at fingering. Just saying.

This part always drops my heart cold into my stomach. Poor John. Poor poor baby. You can hear his little boy voice calling, “mum? It's me.” And she mutters, very annoyed, “go away.” Again. I have to remind myself that this is a purposely negative portrait of Julia. But then. It is true that she was a mostly absent and wholly undependable figure in John's life.

Sometimes dialogue is absolutely perfect. Like this – “Aw, why couldn't God make me Elvis Presley?” “Cause he was saving you for John Lennon.” “Aw I'll get you back for that, God!” And this – “you haven't told Mimi, have you?” “No point going through her bullocks if I don't have to.” “Why? She has to go through yours.” “Yeah well I never asked her to, did I?”

Ugh this whole movie just hurts so bad! How he looks to Julia as Mimi is ordering him out of her house, just begging her to claim him this time. And she doesn't until he makes a stand for himself. And then, later. “How long can I stay?” Is met with nothing. Not even a fake “long as you want, love.” It really plays into the title of the film. This boy's got nowhere to call home. And then, the final straw. Look at his face as he hears Julia agree that he does in fact need to go back to Mimi's. If I did that kind of thing, I'd actually be crying right now. Fuck, why was I knit-picking, this movie is working so well.

As he's announcing he's leaving Julia's, John wants her to tell him to stay. To at least pretend it's not what she wants. And she doesn't even look at him. Imagine if they did something like this in the John biopic mirrored with a scene with Paul in the breakup?

He's just so adorable looking at that guitar like he can't believe it's real.

John's gathered the og Quarrymen in the bathroom and Pete goes “I take it we're not here for a communal crap.” Idk Pete, wouldn't put it past him. It's not far off what you all do already.

It's making the Quarrymen look kinda cool here, and I really want them all to be shit except John, just because that's what I get from Paul's description. Not that he's biased or anything. He could've been watching John play with Elton John and David Bowie and he'd still say everyone faded into the background.

Also Mimi would Not have been there. Not on her life.

Okay now we're sort of seeing them from Paul's perspective. Bunch of losers surrounding this inimitable shining star.

Accurate that the first thing John says to Paul is about jerking off.

The dynamic in general is just so well-done in this first scene. John instantly testing Paul. How much shit will he put up with? And Paul instantly having none of it, showing off, and winning John over.

All the other Quarrymen just know it's time to dust off the ole resume.

But! Paul's fete “audition” is so toned down for this film. Although of course, accounts vary. He did 20 flight rock, yeah. But he also did it on someone's borrowed right hand guitar turned upside down. And he did little Richard and played the piano, and tuned John's guitar for him. In one telling of it, John says he asked him to be in the group right there on the spot. So. Yeah.

But either way, watching John watch Paul is just gorgeously gay. It's giving extreme “Oooooh, he likes hiiiiiim!” It's actually illegal not to queerbate using Lennon/McCartney and I'm glad all moviemakers seem to understand the law.

Cut to “John, your little friend's here!” Can you imagine if they'd showed the “chalk and cheese” whirling dervish moment? Or Mimi making Paul use the back door? Those might change some thoughts and feelings in this movie.

And then we get the reciprocated “Oooooh, he likes hiiiiiim!” Moment as Paul's too busy checking out John’s buddy Holly Look to remember where he is, let alone what cord they're on. And it's so sweet because Paul's the first person who gives John the idea that his real self is actually cooler than his tough-guy act.

The little matching feet tapping?? Eee it's so cute!

But why miss the opportunity for them to sing in harmony here?

Sometimes the dialogue is extremely inaccurate. “So mummy’s cool about baby Paul wanting to be Elvis?” “Oh she would've loved it.” Like hell she would've. She would've been as disapproving as Mimi. Then again, maybe it is accurate for Paul to be lying about that.

“Well she – she sort of – died. You know, em. If we're gonna do this we should write our own stuff.” Okay yep there he is. That's Paul.

Also love how John gets his first calluses after Paul the bossy taskmaster comes into his life. (You know. And the reason to push himself and a person who cares enough to take the time to show him things and it makes John all dreamy staring at the stars that night etc) Anyway. It's perfect.

And the first gig we see after Paul joins is in a venue on a real stage with a much bigger audience, and the matching suits of course.

Mimi selling John's guitar because of a bad report card is like the lighter, kinder translation of what happened in reality when she had his dog put down while he was staying at Julia's.

So they kinda make up for not letting Paul sing etc by having him nail the guitar instead of screw up at this gig like he did irl.

And he's stealing Julia's attention, which is clearly Not okay with John. Reminds me of that quote of Paul's about how they were both in love with John's mum.

George is appropriately infantile. Good. Cutie.

The Quarrymen playing “That's Alright, Mama” as John's making up with Julia since she bought his guitar back for him. Okay. Very clever.

Paul does Not like John disrespecting his mother after the show for obvious reasons. (“I said something wrong now I long for yesterday.”) But clearly he doesn't have the full picture here. I wonder at what point irl Paul got a full run-down from John on his messed-up family life. Or did he just have to pull it together piece by piece over the years?

And of course he jumps to light Julia's cigarette. Boy was patting his pocket for a lighter like it was the race of his life. Mister steal your mum.

Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, Paul McCartney’s number two complaint about this movie: John was Not taller than him. How dare they? Slander.��

That's one hell of a jacket.

At the party, John's of course pissed to find Paul serenading Julia in the kitchen. But Paul just wants a mommy so bad, John. Why can't you just let him have yours since you clearly don't want her? Right, because you really, really do. More than anyone can understand. But when you showed her that – how bad you wanted her to be your mum, not just a friend – she hurt you. Forced you to go through your abandonment all over again. So now you can't show that anymore.

The washboard over Pete's head is almost exactly accurate, isn't it? John does not handle people leaving him well.

Ugh his little voice cracking on the word “mum.” John Lennon is a poor poor baby and I will die on that hill.

I wonder how John did find out about Victoria and the real story of why he was with Mimi. No matter how, though, that's certainly a lot of mess for a young man to be carrying around with him all the time in his head.

“When your father came back from the merchant Navy, he wanted to try and save the marriage, but your mother would have none of it.” I do feel like we're going with Alf’s version of events here, the one he sold John in order to get into his good graces after he was famous. Which is, again, not fair to Julia. I wonder how little Julia feels about this movie.

In fact, I think this part – “who do you wanna be with, John? Do you wanna be with me or do you wanna be with your mum?” – has been categorically disproven. But it certainly does make for some high drama. And John himself did believe his father's story, so there has to be at least some emotional truth there.

Nowhere Boy John: There's no point in hating someone you love. I mean really love. IRL John: How do you sleep, you cunt?!

There he is. Art School John. Though he fell in love with every iteration of John, I think this one never left his head because he was one of the earliest Johns, and he was a John Paul had to fight for, you know, with all the Stu business and dead mother anger.

He really does an excellent job of playing John, though, when he's written right. “Woman took her kit off and we painted her breasts. Not actually physically. I got my eye on you two.” Ridiculous. Charming. Off- putting. Adorable.

Ignoring the fact that I prefer to think of “Hello, Little Girl” as being about Paul (“you never seem to see me standing there”) and they're making it about Julia, this is a lovely scene. With John somewhat unsure still of his songwriting abilities and Paul looking up at him from the floor full of admiration.

Oh he's gonna murder someone. To be fair, I think playing Julia's banjo at her funeral is exactly the type of insensitive thing Paul would do, because he just thinks and feels in music and it makes Sense to him even though of course it's going to piss John off.

Hilarious, and probably accurate tbh, that Paul's pissed John off so he gives Pete a bloody nose.

But here we go, the number one complaint about this movie from Paul, which I think is actually valid. John never hit him and that was important to both of them and it's disrespectful to portray it and play into the myth of their rocky, angry relationship.

But maybe in 2009 that's what it took for them to be able to show John Lennon and Paul McCartney in a genuine, loving embrace, crying into each other's necks about mothers. It has to be preceded by John punching Paul in the mouth.

If I was John's writing partner, my biggest beef with this movie would actually be the scene where they're recording ISOATD and making it look like John wrote it and played the guitar solo. But Paul's never even mentioned it. Which I guess really shows he cares far more about the legacy of his relationship with John than his career legacy. Which. If you mean more to Paul McCartney than his fucking music? Well then you must be just about important enough to have your own movie.

This is really the Vote for Mimi Smith campaign, isn't it? Putting across the screen the fact that John called Mimi every week until he died as “Mother” plays in the background is brutal. Ouch. But it's true. “It's Mimi time.”

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #george harrison #nowhere boy

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ranharrafantasy · 5 months ago

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Who's Your Pokémon? [Lucario Transformation Story]

Posting transformation content 6 days a week at link in bio.

---

I was afraid of what my boyfriend would think if I came out to him as a furry. Would he break up with me? Would he see me differently? We had been dating for over a year now and I felt like it would be unfair to keep it from him any longer. One night, I mustered up the courage and revealed my secret to him while he was sitting in bed, reading.

He put his book down and pondered for a bit. He didn't look mad, disappointed, or disgusted, which was a good thing, right? He finally broke his thousand-yard stare and smirked, looking directly at me.

"If you're a furry, then what's your fursona?" he asked.

I shifted my feet between themselves and shyly answered, "L-Lucario, the Pokémon."

He smiled at me with a big side-smile, "Well then, Lucario, come here! I've got you set for some intense endurance training," he said, holding his arms out indicating for my embrace.

His acceptance meant the world to me! I ran into his arms without hesitation.

The following few weeks my boyfriend did end up treating me different, but in a good way. He would only refer to me as 'Lucario' both in and out of the bedroom. He would also pet me while we laid on the couch watching movies. And every instance of 'thank you' was replaced with 'good boy'.

I had never felt more free to be myself or like my fursona. I was happy with my decision to come out to him and I thought that this would be all that would ever come out of it. My boyfriend, however, had different things in mind.

"Oh, Lucario! I've got a surprise for you!" my boyfriend called to me from the front door, just arriving home.

I was in the living room playing videogames but promptly paused in anticipation of him. He didn't waste any time. He came right into the living room, still wearing his shoes. He was carrying a package that must have come in the mail. He was smiling fiercely while he fumbled to rip through the tape on the package. With some struggling and a lot of man-handling, he finally got the box open but turned his body to hide the contents from my view.

I craned my head trying to get a glimpse of his what he was hiding, but he stopped me by pointing his finger in my face.

"Not so fast. First, you've got to sit on the floor like a good boy," he said.

While being treated like a dog every part of the day wasn't my intention of telling him I was a furry, I still played along so I could be shown what the surprise was. That and, I was just glad he was supporting my furriness rather than antagonizing it.

I got down on the floor on my knees and put my hands in my lap, patiently waiting the surprise.

"Good boy," he said, and opened what sounded like a can of soda from behind his back, "now close your eyes and open wide!"

Again, I did as commanded. He's never done this kind of thing before, so I had no litmus test to gauge if he was pranking me or genuinely giving me a surprise I'd like. I closed my eyes and dropped my jaw open. He didn't waste any time and put the cool metal of the can to my lips and poured the contents into my mouth.

The liquid fizzled on my tongue as if it were filled with electricity. It was definitely an energy drink of some kind. I also couldn't quite place the taste. Blue raspberry maybe? Cherry? The taste was fine, but I didn't understand what the big deal about it was. I wasn't a huge fan of energy drinks and the taste was muted.

"So, how do you feel?" he asked me with an eagerness.

I opened my eyes, "fine, I guess? I'm not going to lie, energy drinks aren't my favorite," I answered.

He looked at the can disappointingly, "damn, must be a hoax… Oh well, guess it was worth the try… Maybe you need to drink all of it!?" he finished, pushing the metal can back towards my face.

I recoiled away, "what's supposed to happen?" I asked, concerned. I paused, "Wait, why do I feel like my insides are tickling?"

My boyfriend gasped and pointed at my face. The smile that had just vanished returned with new found vigor, "Yes! Dude! It's working!"

I grabbed my face, still concerned with whatever the heck my boyfriend just recklessly put inside me. I rubbed my hands against my face. That's weird, I just shaved this morning? Why did it feel like I had a full beard now? And why did it feel so soft. By reflex I looked down even though I knew I wouldn't be able to see my own face. While I didn't see what was growing on my jawline, something else caught my eye.

Thick black fur had appeared on both of my hands. I held them up to my face to better examine what was happening but it was cut short by a sharp pain in my chest.

I gripped my white shirt at the middle and my changing hand collided with a sharp object that seemed to be emerging from my body. I winced in the pain but kept my hand there to apply pressure to the area that was causing me pain. Whatever it was, it was growing, bigger? It pushed against the confines of my shirt until the fabric couldn't take it anymore and split with an intense ripping sound.

Down the corners of my eyes I could start seeing a blue tint of the hair emerging from my face. I gasped in excitement.

"That's right, Lucario!" my boyfriend said, "you're turning into a real Lucario! You're welcome!"

My boyfriend smugly crossed his arms, turned his head, closed his eyes, and put his chin up waiting for gratitude, knowing that he just gave me the thing I had wanted most in life. He opened one eye to continue watching me, I assume to see my transformation proceed.

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, looking frantically over my morphing body, "this-, this is awesome! This is the nicest thing anyone's ever gotten for me. Where did you-, how did you-, is this real?"

My legs shifted beneath my weight, turning into strong digitigrade Lucario legs. My fur swiftly ran down my body and my mouth pushed out to be a thin canine muzzle and my nose turned black. My jaw was starting to hurt from smiling so much. It was happening! I was really turning going to be a Lucario!

Soon, the last bit of my exposed skin faded away into a fur covered isolation, no longer kissed by the sun pouring through the window behind me. I could no longer feel my body shift or tingle. It was done! I was a Lucario now!

"Do you like your gift?" my boyfriend asked, prying for more gratitude.

"Yes! This-, this is amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you! A million times, thank you!"

