#its early and im half asleep but this has been stuck in my head since the faced argentina

[oshikiri-toru]

Obsessed with Middle Blocker for Team USA, Max Holt, for looking exactly how I imagine Ghost would look

[leviaju]

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.” 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down. 

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down. 

They held no remorse. 

-

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you. 

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him. 

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction. 

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day. 

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye. 

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you. 

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely. 

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach. 

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation. 

There was silence, followed by a sigh. 

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple. 

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented. 

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause. 

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently. 

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment. 

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

MC

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE 

PELASE 

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

MC

MC

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby. 

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake. 

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy! 

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips. 

-

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!” 

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door. 

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass  back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too. 

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!” 

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room. 

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!” 

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight. 

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips. 

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player. 

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?” 

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to. 

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do. 

-

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now. 

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears. 

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants.  For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time. 

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning. 

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest. 

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed. 

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile. 

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you. 

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless. 

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation. 

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue. 

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close. 

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body. 

There’s one beat, 

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality. 

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment. 

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly. 

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him. 

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers. 

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope. 

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him. 

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness. 

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers. 

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living. 

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do. 

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more. 

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.” 

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips. 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes. 

Almost fearlessly. 

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches. 

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine. 

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own. 

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now. 

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air. 

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words. 

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously. 

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further. 

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--” 

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks. 

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders. 

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch. 

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on. 

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath. 

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak. 

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission. 

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

[e-milieeee]

haunted

Summary: When Gabriel goes a step too far, Plagg has decided he’s had enough. 

Meanwhile, Gabriel Agreste has discovered that his house may or may not be haunted, because a vengeful spirit certainly seems to be after him. 

Notes: basically plagg being a little gremlin and trolling gabriel like he deserves. ft. gabe’s 3 remaining braincells. based on this post by @hamsternamedmarinette and @snail-noir im sorry its so crappy lol 

haunted

“Well,” Adrien is saying as he trudges inside the room and kicks the door shut. “There’s that, then.”

Plagg flits out from his shirt. His face is set in an angry mask, tail sticking straight up. “That’s that?” he echoes. “No, that’s absurd! Your father’s absurd! He should come back here and I’ll give him a piece of my mind and—”

Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. “Plagg, it’s fine. Forget it.”

Plagg makes an angry noise in the back of his throat. “So you’re just gonna take that? For weeks? He has no right.”

In his hand is the piece of paper—now crumpled—that his father had shoved into his fingers before he stormed off: the schedule for the fashion show. It runs for a week, but there’s also a terrifying amount of preparations to be done two weeks prior—all of which his father had decided he needed to be present for.

“I can’t risk making father angry,” Adrien settles with.

Plagg folds his arms. “Fine,” his kwami says curtly, in a manner of speaking that Adrien always finds hard to argue with. “Hypothetically speaking, then, if your father found out his plans had been cata—destroyed, would you be allowed to go out?”

“Plagg, I’m not going to break into my father’s study as Chat Noir to cataclysm his work just so I can go out with friends.”

Plagg smiles at him. It’s the smile Adrien had often gotten before he’d discovered the toilet paper in his washroom all scratched up and littering the floor. “Don’t worry,” comes the reply. “You won’t have to.”

***

Gabriel Agreste’s study is locked, but that doesn’t prove a problem for the small black shape that slips through the doors like they’re made of nothing more than mist. It’s dark, but cats have always seen better at night anyway.

There, on the top of his desk, lies the designs for the first set of clothes that are to be showcased. Meticulous notes. Fabric samples. Timing and schedules. Signatures and contracts.

The small, black cat picks the folder up with two paws. Then it crumbles into dust.

***

“Nathalie, did you touch the folder on my desk?”

It’s been a long morning—Gabriel had been up at 4 AM in an attempt to see if he could get an edge on Ladybug and Chat Noir. It had been horrendous to find someone to akumatize so early, and by the time he’d pinpointed his victim—forty five minutes later—he had nearly fallen asleep. He’d been pummelled by Ladybug and Chat Noir. Absolutely pummelled. And then, as if the situation couldn't help but get worse, Audrey Bourgeois had called him at six (just when he was about to go back to bed) and told him she couldn’t make it to the fashion show.

That woman had no regard for timezones. And no regard for him, either, because part of the marketing for the fashion week was Audrey’s attendance.

Gabriel was considering akumatizing himself when he realized the manila folder on his desk—that had been there when he left the night prior—was nowhere to be seen.

He searches through all his files. Crawls under his desk. Checks his lair. It's gone.

“Nathalie!” he bellows again, and she comes barrelling through the door to his office.

“What is it, sir?”

Gabriel takes a deep breath. “Have you seen the files for the fashion show? It was in the folder on my desk when I left.”

“Sir, I haven’t been in your office since last night, and I’m certain I saw your files there. Are you sure you haven’t misplaced it?”

Misplaced it, yeah. That’s what it was. Probably.

Now, what he needed was a nap.

***

The files do not turn up. Gabriel sends Nathalie to print them out again. The most important stuff is stored on his computer, but there are signatures he’d spent weeks getting.

He locks the files in his drawer the next time he gets it.

***

Tuesday morning finds Gabriel Agreste feeling much more refreshed. He even joins Adrien for three minutes during breakfast.

He walks into his office to find his favourite coffee mug in smithereens on the ground.

The files are still stored safely in his drawer. But there is a big, ugly tear across the dress he’d been working on for the past three months.

Gabriel screams.

***

Gabriel Agreste isn’t a fan of security cameras in his office. Especially because anyone with some hacking ability could possibly get their hands on the tape, and the last thing he needs is someone seeing him descending into his lair, or opening the safe behind his painting. Really—there’s simply too many sketchy things he’s done in the office for him to trust putting a camera there.

But he installs two of them nonetheless. His coffee mug could be an accident. But that rip on the dress? No, the only explanation is that it was intentional. But how?

Gabriel thinks of possibilities until he gives himself a headache.

***

“Father seems stressed lately,” Adrien notes to Plagg. There’s not much time for himself between busy schedules, but the moments in between he catches to talk to his kwami. The past week, stuck alone in his room with barely any interaction with his friends, has been draining. He cherishes the precious minutes he gets to spend with Plagg.

“Does he?” Plagg asks in a tone of practiced disinterest. “Well, he does have that really important fashion week thing coming up.”

“He asked me if I’d broken into his study a day ago, but he always locks his study. I think some of his files were missing.”

“Oh?” Plagg replies. “That’s terrible misfortune.”

“Father says he thinks a thief snuck in in the middle of the night and stole them, but we have security cameras all around the house and nothing happened.”

“Spooky.”

“Plagg…”

Plagg only shrugs. “Perhaps your house is haunted,” he replies disinterestedly. “Good thing you’re not scared of ghosts, Adrien.”

***

The house is haunted, and Gabriel cannot sleep.

The most terrifying part of watching the footage is that he sees nothing. There is no movement. No nothing. But then, the next morning, his files inside the locked drawer have disappeared.

Nathalie asks him about the dark rings around his eyes. He drinks two more cups of coffees in response.

***

Gabriel’s eyes are burning, but he’s determined to stay awake.

He likes to think himself neat and meticulous, but even he has his breaking point—his desk is littered with coffee cups, and he’s resorted to drinking energy drinks to keep himself awake. There’s less than ten days until the fashion show starts. It’s been so heavy on his schedule that he’s barely found time to akumatize three three people the past week.

Ladybug and Chat Noir must be having a field day while he’s sitting miserably in his office, waiting to catch the thief, too exhausted to summon up more akumas.

The clock ticks past midnight. Gabriel nearly faceplants into a coffee mug.

Another cup of redbull.

By the time it’s two in the morning, nothing shocking in particular has happened. Every time the flashing light of a car drives past the front of the house he starts, sits back down, and struggles to keep his eyes open.

It’s 2:04 when a crash sounds outside of his office.

Like a madman, Gabriel scrambles up from his seat. He knocks over a half-finished mug of coffee in the process, but that doesn’t matter. The door of his office slams open. He trips on a rug. But he gets up and runs like he’s never run before.

With all the force he can muster, he slams his palm down on the light, and the once-dark staircase and hall become bathed in golden light. The chandelier flickers twice and he stares down at the hall with half the mind to wonder if he’s going to finally see the ghost.

Gabriel is the only one in the hall.

He checks once more. Then again. Then again. But there is no one there, no source of the crash—

Oh, no.

The painting he’d bid at an auction twelve years ago—one that had cost a fortune—has fallen off the wall and face planted into the floor. The sight of it physically hurts Gabriel, and he’s scrambling towards it in a mixture of fear and anger when another noise sounds in his office.

In the months of being Hawkmoth, Gabriel Agreste has felt a generous range of emotions. But never has he felt such bone-chilling fear.

He heads back up the steps with robotic movements numbly. Down the corridor. Into his office.

There is no one there, and the mess that has been made is moreso his fault than of the invisible thief—or ghost—but then Gabriel sees one of his locked drawers open and the contents inside dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

The next day, when Nathalie finds him out cold on the ground, he attributes it to the exhaustion and the amount of coffee and energy drinks he’d consumed. But deep down, Gabriel knows that it’s the terror that’s finally caught up.

Either way, he faints.

***

Gabriel is confined to bed by a very concerned Nathalie. She usually heeds to his instructions, but the rare insistence from her and his own fatigue lands him out of commission for the day. It doesn’t stop him, however, from giving her a set of instructions.

“First, my office,” Gabriel croaks. His throat hurts—he must’ve caught a cold as well. “Please clean everything up and reinstall the locks. And then… and then…”

He thinks of the missing files—three times—and grits his teeth. “Cancel the fashion week.”

Nathalie’s jaw drops open. “Sir—”

“I know,” Gabriel mutters. “I just… I’m left with no choice. I’ll reschedule. Make up some excuse.”

She dips her head. “Noted, sir. Is that all?”

Gabriel gives her a miserable nod. She’s halfway out the door when he remembers.

“Nathalie!” he yells. “Get me a shaman, too.”

***

“The fashion week is cancelled.” Adrien looks up from practicing piano. “Father is sick, I think, which might be why. Nathalie looked super stressed when I saw her before my lessons.”

“Cancelled?” Plagg echoes dispassionately. “Huh. That’s too bad, I guess.”

“No, that’s good! I mean, it’s not good that my father is sick and Nathalie is stressed, but… at least I won’t be hounded about preparations. I even got permission to go out today.”

“Huh,” Plagg replies. He settles himself into his wheel of cheese. “I guess you’re lucky after all, then.”

Notes: yeah idk what i wrote but master fu is the shaman they hire and he finds out gabriel is hawkmoth and arrests him and the end if u wanna know what happens next 

Here’s my fics masterlist! 

[likeshipsonthesea]

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive" for nurseydex?

heyyy remember months ago when i asked y’all to send in hozier lyrics as prompts and y’all fucking Delivered and i sat on my ass and did nothing??? (well,, two As and a citation in my classes but who gives a shit about that)

HERE IT IS. well. one of them. here one of them is. it’s weird and wishy washy and most reminiscent of my writing style from Forever Stained (remember that?) and nursey is mildly ooc and dex is Emotional and if you don’t know my oc luke it may be confusing for a bit but anyway it’s FUN and i hope y’all enjoy it

will be tackling the other prompts soon!! hopefully!! :]

warning for parental homophobia and older-person-young-person relationship (a 14 year old and a 17 year old, only in flashback)

The first night Dex is in New York, he dreams.

He dreams himself a house. A loud, angry house. The walls shiver, the floors ache. He drags his rough palm against peeling wallpaper until his fingers catch on the latch of a back door.

The night air is cold. It hurts, but tastes like water, and he chokes it down until his lungs close up. When he finishes swallowing, he is on a beach. The house is far away, a distant thrum in the back of his head. To his left is an outcropping of mossy rocks. To his right are the glassy waves of low tide. Behind him, he can feel, is a roaring fire.

If he turns around, he will find a ring of drunken teenagers cupping sixty cent beer like salvation. He will fade into their circle with little fuss and spend the night with sand in his jeans pockets wondering if he will ever be allowed to leave this place.

If he turns right, he will be chilled and damp and alone.

He turns left.

The rocks create a familiar path. The bottoms of the stones are encrusted with salt from high tide washing in and moss grows along their sides and tops, soft with stolen sunshine. The moss is smoother than the wallpaper and soothes his rough hands. Sand steals into his sneakers, irritating, but he continues to walk. He knows what is waiting for him at the end.

The house is all but silent, now. The bonfire’s warmth has evaporated, leaving the late autumn chill on Dex’s fingertips, his nose. He cannot hear his drunken peers and, more than that, he does not think of them. He tastes sixty cent beer and salvation and he has more important things to worry about.

After walking for hours, he turns the final corner, and there is a boy.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy says.

“Sorry,” Dex says. He dreams he is small. “I tried to be quick but—”

The boy shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now.” The boy grab Dex’s wrist. His fingers are cold. He pulls Dex close. Dex comes to his chin, stares up at him with a broken back neck.

Moments before their lips meet, Dex realizes what’s wrong.

“You’re not Luke,” he says.

Nursey doesn’t stop to respond. His mouth, on Dex’s, is cold.

Dex wakes up, shivering in June, in an unfamiliar bed. He wants to go home. He wants to call Nursey. He turns over, instead, and tries to fall back asleep.

*~*~*

“Is the apartment nice?” Ma asks, when she calls the next morning.

Dex bends to grab a water bottle from his fridge. “It’s clean,” he says, pressing the bottle against his red, sweating neck. “It’s in a good location.”

“It was so nice of them to set you up with a place,” Ma says.

Dex nods, taking a breath. “Yeah, I got lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Ma says. “You worked hard.”

Dex breathes.

“You’re breathing funny,” she says. Hesitant, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head at nothing. “Yeah, I’m fine, Ma. You just caught me right as I finished my run.”

“Oh. You must’ve been up early.” Dex doesn’t know what to say to that, and doesn’t really want to explain that he woke up in the middle of the night after dreaming a memory all twisted and couldn’t force himself back to sleep, so he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Ma asks, “Is there a nice running route nearby?”

“There’s a park close enough to go through.” He takes a quick sip of his water. “It’s nothing like home, though.”

“Well.” Ma fiddles with something—a pen or a piece of scrap paper in front of her. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“I know, Ma. I’m—I’m glad to be here.” 

“Good.” She lets out an audible breath. 

Dex can picture her, curled small against the phone, fiddling with a pen. She’s probably sitting in the kitchen, at the end of the table they squished in there. They use it as a kids’ table during family gatherings, but it’s otherwise just a junk surface for every odd end they bring into the house. Every few months Ma will get stressed at work, or worried about money, or someone in the family will get sick, and she’ll decide that it’s time to go through all the junk and keep the table clean for once, God damn it. Now, it’s probably half organized, half mess. She’d only started a week ago, when Dex got home from Samwell to pack for New York.

