#i swear to god i wrote this (as well as several other fics) fucking months ago lmao

[die-schwanenkoenigin]

After Hours [rated E]

“Jesus, Miranda. You taste—fuck. I still can’t believe I��m the only one who gets to see you like this. Who gets to taste you.”

“Only you. Oh, and you’re such a good girl, Andrea, aren’t you?”

Andy doesn’t respond. Not with words. Instead, she whimpers, and you feel the sound absolutely everywhere. All throughout your system.

You can’t leave now. You have to stay.

Or: You get yourself off watching Miranda and Andy have sex in one of the offices late at night.

[for @harrytoad]

》 Read on AO3

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Based on a wonderful song fic request I received from @itsametaphorbriansblog for the song Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap. I'd never heard the song before but trust me when I say it's awesome and my head was full with these lyrics. And yes, Alice in Wonderland is my favorite book.

Requested: Yes l No

CW: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of smut but nothing too explicit, some angst but happy ending.

Plot: Spencer wants to believe he can have a casual relationship with you. But just the thought of someone else touching you the way he does sends him into a tailspin. He wants you all to himself.

WC: 3.9K

—————————————————————

I do not want to fight this anymore

I just want to lay back

And watch you pin me to the bed

How he ended up here was somewhat of a mystery to Spencer but he had no intention of complaining.

He was sure he’d have time to think about it later, but right now all he was focused on was the way you pinned him to the bed, your soft hands wrapped around his wrists.

He was too enamoured taking in every beautiful curve of your body, the swell of your breasts and hips, the feeling of your silky thighs pressed against his own much hairier ones.

He drank you in as you kissed him, your tongue tasting like coffee and vodka. Your lips against his felt as though they’d found their rightful place in the world.

And when you finally lowered yourself on his throbbing member, everything else slipped away. The only thing in the world he could focus on was how fucking good it felt to have you wrapped around him.

It was as though all the stars had aligned and all his birthdays and christmases had come at once.

He never thought he’d have a shot with someone like you. This was better than even his wildest dreams.

I used to call you my best friend

Way back before you were my everything

Now I’m sucking on your neck

You’d worked together for several years and quickly became best friends. But there was always something more between you. Lingering glances, a few too many casual touches.

An odd tension that Spencer had never been able to put his finger on until the first time you saw each other naked and it vanished.

It had started after a few too many drinks at Rossi’s and ended in Spencer’s bed. That had been six months ago and since then the two of you spent all your free time between the sheets together.

It just made sense.

But you had made it clear it was simply sex, a means to an end. You were seeing another guy who knew about Spencer too. You told Spencer he was free to see other women.

He didn’t want to see other women. He only ever wanted to see you. He wanted to see you all the time, preferably naked and sitting on his cock.

He had agreed this was fine. He was ok with this arrangement. He’d told you he was fine with this other guy you were seeing if he was fine with you seeing Spencer.

Fine. Everything was just fine.

And you wrote my favorite song

Now I’m fucked up and carrying on

I do not know the words yet, oh

It had been a lie.

He thought he could separate the physical from his feelings but he wasn’t that kind of man. He wished he could be. But the idea of not having you all to himself made him feel sick.

And it hits me

I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

He thought he was ok with it until he was lonely in his apartment one night. He text you asking you to come over.

Your response told him you were with your other man. And he spiralled.

He couldn’t help his mind wander over the things you would be doing together.

Did he kiss you on your neck the way you loved? Did he know the way you liked to be touched?

Did he make you feel the way Spencer did? Did he make you come the way Spencer knew how?

The thought of you naked being pleasured by another man made his heart ache. Images of you touching him, being fucked by him, screaming his name; it was too much.

He wanted to be the only one who got to touch you like that; to see you at your orgasms peak.

It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to share you. He didn’t want to be left alone in his room wracked with sadness at the thought of you with another man.

Is it okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

Yeah

“What did you get up to with Matt last night?” Spencer asked as he made you both coffees the next morning.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mark.” you sighed as you spoke. You knew Spencer knew his name, he had an eidetic memory for god sake. He was doing it deliberately.

“Matt, Mark same difference.” he shrugged, pouring sugar into his cup.

“We just hung out.” you took the other mug he’d filled and twirled your spoon around in it. “You know, usual stuff.”

You leant back against the counter, holding the warm mug between your hands and inhaling the smell.

Spencer turned to look at you.

You had a noticeable hickey on your neck, one he certainly hadn’t left. You must know he could see it.

“The usual stuff you and Morgan would do when you hang out or the usual stuff you and I do when we hang out?”

You rolled your eyes again and pushed yourself away from the counter and headed back towards your desk.

Spencer followed close behind you.

“Just because you don’t speak doesn’t mean you didn’t answer.” he whispered as he caught up with you. “Nice hickey.”

He practically stormed to his desk and threw himself in the chair.

You sighed to yourself. You should have known Spencer would be this way.

A little while later Morgan passed by your desk as you had your nose buried in a case file.

“Ohhh looks like pretty girl got some loving last night! The size of that mark on your neck Miss thing!”

You looked up at him, your cheeks stained crimson.

You made brief eye contact with Spencer. If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes were filled with tears.

He pushed his chair back and stormed away from where JJ and Emily were now getting a good look at your hickey too.

“What’s up with him?” Morgan frowned.

“I don’t think he’s feeling too good today.” You replied.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

There was no case to take you out of the state and you were looking forward to going home.

Spencer caught up with you as you stepped in the elevator and shoved his way inside just before the doors closed.

“Do you want to come over?” he asked the second the doors shut behind him.

“Not tonight Spence, I’m exhausted.” you stifled a yawn as if to prove your point.

“Did you use all your energy on Mike?” he sounded so bitter.

“I did not use all my energy on Mark. I’m tired from dealing with a whiny, jealous baby all day.” you rolled your eyes yet again.

“I’m not jealous.” he scoffed. “Or whiny. Or a baby.”

“Sure you aren’t.” The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

You patted Spencer on his shoulder as you stepped out.

“Goodnight Spencer, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He pouted a little as he watched you go.

Maybe it was time to just let you go entirely.

You’re pulling on my habit lines

The more I smoke the more I find

I can’t just fall asleep instead

One am and Spencer’s phone startled him awake. He was used to being called in the middle of the night for work so he was wide awake in an instant.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and put it to his ear.

“Reid.” he spoke, expecting it to be Hotch calling about a case.

“Hey,” your voice was low and sultry.

Spencer swallowed.

“What?” he knew what. He knew exactly what you were calling for.

He had to say no. He had to stay strong. He couldn’t keep giving in to you. Not anymore.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb Spence, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Well I’m touching myself.” you moaned softly. “But I do wish it was your hand between my legs.”

You heard a breathy sigh leave his lips. You knew that was enough to make him hard.

“Fuck Y/N,” he groaned. “I’ll be over in a half hour.”

You grinned as you hung up the phone.

Spencer wished he wasn’t so weak. He wished he could say no to you.

He wished he could tell you it was him or Mark. You had to choose.

He would if he didn’t fear the answer.

And you’re not my protector

I hope you know it wasn’t her

That kept me off your side of the bed, oh

He put his all in that night. He wanted to make you feel the best you’d ever felt so the next time you saw Mark you were thinking of him.

He made you come seven times, you honestly didn’t think you would walk for days after. By the time the sun came up you were so sensitive you didn’t know if you’d be able to dress for work without your clothes flustering your sensitive skin.

“Jeez Spence, I hope we’ve got another office day today.” You ached all over. “I don’t know if I’m going to be any good in the field like this.”

He felt an odd sense of pride. You’d remember this, you’d remember how good he’d made you feel.

He hoped he’d fucked Mark right out of your head.

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Jesus pretty girl, your hickeys have hickeys!” Morgan chuckled as you walked into the BAU with no sleep and only one coffee in your system.

Spencer tried to hide the smug look from his face.

“Another night with your lover boy aye?” Emily nudged you in the arm as you made a beeline for the coffee machine.

He felt very good about himself right now.

“Speaking of your lover boy,” JJ piped up. “You had some flowers delivered this morning.”

Spencer’s face fell. No. No that wasn’t fair.

You forgot all about the coffee and headed to your desk where a beautiful array of red roses awaited you.

Spencer wanted to take them and stomp on them. The way you were stomping on his heart.

“Oh wow.” You smiled as you read the note. “How sweet.”

“If you ask me he’s trying too hard.” Spencer tried not to sound bitter or sad as he spoke. He failed miserably.

“Well good job no ones asking you.” You shot him an annoyed glance.

The tension suddenly grew thick. You and Spencer glared at one another while Morgan, Emily and JJ stared on in confusion.

“We have a case.” Hotch’s voice broke the stare off.

Thank god you thought. Saved before you had a chance to say something you’d regret.

You put the flowers down and headed towards the round table room. You heard Spencer shuffling behind you.

“What was that about?” JJ frowned.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Emily shrugged.

“I think I’ve got an idea.” Morgan smirked as the three of them started to follow. “Pretty boy has a crush on pretty girl.”

It is okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

You barely said two words to Spencer in the four days you spent in Missouri unless it pertained to the case.

Everyone could tell something was amiss between the two of you. The team was so used to your playful banter and inside jokes you had with one another. It was painfully obvious something was going on.

It was late when you arrived back at Quantico so Hotch sent you all straight home.

Spencer caught up with you in the parking lot.

“Y/N, can we talk?”

“No.” You didn’t turn back to look at him as you headed to your car.

“Y/N please we need to talk.”

“I’m sick of this.” You groaned as you reached your vehicle. “You said you were ok with us seeing other people Spencer.” You spun back to look at him.

He was playing with the strap of his messenger back in an awkward fashion.

“Well...I’m not.” He shrugged.

“No shit.” You scoffed. “I’m sorry Spencer but I can’t do this anymore. I like Mark, he’s nice. We have fun.”

“So I’m not nice? You don’t have fun with me?” He stepped a little closer to you.

“You’re draining Spencer.” You confessed. “I once thought maybe you and I could be more than, whatever this is, but it’s exhausting Spence. With Mark it’s just easy. We spoke yesterday and he said he wanted us to get serious. No seeing other people. I told him I’d like that.”

Spencer’s heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. He felt as though you had punched the air from his lungs.

He fought for a breath, stumbling on his feet a little.

“You’re...you’re choosing him?”

“Yes.” You chewed your lip guilty. “I’m sorry Spencer but honestly, you’re too much like hard work.” You turned away from him and opened the drivers door, closing it quickly behind you before you changed your mind.

You watched Spencer in your rear view mirror as you pulled out of your parking space.

He hadn’t moved. He just stood there, dejected and sad staring in your wake.

You were barely out of the parking lot before your first tear fell.

You’re in his living room

And it may not mean much you

But your plates are in his sink

And your sweaters on his bed

Won’t you text me when you’re home?

My baby, spare me all the rest

It had been little over a month and Spencer wouldn’t make eye contact with you. He wouldn’t speak directly to you. He wouldn’t even be in the same room as you if he could help it.

At this point the whole team knew something was up. Hotch had pulled you both up on it but you’d both lied and said everything was fine.

Everything was far from fine.

Every night for just over a month Spencer had cried himself to sleep. He’d spent his waking hours in his apartment imaging what the two of you were doing.

Were you laughing at movies? Reading together? Having romantic dinners or walks in the park hand in hand? Were you making love over and over again?

His sleep was haunted by thoughts of you too. No where was safe. He’d started wondering if he could even work with you anymore. Maybe it was time to go into teaching?

Being around you every day just didn’t seem like an option anymore because every time he saw you, his heart broke all over again.

Please just tell me

That nobody else touches you like I do

Oh tell me that nobody touches you like me

It wasn’t just that he’d lost the woman he had started developing feelings for, he had lost his best friend too. He wanted to talk to someone about the heartache he was feeling and usually that someone would be you.

He wanted his best friend back. It was killing him.

He didn’t know how to deal with losing you so he didn’t. He didn’t know how to talk to you anymore so he stopped talking to you altogether.

The flower deliveries stopped after a few months which made it slightly easier for him to forget about you dating another man.

After about seven months your demeanor shifted a little. You stopped talking about Mark as much and were more vague about your weekend plans.

By the time it was coming up to a year you stopped talking about him entirely. When Spencer overheard you speaking to JJ or Emily about your weekend plans it was always along the lines of “TV and pizza for one.”

For Garcia’s birthday the whole team was going out for drinks at a local bar. Since you ended things with him Spencer avoided hanging out with the team outside of work when you would be there. He would always come up with some kind of excuse.

But Garcia was not the kind of person to take no for an answer.

So reluctantly he went along. Emily helped him pick out a gift for her, a unicorn charm for her bracelet. Certainly not something Spencer would have chosen but Emily insisted the tech analyst would love it.

Whilst in the jewelry store a delicate silver necklace had caught his eye. It had an intricate charm of a bottle with a little label with the words “Drink Me” etched into it.

It had taken him back to a conversation from years past.

You were still new to the team and trying to keep your head down and not get in anyone's way. The team was all so close and you didn’t want to step on any toes.

On the way back from your latest case in New York you didn’t sleep like the rest of the team. You were wide awake, probably on a high from the adrenaline brought on by the case.

You sat at the back of the jet alone with your head buried in a book. You didn’t notice someone watching you or approaching you until you heard the leather seat opposite you squeak a little as your company sat down.

You looked up to see Spencer smiling softly at you.

“What are you reading?” he asked with genuine interest.

You blushed a little chewing your lip, turning the book over in your hands.

“Alice in Wonderland.” you slid the old book across the table to him.

He picked it up cautiously and turned the worn pages.

“First edition.”

“Yeah.” you nodded as he looked back up at you. “It was my dad’s. He used to read it to me when I was young. He passed away a few years ago and it helps me feel close to him.” it was the most open you’d been since joining the team.

Spencer smiled at you sadly and handed you back the book.

“I’m sorry about your dad. But that’s nice you have that.”

“Yeah I suppose it is.”

Emily had stepped out of the store to take a phone call and he had found himself purchasing the necklace. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t help himself.

Garcia had loved her charm, she’d squealed and hugged him so tightly Spencer felt the air being squeezed from his lungs.

She opened the rest of her presents while the rest of the team drank. You and Spencer kept making accidental eye contact and each time you would both smile awkwardly at one another.

You got up from the table to buy a round of drinks. Spencer watched you go. It would be his perfect chance to get to talk to you. He needed to know what was going on. Had you and Mark split up? And if you had, did that mean there was anyway he still stood a chance with you?

He’d wanted to ask for so long but every time he went to say something, the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to leave.

But this time he was determined. He needed to know where he stood once and for all.

At the very least could he get his best friend back?

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Thought you might need a hand.” Spencer sidled up next to you. It was the closest you’d been to one another in almost a year.

“Thanks.” you smiled softly, a little awkwardly.

You looked at each other for a moment, neither of you sure what to say to each other.

Not so long ago the two of you could talk about anything and everything until you were blue in the face. You never ran out of things to talk to each other about. So much had changed.

Spencer reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the small jewelry box. He turned it over in his hand a few times before he held his hand out.

“I saw this when I was getting Garcia’s birthday present and I couldn’t help myself.” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

You chewed your lip as you cautiously took the box from him. You ran your fingers over it for a few seconds before you slowly opened it.

Tears immediately sprang to your eyes as you looked down at the little Alice in Wonderland themed necklace cushioned inside the box.

You looked back up at Spencer with a sniff.

“Spence,” a small tear escaped your eye. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.” he shrugged again.

You sniffed back any more tears that might fall and gently lifted the necklace from the box.

“Could you help me?” you held it out for Spencer who nodded and took the necklace from you.

He unclasped it as you turned around. He gently draped it around your neck and secured it.

You turned back to face him, you fingers on the necklace charm.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled. “I hope Mitch doesn’t mind you wearing it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“We broke up.” you didn’t bother to correct him on his name. “A few months ago.”

“Oh.” Spencer tried not to look too pleased about this. “Do you mind me asking why?”

“I think you know why.” you stepped a little closer to him. “He wasn’t the right man for me.”

“Oh.” he squeaked a little. “That’s uhm...I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you aren’t.” you laughed, stepping even closer to him.

You placed your hands carefully on his shoulders and you felt him practically melt into your touch.

“Anyway I’m the one that should be sorry.” you whispered.

“For what?” he croaked, feeling weak at your proximity.

“For choosing the wrong man. I should have known better.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, your body so close he could feel your warmth. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I have a guilty pleasure for rom-coms.”

“You’ve definitely never told me that before. I would have remembered giving you a hard time for that.” he laughed a little and so did you.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” you nodded. “Anyway, with my extensive knowledge of rom-coms I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“That the girl always ends up with the best friend.” and with that you pressed your lips against his.

Spencer immediately took hold of your face in his hands and deepened the kiss.

You didn’t care that your whole team was probably watching. You didn’t care the whole bar could have been watching. All you cared about was Spencer.

When the kiss broke you both had tears in your eyes. You kept your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist to keep you close.

“I never want to have to think about someone else touching you the way I do again Y/N. I want to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

“Ok.” you smiled brightly at him. “But only if I get to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

Spencer laughed, kissing you again.

“That my love,” he smiled. “Is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Is it okay?

That I don’t want

Anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

—————————————————————

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[sparxwrites]

@manoessay​ replied to your post:

This post activated my brain harder than most so even though you arent gonna make a fanfic i will add, Dream testing how many times you can bring a person back on quackity once he gets out.

(i absolutely fully got possessed by this idea, and then wrote this self-indulgent and weirdly experimental fic feverishly at like 1am last night. this is... probably not what you were imagining, but it’s what fell out of my brain, so! enjoy? written to “innocence” by madeon.)

cw moderately graphic torture / gore, mental breakdown, mind games, temporary character death

[ao3]

-

“How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The words flash hot through his skull, but don’t translate into meaning. Don’t translate into anything other than noise. The floor is cold beneath his palms. Russet-brown flakes up beneath his nails when he claws at it, chest heaving, lungs trying to remember how breathing works.

His first inhale gurgles, wetly, makes him jerk on his belly like a worm on a hook. His throat is raw from disuse, from screaming, from the sword that had sliced through his trachea like a knife through so much butter. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out is blood.

It goes like this, every time Dream drags him back from Limbo: his ears full of a high ringing, his lungs not working, his body numb. The link between flesh and brain is faulty, sparking wrong – like the battered neurons take a few precious minutes of life to rewire back together fully. It fixes itself a little less each time, the link; he’s permanently numb down most of his left side, now. The fingers on his right hand are going insensate in terrifying inches.

“How many times?”

Crooked mask, ragged voice, cracked porcelain smile. Dream looks better than Quackity feels, but not much – crouched low on a stone floor that’s caked in layer after layer of old blood, watching Quackity like a bug under a magnifying glass. His hair’s a greasy mess, his mask dirty-white and chipped, his clothes spattered with weeks of gore. With Quackity’s gore.

There’s blood dripping out from beneath the mask, though, fresh and hot. His hands shake. The knuckles clenched around the hilt of his sword are white, the skin beneath his fingernails faintly purple-blue.

The eyes behind the mask are just a little too green.

“Can you even hear me?” There’s a giddy slur to the edge of Dream’s words, the manic lilt of a man high off the same shit that’s melting his brain out through his nose. That feeling was familiar to Quackity, in another life. “Quackity. Hey, Quackity. Anyone in there?” He laughs, short and cruel and batshit crazy. His eyes are the colour of battery acid. “Have I finally broken you?”

There’s no response – because Quackity’s still trying to remember how his lungs work, remember what ribs are, remember how to do things that aren’t screaming and curling in on himself and rocking – and the amusement in his voice turns angry, sour. “I said tell me how many times, Quackity.”

Dream stands, unsteady, swaying as he does and leaning heavily on the sword for balance. His hands are still shaking. The blood’s stopped dripping, but there’s a sickly tinge to it, and when he wipes at his chin with the back of one hand it leaves a smear that’s more brown than red.

There’s a flicker of something, as his knuckles touch the half-inch of exposed face – dirty white light, bridging the gap between skin in a static-shock flash. There and then gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

The eyes behind the mask glow a little brighter. A little greener. A little less human.

The point of Dream’s sword sinks into Quackity’s shoulder, splits open an old scar. Quackity’s covered in them, now, more scar than skin. More ruined than not. He spasms, chokes, bleeds wet and red and fresh over the dried blood that carpets the floor. The noise he makes is animal, leg-in-a-bear-trap high and thin and dying. Barely alive five minutes, and he’s bleeding out again already. It’s almost funny.

Dream laughs, and leans on the pommel of the sword. It pushes in another inch.

“Month!” manages Quackity, forcing the word out through the wetness in his lungs, through the broken-bone grind of his throat. If he weren’t so many shattered parts, pasted back together by unholy power and Dream’s capricious whims, it might have been a howl. As it is, he barely has the energy to sob, the words raw and hoarse and threadbare. “A month, a month– thirty– haha, thirty-six days in, in, in Limbo, fuck, please, please–”

There’s wet on his cheeks. Tears? Blood? Worse? He can’t tell any more. He can’t even feel the left side of his face.

He grabs for Dream’s boots, presses his forehead against them, gasps for air that doesn’t seem to bring any relief from the cold ache in his lungs. One of his hands finds an ankle, a strip of bare skin between shoe and pant leg. Dream’s skin is fever-hot, sickly, bottled lightning gone past its sell-by date.