I couldn't contain myself and pushed up from my knees to kiss him. He reciprocated immediately and it wasn't until a few seconds into the kiss that this must have been weird for him.

While he was supportive of my pet play and me being a furry, he himself wasn't a furry, so was being Lucario going to be a turn off for him? My muzzle fur scratched against his slight stubble and we continued for a few more seconds until I pulled away.

I shyly hesitated, trying to articulate the thoughts that had just ran through my head, "Uh, sorry I just immediately kissed you, I shouldn't have assumed you'd want to kiss me while I look like this…" my eyes trailed off to the side and I looked down, "I know that you're not a furry, so kissing me must have been weird. I understand if you don't want to do it anymore… or other things."

"Hey, hey!" he started and redirected my head by placing a finger under my muzzle, "of course I still want to kiss you! I love you, and always will no matter what you look like. I was the one who did this to you, remember?"

I tried to hide the tears that had welled up in my eyes. One drop spilled down and vanished in my new fur, "Thanks, Shay, I love you too."

We stayed silent, taking in the moment and looking into each other's eyes. He still had his hand on my face and rubbed my fur with his thumb. I still couldn't get over it. My life would be forever changed. For the better obviously, but would I still be able to work? Were others going to end up like me? Would I be able to use moves like real Pokemon do? I laid my thoughts to rest and refocused on Shay's smile. His loving smile was all I needed in this moment.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, finally breaking the long pause, "There's a part two to your gift."

He turned and reached behind him and pulled out a red collar with a dog tag on it. He presented it to my and held it outward where I could see there was something engraved on the collar. It read, 'To the best friend a guy could ask for, Lucario.'

"You don't have to wear it if you don't want to," Shay said sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

I grabbed the collar and held it up to my neck, turning around and pressing my back toward him. I held my hands still with the two ends of the collar out waiting for him to grab them.

"Of course I have to accept!" I started, "I'm your Pokemon, now. I'll do whatever you say."

He took the two ends of the collar and clipped the together, letting the collar rest on my neck. I turned back around stood up.

Shay did the same and I looked up at him. He, being two inches taller. He grabbed my waist and leaned in, initiating another long and passionate kiss.

"I love you, Lucario," he uttered in a brief pause.

The importance of his words were present in the room as our showcase of passion continued, being warmed by the rays of the evening sun.

#furry #gay #transfur #transformation #pokemon #pokemontf #lucario #sfw #tftuesday #tfeveryday #tf #lucario tf

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baddieladdie · 7 months ago

Text

♡ Companion Shorts ♡

Fallout companions react to depressed vault dweller

Rating: Teen Charon ➼ Arcade Gannon ➼ Hancock ➼ Nick Valentine ➼ Deacon

Charon [FO3]

"What are you doing?" Charon grumbled from behind you, annoyed at the sudden stop in broad daylight. The view was nice from this vantage point, but it also meant they were in clear view of any hidden antagonists.

The burden of your loneliness beckons you to the ground. You fall to your knees, though the weight off your legs does nothing for heaviness in your spirit.

Why? You didn't know why.

Perhaps you had been too optimistic. Believed so wrongly that you could bring change to the wasteland. Or at least bring some minor degree of improvement. It was futile, all along. The wasteland was ever hungry, taking everything it was given and reducing it to rubbish. Even with the few good deeds done, the Talon company just kept sending mercenaries to kill you for the very slight of fighting the good fight. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

You look down the chasm below, half-hearted imagining your mutilated body on the rocks. Would even your death make a difference? Or would it just be one more life taken by the wastes?

"Hey," A familiar firm hand gripped your shoulder, "It's not safe here."

Tension swelled up in your sinuses as you shrugged his hand off. You clenched your hands together, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. The subtle pain was refreshing against the agony in your mind.

Charon was a victim even before the bombs fell; a constant reminder that humanity was corrupt well before apocalypse. Perhaps you really weren't so separated from the innate evil nature in the human spirit. You relied on Charon in nearly every fire fight. Taking advantage of his experience and strength through a contract you knew was akin to slavery. He obeyed every command, helped with every request. Never questioning you for a moment and always risking his life. You felt sickened on your reliance on that bloody contract. You should be finding a way to free him, and yet....where would that leave you? Dead? And what future what that be? Dead now or just dead later...

Charon grumbled as he sat beside you on the chasm's edge. He had seen ages pass, experienced more agony than he could ever be bothered to explain. For some employers, he'd leave them to their devices. But you? You are one of the few bastards crazy enough to help others selflessly in the wasteland. Even if wasteland was utterly indifferent to your efforts, it certainly be a darker place without the hope you brought others with each intentional good dead. Their very existence showed a brighter side of humanity that was a rarity in dark times.

"Tell me what troubles you," Charon's familiar gravelly voice was laced with an unfamiliar tone of... genuine concern?

"I just," You sigh heavily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going on like this."

"I've wondered the same thing myself." Charon nodded with an empty stare.

You felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of bringing up painful memories for him.

Charon continued hesitantly. "I feel I must remind you; I am honor bound to keep you safe. From threats and, if necessary, from yourself"

"I don't want t-"

Before you can finish your thought, Charon scoops you up into his arms and walks you away from the ledge. "You need to be more careful," He complained. "You won't make a difference out here if you're dead."

He carries on walking through the awkward silence. "We passed a shelter not far from here. We could rest until you feel ready to continue again. We could uh, listen to that radio broadcast you like you so much."

"Maybe play game?" you tease.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-Charon carries you to the shelter where he watches over you diligently until the worst of your depression episode passes-

Arcade [FNV]

You stare blankly at the ceiling above. Small particles of dust lazily hung in the air of the abandoned cabin you and Arcade took shelter in a few days ago. You really should leading the charge back out into the Mojave, but you simply couldn't find the energy to do so. Therefore, you simply rested.

Arcade knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response you couldn't be bothered to provide.

"Alright, guess I'm just going to let myself in then. I'll give you to the count of three," Arcade raised his voice from behind the wooden slat door. "You better be decent by then." you head him mumble.

Arcade cracked open the door, peering around to see your still body in the same position as when he gave you a mug of coffee hours before.

"In another one of our spells, are we?" His sarcasm brought you little comfort.

"Sorry. I just lose my heads sometimes," you sigh with a heavy heart.

"If by 'sometimes' you mean 'a lot of times', I agree. Please just....go easy on yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vague emptiness you felt threatening to swallow you whole. Taking everything with it 'til you couldn't feel nothing at all.

"This is worse than before, isn't it?" Arcade pulled up a chair next to you. It creaked under his weight as he sat down. "Was it something I said?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just....tired, Arcade. I'm fine, really." You gave a meager fake smile, hoping to appease the kindly doctor.

"Mmhm," Arcade paused for a beat. "Is that all?"

You could have sworn you were just tired, but now that you think about it, there were some troubles on your mind. Arcade waited patiently for you to open him to him about it. He did enjoy lengthy conversations more than most and always had his opinions ready.

"Ready to get back out there?"

"All right, let's not waste any time!" Arcade rested his doctor's bag on a shoulder, the enthusiasm in his voice giving away his excitement. "There are people out there to help, things to learn. Maybe not in that order, but let's get to it!"

Hancock [FO4]

Hancock chuckled, lounging on the couch next to you in the old state house. "I don't buy that shit for a minute." He shook his head, "No way, you can't fool me, sister/brother." He casually rested his hand on your thigh, immediately drawing your attention to him. "It hasn't been easy transition ya, has it?"

Your eyes began to water as Hancock looked you over with care. He nodded slowly with genuine understanding, "I didn't think so. No one should have to go through what you've been through." He gave your hand a little squeeze. "Ya always give me hope for brighter future. Cause I get to have you in my life." He smiled, "Cause the odds, it's practically impossible our paths would ever meet. I mean, you're pre-war, baby. The freshest smoothskin around and you wanna be a drugged out, dragged out ghoul?! That's how I know all that karma shit is bull, 'cause there is no way someone like you could ever end up with me."

You granted him a half-smile with the compliment. But the mayor didn't quite seem to grasp yet that you had burdens, very real and unconventionally heavy emotional baggage. Not that there was a trauma competition in nuclear wasteland, but you would have at least won a medal in most-fucked psyche. Your smooth nature stopped at skin level.

"It's been a Hell of road that brought us together, but aren't I glad I took up with you? 'Cause this person," Hancock paused, waiting patiently until you returned his gaze before continuing, " - the one I'm looking at right now. They're the one I love. I don't want to be without them ever again."

You wince slightly, his words a little too sweet. "You sure about this, Hancock? I mean, with everything I've been through...." You sigh heavily, your chest falling. "People are going to talk, Mayor" You give him a sly look, knowing how he enjoyed the occasional call to his title.

"Can't say I care much about what others think. Half the opinions out there aren't worth listening to anyway. The only opinion I care about, is yours." He grinned.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Are you sure?" "You kidding me? So long as I got you at my side, it doesn't matter the capacity. I'm with you all the way, rain or shine" "You're a damn fine man, Hancock. I'm lucky to have you at my back." "And God help any of 'em who get in our way."

Nick Valentine [FO4]

"In my line of work, you usually see folks at their worst. I can tell there's something troubling you. You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." You grumble. You swirled with antagonistic emotions, unable to tell where one pain started and the other ended. Guess that's just what happens after you go through one too many impossible tragedies. Losing the love of your life and child alone was unimaginable. Your years of service in the U.S. army gave you the 'gift' of surviving the nuclear attacks that transformed your home and country to a primitive wasteland. You've always tried to make the best decisions possible for your family. But if you hadn't signed up for Vault 101, would you have died peacefully alongside your love? Would that have been better? You stared into your hands, agonizing over the conversation you had with the Vault-tec sales rep.

"Not enough people out here are willing to try and do what's right. I consider myself awful lucky I fell in with one who is," Nick paused, the smoke from his cigarette seeping from the metal cracks in his feature. He glanced around the Boston shore, checking for any ne'er-do-wells. But the coast was clear, perhaps due to their combat efforts earlier that day. He cleared his throat, and continued with some insistence, "If there is something bothering you, I'd like to be the one to help lighten the load. I happen to know a thing or two about find yourself after losing the life you thought you had."

"Thanks, Nick," You snap out of momentarily. The Boston harbor air was foul. You couldn't escape the reality you were in, no matter how you tried. The smells, the sounds, the food - none of it was familiar. "I'll be fine. I just don't sleep well." That wasn't much of a lie. Whenever you try to sleep, the memory of your love screaming your name returned. Their blood painting the inside of their frozen coffin while you watched helpless from inside your own. When you eventually fell asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire, screams of terror from the wasteland, and shouts of mutants would wake you. It was all just too much.

"I think it's time we take a break from the case, friend."

"What?!" You jump up from the bench, "We can't stop now! Not with the progress we've made!"

Nick flinched in surprise, but quickly settled to a concerned frown. "You haven't been yourself lately. We-," Nick sighed, committing to genuine honesty as he often did. "Partner, I need you at your best to solve this case. Come on, let's go back to the agency. I'll review the case files and you get some rest."

You look away, anger and guilt fuming within you. "I don't feel much like resting, Nick. I want to finish this."

Nick let your words marinate in the pregnant silence. "Is that what you want? To 'finish' this?" He gripped a metal hand your shoulder and looked down into your eyes. "I understand, you must feel angry. You have every right to be. But hurting others won't bring them back."

You simply couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears of grief, rage, and pain streamed hotly down your face, pooling at the apex of your chin. Nick pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back as you cried into his signature detective trench coat.

"I'm sorry, friend. Truly."

Deacon [FO4]

You take a long drag off your cigarette, savoring that ever-so-familiar lightheadedness. The weather was shit, as it always was in Boston. Cloudy, and damp. You wrapped your cloak a little tighter around yourself, but it didn't do you much good. The bitter cold you felt reached deeper than your bones and left you frozen to your core. Just an icy fraction of the vibrant person you were before. Before you lost everything you had fought for, everything that had mattered to you. It all was gone. And along with it, any reason to carry on.

You exhaled slowly, watching your frozen breath drift aimlessly away from your cracked lips. Deacon watched quietly from aside, nursing a chilled Nuka-cola. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Genuine words never did come easily to him. Deacon had always found it more comfortable to flirtatiously avoid the truth. Kept him safe from every getting hurt....and ever making close friends. Deacon, being a loner himself, recognized the loneliness you dwelled in.

"I know what I feels like to wear a mask. That kind of protection only ambiguity can give you. But really - are you feeling okay? Cause you can talk to me"

"Another one of your little lies?" You sigh, tapping the ash off the butt of your cigarette.

"No, not this time," Deacon kept an uncharacteristically straight face

You pause, stirred by the sincerity present in Deacon's voice. He loved the way lies could crack your usual composure. You watch his expression carefully, checking for any usual hint of his usual mischievous nature. But all that saw on his face was genuine concern for a companion he cared deeply about.

"Well, look who's acting out of character now," you tease. "Thanks, Deacon. I appreciate that. And I'll be fine. It just, uh...." you take in a deep breath. "It takes time, building up this new life. Making these new memories. Building these new relationships. Just sometimes, I uh, miss my old life. My old friends. Sometimes I see something, and I just know my spouse would have loved to see it."

"I know. But we'll stop the Insititute. For them."

"Right," You nod, filled with determination. "For them."

To.Be.Continued...

#hurt/comfort #fallout companions #fo3 charon #fnv arcade #arcade gannon #nick valentine #fo4 hancock #fallout 4 #fallout #fanfic writer #companion shorts #charon #john hancock #fo4 deacon

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lovelyhan · 1 year ago

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SVT HARD HOUR

Maybe a SVT member and their partner are in a relationship where the rest of the members (and the world) thinks the SVT member is the lead in the relationship but in reality their partner is.

Like it’s really important for him to be seen as the lead so she let’s him be seen as it.

Partner is normally really relaxed about the teasing but one day he takes it too far where she whispered that if he keeps this up, he not gonna like where it’s heading.