“Good,” Ma says again. “This really is a good opportunity. The company is great, right? And it will give you experience.” Dex hums, sipping his water. “And—and you won’t be alone, right? You have that—that friend of yours, Nurse something?”

Dex stops drinking. The water bottle sweats in his hand, one chilled droplet sliding down his skin. “Yeah,” Dex says, “he lives nearby.”

“Good.” Ma taps some more, with the pen. “Good.”

Dex puts down the water bottle and wipes his hand off on his gym shorts. “How’s cleaning going, Ma?”

“Oh. You know, it’s getting there.”

“This time’s the charm, I’m sure. As long as Dad remembers to keep it clean.”

“Yes, yes. He has to get better about that.” Dex breathes. Tries to think up another thing to say that won’t lead anywhere that makes Ma tap. He can’t think of anything. Ma says, “We all have to get better about things, though.”

Dex tangles his fingers in the fabric of his shorts. “I—I’ve got to go shower, Ma, but I’ll call you, okay?”

“Oh—okay.” She hesitates, and Dex thinks about just hanging up. “We love you.”

“I love you, too.” Dex picks up the cap from his water bottle. Ma doesn’t say anything more. “Okay, bye, Ma.” He hangs up, cutting her off in the middle of a second-too-late goodbye. He debates calling back to apologize.

He ends up leaving his phone on the counter, chugging the rest of his water, and stripping on the way to his shower. Whatever heat the run in the summer city air had given him has since disappeared, leaving his skin chilled, shivering.

*~*~*

The dreams don’t stop.

The next one is in a bathroom. Dex doesn’t remember the tile or the shower curtain with little blue whales on it, but he knows somehow that it’s Luke’s childhood bathroom. Downstairs a graduation party ensues, clean fun music simmering through the floorboards as Dex is nudged back into the wall.

Cold hands push under his shirt, nails catching. Cool breath hits his neck, wet, and he shivers. He is not drunk. He is worrying, about Luke’s parents, about the other guests. People here know him, know his family. This is a bad idea.

“We should go back,” he says, in the dream. He didn’t say it, back when this happened. “This is a bad idea.”

“You never go along with my ideas, Poindoodle.” Nursey laughs into Dex’s chin. “Come on, just try one play. I think we could make the two headed beast work.”

This is wrong, Dex thinks, and opens his eyes to the soft grey ceiling of his New York apartment.

*~*~*

“Good work so far, Will.”

Dex looks up from his screen as his boss raps his knuckles against Dex’s monitor. Dex’s fingers pause on the keyboard and he smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

Dex’s boss shakes his head. “Call me Hugh. I don’t feel old enough to be a sir yet.”

Dex inclines his head. “Thank you, Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, wide, and lifts his coffee mug. “Keep it up,” he says, and heads into his office. The walls of his office are see-through, all made of glass, and Dex’s eyes follow him without thought as he sits down at his desk. The building they work in is nice enough, clean, lots of glass that lets in sunlight. It’s nothing like Dex had been picturing, some dark room where they code for hours on end with no break. Dex likes it. Likes it here. Likes the people. To think such a thing feels almost like a betrayal, like he shouldn’t be enjoying this place of exile, but he can’t help it.

Dex returns his attention to his code. He lets the logic of the work soothe his brain, until thoughts of trading in worn wood for clean glass and disguised disappointment for blatant pride leave the forefront of his mind. He just works, and doesn’t think, and enjoys every moment.

Sometime later, his phone buzzes.

what’s up willy p, ready to hit the town this weekend :PPP

Dex stares at the screen until it goes to black. He turns over his phone and pushes it away, to focus on work, and two minutes later has to restrain himself from looking when it buzzes once again.

*~*~*

Not all of the dreams have Nursey in them.

“Good work so far, Will,” Luke pants into Dex’s neck.

They are in a car—Luke’s probably, it has the fancy leather seats and the driver’s side window isn’t stuck perpetually open. The air tastes like sweat and the windows are fogged, obscuring the beach outside with its black, freezing water.

Luke’s fingers scrape at the base of Dex’s back. “Keep it up,” he says, grin wide against Dex’s shoulder. “Keep it up, keep it up.”

Dex stares at the glassy waves. They loom ever closer, higher and higher tide until they reach the tires of the car. The air tastes more and more like salt until it’s dripping from his tongue. The car has filled with the sea. Luke is cold, like the water, and he keeps saying his lines, “Good work,” until Dex opens his eyes to a grey ceiling, alone.

*~*~*

On Friday afternoon, Dex texts Nursey back.

I’m not up for anything crazy. Still settling in.

Dex grabs his things—wallet, keys, sticky note reminding him to call Ma—and bids goodbye to the few left in the office, Hugh and a nice girl named Kate a few desks over he’s chatted with during their coffee breaks.

Nursey responds by the time Dex reaches the street. no p dude. wanna come over and watch a movie?

Dex falls into step with the endless, faceless mass of people. The city buildings around him cut into the sky, grey, unyielding. He needs something like fresh air.

What movie? he asks.

;) Nursey sends back.

Dex breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey’s brownstone is tall and clean and, surprisingly, cozy. Dex was picturing something styled out of a magazine, hard edges and white and unwelcoming. Nursey welcomes Dex into a house full of oranges and deep browns and yellows with a big smile. He’s wearing a t-shirt and Samwell branded shorts. He is not wearing socks.

“Dude,” he says, emphatic, and pulls Dex into a hug. “Feels like it’s been years, bro.”

Dex hugs back, automatic. “It’s been three weeks, Nursey. Chill.”

Nursey laughs, chest rumbling against Dex’s. His back shakes, sweaty and warm, under Dex’s hands. “Shut up,” he says, pulling back. “You’re allowed to say you missed me, too.”

Dex scrunches his eyebrows. “Did you say you missed me? I didn’t hear that part.”

Nursey laughs again. With all the colors around him, he looks like sunshine. Dex skitters his eyes away, blistering. Nursey coughs. “We’ll be in the living room tonight,” he says, walking towards one of the open doorways. Dex follows. “I’ve got snacks and shit, and my dad made food and put it in some containers before he left but I don’t know what it is.”

“He’s not here?” Dex asks, looking at the old concert posters on the far wall, next to a long stretch of built in bookcases, all filled to the brim.

“Nah, he left on a business trip on Wednesday. Mom and Mama have been gone since Monday. Date vacation.” Nursey flops onto a leather couch, plush. With limbs thrown about, he embodies coziness. Despite the heat outside, the air conditioner keeps it nice inside, and the idea of climbing onto the couch with him is irritatingly desirable.

“You’re here alone?” Dex asks, taking a seat on the other end of the sectional.

Nursey grins. “Not anymore, now that I have you.” He flutters his eyelashes at Dex. Dex laughs and says, “Shut up,” and doesn’t think about it any more than that.

*~*~*

When Dex gets home that night, after several movies, more than half of them Very Bad, full of popcorn and homemade food and laughter he’d forgotten the taste of, he gets into bed alone with his grey foreign ceiling and does not dream of anything.

*~*~*

“I’m glad work is going well,” Ma says, when Dex calls her in the morning. She’s on speaker phone, he can tell, while she works around the house.

“Me too.” Dex stirs the eggs in his pan. Eating Nursey’s dad’s food reminded him that he could actually use the kitchen in his temporary apartment. After his run, he decided to start easy, with breakfast.

“That girl you mentioned, Kate, she sounds nice.”

“She is.” He scrapes some cooked egg from the bottom of the pan and swirls around the yolks a bit. “She’s been working there for about two years now and she says it’s a nice place.”

“That’s good.” On Ma’s end, there’s some movement, probably throwing something out because there’s a soft swooshing sound, like the trash can makes. “Have you been able to do some fun things around the city yet? Maybe with your new coworkers?”

“Kate invited me out to dinner next weekend.” Dex turns down the heat and continues to scrape.

The movement noises stop. “Oh! How nice of her.”

“The restaurant is supposed to be really good. Her fiancé is the head chef there.” Dex checks on his toast just as they pop and he carefully plucks them from the toaster.

“Oh.”

Dex hums, dropping the toast on his plate and turning to find the eggs done. “I also watched some movies with Nursey last night.” He deposits the eggs next to the toast and then hurries to check the bacon before it gets too crispy.

“Oh. Your aunt and I wanted to see a movie, but nothing was playing that we liked.” Distantly, Dex hears tapping of something, probably as Ma cleans.

Dex pulls out the tray of bacon. “We didn’t go to the theaters, so we could just stream.”

“He came to your apartment?”

Dex uses tongs to transfer the bacon to his plate. “I went to his family’s brownstone.” Satisfied, he gets the pre-poured glass of orange juice out from the fridge.

Ma hums. “Were his parents nice?”

Dex gathers together his plate, utensils, napkin, drink, and phone onto a tray and carries it out to the living room. “They were traveling, but I’ve met them before. They’re nice.”

“Oh.”

Dex settles his things down on the coffee table and sits on the couch, refraining from digging in for a moment to admire his handy work. It isn’t amazing by any means, but since being home, since finals, the playoffs, even before that when the stove was temporarily disengaged, he hasn’t had a chance to make food for himself, really. He almost wants to snap a picture.

“Are you—”

Dex looks away from his plate, to his phone sitting next to it. He picks it up and turns off speaker. “What, Ma?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Dex drags his thumb against the case. Either the lack of AC or keeping up the call has made his phone heat up. Against his cheek, it itches. “Everything okay, Ma?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I just—” Dex hears the tapping, louder now that it’s in his ear. “I just want you to remember why you’re there. You’re working. This is for your future.”

The uncomfortable wrinkles appear between his eyebrows. “I know, Ma.”

“Good. I just don’t want you to—”

“To what, Ma?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Tapping fills the silence. “I’m glad you’re having a good time so far,” she says, quiet. “I’ll let you go. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ma hangs up. Dex drops his phone from his ear, hot in his hand now. He breathes for a moment and then picks up the tray. He digs into his eggs and, though they’ve just started to go cold, it tastes good enough.

*~*~*

He dreams he’s trapped under sheets.

Fingers curl in his hair, tight. His scalp hurts, but he keeps going, stops breathing. He’s smothered under blankets, but he’s shivering. Every time he tries to surface, the hands on his head hold him steady.

After long, long minutes, the sheets flood with saltwater and he breaks through the waves and gulps in air. The world is still freezing but he can breathe. He can breathe.

“Be quiet,” Nursey rasps, cold breath against Dex’s ears. “Don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Nursey is swallowed by the sheets and Dex is left floating, freezing, staring at the ceiling of his own childhood bedroom. The open window lets in chilled winter air that flutters the drapes, dark blue that blends in with the water he’s drowning in. Ma could walk in at any moment. Jay could hear them, just a few walls away. What if someone walks in? What would happen then?

When Dex opens his eyes, he’s staring at the grey ceiling again. He can’t breathe, even though the air is air, and not water. He grabs at his chest and tries to press down, like he could manually make his lungs work.

With his free hand he reaches for the nightstand, the light, and floods the room with yellow. He sits up, gasping, and knocks his phone off the table, disconnecting it from the charger. Grabbing for it, because it seems important in the moment, he sees there’s a notification.

y tf are safiya nygaard’s videos so entertaining

it’s fucking 3 in the morning and i’m watching her wear clear plastic jeans for a week

like wtf

Dex realizes that he still can’t breathe, but now because laughter is bubbling in his chest and clogging up his throat. He laughs, hard and long and unbearable, until his whole body aches.

He lies back in his bed, on land, now. He types back a message.

Who let you on YouTube this late at night? You know how easy you fall into holes.

The three dots appear within seconds.

i am but a simple man with no self restraint

The dots appear again, disappear, and reappear.

you would understand if you watched her

Dex grabs for his laptop, sitting by the foot of his bed. He double checks the name and clicks on a random video about a merged Ugg and Teva shoe.

What… I.. what? Teva Uggs?

ur watching!!

I don’t understand

it’s Art dexington appreciate it

Dex doesn’t end up falling back asleep for a while, and getting up for work that morning is hell, but when he lies back down in bed with a buzzing phone and too-bright computer screen, he’s not drowning.

*~*~*

Someone taps Dex’s shoulder and he turns to find Kate smiling pleasantly at him. He takes out one earbud.

“Break time!” she says.

Dex laughs. “Wouldn’t want to be productive for too long.”

“Exactly.”

He turns off the music he was listening to to concentrate—some Spotify playlist Nursey made him to “be more productive” that just tends to make Dex laugh at inopportune moments—and then he joins Kate in the break room as she talks at him about dinner the other night.

“George says to come back whenever you want, he loves when people love his food, it’s a little ridiculous.” She fiddles with the coffee maker as Dex grabs his smoothie from the fridge. He’s taken to making himself smoothies in the morning and bringing them in for his breaks, since he’s never loved coffee all that much.

“I’ve been telling my friend all about it and he’s begging me to take him now, so tell George he can expect me back soon. My friend is pretty pushy.”

“Perfect, then he’ll stop bothering me about it.” Kate reaches out without looking. “Could you pass the cream?”

Dex dutifully hands her the cream.

“You’re coming to the office party next week right?” She fixes her coffee the way she likes it and turns to Dex, sipping. Her eyes are wide and clear that Dex’s answer should and will be yes. It’s a bit like Bitty’s captain look and it curls something sharp and sad in Dex’s chest. Going back to school in August is going to be so very different without him.

“I didn’t know there was a party next week,” Dex says, licking excess smoothie from his upper lip. “What’s it for?”

“Jenny’s birthday. There’s gonna be a cake.”

“How can I say no to cake?”

Kate grins. “You can bring a guest, too. We need fresh meat at these things. Also if you don’t bring a date someone is going to try to set you up with someone and believe me, you do not want to get stuck on a date with Karen’s second cousin Stew. He’s basically the opposite of whatever a hoot is.”

Dex snorts into his smoothie. “Noted.”

Dex’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out without thinking twice. He doesn’t check it while he’s working and there are a few messages.

buzzfeed unsolved is THE SHIT

shane and ryan r defo u and me but i can’t tell who’s who. you believe in ghosts right??

ur homework is to watch every episode tonight and then come sleep in my apartment bc i’m scared af rn

Dex smiles and quickly types out a response.

Sounds like the writing is going well.

“Who’s that?” Kate pushes onto her tiptoes to look over the lip of Dex’s phone screen.

“My friend from school.” Dex keeps his phone out long enough to see Nursey’s response– f off– and then shoves it back in his pocket. “He’s supposed to be writing a short story for the publication he’s working with over the summer and he’s getting a little sidetracked.”

“Ooh, a humanities. How did we meet someone from the Other Side?” Kate grins into her coffee.

“He’s on the hockey team with me.”

Kate hums. “Hockey, I should’ve known.”

“Huh?”

“George and I were betting that you played some kind of sport. I thought basketball because you’re so tall, but he guessed baseball.” She scrunches up her nose. “Basketball’s closer, I think.”

Dex huffs, laughing a little. “What was the prize?”