The shock of the contact knocks him silent for a second, though. They won’t touch him, in Limbo, the ghosts – or can’t, or both, can’t and won’t. Because they’re bastards, because they hate him, because he isn’t one of them. They can’t-won’t touch him, can’t see him, won’t see him, won’t speak to him– and he’s left, alone, in a room full of the faded impressions of people he once knew, once loved, once was loved by. A room full of people who do not see him, and do not touch him, and do not hear him when he talks.

(When he screams, when he swears at them, when he tries to claw their eyes out with unsteady hands that don’t make contact– when he begs, when he pleads, when he wheedles and bribes and bargains to deaf ears– when he wraps arms around himself, when he rocks himself back and forth until the blood rushes in his ears, when he whispers to himself until his voice fades to nothing, and tries to pretend it is the same thing as being loved and held and comforted–)

“Please, don’t– hahah, don’t kill me, fuck– please, look, look, hurt me, please, hurt me– anything, anything, I don’t–” He doesn’t have the breath for this. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t even really have the words any more, after screaming for thirty-six fucking days straight, after talking to himself for so long his vocal cords wore out and left him mouthing silence in a desperate attempt to keep himself company. “Don’t, don’t send me�� not, don’t send me back, please, fuck, anything, ha, haha, don’t, don’t–”

“I said I’d make you beg for death,” says Dream, amused, bored, manic. “Not torture. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just kind of funny. Don’t you think? I think it’s funny.”

He pushes the sword in, another inch. Quackity sobs, desperate and pathetic, and feels no shame for it. Presses his face to Dream’s boot, clings to his ankle like a lifeline, and feels no shame for it. Shame was beaten out of him, bled out of him, several lifetimes ago. “But that’s not what I asked, though. How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The sword in his shoulder twists, and Quackity screams. Something severs with a pop, and then another, and then another, until the joint is little more than a hot ball of pain and wet meat, grated bone. Until he can no longer scream, gasping desperately through the pain, weeping like a child. Another twist, and something else severs, something vital, a second’s resistance before a give and a spray of warm blood.

He bleeds out between one sob and the next, tumbling into darkness, the golden net of the respawn reaching up to catch him as he falls.

He wakes up three feet away, sprawled out on the filthy bed that occupies one corner of his cell, still sobbing. The respawn clings to him like a second skin, like weights around his ankles, frightening and familiar all at once. It fades slowly, reluctantly; slower each time he dies, he thinks. Like it’s getting used to holding him. Like it doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s only barely gone by the time Dream crosses the space between them, two short steps, no time for him to flinch, no time for him to hide–

Dream grabs him by the wrist, wrenches his body up from the bed, and slots the sword neatly through the front of his throat. The broad, well-used scar carved across it parts for the blade like an old friend, swallows it whole – and Quackity dies for the second time in as many minutes, choking on his own blood.

The respawn catches him. Drags him down into darkness. Drags him back up to the surface of reality, deposits him back onto a bed now sodden with crimson. He’s shaking. He should be used to it, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth clack together, so hard he’s not sure it will ever stop.

Dream drags him off the bed, back onto the floor. Back onto the filth, the layers and layers of dried gore, a carpet constructed from every time he’s been slaughtered like an animal in this tiny, lightless cell.

“Dream,” he begs, quietly. “Dream, Dream–”

Even to his ears, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

“It’s a simple question, Quackity. How many times have you died now? Properly died. How many times have I brought you back? I just want a number. Just a number.” The mask obscures Dream’s mouth, but his grin is audible. His eyes are so bright, they hurt to look at. “How many times have I proven to you that I’m a god?”

Quackity tries to curl in on himself, but Dream is in the way, one boot by his shoulder and the other pinning his wrist to the floor beneath its toe. He’s not surprised. Dream is everywhere, always, omnipresent. His free hand seeks out Dream’s ankle onces more, curls around that curdled-lightning skin, desperate and needy. It grounds him, touching the only real person in his whole entire world, and he hates himself for it.

“…T- ten?” he tries, and knows as he says it that it’s wrong. The panic rises like the respawn, choking him. He can’t breathe. “Ten, ten times– maybe eleven– fuck, fuck, Dream, please–”

The sword-tip finds his back, finds the space between his fourth and fifth rib. Finds the ropy scar there, beneath the rags, soft from re-use – like a zipper, easy to pry open right down to his weak, wet heart.

“Good guess,” says Dream, quietly. “Closer than before. But still not right. You need a little longer to think about it, I guess. But– hey, you know what? I’ll be nice, and give you a hint.” He pauses, and Quackity’s world stands still. “You’re guessing too low.”

He pushes the sword down. It slips between Quackity’s ribs like an old lover, lodges in the crusted filth and stone below, pins him still against the floor. His heart beats once, twice, a butterfly-flutter around the diamond skewered through it. His body convulses. He falls still.

The blood from his mouth dyes the toes of Dream’s boots crimson, as the light leaves his eyes.

He wakes in Limbo, on his knees, in a room full of people – full of impressions of people, like the ghosts of a faded photograph. He sees them all there, their backs to him, as they move amongst one another, as they talk amongst one another. Tubbo, and Schlatt, and Fundy, and Wilbur, and–

Sapnap, who looks right through him. Karl, whose eyes skate over him. They hold each other’s hands. The rings on their fourth fingers gleam weakly in the strange, nebulous light of the afterlife. They do not hear him when he says their names, ragged and desperate, like a plea. Like a prayer.

And then they, too, turn their back on him. And Quackity – still raw, still bloody, still skewered open right through his butterfly heart – screams and screams and screams.

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[sparrowmoth]

So your original gift for this year was going to be an AU where the Isle was made up of supernatural creatures that Auradon saw as villains (and most of them still are villains). The 3 films played out pretty much the same and post-D3, Werewolf!Jay, Succubus!Evie, Fairy!Mal and Vampire/demon/trickster!Carlos are having a great time until Evie, Mal and Carlos find Jay totally feral out of the blue. He recognizes them, but he's non-verbal and aggressive, hunting things and...

...until they learn Jafar (who's off the Isle after the events of D3) sought Jay out and threatened him. Jay, like all the Isle kids, struggles to deal with fear and emotions, so he reverted to an aggressive state to protect himself better. He is brought back with some mind tampering from Evie and Mal, remembering all of his horribly embarrassing moments from being feral. They learn they need a better plan than letting villains run free in Auradon and make moves to correct it, all while... ...swearing to protect each other. It ends with lots of scenting and Jay swearing all of them to secrecy about how he ate food off the floor and tried to hump Carlos on the porch. But then I realized it was a much bigger story than I could finish, especially after not writing for so long, and I got overwhelmed by it. But I thought you would still enjoy the idea! The bath scene was part of this original idea, I just edited it to make it a stand alone story. Merry Christmas!

@bunny-lou I'm so sorry for taking like a month to respond to this, but I didn't want to rush my reply or maybe I just got attached to the idea of having this little story in my inbox forevermore jdkajgkdsjkag

I absolutely adored the bath scene peek into this world (linking that here for anyone who hasn't read it because y'all should, it's pure perfection). Thank you so much for sharing more context for this AU! It's gonna live in my heart rent free. Feral Jay trying to hump Carlos is such a fucking funny thing to imagine, oh god jkdjkjkdasdgjk. The look on Carlos' face in my mind....... too much jdkajgkdsjkgjskgj

Thank you again for writing for me! It was an honour to have you as my Secret Santa and I couldn't have been happier with the fic you wrote for me. I've read several times over already and I know I'm going to keep coming back to it as a comfort fic for ages to come.

Much love to you, Bunny! I hope the new year's treating you well! <3

[maisondenachtai]

Shea Butter (Baby) (NSFW)

Pairing: Erik x Black!Reader.

Summary: I mean…. another man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

(author’s note: so, okay...I had this idea of mash-up monday where we all take two songs with the same title, or same general title and write a fic based on what you are inspired by from listening to both songs. I’m sure there are enough songs to do this with. my songs were Shea Butter by Pardison Fontaine and Shea Butter Baby by Ari Lennox and this is what I came up with. I hope people try this as well! It was fun.)

Song Lyrics That Inspired Me: I want you, gotta have you, I don't think you understand (You don't) I heard you when you told me you already got a man (So?) That nigga probably love you but can't fuck you like I can You need a man in your pussy, not a pussy as your man (Ayy, woo)  - Pardison Fountaine

  You lost in the shape of my hips Hope there is a move And if you really down, we can find it Lost in an alley, make love by a trash can, ayy - Ari Lennox

               You felt uncomfortable, to say the least. You were smashed right between your boyfriend, and his homeboy. Your boyfriend’s hand was slung around your waist, hand on the curve of your hip. He could definitely feel the vibration of your phone, notifying you of text messages that you were receiving.

“Damn baby, you got the hotline tonight.” Devon said drink to his lips, eyes glued to the tv screen. You laughed then, nervously, out of the corner of your eye you could see his homeboy, best friend, supposed god father to your future kids, put his cellphone back down on the arm of the chair.

Good lord you were playing with fire. You had been striking the match for a long time now, ever since you had drunkenly kissed his homeboy during a kickback, on the side of your brownstone. He was holding the trash, that he was supposed be throwing out, with one hand and your ass in one hand. You were holding his face pulling him deeper into you. You were supposed to be showing him which trash can was yours. That was months ago. Ever since then you had been trying to avoid Erik Stevens. You made sure that you were busy on nights like this, studying at your own place, working night shifts at the pharmacy. Hell, you had even taken up night soul cycling with your crazy cousin who was into the crystals. But somehow you had gotten caught slippin’.

But you were an adult, you could handle a little awkwardness and as long as Erik was cool, you could be cool.

               As least that’s what you thought.

               It all started at the door. You opened it and was instantly hit with that familiar fragrance of man, cologne and Irish Spring. You felt dizzy and were tongue tied when you looked up to see Erik smiling, wolfishly, back down at you.

“Damn girl, where the fuck you been?” He leaned against the doorframe looking you up and down. When his gaze traveled back up and paused at your lips, he bit down on his own and you knew right then that you were in trouble. “You been hiding from me?” He asked, low enough to where only you and him could hear.

Before you could respond by pushing him out of the doorframe and slamming the door on your troubles, Devon walked up and made that noise men make when greeting another male of their brotherhood. While they did their handshake and greeted each other, you slipped under Devon’s arm and made your way into the kitchen to make sure the spread was right…and to get out of Erik’s eye sight.

               Fifteen minutes later you still had not made it out of the kitchen, still picking over the food. The living room was now full with Devon’s friends and their girlfriends or girls they were seeing at the moment. You busied yourself putting out more food when the men made their plates, engaging their girlfriends when they came into the kitchen to grab a drink or a little food. Anything you could do to avoid being in the same space as Erik. At one point you had started to arrange the cups in his cupboard.

“Baby. Stop fingering my cups and sit down. Damn.” Devon said earning a laugh from his crew. You turned and huffed, the jig was up and you had to face your demons. And your demon was patting the cushion between himself and his boy.

               And that’s how you found yourself between a rock and a hard place. Devon had wrapped his hand around your waist somewhere after the 1st quarter ended and that’s when the text messages started. You knew it was Erik because he nudged you discreetly once your phone started vibrating. You made sure Devon was focused on the game before grabbing your phone from your pocket. You unlocked it and read the message.

You didn’t answer my question.

What question?

U been hidin from me?

Y would I hide from you?

I don’t know baby. U tell me.

Don’t call me baby.

               With that you slid the phone back into your pocket and cuddled up into your man. But that of course didn’t stop Erik from messaging you. You pulled out your phone again and brought it closer to your face now that you were closer to Devon.

Y not? You my baby.

No I’m not, Erik. I have a man.

Nah, you got a boyfriend. I’m ya man.

Can your boyfriend make you cum like I can?

               His sentence made you go back to that day, in the alley, next to your garbage can. You’re not sure who touched who in what way to make Erik push you against the wall like he did. You’re not sure what signal you gave him that made him know that you wanted him to kiss you like he did. By the time you figured what you were doing was wrong, he had your legs around his waist and your dressed hitched up so you felt him against your panties.

You pushed him back, breathless, your lip gloss smeared around and on his lips. His and your breaths came out in white puffs, going up together in a cloud of vapor.

“What ma? Why you stopping me?” He leaned towards you again capturing your lips in another heated kiss but you pushed him back again before you both got in too deep.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Erik? Devon is right upstairs.” You searched his face for regret or memory* but the only thing you saw was undisguised lust. It made you even more turned on.

“I don’t give a fuck about fucking Devon.” His lips brushed up your neck. “He knew I wanted you anyway but nigga fucking pushed up before I could.” He bit gently right under your earlobe and you shivered, but not from the cold.

“Wait what?” You pushed him back again and this time he made a noise that sounded close to a growl. “The fuck does that mean?”

Erik looked down the alley where people were passing by, not looking towards the sounds you know they could hear coming from the dark alley. He looked back at you. “That day Devon approached you at the party, I saw you first and I told him about you. How good your ass looked in that yellow dress.” He gripped your ass at that and you groaned. “How I liked how you bit your lips when you danced with your girls. How I wanted to take you home that night. How bad I wanted you to sit on my fucking face.” He kissed you again and when he pulled back, you immediately followed his lips with your own but he kept talking.

“But D, fucking D always has to have what I want, so he pressed up on you first.” He pressed against you then, hard and big. Your pussy clenched. “And now you with him. But I don’t give a fuck. I want you.” With that he rocked against your clothed pussy, sending a sharp jolt as if he was inside of you. You moaned softly.

“Yeah, just like that.” He said encouraging your moans as he continued his dry humping. “When he fucks you tonight, you remember I made you feel like this without being inside of you.” He rocked harder. “You remember how wet you got from just my kisses.” He sucked a line from your neck to your lips biting down. You moaned as his thrusting became harder, giving you enough friction to throw you over the edge hard.

You clenched your legs around him hard, pulling him into you. He chuckled softly in your ear before giving you soft kisses on your neck.

“Then when he finally makes you orgasm with that weak shit he gives you, you remember how good you felt with me, and how much better I can make you feel with just one stroke” When your legs stopped shaking, he dropped you down and picked up the trash, putting it in the trash can where it belonged.

               A buzzing brought you back from your memory, and you noticed that you had clenched your legs up tight.

I didn’t think so.

Answer ya ‘man’.

“Huh?” You slid your phone back into your pocket and looked over at Devon who was looking back at you as if you had two heads.

“You bored huh bae? I’m sorry.” He kissed your temple. “I was just asking who was texting you?”

“Oh.” You chuckled, placing a smile on your face. “Just Kendra. She was telling me about her date with the NBA player.”

“Your girl is a trip, I swear.” Devon settled back and got back into the game, even moving his arm from around you and pointing out a bad call.

               After fifteen minutes your phone had buzzed several more times, yet you ignored it instead spending your time really focusing on the game. Devon and several of the men had taken to standing up around the TV as if their energy could be transmitted through the TV. The girlfriends were gathered in the kitchen picking at fruit and talking. You had tried to join them but Erik gripped your shirt, keeping you in your place. He had hung back from the guys, instead choosing to antagonize you by brushing his knee against yours every five minutes.

Erik leaned towards you and whispered in your ear. “Since you ain’t answering my messages, I’m just gonna tell you what they said. The first one said, I want your pussy against my mouth.” He licked your earlobe before pulling back just as whoops went up.

“Stop it.” You said out of the side of your mouth.

Erik smirked and leaned closer to you, “Nah. I wrote them messages and you gon’ know what I said. The second one said, I want you ride my face. Period. Hard. Period.”

“Erik, please.” You begged quietly, you could feel your resolve crumbling.

“No ma. You been hiding from me. I don’t like that shit. You got a nigga fucking weak and shit, hoping to see you but you don’t never show up. So you best believe I’mma tell you everything I want from you while you’re here.” He smiled. “That reminds me, the third one said, after you cum against my mouth, I’m going to bend you over whatever’s close and take what I want. Hard.”

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs together. You looked at Devon who was focused solely on the game.

“Oh and the fourth one is my favorite one, it said, 15 minutes, my crib.” He brushed his hand over your knee and then stood up going over to Devon and patting him on the shoulder.

“Oh man, you’re leaving already?” Devon said doing their handshake again but ending it with a chest bump. “You must got a pussy appointment?” Devon smirked.

“I hope so.” Erik grinned at Devon and then said his goodbyes to the other men before waving goodbye to the ladies and then finally at you. He mouthed ‘13’ before walking to the door and leaving.

You looked around and found the girlfriends looking at you. When they found you looking back at them, they turned whispering to themselves again. Honestly, you really didn’t give a fuck about what they thought. In fact, you didn’t give a fuck about anything at this point.

You looked at the clock on the wall.

In 11 minutes, you were going to get dicked down.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Best Laid Plans

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!OC

Summary: A sequel to ‘Protective Instincts’. The last 7 and a half months have been a whirlwind, and part of Pope still can’t fathom the idea of being a father. But now that his kid is here? All bets are off. *Still based off of the wonderful headcanons by @darksideofclarke*

Warnings: Pregnancy fic (so, again, if you aren’t vibing with it, don’t read it), swearing, references to birth (it’s nothing graphic, just mentions of water breaking, contractions, and epidurals), references to breastfeeding

A/N: Hi everyone! I was blown away by the response to ‘Protective Instincts’, so I wrote a sequel that’s based off of part of one of clarke’s headcanons. This was so fun to write, and I’m really wanting to write more about Bex and Pope, and Pope and Frankie, and the baby, so I’m hoping you all enjoy this as much as you enjoyed the first one! If you want to be added to the tags, please let me know. I just used the tags list from ‘Protective Instincts’ for this one.

                                                    **********

Pope was a planner. Not as good as Tom, mind you, but he could plan an operation with the best of them. That was, after all, how he had convinced his closest friends to help him take down one of Colombia’s biggest and most dangerous narcos.

“Just look at my work on it.”

That was the phrase he used on all of them, but he had been banking on their loyalties as well. He had known going in that Benny would only need him. He had figured that a tiny twist of Catfish’s arm and Pope’s record of getting into deep shit when Frankie wasn’t around to stop him would be enough to encourage Catfish to join them. Will had needed Tom, Tom had needed Pope’s workup of the mission. Planning. Having a rough idea in your head of how people will react was a big part of planning an op and putting together a team.

Bex’s birth plan was viewed in the exact same light. He hadn’t been lying to her when he told her that whatever she wanted to do, they were going to do. If she had demanded that she give birth while standing on her head, Pope would have found a way to make that happen, doctors be damned. So, Pope made sure that her birth plan was as detailed as any highly classified military operation.

That document became like a Bible to Pope. He sat with Bex as she painstakingly went through every single option, checking off certain boxes and rolling her eyes at others.

“I swear to God, babe. If they try to show me the birth through a mirror, I might kick a nurse in the face,” she had laughed. Pope had laughed as well, knowing his sweet tempered girl would never do such a thing but also knowing that, when the time came, if someone tried to bring a mirror into the room when his girl hadn’t requested it, he would be raising hell on her behalf.

Of course, he knew that things never ran as smoothly as you planned. Colombia had been proof enough of that, but he held tight to the birth plan, taking comfort in the knowledge that, by knowing what it was Bex wanted, he would be able to do some small part in assisting her through her labor and delivery. Of course, he would stay in the room with her (just him and the medical staff, no friends or family would even know about the labor until at least 4 hours after the kid arrived) and let her squeeze his hand and yell at him if she needed to, but Pope was a man of action. He faced situations head on, guns blazing. This...this was one situation where he would be almost helpless, watching as his girl fought to bring their kid into the world.

The birth plan was his tether. Bex had outlined every single thing she wanted to happen before, during, and after the birth.

“Of course, if things go south, you tell them to fuck the plan and do whatever they need to do,” she had reiterated several times over the course of building and rebuilding their plan. And when Bex’s water broke at 1 p.m. that cold November afternoon, Pope knew within the span of her first contraction that he would indeed tell the medical staff to fuck the plan if there was even the slightest notion of something being wrong. He was not losing his girl or their baby due to his stubbornness in sticking to a plan.

Luckily, it went as smooth as it possibly could have gone. Nobody brought any mirrors into the room. She had been able to walk laps up and down the hallway to help herself along. Bex had caved around midnight and begged for an epidural, which Pope had been quick to sooth her about.

“Baby, you’ve been at this for almost 12 hours,” he had whispered into her sweaty hair, wiping a cool rag over her forehead as she squeezed his hand and tearfully whispered that she wanted the injection. “You’ve done everything you can naturally. The laps and the breathing and the exercises…Baby, I know Marines who would have given up and asked for pain meds hours ago,” he had laughed. “You’re fucking Wonder Woman, baby. I’m so proud of you.” He smiled and kissed her forehead as she gifted him with a tired but grateful smile. “Our kiddo is just being a little stubborn right now, okay?”

“T…takes after their daddy,” she chuckled breathily.

“God help us,” he laughed, pressing another kiss to her forehead as she winced, another contraction overtaking her body. Pope hit the Help button by her bed and waited for the nurse to come so they could inform her of the change in their plan.

Finally, at three o’clock in the morning, Liliana Esperanza Garcia was placed onto her mother’s chest with an angry cry. Pope stayed right by Rebecca’s side the entire time, having no interest in cutting the umbilical cord and the idea of catching his daughter as she was born was more than a little terrifying to the seasoned veteran, so he remained at his post at Bex’s bedside and cried alongside his two girls.