He keeps pushing so the members learn who is really the lead.

Hahaha this was a lot more detailed then what I meant. I don’t really have a member in mind. I am gonna be happy with whoever you choose.

Sooo, have fun writing ✍️

@hwanghyunjinenthusiast also asked: Because I love you <3 Also going to try to switch it up lol.

Consider edging Mingyu. You know he'd get all whiney and desperately try to buck his hips up into you when you stay completely still on top of him. Massive hands needily grabbing at your hips. In an attempt to steady himself or encourage you to move, you're not sure.

It'd be so cute how teary-eyed he'd be. His big cock twitching inside of you incessantly but, he'd try his best to hold on. Because he wants to be good for you.

NEEDY — MINGYU

surprise surprise <3 i'm sifting through my inbox for old requests that have been gathering dust since may!! i've been missing mingyu a lot these days so here's a quick drabble :3c

tags: f!reader, sub!mingyu, smut (MINORS DNI)

"is it really such a big deal for you to be the one that calls the shots, gyu?"

a whine is caught in the back of your boyfriend's throat as you drag your finger across the swell of his adam's apple, pinning him in place with a disgruntled stare.

mingyu knows he's been a little...over the top today — making a show of bossing you around just to fool his friends into thinking he's the one that runs this relationship, or whatever bullshit patriarchal nonsense he's got brewing inside his head. normally, you would've played along with his need to be seen as anyone but the big pouty man-puppy he actually is.

however, after making a snide comment that made every one of the boys stare at you warily as if waiting for a violent reaction, you decide that you've had enough of mingyu's big scary dom roleplay.

"i'm better off making dinner for you in the kitchen, huh?" you narrow your eyes, forcing mingyu's chin up as you clench around his aching cock. "now what made you think that, gyu? did you really mean what you said? because i'll be really upset if you did."

"n-no, baby, i was just fooling around," mingyu pleads, large hands digging into your hips as he forces himself not to buck up into the warmth of your cunt. "you know the guys tease me enough as it is, so i was just trying to —"

"be a sexist little shit to your girlfriend?" you finish the rest of the sentence with a disappointed huff. "i know you were just trying to get the guys off your back, but i expected more from you, gyu.

"after all, we both know just how needy you are when i'm the one calling the shots."

he sniffles, tears glistening in his eyes. it's almost adorable. "i'm sorry, baby, i —"

the noise that rumbles in his chest is caught between a groan and a whimper when you lift yourself up on his lap before slamming back down with more force than you typically do. despite the frustration rolling off of you in waves, your boyfriend's big cock still does the job in stemming your irritation from his earlier antics, and with how eager mingyu is to be good for you, you suppose you can forgive him.

that doesn't mean you'll make things any easier for him though.

"if you're really sorry, you'll sit there like a good boy while i get myself off," you coo before establishing a languid pace — riding your boyfriend as you press your foreheads together while you drill every word into his head. "my puppy can do something as simple as that, right?"

"yes. i promise — i promise i'll be good," mingyu mewls adorably, the muscles of his thighs tensing from the sheer effort he's exerting to stay still. "f-fuck, your pussy's so warm, baby."

"i didn't give you permission to start running your mouth, now did i?"

it's hard to miss how his cock twitches inside you — clearly enjoying the way you put him in his place no matter how much he tells his friends otherwise. you simper before leaning down to nip at his lobe, purposely moaning into his ear as you repeatedly slam your hips back down on his.

"i'd tell you that your huge cock is all you're good for but i won't. you know why, gyu?" you whisper as you try not to lose yourself to the delicious stretch of his girth. "that's because i fucking love you. so i suggest — ah, fuck — for you to choose your words carefully next time. got it, puppy?"

despite sounding more and more breathless with each passing second, mingyu thinks it's hot that you're lecturing him while you fuck him into incoherence. he decides then and there that he doesn't give a shit if his friends find out how submissive he actually is — both in the bedroom and your relationship in general.

your big, beefy boyfriend is powerless against you after all.

"'m so close," mingyu sighs as you start kissing down his neck, nimble fingers gliding across his nipples for added stimulus. "wanna cum inside you, baby... can i?"

you don't respond right away — too caught up in chasing after your own pleasure to give him another thought. but mingyu doesn't mind because fuck. you look so sexy like this, tits bouncing with every downward stroke as his big cock batters your cunt.

but just when he's about to feel his orgasm boil over, you lift yourself off your boyfriend's cock. this earns you a desperate whine in protest from mingyu which you promptly shut up by tipping him backwards, forcing him flat on his back before positioning your sopping pussy over his face.

"you think you deserve it after that stunt you pulled?" you chuckle darkly, delighting in the way mingyu's big arms automatically wrap themselves around your thighs to hold you in place. "make me come on your face first, puppy. then i'll think about whether or not i want you to finish inside me tonight."

you'll let him. you'll always let him.

but the fun thing about being with mingyu is that he never really backs down from a challenge.

#seventeen smut #mingyu smut #svthub #📝 drabble #💭 request #💌 anon #💘 mutuals #rj 🍷#maybe i'll work on these one per day #who knows!

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according2thelore · 9 months ago

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These ES/LS snippets are truly saving my need for more of your fics.

You very quickly became my favorite wincest author, hitting every one of my favorite tropes(hurt/comfort is my bread and butter too!) And I'm excitedly(and impatiently lol) waiting for your next fics to come out.

Your writing is SO GOOD and I find myself going back to your fics all the time. My first was your love potion fic and that's still one of my absolute favorite samdean fics out there.

This isn’t really an ask so much as it is an appreciation lol. Can't wait for your next fic!

(If this was an ask though, I'd love more thoughts on your ES/LS universe and even MORE hurt/comfort and jealousy lol)

BABE???? OH MY????

i don't even know what to say! this is the nicest compliment!!!!! you're so incredibly kind, and i'm so unbelievably honoured that my work is special to you!

EEP! i can't even express how much this ask means to me!!!! there are literally no words!!!! the love potion fic was meant as a fun little add-on to that month's challenge, but i've been blown away by how much folks have liked it--i live for a little melodrama and H/C, lol!

every writer dreams of getting asks like this one, and just ARGH! i'm kissing you on both cheeks!!!!!

as for upcoming things, my next fic will probably be my teen!chesters piece for the wayward sons zine (it will be HEFTY). charlotte and i were outlining this fic, and it ended up being about five pages of outline. so def a larger one!

because this ask was so incredible and lovely and kind (so kind?? holy shit?? my hand in marriage??) i wrote a little thing for you! i hope you like!

dean rubs his hands on the sides of his jeans, before he catches himself doing it. shit.

he crosses his arms, then realizes that he looks awkward and posed, so he uncrosses them again. he pushes his hair back from his face--but fuck, what if his hair looks weird now? dean checks frantically around for a reflective surface, but the only thing even close to him is a giant telescope, and--even though he briefly considers it--there's no way he'd be able to crawl back up it and down in time.

"what are you doing?" he mutters to himself, able to at least recognize that he's acting like a preteen about to meet one of the jonas brothers.

it's just sam.

just sam, kind of, dean's brain quietly corrects. it's just sam, but fucking huge.

it's just sam, but his ridiculous hair has grown and curls softly around his ears, brushes his jaw when he ducks his head. it's just sam, except his arms are bigger than dean's head. dean didn't miss the show the other day when sam came to look for something and lifted a fucking stuffed armchair with one arm.

(dean tried it later, and it took him both hands and two tries to get it off the ground. that thing must be reinforced with some crazy cold war steel or something. definitely.)

dean eyes the main room again. he should just sit at the big table. he eyes the big sword on one of the shelves. no--focus. sam went into "library annex 3" to find a book that he thought dean should absolutely take a look at, and left dean, dazzled, in his wake. so dean is going to sit here and wait, because he's been running out of excuses to see sammy lately.

dean slumps into one of the chairs, sighing. what is wrong with him?

he gets so...easily distracted whenever sammy--future-sam or whatever--starts talking to him. and most of it isn't even his fault, okay? sammy always puffs up whenever either 2006 winchester gets close, a dick-measuring if dean's ever seen one. as soon as sam got a single inch on dean in height, dean's never heard the end of it. but this sammy, older sammy, straightens up and his chest gets all big and--fuck--arms! big arms!!

dean keeps trying to find plausible excuses for sammy to take off his shirt because dean is convinced he has a six-pack under there, and it's his right to know!

"i found it!" a muffled voice from down the hallway, so deep that dean's brain goes a little sideways. and dean feels his whole body lock up, like he's just been thrown out of an airplane.

sam--sammy steps through the doorway, holding up a book triumphantly. his eyes are bright, and he's got little wrinkles at the corners, barely there. his grin is radiant, and dean feels absurdly like he's looking directly at one of those religious frescos with the yellow circles behind everyone's heads. sam would get a kick out of that.

dean whimpers. he straight up fucking whimpers, covering it quickly with a cleared throat.

"great!" he says, too bright. it's not his fault! it's not! dean barely resists the urge to bash his own head in.

so sue him! sam is suddenly huge and old and glad to see dean? he lights up whenever dean walks into a room, greeting him warmly. he seems to find dean adorable, which dean kind of resents, but it's hard to stay mad at sammy when he clearly finds so much delight in seeing him.

and 'sammy' isn't helping. 'sammy' had always been a dean word. it had been an 'us' word, a 'they don't know you like i know you, they can't understand you like i can' word. as soon as dean's own sam--2006 sam--had shrugged off the word, and older sam had donned it, dean knew he was screwed. wires crossed. you can only call so many men 'sammy' before you start to tease them and want to be around them and give them shit and look at their huge fucking tits--wait...no. shit. focus!

"so get this," sammy says, and he slides into the chair next to dean, smooth and graceful and so in touch with every muscle in his body that dean has to catch his breath a little. and his chest does something funny, because sam shows him the book and starts babbling.

he starts babbling. like a two year old sam and an eight year old sam and a twelve and a fifteen and an eighteen year old sam.

it seems impossible that this person--this man, all poise and purpose and focus, whose eyes can cut and soothe, whose stubble scratches when he rubs a hand across his jaw--is still dean's sam. dean's sammy.

and he knows it. and he likes it. this sammy brushes his shoulder and doesn't recoil like it burns. he looks to dean first when something is wrong. dean saw, the other day, how his older self comforted sam after a nightmare, how easily sam contorted himself to fit the shape of older dean's arms. sam likes being dean's. or at least this version of dean.

"anyways, i think that this is probably our most comprehensive record of vampires--their habits, their physiology, their weaknesses. if you wanted to give it a read, i think it'll really come in handy." sam says, still talking like dean cares at all for vampires and not the exact shape of sam's mouth.

dean aches. he feels inadequate. there is something clearly in this dean that is worthy, something that sam finds lovable. or necessary. dean wants to be necessary. dean needs to be necessary.

"yeah." dean says, suddenly, when he realizes that sammy's looking for a response. "that--uh--that sounds great."

"you didn't hear a thing i said, did you?" sammy asks, eyebrow raised, teasing and knowing and fuck--dean's chest collapses. sam knows him.

it's so strange to be known by this...this man. this man who blots out the sun with his shoulders, and has callused hands, and looks at dean like he's proud of him. this man knows him. this man is sammy, and that's all dean every really needs.

"naw." he says, scrubbing a hand in the close-shorn hair at the back of his head, abashed and feeling strange. "'m sorry."

"don't be." sammy rolls his eyes, but it's in good humour. sam--2006 sam, and it's weird that dean has already made that distinction--would genuinely be put out. he thinks dean doesn't take him seriously.

both sams are alien to dean. sam, because his burden is eating him alive. he's terrified of himself, of his powers. furious at what he's becoming and increasingly furious at dean for not taking his own safety seriously. like sam could ever hurt him.

and this sammy, of course, is different. he's physically very different, but also...softer? that's the wrong word. he's easier, maybe. his smiles are soft and he thinks through things before he says them. he doesn't hurt to hold in your hand like sam does, all spikes and hard edges like rock that resents you for holding it. sammy is a stone worn smooth by a river, and dean doesn't know if that makes him a bad brother.

he doesn't want to know, because he can't think about this being another way of failing sam. dean's been failing sam since that first over-long look in 1995.

this sam, at least, dean has a reason for not understanding completely. time has made a stranger of his brother, not circumstance, and time is easier to blame.

"what?" sammy asks, and dean snaps back to the present, abashed again. god. it's like his first fumbling date a fourteen all over again. but wait, no it's not--why did dean think that?

"nothing. sorry. you're just--" dean can't find the words. sammy seems delighted at this, eyes sparking with a challenge like they're both in on a joke.

"i'm..." he prompts, drawing it out. dean sputters. he and sam give each other shit all the time. it shouldn't feel different with this sam, but...it does.

"hi."

dean jerks away, sitting up straight in his chair. sam stands in the doorway. he looks pissed. his hands are balled into fists at his sides, his jaw is set, and he's...not looking at dean.

dean looks to sammy, whose eyes widen. he seems surprised by something. proud of something.

"dean wants to know if we're ready for dinner. what are you doing?" sam asks, words loaded. dean's about to jump in, feeling weirdly guilty. they're just talking about a book, it's not like they were--

"just talking with my little brother." sam says, jostling dean's shoulder with his elbow, like this is all a big joke but what the fuck?? dean's spine melts and drips down his ribs. oh my fucking god.

little brother little brother little brother sam could pin dean down if he wanted to, dean looks down at sam's huge fucking hands oh my god, little brother--

"you--" sam starts, and sammy sits up straighter, tilting his head forward like he's coaching sam through something, but sam's eyes are suddenly on dean, and dean freezes.

he doesn't know what to do under sam's critical gaze. the weight in his stomach is definitely guilt, but dean doesn't know why. dean looks away first.

"we're just talking shop, sam." dean says to his hands. a pause. dean hears sam leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

he better not be going to see that old geezer. dean doesn't like he way he looks at sam.