Kate is staring at nothing, face scrunched up, and then blinks, hearing Dex, apparently. She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, I can’t tell you that, HR would have a fit.” She sips her coffee again and Dex can’t help the volume of the laugh he lets out.

*~*~*

In the next dream, the sun is high and bright and dead in the sky.

“You’re good,” Luke says, walking next to him on the sidewalk. The ground is too hard against Dex’s feet, even through his sneakers. He turns and Luke is Luke, but also Jack. They speak at once. “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere.”

“You really think so?” Dex asks. He is small. Short. He looks up at Jack and his neck aches.

Luke grins, all teeth. “I really do.”

Dex wakes up reaching for his phone. Two texts wait for him, and he breathes as he makes his shaking fingers type out a response.

*~*~*

“I can’t believe you work a block away from my favorite coffee shop and it’s taken you this long to meet me on your lunch break.” Nursey tsks, reaching over to steal a bit of Dex’s muffin.

Dex slaps lightly at his hand, but Nursey still escapes with a sizable crumb. “I’ve been here for less than a month, it isn’t that long.”

“It’s ages,” Nursey insists, fingers still in his mouth as he speaks.

Dex winces to smother his smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nursey retorts, and then sticks out his tongue to further prove it.

Dex huffs, sipping his smoothie to keep himself from doing something stupid, like responding. “How’s writing going?” he asks, when he’s taken his sip.

Nursey hums, swirling a mixing stick through his iced coffee. “Pretty good. I have a working draft done, but it needs some serious editing.”

“That’s good, dude. ‘Swawesome, even.”

Nursey grins around his straw. “’Swawesome,” he repeats. “C would be proud.”

“You talk to him recently?” Dex picks at his muffin.

“Yesterday, actually. Training is going well.”

Dex chews thoughtfully. “S’good. Last time I talked to him he was more worried about Bitty than the NHL.”

“Oh, he definitely still is.” Nursey laughs and makes another dive for Dex’s muffin. Dex deftly moves the plate out of the line of fire.

“It took him two weeks to pick a wall color,” Dex says, pausing to drink his smoothie. “And Jack must be drowning in all the tester bakes.”

“Let’s be real, though, if Bitty Bakes ever does open it’s gonna be the sickest bakery of all time.”

Dex inclines his head, slowly nodding. “Oh, I’ll definitely be spending my entire paycheck on imported pastries.”

“If you run out we can share my trust fund,” Nursey says, batting his eyelashes.

The laughter tastes so pleasant and—more than that—familiar on Dex’s tongue that he doesn’t even do anything as Nursey makes another grab for his muffin.

*~*~*

The worst dreams are ones that aren’t really memories at all.

It’s a beach, but the sand is blue and the ocean is clear and all Dex can see is sunshine, though he can’t feel a thing. Nursey is next to him and their hands are stuck in the sand, twisted together and hiding.

“I love you,” Nursey says, and it’s his voice and his words except not, because Dex knows it’s wrong, know it’s his brain that made it all up, and he starts running, slipping against the sand.

He trips and falls onto his knees and he looks up and it’s Luke and he’s grinning and looming and huge and he speaks, “Quiet, kid, quiet or they’ll hear you,” and for some reason Dex knows they is Nursey and he swallows every breath, worried it will sound like a scream, and when he wakes up he is, screaming, except no sound will come out and he’s just broken with his throat open and empty and—

He presses call without thinking and Nursey answers on the third ring.

“Dex—what—”

“Can you—just—” Dex swallows, tries again. “Just talk. Please.”

“Dex, what’s going—”

“Please.”

“I—uh. Okay.”

And he does. He talks, about the funny conversation he had with his mama today and these cool shoes he saw on Instagram and the pretty clouds he saw yesterday and this fruity drink he wants to try at a bar downtown that he’s going to drag Dex to whether he wants to go or not.

And sometime later, Dex falls asleep. He wakes up with his phone warm and nearly dead against his ear and a text from Nursey asking if everything’s g and Dex doesn’t respond, half because Nursey used g for good and half because he doesn’t know the answer.

*~*~*

His old running route in Maine took him through the woods. Past gnarled roots that curled, mischievous, and tried to trip him up, under a canopy of green that shivered in the early morning wind. He liked to wake up with the sun, at home, liked the quiet moments before the rest of town woke up and started looking at him. So he’d wake and run and take his path until the trees gave way to a dusky beach, accompanied by a barely awake sun.

A lot of the time, the water would still be smeared with the red hues of the fading sunrise, and Dex would stand and pant and stare and think about nothing, or Samwell, or—later on—Nursey.

It was a nice path, back home. Even if it would inevitably bring him back to houses that creaked under his footsteps, full of people that couldn’t look away until he met their gaze.

In New York, he runs against sidewalk. Smooth and uncomplicated, it brings him to a small park, with a few trees and some grass and, occasionally, some pigeons. He takes the path set out for him there and doesn’t have to think about winding roots, but does, anyway. He thinks about how easy it is without them, and how much he misses them, and wonders what that means before the adrenaline in his body pulses in his temples and he stops thinking of much all together.

He returns to his apartment and guzzles down water and makes himself breakfast and sometimes calls Ma and tries not to think about how different his life is here, tries not to categorize the things he misses, and the things he’s glad to be without.

He runs to forget, and it doesn’t always work, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try.

*~*~*

Jenny’s birthday party is, surprisingly, fun. Nursey texts him in the middle of the afternoon apologizing, saying that his meeting is running late and he might not be there in time, but he will be there. Dex, dejected, expects the party to suck, but when they all clock out and the cake is wheeled out on one of the trays they typically use for mail and Kate grabs the AUX cord for the speakers, things actually become interesting.

It’s not quite a kegster—nothing is quite like a kegster—but his coworkers are nice, funny people and the music is lively and the cake, while not Bitty’s, is pretty damn good. Nursey texts him intermittent updates with ridiculous comments and Dex, after Karen is drawn to the dance floor to Cotton Eyed Joe, takes up a spot by the wall with his cake and his phone and snickers down icing to type out a response to do you think they sell candles that smell like the subway.

Then, suddenly, Hugh pops up.

“Will, hi,” he says, holding his own plate of cake. “Thought I’d come over and say hello, now that Karen’s let you go.”

Dex swallows a bite of cake and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Oh, Karen wasn’t holding me hostage or anything. We were talking apple pie recipes.”

“Good to hear she wasn’t trying to get you to meet Stew.” Hugh leans in, secretive and exaggerated. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but he isn’t quite the catch she makes him out to be.”

Dex laughs, because Hugh is his boss and you laugh when your boss makes a joke. “I’ve been warned.”

“Good, good.” Hugh leans back, nodding. The silence hovers for a second, then he asks, “How’ve you been liking it here?”

“New York or the company?”

Hugh shrugs. “Either. Both.”

“New York I’m liking more than I thought I would. I’m from Maine,” Dex says, smiling in that way Nursey describes as country-boy-sheepish, “so I’m used to some greenery, but the city has its perks too.”

“Good, good!” Hugh grins. “I grew up in the country too. Northern Michigan. It sure is an adjustment. But I think it’s worth it.”

“Working here has helped,” Dex says, and if Nursey was here he’d probably cough to poorly disguise a kiss up but he isn’t really lying. Working here has proved to him that he would enjoy going into this field, and while he is keeping his options open, that’s a good thing to know.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Hugh says, gesturing haphazardly with his cake. “We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir—Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, and they stand there for a beat, two, and then he says, “Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but are you seeing anyone?”

Dex stiffens. Hugh isn’t—? He’s Dex’s boss, he can’t—is he? It’s like ice, gone down Dex’s back, through his veins. He wants to pinch himself, almost. Is he dreaming? But Luke never said those words before. But the dreams have been stranger lately. Is it—?

“Because my brother,” Hugh continues to speak, unaware, “just got out of college and I couldn’t help but notice the Bruins t-shirt you had on last Friday and he is the biggest hockey fan—”

Nursey is there, suddenly, and he’s right there, bumping his shoulder into Dex’s. He’s out of breath and smiling and warm and Dex leans back into him without thinking. “I am so sorry I’m late,” he’s saying, to Dex, and then to Hugh, “I’m sorry, I just completely interrupted you. I’m Nursey—well, Derek, but everyone calls me Nursey, so take your pick.” Then, to Dex, “Do you go as Dex or William here?” He scrunches up his face. “William. Ew. You sound like an uncle.”

“I was named after my uncle,” Dex says, vaguely.

Nursey nods. “Exactly.”

Hugh coughs. “My apologies, Will. I didn’t know—well. I see now.” He smiles, tight. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he says, lifting his cake, untouched, in parting.

“What was that about?” Nursey ask, peering after him obviously. “Ooh, is that cake?”

Dex hands over the rest of his second slice. He isn’t much hungry now.

“You will not believe my trip here,” Nursey says, beginning to eat. “It was, like, totally unchill, dude.”

Nursey hasn’t moved, still pressed up against Dex’s shoulder. Dex takes a deep breath. “Tell me about it,” he says, and Nursey does.

*~*~*

“—and all the ladies at church say hi,” Ma says, over speaker phone as she works around the kitchen. 

The table, a continuous project, has been tabled for now—pun intended—for the sake of getting the dishes clean. Ma has to yell over the roar of the faucet. Dex is doing his own tidying as he folds laundry and listens to Ma talk. She always did used to talk while doing chores, Dex following her around, soothed by the words and the humming and the simplicity. It’s been a while since they’ve done chores together, and the familiarity, the comfort, mellows an ache in Dex’s chest.

“They all worry for you down in the big city,” Ma says, scrubbing audibly. “They don’t like the idea of a sweet country boy like you surrounded by all that crime and greyness.”

“You can tell them I’m holding my own,” Dex says, which makes Ma laugh a little, the short chuckle thing that he inherited from her.

“I will,” she says. A small clatter comes over the line as she, presumably, adds a dish to the drying rack. “They’re all in a tizzy planning for the July 4th social. I’ve been assigned drink coordination, which really means fielding arguments between Mrs. McMahon and Mrs. Fielding about soda over spirits, even though we all know we’re going to end up with the same drinks we always get and one of the rotten teenage boys is going to spike the lemonade despite whatever ridiculousness Mr. Spaulding tries to rig up.”

Dex smiles, remembering. When he was a kid and accidentally drank some of the spiked lemonade and wouldn’t stop giggling the whole ride home, when he was a teen and helped his then-girlfriend Isabelle spike it herself, when he was back from college and roped into standing watch over the lemonade but let one of the teens through anyway, on account of tradition.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess who I ran into in the grocery store the other day,” Ma continues as Dex reminisces. He probably could guess—there’s only so many people in their town, after all—but he lets Ma tell it how she wants as he searches for the pair to the sock in his hand. “Do you remember your old hockey captain? Luke Rossi?”

Dex freezes with his hand buried in laundry. A chill runs through the apartment.

“I ran into his mother,” Ma continues without a response. “She looks great—she says it’s yoga! I wish I had the time for something like that. But she was telling me all about Luke—you remember him, he was your hockey captain back when you were what? A sophomore?”

“A freshman,” Dex says, rough.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, anyway, his mother was telling me, he’s working with some big company out in Boston. He’s engaged! His mother says the girl is sweet as all get out, a tiny little thing. And she’s one of us, a ginger!”

Dex sits back on his couch. Small. Ginger.

“His mother’s just thrilled. It must be so nice to have a son engaged. Jay’s been with Kelsey for years, but who knows with him. Maybe I should send him Luke’s way, let that boy rub off on him!” Ma laughs. “Maybe he could rub off on you, too.”

A sick kind of laugh bubbles up in Dex’s throat. He swallows.

“It was just such a surprise. I knew all those kids you boys were friends with in high school, but I never get to hear what happens to them after, really. Luke was such a nice boy, too. It was just nice to hear about him.”

Nice. Yeah.

*~*~*

He dreams he is swallowing ice.

Someone’s mouth is on his and their tongue is heavy, leaden. Dex’s mouth catches on it, too cold, and it rips the skin from his lips until they’re bloodied. Copper stains everything, his tongue and eyes, and it rushes until he can’t hear anything but the blood.

He tries to open his eyes, and between one blink and the next the boy above him shifts, blond hair and blue eyes and too many teeth, then green and smile and salvation, and back again, sickening, spinning.

He manages to push himself away, sits up in whatever bed, ocean, driftwood, he’s on. Ma stands in the doorway. “Luke was such a nice boy,” she says, smiling, laughing. “That friend of yours, Nurse something? Is he a nice boy?” she asks, frowning suddenly, eyes intent.

“You’re wrong,” Dex goes to say, but chokes on the blood on his lips. He looks back over to the end of the bed, where Luke or Nursey or whoever is sitting, except it’s not just them anymore, it’s Jack and Hugh and Bitty, even, and they’re all staring at him.

“Good work,” they say, “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere,” they say, “Keep it up,” they say.

“She’s one of us,” Ma says, “Maybe he could rub off on you,” she says, “Nice boy,” she says.

Through it all, he can hear Nursey. “I love you,” shivers down Dex’s spine, ice. Dex swallows and swallows and tries to push through the rest of the voices to find Nursey in the haze.

Dex wakes up running and doesn’t—can’t—stop.

*~*~*

The sky is dark and the world is dizzyingly bright when Dex knocks on Nursey’s front door.

By all rights, it should be too warm to stomach. Late June, with all these people stuffed into one little place, blistering. But Dex clutches his jacket to his body, shivering. He can’t get warm. He can never get warm.

“Dex?” Nursey answers the door with a frown. Dex’s eyes catch on it and can’t pull away.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“I—okay?”

Dex nods. He steps inside, around Nursey, and their arms brush. It burns.

“What’s going on?” Nursey asks, shutting the door.

“Are your parents home?” Dex turns around to face him. The door—big and green behind Nursey—brings out the deeper green tones in his worried eyes. Nursey’s eyes have always made Dex homesick. Now, he aches.

“No,” Nursey says. “Mom’s in Milan and Dad’s in Chicago and Mama—she’s somewhere in the UK. Why are you—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay?” His face is all scrunched and his hair’s a little messy, curls hanging over his forehead, and he’s soft in Samwell pajama bottoms and so fucking gorgeous and Dex’s whole body is shaking, shivering, freezing.

“I—I’ve been having these dreams,” Dex says, hands clenching in his pockets. “For months now, these—these dreams about—” He swallows and shakes his head. “And now he’s engaged and it doesn’t—it doesn’t make sense, he—he shouldn’t get to move on when I’m drowning every fucking night, I don’t—I—”

“Dex.” Nursey is closer. Hands up, palms forward. Frowning. “What are you talking about?”

Dex shakes his head, but all of him is shaking and he doesn’t—he shouldn’t have come here. His broken brain isn’t Nursey’s problem, just because he’s in New York doesn’t mean they’re more than what they were before all this. Just because Dex’s home isn’t home anymore doesn’t mean he can build one in Nursey.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I should go.” His mouth tastes like a panic attack. How did he make the decision to come here in the middle of the night?