                                                      **********

Watching the sunrise through their hospital room window, Pope sat with his little girl pressed against his bare chest and thanked god that they had decided on a hospital that allowed fathers to do skin to skin contact with their kids while still at the hospital. He reveled in the feel of her tiny cheek pressed against his chest, right over his heart. The feel of her heartbeat hammering against his skin was addicting and soothing at the same time. He had never known peace like this.

Frankie had been right. Of course he had been, he nearly always was. Holding Lily in his arms somehow made up for Afghanistan, Iraq, Colombia, and every other fuck up in his life. This little thing in his arms that couldn’t function on her own, that wouldn’t be able to for a long time, had already done so much good. It would be months before she could even hold her own head up, but, somehow, she had managed to erase all the red in his ledger, simply by breathing.

Of course, her mother helped. Pope looked over at Bex, asleep in the hospital bed beside him. His warrior queen. She had given him this gift, put her body through unimaginable change and pain for their little family, and she had done it with a smile on her face (most of the time). He would never deserve her, but he was so damn glad that she somehow saw the best in him, that she chose him on a daily basis.

“Remember when I said we have to be good to Mamá?” he whispered, brushing his lips gently over Lily’s dark downy baby hair. “She worked so hard to bring you here. We’re always gonna owe her, mija.”

“Knock, knock,” a soft voice called from the sliding glass door of their private room. Pope looked up and smiled, laughing softly at the sight in front of him.

Benny was weighed down by what looked like seven or eight large stuffed animals, an “It’s a Girl” balloon flying over his head. Will stood next to him, a look of fond exasperation on his face as the balloon gently bonked him on the head, and a bouquet of white lilies in his hand. Frankie, the one who had knocked, was slightly in front of them both, a kind smile pulling at his lips as he took in the small family in front of him.

“Hey fellas,” he whispered, carefully pulling himself to his feet with one hand and nodding to them to come in, eyes never leaving his daughter. “This is Lily.”

“She’s beautiful, man,” Benny whispered, his eyes growing shiny.

“Congratulations, Pope,” Will echoed, gently clasping Pope’s shoulder.

“How’s Momma doing?” Frankie whispered, maneuvering himself to stand just over Pope’s right shoulder so he would have a good view of the sleeping baby girl.

“She’s a warrior, man,” Pope peered over his shoulder at his sleeping girlfriend, and every single one of the hardened soldiers could see the love and awe in their Lieutenant’s eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know how she did it.”

Frankie choked back a laugh. “You’re gonna want to watch that language now, Papá. Little ears and all that.”

“The swear jar will end up paying for her college tuition,” Benny jabbed, jostling with his armload when Will gave him a smack.

“Benny, you can put those on the table over there, man,” Pope told him. “Just be careful not to wake Bex.”

“Too late…” a soft warm voice announced, making Pope’s heart flutter.

“Hey baby,” he sighed happily, turning back and slowly walking over to sit on the edge of her bed. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not long enough,” she laughed as she held her arms out. Pope gently deposited their daughter in her mother’s safe embrace before shaking out his hands. He’d carried loads ten times her size, but something about the position made his wrists ache. “Hey princess,” she cooed, running a soft finger over their daughter’s chubby cheek. “How long was I out?”

“Just over an hour,” he smiled as he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before moving to the recliner to put his shirt back on. “Look who’s here.”

“Hey guys,” she smiled tiredly at them. “Forgive me for not getting up to hug you but…” she shrugged as she nodded down at the baby in her arms.

“Congratulations, Momma,” Frankie smiled as he swooped in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Charlie figured you wouldn’t want to eat a crappy hospital breakfast, so…” he held up the cooler in his hands. “We made a little feast for you, if you’re up for it.”

Rebecca groaned. “Oh my god, tell me your waffles are in there.” At Frankie’s nod, she groaned again. “Ugh, I am so up for it, Frankie. Thank you! Just, uh…” she trailed off as she looked down at her hospital gown clad body. “I think I want to take a shower first if that’s okay?”

Pope swooped in to relieve her of Lily and Frankie helped her stand up.

“You need me? Or do you want me to call a nurse?” Pope asked.

“You stay here with Lily and the guys,” she decided. “I think I can handle it on my own but keep an ear out?” Pope nodded and she smiled as she kissed him on the cheek. “Will, could you pass me my—” Will already had her bag extended to her. She laughed. “Thanks.”

“Milady,” Benny extended an elbow to her and helped her shuffle across the floor to the ensuite bathroom.

She winked as she began to pull the door closed. “See you guys in an hour,” she joked.

“Take your time, baby,” Pope called, quickly adjusting to softly shush Lily as she whimpered.

“Can’t believe you’re a dad now, man,” Benny laughed as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Out of all of us, I never would’ve had you down as a family man. I mean, c’mon. The guy who slept with every informant he had now has a daughter? Karma’s gonna bite you on the ass, dude.”

Inwardly, Pope rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much younger Benny was compared to the rest of them. He hadn’t been anxious to settle down when he was Ben’s age either, but now? He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without waking up every morning next to Rebecca’s smiling face. And Lily? She was less than six hours hold, and she already had Santiago wrapped around her little finger.

“Things change, Benny,” Will calmly informed his little brother. “Now, what do you say we go get some drinks for everyone? See if we can scrounge up some actual coffee in this place?” Ben shrugged but nodded as Will approached the bathroom door and lightly tapped on it. “Hey Becca? We’re going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?”

“An orange juice would be great, thanks Will!” she called back before the sound of the shower turning on pervaded the room.

As Will guided Benny out of the room, he turned back and shot a wink at Pope, causing him to laugh. They all knew that Ben was a lot to handle, and Will had gotten good over the years at judging when one of his friends were about to pop his little brother one. For all the MMA training and fighting Benny did, he was kind of clueless when it came to the tempers of his friends.

Pope settled down on the edge of the mattress, unable to look away from Lily, even as Frankie sat down next to him.

“I just can’t stop looking at her, man,” he admitted softly.

“Take it all in, hermano,” Frankie grinned. “You’re gonna blink and she’s gonna be off to kindergarten.”

“Malo,” Pope muttered to him under his breath and Frankie laughed. He dragged his eyes away from his sleeping daughter to smile back at his best friend. “You want to hold her?”

Frankie blinked and raised a hand to scratch at the hair under his cap. “You sure?” he double-checked hesitantly.

Pope slowly and carefully placed the sleeping baby in Frankie’s arms. She snuffled for a brief moment before falling back asleep.

“Hola, corazon,” Frankie whispered, stroking a finger over her dark hair. Frankie looked up to meet Pope’s eyes, tears glimmering in both their eyes. “Shit Santi…” he breathed.

“I know…” The two men sat for a long moment in silence, Lily’s quiet breaths and the sound of the shower in the background washing over them. “I…I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Frankie,” Pope started quietly.

“Huh?” Frankie didn’t take his eyes off the baby.

“When Mateo was born…I shoulda been here,” Pope scratched at the back of his neck.

Frankie shook his head at Pope. “Bro, stop. You were in Colombia doing what you had to do. And you’re here now.”

Pope sighed. “I don’t think I coulda done this without you, Frankie,” he whispered. “Shit, I might’ve just kept driving that night. I coulda missed all of this. I could’ve missed her.” Pope reached out a finger and slowly stroked Lily’s fist until she opened her hand and weakly grasped his finger.

“You would’ve come back, man. Don’t kid yourself. You don’t leave jobs unfinished,” Frankie said simply because, to him, it was simple. You didn’t follow a man into war zone after war zone without getting to know every facet of their personality. Santiago Garcia never left a man behind, and never left a job undone. It’s why he was Frankie’s best friend. There was so much loyalty, so much trust, between the two of them.

Pope laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve got the kid, now I’ve just gotta get the girl.”

Frankie watched as Pope dug into his jacket pocket, draped over the side of the recliner, and pulled out a navy-blue plush box. Cracking it open, Pope tilted the box towards Frankie so he could see the square amethyst jewel sitting in a simple gold band.

Gently, Frankie unfolded one arm from underneath Lily and gave Pope a shove before quickly resuming his position.

“When?”

Pope shrugged. “I’ve had this stupid thing for months, man. But I didn’t want to give it to her then because I didn’t want her thinking it was just because she was pregnant. Part of me wants to give it to her now, but I don’t want her thinking it’s just because she just had my kid, you know?”

Frankie nodded sagely. “I get it.”

“Maybe in a couple of months?” Pope asked, looking between the engagement ring and his best friend.

“First date out without the kid could work,” Frankie agreed.

“Maybe Lily could spend some time with her godfather while her Mom and Dad go for dinner or something?” Frankie kept nodding. “Would you like that, Lily?” Pope murmured, leaning over his friend’s shoulder to speak to his little girl. “You want to spend some time with Tío Frankie?”

Frankie’s head shot up. “You mean…?” Pope chuckled, a smile pulling at his lips. “Dude, I was kidding about calling…You don’t have to…”

“Frankie…” Pope clasped his best friend’s shoulder. “There’s no one we trust more than you. Will you be Lily’s godfather?”

Pope watched as Frankie swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared down at the little girl in his arms as she began to fuss.

“Shh, corazon…” Frankie soothed, rocking her back and forth as he stood up to pace the room. “Tío Frankie has you.”

Santiago couldn’t help but smile. If someone had told him even five years ago that he would be at a hospital, just a few hours after his daughter was born, planning to propose to the mother of his child with the help of his best friend, retired Second Lieutenant Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales, who was now a married man with a son and another kid on the way, he would have asked what kind of crack they were snorting and to point him in the direction of their drug dealer.

Guys like them didn’t get the happy endings. They got the beginnings of the fairy tale, the girl and the glory of returning home after war, but after the ‘Happily Ever After’, they got the nightmares and the divorces and the dual mortgages and the child support. They ended up like Tom, so deep in the trenches that they cave in and bury you.

At least, that’s what Pope thought when he signed on for private sector work in Colombia. He wasn’t ready to give up the thrill of the chase, the ‘good work’ he was doing, to face the shitshow that would inevitably be waiting for him at home. When Colombia had ended up being the shitshow, and Yovanna had seen right through him and sent him packing, he thought that was it. The end of his rope, the end of the line.

Moving closer to Frankie had been a godsend. Pope would always credit him with having literally saved his life. Getting to watch how Frankie handled it all, seeing him interact with Charlie and Mateo, standing next to him at the simple courthouse wedding. Frankie was living proof that life went on even when he didn’t have the flag on his shoulder anymore. Proof that ‘Happily Ever After’ didn’t have to fall flat. And, if Pope hadn’t moved close to Frankie, Charlie never would have gotten him the physiotherapy consult at her clinic, and he never would have met Bex. He never would have learned that guys like them could have happy endings, so long as they fought for them with as much vim and vigor that they fought every other battle of their lives with.

“Hey Papá,” Frankie called with a laugh, pulling Pope from his thoughts. He turned to see Frankie holding Lily out to him carefully as she started to cry.

He hurried to cradle his daughter against his chest, quietly humming to her in a feeble attempt to get her to settle. “Shh, baby girl. You’re okay. Papá’s here.”

Bex appeared in the bathroom doorway, her skin dewy from the shower and her hair thrown up out of her face. “I think she might be hungry, babe,” she called over their daughter’s cries. She walked over to get herself settled on the bed, wincing every few steps until she could lie back on the thin mattress, adjusting it so she could sit up.

“I’ll give you three some privacy,” Frankie muttered, clasping Pope’s shoulder in one hand and running his finger over Lily’s clenched fist with the other. “I’ll go see what the Millers found to drink. We’ll be back in a few.”

Pope nodded distractedly as his friend smiled warmly at Bex and left the room, closing the door with a soft click. He gently transferred Lily into her mother’s arms before perching on the edge of the mattress by Bex’s hip. “You want me to call the nurse?”

Bex nodded as she watched Lily nuzzle at her chest. “Yeah, they said they would bring the specialist in the first couple of times to make sure I’m doing this right.”

Pope kissed her temple as she pulled down the side of her baggy T-shirt in preparation of feeding their daughter. “You’re gonna do great, baby,” he whispered into her hair. “Wonder Woman, remember?”

She smiled softly at him as he pressed the Help button. “I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you more,” he replied with a soft look on his face as the nurse entered. It was a playful argument they had on a nearly weekly basis, but this time, Pope knew he had won. Pope knew he would always win at loving her more because, without her, he wouldn’t have any of this. And that filled his heart to bursting.

                                                     **********

“She’s so beautiful, Santi…” Bex whispered as she lovingly stroked her finger up and down their sleeping daughter’s arm.

All the tests had been run. Pope was over the moon to receive the news that both mother and child were healthy and strong. The small group of warriors had gorged themselves on the Morales’ world class waffles, bacon, and fruit salad before Frankie, Benny and Will had dismissed themselves from the hospital, all three promising to come and visit the following week once the new family was more settled. A nurse had come by every few hours to help teach Bex how to breastfeed, and teach Santi how to change a diaper, and teach them both how to swaddle. All things they had practiced in their parenting classes, but Pope appreciated the reminders. Especially since, the second he laid eyes on his baby girl, all the lessons flew out of his brain. Finally, a doctor paid them a visit and told them they would be free to go at the start of visiting hours the next day.

That had been twelve hours ago. Presently, the small family was bathed in the glow of the setting sun that was filtering in from the master bedroom window. Lily was asleep on the bed in between her parents, who were lying on their sides while holding hands above her head.

“She takes after her mother,” he smiled at her, glad to see he could still make her blush just over a year into their relationship.

“I hope she gets your hair,” she whispered back as she released his hand and reached out to card a hand through his short, thick curls. “I love your hair,” she sighed as she clasped his hand again.

“You want her going grey before she’s 40?” he teased. Bex shot him a playful glare. “I hope she gets your eyes.”

“…I hope she’s happy,” Bex breathed, tears pooling in her eyes.

Pope reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand, softly swiping at the falling tears with his thumb. “She will be, baby. Love her hard, show up, give a shit, and let her find her own path, right?” Bex nodded at him but the tears kept streaming. “Hey…” He stood and picked Lily up, carefully transferring her into the bassinet they had put in their room, before sliding back into bed and pulling his teary girlfriend into his arms. She quietly cried into his shoulder as he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “You okay?” he asked gently as she finally pulled away, the grey cotton of his shirt stained black.

“Sorry,” she murmured contritely as she wiped at her cheeks. “Stupid hormones.”

“You didn’t answer my question, querido,” he observed.

Rebecca tilted her head back on his shoulder to look in his eyes. She gently ran her thumb over the laugh lines that crinkled in the corners of his eyes and sighed softly. “I feel okay, honestly Santi. My hormones are kind of all over the place, and my body feels like I was hit by a truck, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

Santiago shifted them so he was lying with his head on his pillow and she had her head on his chest. “As someone who has seen a guy after he got hit by a truck, I’d say that sounds pretty bad.”

She shrugged gently. “I mean, I won’t be doing it again for at least a couple of years, and I know I got lucky because some of the stories I read…” she shuddered lightly before meeting his eyes again. “But I feel better than I thought I would. Does that make sense?”

He nodded as she yawned. “Makes perfect sense, baby. Why don’t you try to get some sleep while Lily is down? We need to be up in about two hours to feed her.”

Rebecca smiled at him as she slid onto her own pillow, still facing him. “You really want to get up and watch me feed our daughter?”

“Mi alma,” he sighed, pulling her in to plant a tender, loving kiss on her lips before pulling back, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll get up for as many feedings, changes, crying fits that I can. I don’t want to miss a second of this.”

A bright smile pulled at her lips as tears pooled in her eyes again. “Damnit, Santi…” she laughed as she wiped her face with the hem of her shirt.

He pulled as close as he could and tangled their legs together. “I won’t apologize,” he declared, a soft smile on his face. “I love you so damn much, Rebecca. Te amo…te adoro…te quiero…te necesito…” Pope brushed a kiss against her temple, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips in between each phrase.

Her eyes started to droop as a content grin graced her features. “I love you too, Santiago. More than any word in any language could ever express.”

He watched and listened as her breathing evened out and she drifted off. He couldn’t shake the pride from flowing through his veins as he listened to his two girls breathe in the fading light. He was never supposed to have this, but he would fight tooth and nail for anyone who tried to take it away.

                                                        **********

Tags list: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

[imnotrevealingmyname]

For fanfic writer questions: All. Of. Them. Alternatively: 15. 21 and 25

Lmao 😂😂😂😂❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm doing all of them.

1. Phone, on Google docs. My phone is an absolute mess.

2. Fanfiction? About two years ago. Don't ask about original stuff. Oof

3. Loki fics, poems.

4. Both? Both. Both is good.

5. Terrible. Ok I'm kidding, I'd describe it as poetic, in a way? Overly poetic is good, ig. But it's also overly dramatic- something I hate seeing in people. Which makes me a hypocrite, ig. Lmao.

But in all honesty, I'm pretty flexible in my writing. Even while writing poems, I can easily shift from writing about EXTREMELY dark stuff (trust me, you don't wanna know) to something light and fluffy, which is a good thing, I guess? But it also feels a bit suffocating sometimes because I have a habit of reading my stuff from the POV of a reader, once I'm done with writing it. So I try to make it as bearable as possible. People nowadays don't always like intense stuff, and since I'm a freaky gal who started reading Shakespeare in third grade, it becomes difficult for me to give up my very intense style of writing. I probably don't make sense, but, uh. Whatever. Point is, I'm not perfect.

6. Random stuff. Seriously. My cupboard can set me off in a writing frenzy- most of the time,however, I don't even know what inspiration is. I meet her very infrequently- so infrequently that she's very forgettable :')

7. No? Sometimes? A couple of my fics were inspired by songs, I suppose. I also unpublished one, if I remember correctly.

8. The title. Oh god, that always makes me lose sleep. And also, the descriptions. Either I'm overly descriptive, or I end up writing a whole one shot in less than 300 words. Why Am I An Idiom is going to be the name of my autobiography, if I ever write one. (And yes, it's is Idiom. Long story.)

9. I don't really have any fixed place for writing. I've been known to write poems in the bathroom, so

10. Do I have a current WIP? I honestly have no idea what I'm doing with them. All I've been writing lately are one shots.

11. I don't count, but I have over 45 drafts

12. If you're talking about fics, then there's this fic I wrote, called Alien Ardour, a few months ago. I unpublished it due to several reasons, but I honestly love it. Also, I really like my one shots Scandalous and Silenced.

13. Like in total? What's 63+48+9? And it's ongoing.

14. Loki. Duh. And death. I love writing about death :')

15. OCs if it's multichapter, reader insert (NO Y/N, PLEASE, TAKE THAT AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE) if it's a one shot.

16. Repetitive question.

17. The Soul Trade. A few chapters were for aesthetics, but ok.

18. Loki. Only Loki. And uh.... Drarry. That's my fricking OTP.

19. @caffiend-queen. I love several other authors but she's always the first to come to my mind when I'm asked this question.

20. No

21. Coffee shop AU 😂 I don't even regret this

22. Idiots to lovers

23. 2 years. Fun fact: my first fic was a Drarry fic. I love it so much that it's still on Wattpad, even though I've not updated it in like a year.

24. Haven't we all?

25. Motivation? Who? What? Okay I'm kidding, I read fanfics. Seriously. Either I reread my own and edit them to sorta get back the feel of writing, or I end up reading a new fic. Smut who?

26. I was eight when I started writing, for heaven's sake. I don't remember.

27. If you're talking about fanfiction, then it's definitely @ohhhmyloki and @latent-thoughts (Tumblr won't let me tag y'all, for some reason). I used to write before I read their works but I quite literally began my journey with smut after reading their fics. And I don't think any of my fics written before that even exist anymore. But if we're talking about writing in general, then it's O Henry and Bernard Shaw. Maybe Gerald Durrell. Did I mention that I love Gerald Durrell?

28. Loki.

29. Idiotic. Messy. Freaky.

30. Um, I don't really wanna say this, but it's Just A Kiss Goodnight. It may be my most 'famous' fic, but it's definitely not the best. For one thing, I wrote it in less than a week, and I haven't edited it. And there's no fucking smut. I'm not saying that smut is necessary to make a fic good, but it doesn't have any intimacy in it. It's definitely not boring, I'll give it that, but it's childish.

31. Wtf is the difference

32. What kinda question is this

33. One shot? Depends. I can be freaky fast and write one in less than fifteen minutes, or I can take literal weeks to finish one.

34. Dude, what's the normal font in android? I have no idea. But one of my favourites is monotype corsiva, when I'm on my laptop.

35. Both.

36. I don't

37. All of my works, oof 😂 well, no. But there's this fic I've written, called Let's Get Drunk Together. And another. It's called Three Isn't A Crowd, After All. Cringy af

38. Smut. Dark poetry.

39. WHY ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS REPEATED? It's idiots to lovers, ffs

40. On Tumblr? Average is 60, I think.

41. Yes

42. Writing.

43. All the time

44. Yes

45. I can be as thirsty and smutty as I want without being judged, bless fanfiction.

46. The "WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO MY HEART WHAT ARE YOU DOING AHHHHHHHHHHHH AND WHY AM I SO AROUSED AT THIS TIME OF ALL TIMES AND WHY IS THIS ANGSTY GIVE ME FLUFF" feeling. Not to brag, but I'm very good at that.