"we almost had him," sammy says, thoughtful. dean looks up, and sammy is looking down at him with an expression so fond that dean's throat closes. "next time."

dean's heart beats faster.

oh man. he is so fucked.

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #animangalover15

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lolaandthens0me · 1 year ago

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Hey Lola! I love your posts and content! I gotta ask this: What has your Poly Journey looked like for you, and is there anything that I should be mindful of within my own journey?

Salutations Anon! And thank you for the kind words.

Wow, what a fantastic question! It has been quite the journey filled with much love, some heartache, an abundance of patience and growth, and real hard work in self-awareness and compassion...along with more than a smattering of fun, fuckery, and so.much.travel.

My journey began with a quiet aching within my heart and unsettledness within my gut. I think I've always known that I was polyamorous and bisexual, but I've not always had the vocabulary to express that. I am a being with an extraordinary capacity to love, and although I had so much love within my marriage (and still share with my ex), my heart was calling for more. There came a time where I felt that if I didn't make a change, the real person I was inside was going to be gone forever. The part that makes me Lola. I believe that I was put on this Earth to love, to share my body, and to share my heart and empathy in order to help others learn how to heal and love themselves.

The first step was to learn how to communicate honestly, even if it meant hurting someone I loved. I read books and blogs about how to be an active communicator instead of a passive one. And then I practiced. I surrounded myself with wonderful friends who listened, pushed me to speak my truth, and helped me figure out just what is was that I felt I was missing, I was being called to pursue, and they supported me, every step of the way, in who I was becoming.

Then I had to learn how to ask for what I want. This is a lesson that I continue to relay to all of my friends and partners. I have learned how to compassionately, but confidently and with kindness, ask specifically for what I want. One way that I continue to do this is by being very upfront about who I am and what kind of life/relationships I want with any potential play partner/kinky friend/partner...the people that I want to be my whole, true, unedited self with.

I also had to do the hard thing. After months and months of therapy, couple's therapy, open, honest conversations, time spent alone and together, trials of compromise and an open relationship to a degree - I had to say that I wanted to separate. I was married for almost 15 years at this point. That was one of the hardest days of my life. But I felt caged, frail, like the color was being completely drained from me. They say that it takes a good 2 years after a separation/dissolution/divorce to get your life back to something normal again. I have not quite made it to that mark yet...but I believe that's true. My ex and I chose to rewrite a new chapter for our relationship, to write our own book, to remain friends and in each other's lives...and wow, has that been hard. But I am so fucking grateful and happy that we've done that work. And we are in a wholly different, beautiful place.

Now for the fun, but also tricky part...I began forming new relationships. I think I've always known that I would be someone who would want and thrive with a Primary partner. I was lucky, my Primary partner, RY, was a friend first, and grew very organically and beautifully into more than that. We both made a promise to each other very early on that we would keep checking in and evaluating the health of ourselves, our processes of getting over a breakup, and the state and wellbeing of our relationship as it blossomed and grew into what it is today. As long as we were both still growing individually and encouraging each other into happy and healthy people, then we would continue growing our relationship. We communicate openly and honestly about everything, we have been patient in allowing one another the space to mourn the loss of our marriages with empathy, and we have taken our time to rebuild ourselves, bringing our best selves to each other. It worked out that he also was looking to explore polyamory. We're both still new at this, but we talk about and work through every growing pain along the way.

Then along came my other partner. She and I had a connection right away. Our close friendship naturally grew into something more. She and my primary partner were also friends, and honestly, I think that really helps. It is just amazing to see the two of them talk and laugh and genuinely enjoy being around each other, and they both reach out to one another in their love for me. I was always clear about who RY was to me and what our relationship was, and so that helped lay the foundation for my second relationship. I check in a lot with her to make sure that she feels loved, seen, and heard, and that we have enough time in person together. It's fantastic that we can be things and do things with one another that just simply don't fit into our other relationships.

I have learned what my boundaries are (and the fact that I actually need boundaries) within myself to ensure that I remain intact and wholly my own, as well as a giving, loving, deeply connected partner. It was important for me to live by myself right now, not something I've ever done before. I made this choice for the past year because I know my codependent tendencies and I wanted to break out of that mold. I still struggle sometimes with not giving all of my energy to those I love. I must save some for myself and I have found ways to replenish that energy. Time and energy; I'm still learning how to balance these within a polyamorous life.

I continue to work on approaching every conversation with empathy and an open mind and heart. I continue to keep searching within myself and bring that self-awareness to my relationships. I continue to push myself to see a different way and live a different way. I continue to surround myself with open-minded people that see me, know me, support me, and love me in this new life I'm creating. I continue to take time to be by myself and breathe. I continue to search out new opportunities that challenge me and fulfill me. I continue to be a student of life. And I continue to lean into love.

I love you @resonantyes and @hbananer - thank you for this life.

#polyamory #poly life

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starlitangels · 1 year ago

Text

One Last Show?

... More Rockstar AU. In the same universe as "Last Night of Tour" but now with the other band ;-) Please welcome Milo and the Wolves to the stage! 5.5k words this was not meant to be this long omg

@palilious and @zozo-01... figured you two would like to be informed that I finished this one ;-)

—

Sweetheart

Milo shoved open the hotel room door and stormed inside. Me hot on his heels. “I am not your parents, Mr. Greer. You hired me for your safety, remember?” I snapped the second the door closed.

Milo scoffed. “And you’re good at what you do—but I’m gettin’ a little sick-a you breathin’ down my neck day in and day out!” His retort fired off his tongue fast, like he knew what I was going to say.

“Look. I’m not here to judge you, okay? If you wanna go out and party, then go out and party. If you’re sick of the rest of the band and want to sneak out to party without them—fine. But you take me with you. I’m not gonna judge you for sneaking out. I’m just here to make sure you’re protected. That’s why I’m the one carrying the gun. So if you’re sneaking out, then dammit I better be right by your side next time. I don’t care about the why or whatever. I’m just trying to do my job. And you make it pretty damn difficult when you go behind even my back, understand?” As I spoke, I pushed myself into his personal space and glared him right in the eye. But didn’t touch. Never touch unless it was absolutely necessary.

Milo bared his teeth at me and looked like he was literally going to pounce down my throat. Insufferable spoiled rockstar who always got whatever he wanted and—

He slouched. “Fine, sweetheart,” he bit out with a pissed off snap in his voice. “Next time, you’re comin’ with.”

I leaned a little closer. “Good.” With that, I whipped around and stomped back to the door, yanking it open. “Goodnight, Mr. Greer.”

He waved me off dismissively. I pulled it shut firmly behind me, but didn’t slam it.

Out in the empty hallway, identical to every other hallway, I closed my eyes for a moment. Trying to calm myself down. I rubbed my eyes and went to my hotel room on the other side of the wall from Milo’s.

“You look frustrated,” my roommate, the band’s manager and the lead guitarist’s partner, remarked. “You find him?”

I inhaled deeply through my nose and sighed out of it. “I found him.”

They smirked. “Did you have to ping the GPS in his phone with your hacker whiz skills?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. Thankfully.”

“Do I want to know where he was?”

I blinked several times. “No.” I turned toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower and go to bed. I had to chase that moron halfway across Kennedy and I'm exhausted. Next thing I know I’m going to be hunting him down while he’s getting frisky with a cowgirl or cowboy or someone in Mont Blanc. And if I do, I might actually lose my mind.”

Asher's partner crossed their legs on their bed when I paused in the bathroom doorway. "You ever wonder if he's acting out like this to get your attention?"

I stared at them for a moment. "Wh... why the hell would he do that?"

They shrugged. "I don't know. Because you're hot?" they suggested. I scoffed. "I'm serious! You're attractive and I've seen him sneaking glances at you when you're not looking and he thinks no one else is!" They sat forward on their bed.

"That's not why he's sneaking out. He does this at least once a tour because he gets sick of the band."

"And he always does it in Kennedy."

I shook my head. "Nope. Last time we were in Borden. The time before we were in Mont Blanc. He's only done it in Kennedy once before."

"You've paid that much attention?"

"Had to. It's my job," I said. I ducked into the bathroom. "See ya in a bit."

"Or not! I might spend the night in Asher's room."

"Okay." I shut the bathroom door behind me and yanked off my jacket to reveal my gun holster. After unbuckling that, I stripped everything else off and got in the shower.

—

Baaabe

I knocked on Asher's door with the same knock we always used to signal one of us was there. A pattern Asher had come up with that had taken me about seven tries to actually get right.

Barely three seconds later, the door opened. "Baaabe!" Asher whispered, beaming broadly and ushering me into his room without a moment's hesitation. I fell immediately into his arms and let him kick the door closed as he tucked me into his arms.

We took whatever time we could while on tour to be alone together. It was rare. Most of the time, at least one member of the band or crew was within at least earshot. If not direct line of sight. Most nights everyone slept on the tour bus as it drove to the next city. Not the most comfortable of beds or the best of sleep. Where Milo found the energy to kept engaging the audiences at every performance, I still had no clue. I wasn't the one on stage every night and tours left me absolutely wiped. How the band did it... I didn't know.

Well, except Ash. I knew where he found the energy. He'd been a coffee addict since before the band became famous enough to do tours. According to David—who had known Asher since they were pretty much born—Asher had been stuck on coffee since he was sixteen.

"Did they find Milo?" Asher asked as he tugged me toward his bed. It was a rare night on tour when we got to be alone in a hotel, and we were going to make the most of it.

"Of course they did. Milo could disappear to the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle and they'd still be able to drag his short ass back."

Asher's muscles relaxed under my fingers. "Thank God," he breathed. "Now we get to have fun without the anxiety of that looming over our heads."

I snorted. "As if you were ever actually worried." I tilted up onto my tiptoes—Asher was so tall—and puckered my lips just a little.

He bent down immediately and met them in a kiss, one hand cradling where the back of my head met my neck. Quickly the kiss turned hot and heavy, Asher digging his fingers into my body to keep me close. I felt him bump his legs against the bed.

Before he could react, I pushed him down onto it.

"Whoa—whoa!" He hit the mattress, shaggy warm black curls splaying out over the white duvet with his head thrown back in a smile. "Mmm. Miss me, babe?" he teased.

"What are you talking about? I see you every day."

A lazy, playful smirk bloomed on Asher's stupidly handsome face, white teeth stark and glittering against his bronze skin. "Well sure. But not alone. Not—" He bucked up at the hips and caught mine, dragging me down onto the bed on top of him. "Not private." He kissed me. Sloppy and heavy. "Not like this—with no chance of David or Milo turning the corner and finding us. For the first time in weeks, it's just you and me. All alone. No where to run. Nowhere to hide. No one trying to find us." He pulled back enough to wink. I snickered—

And planted a hand on his chest, pushing him down into the bed and away from me. "Are you gonna behave, Talbot? Or am I going to make you behave?"

A wild gleam flickered to life in his eyes. I felt his breathing speed up under my fingers. "I don't know, babe," he said breathlessly. "I might be feeling a little naughty."

I raised a brow. "We'll see how long that lasts."

I trailed my hand on his chest down his torso, lifting all but one finger to trace the line between his abdomen muscles. His eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered.

I paused with my fingertip low on his torso, just above the waistband of his pajama trousers slung low on his hips. "May I slide these off?"

Asher nodded. Fervently.

I didn't move. "Both?"

Another nod.

My other hand rested on his hips. "Use your words, Asher."

"Yes—God—please, babe."

I smirked and hooked all my fingers around the waistband of his pajamas and underwear. "Ready for a long night?"

"I've been dreaming of it," Asher said.

—

Angel

"I miss Tank," Asher remarked, leaning back on the folding chair he'd dragged onto the stage while we were all prepping for tonight's concert.

"We all do," David said softly, setting a hand on my mid-back to edge around me from behind with a case for part of his drum-set in his other hand. "But they made their choice to leave the band behind and we're going to respect that."

"Well duh," Asher retorted. "But, like, remember their energy? I miss the chaos."

"I don't," his partner—the band's manager—muttered. "Do you know how many fires of theirs I had to put out? I love them but they're a troublemaker."

"Besides," Milo threw in, a cord for something wrapped around his arm, "I thought you liked bein' lead guitar now."

Asher opened his mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it. Milo burst out laughing.

I drifted over to where David was setting up his drum set and sat on his usual stool. "Nervous for tonight?"

He glanced up at me, spinning something into place. "Not particularly. All things considered, I have the easy part."

I scoffed. "You do not."

"I keep the rhythm. It's not like I have notes to worry about."

"You have the hard job. You're the foundation of the whole song. Keeping the rhythm can be hard—and also your instrument has more parts than all the others. Except maybe the keyboard. And you have to remember which drum and which symbol to hit when. I think that's a lot to keep track of."

David almost cracked a smile. "Well, one of us is a musician, and one isn't. I think one of us is more qualified to speak on the difficulty of my part in the band than the other."

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe. But you have a habit of undercutting for the sake of humility and it's boring." I spun around on his swivel stool while he rolled his eyes and pulled one of his snare drums out of its case.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Curious—since I rarely got notifications right before a concert even as the PR manager—I pulled it out.

Tank: How was the Kennedy show last night?

I smiled. "Hey! Speak of the devil," I said.

David looked up from where he was setting up the snare's stand. "Tank?"

I nodded. "Asking how last night's show went in Kennedy." I was already texting them back.

Me: It went really well! There were very few technical issues (apart from Milo's mic having a funky connection during testing but we got that fixed) and I thought it was a great success. Got a lot of pictures for promo stuff.

David nudged me off of his stool and sat on it himself so he could put a cymbal stand together. I just stood there, watching the bubble of Tank's reply appear with the dots that showed they were typing.

Tank: Sounds great! You should check out the replay of the Dahlia concert of House of Solaire that they did last night. Right after intermission ;-)

Me: Am I going to find shenanigans?