“Dex.” Nursey grabs onto Dex’s forearm, a brand. “Sit down. Please.”

Dex stares at Nursey’s hand. He hasn’t been warm in—it feels like years, now. It feels like he went out into the Maine winter one year with a boy’s hand curled around his wrist and frost spread from that point out and he never got warm again.

“Nursey,” Dex says, the word broken like so many shards of ice, and Nursey’s grip on his arm stutters, hesitation. Dex, without thinking, breaks the hold, and in the next moment he has his mouth pressed against Nursey and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s—

Dex doesn’t know if he’s been alive, before this. The heat from Nursey’s mouth, soft and surprised and then—firmer, more intent, it warms him from the bones out, until his skin itches with it, sings. Dex sighs into it, slumps.

Hands come up to his cheeks, pull him back, so soft. “Dex,” Nursey says, quiet. “Can we please sit down?”

Okay, Dex thinks. He breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey makes them cocoa. In July.

Dex holds the mug between his shaking hands and explains, in starts, but mostly stops. I had this captain when I was a kid, he says, and then, not a kid, he says. Well.

“I was fourteen,” he says. “He was—older. I wanted—I wanted to be good for him.”

I was, he says, but doesn’t quite make the words work.

“Ma never knew. No one ever knew. Ma, though, she loved him. Thought he—brought me out of my shell.” He brushes his thumbs along the sides of the mug, takes a sip and licks marshmallow off his lip.

He jumps in time. “After Bitty and Jack—after the kiss, home wasn’t—home. Maybe before that, too, but—but after the kiss, everyone knew, they knew I was.” He shakes his head. “It was hard to be there. So I came here.”

She doesn’t, he says. She thinks, he says. “Ma thinks you’re gay, because you live in New York, and you go to Samwell, and it’s easier to think it’s—it’s you. Easier than thinking it’s me.”

Nursey holds back questions. Dex swallows. It’s me, he says. I talk about you. Too much. She worries. She thinks—she sees. Sees that I—that I love—hm. “She doesn’t like it,” he says, without finishing the last sentence. “It worries her. It worries me, I guess.”

He tries to put it together. The dreams—they pulled it all together. “She looks at Luke and she doesn’t—she likes him, he’s a nice boy, but he—he left me with all of these—these things, the things where I can’t have a normal relationship with my fucking boss, and all this—this cold in my body, and she doesn’t—she likes him when he is so cold and she doesn’t like you when you’re so warm and it just—I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was and how angry it made me and Nursey, it’s just—it’s so—you’re so–”

Nursey curls his mug-warm hand over Dex’s knee. “Hey,” he says, quiet. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dex says, and he can feel the way his eyes are rimmed red, itchy, and hear the hoarseness in his throat, and feel the way that Nursey’s hand burns against his skin, and he wishes that he’d done this different, more coherently, earlier.

“No,” Nursey agrees, “it’s not. But I—it’s late. And we’re both tired. We can talk more in the morning, if you want. But I think—I think we both need to sleep.”

Dex swallows. He tastes cocoa and gratitude and—thick, clinging love. “Okay,” he breathes.

Nursey leads him up to a bedroom filled with books. Mussed blankets encourage Dex into the bed. Nursey gets in on the other side. It’s cozy and the duvet is heavy against his aching body and the ceiling is blue and Dex is not alone.

Nursey curls his hand around Dex’s, under the blankets. Dex curls back, and squeezes.

“I love,” Dex says and swallows.

“I know,” Nursey says, close, breath hot against Dex’s skin. “Me, too.”

Dex closes his eyes. He may dream. He may not. Either way, when he opens his eyes, he will not be cold.

[voidselfshipp]

🌻Sunflower Au🌻

Summary: daemon falls in love with a woman, but he doesnt know how to flirt with her, shenanigans ensue.

《...》

John enters the facility, students come and go,coming in all shapes and sizes, his mother enlisted Him into this artschool, he thought that it would take more time off of him to do graffiti, but then he saw her.

She was with him in character design class,Brown hair, shaved back, green eyes with bags under them,and this big green sweater, and her name was jerico.

He couldnt Keep his eyes off of her, and that costed him the first few clases of the semester.

He needed to wow her,but how?.

Also, needed to add, that not only John was an artist but a vigilante too, pver the course of the years he took various martial arts and programming classes and courses, naming himself "Daemon"

So his brilliant brain came up with this idea.

Wow. Her. With. Your. Alter. Ego.

Altough, his relationshipp with her was going well,they worked togheter a couple of times, went to her place to work on the assigments of their shared class, and they had a pretty good friendship.

-You have a really iconic style john- jerico says as she replaces the water on the glass she used to clean her brushes- I cant quite place it,but there is something that when i see it I go" wow, thats John's work"-

She sits on the table and starts to colour another character.

-Well, yours is really iconic too-John leans back on his chair,finishing one of his sketches- they way you do the face , and the way you aply colors are kind of your trademark-

The woman blushes and shakes her head.

-Quite the Charmer, arent you-both share a chuckle and Keep working.

Hours go by and the sun sets, the moon appears on the horizon, and the stars slowly show themselves on the dark blue Sky.

-Im leaving, its late and my roomate is going to freak out- jeri says, tugging the sleeve of her green sweater.

-You sure?, this place can get dangerous at night, dont you want to stay?-john Asks leaning on the doorframe with on of his forearms, hanging over jerico.

-Please I dont want to bother, ill text you when I get home,okay?-

-You better do so, If not I wont be able to sleep tonight-

-Oh shut up- jeri playfully and softly punches him on his arm and says goodbye.

'I gotta make sure she gets there safe' John thinks , as he grabs his Gear, putting on his Oni mask.

His feet are silent as he runs on the rooftops, with his gaze on jerico, who non-chalantly walks back to her apartment ten blocks away from his.

Suddenly his eyes catch a glimpse of two men following her, he hums and observes,they dont seem dangerous,until one of them tries to steal jerico's backpack, she fights and squirms but the guy seemed to be winning the fight,until he lands on the ground and a set of shurikens pin both of the men to the nearest wall.

Then the grabs the woman and jumps, both run trough the roofs as he grabs her hand.

When the shady men finally stops pursuing them they sit, regaining their breath.

-Thanks for saving me and my bag there- she says, with a kind smile as she scoots closer.

-Uh, youre welcome, im, im--

-Oh I know! You've been in everyones mouth since you stopped those criminals some weeks ago!im so starstruck! I got saved by Daemon, THE daemon-

His cheeks heat up, If she only knew...

Or does she?.....

They sit there and chat a little bit,then daemon feels his body shiver, jerico seems to notice it as she takes off her sweater and hangs It around his back.

-You can give it to me later, ill be good to go, I have a spare one on my backpack,my apartment is just a block away-

-And how do you know I wont steal it?-both stand up.

-Because, you saved me-

They chuckle and say goodbye.

Jerico gets down the small building they were sitting on and walks, thinking of what happened.

When she gets home she finds her roomate sleeping on the couch,covering them jeri goes to her room and falls on her bed, quickly grabbing her cellphone and texting John with "you wont Belive what happened"

He sees the message pop up, as he sits on the windowsill of his house's attic window, were his room was, messaging back with" what happened?".

They Keep talking for hours until they both feel tired.

Tomorrow is saturday luckily, so they wont hate themselves in the morning.

[...]

Sunrays filter trough the blinds, daemon groans , covering his face with his hand as his half naked form walks downstairs , he hears two voices talking, but he is too sleepy to recognize them.

-John, put some clothes on, Jerico is here-his mother says

He suddenly jumps and with half-asleep , face looks at the woman, she is blushing as she contains her laughter.

Daemon bolts to his room, picking up an sleeveless shirt and throwing it on , then going on downstairs.

-its so early- he groans.

-Early?- his mother says-its twelve pm dear, its lunchtime, I invited jerico over, now sit, your friend has already set the table-

He awkwardly sits Next to jeri,muttering a hello.

-You looked cute- the woman besides him whispers- half asleep, messy,I dont get seeing you like that too often-

-Like what?-daemon asks.

-Vulnerable- she says- John, If you are trying to flirt with me,Like you've been trying these past month, Just be straightforward,no messing around-

The Mans face heat up,looking away as his mother serves the food.

-Was I that obvious?-He asks.

-Well child-his mother says- youre not EXACTLY that subtle-

-But its cute,trying to be so smooth, its nice-

They start to eat, and after it, jerico hangs out with John a bit, talking, playing some games, until its afternoon and jeri has to leave to help her roomate with some stuff.

{...}

A soft knock is heard on jerico's Window, she looks over to see her saviour from last night, daemon.

-c'mon, let me take you to a date-he says.

-Im sorry- the woman said looking at him-my heart is after my best friend, I really cant -

-Even if the person asking it is your own best friend?- John says taking off his mask- hurry up!,come on!-

Jeri chuckles and grabs her coat, opening her Window and slipping trough it, walking down the emergency stairs with her friend.

They laugh and jump trough the city and houses,running on the rooftops and climbing them until they arrive to the tallest building around,an abandoned three flored house,on its rooftop its a blanket and some candles.

-Its so corny,I know- daemon says holding jericos hand-you said to be Straight-forward so here I am-

-John I--

-Jerico, since I saw you, something is there, bugging me,pulling me to you like a magnet,I cant help it, eveytime youre near me, I have this urge to hug you, and be close to you, you are my best Friend, and I, I love you, so much...I want to be your boyfriend,but the desicion is yours to make-

-Yes,just yes, shut the fuck up and kiss me, now-

-Like , l like now, right now , now-

-Jo, did I stutter?-

Daemon pulls her on a kiss, walking backwards to the blanket and laying down on it

-took you long enough-jerico said.

-Oh shut up, If you knew that I was daemon,you would already be at my feet-

-Oh but I knew, the design?the voice?they made me realize from the moment I saw you, not even the voice disruptor on your mask can disguise your speech patterns-

-So wait,thats why you lend me your sweater?-

-Uh duh, of course,youre the only one who has my permission to touch it, even go near it-

Johns face burns red as he hides it behind his hands, Rolling on his side-

-Im such a dumbass-

-my dumbass-jeri says, hugging him from behind.

They stay in silence for a bit.

-Youre a sunflower- John mutters with his eyes half lidded.

-I think your love would be too much-

-Oh you'll be left in the dust-

-unless I stuck by ya'-

Youre a sunflower

John chuckles and kisses Jerico's forehead as they sleeply sing to eachother.

Youre a sunflower

~●~

[mitchmarnier]

when tomorrow comes (i’ll be on my own)

rating: mature

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier

summary: Richie pushed himself up on his elbows and smirked. “You know, Eddie my love, we suddenly have great potential right here. Don’t you remember what it was like? Back in Derry… all the sneaking around, the thrill of getting caught all the time? What an adrenaline rush!” 

“What a constant risk of anxiety attack you mean,” Eddie corrected, but he was grinning too. “But yeah, it was pretty exciting. What’s your point?”

“What if… and really hear me out here, Eds… we just let them think we were broken up?” 

chapter count: 1/5

“Hey, buddy, how you doing?”

Richie Tozier tugged one earbud out and looked up at his room mate in confusion. He and Stanley Uris had grown to be good friends in the last two years that they’d been together in the college dorms- though, Richie had been surprised when Stan had been willing to agree to room with him a second time. They were all salt and nothing sweet, such different souls in one confined space, it was very rare that they were ever particularly gentle with one another. It was only ever when something was seriously wrong that they’d drop their harsh outer friendship and show through what they really were- best friends who cared deeply for one another.

Richie couldn’t think of anything that would have caused Stan to drop his sodium levels. He wracked his brain of everything that had happened over the last forty eight hours, but it threatened to give him a headache. He couldn’t focus on that and his English Lit paper. “I’m fine? This paper’s a killer, though. Mathers can suck my dick.”

A worried crinkle appeared between Stan’s brow and Richie’s heart picked up slightly. Had something really bad happened and Richie had just totally forgotten? Oh shit, had he repressed some sort of terrible experience from today? Did Stan know something that he didn’t, what-

“Pats and I are going to Floats tonight for dinner,” Stan broke through Richie’s internal panicking’s. Stanley had recently started going out with a girl from his Algebra course, though it had been a nearly year long struggle for Richie, having to watch Stan pine over her when it obvious that the girl had been just as smitten. For whatever reason. “Did you want us to bring you back some curly fries? I know they’re your favourite.”

Richie’s eyebrows disappeared completely behind his moppy bangs. Stanley has never, not once in the nearly two years they’d known each other, offered to pick up food for Richie. No matter how much Richie had begged him to. “I- Yeah, man. That… That’d be great. Thanks?”

Stan nodded once, and reached out to squeeze at Richie shoulder, before turning and walking from their shared living space. Richie shook his head slightly, confused but also looking forward to Floats’ curly fries, he’d barely turned back to his computer before his phone was lighting up. Beverly Marsh’s face lit up the screen and Richie almost declined, assuming it was a butt dial. Beverly Marsh did not make phone calls, that was just a known fact.

“Bev?” Richie inquired lightly, hoping that he’d get to listen in on some sort embarrassing private conversation and not Bev getting busy with her boyfriend. Richie had been burned before.

“Hey, Rich! How are you doing?” Bev’s too-chipper voice rang through the speaker and Richie had to frown.

“Why is everybody asking me that?” Richie asked, hearing the whine in his voice. “I’m peachy fucking keen. Nothing wrong on Rich Bitch front.”

Bev made an annoying sympathetic noise on the other end and Richie really did feel as though he were going to tug his own curls out. “Ben and I got Infinity War on DVD.” Bev continued. “Did you wanna come over and watch it with us tonight? We can cry into giant bowls of popcorn then obsess over online theories on how its going to get resolved.”

Richie hummed. “I would love to, Bev, but I actually have to get this stupid fucking English Lit paper done or I’m going to flunk out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Beverly sounded almost disappointed… no, not disappointed? Worried? Maybe worried. “Text me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Sure, Bev,” Richie said, pinching the brim of his nose. “Whatever.” Richie clicked end on the call and tossed his phone onto the comforter. He only looked at his blank document for a moment before grabbing his phone once again and scrolling through the contacts.

to: angel baby boy: hey bbyy im super fucking stuck on this damn English lit paper can i come over plsssss ill love u forever

from angel baby boy: you’re already going to love me forever but ofc doors unlocked see u soon *kiss emoji*

Richie scrambled up from his bed, throwing on what he knew were Eddie’s favourite pair of grey sweatpants, and started throwing his things into worn down backpack. He’d had it since early high school, and he knew he was going to tear a hole right through it soon enough, but he couldn’t be bothered to get a new one before that happened.

He’d only bounced out the door to his dorm before he almost ran smack into Audra Phillips. He hadn’t known the girl long, she’d only transferred to their college a few months earlier, but their majors ran into very similar circles and he’d only seen more of her since she’d started seeing Eddie’s room mate, Bill. She was a nice girl, if not a little bland, and Richie enjoyed her company. She was, of course, not somebody he expected to see standing outside his dorm room with two cups of Starbucks.