47. I can do anything and everything I want. I can make a unicorn fuck a werewolf and nobody will judge me. Or maybe they will.

48. Yes- Wattpad and Ao3.

49. Google docs, word.

50. Fucking Y/N. Like, not literally fucking Y/N, but uh- I mean, I'd totally fuck my clone? But Y/N isn't me, I hate Y/N. And I hate people who just comment on your fic to promote their own fics. We write for your happiness, please at least do the courtesy of appreciating that and not disrespecting our efforts. Most of us spend nights lying awake to give you stuff to read. And also, people who just comment to say,"Update," two minutes after you've just updated. That's RUDE.

51. High school AU

52. Cock, pussy, salacious, sepulchral, pulchritudinous....... I don't have a one track mind I swear

53. Giggled. FUCKING GIGGLED. I don't understand WHY people have this tendency of writing,"she giggled," and,"he chuckled." I don't know why but GIGGLED sounds like something not EVEN a simpering schoolgirl would do. I don't giggle. Not once have I seen peeps who write GIGGLE associate GIGGLE with men, which is something that I find very disturbing and sexist. Call me biased, go on. But I might not even have been here now because I'm from THAT orthodox and sexist a family, and if they'd been any more sexist, I'd have been killed after birth, so don't even dare to come near me with a ten foot pole if you're sexist.

54. Well, yes, I think. I certainly don't hate it, or I wouldn't write.

Dang, I spent over half an hour writing that. Hope that made even an iota of sense.

[imasimpforstevengrant]

I can see you

Author's note:

First, I never thought I would write a fic after almost two years later. I had this idea after watching a fanmade video about Arthur and Harleen falling for each other. I had fun while writing this, since Arthur is a completely new character (not following the comics). Please note that this is written purely for amusement and I don't profit from it.

Second, sorry for any typos. English is not my first language (Chilean Spanish for the win, everybody!). I hope you like it.

_________________________________________

Warnings: angst, self hatred, a bit of swearing, sexual themes and stalking.

Words: 1.730

Summary: Arthur Fleck doesn't live. He barely manages to exist, devoid of any bond. Until one day, a woman reminds him of how much of a human he is.

_________________________________________

He had seen her several times, but he never had the courage to talk to her. He usually avoided her when she was too close to him.

Arthur knew himself too well to know what would happen: his hated laughing fits. Therefore, he preferred to love her from distance, without her noting his existence. It was better this way.

The first time Arthur saw this young woman was in the hallway. She was going down the stairs to the seventh floor of the building. He cherished every move she did. This stranger danced while listening to music, thinking no one would notice her. She shook her figure as she mouthed passionately the lyrics of whatever song was listening. Arthur hid near the wall that divided the halls, and thus, the apartments.

He glared at her like a predator. His mouth watery caused by the hunger she woke within him. Arthur swore he could feel her in his arms, dancing vehemently to a song. He wondered during long periods of time how it would feel to touch her skin.

His lust was a loud, thundering storm that kept troubling his already cursed mind. But in the outside, the silence suggested indifference.

It kept like this for months. Arthur had also yearned for innocent things, such as a smile or even a kind word from her. He constantly fantasized about her and the guilt and regret fought after the lustful desires roamed through his fractured psyche. This was too much for him to bear. He wrote about the woman in his journal, dedicating pages of misspelled but honest thoughts. Arthur found a new way to cope with insomnia.

It was a rainy day when his feelings took another radical turn. Arthur returned to his flat after another shitty day of work. He headed towards the elevator, pressing the button to open it. He waited patiently. The bell rang and the sliding door opened.

"Fuck!", he hissed lowly when he saw her. She was carrying a bag and had her hair done in buns. Arthur thought she couldn't be more beautiful.

"Hi" she chirped, grinning at him.

"Hi" was all Arthur could reply after his failed attempt to keep his gaze in the ground. Was she actually talking to him? The beloved stranger noticed a trace of blood in his lips and sweetly asked:

"Are you alright?"

He remained silent for a few seconds, studying her expression. It was so kind and sincere.

"Yes".

"Are you sure you're okay?" Her question echoed through his mind. Even her voice turned out to be as smooth as her appearance. Arthur inhaled deeply.

"I am, miss. Thanks for asking" he replied puzzled, trying to figure out why would she even care.

The door opened and she politely waved goodbye to him and wishing him well. Arthur didn't give a verbal answer but he certainly waved back to her.

Arthur smirked. And his gesture did not disappear until he arrived home.

He built a routine in his free time. If he couldn't be with her, he was satisfied enough to watch her. At night, he usually followed her to the now empty playground. The woman was swinging in a rope made out of clothes stretched and extended in what seemed a big, dome-shaped cage like. The blonde had the habit to exercise there, not bothered by some bystanders (mostly men) who whistled at her.

Despite the jealousy that grew within him, Arthur understood it wasn't strange. He surely wasn't the only one after her affections.

He took a liking to this new scene: watching her move as if she was practising a gymnastic routine was fantastic. Her movements were so delicate, yet sensual. She seemed to go along with the air, soaring with it.

But she didn't notice, obviously. The girl would probably had gone running and screaming for help if she had discovered him.

Arthur was wrong. He was so wrong.

One day, he sneaked around wearing his yellow hoodie to preserve his identity. He was outside the building, hiding in the shadows. There she was again: beautiful and unreachable. Her long, platinum blonde hair fell like a waterfall. Arthur was amazed. She moved her arms in a graceful way once again, to flow through it in a twirl that swinged her back and forth. The girl seemed to smile before the risky move, congratulating herself in silence on this apparent progress.

Arthur laughed out loud, amazed. But he soon clasped a hand in his mouth. She turned around immediately to his direction. Arthur felt the panic and tried to run.

She called him. Not berating him but genuinely interested. There was no violence in her voice. Arthur argued with himself over and over about if this was a good idea from the beginning. The man was walking around like a disoriented dog while grasping his curly locks, out of fear and guilt. He stood still for a while, without saying a word.

He then realized the woman kept calling him.

Arthur tightened his eyelids, fighting the urge to run away. He kept still during long seconds until he finally decided to face her. It was now or never. Little did he know that she was just a few feet away from him.

Once Arthur turned around, he almost tripped taking a step away from her. He stared at the young woman: she showed no signs of fear or disgust. In fact, she seemed curious about him. She clawed at the fence that separated the playground from the building and dead end alleys. He imitated the action, staring directly at her eyes, blue like summer sky. She smiled at him, her perfect teeth shining like pearls. And it was in this moment when Arthur could pay more attention to her attributes. The girl in question was the owner of an astounding beauty: expressive blue eyes, pink full lips which formed a sweet smile. And that was only her face. Arthur was infatuated. Her face lit up once her lips curved into such expression. Was she hypnotizing him?

He wouldn’t mind, of course.

Arthur stared at her mouth, and wonders how it would feel against his own cracked, dry lips.

But her body was another wonder. She wore a white, long, sleeveless shirt adjusted to her body shape, leaving nothing to imagination. God, if he only could trace his fingers down her hips he'd die happily.

He continued his private appreciation watching the grey shorts that left her most of her thighs uncovered. He then darted his eyes up to her hair. Her long, slightly wavy strands of hair were dyed in two different colours: the right side was strawberry pink from the half down. Same with the left side, except the colour was a electric blue. It added a dreamy touch to her.

Arthur pictured himself playing with her hair, doing little curls with it. It looked so silky.

"You've been enjoying my show, have you?"

Arthur looked up to her again.

"Yeah" he muttered, ashamed.

"Why the long face, babe? It's not like I'm upset", the woman said.

Arthur stared at her again, but out of confusion.

"Are you not upset?"

"At all" she quickly replied, "I like when people see me, actually".

Arthur felt a cold shudder in his back. It was in this moment he sensed something in his chest. He perceived it as the natural reaction to the first conversation he held with someone else without the other significant being weirded out of him. This common trait was enough to give him hope of a new, happy chapter on his mirthless life.

"Yeah... You know, I like when people see me too".

The woman nodded and leaned her face into the fence. Arthur took a deep breath and it didn't take too long to emulate the pose. She was bold enough to let him come closer to her as if she wanted him to kiss her.

"What's your name?" He hummed against her face.

"Harleen Quinzel", she answered "and you are...?"

"Arthur" he rushed to give his reply, "my name is Arthur Fleck--".

A chuckle escaped his throat.

'Oh, no. Not now, not now please', Arthur silently begged as his loving expression fade away so shame would take its place.

His brain of course showed no mercy.

The laughing fit lasted almost ten minutes. It was the first time in years that he truly believed he was going to die of suffocation. He struggled with choking more than two times every minute. Arthur wasn't completely drawn into his fit. He looked for a fraction of seconds at the girl. Harleen shocked at first. After a few moments, she joined him believing innocently he was laughing out of amusement.

"You know, you can tell me the joke so we can laugh together".

Arthur wasn't able to silence his noisy curse. He only covered his mouth, shaking his head trying to make her see the desperation in his eyes. Harleen's facial expressions morphed from fun to actual worry when Arthur's hand reached his throat in an useless attempt to breathe, still clawing at the fence with the one that left free. Her eyes widened in horror. Arthur felt too powerless to even show her the card explaining his fucking condition. It was alright if she wanted to run away. He already accepted his shameful defeat.

However, to his surprise, she nimbly climbed up the fence to help him. The stalker was too weak to keep standing but when he was crumbling into the ground, Harleen helped him to stand up.

She spoke to him, reassuringly. And she spoke so many things he couldn't process while taking him to a bench to contain him. So far she was a few seconds ago and now she stood with him throughout the painful laughter.

"I'm sorry--" Arthur tried to hide his face in his arm but Harleen seemed to understand... Or at least took pity on him.

The laughing fit finally ended and Arthur got a card from his pocket. He remained silent, disgusted with himself. The blonde took it and read it carefully. Her serene gaze towards the object comforted Arthur slowly. Once she finished reading it, she returned it to his owner. Harleen seemed truly surprised... Or maybe scared. He didn't know and felt too embarrassed to even talk to her. One thing was for sure:

Arthur Fleck never felt uglier in his life.

[brownhardyho]

Roommates - Part Four (1st half)

Ben X Reader roommate collab series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: I’M BAAACK! Y’all I’m so sorry it took me so freaking long to finally write this! Life has been a lil crazy, but I really hope this was worth the wait!

(P.S the reason why I split Part 4 into 2 parts is because it’s been a HOT minute since I wrote a Ben fic and I’m one wordy bitch and have a new found appreciation for suspense. K BAIII)

So this series is the brainchild of mine and @wanderlustandsmut’s shared frustration of Ben muthafuckin Hardy. Honest to God, we basically talk daily about Ben so we took this concept to the next level and decided to write about it! Previous parts have been linked above, hope you all enjoy!

Premise: Ben X Reader are roommates and childhood friends…What happens when their mostly platonic relationship turns sexual??

Warnings: Fluff, a lil smutty goodness 

Word Count: 2,234 (she’s long fam)

With the heavy bass of Saweetie’s summer anthem My Type lowly pounding on the walls of you and Ben’s humble abode, you bob your head to the catchy beat as you make your way across your room to get your outfit of the night. The excitement of having a date tonight was strong enough to damper your stay in tendencies, work has kept you very busy recently and Ben had been away for a month doing interviews and attending fashion shows. It had been a couple weeks since you and Ben’s intimate romp on the couch and you had not gotten any since (so to speak). So to say that you were excited to go out tonight was a bit of an understatement.

Even though you hadn’t seen Ben in person for a while, it’s not like you haven’t been in touch. Quite the opposite actually; you both text each other almost everyday, sending each other funny memes and reminders, because that’s obviously what roommates do!

Slipping on your favorite red lacy bralette and thong set, you smooth on your warm coconut scented lotions across your freshly washed body. With the potential of actually getting laid tonight, you were not playing around. Just as you were about to put the new black body con dress, your thoughts were interrupted by the ping alert on your phone. Clicking it on and glancing down at who sent you the message, your face falls into a frown immediately when you read the words:

So sorry to do this, but something came up and I have to cancel on dinner tonight! Let’s take a raincheck?

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” you exasperate out loud, feeling severely annoyed at the situation. You had met this guy on Bumble a few weeks prior, and really hit it off. The guy had pursued you first by initiating the conversation. You both had similar tastes in music and travel and even talked about pet peeves. This guy already knew you had no patience for people that wasted your time so the fact that he pulled this shit on you more than peeved you.

“Boy bye! You are cancelled!” You say to yourself as you delete his number from your phone, not feeling guilty at all for ghosting him. With the slight disruption to your night plans, you turn up the volume of the music and dance your way into the kitchen, your mind set on making brownies, cuz what better way to spend a night in than wearing lingerie, dancing carelessly, while making sweet treats?

The brownie batter was made in record time, with the recipe ingrained into your mind and the sheer determination of living your best life powering the night, you were on a roll and you showed no signs of slowing down.

Balancing the pan with the brownies in your hands, you swayed your hips to the beat of the tempo, squatting lower to the ground to place said pan into the preheated oven. You shut the oven door, singing along to the song, turning around eyes widening in pure surprise.

You are greeted to the sight of Ben, looking especially gorgeous in a pink suit and a white shirt. His blonde hair seemingly longer since you last saw him in person, slightly disheveled from his habit of running his hands through his hair. Despite looking tired, with how busy his travel schedule was, Ben looked absolutely content with finally coming home, especially to a sight he had only dreamt of: you dancing in nothing but lingerie. In his eyes, you embodied all that it means to be devastatingly sexy and cute all at once.

“Holy shit! Ben I almost shat myself!” You shout breathlessly, slapping Ben’s shoulder “A lil announcement would have been nice.”

“Well, hello to you too love,” Ben laughed, his sea foam green eyes quickly tracking over your appearance before settling on your eyes “I thought you had a date tonight?”

“Nooope,” you reply, hopping on the counter and rolling your eyes in annoyance. “He talks me up these paste few weeks and then cancels without even explaining himself! What kind of guy even does that?” you huff, unconsciously pouting your lips and making Ben feel things in the process.

“Clearly, a guy that doesn’t deserve you,” Ben responds, shedding his pink suit jacket, draping it on the kitchen table and making his way over to you, stopping in between your legs. “It’s his loss, love.”

“I know, it’s just frustrating sometimes when a guy knows damn well he isn’t ready and will continue to convince you to waste your time on him!” you rant, venting your frustrations to your blonde best friend.

Ben nods understandingly and comes in for one of his ever famous bear hugs. If there’s one thing about Ben that’s trademark, it’s that he’s a tactile person. Physical touch is basically one of his love languages and not just in a sexual sense. Throughout your long friendship, it wasn’t uncommon for Ben to cuddle next to you on the couch during a movie marathon. And in the reverse, you didn’t hesitate to cuddle next to him and he would gladly wrap his arm around your shoulder.

“Feel better?” Ben mumbles into your hair right before you break away from his warm embrace.

“Much!” you smile, a smirk playing your lips “Now go shower, you stink!”

“Hey now! You can’t blame me, I just got off the plane!” Ben exclaims, lightly smacking your bare thigh. “Movie and brownie sesh?”

“As if you have to ask!” you chuckle, hopping off the counter to check on the brownies. It was tradition for you both to gorge on brownies and watch a movie when Ben came back from long work trips.

Ben turns around and fetches his jacket from the table before making his way to the bathroom. You can’t help but admire the way his arm and back muscles glide under the snug fit of his white tee shirt. As if on cue, Ben calls out, “take a picture it’ll last longer!” before turning around and looking at you from the hallway.

“Oh dear lord, why would I do that now that you’re back home!” you stick your tongue out, silently trying to calm your mind that Ben caught you practically gawking at him. How in the world did he even know?! He was turned away from you for gods sake!

Not too long after, the timer goes off and you retrieve the brownies, basking in the sweet chocolatey aroma that fills the kitchen. You let the brownies cool off while you go off to the living room to pick the movie of the night. My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Can’t go wrong with a classic, you thought to yourself. And it’s been a while since you’ve watched it.

“Ben! These brownies aren’t gonna eat themselves!” you call out, lounging horizontally on the couch, the plate of brownies sitting on your stomach. “I swear to God, you take freaking long showers. It baffles me sometimes that-“ the beginning of your small rant cut short at the sight of a freshly showered Ben, his blonde hair still damp, and his toned chest on display as he was only wearing boxers.

“That what, love?” Ben smirks at you, knowing exactly how his current appearance is affecting you.

“..nothing,” you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, pulling yourself up to sit down next to Ben, handing over the plate of brownies.

You both started watching the movie and Ben didn’t tease you during it. Thankfully, the funny and relatable antics of the movie put a pause to the sexual tension and you were both laughing along to the film in no time.

Sighing in content, you place the plate with the small remainder of brownies on the coffee table and settle back to your spot next to Ben. When you turn around to look at your roommate, you can’t help but smile because your eyes are welcomed with the sight of a knocked out Ben, head tipped back, mouth slightly open with soft snores starting to escape. Poor guy, you thought to yourself leaning over his body carefully, as to not wake him, to grab the blanket.

Right as your hand made its way to the soft fabric, Ben let out a groan causing you to lose your balance and fall right on his lap. Luckily, a pillow was atop his lap before, thus providing a cushioned barrier to soften your fall.

“Ooof!” you mumble out, slightly freaking out because of the awkward positioning and the fact that just a pillow currently separates your chest from Ben’s crotch.

“Woah woah,” Ben’s groggy, deep voice interrupts your thoughts “If you wanted me that bad, you could have just said so love!”

“You are so so full of yourself Ben!” you exasperate, going on to explain the situation “I didn’t want you to get cold..” your eyes gesture to the blanket that’s still in your hand. His emerald eyes tracked yours and suddenly his hands grasped your body and pulled you on his lap. You settled your arms around his broad shoulders to keep your balance and he settle his arms around your hips in response, his fingers softly teasing at the lace of your panties.

“There, now I won’t get cold. Body heat does more than blanket ever will!” he smiles, his eyes seemingly looking into your soul, as if to reassure you that this won’t change your relationship.

“Hmm,” you sigh, adjusting your position on his lap, consciously testing out the waters of this sexually charged atmosphere. “I missed you, Ben.”

“And I missed you too, peaches,” Ben hums into your neck, reveling in the feeling of your warm body pressed up against his. Even though you were just sitting on his lap, the feeling of you being in his arms felt so damn right, so natural, so effortless.

His soft lips eventually made their way against your jawline and you hummed in delight, shift your hips slowly on top of his lap. It wasn’t too long after that you started to feel him getting hard and you could help but silently scream in your head.

“Already, Ben?” you smirk, tilting his chin up from your neck so you could look at him.

“Love, don’t be so surprised,” Ben explains, his cheeks becoming rosy. “You could be wearing just a burlap sack and I’d be ready to go in a second! You. Are. Stunning.” He emphasizes those last three words with firm kisses to each of your collarbones and the last one smack on your lips. Your lips latch on to his and all is right in the world. He sucks on your lower lip, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss and you happily oblige. This makeout session is getting hotter and hotter by the second, your hands exploring each other’s bodies. No words are exchanged, only actions.

“Oh Ben,” you moan aloud throwing your head back, in return pushing your décolletage closer to his lone of vision. Ben groans in appreciation and dives right in, placing wet kisses all over.

“You are so beautiful, love,” Ben murmurs lowly, his hands trailing down the cur of your hips, settling down on the round globes of your glutes, squeezing them. “Wet already?” he says, as he feels your drenched panties grinding on his hard cock. Truthfully, he just wants to undress already and finally feel your naked core against him.

“Ben, don’t be so surprised,” you laugh, lightly mocking his previous statement. “I was wet the moment I saw you in that pink suit!”

“I should wear it more often then,” he thinks aloud, shifting his hips up to meet yours, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure.

“Ben, take me to bed please,” you say, letting your desire and emotions out in the open.

A small part of you was advising against this because going all the way with Ben, your best friend and roommate, could change the dynamic between the both of you. But, a bigger part of you and your gut was telling you to take that leap into the unknown, because oh honey, what if it turns out good, amazing even? That was a possibility that you were definitely willing to take that risk.

“Whatever the lady desires,” Ben says softly, his beaming up at you. What you didn’t know yet was that Ben wanted this too. “Wrap your legs around me peaches, I got you.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around this Adonis of a man, Ben walks you both to his room and sets you down gently on his plush bed. You go to take your bra off, but Ben stops you.

“Can I do it, please?” he whispers softly, his eyes pleading with yours.

“Oh yes!” you nod frantically. “Why are you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want this to go away, this all feels like a dream that I don’t want to wake up from,” Ben confesses, and your heart just breaks a little because you’ve never seen him so vulnerable and that’s saying a lot considering that you’ve known him for most of your life.

“Ben, look at me,” you say, bringing his hand to your chest so he can feel how fast your heart is beating. “Feel that? This is real.”