Tank: Mild shenanigans maybe. Nothing illegal. Nothing certain members of MatW didn't already agree to.

They sent a quick follow up text with a YouTube link to The House of Solaire's verified YouTube channel. A specific video on said channel.

I paged through it quickly. Someone had marked "chapters" in the video of each individual song.

Until I found one that was most definitely not a House of Solaire song.

Scrunching my eyebrows, I put a Bluetooth headphone in and started the video from there.

My jaw dropped.

I disconnected my headphone and sat in David's lap, starting the song over. He made a grunt of protest before he realized what I was doing, and watched House of Solaire perform "Tougher than You"—with Tank. On stage.

A wistful, nostalgic look crossed the tilt of David's eyebrows and angle of his mouth before quickly vanishing. "Some things don't change," he muttered, lifting me off his lap to go back to work.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He scratched the back of his head. "We made a fairly decent amount of money in this band before Tank took their hiatus—or retired. Whichever. But in all that time, I've only ever seen them play that one guitar. They could have bought a new one. A nicer one. A better one. They never did. They treated it like their baby. Not surprised they still take meticulous care about it."

I smiled as I went back to the text thread. "Maybe they'll return to performing, one day."

David shrugged. "Maybe."

I texted Tank back.

Me: OMG! So good to see you on stage again! Definitely haven't lost your touch. 100/10 would recommend. Vincent did the rest of the vocals justice, I can give him that. We miss you <3

Tank: I miss you all too. But that's what dinner and the club is for when you all return to Dahlia. You are Going to meet up with me and No One is allowed to protest.

Me: Aye-aye, Captain!

They replied with a single emoji—flipping me off—and I threw back my head and laughed.

Milo wandered over with his gold mic stand in one hand. "Did I hear 'Tougher Than You' over 'ere?" he asked.

I switched back over to YouTube and showed him, Asher and Christian drifting closer over the course of the song.

Asher looked sad. "That's the sound I miss. I can never replicate it."

"You do a good job!" Asher's partner reassured him.

"It's not the same as when they do it," he mumbled, drifting off as the song ended and I paused the YouTube video again.

Me: I showed the rest of the band. Milo was smiling. Asher got kinda sad. Christian didn't react and David seemed a little nostalgic.

Tank: Wow. The big guy reacting visibly? I might pass out of shock XD

Me: We all miss you a lot

Tank: I know. But I'll see all of you soon Tank: Speaking of... what's the MatW tour schedule again? Have a screenshot you can send me?

Me: Of course. Let me dig it up. One sec

—

Tank

"So... who all knows about this?" Sam asked as we took our seats in the stadium. He hadn't been back to his hometown here in Mont Blanc in years—The House of Solaire tours always skipped it, opting instead for Atlanta due to some of Sam's bad memories in Mont Blanc—and seemed a little fidgety. Looking around like he might see people he knew.

In a leather jacket, a graphic T-shirt, jeans, and boots with his sleeve tattoos hidden and his distinct black piercings removed, no one in this crowd recognized him. Despite the fact that Milo and the Wolves and The House of Solaire shared a massive portion of fans.

Then again, this crowd had seen me perform on this very stage a few years ago, and none of them seemed to realize who I was either. One of Sam's flannels hiding one of the tank tops I used to perform in and a baseball cap on my head, I didn't even merit a double-take.

"The PR manager, the manager-manager, the security team, and Milo," I replied, settling into my seat. "That's it."

Sam looked around. "We're on the front row, darlin'. Dontcha think Ash and David will recognize you?"

I scoffed. "David won't be able to see me past the stage lights. He's too far back to make out anything in the crowd. Ash plays on the other side of the stage and won't be looking down here.

"If you say so."

The wait for the concert to start always seemed so much longer on this side of the stage. Backstage, I knew Asher's partner was running around frantically making sure everything was ready. Milo was pacing in the dressing room, wringing his gold-painted mic between his hands in order to not mess up his hair. David's partner, the PR manager, would be sitting in David's lap, letting him hold them tight enough to crack ribs if he squeezed just a little harder. Asher would have his head down on the makeup station, practically biting into his own arm to keep from clenching his jaw.

All that was missing was me sprawled out on the couch of the dressing room, spinning one of David's drumsticks between my fingers and needling them all to get them to chill as my own way of coping with nerves.

The band didn't get stage fright, but they were always anxious for everything to go well. Every show.

A playlist of old rock hits and a few new ones was filling the stadium as a crowd of fans filtered in. I kept the brim of my hat low just in case, and Sam looked stubbornly straight ahead. A few stage hands were putting the finishing touches on the setup. A few of them finishing the final soundcheck. The base drum of David's set rippled as it was struck, making the band logo flash in the stage lights.

Then the stage lights turned off and the stage was left empty, set up for each person. Any second now, tucked into the backstage clutter of equipment, the band's PR manager was setting one last thing up, hidden from the others. Aided and abetted by the band's main bodyguard and main manager.

"Waitin' feels long on this end," Sam remarked. "Nothin' to prep. No nerves to work through."

"Yup," I agreed.

"This what it's like every time you fly out to a show on the weekends with Vincent's partner?"

"Yup."

Sam swore under his breath. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "It's always worth it to watch my man perform." I leant close and pecked a quick kiss to his neck so I wouldn't bonk him with the brim of my hat.

We only exchanged a few words for the rest of the waiting time.

Until I snickered.

"What is it, darlin'?"

"Hear that?" I nodded toward the speakers in the ceiling playing the rock music.

"Yeah. 'Through the Fire and Flames.' Dragonforce, right?"

I smirked. "I begged David to let me put this on the playlist when we were first setting it up. Everyone else thought it was a little too much. I'm surprised they left it in the lineup after I backed out."

Sam gave me a look. "They care about you more than you think," he said.

The house lights faded out. The crowd's chattering went silent and still.

"Hello, and welcome!" a prerecorded announcement from a DJ friend back in Dahlia boomed over the speakers. We used to get a new one from him every year so it always sounded just a little bit different. "Everyone give it up for Milo and the Wolves!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and screams and whistles and clapping. Sam dared a glance around at the crowd, slightly curious.

My friends—who had been my only family for so long—ran out onto the stage, taking their positions.

Milo's eyes found mine immediately and he winked before waving at the crowd. "Good evening, Mont Blanc!" he called into his gold-painted microphone. "How's everybody doin' tonight?"

Sam passed me a pair of earplugs as the cheering grew even louder. We both put some in.

"A'right, a'right. Not bad," Milo said, exaggerating his East Coast accent a little. "Who's ready for a great lineup for tonight?"

More screams.

Milo nodded, pacing back and forth. "Good. As most of you know, we're on our 'Winter Solstice' album tour. But we got a few of our more popular hits sprinkled in too. I think you're all gonna have a great time tonight. Should we get started?"

The roar swelled.

Milo sucked the back of his teeth and sighed, pacing back toward Asher. "I dunno, Ash. I don't think they're ready. What do you think?"

Ash leaned close to his own mic. "I don't think they are." He chuckled. "What do you think, Mont Blanc? Are you ready to get started?!"

The cheers and screams were so loud it hurt even with the earplugs in.

This was the crowd I remembered. The House of Solaire crowds were loud and rowdy, but they were a lot of alternative rock fans. This was the true rock-and-roll crowd I loved.

"A'right. I think they're ready, Ash. Shall we?"

"Let's do this!"

Milo glanced back at David, but said nothing.

The same way Sam did, David knocked his sticks together to signal to the rest of the band the rhythm before slamming them down on his drums at the same moment Asher opened on a power chord.

Milo and the Wolves didn't believe in gentle openings. A stylistic choice leftover from when I was writing the instrumentation.

I smiled.

I knew every song. This was their second album without me, but they always sent me the album early. I could play along to every single recording by the third week, usually.

Their fifth song in, they played one of the popular ones from an old album. One I'd written.

Fighter's Spirit

Sam held my hand through most of the concert but let go of my hand so I could pretend his wrist and arm were my guitar's neck to play along out of sheer habit and muscle memory. He didn't seem to mind it so much.

"Baby, you know I got a fighter's spirit— "Can't give up, won't give in— "Know it's bad but ya gotta hear it—"

I'd written it based on something Milo's mom had said to me once. She and David's dad had been better parental figures to me than my own. Marie had once looked me dead in the face and told me I carried the spirit of a fighter lodged in my throat, barely bitten back by my teeth. Gabe had joked when he overheard that I was a wolf in human form, just waiting to bite someone.

And the name of the band had been born.

During a brief interlude so Milo could take a drink of water and work the crowd, Sam turned to me.

"You miss this, don't you." It was phrased like a question, but his voice made it a statement.

I blinked. My eyes were stinging a little. I hadn't blinked in several minutes, it felt like. "I... to an extent." I swallowed. There was a hollow feeling in my chest. One that the cheering around me made yawn wider—though the cheering used to fill it. Because it wasn't for me this time?

Sam squeezed my hand. "You're allowed to miss it, even if you don't want to go back to it," he remarked.

I didn't reply. I did miss this. Severely. But did I not want to go back?

Jury was still out on that.

A heavy bass line from Christian opening the next song after Milo's brief break to take a drink cued me on which song they were starting next.

Asher had written it, but back when I was still in the band and he played the bass instead of lead guitar.

I sang my harmonies and fingered the chords on Sam's arm while he smiled. As if I didn't catch him mimicking David's movements. We were both musicians and we felt our instruments in our souls.

A few more songs passed, Milo introduced the band to uproarious applause, and before I knew it, Intermission had arrived. The band ran off the stage to go dry off the sweat and change out of T-shirts and into dry tank tops. Where the crowd would certainly go wild at the sight of David's arms.

David felt like a brother to me and I'd never been attracted to him particularly but damn his arms were something else.

Of the band, I'd always been the only one to spend the whole concert in tank tops.

People filed out of the stadium for a break.

Sam turned to me. "You can go back, you know," he said softly. "You know these guys would take you back in a heartbeat."

I sucked in a deep breath and sighed. "I know."

"You wanna go back?"

"Yes and no. After Quinn and Nomadic... I just... you know what they tried to do to me. My image and reputation. Backing out of public life seemed the best idea at the time. And Asher's been a great lead guitarist."

Sam made a face. "You know we listen to y'all's albums on the tour bus while we're tourin', right?"

"You've mentioned it before, yeah."

Sam nodded. "Asher's a good lead guitar, sure. But he doesn't have the raw power you brought."

"Meaning what?"

"Asher..." Sam sucked in a breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, darlin', but you play like you're desperately fightin' to get somethin' outta you. It makes your sound heavy and raw. Ash doesn't have that. You can feel the difference between how he plays your songs and how you do. His technique is perfect but the feelin' behind it is all off." He made a face.

I mimicked it. "We'll see."

The rest of intermission was spent in silence between us.

Fact of the matter was, I did want to go back. But I couldn't admit that to Sam or myself. I didn't want to leave Sam. We'd end up seeing each other even less than we already barely could with him being the only one touring.

Get through tonight. Then unpack those feelings, I assured myself.

Eventually the house lights dimmed again. The band came back onstage. With no preamble or gentle opening to ease the audience back into the mood, they rocked into an opening. I smiled at the looks on my friends' faces. Still a little sweaty but mostly dried off. Absolutely high on the adrenaline of performing.

The crowd went nuts the whole song while I laughed and sang right along with them.

When the band reached the bridge of the song, I started to subtly unbutton Sam's flannel I was wearing, keeping it closed so my black-and-gold marbled-looking tank top was still hidden. One of my favorites to perform in, a couple years ago.

They reached the end of the song and I slouched in my seat, slipping the ball cap off my head and handing it, my earplugs, and the flannel to Sam.

Milo waited until the crowd settled a little. "Welcome back! Hopefully, everybody's had the opportunity the make their way back to their seats. Because we have a special surprise in store for everybody."

A few cheers. Scattered, and a bit confused. Most of the crowd seemed to just be waiting with bated breath for Milo to get on with it.

"It's been a couple years since we played this next song on tour. It never felt right, without the writer of it with us. You get to be the first ones to hear us play 'Tougher Than You' live on stage since Tank retired."

I saw David and Asher exchange a confused look.

Milo smiled conspiratorially at the crowd. Caught on the jumbotrons. "Because Tank is here tonight and gonna play it with us."

Asher's jaw dropped open and David's eyes widened as I popped out of my seat and hauled myself onto the stage. I whirled to face the stadium and waved, knowing the cameras were all on me.

The screams were loud enough to nearly knock me over. Milo threw an arm around me, lowering his mic to his side. "They never hated you," he said quietly. "Quinn failed."

I smiled at him and went to go get my guitar from backstage.

David shook his head. "Oh you sneaky motherf—" I didn't catch the rest because I turned away but I didn't need to catch it. I knew.

David's partner was beaming backstage beside Asher's partner and the band's security lead, holding my guitar out for me by the neck.

Grinning, I snatched it and threw the strap over my head, rushing back out with one hand held high, a pick flicking out of my leather cuff and into my fingers. I took a spot on the stage where I used to stand. Asher had taken a few steps back to give me room at his mic, plucking out the rhythm guitar part to remind himself what it was.

David knew this song even better than Sam did. So I didn't bother giving him a chance to count off the rest of the band before slamming into the opening.

Everything came naturally. Easily. Milo sang with the biggest smile on his face I'd ever seen during a show. I was at home, leaning my back against Asher's on the harmony. Feeling the stage lights' heat bead up sweat on my forehead and neck, David's drumbeat strong enough to sway my heartbeat to follow it.

Like I'd never left the stage behind.

Sam was right, I thought as I struck a hard chord. I do play like I'm fighting to get something out of me.

Because I was. I was fighting to get the music I felt in my soul out of my soul so the audience could feel it the way I did.

I'd written Tougher Than You from the perspective of me telling it to an ex of mine.