“Hey,” she said, blinking up at him. She almost seemed that she was as surprised to find herself here as Richie was to see her. “I brought you a coffee? Chocolate mocha frapp, right?”

Richie made a happy noise and took the cold drink from Audra’s awaiting hand. “Dude, I love seven dollar drinks. What do I owe this tongue-numbing pleasure?”

“I figured that the English Lit paper was kicking your ass,” Audra said lightly. “Amongst… other things. Thought I’d be friendly.”

Richie crinkled his nose up, green straw almost in his mouth. If one more person implied that something was wrong when Richie had absolutely no idea what that could be, he might actually start screaming. But Audra was smiling so sweetly at him, and as far as Richie knew the girl had never done anything wrong in pretty much her entire life, he just nodded at her and thanked her again for the drink. They exchanged a few more civil pleasantries before Richie excused himself and made it the rest of the way to Eddie and Bill’s room.

Eddie was seated in his bed, surrounded by his mountain of yellow pillows and wrapped up in his soft green comforter. Eddie had, without a doubt, the most comfortable bed Richie had ever been in. That was, possibly, a little bit of a bias but it was true. The only good thing that Richie thought Sonia Kaspbrak had ever done- besides actually giving birth to Eddie- was insisting he get so many pillows and blankets to make his dorm bed safer for her Eddie Bear. Eddie seemed to hate it, tossing most of the pillows to the foot end of his bed when actually going to sleep, and using the green comforter only, but Richie absolutely loved it and Eddie always put the pillows back at the head when he knew Richie was coming over.

Richie had known Eddie easily as long as he’d known anybody. He supposed the only people he would have known longer were his parents and older sister, meeting Eddie at his orientation of kindergarten. The older they’d gotten, the harder Sonia Kaspbrak had tried to push them apart, and all the closer they’d grown. By seventh grade, it was almost impossible to find one without the other. RichieTozierandEddieKaspbrak. Richie had probably been in love with him even back then, but they’d only made the jump to boyfriends near the end of sophomore year. Despite a few short, drama-filled fights and break ups, they’d been together ever since.

“So, did like… my mother die and everybody forgot to tell me?” Richie asked, chocolate coffee dripping down the corner of his mouth.

Eddie startled, sitting up on his pillow mountain and shoving his laptop aside. “What? What happened to your mom? Rich-“

“No! No, no,” Richie started shaking his head, dropping down beside him. “Mags is fine, she texted me this morning. I just… I’ve had the weirdest fucking afternoon.”

“So you decided you’d make a joke about your mom dying?” Eddie squawked, cheeks starting to turn pink. “What the fuck, Richard?”

“I just…” Richie sighed. “Bev invited me over, Audra brought me coffee. Stanley offered to bring me home curly fries from Floats? I am like… dying and don’t know it?”

Eddie shook his head slightly, frowning, before slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Fucking Bill…” Eddie chuckled. “Do you remember last week when you forgot about breakfast and I was super pissed? Didn’t talk to you all day?”

“Uh, yeah, vividly.” Richie grumbled, jutting out his bottom lip. “You’re the one who tried to make plans with me when I was half asleep, you know. You should know better than that after 18 years, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “But no, I was super pissed off and I ranted to Bill. I might have sort of said I was going to break up with you. Guess he thinks that I did… and he told everybody.”

Richie’s mouth dropped open. “Everybody is being nice to me because they think I got dumped? What the fuck! Why would you tell Bill you were going to break up with me?”

Eddie shook his head and took Richie’s hand in his. “I tell you I’m going to break up with you twice a week. I didn’t realize that somebody else would take it so seriously. We’ll just tell everybody that we didn’t break up, or that we got back together, or whatever…”

Richie pushed himself up on his elbows and smirked. “You know, Eddie my love, we suddenly have great potential right here. Don’t you remember what it was like? Back in Derry… all the sneaking around, the thrill of getting caught all the time? What an adrenaline rush!”

“What a constant risk of anxiety attack you mean,” Eddie corrected, but he was grinning too. “But yeah, it was pretty exciting. What’s your point?”

“What if… and really hear me out here, Eds… we just let them think we were broken up?”

Panic moved quickly across Eddie’s face. “You want to break up? Richie, what the fuck, since when, why didn’t you-“

Richie clapped a hand over Eddie’s panic-rambling mouth. “No, no, shut up, I don’t want to break up. Ever. Jesus Christ, no. I’m just saying… if we let everybody think we’re broken up, we could have that thrill of sneaking around again. It could be fun, you know, keeping it a secret. Kind of kinky, definitely hot.”

Eddie still didn’t look convinced, but his cheeks had started to warm up under the idea. “It would never work. You couldn’t pull it off.”

Richie made a loud, offended noise. “I couldn’t pull it off? You’re the one who won’t be able to keep their hands off all of this.” Richie gesturing up and down his body, waggling his eyebrows.

“I’d fake puking right now, but you’re wearing those stupid grey sweats and you know I’m weak for them,” Eddie muttered under his breath, looking highly put out. Richie burst out laughing and draped himself around Eddie’s mid-section. He pressed his face into his stomach and blew a raspberry over top of Eddie’s T-shirt. “Admit it, Eddie Spaghetti, you would absolutely blow it before I would. Without a doubt.”

Eddie tangled his hand in Richie’s messy curls, pushing him away from his stomach, but keeping his fingers deep in the curls. “Care to put your money where your trash mouth is, Tozier?”

“First off all,” Richie grinned before bouncing forward and kissing Eddie deeply. He dug his teeth into Eddie’s body lip and tugged slightly. Eddie made a small whimpering noise when Richie pulled back, when only caused Richie grin to grow. “You love my Trashmouth and all the trashy things it can do. Secondly, when have you ever known me to turn down a bet?”

“Not often enough,” Eddie looked mildly horrified, no doubt remembering the stupid ass things Richie had done on bets and dares in the many years he’d known him. “But we can discuss the arrangements of this bet you’re going to loose those your fucking pants off?”

Richie cackled.

[halfshelled]

I have been waiting for this moment my entire life... How do the boys function as a team? And does anything that Draxum says to them actually affect their team dynamic?

BOI

i have been thinking about this for ages get ready for the ramble of your life

the boys in the Draxum AU have extremely tense and complicated relationships, especially when they’re with Draxum but hopefully i can put them into words well enough here SO

im gunna start with the actual team dynamics for when they’re on missions/in training and then go into more personal interactions

for ease of reference since donnie isn’t a fighter raph, leo, & mikey will be referred to as The Soldiers and i’m gunna put this under a read more because its gunna be LOOOONG

OFF WE GO!

Donnie doesnt go on missions or train with his brothers. he did when they were younger (they all started extremely young, like roughly 5-7 years old) but once he showed not only an interest in but an extreme aptitude for mechanical and biomystical science he stopped training and instead draxum took him under his wing as a lab partner/apprentice. the praise and pressure from draxum towards donnie was the first big wedge driven between the brothers

The others were taught how to fight individually before Draxum began having them spar with each other and eventually allying himself with Big Mama for more intensive work fighting in the Battle Nexus

Raph is a defacto leader of the Soldiers since he’s the biggest (most physically imposing + raw strength) and the oldest (been training the longest). He doesn’t say much and doesn’t usually need to, quite literally following “actions speak louder than words”. He doesn’t see his brothers as competition quite the same way Leo does but rather takes great pressure on himself to be the strongest to protect them, whether they need it or not. His destructive power is the one thing he’s certain he’s good for but it’s driven a fear of hurting his brothers and a refusal to show weakness.

Leo falls in as a second in command but Draxum and Big Mama’s comments (direct in Draxum’s case and indirect in Mama’s) tend to undermine his ability compared to the others and foot him as the underdog nobody really believes can win. His specialty lies primarily in his agility and stamina, especially as his greatest chance in a fight against Raph. He’s extremely jealous of the other Soldiers and has a deep rooted inferiority complex towards them because of how often he’s put down as a drag on the other two, especially after the loss of his leg.

Mikey is happy to be the follower in the group despite clearly being Draxum’s favorite warrior. Mikey’s early cockiness and pure skill/intuition at besting the others in combat quickly led to him being separated from them during training as individuals. Draxum is extremely hard on Mikey during lessons and it’s burnt out a lot of his confidence. He’s got a perfectionism streak a mile long and it eats at him every time he feels he’s made a mistake, especially when he sees his older brothers all cover and take the fall for him.

Raph & Leo are constantly pitted against one another in sparring, far more so than either of them have been pitted against Mikey combined (though they are occasionally set up as a team against Mikey). They rarely talk to each other and they both see one another as reckless and selfish. Despite their pointed differences in combat styles, strengths/weaknesses, and personality they’re really rather similar at their cores but because of the rivalry Draxum’s set for them they can’t slow down long enough to see it. Both of them want to be better warriors to take care of the others and above all want to prove they’re worth something like they feel Mikey and Donnie have. They butt heads and have torn each other up pretty bad, but they’ve got to watch each others’ backs and have a silent pact to keep on eye on the other two. At the end of the day, they have an understanding of each other that begins rather shakily but grows incredibly strong after the boys escape to the surface.

Raph & Donnie do not get along. They weren’t particularly close as kids and the isolation of both of them from one another hasn’t helped, self imposed or otherwise. Some of the rare occasions they interact are when Donnie is testing some new invention/weapon or when they’re on caretaker duty for Lou Jitsu. Raph doesn’t trust Donnie half as far as he can throw him for numerous reasons (primarily his proximity/loyalty to Draxum and his opinion that D’s betrayed the Soldiers and thinks he’s better than the three of them). He only yields to Donnie’s demands to give him medical treatment when he’s too damaged to refuse or Draxum steps in to force Raph to sit still for 30 minutes and let Don work. Donnie on the other hand finds Raph’s stubbornness and tough guy attitude incredibly annoying since it’s an obstacle and he knows he’ll have to fix whatever Raph breaks, whether its an actual object or his arm again. One of the things they have in common though is that more often than not they’re going to be awake. They’re both the first and last ones asleep on any given day.

Donnie & Leo are fairly close despite not being able to interact often. Leo doesn’t see Don as competition and isn’t afraid to talk to Donnie about weakness or issues he’s having. Donnie finds trying to explain his process to Leo a good way to find issues in any places he gets stuck while working. It gives each of them a chance to be talkative even if just for a little bit out of the day. They confide in each other openly and since both of them strive for Draxum’s praise in differing fields they often provide one another with pointers to try and improve. They’re ideology and morality scales can make it hard for them to see eye to eye on some subjects and when they disagree they disagree hard and it puts both of them in a set of bad moods that rival tornado season thunder storms.

Donnie & Mikey don’t connect much but they’re never hostile. Sometimes Mikey’s high energy can rub Donnie the wrong way, especially if D’s extra sleep deprived. Donnie knows Mikey can get freaked out by all the medical stuff so he tries to explain it and lets Mike ramble because he knows it helps calm him down. A lot of their interactions are short and somewhat stiff since they don’t have as many opportunities to bond. Draxum expects highly of both of them and they have an unspoken bond over it, occasionally exchanging a few jokes about it to try and lighten one another’s mood and keep their collective mind off the stress. Like Leo & Raph, they end up becoming closer once they escape. They both shoulder a lot of confusion and anxiety about if it was the right thing to do and Mikey helps ease Donnie into the idea of starting from scratch while Donnie helps Mikey adjust to his newfound need for structure when they’re suddenly without any.

Mikey & Leo have one of those dynamics where they’re constantly exchanging quips and snarky responses. A pair of speedy acrobats, they tend to run circles around their oldest brother and together can drive Raph up a wall, especially when they decide to team up and take over a mission instead of listen to him. They do get along but it can be hard for them to be genuine with one another. Draxum’s instilled each of them with the belief that they aren’t on any sort of level playing ground together and they’re attempts at crossing the gap are awkward at best. It’s not uncommon for them to misinterpret one another’s kindness as patronizing and get into a spitting match over it. Leo’s intensely jealous of Mikey and Mikey often feels like Leo purposefully tries to exclude him. The duo can more or less be summed up in the phrase “it’s all fun and game until someone loses an eye” as they metaphorically street race one another at any given chance.

Mikey & Raph are extremely close in a similar way Leo and Donnie are. I’ve mentioned in passing before that Mikey tends to climb on Raph whenever he can get away with it and that it’s a security blanket act for the both of them. It’s a silent exchange of personal weakness between them. It’s a reminder to Raph that his brothers trust him to take care of them and not just fight for them while it lets Mikey be childish and solidifies his place as a member of the family in his own eyes. Mikey manages to get Raph to talk a little more/talk more freely about what’s on his mind and distracts him from all the weight on his shoulders as the protector. Raph meanwhile allows Mikey to be quiet or afraid when he needs to as well as indulging in his little brother’s need for physical affection. They help one another escape momentarily away from the need to fit in their roles and process their emotions, whatever they may be.

[dodosinsane]

Cheer up Florence Nightingale

Pt 1

Dared. As in the past. Daring. I was never afraid.

Night. I run , all sweaty. Footsteps. Somebody reeking of alcohol . A corner. Black corner.

I always wake up to the same dream. Panting. Sweating. But always stuck in the same place. Not daring. Not moving. Stiff.

I always wake up to the same dream, or how to put it .. nightmare. Or maybe not. A bad reality.

"Cheer up Florence Nightingale"

And so i get up. I am Flor , a twenty year old girl , Flor. I have a disorder. A few.

First: i am very repetitive. I like to call this a mental disorder so i can justify myself for always doing the same things.

Second : i am forgetful. I called this a trauma of something i dont really remember, you know , forgetful.

I have no memory of some past events. I dont remember half of my senior year of highschool.

Third: I dream of situations that never happened. In a repetitive way.

Fourth: i have no talents. Zero.

So i say , cheer up Florence Nightingale. Who is she and why i call myself that way? She was a war nurse in 17-th century. She was also called The lady with the lamp. When i was little and when my father used to came from the war , he would always try to do things for our home late at nights , like fix a chair , the grass outside , the roof. So sometimes at night i would flash a light and try to help him , so i was the lady with the lamp. He would tuck me to bed and tell me that Florence used to stay up all night long and try to heal the wounded solders , that she was daring and capable of everything. Just like me.

"How do you know"-i used to ask "How do you know she was daring , you never met her ? "

He would just laugh it off , but then again he would be so trusting and innocent back then, he also thought i was capable of anything. He never met me now , 20 years old , a loser.

I didnt get to become a nurse. I didnt get to become anything. I filled out tons of applications, jobs , trainings , everything.

Name: Flor Davison

Gender: Female

College : None

Other languages: None

Computer skills : average

Special talents: none

Dreams: a lot , but not that you would be interested in.

I get up to do the same things i did yesterday. Eat , watch tv , go search for jobs, eat, have basic interactions with my mother, text one single friend i got that studies abroad, sleep.

I did the same today.