Taglist: @rogershamsandwich @big-deak-energy @rrrogah-tayluhh @hardzzellos @prettylittlegoldfish @queeniebean01@yourebeyondperfect @ramibaby @anikatcmh @shannonlxto@shreyuhhstudies @libita @orchideax @meowmeow230 @devil-in-those-eyes @luvborhap @ixchel-9275 @caborhapch @qweenly 

[aceofwhump]

Would you mind writing a fic were Klaus is All nauseas And dizzy from being sick but everyone thinks he’s just “recently getting sober” or drunk but he’s actually been sober for months now, and he’s actually sick. Diego believed him and he helps take care of him along with Ben’s help; who’s been with him the whole time and actually gives a lick about him? Pls and thank u!

So last night I sat down to write a completely different story but had a sentence for your request pop into my head. I opened up a document and wrote it down, thinking I’d go right back to the other story once it was written. Well, one sentence turned into two. Which turned into three. And about three hours later I had written the entire fic. Just needed some editing. 

I guess it’s safe to say that the Umbrella Academy has my muse in a stronghold at the moment. If the massive amount of gifs I’ve been making wasn’t evidence enough this fic should do it. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything so fast before. It came so easily.

Anyway, I loved writing this. I hope you like it :D

Klaus had been feeling off for a few days now. At first he just had a headache and the occasional body ache but today was the worst of it. He felt like all the times he’d sobered up because he ran out of money to purchase another bag of drugs. Or the last time he sobered up, willingly, so he could focus on harnessing these dumb powers of his.

He alternated between sweltering hot and blistering cold, sometimes mere second in between the two, leaving him confused about how the fuck he should dress. One moment he wrapped himself in his fluffiest jacket to stave off the chills racking through his body the next he was desperately tearing it off himself before he roasted to death. The spinning room did nothing to quell the nausea rolling through him. He’d thrown up earlier this morning which was very unpleasant. He always hated puking. It was gross and made him feel even worse once he was done.

It he hadn’t been four months sober now he’d know exactly how to fix this. A couple a pills, maybe some weed or a bottle of whiskey and he’d be as good as new. But this wasn’t him getting sober. And besides, he wasn’t going back to that. He was clean and he intended on keeping it that way.

Ben did what he could to help but without a corporeal body there wasn’t much he could do besides comforting words and advice. They had been practicing Klaus’s powers to make him corporeal again but he hadn’t been quite able to do it every time yet.

So when Klaus ran into the bathroom at 6 in the morning and violently threw up everything he had for dinner, Ben anxiously kneeled by his side offering comforting words until he was finished.

Ben tried to get him to tell someone he was sick but Klaus didn’t want to. He’d be fine. And they wouldn’t care anyway. Ben scoffed and said things were different now but Klaus knew better. Yeah some things were different but it’d be a long time before any of them changed that drastically.

He fell asleep in front of the toilet that night, sweaty and exhausted, with Ben close by watching over him.

He woke up to Luther pounding on the door shouting that they were all meeting in the living room and to get his butt down there now.

It took a couple of minutes but he managed to pry himself off the floor, clean himself up a bit, and head downstairs.

The seven of them were now all gathered in the living to discuss how best to go about avoiding the apocalypse again but Klaus wasn’t paying attention. He sat on one of the stools at the bar, arms wrapped around his stomach in a vain attempt to prevent himself from throwing up all over the floor and tuned out the spinning world around him.

Eventually he noticed that the room had grown quiet. Klaus looked up to see everyone staring at him. “What?” he croaked, baffled as to why everyone was looking at him expectantly.

“They asked you how it was going with your powers,” Ben offered with a worried look.

Oh. Whoops.

“Klaus, if your not going to even pay attention why are you here?” Luther asked with a hint of impatience. Ben scowled at him.

Cause you made me you jackass. “No, no. I was paying attention. Riveting stuff as always. As for me well everything’s going just ungh!…” Klaus’s stomach rolled suddenly and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from puking.

“Klaus, please, just tell them you’re sick. They can help. And you need help,” Ben pleaded with him. Maybe Ben was right. He really wasn’t feeling so great. He nodded slightly at Ben and removed his hand to speak but Luther interrupted before he could make a noise.

“Are you drunk? Jeezus Klaus, can’t you stay sober for one second. God dammit, go sleep it off! I swear if you puke on me.” Luther hissed. Klaus looked at the faces of the others, all disapproving and disgusted, as usual. He had been right. No point in saying anything to them. They didn’t care.

His stomach rolled again and he closed his eyes tight and fisted his hand over his mouth again, willing himself not to upchuck right then and there. The room spun around him. He was having trouble keeping everything in focus and the spinning making his stomach even angrier.

“Klaus? You okay?” Diego pried himself off the column he was leaning against and came closer to him. He could see the sweat on his brow, the way his frame shook. Something was wrong.

“Leave him Diego, he brought this on himself and we have bigger things to focus on at the moment, remember? That pesky apocalypse thing?” Five said.

Diego ignored him and placed a hand gently against his forehead. Klaus closed his eyes and leaned into it with a sigh. Diego’s hand felt so cool against his burning face.

“You’re burning up. Not drunk then I suppose. Withdrawal?”

Withdrawal? They thought he was in withdrawal? Of course they did. They didn’t know. “No. ’m not drunk. No drugs. Sober.”

Diego’s mouth opened slightly in surprised but he recover quickly and placed a hand on Klaus’s shoulder with a nod.

“Klaus just go do whatever you need to do to sober up, okay?” Luther said dismissively turning his back to his brother and facing the rest of the group.

Klaus watched as Diego got that look on his face that usually came before knives starting flying. He whipped around and shouted, “Fuck off, Luther! Something’s clearly wrong with him.”

“Yeah he’s a drunk and drug addict. This isn’t news here Diego.” Five said with an air of annoyance.

“Guys, come on. That’s enough.” Allison tried in vain to get them to stop arguing.

“Fuck you Five,” Diego spat before turning his attention back to Klaus who was busy trying to control the spinning. The world tilted sharply threatening to thrown him off his precarious position on the bar stool so he grabbed hold of Diego’s holster to steady himself.

Diego caught Klaus by the elbow as he started sliding off the stool, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy there. I got you. Let’s get you upstairs, okay Klaus? Can you walk?”

“Don’t think so. Erng….dizzy. Gonna be sick.”

“Alright, just hold on okay? No puking til I get you to a bathroom.”

“Trying.”

Diego put an arm under his knees and another under his arms and carefully lifted him clear off the stool and up into his arms in a bridal carry. The sudden change in altitude made his stomach flip and he groaned.

“Hey, hey, hey what I’d say! No puking! Don’t puke on me, man, I mean it!”

“Ugh..Diego!”

“Shit. Okay, hold on,” Klaus had only a moment to close his eyes, hold his breath, and pray, before Diego raced off to the bathroom around the corner and deposited him in front of the toilet. It was just in time too because Klaus’s stomach chose that moment to violently get rid of everything he’d eaten or drank in the past day, as if there were anything left after his adventures during the night.

Klaus heaved and gagged for what felt like forever. By the end he was dry heaving, nothing left to throw up. He could feel Diego awkwardly lay a hand on his sweaty back and rub small circles in a comforting gesture as he heaved over and over again.

When his stomach finally let him go he collapsed, exhausted, onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on briefly.

Klaus felt a cool cloth wipe across his face cleaning away the sweat from his forehead and the sick from his mouth. “You think you’re done?” Diego asked.

Klaus opened his slightly and hummed, “Think so.”

“Okay then. How about we get off the bathroom floor, get some medicine in ya.”

“That sounds nice.”

Klaus tried to sit up but his arms were too weak to lift himself up so Diego hauled him slowly up and held him steady while he got his bearings back.

He swallowed several times, tamping down his nausea and dizziness. When he was sure he wasn’t going to puke again he nodded at Diego who helped him up. He deposited him on the side of the bathtub and nudged him to get his attention.

“Here. Take these. For the fever. You need to drink some water too. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Don’t think I could keep the water down right now,” Klaus said, taking the pills from Diego and dry swallowing them.

“Mmm. Later then. Think you can make it to your bed?”

Klaus nodded and together they slowly made their way to Klaus’s room, Diego bearing most of Klaus’s weight. Ben hovered close by at all times, unable to help but worried for his brother.

Diego helped Klaus get out of his sweat covered clothes and into some sleep clothes, Klaus being too out of it to comment on the fact that he was being undressed and Diego sure as hell wasn't’ going to point it out. Klaus then collapsed onto his bed and promptly curled up with his pillow pressed to his chest.

Once Klaus was comfortably snuggled up in bed, Diego pulled a chair next to him sat down. Klaus was almost asleep when Diego’s voice brought him back into consciousness, “How long you been clean for?”

He hesitated but seeing Ben smile at him, prompting him to tell Diego, he said, “Four months. ’m four months sober. Not that anyone cares.”

Ben took exception to that, “Hey I care. And I’m proud of you Klaus.”

Klaus smiled at Ben and turned back to Diego, “‘cept Ben. Ben’s been very helpful now that he knows he can punch the pills out of my mouth”, he said with a smirk.

“And don’t you forget it,” Ben countered.

Diego looked at his brother with a proud smile, “That’s amazing, Klaus. Way to go, man. Must have been hard. Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“S’okay,” Klaus said as his eyes closed once more, “Wasn’t completely alone. Had Ben.”

“I’m glad,” Diego smiled, pulling Klaus’s covers up to his shoulders. He directed his next words to the room, not knowing exactly where Ben was but knowing he was in the room somewhere, “Thanks for keeping an eye on our bro, Ben.”

“Someone had to do it.”

Klaus giggled lightly and felt himself falling asleep. He was warm and comfortable for the first time in days. Whatever Diego had given him was helping with the nausea. Exhaustion pulled at him and he drifted off knowing that both Ben and Diego were watching over him.

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

Feeling The Music

Choices Platinum- Shane x MC

Words: 4059

Warnings: Swearing? All my fics have swearing. There's nothing crazy here

Alright so, here is a fic that absolutely nobody asked for and yet here it is! I haven't been overly thrilled with the book Platinum...until this latest chapter where our dear friend Shane became a love interest. I wasn't expecting it, I hadn't flirted with him, and when it came time to shoot the music video, I figured, why not choose Shane? I'm not infatuated with either Avery or Raleigh, so I'll just use my friend. Now, I went into this knowing there would be a kiss involved. (There was an option not to, but I'm thirsty so naturally I did). I was pleasantly surprised at the adorableness of it.

And so, I wrote chapter 6 from Shane's POV, and I dedicate this to my bestie @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul because it is her birthday and she told me about Shane becoming an LI in the first place.

Happy Birthday my wonderful friend!!!!!

Master List

Shane rushed around in the early morning hours, getting his camera equipment ready for an early morning video shoot. He didn’t know what it was, just some music video. He didn’t know the artist, the song…it didn’t matter. He was really enjoying film, and he picks up whatever work he can, wherever he can. He’d heard David Winton, a distinguished filmmaker, was in charge of production. He’s known for everything from arthouse films to vinyl-award winning music videos. He’s hoping to introduce himself at some point in the day, he just needs it to be the right moment.

  Walking into the studio, he began to set things up with the rest of the crew, listening to the stage buzzing with life. The music video will be called Knockout, and it’s about getting back on your feet and rising up in spite of obstacles. Suddenly he hears his name being shouted from across the room.

“SHANE????”

His mouth drops as he took in the sight of the star…none other than his best friend forever, Cadence Dorian. She was hardly recognizable, wearing jean shorts, an emerald green top, and a see-through black shirt with flowers. Her hair was purple and tied into two knots on top of her head, along with a purple bandanna. She looked nothing like his girl next door.

“Whoa, Cadence?”

She sprints forward and gives him a way overdue hug. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I signed up as a camera assistant for a music video shoot, but they didn’t tell me it would be your video” He exclaimed.

“That’s amazing! I hope we get to spend a lot of time together…We have so much to catch up on! I’ve barely seen you.” She squealed in delight.

Shane just grinned, not even knowing what to say. Her excitement of seeing him was blowing him away. She’s always happy to see me but…this is a whole new level. What is going on? Why are her eyes sparkling that way?

“A-hem. We must get started.”

Cadence eyes widened. “Right! Of course, sorry. Shane, I’ll catch you later!”

“Go kill it!” He called after her, as she sprinted back across the set, straight to…Shane gulped. David Winton.

David Winton. She’s talking to THE David Winton!!?? Of course she is, she’s the star, of course, that makes sense.

Shane continued helping the rest of the crew set up. He kept glancing over at Cadence as she spoke animatedly with several people. He inched closer to hear the conversation.

“The backdrop should be a tropical each” She was saying. Shane smiled to himself. She’s always loved the beach. She’d always said that one day, she’d make music on the beach, and now here she was, making it happen.

David steepled his fingers together. “An excellent choice, young Cadence, I see it now…The beach as liminal space. The serene ocean waters…and the chaos that lies beneath! Now, I have one last question. Given that this short film is to be a romance…”

Shane dropped his tool with a clatter but luckily no one seemed to notice. A romance? She’s shooting a romance? But I thought this was about getting back up after falling and…

“Shane? Come over here a minute!”

His eyes snapped back up as Cadence waved him over, both David Winton and another woman staring at him blankly.

As Cadence explains to him the situation, he could feel himself becoming nervous. Me? She wants me to be in the video? Why not Raleigh? Why not Avery? Or anyone recognizable? I’m no one.

“Chemistry is difficult to fake.” David explained. “The two of you are best friends? The chemistry is already there! I can see it now! Two young lovers finally realizing the true potential of their relationship! Feelings that have been hidden so deep down, they didn’t even know they existed!”

Shane gapes at him a moment. “Wait. Are you sure? But I…I’m not an actor. I’m strictly a behind the cameras person.”

Cadence grabbed both of his hands in hers. “Look, Shane…I’ve known you forever. I’m terrified of doing this, and I just need…I need you up there with me. Okay?”

Shane’s heart was pounding. When I woke up this morning, I was not expecting anything like this to happen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s a nobody!” The woman exclaimed.

Cadence turned and glared at her. “He’s not a nobody to me. This is my best friend.” She grabbed his arm and led him off to the side, speaking in a whisper. “Besides, Shane, you love Dave Winton. This is your chance to get noticed!”

Shane found himself agreeing readily. She squealed again, wrapping him in a giant hug, and he was overcome with her presence. It had only been a month, but it felt like they’d been apart for ages. Did she always smell this good? Was her skin always this soft? Has she always fit so perfectly in my arms?

He pulled back. “All right. So I’ll, uh…head along to hair and makeup then!” He gave a wide smile. He was nervous, but extremely excited. This could be his big break. His film idol is going to be directing him all day. This is insane!! Thank you, Cadence!!

To his great relief, he was mainly left with his regular image, and in no time he was back on set. For a few minutes, David goes over staging for the scene, and they rehearse the scene together as Cadence mouths along to the recording.

Shane was in awe of her. He always knew that she’d make it big. He’d missed her big One In A Million win, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss this. He was so grateful she chose him to star with her. It will be a memory for the ages.

“So you see? Your love interest is your lifeline in the story, when everything else has you down. Together, you triumph over the forces that landed you on this metaphorical desert island of the soul.”

“Got it! I think.” Cadence caught Shane’s eye and they burst into a fit of giggles. Starting again, Shane couldn’t keep his hands off her…per David’s direction, of course.

No other reason! David Winton wants us close, so we’re close. And she’s my best friend so we’ve touched lots of times…not like that but…we have…ah crap! He could feel himself blushing more and more, every time she danced around him, grabbing his hand, placing it on her waist, teasing him mercilessly with fuck me eyes and flirty moves. He was captivated. This was a whole new Cadence.

Confident. Sexy. Funny. Gorgeous.

“You okay?” She whispered loudly as he spun her around, her back pressed against his chest, looking into his eyes while still swaying her hips.

“Just hot!” He nodded vigorously. She rose an eyebrow but didn’t ask anything else, to his great relief. Suddenly she was grinding on him, and he felt his dick twitch.

Fuck!!

He spun her out quickly, as though it was all part of the scene, hoping she was none the wiser.

  Some time later…

  David Winton clapped his hands together. “All right, everybody, take five! Imbibe nourishment and fresh air. Consider your character’s ethos.”

Cadence sprints to the craft services table, where Shane joins her.

“Wow, this is amazing! I’m learning so much! Thanks, Cadence. I don’t know why I was ever nervous about playing your love interest. This was so worth it.” I’m just going to forget any type of weird feelings I may have had up there. We’re professionals right now, that’s it. She’s in character. I’m in character. Totally it.

“Aww, Shane. I’m glad we get to help each other out today.” She smiled at him, and he smiled right back.

“Alright! That was five! Places everyone! Let’s get back to it.” David announced.

Cadence laughed. “Ready? We’re probably almost done. I think. I hope.”

Together they walk back to the stage. Cadence grabs the prop for the scene in preparation, a fake glass of tequila sunrise. Then she picks up a guitar that Shane’s never seen before…except for when she performed on One In A Million. He’d just assumed it was part of that show. But now she’s carrying it around like she owns it.

I wonder what the deal is with that. How did she get such a fancy guitar so fast? The Cadence I know wouldn’t have given up her old faithful so quickly…

Then he realized David Winton was talking again. “Now, see, something’s been missing from those first fifty-two takes, and I’ve finally identified what it is. This is a love song, and yet the love simply isn’t palpable.”

“What do you mean? How are we supposed to make the love…palp?” Cadence asked, sounding confused.

“Well, when one person loves another, traditionally, how do they express it?”

Oh no. “Is he…is he talking about…”

“Kissing! Kissing, you fools!

Hold up. “Wait. You...you want us to…”

“Yes.” He interrupted.  “Would you be amenable, then? To a brief kiss in the scene?”

Holy crap. This is not happening. There’s no way I can kiss her! No possible way! And I know she feels like that too…

“I think…we should kiss onscreen.” Cadence said slowly, before looking at Shane in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that out loud. “If it’s alright with you, of course!” She finished a little too loudly.

Oh crap. “Oh! Yes, of course! I mean, as long as you’re comfortable with it!” Oh my god, am I that loud too?

She flashed him a killer smile. “I am.”

Really? She…is? It’s not going to make things weird? I hope it doesn’t make things weird. She’s like my sister.

David lit up. “Wonderful! Lights! Camera! Surrealism!”

Cadence lip syncs again, and as she sings the last line of the song, she sets her instrument aside and turns to Shane. He takes a deep breath. She’s been his best friend since they were four. He rests a hand on her waist, leans in close, and whispers in her ear.

“Are we actually doing this? Are we really, actually doing this?”

We can still do something else.

She whispers back. “We are. We are really, actually doing this.”

She leans in and their lips gently connect.   Oh my god, I’m kissing Cadence. On the mouth. And she’s kissing me. And she’s good at it. Fuck me, her lips are so soft, so sweet, I need…oh god, I need to taste her.

He removes one of his hands from her waist and cups her face in it, while moving the other hand to the small of her back, pressing her flush against him, and parting her lips with his own and sweeping his tongue inside. She moaned lightly, and all sorts of images flashed in his mind. Images of her. Moaning. Screaming. Writhing in pleasure beneath him. On top of him. Everywhere.

“CUT! Brilliant! We’ve got it! We have created a piece de resistance that will outlive and outlast us!”

Shane freezes, feeling Cadence doing the same as David’s voice boomed. They quickly break apart as the crew begins to break down the set.

Shane rubs the back of his neck nervously. “So. Um.”

“Yeah. Um.” She stammered.

They stared at each other a moment before he finally clears his throat. “I’m gonna go and…uh…”

“Right. Yeah. Totally.” She agrees, a strange look still on her face.

Shane shrinks into himself and slips off into the crowd of crew members, his thoughts running wild.

Was that a real kiss or was that a stage kiss? That felt real. It felt…very real. Shit, I just kissed Cadence. Cadence. I’ve seen her eating play-doh, what the hell is the matter with me? I shouldn’t have been in the video. I should have said no. I should’ve stayed behind the cameras.

Leaving the building, his thoughts turned to the way the he pressed her tight against him, the way he demanded more from her, needed more of her. He could still hear and feel her moaning into his mouth.

Shane sees her exit the building and sign autographs. Before he could stop himself, he approached her.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing out here?”

“I’m just waiting for my ride. What about you?” She asked.

“Also waiting for my ride.” He paused a moment before continuing. “So, um, listen, about that kiss…I just wanted to say I’m really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, or if…”

“No, not at all!” She responded, Looking surprised. “Not uncomfortable. In fact, I’m sorry of I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, you didn’t! Not at all! So, we’re agreed. We’re cool with the kiss, and things are not awkward at all.” He rambled.

She grinned. “Exactly! Great! Can I just say that I’m really glad you’re with me in this world? I feel like so many of these people have forgotten what it’s like to be…normal.”

His expression soured “Yeah. Tell me about it. One guy on the crew offered to read my aura for $599.99.”

Then an idea occurred to him. “If you want to get away from all of this just for a little while, me and my roommates are throwing a party back in our loft in NoHo.”

Her face lit up, the face he was so familiar with, no longer masked by makeup and wigs. “That sounds amazing. I still haven’t seen your dorm!”

He watched as the light then vanished from her eyes. “But I’m worried about getting recognized. It’s starting to get more common.”

Man, she looks so sad. That’s it. She needs to come.  “I mean, we could throw together a disguise for you. I bet your stylist has a lot of looks and wigs leftover from the music video shoot.”

Her green eyes brightened again. “Wow, getting to dress up as someone else and pretend to be normal again sounds really fun.”