Now I sang and played it to Quinn, the same way I had onstage in Dahlia with Vincent and Sam and Alexis and Frederick. He'd allowed me to take a step back from the rockstar life—but he hadn't knocked me down permanently. I would always get back up and fight whatever he tried to do to me. I was tougher than everything that bastard could have ever thrown at me. I'd chosen the stage-name Tank as an inside joke. But it felt right now, in a way it hadn't before.

I was at home. With my band on my stage and my audience cheering me on with excitement.

Milo was right too. They never hated me.

As we hit the last note of the song, letting it sustain over the absolutely wild crowd, I panted with the biggest grin on my face.

I could get used to this feeling again, if I let myself.

Asher slung his guitar down its strap until it was upside-down on his back. I did the same, knowing what was coming. He crushed me into a hug, holding me tight. I ignored the slight stinging in my eyes. I was a damn rockstar—I wasn't going to cry onstage.

"God, I missed you, Tank," he said.

"Missed you too, buddy."

Milo rushed over and hit the hug on my side.

Next thing I knew, David was there too, arms encircling all three of us.

The crowd was still going wild.

When the cheering started to die down, I ran my guitar offstage and went back to my seat. Sam handed me my earplugs first, then my hat and flannel. Thankfully, the people sitting on either side of us respected us enough to leave us alone. And, to their credit, still didn't seem to recognize Sam.

—

Angel

"Tank!" I shouted, running across the backstage area after the concert was over. They held their arms out, letting me slam into them in a hug. "That was incredible!"

They laughed. "Thanks. Glad I could make it in time for Mont Blanc."

Sam chuckled from behind them. "Surprisin'ly, me too," he said softly. "Good reason and good way to come back."

I smiled at him too. "Thanks for accompanying our guitarist here," I teased. "Heaven knows they need it."

Tank glared at me playfully. I beamed.

David pressed a kiss to my head as he passed by. "Don't mind my menace too much, Tank," he remarked. "They do enjoy teasing."

Tank shrugged. "Feels like home, Davey."

That earned them a growl and an eye-roll.

I kept holding onto Tank in a hug. "So! What did you think?"

Tank glanced at where Milo, Asher, and Christian were helping the crew disassemble everything. "I'm gonna be honest, I missed this like hell. I wanna come back."

Asher's head whipped over at those words, smiling.

"I don't know if I'm ready just yet, but if you ever want me back..." They sniffed and wiped a quick, small tear that had escaped their eye. "I thought this was going to be one last show with this band. But I don't know if I'm ready to fully give it up."

"We'd take you back in a heartbeat," Milo said.

"Less!" Asher agreed.

Tank smiled. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."

Sam kissed the side of their head. "There's my darlin'," he said quietly. "I knew the rockstar was still in there."

They laughed.

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @shellssstuff @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom @ajfromabove

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Audio #Redacted Milo #Redacted Sweetheart #Redacted Asher #Redacted Babe #Redacted David #Redacted Angel #Redacted Darlin'#Redacted Sam #Starlit Fic #*gasp* Starlit is actually writing a little bit again!?#Yeah... I've been blocked for a while...

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obsidiancreates · 1 year ago

Text

Concerning Hobbits Who Cause A Great Deal Of Concern

Sequel to There and Back Again (Starting From The End)

Bilbo picks over the pile of supplies in front of him. "Extra clothes, good, maps, good, plenty of water jugs- won't be making that mistake twice, not after that holiday when Frodo was a lad-"

Gandalf clears his throat in the doorway, and Bilbo waves him in without looking up. "Come in, come in. Do you suppose I could find a good walking stick somewhere out in the desolation? Nevermind, I expect not. Let's see here- ah! Yes, yes, perfect." Bilbo holds up a small chain, meant for a delicate pendant. "Frodo wore the ring on a chain such as this, to resist it's temptations. I think I shall follow his lead. He was the one to do this quest first, after all."

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf says, slowly entering the decrepit supply room of Erebor's less ruined halls. "You owe us all some answers, I think."

"I explained it already, didn't I? I've been sent back from countless years in the future to prevent- well, prevent it all." Bilbo rifles through the pile some more. "The war, the misery, the deaths. I'm making grand plans for the coming years, Gandalf. Frodo told me as many stories as he could in the years before my return, and there's more souls in need of saving than I'm prepared for yet. We'll have to finish up this quest as quickly as we can, if I'm to settle in here and then get back to The Shire before poor Drogo and Primula meet their ends."

"Every word you utter brings more questions than answers," Gandalf huffs. "You told Gloin his son would face Sauron himself, prophesied my death and resurrection, and in the same breath pulled Thorin Oakenshield to your lips and have left him in a daze ever since!"

"I've tried telling him to come help me pack," Bilbo mutters. "Of course he's dazed, Gandalf, I myself didn't realize what exactly I felt until after his death before! It's only been a couple of days, he'll shake it off."

"Bilbo." Gandalf puts his hand on his dear friend's shoulder. "I ask you as not only a friend, but a wizard concerned for the safety of Middle-Earth... and your own mind. What did you see, before facing the kings?"

"I 'saw' nothing, Gandalf, I lived. And it's hard to say, exactly, what I lived. After my hundred and eleventh it all goes a bit... hazy, and grows hazier the longer I'd gone on, frought with only fits of clear mind. But I remember enough." Bilbo pulls a broken spear shaft from the pile, tests it's weight and width in his hand, and then grabs a small whittling knife and begins to attempt to shape it into a good walking stick.

Gandalf sits next to him. "Then help me be prepared, my friend. You seek to lead us all into the heart of Sauron's very fortress. What did your young nephew face on his same journey?"

"Well, we shan't be taking quite the same path, I think." Bilbo pulls a map out of his bag. "He went somewhere along this path, lead on by that foul creature Gollum from about here to here. I shouldn't like to encounter the mother of the Mirkwood spiders like he and Samwise did- but I shouldn't like to go to the Black Gates either, if they yet exist."

Gandalf watches Bilbo with his pipe sitting unpuffed in his lips and palm, his ancient eyes fraught with concern. Bah. Bilbo's seen that look for- well, not even he knows how long. It's hardly a deterrent.

"How often have you used The Ring, Bilbo?"

"I expect you have your suspicions. I used it first in the goblin tunnels, of course, and then again in Mirkwood- terrible, terrible business in Mirkwood. Such a strange thing, Gandalf, to have it guide my hands. I knew it was evil then, but also that I needed it." It's hard to push the words out, though one would never guess by Bilbo's strong and steady tone.

Some part of him still shrieks to keep it secret, safe, unknown to others. But that part is very new, very young, and the older feeling of Obsession mingles with it in a way that diminishes them both- like adding together equal parts vinegar and honey, until it taste like neither and is altogether repulsive to taste.

"And then in Thranduil's halls, of course- did we ever explain that part of the journey to you? Ah, Thanduil mentioned it when I brought the Arkenstone, so I'm sure you don't need me to. Again with Smaug, though it was very little use against him. Then again when I ran to Ravenhill, and again to kill Azog. That's how often I've used it in this life and body, at the very least."

"And in the life before?"

"Too many times to count," Bilbo groans. "I used it to hide from unwanted visitors and relatives! Can you believe it? The thing that could destroy all of Middle-Earth, and I used it to avoid neighbors. Well, I didn't know any better, I suppose, and I'll admit I'm likely to miss the ability when I return home- not to stay, mind you. I left Erebor all those years ago because I couldn't stand living here when Thorin, Fili, and Kili weren't around to fill it. Thorin most of all."

Bilbo shakes his head. "But I'll still need to settle things with Bag End! I hope you're grateful, by the way, Gandalf. In the past before I returned home within thirteen months of running out my door and they'd already auctioned off most of my belongings. I expect I'll get home to a smial full of Sackville-Baggins belongs and a Shire full of my scattered heirlooms. It'll take me ages to round it all up again to leave for Frodo and Sam and Sam's sweet. Perhaps this time I'll get to know those children as they grow- Sam was always telling us about how impressive his children were, heh."

Gandalf finally puffs on his pipe, seemingly relaxing. "You're quite a different fellow in your old age."

"Yes, it does tend to do that," Bilbo mutters. "As do a great many other things. I should like to blame some of my later eccentricities on The Ring, but in truth I think I should have become so odd even without it." Bilbo gives up on the broken spear shaft with a huffs. "Right, I'm going to search outside for something more suitable."

"Perhaps take a companion with you." Gandalf's eyes twinkle. "A certain wide-eyed Dwarf king is in great need of some air, after you stole it from his chest."

"Ha!" Bilbo grins, wide and bright, in a way Gandalf has rarely seen- if ever. It's full of hope and promise. "Good idea, old friend."

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

Bilbo leads the way as he and Thorin go out to the mountain side. Thorin watches him, wary and wondering all at once, and Bilbo could savor the feeling of it forever.

"Alright now, Thorin, I'm the same Hobbit as before," Bilbo says, bending down to try an ancient branch broken from a burned tree corpse. "No need to get all strange about talking with me."

"But are you?" Thorin watches Bilbo with analyzing and admiring eyes. "You speak differently than you did only days ago."

"Alright, I've gotten wordier in my years," Bilbo admits. "And more sure of the words I wish to say before I say them. But that doesn't mean I'm some strange new hobbit unknown to you."

"Does it not?" Thorin picks up a stick as well, though it's clear he's not focused on it, merely feigning participation in the activity. "The Bilbo I knew wasn't one to..."

"Pull you in for a kiss?" Bilbo guesses. "Believe me, I wanted to, but I only admitted it to myself when it was... too late. That kiss was ages overdue, Thorin."

"How long overdue?" Thorin moves even closer. "How long did you live, beyond my death?"

"It's hard to recall, exactly." Bilbo pauses, hands on his knees, looking out at the snow-dusted mountainside. "I can't seem to track the years after I went to Rivendell again, but I was a hundred and eleven then, and I know a great many years passed after that. I could be thousands of years old now for all I know, though few of those years lived in a stable state of mind, so I don't know if they should count."

"Is a hundred and eleven... old, for a hobbit?"

"Well, my grandfather Old Took lived to be one hundred and thirty, so it's not impossibly old, but I barely aged until I passed The Ring to Frodo. And then it all sort of... caught up to me at once. I'd intended to return here, but deteriorated far too much by the time I made it to Rivendell."

Thorin picks up another stick and offers it to Bilbo for examination. "So you know very little of the quest ahead of us."

"I know enough," Bilbo says pointedly, shooting Thorin a look. "I know that if we wait, Sauron will grow armies larger than even what we faced already, and whole kingdoms will fall to ruin under his heel. I know that Gimli, only a lad as he is now, will venture into Moria with his Fellowship and find the bodies of our very own Balin and Ori before losing Gandalf to Durin's Bane."

Thorin sucks in a breath. "Durin's Bane? It still lives in the depths?"

"Lives and rages, and my terrible Took cousin leads it right to them," Bilbo says, shaking his head. "I'd often thought Fili and Kili had been reborn as hobbits, when Meriadoc and Peregrin began their antics." Bilbo's mouth twitches into a smile, a familiar expression to Thorin and something Bilbo had been told he'd stopped doing on a rare visit from- well, he can't quite remember which dwarf it was who came to visit, actually. Only that they'd said he'd changed quite a bit, but it wasn't bad change- simply unexpected.

'Like you lot,' he remembers saying back, 'Nearly knocking down my door.' He remembers they'd laughed. He still can't place who it was. Perhaps his memory is not as sharp as he'd hoped it'd be, in this new life, new youth.

Now, in the New Present, Bilbo finally finds a suitable walking stick- it just needs a little adjusting and it'll be perfect.

"Now that, is an amusement," Thorin chuckles. "I can't imagine it."

"You won't have to, someday." Bilbo puts his hand on Thorin's arm. "I intend to make trips to Hobbiton every few years, after all- I should like to save dear Frodo's parents, save his heart from that grief, but I won't remove myself from his life for the sake of it. He'll go mad without my stories, as will little Sam. I hope you're prepared to have about... four more nephews."

Thorin's eyebrows raise. "Very presumptuous of you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo rises to his tip-toes and pecks Thorin's lips. "I don't believe it's an unfounded presumption, though. The mithril shirt is a bit of an obvious show, I think."

Thorin blushes.

"Worth more than the entire Shire, apparently. And here I'd tucked it into a chest for sixty years."

"Into a chest?"

"Don't look like that, I was in grief. Besides, I passed it to Frodo, and it apparently served him very well."

"I'm impatient to meet this nephew of yours. He sounds like he'd belong with us as much as you do."

"No, no. He's a brave, kind, worthy soul, but a soul who belongs to the little rivers and rolling hills of The Shire more than he belongs to the world at large. Perhaps it'll be different this time, with no need for a terrible quest, but I have some doubts. Still, I think you'll get along. He has great spirit."

Bilbo, arm-in-arm now with Thorin, leads them both back to the entrance. "Dain will do very well looking after Erebor while we journey, by the way. I'm sure you knew it already, but I thought it might help to know that he was a great ruler in my life passed- according to passing stories, anyway."

"It makes leaving no easier."

"I know." Bilbo rubs Thorin's arm with his thumb. "But we'll be home soon, Thorin. And then we can truly rebuild."

#the hobbit #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #gandalf #thorin oakenshield #thorin x bilbo

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mouthwashinggoodendingau · 3 days ago

Text

chapter 3: seize the day

Curly opened the door, staring down his co-pilot. Jimmy stared back, nostrils flared, face creasing with anger.

"What were you two talking about in there, Curls?"

He suppressed a laugh, smiling as fake as he could manage. Curly knew Jimmy could usually tell when he was lying, by the expression on his face. Forcing a smile would be his only way to successfully lie through his teeth, but he'd get shit for it later.

"Anya needs me to restock the medical supplies when we dock to refuel. We were going through the complete list, so I don't accidentally order the wrong thing. I'm taking it upon myself to do your psych evaluation too, since you feel the need to be a complete dick."