I got up and went to buy a newspaper. I saw something on the yellow pages , an assistant at a first aid center. They didnt have an email address just a phone number , so i called them.

They didnt ask for much except height , weight , gender and age.

-1.67, 54, female, 20.

-Your parameters fill the criteria , so you can come tomorrow for the final screening.

That was a first. So i patiently waited for tomorrow.

I brushed my teeth, fixed my hair, put on clothes and went.

-hello im Flor , we spoke on the phone?

-Yes, im Grace yes, so you were the first to call and we were sort of in a hurry so we didnt have time for an official screening an interviews. You were lucky ,i guess..

She had short hair and big glasses , round and thick , like the ones you would have made fun of if you were in highschool. Small and a little chubby . Her face showed a few wrinkles ,she was 35 maybe? She looked unfocused and easily frightened , a nerd.

-So umm this is the room , the supplies are all here , if something is broken you have to report it . You dont have troubles with watching blood huh? I hope not ,the last girl was troublesome honestly, too weak at heart.

-Unm, Its an assistant right ? I will keep notes and timetables?

She looked confused.

-No its more like a -she paused and went to the desk to take a newspaper. -That idiot Jersey. I clearly told him not to do that anymore. There we go wasting time again.

She looked at me like she was doomed .

-Sweetie look, you are supposed to help the teacher on giving lectures , you see he gets easily distracted and has tons of other things to do . So there are different classes . First aid, blood sampling , medicines , how to treat a wound. You know. But since i said the professor is easily distracted , he cant talk while performing , he can only do one thing at a time , and thats what your job is . He talks you act , he acts you talk. But no pressure , if you want to leave its okay we are used to it , no biggies.

-Its not that, its more that i dont know what to do or say, im have 0 information.

-Oh yeah sure, stupid of me. Here. -she disappeared and came back after a few minutes with a handbook and two Cd-s

-So you can read these and watch the videos here. Its a recorded class. Its what you are going to do today. So the salary has 4 zeros just in case you were wondering.

Four zeros was a big thing for me , a first thing actually. Would i die to try it out. Whatever. Of course i would say yes.

I took everything in my hands. She smiled and said that my first class was at 2 pm. It gave me 4 hours to prepare. It would be a blood collecting and processing . How hard can it be? I went home and played the videos. There was a young man , more than a professor explaining. He looked cheerful but concentrated. Black hair. I couldnt see his face because he was performing but i saw the girl . She had red hair and blue eyes. Such a pretty combination. I memorized a few words. Three ways of collecting blood , needle , skin , pinch. Great , i got this.

When i arrived the professor was already there. He didnt even look at me but said to bring him the tools.

I went to the supply shelf to get them but they weren't there.

-whats taking you so long ? -he asked with a not so patient kind of voice.

-They arent here.

-what?

-They arent here , they should be in the supply room.

I ran there and searched for the tools but they weren't there. Grace wasnt in her office . Instead i find a note that said "back at four". Great .

I went to class to let the professor know.

-Are you dense? -he shouted

-Excuse me?

-The first thing they tell you when you come here is to report if something is missing and you cant even do that.

-Um im sorry but im new here and umm...

-and ? I should cut you some slack ?

The damned ignorant was getting on my nerves.

-no its my first day and probably the things went missing when the last girl was here , how was i supposed to know. As i said im new.

-You have been saying that you are new for the past week.

He still didnt turn his head to look at me.

-well if you would look at me you would know that its my first day .

He turned his head and his brown eyes stared at me. Confused and dreamy.

-Who are you?

-I am Flor , the new girl.

-Well Flor todays class is canceled .

-Umm what should i do now?

-call the students , what else?

He turned his head and started writing his notebook. I didnt have his attention anymore so i went to Graces office and started to make calls. She came at exactly four pm and by the look of it she already knew the class was off. She handed me a list of a few things i should do and sat in her chair ignoring me.

Clean. Rooms , supplies , print sheets , prepare for the next class which was tomorrow at 11. The building wasnt small, but it looked dead. Not a lot of people. It was two floors and white painted. It looked like a school but it smelled like a hospital. After seven i started seeing people and hearing noises amd Grace would lead them to a door that i didnt have access to. Not that i cared.

I didnt see the professor anymore. Come to think of it , he looked so young , maybe 26 but he had a tired and pale skin and not so strong arms.

Grace told me my shift ended at 10 but if i had finished i could leave a little early. So i left at 9 and went home.

I told the news to mom. I told her i was an assistant. She didnt ask anything else but she seemed pleased.

I texted Brianne. I feel asleep

Cheer up Florence Nightingale.

[metricanxiety]

i’m the narrator and this is just the prologue

Pairing: phan its the only thing i write lmao

AU: uhh, dan is a writer and phil owns a cute lil store? idk what thats called but thats what it is

Warnings: SMUT. Its not too bad tho. Swearing, Mentions to religion and awful humans, sin. 

AN: send me requests im begging you. 

---

Dan sat in front of the laptop on his desk, a hand holding his head up, and the other goose-pecking the keyboard, typing the final pages of the chapter he was writing. His editor gave him a deadline for the chapter two days ago, and was desperately trying to finish the dam thing before his agent came to off his head. Dan had already gotten many threats that they’d drop his project if he didn’t stop dropping the deadlines they were setting for him. But he’s already released successful novels, proven that they really don’t give a shit about the deadlines, but rather don’t want to make the readers wait longer for a book that is already beginning to get hyped up. 

His first novel was about his fiance’s childhood, but majorly fantasized. It’s about a little monster trying to escape the civilization he was raised in because his parents didn’t love him for the path he chose in life, to begin a family with somebody unapproved his parents didn’t like. A fantasy about gay rights. But would you expect anything less from Dan Howell?

As a firm believer in writing based on real life experiences, Dan was now writing a realistic fiction novel about a girl growing up in a super religious home, but realizing the beliefs she was brought up in isn’t actually what she believes, and how she over came the problems it brought. But he was stuck on a chapter, trying to make the story more interesting in the middle bits with a little bullshit. It wasn’t his strong suit, which is why he wrote about real experiences. Phil, his fiance, had earlier in the week that he should write a sexy novel, because Dan had plenty of experience in that to write a book about it. Dan laughed, but he could never imagine publishing such an erotic novel, knowing his future children may read it someday. 

The sun had set a while ago, leaving only the bright lights of London, and Dan’s laptop screen, to illuminate the room. Phil was due to be home any minute now, Dan had received the text about fifteen minutes ago that he was leaving the shop, which was about a half hour tube ride from the flat they owned downtown. They use the word own very loosely. Yes, the flat was theirs, but the mortgage was being paid paycheck to paycheck, since most of their money was being used towards the shop, and bills. But they made it work. 

Dan typed the final sentence of the chapter, she slowly, but surely, fell into the sweet slumber, the final one she would have for a long time; the storm was just beginning to form. It reminded him of how he felt when he was sixteen himself, discovering his identity. A tough subject for him, but can be empowering to young readers, so he forced himself to submit it to his editor. He still had another chapter due tomorrow, as they were trying to wrap this book up quick to release to the public, and well, so Dan could have a little extra pocket change than he does right now. Despite his previous successful novels, he actually didn’t have too much in his savings. Living in London is no joke for the bank account. 

He began the next page, but didn’t get halfway through the first sentence when he heard keys hitting the metal door to their apartment, and the familiar squeak of Adidas on the wood floor. Phil was home, which meant Dan could actually enjoy his dinner with the man he loved. It had been sitting in the oven on a low heat to keep it warm.  

“Dan? Are you in the bedroom?” He heard Phil call out. It was nice to hear his voice, as Dan is left alone for hours every day until late at night, when Phil would finally join him. They owned the store as well, but Phil had to be there four days of the week, except for Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays. He trusted the manager, which was Dan’s cousin, could handle it without an owner’s supervision. 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec, dinner is in the oven.” Dan pulled a pair of pajama pants on over his boxers. It’s not like Phil hasn’t seen it before, but they were about to eat, might as well have some modesty. 

As Dan exited the bedroom, he was met with the open floor plan of their small flat, and Phil crouched down to try and get the tray of food out of the oven. He was in a navy blue button up, with white polka dots. Black jeans, and a red bow tie. He always dressed nice, even if it was just to go sit in the office of the store. He loved Phil for that. 

“Hey, love.” Dan smiled, walking over to help Phil, getting the tray out himself, and placed it on the stove. Phil stood up with him, placing a hand on the small of Dan’s back, and pulled him in for a kiss. “How was your day?”

“Busy. Which is a good thing. With Christmas coming up, everyone is wanting something from us. Cards, candles, you name it.” Phil said. He always referred to the store as his and Dan’s, but Dan didn’t really do much own there. It was mainly just Phil’s store. When Dan tried telling him this, Phil kissed his hand and said what’s mine is yours, my love. “How about yours? How is Angela doing in her quest to be her own person?”

Dan laughed, getting out two plates to serve the lasagna on. Phil leaned against the counter, making the space slightly crowded, but Dan didn’t mind being close to Phil. Especially when this is basically the first time they’ve seen each other today, besides Phil kissing Dan goodbye while he was still asleep. “Awful. I just submitted these past chapters to Haley when she wanted them two days ago. I still have a few to write to send her tomorrow.”

“Productive day then? I know you barely started the beginning of those chapters yesterday.” Phil wrapped his arms around Dan from the back as Dan used the spatula to serve the food on the plates, but was having sight trouble from the cheese being so stretchy on top. Phil kissed the back of Dan’s neck, the small short hairs tickling his nose as he did so. Dan had goose flesh cover his body, as his neck was very sensitive to him, and Phil always took advantage of it. 

“Kind of. I don’t know. Been struggling a little lately. There’s so much hype being built for this novel and I don’t know how well it’s going to turn out if it’s rushed like this.” He grabbed a few forks, and lead Phil over the the small table they had against the wall, and sat across from each other. 

“Take your time, I’m sure they won’t mind, they know you only care about the quality of the book.” Phil took a bite of the lasagna, exhaling in delight. “Thank you for dinner, babe.” 

“No problem. Didn’t take that long, and I had quite some time to kill anyway.” Dan jabbed slightly. Phil left extra early today, because he usually eats breakfast with Dan before he leaves for work. Phil needed to leave a little early today, however, because Sarah had something come up and couldn’t do it herself. 

“If you’re referring to breakfast this morning, I’m sorry. Sarah couldn’t make it in time, and I had to go open.” Phil reached over for Dan’s hand. It may seem ridiculous, but they were so close, their relationship was so valuable, that even eating breakfast together was important to them. It was the perfect start to their days. 

“No. It’s okay. Just wasn’t expecting to wake up to an empty flat.” Dan smiled, squeezing Phil’s hand.

“I know. I wasn’t expecting to be leaving so early either.” He paused. “But I’m home now, right?”

“Yeah. I know. But you know how I am.” Dan looked down at hid food. Phil knew he had trouble being alone for long periods of time, even though he did it every day. Dan thought too much, worrying about everything, which is the main reason he’s a writer. For example, if Phil doesn’t text him back within an hour of the text being sent, Dan starts to think that something bad happened to Phil, and that he needed help because Phil is usually very diligent about answering his messages. Dan says he thinks too much, but everyone knows it’s because of his anxiety. He hated being alone for so long because he doesn’t know if he’s letting his life go to waste by not going out with Phil, or going to visit friends more, and him being alone makes him feel guilty. Its a system they’ve been trying to ix for a while now. 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Many people would call Dan controlling, or clingy due to this, but that was not the case at all. Phil knew Dan just needed that extra bit of information to feel safe, or know that Phil himself is safe. He doesn’t want to worry Dan more than he already does. 

They ate in silence for the rest of their dinner. Sometimes saying nothing has the loudest impact, and in this case it was. Just being in the presence of the other was enough for them. Phil collected the dishes, cleaned them, and put them away. It was about nine o’clock, and they didn’t really go to bed until around ten or eleven. Dan would sometimes go back and work on the novel while Phil did some basic chores around the house, or even catch up on some reading. But as Dan was walking toward the bedroom to finish his daily writing, Phil stopped him, grabbing his hand and spinning him back to face Phil. 

“I love you.” Phil smiled, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waste. Dan smiled, pressing his lips to Phil’s in a sweet, long kiss. 

“I love you too.” 

They kissed again, it wasn’t perfect, or calm. It was actually a little bit sloppy, because they had kissed each other so many times that there could be no bad kiss between them. Phil slipped his hands into the waistband of Dan’s pajama pants, resting them on Dan’s ass. He knew Dan thought it was ridiculous that Phil loved just grabbing, and holding Dan’s butt, but Phil found it quite funny that Dan thought that. Dan’s hands rested on Phil’s chest, slightly tweaking the bow tie around Phil’s neck but not doing much to actually take it off. 

“How about I make it up to you, for missing breakfast?” Phil suggested, resting his forehead to Dan’s. Dan was just a few inches shorter than Phil, making cuddling, and these type’s positions favorable to Phil. Dan quirked an eyebrow, moving his hands to the tie again, and began making a small effort to undo it. 

“Hm, depends. What are you going to do?” Dan asked, joking. He kissed the smile off Phil’s face, pulling the tie off Phil’s neck, and letting it drop to the floor. His arms snaked over Phil’s head afterwards, running his fingers through the dark black hair that belonged to the man he loved. Their sex life was calm, as they didn’t believe that they needed to have sex every other day to be happy, but when they did, the night was always extra special. 

Phil let Dan undo every button of his shirt before he began backing them into their bedroom. He shrugged off the button up, and began to help Dan out of the jumper he had on. They liked to take things slow, and savor every minute they had of the other. 

Phil pulled away for a minute, leaving Dan to sit on the bed, as he rummaged through the drawers, and shelves. He found a candle that he out on the dresser across the room for the bed and lit it with the matches he found in the bedside drawer. 

“You don’t need to do that. Dan said, laughing slightly. He began to pull off his pajama pants completely, so Phil didn’t have to do it, but left his boxers on. Phil shook his head, unbuttoning his jeans and kicked them off.

Phil pushed Dan to his back, laying half on him, half not, but still held himself up, so he wasn’t crushing Dan. Dan pushed the hair out of Phil’s face, tucking, what he could, behind Phil’s ears. 

“Hi.” Phil said, pressing their noses together.

“Hi,” Dan repeated, closing the gap between their mouths. Dan loved this part of the night. Where things were still beginning to heat up, but could still be stopped comfortably if one wasn’t totally up for it. Tonight however, was not one of those nights. It had been a few weeks since they last did this so it was relieving to be doing it again. 

Phil positioned his hips on top of Dan’s, moving them lightly, grinding down every few seconds. Dan threw his head back, getting the pleasure gently consume him, and Phil took the chance to attach his lips to Dan’s neck, and nibble at the sensitive skin. 

“Phil-” Dan exhaled, gripping Phil’s hair gently. He could feel how turned on Phil was, and he had no doubt that Phil could feel him. Dan was usually extremely quiet during sex, so when Dan said Phil’s name, it surprise him. 