He slapped her fondly on her back. “And, man, we’d finally get to catch up! I feel like it’s been forever. I miss you!”

“I miss you, too!” She launched herself into his arms, and he held her tightly, wondering what was going on with her. He was kicking himself for not keeping in touch like he should.

Why haven’t I been? I know I’m busy but…wow, that’s a really lame excuse. And damn, she’s so soft and warm.

They go back inside and rummage back through the set until she finds a disguise. He averts his eyes as she changes.

“Okay. I’m ready. What do you think?”

He looked back at her and his breath caught in his throat. Now she had hot pink hair, a black one shoulder crop top, extremely short denim shorts, a black belt, layered necklaces…and her glasses.

It took him a moment to find his voice again.  “Damn, Cadence, you look great! Loving the hair. Is this your version of a Sasha Fierce alter ego?”

She let out a loud laugh. “Thanks, Shane. Man, I haven’t been to a college house party since that dead week trip we did when we were seniors. Do grad students go hard?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

After a quick subway ride, they glide through the doors of Shane’s dorm, the party already in full swing. Dozens of students fill the space, music blasts in the speakers, and red cups clutter the ping pong table.

He leads them to the drink station and mixes them each a hard drink before turning back to her. “So, what do you think? Is this as cool as Propaganda?”

“Oh, much cooler. I feel like I’m right back I my element. Come on, let’s talk about what’s going on with you.”

They find a quiet corner of the dorm and sip on their drinks while watching the party.

“So do you guys host parties here a lot?” She asks.

“Here and there. But I spend so much time in class or trying to get work experience. And then when I do have free time I use it for…you know. Sleeping. Eating.” He admitted sheepishly.

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “Aww, Shane. One month into grad school and already working yourself to the bone.”

He scoffed. “I mean, I’m having the time of my life! The people are amazing,”

“Isn’t it hard, though? Balancing everything?”

He nodded. “It’s hard, but it’s a good kind of hard. When you really care about someone…”

Wait, what?? “I mean, something…even when it’s hard, it still feels good. It still feels rewarding.”

Cadence was gaping at him. “Wait…Someone? Shane, oh my god, have you met someone already? Tell me, tell me!”

She’s…excited? But…really? It’s only been a month…

He shook his head. “Um, no, I just…I misspoke. Let’s get another drink!” He stood abruptly and led her back to the fridge for another round of drinks, when suddenly…he grabs her arm excitedly. “Oh my god, Cadence, they’re playing your song from the One In a Million finale!”

“No way!” She gasps, as students around them sing along, arm in arm, raising their cups.

“This is my new favorite song!”

“Right? I think it was the best performance on One in a Mil, maybe ever.”

“You hearing this, Cadence?” He looks over at her shocked face, pride and warmth swelling throughout him.

“Wow, I can’t believe it! It feels amazing to hear about it while being anonymous!” Her eyes were wide and almost…glistening?

What the hell?  “Then I’m sure you needed the break.”

All around them, the party breaks out into people dancing to her song.

She whirls on him. “May I have this dance?” Putting out an overly formal accent, she places her hand out for Shane to take.

He looks at it in surprise. “Really? I mean, I know I’m not the best dancer, but…”

“Come on, Shane. You tore up the floor at our senior prom. Not to mention you just danced in a music video. Trust me. You’ve got moves.”

He felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Then…Of course, m’lady.”

Shane gives her what he’s sure is this shy, stupidly cute grin, and he puts his hands on her waist and…he pulls her close to him. So close. He can smell her light scent of amber and…oh no. I’m feeling…feelings. I’m feeling all kinds of feelings. Get a grip, man! What is wrong with you?! This is Cadence! You’re best friend! The girl next door! You used to bet which color play-doh tasted best!

But he can’t stop. He can’t back away. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, Cadence. I’ve missed you so much.” He murmured quietly.

“Yeah? I’ve missed you too, Shane…” She whispered.

They’re close. They’re really close, her lips are a breath away, and the thoughts erupt in his head again. Thoughts of kissing her. He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to admit that a single kiss may have changed things for them. For him.

As the song comes to a close she spoke again. “Man, who would’ve thought we’d be dancing to my song one day.”

His brown eyes met her green ones. “I did. I’ve always believed you could do it, Cadence.” He watched a blush cross her features this time, and he brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face. “Come on.” He takes her hand and they climb onto the fire escape together.

She lets out a low whistle, taking in the view. “Okay. NoHo, you win.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “I bet the apartment the label put you up in isn’t too shabby, right?”

“It’s amazing. I just wish our neighborhoods were a bit closer. This city’s so sprawling.” She frowned, and he took her chin with his fingers and made her look at him again before letting go.

“Hey, where there’s a will, there’s a way. We’ve gotten into too much trouble to break the tradition now.”

“Yeah, we got away with so much nonsense when we were kids. Do you remember that time we got married in front of our teddy bears?”

“Oh, my god, yes!” He gasped. “Mr. Fuddlewuddle was the pastor!”

“And Barbie was my maid of honor! So kind of her to be in our wedding party. Even though we beheaded her and amputated her plastic limbs…” She smirked at him.

“Poor Barbie. Suffering in the name of science.” He agreed.

“You know, I hate to break it to you, Shane, but I don’t think the ceremony was legally binding. I mean. Unless Mr. Fuddlewuddle went out and got ordained without us knowing.”

He shrugged with a smile. “Regardless, the reception was great. Orange Kool-Aid. Oreos. Mac and Cheese with little cut-up hot dogs, courtesy of your dad.”

“Oh, yes. We were party planners extraordinaire. Oh! And do you remember when we had to raise an egg as our child?”

 He burst out laughing. “Yes! Our little John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt!”

“Can’t believe we were advanced enough to give our egg a hyphenated last name.” She joked.

“And we made it the whole week without putting one single crack in that little guy!”

Cadence grimaced. “He really reeked by the end of the assignment, though. And then we rode our bikes out to the overpass just to drop him on some unsuspecting vehicle.”

“Man, it was so hot out too. We watched our son fry to death, right there on the car’s sunroof.”

“Okay, but we were really good parents up until we threw him into traffic.” She stopped speaking a moment before starting again. “I had an awesome time tonight, Shane. We need to do this again sometime.”

Shane slid his eyes over to her. “Yeah, for sure. I know you’re super busy all the time, but…”

“But I’ll make time for you. I’ll always make time for you.” She answered softly. Standing looking out over the city, she rests her head on Shane’s shoulder. He puts a warm, comforting arm around her, and they watch the cars go by.

“Shane…” Cadence tilts her head up to gaze into his eyes, their faces only inches apart.

Oh god…Should I kiss her again? This feels like a moment…

“Cadence…About that kiss, at the shoot…” He started, before a sudden crash sounded from inside and the music cut short.

“Ooooow!” Someone groaned.

Shane looks inside. “Oh, shoot! Looks like a keg stand gone bad. I better go handle that.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I should head back anyway. I have an early morning studio session tomorrow.” She gives him one last hug before Shane goes back inside to handle the situation, watching quietly as she slips out the door.

The following morning, someone’s banging on his bedroom door. “Yo Shane! Get up, man, you’re famous!”

He groaned into his pillow. After Cadence left he’d pounded the liquor, trying to forget that one kiss had brought him to his knees. His head was throbbing. He reached over and grabbed his phone, disappointed that she didn’t let him know when she arrived home. There was, however, a link from one of his friends. Opening it, he gasped, sitting straight up. Her music video already has hit one million views. He watched himself dance around with his best friend, noticing how wide his smile was, seeing how much fun they were having together. But then he watched the kiss. He saw it transform, right before his very own eyes. One second he was hesitant, while in the next it became one of the best kisses he’s ever witnessed. He pressed pause.

And I’m a film student. I’m a camera man. I’ve seen a lot of kisses. That…that looks real. That looks intimate. That looks…

He sighed, laying back down and looking at the screen, which he’d managed to pause at the exact moment they were breaking apart, their lips still hovering close, eyes still closed, his hand in her hair. He scrubbed his hand down his face.

I need to know. I need to know if there’s real merit to these feelings. I need to know if she felt anything at all. I need to kiss her again…no. I want to kiss her again. Damn it, Cadence. What the hell are we doing?

   @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816

  @alesana45

@mfackenthal

@dancetothestoriesinyoursoul

[hollymartinswrites]

Two negatives make a positive - HollyMartins - IT - Stephen King [Archive of Our Own] →

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood.

Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie.

Chapter III: Richie and Eddie discover the challenges of increasing their family of three to four.

Eddie walked through the front door, locked it behind him, and shrugged out of his jacket. He could hear Richie’s obnoxious laughter from the living room and music that sounded vaguely familiar. Placing his briefcase down on the ground, he followed the sounds and walked into Richie and Lydia both lounging on the couch. Eddie glanced at the TV.

“Wayne’s World?” he said, raising his eyebrows at Richie.

“Hi, Daddy,” Lydia exclaimed, turning and standing on the couch to give Eddie a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the top of her head.

“It’s a classic, babe,” Richie said. He looked up and pursed his lips in an exaggerated manner. Eddie leaned down to quickly kiss him.

“But it’s not exactly age appropriate, is it?” he asked, motioning towards Lydia who had turned back to the TV.

“It’s on cable, edited,” Richie explained. “You eat anything? We got some leftovers in the fridge.”

“I grabbed a sandwich before I left,” he muttered. He walked around the couch to tiredly collapse beside Lydia. Yawning, he tried to watch the movie but found his mind wandering. He briefly considered heading in for a shower and then bed but resisted. It wasn’t often that he got to watch a movie with his family and he was determined to enjoy it—though he had never quite understood the appeal of Wayne’s World. Maybe it was because he never got into metal but still, it was worth it to just hear Richie’s ridiculous laugh.

Soon enough, Eddie’s eyes grew heavy and he felt himself falling towards sleep when he was jerked awake by a kick to his side. He glanced down; Lydia had stretched out, her feet in his side and her head in Richie’s lap. She was fast asleep.

“Lemme put her to bed,” he murmured.

“Hang on, it’s almost over,” Richie insisted.

“Rich…”

“She’s asleep anyway. There’s only like fifteen minutes left, I’ll help.”

Eddie sighed and remained seated, waiting for the movie (which he suspected Richie had seen a few dozen times) to finish. He closed his eyes and suddenly, he was in his childhood home, trapped in the living room he had so hated, forced to sit still by his mother as she had the TV switched onto whatever she wanted to watch. It was stifling, the air thick with tension that his mother was seemingly oblivious to, and all Eddie wanted was to run out of the house and never look back. But he wasn’t foolish—he had nowhere to go and no one but his mother.

Eddie gasped for breath, his eyes flying open and his heart pumping wildly. He swallowed and looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to gather his daughter into his arms and yet, he resisted for fear of smothering her.

“Eds, you alright?” Richie asked, concerned.

“Yes,” Eddie gasped. “I just...need to shower and clear my mind.”

“Okay,” Richie said slowly. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insisted and carefully stood to hurry to their bedroom.

He stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling behind him. He ran a hand through his wet hair and straightened, determined to face this as bravely as he could. He looked up at Richie lounging on the bed, his phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Eddie said, clearing his throat, “can we talk?”

Richie looked up at him, eyebrows raised and Eddie inwardly winced. Fuck, he wish he was better with words.

“I don’t want Lydia to be an only child,” he said quickly, the words rushing out of his mouth.

Richie stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Eddie scowled.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said. “You’re gonna wake up Lydia.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Richie gasped, calming down ever so slightly, “I thought you were about to drop a fucking bombshell. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” he muttered before heading towards the bed and sitting down.

“It’s fine,” Richie said, wiping at his eyes and grinning. “But I do think we need to talk about this.”

“Yeah.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair again. “So, um, what do you think?”

Richie raised his eyebrows again and sat up.

“Well, this did kinda come out of nowhere,” he said. “What made you think of this anyway?”

Eddie looked down at his lap, where his hands were clasped tightly. He separated them and stretched his fingers.

“I…” he began, searching for the words. “I just...I don’t want her to be alone.”

“She’s got us, Eds,” Richie said gently.

“It’s not the same,” he insisted, meeting Richie’s eyes. “You had your sisters growing up and I know you didn’t always get along but at least you had someone on your side at home.”

“I guess so.”

“And now you guys have each other for when things get tough,” Eddie continued, his voice growing more and more strained. “I had no one.”

“Eds—”

“I mean, I had you and the rest of the Losers but it’s not the same thing. It fucking sucks going home to an empty house with just an adult waiting for you. And then when she died...fuck, I had to deal with that on my own.”

Eddie started a bit when he felt Richie’s lips against his temple.

“This isn’t just about Lydia, is it?” he whispered along his hair.

Eddie hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

“I know, I know, I’m projecting,” he muttered. “Fuck, I’m just like her.”

“Who?” Richie asked, sharply. When Eddie didn’t respond, he quickly wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and insisted, “If you’re about to say that you’re like your mom, I swear to God, Eds.”

“It’s true though.”

“It’s not,” Richie said firmly. “Eddie, you’re an incredible father and you love Lydia. And she loves you.”

Eddie took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut.

“But she’s still alone,” he whispered. “And I want her to have someone. A sibling.”

“Okay,” Richie said after a few moments. “I get it. And I feel the same way for the most part. But having two kids is a hell of a lot different than just one. I mean, we have a lot of figuring out to do.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “It’s a lot. And I don’t expect it to be easy.”

“No, but we’re a solid team.”

Eddie nodded.

“And we have to talk to Lydia,” he said. “She may not want this.”

Richie gathered Eddie into his arms.

“You’re a good dad,” he whispered against his hair. “And we can figure this out. I know we can.”

Eddie leaned into Richie’s embrace, exhaled a shaking breath, and smiled.

Going from one child to two did come with a great deal of changes. For one thing, Richie decided to cut back drastically on his career—he stopped touring, settling on doing shows only in the tristate area, and only on nights when Eddie could stay home all day with the kids.

When the Losers heard this, they were shocked and assumed, among themselves, that Richie wouldn’t last more than a couple months as a house husband. They were sort of right. It was only six weeks before Eddie declared that, in order to preserve the sanity in their house, Richie had to have a creative outlet that went beyond simply trying to make his daughters laugh. So, with the help of his agent, Richie became the very thing he had resented in his career: a comedy writer.

He wrote material for several different comics, a couple of whom were LGBTQ+, and actually, found it kind of enjoyable. Not having to perform it meant there was less pressure and it was even oddly freeing. He could say whatever he wanted and it didn’t matter; no one knew it was him. When the Losers worried that this wouldn’t be enough, Richie waved them off. The draw to performing live just wasn’t there anymore. Besides, he had a much better audience at home (and one that was more in line with his own emotional maturity, Eddie had remarked, which had gotten quite a laugh from everyone).

But Richie cutting back on his career meant someone had to support the family, so Eddie found himself working harder. The long days were difficult but Eddie was good at his job and he took pride in being able to provide for his family. Besides, coming home to Richie and the girls made it all really fucking worth it.

And one of the most unexpected changes in adopting a second child was how suddenly the previous dynamics switched. When they adopted Tess, only three years old and terribly shy, Eddie had assumed that Richie would immediately ingratiate himself with their new daughter and become the favorite. Instead, Tess had taken one look at her fathers and all but latched herself to Eddie.

She followed him around the house, cried hysterically when he went out of her sight, gripped his legs to prevent him from leaving, and only allowed him to read her bedtime stories. It touched his heart, but mostly Eddie just found it amusing—especially when her overt favoritism seemed to really confound Richie.

“I don’t get it,” he complained. “I’m the fun one.”

Mike and Ben laughed while Bev rubbed his back in sympathy. The Losers were in their dining room, picking at a half-eaten cheesecake and drinking copious amounts of coffee and tea. They had stopped at Richie and Eddie’s house en route to New York City to celebrate the launch of Bill’s latest bestseller (and for Ben and Bev to look at some townhouses) but first had to meet the latest Loser.

Lydia had delighted in being the center of attention once again but Tess had immediately reached her arms up to Eddie (who naturally picked her up) and hid her face in his chest, refusing to acknowledge any one other than her Daddy. The Losers weren’t offended.

But now the girls had been put to bed, and it was time for the grown-ups to relax and catch up. Or, simply complain about how unfair it was to no longer be the favorite, in Richie’s case.

“It’s just a phase,” Bev insisted.

“Or maybe she just isn’t a fan of your comedy,” Bill offered.

“I knew she was the smart one of the family,” Eddie replied.

Richie flipped him off and stabbed at the cheesecake with his fork.

“Well, I don’t know why she wants you to do the bedtime stories,” he remarked. “You can’t do the voices.”

“What voices?” Mike asked.

“You know, the different voices for everyone,” Richie explained, waving his hand. “The Lorax has a different voice than the Wild Things and whatnot. Eddie reads bedtime stories like he’s presenting at a fucking business meeting.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as the others laughed.

“Why can’t you just let Eddie have this?” Ben asked, grinning. “What’s the big deal?”

“Because Richie doesn’t want to be just a dad,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “He wants to be a cool dad.”

More laughter, until Ben and Mike had to admit they didn’t get the joke, which immediately launched into Richie explaining the entire plot of Mean Girls in excruciatingly minute detail. Eddie only managed to stop him by shoveling a fork full of cheesecake in his husband’s mouth, much to the Losers’ relief.

When they left for their hotel, each of the Losers congratulated Richie and Eddie on their latest foray into parenthood. Bev embraced both of them and told them how happy she was that they were both so happy. Richie told her to stop being embarrassing and Eddie merely looked away, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t like that you care more about work than your family but we all got our crosses to bear, right?” Richie snapped. “So forgive me for letting off a little steam to someone who actually cares.”

Eddie stared at him, his eyes wide and sinking feeling in chest. Richie looked away, grabbed the first t-shirt he could find in the bureau and put it on.

“I’m gonna go sit with the kids,” he muttered. “Text Bev back for me and tell her everything’s fucking fine.”

Eddie watched him stalk out of the bedroom, too stunned to attempt to stop him. How long he stood there, gaping at nothing, he had no idea. Then the phone in his hand pinged. He blinked and glanced down at it. Another text from Bev. He opened it.

Let me know when he gets home. Now you’ve got me worried.

Eddie sighed and tapped in a reply. He didn’t want to leave Bev hanging.

He’s home now. Thanks.

He threw the phone on the bed and went into the bathroom, determined to shower and clear his mind before he did something he regretted. Later, clean but drained, he walked quietly down the hallway and saw Richie carrying Tess into the kitchen.

“Come on, kiddo, you gotta try to get some medicine down,” he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

“No, no, no,” Tess wailed. “I hate it.”

“I know, sweetheart, but if you don’t, you could get sicker and then end up in the hospital or something.”

Eddie hurried into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Tess sitting on the table, tears streaming down her face and struggling to breathe through her congestion. The moment her eyes met his, she began to cry in earnest and reached her arms towards him. Richie turned from taking the medicine bottle out of the refrigerator. He said nothing, though Eddie noticed his lips tighten.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, gathering Tess into his arms. He sat down, arranging her on his lap. “Everything’s okay. I know you’re not feeling good right now but I need you to do me a favor.”

Tess hiccuped and wiped at her eyes before nodding slowly.

“I need you to try to take some of this medicine. I know it’s yucky but you gotta try. I can show you a trick though,” he continued. “If you keep your nose closed, you won’t taste it. I promise.” He turned towards Richie. “Can you get a juicebox out?”

Richie did so, stabbing the straw through the top with a little more force than necessary. He handed it to Eddie, who held it ready.

“Listen, we’re gonna do this quick, okay?” Eddie continued. “You’re gonna take that medicine and then drink this juice down. And you won’t taste it for long.”

“Promise?” Tess asked, her voice thick with tears.

“I promise,” Eddie insisted. “Then you can brush your teeth and go to bed feeling better.”

Richie crouched in front of them, holding the plastic spoon filled with thick, frankly disgusting looking medicine in his hand.

“Close your nose, sweetheart,” Eddie repeated. Tess hesitated briefly before squeezing her nose tightly between two fingers and opened her mouth. Richie quickly fed her the medicine and, before she even had a chance to fully swallow, Eddie brought the straw to her lips. She drank the juice deeply but immediately opened her mouth and began sobbing again.

“Good job, you did it,” Eddie said, tightening his arms around her.

“You did it, kiddo, all done,” Richie said, standing. He ran a hand through her hair and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. She immediately turned and hid her face in Eddie’s chest, crying. Richie’s eyes briefly met Eddie, before he turned away and dropped the spoon in the sink.

“I’m going to put Lydia to bed,” he said and disappeared.

Eddie sighed before brushing his lips along the top of Tess’s head.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispered.

“It was awful!” she wailed.

“I know,” he said, standing up with her in his arms. “Being sick is no fun. Tomorrow I’m going to get you something else to help you feel better that won’t taste so bad, okay? And if you take it, we can relax at home and watch movies.”

Tess wiped at her eyes and running nose. Eddie smiled, and briefly wondered how he had managed to get to this point in his life where the sight of someone else’s mucus didn’t really bother him. Tess smiled, too.

“Okay,” she said before laying her head on his shoulder. “Can we watch Wizard of Oz?”

“We can watch whatever you want,” he promised, carrying her into her bedroom. He passed the open door to Lydia’s room and quickly glanced in. Richie was laying beside her on the bed, quietly reading A Wrinkle in Time aloud. He made no notice of Eddie and Lydia, too enraptured with the story, did not either. Eddie continued on.