Looking around, Jimmy searched for sight of the other crew members. Swansea was nowhere to be seen, but Daisuke was busy fiddling away with his gameboy. Jimmy didn't regard him as a person, so he didn't watch his mouth around the boy.

"You didn't talk about our little arrangement? Didn't tell her about our little night visits?"

Jeez, Jimmy really did ever only want to protect his hind.

"No, Jim. I didn't even tell our prior nurse. You know that I've always kept my mouth shut. "

Jimmy walked closer, hands balled into fists.

"It better stay that way. You know how bad it was for me last time, when you hurt me Curls. I was so distraught. I don't want you to hurt me like that again."

Curly flinched, as Jimmy grabbed him by the collar. Every wrinkle and blemish on Jimmy's weathered face was visible, his vague coffee breath beating down on Curly's face.

"Be a good captain, and keep me happy, yeah?"

Shaking, Curly frantically looked around for an exit, any way to get out of that situation. Jimmy tightened his grip, hand moving to Curly's neck.

" I don't want to do this to you, Curls. "

"You can see me tonight. I won't complain. Just please don't hurt the others, I beg of you!"

Curly wept, anxiety building more and more in his chest. Jimmy, seemingly satisfied, let go of him ; letting Curly crumple to the ground.

"I knew I could count on you, Curls."

God, he hated how quickly he broke apart, when Jimmy got physical. He was like a shattered mirror, reflecting fragments of whoever discovered his ruins. He wasn't even a damn good Captain. He couldn't even keep all his crew under control, couldn't even complete a stupid psych eval to keep Jimmy away from Anya, instead irrationally deciding to sacrifice himself. God, could he do anything right?

Sitting in the cockpit seemed to be the only thing constantly keeping him from diving off the deep end. Pushing down the memories flooding him, he scanned the centre console. The autopilot disabler.. Would it be worth it to keep the key on him? Would Jimmy notice? Would Jimmy lash out? He used to think Jimmy wouldn't act irrationally, if it meant saving himself, but- Flames flickered across his skin, seeping into his pores, scraping his skin from his body. Pain flared through his entire being, causing him to yelp, scratching at the flames; trying to get them to stop.

"Captain? You in here?"

Daisuke? Curly whipped around, noticing the boy was obviously distressed. The flames faded.. Were they an illusion? It felt.. so real.

"What's up, mate? Swansea yell at you again?"

"No, I wanted to talk to y̷̡̖͚̮̙̟͕͛͘͠o̶̧͎̙͛͂̄̂͋̎̀͂͝ų̸̛̥̖̟̰͖̟̥͍̣̯͎͙͉,̶̡̧͚̮̪͌̈̍̎̏̌͝ ̶̡̛͚̰̞͎͚͗͜G̷̛͍̜̹͉̼͕̗͗̽̆͒̍̀̑͝ŗ̵͖͔͍͙͎̥̳̑͌̓̇̅͗̓͂̑̏̚͝͠͝ą̴̰̀͐͛͊̄̀̈́̊̈́̾̕̚̚ņ̶̡̢̲̯͖̭͍͈̱̠̙̟͔́̈́̔͒̌͂̓̑̕̚ţ̷̤͍̓̅̅̑̃̚͜͠ ̶̲̳̿̍̓̃̄͂͆́́̃̓̅̒͘͝Ċ̶̡̢̡̠̙̘̇̐́̔̃͘̕͝u̶̦̫͍͉͚̒̽̓͆͑̊̄̑͒̈́̑́͘͘͠ŗ̵̠̭̼͈͔̭̝̣̮̳̒ͅl̵̜̻̰̙̥̮͖͔̭͎͗̇͋̎̑̽͌̉͝y̶̬̳̺̞͙͈͐̓̓̏̚͜.̵̡̛͍̪͖̙̩̜̮̞̳͈̻̮̿̋̋̋͑͌̇͝"

Daisuke grinned, the corners of his mouth stretching further than normal. His voice began to warp, reminiscent of an old radio beginning to break.

"Uhh.. What's up, Dai?"

Curly scratched his arm, double checking that the flames were gone. Was he really going insane? At 35?

"I know your predicament, Grant. I know you believe you're going insane. Remember how you begged me to s̶̢̨̛̰̳͈̠͚̪͇͋̓̈͌̑͊̋̈́̔̏̎͗͜͜͠a̶̡̛̳͉͉͖͕̯̯̖̪̪̩͈̜̒̂͐́͊͘̚͝v̸̧̺̥̬͔̣̣͙̗͙͇̱̹́̑̿̎̀̍̀̊̔̊̍͗̚͜͠e̸͎̜̞̍͑́́̂͌͘ͅ you from h̸̛̛͓̙̥̞͕̖̦͕̼̖̫̑̒̂̉̀̈́ͅi̵̧̡̛̺̣͎͓̦̗̝̹͔̇̇̎̎͘ͅḿ̴̨̡͍̣̤̪̟̹̹̻̝͔̤̗?"

Daisuke stepped closer, eyes starting to glow - reflecting the green of the pilot controls. Putting his hand on Curly's shoulder, he began to laugh, quiet yet a hint of otherworldly energy to the sound. Curly stayed, frozen in movement and speech. He needed to know more, but the thought terrified him.

"L̸i̶s̶t̴e̶n̴ ̷t̷o̴ ̸m̸e̷.̷ ̸Y̵o̵u̵ ̵n̷e̵e̴d̴ ̷t̷o̵ ̵g̷e̸t̴ ̷r̸i̶d̵ ̸o̶f̵ ̶h̵i̵m̴.̶ ̵H̷e̵'̴s̷ ̵g̷o̴i̶n̶g̴ ̴t̴o̸ ̴d̸o̶ ̸i̴t̸ ̴a̷g̵a̷i̷n̴ ̸i̶f̸ ̴y̸o̶u̵ ̶d̵o̵n̵'̴t̵.̵" "You're a smart man. Now prove that you're a g̸̢̛̲̮͙̻͚̘̅̊̈́̄̐͌̀̊͘̚͝͝o̵̺̰̱͇̞͚̦̳̿͆̅̋͜ö̵̧̹̜̙̙̬̻͈̜̗̯̥̻̼͍́d̴̡̛̮͔̹̞͉̞̖̘͉̣͔̂̄͂̍̾̀̾́͑͠ͅ Captain."

Daisuke removed his hand from Curly's shoulder, deciding to walk over to the cabinets. Curly followed him, confused. He tapped on the cabinet with the autopilot key, giving Curly a wink before bounding away.

"Thanks Dai..."

"No problem, Cap!"

Curly opened the cabinet, taking the autopilot key in his hands. The pilots weren't allowed to keep the autopilot key on their persons, but if it meant keeping them all safe.. He shoved the key in the breast pocket hidden on the inside of his uniform. Anything to keep them all safe. The autopilot always redirected around asteroids, so they would never see a situation where they need to turn it off. But..

How did Daisuke know?

He was long gone by the time Jimmy had laid Curly out on the table, and sawn into his burnt flesh.

He was a corpse!

Had whatever entity that decided to save him- possessed Daisuke? He was the least likely to cause harm if he was possessed, but Curly slightly wished it was Jimmy who'd been taken. Maybe then Jimmy would be a good friend again. As stupid as it was, he missed the Jimmy he used to drink with at the bar, after their harsh training. He'd broken his leg once, right before his birthday, and Jimmy had forced all their friends to get together and make sure Curly had a damn good day despite being in the hospital. Jimmy had baked him an - albeit disgusting - cake, made of chocolate and caramel whey protein powder, but he loved it. He'd been loved by many, but he'd never felt truly loved until that moment. Now Jimmy was... Well, Jimmy. Curly closed the door behind him as he headed towards the kitchen, deciding he'd go have another shitty cup of coffee.

"Curls?"

He froze, fear flooding through his system. Only Jimmy called him that. But the voice was older, and kinder, that of a guy old enough to have photos of his loving grandkids.

"Curls, come here for a sec, won't cha?"

A relieved chuckle escaped his chapped lips. It was just Swansea. He was safe, at least for now.

"Yeah, what's up, Big Swans?"

He walked over to Swansea, situated in the Utility room with the axe in hand, and a letter in the other.

"I want you to read this. I found it sitting on Anya's desk, a couple days ago. I meant to give it to you sooner, but Daisuke's been snooping around my things."

Anya? Fuck, was it Jimmy again? Swansea handed him the note. It read; " I need to find a way to report Jimmy, without drawing attention from Grant. He's stuck too far in his head to realise that Jimmy has to go, and he can't keep blaming it on a potential loss to our paychecks. I don't care about the paycheck anymore. I shouldn't have this wretched baby inside me. In a way, I understand Captain though. He's been stuck with Jimmy for so long that the absence might be the last straw on the camel's back. But Jimmy's too much of a hazard for us to keep dancing around the topic. The next stop is in 3 and a half weeks. I need to get rid of him, but it's out of my control. I need to convince Grant to let me get access to his way of communications with Pony. Our lives hinge on this. "

"Think ya need to chat to our paranoid nurse."

A way to get rid of Jimmy? He'd certainly considered it, but the risks had always set him back from doing it. Pony allowed co-pilots access to the captain's communications, so he was terrified of Jimmy finding out if he even attempted it.

But.. He had to do something. His own damn crew were conspiring behind his back, just to get rid of Jimmy. Curly didn't blame them, after all it was his fault that Jimmy was on the ship in the first place. The lack of trust was the only thing he really felt like shit about. But, yet again, he deserved it. He hadn't exactly proven himself to be someone who would take action.

"Thanks. I mean it, Swansea."

"No problemo, boy."

Curly sat down on his bed, knees creaking with the sudden movement. He wriggled over to the hidden locker beside his bed, deciding he'd store the key in there. The door snapped open, revealing the voice recorder and photos of his dog Danger hidden in there. Maybe he could record tonight? It'd give him evidence of Jimmy's.. misconduct. Anya could use it to help her case against Jimmy, when they report him. He slunk down onto his bed, after grabbing out the recorder and shoving the autopilot key up the back. Curly already felt disgusting. He already knew he'd be scraping at his skin in the shower, trying to get the filth off of him. Yet, Anya had to live with the consequences, every day.

Notes:

dw, something's gonna happen to j-diddy before he can do that shit again. im not writing that type of stuff. fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61405324/chapters/157094176

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing good ending au #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #time travel fix it #fortune favours the bold

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lovelytsunoda · 2 years ago

Text

careful daughter // marcus armstrong

summary: she's always been the careful daughter. when she slips up on a final exam, marcus knows jsut how to make everything better. or, where he fell in love with a careful man's once careless daughter.

warnings: talks of past regrets

pairing: marcus armstrong x female! reader

she knew she'd bottled it almost as soon as she'd handed in the paper

even though she'd looked it over, confused and frustrated, four separate times, she was one of the first to hand it in

the perfect student who looked like she was always on top of things, the smartest in the room

but she didn't feel like it as she walked towards the campus parking lot, a pit in her stomach as she waited for marcus

since she didn't need to be at the campus for long, he said he'd drop her off before the exam, and then take her out to dinner afterwards

and god did she need marcus cornelius armstrong right now.

she needed him to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be fine.

"princess, what's wrong?" marcus asks her, the air in his bmw heavy with the anxiety radiating off his girlfriend

"i fucked up, marcus. the most important exam of my college career, and i think i bottled it."

"oh, honey. i'm sorry." marcus frowns, taking her hand in his.

he doesn't know what to do

roles are usually reversed because he's the one bottling something (a.k.a his entire formula 2 season)

he takes her to a fifties themed diner, some place nice and quiet

not exactly romantic, but he hopes it might be able to cheer her up

they order burgers, fries and milkshakes, with a basket of onion rings to share

"i used to be an awful person, marcus. i allowed myself to be defined by one thing and i thought that other people didn't like me, so i pushed them away before they got the chance to really get to know me. i thought i was stopping myself from getting hurt, that i was the only person i needed. i wasted so much time being that person, and now that i'm not, i've spent so much time trying to figure out who i actually am. i have days where i regret every single decision that i have ever made. and what if i'm wasting more time now on a major that's not meant for me?"

and marcus is shocked, for the first time in his life, he's speechless

"baby, listen to me. you aren't that girl any more, and you don't have to be, either. it's just one test. i know first hand how much effort you have put into this course. and you are so fucking good at it, princess. you are going to be the best in your field. none of this has been a waste of time, yeah?"

there's a jukebox in the corner, and he knows just what to do

he gets up, puts a quarter in the record machine

and selects a dolly parton song that he knows is going to make y/n laugh

"tumble out of bed, and stumble into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition"

he knows his singing and dancing routine is awful, all shrugged shoulders and foot-shuffling as his glasses slide down his nose

despite everything, she's laughing, her face lighting up as marcus invites her out onto the tile floor to dance with him to '9 to 5'

and how can she be upset around someone as lighthearted and full of love and life as marcus cornelius armstrong?

the song changes to an aerosmith ballad, for the jukebox is only equipped with the classics

and their food is practically forgotten as they sway together in the middle of the diner to 'i don't want to miss a thing'

and for once, she's not worried about her test, or her grades

she knows she's going to be okay in the end

#marcus armstrong x reader #indycar x reader #formula 2 x reader #marcus armstrong #indycar #marcus armstrong imagine

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 1 month ago

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hiii hi! hello! uhm. could you please consider writing a Tyler Joseph x male!reader? a mixture of fluff and angst, a hurt/comfort if you will, reader is having a very bad mental health day and Tyler improvises a song to sing for him. think the "don't be anxious Josh" song he sang during the qna Livestream. if not it's alright but I thought to ask anyway! sorry if this sounds too similar to past requests you've received, I hope it's alright ^^ have a wonderful day!!