They kissed again, mixing in their tongues, biting lips, and they became very touchy, Phil ran his hands up and down Dan’s side, stopping every now and then to poke, and tease his nipples. They had been together for so long that they knew exactly what made the other feel good, and enjoy themselves. 

“You realize that next week, its going to mark six years.” Phil said, his sentence rushed, trying to avoid making any unwanted noise. He made them plenty already, but he didn’t want it to interrupt him. 

“Holy fuck.” Dan said, smiling. They kissed again, sweetly. They can go from hot and heavy, to tame, and sweet in three seconds, just from the mention of their anniversary. Phil ground his hips down on Dan once more, bringing them both back into the lust, both wanting the same thing. 

Phil lifted his hips up, and ran two fingers around the waistband of Dan’s boxers, folding it over once, before pulling them off and over his long legs, leaving Dan completely naked. Phil kissed up Dan’s torso, nipping at a few spots that would make Dan’s breath hitch. “Top?” Phil asked, but Dan shook his head, Usually, Phil would top, but he always gave the option to Dan, wanting to make sure he wasn’t forcing Dan into a position he didn’t feel like doing. Almost always Dan would decline the offer. 

He reached over to the side table, grabbing the bottle of unscented lube, and a condom out of the little box they kept in the drawer. After having sex for six years, they never got tired of the basic ass shit they do. They were only really kinky on special days, like birthdays, or holidays, such as Valentine’s day or New Years. But any other time than that, they only really wanted each other, and would take it in any shape or form they could have. 

Phil took off his pants as well, and kissed Dan to keep the heat they had. He gave Dan a few strokes as they did, making him squirm and dig his blunt nails into Phil’s back. Phil kissed along Dan’s jaw, giving small pecks before biting at the skin right under his ear. As he did so, one hand grabbed the bottle of lube, skillfully popping the cap and squeezing some onto his fingers. He sat back on his heels, helping Dan wrap his legs around Phil’s waist. 

“I love you, Dan Howell.” Phil said, smiling down at Dan. Dan responded by sitting up and kissing the smile off Phil, holding his face with his hands. “There’s nobody I’d rather spend my life with than you.” Phil didn’t usually get so mushy and sweet during this, but Dan wasn’t complaining. He’d struggled with finding somebody to have in his life since his parents basically rejected him after coming out. Phil had gone through the same thing, which is what they first ‘bonded’ over, if you could call talking about your similar problems in life with someone as bonding. 

They didn’t spend too long on stretching, as Dan was use to the burn it caused, and eventually learned to treat it as pleasure. Phil tore the foil packet next to Dan’s bicep, and role the condom, hissing from the relief he was feeling from the slight contact. Dan pressed his lips to Phil’s forehead as he aligned himself, and began to push in. 

Dan’s nails dug into Phil’s skin, the other hand in his hair, pulling on the black locks, but still trying not to hurt him. Phil didn’t mind Dan’s reactions, however. He knew this part hurt like a bitch and he was willing to sacrifice his comfort if it meant Dan would be enjoying this more. It’s all he cared about, really. 

“Phil-” Dan’s voice was airy, like he didn’t even know he was talking, or making any noise at all, as if it were just a natural reaction for his body. Phil waited when he was fully inside Dan, letting him adjust. Phil bit Dan’s lip, pulling it lightly, and let it ping back into place, making Dan quite literally yank Phil’s head down to kiss him. Phil’s hips began to move, in and out, starting small, until he built it up to using his full length to thrust. 

Phil rested on his forearms, straddling Dan’s head on the pillow. They were both panting, overwhelmed with pleasure. Phil let out breathy moans every now and then, which gave Dan butterflies in his stomach. Even after six years, it still made him blush knowing that he was making Phil feel this goof, even though Phil was doing most of the work. 

Their noses bumped, making Phil smile, a reminder of the past, where the would only give each other Eskimo kisses, instead of real ones. They were super careful about their relationship at first, especially since Dan was only 19 when they started dating, and still living under the roof of his parents house. 

Phil would drop him off a few blocks down the street, and even though they wanted to so badly, they didn’t want to risk being caught in the prestigious neighborhood, or area he lived in, It was a really religious part of the London suburbs, and Dan couldn’t venture too far out beyond it, as his parents made a rule, even though he was an adult, they told him that if he were to live under his roof after betraying his own upbringing, and being a homosexual disgrace, that he was to follow the nitty gritty rules his parents set, and if he were to break them, he’d be kicked out. Those rules included no boys, or boyfriends. That was the only rule Dan broke that summer, before officially leaving to move in with Phil. To this day, his parents still have no idea that Dan isn’t living alone. They even had the courtesy to tell him that his first novel was “too much against the people who raise you to be who you are.” Dan would never be able to make them happy, and he was okay with that. 

Dan ran his nails along Phil’s back, maybe even breaking skin, but the feeling was just too good for him to stop, he could stop thinking about Phil, Phil, Phil so good oh my-

Dan let out a noise, almost a squeak, before he came over his stomach, and Phil’s. Phil finished not far after, into the condom. 

For about fifteen minutes, they just laid there, catching their breath, cooling down. But also just being together. They would peck the others nose, or kiss their hair, and just be the romantic cliche couple they are. 

They eventually cleaned up, and got on a fresh pair of pajamas, and after blowing out the candle, they realized how late it was. Phil chuckled, wrapping his arms around Dan who had sat at his desk, opening up his document again.

“Love, it’s almost eleven. You need to sleep.” Phil said, kissing his cheek. “C’mon, come cuddle me.”

Dan couldn’t turn down that offer, spinning his chair around, and standing. Phil invited him under the covers, which Dan had freshly washed due to his procrastination today. The fresh scent of the duvet made them both feel cozy, and at home. Phil wrapped an arm over Dan’s body, pulling him into his torso. Dan nuzzled Phil’s chest, kissing the bare skin, before muttering a ‘good night’. 

“Night. I love you.” Phil said, turning off the lamp next to him. 

“I love you more.”

ello yes dis is the end

i realy like this one actually???? ig idk lol

SEND ME REQUESTS IT WILL MOTIVATE ME TO WRITE HHHH

[call-of-quileutes-blog]

When it Happened.

Here’s my second request! I hope enjoy

(also shoutout to @masochisticlion for helpin ya gurl edit and coming up with the title im useless w/o you abigail)

Request: EmbryxReader where the reader is his imprint but she already has a boyfriend

The sound of the floor creaking under my heavy steps made an echo through the hall as I attempted to sneak my way through the dark house; my head snapping back towards my mother’s bedroom in fear that she had heard me. I held my breath, waiting for her to emerge from her room, pissed off at how late I was coming home; again. I stood there frozen for what felt like hours, but was really less than thirty seconds, before releasing my breath and tip-toeing to my room. I fell face first onto the bed I outgrew last fall after the transformation, turning to my alarm clock and seeing it was just past three in the morning. I groaned and planted my face into the pillow, falling asleep instantly.

The blaring of my alarm jolted me from another night of dreamless sleep. I reached up to hit the snooze button, still too tired from last nights patrol to get out of bed just yet. I rolled onto my side, cocooning into the comforter, considering just skipping school for the day. It was Friday, anyways, and what's one day? My eyelids began to droop and I was almost back asleep when my door slammed open and I sat up in shock.

My mother stood in the doorway, looking like she was about to erupt. She was already dressed and ready for work; her arms were crossed and her jaw was clenched. Her charcoal eyes burned into my own and she didn't even have to say anything as I made my way out of bed and to the bathroom to shower and get ready. She waited outside the door as I got dressed and stood by the table as I ate some dry wheat toast and old coffee. She still didn't say anything as she pointed to her old, beat up hatchback in the driveway and grabbed my book bag, making her way out the door. I followed her in silence, too scared to say anything.

She didn't say anything the entire drive, up until we were stuck in the drop off line, where she tore me a new one about staying out late with my friends and getting into trouble.

“…just don't make the same mistakes I did, that's all—“

“Whoa, wait,” I interrupted her, confused and honestly, a little pissed. “What mistakes?”

I didn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it did when I saw her flinch slightly out of the corner of my eye. Her cheeks flared up and she opened her mouth to speak again, but then closed it, then opened, then closed; like a fish. I was growing impatient waiting for her answer while she fished around her brain to find a way out of her little flub. Before she could respond though, we had pulled up to the front of the line, and she audibly sighed in relief.

“Have a good day at school, Em.” She leaned over and kissed the side of my head before ruffling my hair and grabbing my book bag out of the back seat.

I forced a smile. “You too, mom. Love ya.”

I got out of the cramped car and stretched my legs, making my way through the sea of copper skin and jet black hair. I could feel their stares as I made my way to the old building and it made my cheeks heat up. It had been more than a year since my growth spurt but they still looked at me like I had grown a second head. Not to mention that rumors of the pack taking steroids still plagued the reservation, much to Sam’s annoyance.

Muscle memory took over as I opened my locker and tossed my back pack in, grabbing a notebook and a pencil, before slamming it shut. I turned around to see Jake and Quil barreling down the hall towards me while the other teenagers scrambled to get out of their way. I chuckled at what the other kids probably thought we did; starting fights, drug use, fu—

“Em, did you do the algebra homework last night?” Quil asked as I fell in step beside him as we made our way to home room.

My face paled a I turned to face him. “We had algebra homework?”

His mouth fell open and he started at me blankly. “Dude.”

My head fell back and I groaned. “What the fuuuuuuck. I was out patrolling ‘til three this morning.”

Jake slapped my back as some sort of sympathetic gesture as we entered the classroom. Our classmates idle chitchat growing quieter as we sat down. The irony in their fear of us was almost hilarious since we were the ones who protected them from constant threat of leeches. I'd look at them and remember what my life was like as a normal teenager who wasn't always grounded for sneaking out late and coming home in the early hours of the morning. My heart ached thinking about a normal life, but knowing that they could all live happy human lives because I helped keep the vampires at bay lifted my spirits.

“So, can I copy that homework or what?” I asked, eyeing Quil from across the table.

He rolled his eyes and fished it from his folder, sliding it across the table to me.

My body felt heavy as I rolled out of bed. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and it read1:34PM. I stretched, feeling stiff and groggy. I had to patrol late again last night because Jared had to resolve a fight he and Kim had gotten into after school yesterday. I rolled my eyes thinking about it, but still felt a twinge of jealousy. Jared had imprinted almost immediately after returning to school after his phase. Paul had imprinted on Rachel. Sam and Emily. Quil and Claire. Jake and Renesmee. I fell back on my pillow and tried to force the feelings away. I was still young and had plenty of time to get my life together before I found my soulmate.

I sighed and pushed the covers off the bed, making my way to the kitchen. I was starving after having to patrol two doubles in a row. I searched the cabinets and fridge but all I could salvage was a stale bagel and a bowl of Raisin Bran. My mom had left last night after dinner and still wasn't home yet. My mind wandered as to where she went but I pushed the thoughts away. I really didn’t want to know. All that mattered was that she was safe wherever she went.

I put on a pair of cutoffs and an old tee shirt and made my way to Emily and Sam’s. They would definitely have some food. It was brisk out, but my unnaturally high body temperature shielded me from the early winter conditions. Luckily, it was just overcast and it hadn't begun to rain yet. Not like that would affect me either; my wolf form kept me from getting sick ad helped me to heal quickly. Basically, I was virtually indestructible.

The small cottage was in my sights and I could already smell an assortment of different baked goods coming from inside. My mouth watered and I broke into a jog.

I burst through the door and ran to the kitchen. Half the pack was already there, devouring the freshly made pastries. I fought Collin over a chocolate chip muffin, pushing him to the ground in triumph, and heading to the couch. I plopped down, kicking my feet up onto the abused coffee table, pulling the paper off the bottom and eating it in two bites. I was still hungry, but didn’t want to try my luck against anyone else. There'd be more food later, anyways.

Quil sat down next to me, handing me another muffin. I nodded at him in thanks as he shoved a whole donut in his mouth, getting crumbs all over himself and the couch. I rolled my eyes at his habits and bit into the pastry. I instantly spit it out and a coughed, throwing the sad excuse for a baked good at Quil.

“Dude, poppy seed? Seriously?!” He snickered as I pushed myself from the couch and walked to the kitchen to get some water to wash the taste from my mouth.

Emily caught my arm as I was reaching for a glass and I turned and gave her a questioning look.

She smiled up at me and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Embry, do you think you could run to the store for me?”

I groaned as I filled the cup with water from the tap. “Like, literally run there or—“

She shook her head and held up a pair of keys. “No, no, no! You can take Sam’s truck!”

I pondered her request; I didn’t really feel up to it after having to pull two doubles in a row, but on the other hand, Emily did take care of us without complaining.

“I'll make a batch of chocolate chip muffins just for you!”

And there was the leverage. I sighed, grabbing the keys from her tiny hand, and held out my palm for her list. She placed the folded paper gingerly in my hand. I opened it up and it fell almost a foot down. My eyes bugged and I looked from the list to her, smiling sweetly as she dug through her purse for some cash.

“Thank you so much, Embry! It really does mean a lot to me.” She cried, giving me a side hug.

My shoulders slumped as I made my way through the house and out to Sam’s old F150. The engine roared to life and I made my way to the closest grocery store which was almost 20 miles away. I drummed my fingers against the wheel to the alternative rock song that played on the radio; musing about how I would've already been there if I had just ran in the first place.

As I came up on the Forks/La Push border, I noticed a car with its hazards flashing. It had begun to drizzle at some point on the 15 minute drive, and there was a person sitting on the bumper getting drenched. My heart strings began tugging in sympathy and I groaned as I pulled over. I threw on the emergencies and hopped out and made my way over the sedan.

“Hey,” I called out to the person sitting in the rain, and their head snapped up. We made eye contact, and that's when I felt the whammy. My head was spinning, but also could only focus on one thing; them. My mouth went dry and my heart fell to the ground as I realized what was happening. “Shit.”

“What?!” They yelled to me over the downpour that had started sometime in the five seconds since I had gotten out of the truck.

“Uh, um, I saw your hazards and was seeing if you needed any help.” I told them as I walked closer. My body craved to be as close as humanly possible, but my mind knew that I would come off as a psychopath, so I tried—seriously, tried—to keep my distance. They were shivering from the rain and I wanted to wrap them in a blanket like a burrito and carry them home and just keep them close and warm and protected. I ran my hands over my face in frustration at this situation, as the rain began to somehow come down even harder.

“Oh.” They shifted awkwardly on the bumper, looking away to the empty road. “Er, uh, well, my boyfriend is actually on his way to pick me up with a tow, so…”

I felt my face fall and tried to recover. Boyfriend. They had a boyfriend. Of course they did. I tried to thinking logically. I'm supposed to be whatever my imprint needs. Whether it be a friend, a lover, or a protecter. And they obviously needed a protector right now.

“Well, I'll wait with you until he gets here, if you want. It's pretty dangerous out here.” I tried to comply with the situation at hand, even though I could feel my heart breaking with every uncomfortable shift they made. “I could even take a look at your car if you want. I know a thing or two.”