Eddie yawned and rubbed at his face as he stood in front of the coffee maker. The sun was just beginning to peek through the kitchen windows. With luck (and the drowsy side effects of their medicine), the girls wouldn’t be up for at least a couple of hours.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder. Richie was staring at him from the doorway, looking completely disheveled, with hair standing at all angles and his glasses askew. Eddie had to admit to himself, he looked cute, if not nearly dead on his feet.

“I’m making coffee, what does it look like?” Eddie replied.

“What about work?”

“I took a sick day,” Eddie answered and, taking out two mugs, poured coffee for the both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Richie shake his head in disbelief. Eddie ignored it, refusing to rise to the bait. He handed Richie his coffee before taking out the milk and sugar and placing them on the table.

“How was Lydia?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Once she got the cough medicine down, she passed out,” Richie sighed. “She avoided it the first couple hours.”

“It’s that fucking artificial flavoring—”

“Yeah, I know, you said it last night.”

The quiet anger that had been simmering in his belly since the night before started to boil inside Eddie. He briefly considered leaving the kitchen but knew, rationally, that would solve nothing. He cleared his throat.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. Richie glanced at him, a wary look on his face as he nodded slowly. “Don’t ever tell one of our daughters they’re going to have to go to the hospital again.”

Richie blinked.

“What?” he asked, a blank look on his face.

“Last night,” Eddie continued, “you told Tess if she didn’t take her medicine, she’d get sicker and end up in the hospital.”

Richie rolled his eyes.

“I was just trying to get her to listen and take the damn medicine,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean it.”

“But she didn’t know that,” Eddie shot back. “Don’t threaten them with the hospital.”

“That wasn’t a fucking threat. Jesus, Eddie, what do take me for?”

“Just don’t, from now on, okay?”

“It’s not like I’m your fucking mother,” Richie continued. “You’ve act enough like her for the both of us.”

The two men stared at one another, a tense silence enveloping them both. For several moments, neither said a thing, as if daring the other to make the first move. But Eddie had always been the brave one.

“Are we really going to do this right now?” he asked hoarsely.

“Do what?” Richie asked, his shoulders sagging.

“Act like assholes just because our kids are sick.”

“It’s not because of the kids,” Richie asserted and hid his face in his hands. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Then what it is? Fucking tell me so we can move on.”

“I told you last night,” Richie said, raising his head. His wide eyes had a desperate look to them.

“I work too much,” Eddie answered. “Is that it?”

Richie sighed and shook his head.

“I just...Eddie, work can’t be the priority.”

“And how are we supposed to live?” Eddie asked. Richie opened his mouth several times before closing it finally. “You don’t think I’d love to be home with the kids more? But someone has to support us.”

Richie paled rapidly and Eddie noticed that his hands resting on the table curled into fists.

“Don’t fucking do that,” Richie hissed. Eddie swallowed. He had never heard that tone of voice from his husband. “I gave up everything for us. I gave up my career, my life in LA, my fucking sanity for our family because I knew one of us had to be here to raise our kids. Don’t act like I’m just a fucking freeloader hanging out at home in my fucking pajamas all day.”

“I’m not saying that, Rich,” Eddie insisted, the urge to reach out and take his hand almost overwhelming him. “I know you work hard here at home.”

“I do it because you won’t. Or can’t. Either way, it’s on me.”

Something sharp pierced through Eddie’s heart, and he resisted the urge to rest his hand on the scar on his chest. For a moment, Richie looked abashed before swallowing and sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

Eddie nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You’re right, Richie.”

“Eds, I—”

“No, you’re absolutely right. I can’t do what you do,” he admitted, looking down at his half-drunk coffee. “I’m not the same sort of father that you are. I get it.”

“Eddie, don’t—”

“Shh, quiet.”

They both fell silent. From Tess’s room came a plaintive, “Daddy, Papa.”

“She’s gonna wake up her sister,” Eddie grumbled before standing and leaving Richie stunned and alone in the kitchen.

Eddie sat on the bed and yawned, grateful to finally be in his bedroom after another long day of sneezing and coughing children. The new medicine he had purchased seemed to be doing the trick, however, along with several hours of sitting on the couch watching movies so he was certain the girls would be on the mend by tomorrow. God, he never wanted to see a wadded up, used tissue again.

Richie walked in and headed straight for the bureau, searching for fresh pajamas. Once satisfied, he reached for the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked tiredly.

Richie stopped short and tensed up ever so slightly.

“Back to Lydia’s room,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“Enough, Richie, just sleep here tonight.”

“But—”

“I’m too fucking exhausted to fight with you anymore,” Eddie admitted. “So just come here.”

Richie turned and stared at him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in their bedroom at the moment. Eddie frowned.

“Look, we both fucked up,” he sighed. “And we both know Lydia could tell we were in a fight all day so let’s figure this out before she thinks we’re getting a divorce or something.”

Richie’s entire body seemed to slump downwards. He looked incredibly drained and Eddie’s heart went out to him. He took a tentative step towards Eddie and sighed.

“I shouldn’t have said that shit about you as a dad,” he admitted softly. “I was angry and tired and that’s not a fucking excuse but...I’m sorry.”

Eddie swallowed and nodded.

“And I know you weren’t threatening Tess last night,” he said. “I just...freaked out and remembered my mom pulling that shit and I guess I just...overreacted.”

Richie blinked rapidly and sniffed.

“You’re not your mom, Eds.”

“I know, you always say that.”

“Because it’s fucking true.” Richie took two long steps and sat beside Eddie on the bed, taking his hand in his. “I was being an asshole.”

“So was I. And I get it,” Eddie continued. “I know I work too much and I know you get overwhelmed with having the kids all day.”

“I signed up for it though,” Richie muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help out more,” Eddie replied. “And I do fucking hate how much I work. It’s just…” he sighed, searching for the right words. He felt Richie’s eyes on him and he took a deep breath. “It’s just...it’s the only thing I’m good at.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, his mouth falling open.

“What the fuck,” he said. “What the fuck are you talking about, Eds?”

“I have one thing that I was always successful at, one thing to be proud of, and it’s my ability to do my job,” Eddie continued, the words now spilling out of him. “I mean, of course I’m proud of our kids but I constantly think I’m screwing up. At work, I don’t have that. And it’s totally selfish of me, I know, but—”

“Eddie, Eddie, shut up.”

Eddie did. Richie took his face in his hands and gazed directly into his eyes.

“You are a fucking idiot, Edward Tozier,” he said firmly and slowly. Eddie couldn’t help it; he laughed. “I’m fucking serious here. You are not your job. That is not the only thing you are good at. You’re funny, and loving, and smarter than anyone else I know, and you’re fucking dedicated to the people you love. And you always know how to get the kids to calm down and how to talk me off the ledge and without you, this family would be incomplete. I love you. Our girls love you. And I’m sorry you’re married to such an asshole but you did say yes so that’s on you.” Eddie blinked and realized he had tears in his eyes. “Yes, you’re really good at your job and I do think it’s totally sexy that you’re the steadfast, manly provider for our family.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want you regretting how much you’re working later, you know? We just gotta...find a balance. And not be dicks about it.”

“That’s gonna be tough for you,” Eddie replied, sniffing. Richie smiled and his face brightened when Eddie leaned in to kiss him deeply.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Richie sighed against his lips.

“Me too,” Eddie whispered. “The next time we fight, we should just immediately make out.”

“The kids will get grossed out,” Richie observed. “But I guess they deserve it after all the puke and snot they just put us through.”

Eddie laughed and pushed Richie down on the bed.

[e-namor-a]

Masked Pt. VIII

Ok so this fic keeps fucking growing. I swear to God, it’s ridiculous lmao. This entire thing was originally something like 10k but I split it up into two sections cuz I thought it was too long? This wraps up this arc and then we get to the part I wrote 10 fucking months ago and by far my favorite part of this entire thing.  Anyway... Here we go folks CW: death, murder, self harm, (that’s all i think) pt. i/ pt. ii/ pt. iii/ pt. iv/ pt. v/ pt. vi/ pt. vii

You were so fucking overwhelmed. You couldn’t figure out what you were feeling.  You knew you were livid, absolutely furious. You could taste it in the pit of your belly. It had been a year and finally, you had seen him. And it had been a fucking disaster.  Now, all you wanted to do now was hit something, or get blackout drunk again. 

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in Daniel’s waiting room. You were freezing your ass off, goddamn air conditioning and goddamn cocktail dress, but you knew if you had headed to your apartment you would’ve changed and gone to your favorite bar, gotten drunk off your ass and ended up in someone's bed. You had promised Tony you would try harder, and you were going to do your best to keep your promise. So there you were, sitting in his waiting room, peeling the label off the water bottle you had gotten from the mini-fridge next to you. You were starting to zone out, drifting in and out of memories that had started to play in your mind since your encounter with James. You were so in your head, you kicked instinctively, barely missing, when Daniel had crouched down in front of and placed his hand on yours. “Holy shit.” Daniel breathily laughed, flat on his ass, his glasses askew, green eyes wide. “Jesus Christ. It’s instinct. Fuck. I’m sorry Daniel,” you mumbled, having snapped up in your seat and pressed your fingers to your mouth in horror of what you had done. “Y/N, hon, it wasn’t your fault. I spooked you. Considering your training, I think that it’s an understandable reaction. Let’s go into my office and talk, yeah?” Daniel had stood up and extended his hand out to you. You stared at his outstretched hand, wanting to grab it but unable to do so. So instead you clasped your hands around the water bottle and stood up, walking forward into Daniel’s office. You tried to avoid touching people when sober. It made you feel antsy. 

You walked into the blue office, and sat in your favorite red velvet chair, facing the door, back to wall, the perfect vantage point and tucked your legs under you smoothing your short dress down over your thighs. You started picking at the hem automatically, thigh twitching. You knew the smart thing was to come talk to Daniel, but fuck if you didn’t just want to run out instead. Staying meant talking about James, something that you had resolutely avoided for months. Daniel had no clue James existed. You had made sure to never even insinuate that you had once been in a relationship. “So, Y/N, as happy as I am to see you, what brings you here? I gather something bad to bring you in on a day you’re not scheduled.” Daniel had seated himself across from you, his back against a big window overlooking the city skyline. “So what happened? Did your nightmares get worse? Are you sleeping less?” You had started to fidget more intensely. You knew you would have to open your mouth to speak but you didn’t know if you were ready. You had shared your past: your mother, your sister, your father and your upbringing, your friendship with Tony. It had taken time, a lot of prodding and some horrible nights but you had managed to spill as much as you could. You trusted Daniel as much as you possibly could, everything considering. 

There were only a few things you had kept entirely hidden, your relationship with James, your missions and the death of your father. You had never shared that last one with anyone. As far as you knew, only you, your handler and about 5 other agents knew the truth of what had happened. It was a secret you guarded even closer than the death of your family. It was the final nail in the coffin of who you were. For the most part, you refused to even acknowledge what happened. 

But now you had to tell Daniel those secrets. They had to come out because you promised Tony and you wanted something more and you had run into James and you were spiraling quickly. You sighed deeply, letting the breath out steadily before you began, “I had a therapist before you. I saw her for a while. I started after I took on a deep undercover off-the-books mission. I thought I was ready, that it would be some sort of closure for me, you know?” You took another deep breath, letting it out steadily, steeling yourself, “But it wasn’t. It was the hardest mission I had ever been on and it took a lot out of me. I came back a shell of myself. I was just going through the motions”, you swallowed hard. Memories you hadn’t shared with Daniel, were bubbling under your lips, desperate to escape. 

You shifted, trying to alleviate some anxiousness, your legs were tucked next to you, arm crossed over your chest. “My… my partner… well, he didn’t really notice what was going on with me. He had his own issues and his work was really taxing, and he had horrible mental scars and I was hiding what was going on too well. He just… didn’t notice. We kind of ended up out of sync, and it really affected our… relationship. So I ended up in therapy.” You scratched the back of your neck, hiding as much of your face as you could from Daniel. You felt overexposed and you hated it. “Can I ask what the mission was? Are you allowed to tell me?” Daniel looked at you, eyes unreadable. “It’s ok if you can’t. Remember you set the boundaries here, Y/N. You’re in charge. You shook your head, you had to tell him but you couldn’t get the words out. They wouldn’t come out. Daniel smiled gently and opened his mouth to continue but you blurted out the answer, vomiting the words, “I was sent to kill my father’s second in command. But the intel I was given was dated. He knew who I was. He knew my story. He knew I was coming and rather than face me or the people who had sent me, he decided death was preferable. I found his body. But before that, I found the bodies of his two children, a small boy, and his teenage daughter. The girl looked like my sister and I was instantly shoved into my past. Into what I did. “

“Thank you for answering. Was there something else?”, Daniel asked softly. You shook your head emphatically, biting your lip so hard you thought you’d draw blood. “Ok, that’s fine. So, you were in a relationship? Was it a long one?”, Daniel asked kindly. “Several years. I thought it would be for the rest of my life.” “What happened?”

You squirmed internally as you tried to figure out what to do. Logically, you should tell him. Daniel should know. But the last time you had trusted this way, you had been betrayed twice. Tony was counting on you, you were counting on you. You wanted more and it was time to put up or shut up. 

“He cheated on me”, you blurted out. You cringed. It still hurt like a fresh wound. You shook your head, tugging harshly on a strand of hair before continuing, “From what I’ve pieced together, it started soon after I started going to see her. I had had to leave for several months on a mission and I think that that’s when they started getting closer to each other. I kept leaving for work and that coupled with therapy and the stress of both, it was too much. I pushed him to her and he cheated.”

You had ripped the seam in your dress and were picking at the loose thread. “Her name was Mariah. She was a pretty bubbly blonde. Always wore these ridiculous heels. Rain, shine, snow, always wearing these giant heels. I’ve managed to make myself almost forget what she looks like but I’ll never forget those fucking heels. I can still hear them clicking down my fucking hallway. We used to bond over how put together she was, nails done, hair nice, full face of makeup and designer clothes. We’d laugh because I was so tired all the time and my put together was a little chapstick, maybe some mascara if I could handle it.” You let out a dry chuckle, “Christ.” The loose thread had gotten longer, you were quickly unraveling the entire hem. You couldn’t find it in you to care. It was a beautiful dress, worth a lot of money but you just didn’t care. You felt the need to destroy something. “I left the city the night I caught him balls deep in her. Ran for a while until I called Tony and ended up back here. I didn’t want to stay, I still don’t. But Tony made me promise him I would stay, and here I am. Tony’s all I got,” you said tiredly. “I went to go check on her one time. I was pretty drunk, it was the only way that I could face her after everything. I’m still pretty deadly even then. I was trained very well. I went to her office but she wasn’t there. Asked around and found out she had left abruptly a month or two after I did. Just disappeared, no trace.” You let an empty smile grow on your face, “I think Natasha had something to do with it. I can’t be sure but I sent her a big bottle of vodka and a thank you card anyway. I’m just upset I didn’t get to her first. I guess it’s good I didn’t.” You glanced up to see Daniel’s eyes widen briefly as he listened to you talk. You were struck by an absurd desire to giggle because despite him being a psychiatrist for intelligence operatives from a myriad of agencies including S.H.I.E.L.D., police and even soldiers, you still managed to shock him. Even if it was just a little. 

“Well, what a bitch. I’m also glad you didn’t get to her first,” Daniel let out a small grin, pushing up his glasses, thoroughly surprising you, “I can imagine it would’ve been messy. Thank you for sharing. I sincerely appreciate it. I have to ask, why are you telling me this Y/N? I appreciate your forthcomingness but what brought it on?” You had a small pile of pulled apart thread on your exposed leg from the dress you were methodically destroying. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t care. You were just so full and empty and just so so fucking tired. “I went on a mission before I started seeing Mariah. It had been set in motion when I turned 15 and the final pieces just happened to fall into place about two years into my relationship. I was given 12 hours heads up and flown out that same night. I knew the mission was coming, I had been instrumental in its planning and a large part of my undercover work was tied to it. I thought I was ready. But I wasn’t.” You had started to cry, unable to stop it as you were sucked into the memory. Your vision had fish-bowled, you could hear the blood pound in your ears, the room suddenly feeling freezing cold. “I made a promise to my mother and my sister when I buried them that I would finish what they started. That I would avenge them and see my fathers empire in ruins. I would destroy it brick by brick. I had nursed that promise deep down where no one would see it and I thought that I was ready to end it that night I got shipped out. I thought I would be able to do it, quick, clean and efficient just like I was taught. But I couldn’t do it.” You knit your fingers into your hair and tugged, trying to anchor yourself. To not let yourself go too far into your memory. 

“I knew it the second I stepped into my mothers old garden. The plants she took such loving care were all dead. Her fountain had been trashed. The hand painted stone pathway had been trampled on and broken. It had all been destroyed. He had let it all be destroyed. I couldn’t do it,”you shook your head harshly, “I just couldn’t let him get away with it.”

“I found him in the dining room. It was like stepping back in time. He appeared older, white peppered through his hair, wrinkles crinkling his skin, but despite that everything looked the same. Our photographs were still hanging up. The wooden table still gleamed from its fresh polish. The smell of gardenias from the vase in the center of the table still hung in the humid air. Nothing had changed.” You could see it playing out in front you, Daniel had all but disappeared into the corner of your mind. “He heard me before I had made my way to him. He told me he’d been waiting for me and asked me if I liked how my mothers garden looked, he had done it just for me. I held the blade of my knife to the base of his throat pushed and told him to stand up. He just laughed and did what I told him to. I took him outside to the garden. He had to pay. He talked the whole way there, telling me about how the family business was, and what he had been up to, he was so fucking relaxed.” You had started tugging harder at your hair as tears streamed down your face.  You needed something to distract you from what you were telling Daniel. You could hear him calling you, trying to get you out of your head but it had to come out. It had to be heard. It had to come out. “I took him to the garden and I just snapped. I made sure he couldn’t walk away and then I made sure he was hurting. I did everything I had been trained to do but I couldn’t get him to stop smiling at me. I needed him to stop so I shot him. I sat down in front of him and watched as he started bleeding out. I sat there watching as he started laughing. There was blood coming out of his mouth as he told me that I had finally fulfilled my destiny. I started to shake my head to deny it but he coughed up some blood and asked me how I could doubt myself. Just look at where I had ended up. Besides, it was fitting, having it all end where it had started, in the garden. Then he looked me dead in the eye and smiled. He told me how proud of me he was. He told me he loved me and that he proud he was that I was finally who he had created me to be, and then he died. Those were his last words.” You nibbled on your lip as you wiped your eyes, exhaling hard through your nose. “I sat there watching him until finally I walked back to the house and set it on fire like I had been instructed to. I watched it burn down, all the pictures, the clothes, the books, the memories. I watched them turn to ash sitting next to my father's corpse. I left the body there for pick up and came back stateside,” you let out a hitching sigh, remembering how you had wanted to run in and grab a picture of the three of you. Something to remember how it used to be. You hadn’t been allowed to, you knew better than to disobey orders. Failure was unacceptable.