Panic - Tyler Joseph x GN!Reader

Warnings: Panic attack and mental health struggles

Word Count: 1553

A/N: HEYYY I've combined a few requests into this one piece and made it gender neutral so everyone can enjoy it :) I'm going to respond to each inbox message so everyone can see it but hopefully this is good :)

I’d been feeling it for days, this weight pressing down on me like an invisible hand. I kept brushing it off, forcing myself through the routine motions. I was fine, I told myself, over and over again. I was strong. Strong enough to push through. That's what I did.

But tonight, it all felt like too much.

The knock at my door barely registered at first. When I opened it, Tyler stood there, smiling as if it was just a regular night in. He had a bag of takeout, his other hand deep in his pocket.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for me to invite him. His eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, and I looked away, trying to shake off the ache that had settled into my bones.

“Hey,” I muttered, forcing a smile. “I forgot you were coming over.”

Tyler’s smile faltered for just a second. “Good thing I didn’t forget,” he said, glancing around. He set the takeout on the table, pausing to look at me again. “You okay?”

I nodded, maybe too quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah, just… a long day, I guess.”

He raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “You look… more than just tired,” he said carefully, watching my reaction. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I meant. “Just… rough day, like I said.”

Tyler watched me in silence, his gaze soft but probing. He didn’t push, but I could feel his eyes on me as I sat down on the couch, drawing my knees to my chest. He settled beside me, and for a while, we picked at the food without talking.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly after a while. “You seem… I don’t know, different. I can tell something’s off.”

I shook my head, feeling my chest tighten. “I’m fine. Just a little… overwhelmed.”

“Hey,” he said, scooting a little closer. “You don’t have to act like everything’s okay. Not with me.”

I swallowed, my throat tight as I looked away, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.”

Tyler leaned forward, searching my face. “Maybe it’s not nothing, though. If it feels like a big deal to you, then it’s not nothing.”

I tried to shake it off, forcing a laugh. “You don’t want to hear about my stupid problems.”

“Actually, yeah, I do,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I care about you. So I want to know what’s going on.”

That simple truth nearly undid me. I felt my pulse quicken, my breaths coming shallow and quick. The panic that had been simmering all week flared up, and suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in. I tried to stand, but my legs felt weak.

“Hey, hey,” Tyler said quickly, reaching out to steady me. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”

I shook my head, barely able to get a word out. “I… I don’t know. I just… I feel like I can’t breathe.”

He was beside me in an instant, taking my hands in his. “Okay, try to focus on me,” he said gently. “Look at me and breathe. Let’s do it together, okay?”

I nodded, though my chest felt tight, every breath shallow and quick. He inhaled slowly, exaggerating the motion so I could see, and I tried to match him, feeling the tension in my lungs ease just slightly. Tyler’s hand stayed wrapped around mine, his thumb moving in slow circles over my knuckles.

“You’re doing great,” he said softly, his voice like a quiet anchor. “Just keep breathing with me.”

After a few minutes, the tightness began to ease, and I managed to take a fuller breath. My grip on his hand loosened, and I could finally meet his gaze, the worry in his eyes softened by relief.

“Sorry,” I whispered, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He shook his head, squeezing my hand. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re just dealing with a lot. It happens. But you don’t have to apologize for it.”

I felt my throat tighten again, the shame creeping in. “I just… I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn’t want to… I don’t know, be a burden.”

“A burden?” Tyler’s voice was soft but firm, his eyes holding mine. “You’re not a burden. Not now, not ever. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly brushed it away, trying to keep the dam from breaking. “I feel like I should be able to handle this. Like I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t need anyone.”

Tyler shook his head, his hand never leaving mine. “Needing someone doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling my defenses start to crumble. “But I’m supposed to be strong,” I whispered. “I don’t want to… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

His thumb brushed over my knuckles, his voice gentle but insistent. “But I want to see you like this, because this is part of you. I care about all of you, not just the parts you think are ‘strong.’”

I looked away, feeling the tears starting to fall in earnest now. “I just… I don’t know how to… I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Tyler nodded, his hand moving to gently cup my face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Then don’t explain. Just… let me be here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

I nodded, the last of my resistance finally crumbling. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, and I let myself sink into his embrace, the weight of everything I’d been carrying finally spilling over. The sobs came in waves, and he held me through all of it, his hand moving in soothing circles on my back, his voice a quiet whisper of comfort.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. “I’ve got you.”

For a while, I just let myself cry, the tears falling freely as he held me. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t try to fix it. He just stayed there, letting me let it all out. And slowly, the storm inside me began to calm, the sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles.

“Sorry,” I whispered again, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to… to fall apart like that.”

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look at me. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re allowed to feel this way. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

I managed a small, watery smile, and he returned it, his own smile gentle and warm. “You’re too nice to me,” I mumbled, feeling a faint blush rise to my cheeks.

He chuckled, his hand moving to squeeze mine. “Well, maybe you deserve someone to be nice to you. And hey, it makes me happy, so really, I’m just being selfish.”

A laugh escaped me, soft but genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Glad I could make you smile,” he said, his own smile widening. Then, as if on impulse, he started humming, a soft, wordless tune that felt strangely familiar. He caught my eye, a playful glint in his gaze as he began to make up lyrics.

“Don’t be anxious, Y/N… I’ll be here till the end…” he sang softly, his voice light and comforting. “Even if you cry… even if you sigh…”

I let out a real laugh this time, shaking my head. “Please tell me you’re not going to make this a full song.”

“Hey, if it makes you laugh, I might,” he teased, his grin widening. “And if I do, you have to sing it with me.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “No way. I’m not singing that song.”

He nudged me playfully, his eyes twinkling. “Fine, but you’re stuck with me singing it to you, then.”

“Fine,” I said, laughing despite myself. “But you’re not recording it.”

He mimed disappointment. “There goes my big break as a songwriter.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was warmth in my chest now, a lightness I hadn’t felt in days. “Thank you, Ty,” I said quietly. “For… for being here. For not letting me… you know, push you away.”

“Always,” he said, his voice softening. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re important to me. I’m here whenever you need me, okay?”

I nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude I couldn’t quite put into words. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whispered, feeling my chest tighten again, but this time with something softer, something that felt a lot like hope.

“You’d probably keep being amazing and strong, just like you are now,” he said, his voice warm. “But maybe you don’t have to do it all alone.”

I looked at him, my heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “I guess… maybe I don’t.”

Tyler smiled, his hand finding mine once more. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, as his hand held mine and his presence surrounded me like a warm blanket, I believed him.

REQUESTS OPEN

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oh-a-very-toxic-octopus · 25 days ago

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Stress is a fucking tyrant. Cold sweating all the time. Can't really make myself eat. Don't think I've slept more than three hours a night for the past almost two weeks. Every night is a fun sequence of dozing a bit -> waking up -> checking my phone clock -> half an hour has passed since I last checked.

It's just been a shitty month, I tell myself, but it's a long-term pattern too. And first world middle class problems. Come the fuck on, me.

I'm in the midst of pulling together the money to buy half of the chapel from my partner as he can't afford the burden anymore, it sucks not being 50-50 on it, and changes to capital gains tax could annihilate our position on the housing ladder if we're not proactive.

I'm short exactly the amount I lump-paid into our mortgage when the rates went up this time last year, because of course I am.

Trying to purge-sell everything I can to make it up, but those are all little shots of £10–50 here and there to the point where they almost feel like a waste of time. Maybe they are, idk, I can add things to eBay while I'm doing other chores so it doesn't feel like a phenomenal timesink, but fundamentally I should be putting all my braincells into getting a second job.

Which I've been putting off forever — I went to a four-day work week last year because I wasn't coping anymore. Had the intention of starting a small business to mix things up, but that time has been consumed by house repairs, vehicle repairs, vehicle sales, family shit. And lbr, I don't want to go back to work, so I'm not trying hard enough. Gotta get my act together. Pick some kind of job and do it. Immediately. 💀

But yeah. The car goes in spring and my half will add another £2–3k to my chapel pot. Only we've been looking into replacements and they're all set to depreciate in a way we've never had to budget for before. The Ranger was a strange COVID fluke that will never happen again. Before we had that, we bought the Combo for £6k and expected it to lose £2k over our period of ownership. COVID actually lifted the sale price to £7.5k.

I look at those strokes of luck and realise they're how I've amassed enough to be within spitting distance of buying the chapel, not any personal budgeting successes or hard work, and so EVEN THE LUCKY THINGS become stressors.

Last night a bit of decorative wood trim fell off the chapel. We fixed and repainted some rotten window trim last year, but couldn't reach the roof and put it off. So that's a chore for this coming year. Fingers crossed the roof doesn't cave in in the meantime. We live just down the road from an obnoxious gossipy village who will absolutely talk about this and whatever method we use to fix it. Jim keeps reading their toxic little FB posts waiting for us to become the topic of conversation. It's his personal doomscrolling addiction.

He's been pretty depressed since his degree ended and has been pushing me a bit to Get Prettier. This is very out of character for him, and he walks a lot of it back when he's feeling better and was very very good at helping me through some shopping shit I couldn't have dealt with without him, but the comments still stick in my head. I know they don't sprout from nothing.

I'm conscious I have a massive chip in my shoulder about fashion and beauty so I'm not entirely against repairing some of that, but fuck, I hate it so much. Shopping is the activity that first made me understand what people meant when they used the word triggered. I read people's Reddit posts about bras that fit and what slip to buy for a knit dress and how to puzzle out your personal colour season and I want to blow my brains out. This is invented crap for shallow people but it matters, somehow it has to matter TO ME. Jim's like hey, I know as a tomboy you never learnt to do makeup but there are so many YT tutorials around now that you're barely at a disadvantage! And I'm like bro pls understand that makeup looks like shit to me. I watch the videos & I'm watching a good-looking woman make herself look shit. And I have to copy that?

No. Makeup is not happening, but I'm trying to tackle the skincare and the nailcare and some reworking of my personal style.

The timing on this is horrific, however. Imagine us having these huge discussions about money and wasting our lives and stress-related health complaints and pensions and our parents' growing health concerns and me needing a job and the chapel needing repairs and who shoulders the mental load. And then I'm all ooh oopsie that's my exfoliation alarm hehe lemme go do that and then slap snail mucus on my face. Fucking kill me.

A lot of this is because he asked me to dress up for his graduation, so I've gotta act sane and not make it all about me me me and my apparently CPTSD-grade insanity/fury because it's his big event and I'm hugely fuckin proud of him for getting a first and earning it so decisively.

Anyway my mum had a huge breakdown earlier this year that I had to help her through. Honestly thought she might off herself. I went up to stay for a week and cleaned her house and fed her and got her onto new meds. When she first retired in 2020 she planned to move but COVID fucked that up in so many ways. Now she's trapped in that house, which is too old and huge and high maintenance for her, and sits on a hill so steep she cannot climb back up if she goes out for a walk. It's a constant source of stress and something of a prison for her. Her financial manager retired and let her pension payments lapse, too, so suddenly she had to sort all that out, and she's not financially literate at all so she passed it to me.

Her financial advisor did not grow her money at all. He had it from 2011 and it lost £50k in that time. £300k if you factor in what it should have made if she'd stuck it in a standard tracker account. I'm trying to sort out her will and important shit like power of attorney and what she wants us to do in various situations and she's all well as I have so much money I'll get a nurse to visit! And I have to tell her that's not possible. She can safely take £9k a year and that will see her through to ninety, but there isn't anything else. She needs to downsize the house and use that money to secure herself.

Naturally this means she keeps turning on me as the harbinger of doom. I'm trying to get her pension reinvested in better funds and split a portion of it off so she's better diversified/less exposed to what is frankly a terrifying market, and she's mad because I Sound Like My Father when I suggest she reduces her drawdown by whatever she can afford. Just for now. Leave as much in there as possible for as long as possible to maximise compound interest, pick up the slack.

She has a sick cat. He's costing £90 a month in meds + he needs regular work that ranges from £300-£700 each time. She won't reduce her drawdown amount because she wants money to pay for him. Don't I understand she WON'T be the kind of person who KILLS a cat for MONEY REASONS?

I note I made a mistake once on a topic like this one. I owned one of our family cats, but he stayed with her when I moved out because he was old and happy there. When his kidneys failed, we discussed over the phone what we should do. We agreed we'd put him down. I waited until the end of the working week to travel up there. When I arrived, I discovered she'd independently decided to try to save him and had him at the emergency vet the entire time. As he was my cat, I paid the bill for all that + the inevitable euthanasia. It wiped out all my savings for that year.

To me, you look after your animal as best you can. But if you can't afford the treatment, you can't afford the fucking treatment. You don't torpedo your struggling finances for them. Not as an old person who refuses to lower any other outgoing, go back to work or sell a single thing on eBay to fund them.

She suggests we put his care on my credit card and she'll pay me back when she can.

I don't understand this view on money. Yes you can spread the cost of things over time. But that won't change what percentage of your yearly income can reasonably be spent on certain things (cats, holidays, shit on Amazon).

...which is again why I'm the bad guy.

I've backed off. I think at this point I've done my best to set her on her feet/help her grapple with the problem. I'd do more but she doesn't want that, so I'm stumped. I am ofc conscious that if she runs out of money and doesn't move before she's too old to move and ends up in a depression pit I will still be on the hook for that. But hey.

I'm really rambling now.

The reality is that I need to be driven and have some kind of vision to get out of my current situation and it's hard. I felt I chased what I wanted pretty decisively in my twenties, but in my thirties (I turned 35 at the start of the month) I'm realising it's all simultaneously pointless and incredibly important forever. You have Do Things to spin a narrative to yourself and others that you are a good and worthy human being with Stuff Going On. And somehow I have to Do Things for another 30-40 years, and if I slack I'll lose opportunities and lose the things I've already accumulated. Everything evaporates if you're not fucking on it all the time. Gotta challenge yourself always. But if you push your limits! You get overstressed and take psychic damage and can't be as effective moving forwards!

This has been Nyx's brunch breakdown, thank you, pls let this stop rattling around in my head and let me get some goddamn sleep now.

#big triggering ramble #y not

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