“I started seeing Mariah a while after that. All the missions I kept going on, they were me cleaning up loose ends. I made a promise. I would see it through to the end.” You looked up and stared at Daniel in the eye for the first time ever. He knew your entire story now. No more secrets and you felt hollow at the realization. You had been clinging to your secrets for years and now there was nothing left. “Christ Y/N.”, Daniel blinked at you, his eyes wide, “That’s a lot. Before I start, how are you feeling? You made a lot of progress today by letting out your secrets and I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. Can I get you anything?” You shook your head, smiling brittlely, “I don’t know how I feel. Drained I guess.” A little dizzy, sleepy enough to sleep forever, and about to pass out were way more accurate, but you wouldn’t let Daniel know. You were unbreakable, anything less was unacceptable. “That doesn’t surprise me, to be frank. Please just let me know if you change your mind, or if you need a break ok? I have a lot to say but I’ll try to keep it brief. Y/N you are an incredibly complex human, but I can without a doubt tell you that you’re suffering from major depression, anxiety, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Not only that but you have told yourself over and over that you are to blame for every shitty thing that’s happened in your life and it has paved the way for every single decision you’ve made. You’ve crucified yourself for making a decision as a child when in reality you weren’t given any choice. You’ve accepted that the things your father said as true and it breaks my heart.” You felt the urge to cry, you couldn’t figure out why but you wanted to cry. “You’ve lived all these years with this horrific trauma that started when you were just a child and I don’t know how you did it but I’m so proud of you. You are strong and you are a fighter and you are a goddamn survivor. I am so fucking proud of you Y/N. You came here months ago and did the best you could and you’ve opened up to me in a way that you never had to anyone. I’m honored and I’m so proud of you.” You started crying. It wasn’t like before where you had cried out of painful memories, it was a softer crying meant to soothe.  You were tense but you could feel a small part of yourself start to mend. It was difficult though, an overwhelming part of you was telling you that you were behaving unacceptably. You deserved what had happened. You were what your father had created you to be. “Your father was a garbage human being who deserved a crueler fate. He wasn’t like that because of anything you did. And you did nothing to deserve the treatment you got. You know why? Because he was doing it before you even existed. And you know what else? Him picking you was not your fault. You were worried for your family, that was natural, that was normal. It was an ok reaction. Everything was on him.” Deep down inside, a small part of you rejoiced. You had had to hear these words for so long form someone. It helped you in ways you couldn’t describe. But just as quickly, another part of you wanted to smother that joy. It kept telling you that Daniel was lying. “I know your conflicted over what I’m saying, and I wish I could get rid of the voice that’s telling you I'm lying but I can’t. You have to do that. You have to forgive yourself. No one but you can do that. Therapy isn’t a walk in the park. It’s a difficult and complex journey. It takes time and it’s fucking hard.  I won’t lie to you. It’ll be one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do. But I swear to you on my life, it’ll be worth it.” You sniffled, feeling even more exhausted, eyes drooping, and changed the subject. Daniel was giving you too much. Instead, you looked at your hands, fiddling with your fingertips and said, “I saw him in the park today. My… partner… my boyfr- … James. I saw him today and he looked great. He was smiling and he was there with a woman. She was beautiful. She had this big gorgeous dark curly hair, her skin looked soft and smooth glowing in the sun against her white dress. She looked so vibrant and so full of life and happiness. They were perfect together. He was holding her and she was touching him and they looked so right, standing next to each other. And I got so angry.” Abruptly, you were on your feet. The small pile of threads falling to the ground. You were unable to stay still, a sudden explosion of emotion rocking you. “I was so furiously angry. I was a mess and hurting and there he was with another woman again. I’m fucking drowning and he’s fine! I gave him everything I could. I did everything I could! But it wasn’t enough. And then he touched me. He just touched me and instead of feeling repulsed, my skin felt warm and I didn’t feel uneasy,” you clenched your fists frustratedly. “And then he called me beloved.” You spat out. “He called me beloved and he told me Mariah didn’t mean anything and that he missed me. And I could feel myself falling. I love him so much despite everything and I had wanted to hear those words for months now. But I wasn’t enough! He hurt me! He had me and I was trying and it wasn’t enough for him, I wasn’t enough for him even at my very best and he picked her and she didn’t mean anything. I’m worth less than that to him. I mean less than her. I gave him everything I could. And I wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t it enough? Why?” And you were standing there, panting heavily, hands clutching your hair and just pulling with all your strength because you were so overwhelmed. You hadn’t been enough and you were never going to be enough for James. You were the monster your father made you be. You had blood on your hands in a way that James never would. You were the monster he always feared he was. Of course, you deserved what you got. How stupid could you be? “Y/N, please calm down. Please sit. I’m going to touch you ok?”, Daniel said firmly. You felt his hands on your forearm as he reached up to untangle your hair from your hands. He gently guided you to your favorite chair and sat down on the coffee table in front of you. “Y/N, none of what that man did was your fault. I know. I know you don’t believe me. But I promise that what he did was for his own reasons and his own shortcomings. Not yours. You were just a child. Nothing you could have ever done merited what happened to you. And I cannot stress this enough, you are worthy. You are worth more than you can imagine, and your best is more than enough. I know it with every fiber of my being. I haven’t lied to you, and I won’t start now, so you need to trust me when I say that none of what happened was your fault. You’ve been dealt with some shitty cards but that wasn’t your fault.” You burst into tears. You were so tired of fighting yourself and your past. You didn’t want it anymore. You felt Daniel’s arms wrap around you holding you tightly. You sobbed because it all hurt. Everything hurt. You mourned for your failed love, and your past, and all the horrible things you had endured. You cried for the little girl you had been, who had never been comforted, loved, cherished. You cried every tear she never could, you cried for her. 

You had cried before but this time, it was different. With each tear you let out, you felt better. Your tears were washing out your wounds, leaving them clean so that you could finally start to heal. It still hurt, and you suspected it always would, but for the first time ever you didn’t feel the same. The anguish had subsided, the burdens you carried had lessened.

Slowly you stilled. You felt hollowed out and light as a feather. There was an extremely long road ahead but for the first time, you could see a light at the end of it. You pulled out of Daniel’s embrace and looked up at him. “How are you feeling? Better?”, Daniel asked quietly. You nodded, unable to speak.  “Ok, Y/N,” he started seriously, “I’m writing you a prescription for some anti-depressives and anxiety medication. I want you to start taking those in addition to seeing me. You made progress today, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for telling me everything you’ve told me. I recommend you going home and doing your best to practice some self-care.” He smiled brightly at you as you made your way towards the door. He pulled you in for a short hug and whispered in your ear, “I’m so proud of you.” 

You made your way to the lobby and out into the warm evening air fully intending on going back to your apartment, but somehow ending up in the park where you had seen James earlier. You were hugging yourself, walking slowly and completely lost in your thoughts, processing what Daniel had said and figuring out what you were feeling. You detoured to the park where you had seen James and thought about him. About how you felt and everything that had happened and how you were seeing it all in a different light.

And you realized you were angry. You were furious beyond belief because for the first time you were seeing just how bad James had treated you. You had accepted it, and taken what little was offered because you thought that was all that you were worth, but with Daniel’s words ringing in your ears and settling into your bones you knew better. He had left you to deal with everything alone. For years, even before Mariah, you had believed that you deserved the distance that he had put between the two of you, deserved it because of the horrors you had committed but the truth was that it was all James’ fault. You were doing your best to reach out to him despite your limitations, you could see that now. You had tried and fought and worked for your relationship, and he had not. He had stood by and judged you for the little progress you had been able to make, all while not making any himself. And then he had the audacity to cheat on you. Because you were too much. He had told you that you were too much. 

What bullshit. You bit back a scream of rage at your realization. You had done the best you could. You had given everything you could give. And it was enough. It was good enough. You were beating yourself up over this and he didn’t care then and he clearly didn’t care now. First Mariah, and then the other woman at the park. How dare he? How fucking dare he? 

And then, you were walking to your apartment. You knew you should stay in and take a bath, eat some deliciously unhealthy food, and binge some Netflix but you also knew you weren’t going to do that. You were going out. You were going to truly enjoy yourself and do your best to feel free.  

TAG LIST:  THIS IS STILL OPEN! SHOOT ME A MESSAGE IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED. ALSO FOR @awinterloveruniverse @goldenstateof @fay-fighter I can’t tag you in it idk why?  And lastly, if anyone knows who is/was @wonderlustqueen19 @marvelssecretmistress and @violence-and-velvet could you please lemme know? Thank you! @susmita121 @photography-to-all @the-alpha-queen @awinterloveuniverse @im-a-motherfuckin-mermaid @risinghero @caaaaaaarrrrrlll @glittercoveredsouls @buckybabybaby @justreadingfics @flowerchildqueenlovely @westfields-maple @ly--canthrope @learisa @unevenpages @yo-yo-bro-bro @ufffg @geeksareunique @westfields-maple @chrys-1029 @38leticia @sicparvismagnaxi @coal000 @itsagentromanoff @violentlybarnes @fay-fighter @wanderlustqueen19 @bbadbitchh @goldenstateof  @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @marvelssecretmistress @lovemesomepietro @mia-at-work @diinofayce @alitav99 @violence-and-velvet @void-imaginations @xx-raven @aeteriadoelaveneder @sergeipoluninfans @marvel-lously @honey-bee-holly @valkyeries  @lovemesomepietro

[louthegreatfurrry]

Hidden Claws pt.1

self-indulgent fic? me? way more fucking likely than you think

“I swear to God, if you take a shit right here in the middle of the path – ”

Despite knowing very well that dogs are unable to smile, Lou could’ve sworn that Balder grinned at them as he began to do just what they’d told him not to.

“Oh, come on,” Lou muttered, yanking at his leash and pulling him off the path. “Just – here, come now – find a bush or something.” They flapped their hand at him with a mild scowl. “Done? Good, let’s go.”

They turned to walk back to the path, expecting Balder to follow, but he only yanked hard at the leash in the opposite direction. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lou muttered, “what is it now?” They stomped over to him, only to freeze in surprise.

Someone was lying on the ground a few feet over, motionless and silent.

“Uhm,” Lou said. “Hello?” The person stirred and raised their head, and Lou breathed a sigh of relief. Imagine finding a dead body in the forest – horrifying. “Are you alright?” they asked, for people don’t usually lie around in the forest on a common Friday evening.

He – for it was a he, by the looks of it – blinked at her. Then his eyes widened and he sat up abruptly, climbing to his feet with only a sliver of hesitation. “Ah, yes, hi,” he said, “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks.”

Lou blinked. He was dressed like Claus – and with striking familiarity, too, he even remembered the cape. Where on Earth had he gotten those clothes? They’d looked everywhere for them –

“Oh, okay,” they said. “Uhm, good.” They shifted their weight nervously; the conversation was logically done, but if he was a fan they wanted to get to know him better. “What are you doing in the forest?”

The guy – who, they now realized, they’d never seen before – grinned. “I could say the same to you,” he offered.

“I’m walking my dog,” Lou replied, nodding at Balder, who was rustling through the bushes a few feet away.

The guy paled visibly, stepping a bit away from the two of them. “Right,” he said, his voice rising, “your dog, of course.”

Lou winced. “Sorry, are you afraid of dogs?” They didn’t wait for his answer, instead reeling Balder in and placing one foot on each side of him, locking him in place with their knees. “Sit, Balder, you idiot.”

“I – suppose you could say so, yes,” the guy muttered.

Nodding in sympathy, Lou tightened Balder’s leash further, making sure that it wouldn’t accidentally snap open. “Are you new here?” they asked, curious for who he was and if they’d see him around. “I haven’t seen you before – you don’t go to LUS, do you?”

He blinked, then squinted at them. “I certainly don’t.”

“VGS, then?”

He slowly shook his head.

“What, really? How old are you?” He didn’t look that much older than them, but he could be four years younger – they knew several people who went to seventh grade but looked like they could’ve gone to ninth.

Now he looked relieved, and the answer came easily. “20.”

Lou blinked, then grew a bit nervous. “No, really?” they asked. “You’ve prolly heard this a lot, but you look way younger.”

“I do?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “How old do I look?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lou said, tilting their head this way and that. “Maybe seventeen?”

“Huh,” he voiced, glancing down at the back of his hands before turning them palms up. When he looked up at her again he’d lost some of the uncertainness in his expression. “How old are you, then?”

“Fourteen,” Lou replied. “Turning fifteen this November.”

He nodded, then seemed to hesitate. “And uh, which month is it now?”

Lou barked a laugh. “Oh, heck if I know. September, maybe?” They shrugged; they hadn’t been writing in their book for ages – they barely knew which year it was. “Hey, I didn’t get your name in all of that,” they realized.

He smiled the first smile since this conversation had began, and said, “I’m Claus. Claus Climbermouse.”

Snorting, Lou shook her head. “Right, of course you are, my bad. Well, ‘Claus’ – ” Here they made quotation marks in the air – “I’m Lou. Nice to meet you.” They took a step closer and held out their hand; always a bonus to be polite.

He blinked down at it, at first, then slowly reached for it with his own.

Lou very carefully didn’t comment that it was the worst handshake they’d ever had with anyone, including their baby cousins.

“So, uh,” they said, fishing for more questions they could ask without being creepy, “do you live around here?”

“Ah,” he said. “That is. An excellent question.”

And first now did Lou grow nervous, realizing that this dude hadn’t answered any of her questions except for his age. Suddenly they were very glad for Balder; if this guy really was scared of dogs he wouldn’t try anything funny. After all, he didn’t know that Balder was a little wimp. “Look, whoever you are,” they said, taking a step backward and releasing Balder from their leg-lock, “I’m going to go now. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

They turned to walk away, but he called a choked, “wait!” after them, and they stopped to give him an exasperated look over their shoulder. He offered them a nervous grin, then asked, “where am I?”

He hadn’t answered their questions, and now he didn’t know where he was? “Do you have amnesia or something?” they asked, turning fully around again, raising one uncertain eyebrow.

“No – no,” he hurried to say, “I know who I am, I just – don’t know how I got here.”

“Right,” Lou said. “And who are you?”

“I told you, I’m Claus Climbermouse.”

Rubbing their temple, Lou muttered, “Look, this really isn’t funny, okay? Stop kidding around or I’m leaving.”

“Kidding – kidding around?” he stuttered, eyes going wide. “What do you mean, ‘kidding around’?”

“Well, obviously you’re not Claus,” Lou said, crossing their arms with a tired sigh, “and you’re not telling me who you actually are, so I can’t take you seriously.”

He flailed a bit, gesturing with his hands while he scrunched his face up in confusion. “Not – not Claus, but of course I’m Claus, why wouldn’t I be Claus, who else would I be? Morten?” He barked a laugh that sounded extremely nervous. “Marvin?”

Lou rolled their eyes at the drama. “Well, you’re a good actor, I’ll give you that. But drop the act, of course you’re not Claus.”

“Of course – and why not?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, mate,” Lou exclaimed, “Claus is a bloody mouse, and a fictional character on top of that, how the fuck do you expect him to get from the Huckybucky Forest to here?”

“I don’t know!” he cried, throwing his hands into the air. “I was hoping you could tell me!” Then he blinked, lowering his hands and giving Lou a hesitant look. “Wait. Fictional character?”

“Uhm, yeah, duh,” Lou said.

But they weren’t fully there; things weren’t adding up in their mind. The emotion on his face was – just a tad too real to be acting – and showing up out of nowhere –

and now that they thought about it, didn’t he look like how they’d imagined a human Claus to be?

Lost in their thoughts they loosened their grip on Balder’s leash, and the dog, sensing his extended freedom, bolted.

The guy who might very well be Claus Climbermouse himself yelped, staggered back from them, stumbled on a loose rock and fell to the forest floor.

Hissing through clenched teeth, Lou hurried to lock Balder’s leash again, reeling him in while scolding him beneath their breath. “Sorry,” they said, instinctively, because of course Claus would fear dogs –

He groaned, then threw an arm over his face, successfully covering his eyes. “Just leave me here to rot,” he said, “the other animals can just come eat me for all I care, there’s nothing left for me to live for anyway.”

In a flicker Lou remembered the short movie that had its roots in canon, where Claus smashed his guitar and acted like his very life had been torn apart.

Slowly they walked over to him, crouching beside him and feeling strangely detached. “…Claus?” they asked uncertainly.

“What?” he grumbled, not moving his arm from his face.

Lou sat down.

“What,” they whispered, their lips going numb, “what are you doing here?” They couldn’t fucking deal with shit like this; what’s the protocol, what the heck do you do? They’re the responsible one in this situation, it’s not like Claus would know how to take care of himself 60 years into the future and also in an alternative universe –

“I don’t know,” actual Claus fucking Climbermouse replied, words muffled by his sleeve. “Do you believe me now?”

Lou nodded dumbly, then realized he couldn’t see it, and said, “I – yeah, I, I do.”

“What did you mean,” Claus asked, moving his arm to give them a dull look, “when you said fictional character?”

“Uuuh,” Lou said. “Well. That’s. Uhm.” They scratched their neck. “Well, see, 60 years ago there was this man who wrote a book called – well, it was called Claus Climbermouse and the other animals in the forest of Huckybucky.”

Claus blinked at them, before pushing himself up on his elbows. “What?” he asked. “Wait, what?”

“It was first read aloud over the radio,” Lou continued, “but it was published as a book for the first time in 1953. It’s – 2018 now, by the way.” He blinked again, eyes going very wide. “It was rewritten and illustrated anew by 1978, and two years ago, in 2016, the story – your story – was made into a movie.”

He couldn’t be lying; the shock shone in his eyes, and while people can pull masks over their expressions so it looks genuine, one cannot do the same with ones eyes.

Lou drew a deep breath. “I am most likely one of your greatest fans,” they whispered. “And I’ll do anything to get you back.”

*

The Huckybucky Forest had been in a state of confusion and mild panic ever since Claus disappeared. It had taken them a few days to notice – it wasn’t unusual that someone would go missing for a few days before showing up again, especially among the younger animals. When they’d all realized he wasn’t just hiding around a corner, waiting to pop out to laugh at them, they began to worry; and despite Marvin’s continued insistence that he’s got nothing to do with this, not everyone believes him.

Father Bear calls in to a meeting by the tree a mere day after they’d realized Claus was gone. “As you all know,” he began, the gathered animals quieting down, “our very own Claus has gone missing.” A few agreeing mutters rose among the audience. “No one has heard from him?” He was fishing for information – no one had heard, and they all knew it. Sighing, Father Bear swept his gaze over them all. “Very well, then. What do we do now? Does anyone have any ideas?”

There was a pause as the animals looked at each other with varying degrees of hesitancy on their faces.

“We need to find him,” Morten spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him, and he shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of their judging – but he held his ground, Grandmother Woodmouse determined beside him.

“Of course,” Father Bear nodded. “But how do we do that, when we don’t know where he’s gone, or why he’s gone there?”

“We’ll just need to search,” Marvin said, and now it was his turn to be scrutinized by the other inhabitants of the forest. But he didn’t look at them, only staring staunchly at Father Bear with a solemn expression.

Before Father Bear could answer, Pa Squirrel piped up with, “You’re not searching for anyone.” The crowd shuffled a bit, some of them nodding along to that.

“Yeah?” Marvin said, turning to give Pa Squirrel a scowl. “And why is that?”

“You just want to eat him,” Pa Squirrel replied, paws on his hips and steel in his gaze. “If you haven’t already, that is.”

There was a tense moment where Marvin just stared at him. If one looked close enough, and if one knew him well enough, one might’ve seen the frustration in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth – but none of the animals wanted to look closer than they already did, and so they only saw him turning back to Father Bear with a flat expression. “Fine,” he said. “You search, then.” And he didn’t mention the fact that searching would be fruitless; he’d found Claus’ scent hours ago, and there would be no point in trying to find him.

It had disappeared just as abruptly as him.

*

“Is this really necessary?” Claus asked, grimacing at the heap of clothes and blankets Lou had provided. He picked up one at random – a hoodie, it seemed, but baggier than the ones he’d seen anyone wear, ever.

“Ha,” Lou said, flinging a blanket over his head. “You’re lucky we’re the same size. You don’t have fur now, and humans freeze easily.”

Yes, right. Human now. Hands. Skin. “Tell me again why I can’t find a house to stay in,” he asked, pulling the blanket away from his face to squint up at Lou.

They scoffed, crouched down beside him, and began to sort the clothes into piles. “My parents will never let a boy – worse, older boy – stay in our house,” they muttered, folding the sweatpants with a bit more force than necessary. “And no one else will take you in, either, not without official papers, and I don’t dare forge some.” He opened his mouth, about to ask if his name wasn’t enough. “Don’t even think about calling yourself Claus Climbermouse.” They cocked their head and glanced at the sky. “…on second thought, that might be fine – but Klatremus is a big no-no.”

Wait, seriously? They knew that too? “Is – am I still in Norway?” he asked, not quite managing to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Unfortunately,” Lou muttered.

Claus frowned. “But – but you spoke in English – ”

Lou blinked at the jacket in their hand, then turned to blink at him. “What, really?” They sighed, then shook their head tiredly. “I need to stop doing that…”

How does one accidentally speak English? Claus shook his head. “Okay, so no Claus and no Klatremus. Fine. What then?”

“What name you should be called?” Lou asked, folding up the last pile and throwing him a raised eyebrow. He nodded. “I’m calling you Claus and nothing can stop me,” they said, matter-of-factly, “but otherwise, uh. Is Christopher fine?”

“Christopher? Why Christopher?”

“It’s the, uh.” Lou stopped, some mild color rising to their cheeks. “The middle name of your voice actor in the movie and I thought Christopher fit you better than Espen and please don’t be mad.”

Oh yes, right – he’s the star of an extremely well-known Norwegian children’s book. Easy to forget, that. “I’m not mad,” he assured them. “Intrigued, but not mad. Impressed, but not mad.”

Lou fidgeted a bit. “Right,” they muttered. “Impressed. Ha.”

“Say,” Claus said, “can I – can I read? The book? If you have it?”

Now Lou lit up again, barking a brief laughter. “Yo, mate, you can read all three of them,” they said with a chuckle. “You can even see the movie if ya want.”

The movie? “Really?” he asked, a smile bursting across his lips. “How, though?”

“Er, well,” Lou said, leaning back on their elbows and tilting their head. “I have internet at the library, we could see it there, if you’re fine with that.”

Claus grimaced. “There are lots of humans there, though, aren’t there?”

“You are a human,” Lou deadpanned. “If you’re with me they won’t even bother you. I can say you’re a friend from Svelgen, no worries. That’s where I lived before, don’t bother asking.”

Claus, who’d been about to ask, nodded. “Right, okay. We’ll see the movie there, then. But uh.” He gestured for the piles of clothes. “What am I to do with this?”

“As I told you,” Lou said, “it gets real fucking cold during night. You’re more used to the forest than I, obviously, so I’ll leave it to you to find somewhere to sleep.”

Wow, how thoughtful. But he got the idea; he’d rather find a place to stay himself than trust a human to do it for him.

Uh. A native human? Born-human? Oh, whatever. “Okay,” he said, “I see that.” Then he hesitated. “Uh, is the library open now?”

Lou tugged at a black device hanging around their neck, glanced at the small display, then said, “Lucky you, it is.” They hurried to stuff all the clothes into a plastic bag, then climbed to their feet and dropped it in a nearby bush. “C’mon, let’s go.”

And Claus had no choice but to follow.