They glanced around uncomfortably and sighed. “I mean, I guess. You're not, like, a murderer, right?”

I snorted. “Definitely not. So what's wrong with it?”

“It just…won't start?” It came out as a question and I couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Lemme take a look.” I said walking closer and they hopped off the bumper and opened the door.

They put the key in the ignition an tried to turn it, but all that came out was a loud gurgle. I asked them to pop the hood, and they did so. I took a closer look and nodded to myself.

I shut the hood and turned to see them nervously biting their nail. The rain had lightened up a little bit and I could see their hair sticking to their face, their eyebrows knitted together, and staring of into the distance deep in thought. I smiled to myself, wondering what they were thinking. What did they think of me? Did they like me?

Oh. Boyfriend. Right.

I attempted to push the imprint from my mind. “So, it looks like its just your battery. If you want, your boyfriend can bring it by my place and I can take a better look and fix it for the cheap. A mechanic will milk you for all you have, when it's really a cheap, easy fix.”

They turned to me, confusion painted over their features. I searched their eyes for something—anything—but I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. They just stared at me blankly. I dug my toe into the ground waiting for some kind of response, but they just stayed silent; and the silence was heavy.

They cleared their throat. “He has a guy, but thanks, uh…”

“Embry.” I smiled even though I felt like I was spiraling into the seventh sector of Hell.

“Thanks, Embry.” They held out their hand, and my own engulfed it. Touching them felt like a million volts of electricity flowing through my veins, and I never wanted to let go.

As soon as it had happened, they let go. “I’m Y/N, by the way—oh. Here he comes now. Better late than never, I guess.” They chuckled lightly under their breath as they stepped away from me and waved down a pair of headlights.

The tow truck pulled up and I got back in Sam’s truck. I sat there for a minute while they loaded the car onto the trailer. I felt like a million bees had made a home in my chest as I watched them pull off their soaked parka and exchange it for a dry one their boyfriend had brought. I then felt the bees die inside me as I saw him take their face in his hands and give them a gentle kiss on their forehead. The smile that illuminated from them made my heart somehow soar and deflate at the same time.

They began to climb in the truck, but turned back to give me one last look as I sat in the cab. They waved and gave me a small smile, and my heart burst. I felt a wide range of emotions as the tow pulled away and I made my way back onto the road; the most prominent was the gaping hole of incompleteness I felt in my chest.

[sillyfleur]

clara and hanniel for 18 and 20 because i love them so much

one month later, i finally finished! i never forgot abt you im just bad at doing things in a timely manner. ty for the request, ily!

18. Things you said when you were scared

The thing about traveling across a demon-infested desert with a target on your back is that you run across a lot of, you know, demons. Many of them were corrupted versions of otherwise harmless animals, like the hound that almost killed Clara when she and Hanniel first met. They were low level, so the angel always made quick work of them.

This one was a bit different.

A scorpion three times Hanniel’s size sprung up from the earth not far from where they’d just broken down camp. It was a mottled black and brown, with heavy claws and a wicked-looking stinger. It swung at Hanniel, who met the attack with their sword, barely denting its skin. Hanniel brought their sword down, attempting to cut the appendage off but getting scooped up by the other claw. The scorpion began to tighten its grip and the angel cried out.

Jon grabbed Clara by the waist to keep her from running towards them.

“You can’t help them,” he said. “You’ll end up dead.”

Clara tried to pry him off but Lucas was stronger than her. “We have to do something, we can’t- I couldn’t stand it if they-”

A loud boom caught both their attentions. Through her tears, Clara saw Hanniel, splashed in black blood, lying in the sand. The angel’s hands were glowing, and the scorpion’s claw was gone, a mangled mess. The scorpion made a screeching noise, quickly crawling towards Clara and Jon, who simultaneously cursed.

Wailing, the demon reared back, readying its stinger. Clara shrieked. She and Jon dove in different directions as the tail came down.

But it never did.

Clara opened her eyes, and Hanniel had grabbed onto the stinger, their hands slowly losing that glow. The angel pulled, throwing the scorpion a good distance away, the end of its tail coming off in their hands.

“Holy shit,” Jon said, mouth agape. Hanniel ignored him, walking towards the scorpion, picking up their sword on the way.

The demon had landed on its back, rocking side to side, trying to flip over. It shrieked as the angel came near, rocking faster. Hanniel didn’t waste any time in the killing blow, stabbing the thing in the head. And the desert was quiet.

The angel sheathed the sword, walking back to the prophets, where Jon was losing his mind over how cool that was, and Clara’s hands were still shaking.

“Hanniel,” Jon started, “has anyone ever told you you’re a badass?”

They gave him a blank look, opening their mouth to say something and suddenly falling to their knees. The prophets ran towards them, Clara getting on her knees to grab Hanniel’s shoulders. The sticky black blood burned her hands, but Clara didn’t care. Hanniel’s eyes wouldn’t open.

“No,” she said. “Hanniel wake up, you can’t let a shitty scorpion kill you. Jon, help me, maybe- maybe it’s the blood. Do you have a towel?”

Jon threw down his bag and started rummaging through it, and Clara cradled Hanniel in her arms.

“Please, please don’t go. We can’t make it without you.” The prophet looked up, briefly thinking of praying before glancing at Jon. He’d found a piece of cloth and doused it with water, kneeling down to clean Hanniels skin and armor.

“How do you even give first aid to an angel?” He asked.

“I-I don’t know, you think I’ve ever tried? This is so shitty, I’ve never really had anyone to care about like this and now a giant ass scorpion might have killed them, I hate this. I hate this desert.”

“God,” Jon said, sitting back and running his hands over his head. “I know- wait. Someone you-”

Hanniel coughed, turning away from Clara before going into a coughing fit, black blood leaving their mouth. Where their hands touched the sand it turned into glass, the glow emanating from their palms again.

“Are you okay?” Clara asked, scared to touch them. Hanniel wiped their mouth, giving the prophet a strange look before nodding.

“Fine… I’m fine.” They said, voice thick. Hanniel started to cough.

Lucas fished out a canteen of water, and the angel took it graciously, flushing out their mouth before taking a drink. Jon went to put stuff back in his bag, saying “Clara help me out.”

She did, handing him crumpled clothes and other random bits.

“So are we… going to talk about that?” he started, and Clara shook her head.

“There’s nothing to talk about, I was just… scared.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Clara looked at the angel, whose eyes were closed again, breathing deeply. Their armor was still smudged with blood.

“Can we drop it? I’m not pouring out my angst to you.”

“Alright, but just know if there was an angel I liked, I’d tell you about it.”

“Oh shut up.”

20. Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

They found a small, abandoned chapel a bit before dawn. It was the only building they’d seen with some semblance of a roof, so they all decided it’d be the best place to rest during the day. Jon and Clara made a couple of cots in front of what was left of the pews, and Hanniel went to stand at the altar. They ran their fingers along the pulpit, wiping away the dust.

Jon gave an exaggerated yawn, curling up the floor. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m so sleepy.”

Clara yawned too, and Hanniel set their sword on one of the pews.

“Sleep,” they said. “I’ll be here.”

“You’re just going to sit down and watch us for eight hours?” Clara asked. She knew Hanniel didn’t need to sleep and thought this part of what was essentially babysitting the two prophets must be painfully boring.

“It’s my job,” they said with finality, indicating the end of the conversation. Sometimes the prophet didn’t know why she tried.

Jon was already snoring softly by the time she settled down to sleep, the sloth. Early morning rays began to shine through the gaps in the ceiling. It took a little while, but eventually, Clara managed to fall into a fitful rest.

There really wasn’t a lot to do when you were a Guardian whose main job was to protect two people, even during their sleep. Hanniel had made it through a lot of idle hours, but this was their first time having anyone to watch over since the Second War. It was a lot more stressful than they remembered, thanks to the demons that were bent on killing them.

Still, they liked this part of the job best. They didn’t have to talk to either of the prophets. Jon usually had some story to tell or an observation to mull over, and Clara… Clara made Hanniel flustered. She didn’t talk nearly as much as Jon, but she saw everything, and when she looked at the angel they felt that maybe she could see right through them, to parts of the angel that Hanniel had forgotten were there.

Maybe they had too much time to brood after all.

The angel looked at her now, sleeping with a peacefulness that wouldn’t last. It never did, Clara always slept with nightmares. Hanniel knew because they could hear her heartbeat spike up and slow down again. Sometimes Clara wouldn’t go to sleep again for almost an hour. The angel had been wanting to say something to her about it, but what?

Hanniel didn’t know how to talk to people, least of all Clara. They always came off as cold, which wasn’t necessarily what they were going for. The angel wasn’t used to conversations where the other person didn’t want something, as pathetic as that sounded. Hanniel shook their head, dispelling that thought process. It helped no one if they let themselves dwell on that. Still…

“I wish we could have one conversation where I didn’t run you off.”

It felt nice to say it aloud if only to get it out of Hanniel’s head. Not that it would ever happen. Which was fine, because the angel still didn’t know which of them was truly needed in Eden. It was best not to get attached to a girl who might be dead soon.

“Who are you talking to?”

Hanniel froze, looking to see Clara awake, head propped up on her fist. Her short hair stuck up at odd ends, and she still looked half-asleep.

“I- no one, go back to sleep.”

The prophet blinked, stifling a yawn. “Not sure if I can, it’s too bright in here. But you said-”

“Nothing, I didn’t say… You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Why, because it makes you seem human?” Clara was getting up now, taking the blanket with her as she made to sit near the angel on the pew. “You don’t always have to be so guarded Hanniel. Jon and I don’t bite.”

The angel glanced at Jon, who was still asleep. He was a heavier sleeper than Clara. “It’s- I’ve never really-”

“Talked to people? We have that in common then.” Clara chuckled, absentmindedly patting her hair down. “I think it works like a Q&A, every question gets an answer. You can go first.”

She gave the angel a small, nervous smile, and Hanniel sighed. This wouldn’t be happening if they had decided to internalize this morning’s thoughts, but maybe this was a good thing? They thought for a moment, before starting off with a simple one.

“How’d you find yourself with that friend of yours, Adam?”

“Hm, that’s kind of a weird story,” Clara started.

[lids-flutter-open]

mediocre character development stuff under cut sorry if ur on mobile its long text

its abt my character elaine first person pov cuz im trying to write some extra-textual sketches to figure out some scenes

Dawn came up over the hill as the bus was edging closer to the Oregon border. Chad was sitting next to me slumped into his seat with his head to one side. His hair was longer than mine had been a year ago and it was oily from days camping. He hadn’t shaved and his skin looked like a mess. He smelled like cigarettes and campfire smoke. I looked at my reflection in the bus window in the blue light of the early January morning and winced my skin clean with the spell I’d learned from Irma back in Kansas. I wished I could scrape the outer layer of my skin off with a rock or a very wide razor file. I looked over at a woman who was reading a book with a  little lamp she clipped onto the cover. She was clean and wore jeans with rhinestones and had gotten on the bus in some tiny town late the night before. I had noticed she was giving me sidelong glances. I thought about how I would like to be her if the opportunity presented itself. I bet she was the child of an auto mechanic or a copy shop clerk and took classes at her local community college. Her hands were all manicured and clean on the pages of her novel. She looked like she was in the middle of a good part now and didn’t care about us any more.      

We went over the border and I sort of half expected them to stop us and search for fruits or werewolves on board, even though I knew that since we were on a bus we were pretty much cleared to go. I took my wallet out again and looked at the fake ID I’d gotten back in L.A again just to make sure it didn’t look too fake. It had my mom’s first name on it and then a made up last name. Next to it were three cards from Rodney that I usually kept hidden in my socks. I kept expecting Rodney to cancel them but whenever I used them they went through. The bus rocketed through these forests of green icy tall trees and into Oregon and I fell asleep for a minute and missed the second the sun came over the edge of the horizon.

Salem was a small town in the middle of a lot of highway. It’s the capital, but you wouldn’t know it. You can see Mount Hood on a clear day. The first time I visited I was deeply underwhelmed. There was a diner or four and a small downtown that you felt was gonna get filled up in the next ten years with antique shops. People here were mostly white and mostly drove cars everywhere. The land was flat and it was on a river. It was the third biggest town in Oregon, which goes to show that not many people really live in Oregon. Chad told me that the main thing here was the state and then a potato chip factory and then berry farms outside town. And timber. I hadn’t been to Salem in a couple years and it hadn’t changed much. This time of year the roads were covered in ice and when we went over bumps there was this kind of terrible sense you could slip. I watched the sunrise through the window. It looked like cat vomit. I checked through my bag for everything I needed to set up camp and then everything else I had on me that hadn’t gotten too heavy. I had a swimsuit from the three months Chad and I had lived in a house on a beach with this dude who turned out to be hooked on Oxy. I had four diaries. I still had a mix tape from Felix, who was dead and buried somewhere in Missouri. I wanted a cigarette but Chad and I had had a fight about how it was bad for him so now I was trying not to smoke and anyway I only had three Camels left.

“You want me to read your Tarot cards?” I turned to Chad. “I still have the set you gave me.”

He mumbled in his sleep. I looked over at the woman reading the book and thought about what she would do if I asked to read her cards. She was the only other person that was sitting towards the back of the bus. Up near the front there were three heavyset short men who looked related, all zoning out or sleeping under their knit hats and heavy coats. The bus was overheated and I felt sweat dripping down my stomach under my sweatshirt.

Chad woke up as we got into the Greyhound station across from the hospital. He sat down on the curb at the edge of the street and smoked the last of his weed. We waited for Josh, his friend, to show up.

“How’s being sober?” Chad asked me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t feel like there’s something dead in my mouth and it’s morning at the same time.”

“We can fix that,” Chad said. “You want breakfast somewhere? We still have a little cash, right? We can eat some dead stuff.”

“I’m saving that cash to buy a Jeep.”

“You got your cards too,” Chad said.

“My Tarot deck?”

“Whatever, I know Rodney isn’t gonna cancel those. He doesn’t even pick up his mail, he probably has no idea what you’re spending.”

I watched the rhinestone jean girl get into a van with a man that had a giant piercing through his nose and wondered what I didn’t know about her. I wanted to ask Chad if he’d seen her but he was standing up and walking around and stretching and the moment was gone. I looked around and wondered where there was some place to get breakfast. There was a hospital across the street and next to it was the university.

  ***

The cops came up the steps and everyone was going in a million different directions and I felt like this ripple down my spine of sweat and fear. I looked at Aysel. She was standing in the middle of everything looking stupid and lost as people ran all over like shrimp on a beach. I couldn’t see her friend. Chad pushed past me back into the living room and Carmen bolted out the back door. I saw a lot of the people from downtown who weren’t wolves give panicked glances to one another. I knew they were thinking, fuck, what the hell did we get ourselves into? I wondered if one of them was a plant, or one of our crew, but at this particular moment it didn’t matter a lot. I saw everyone running into the basement and wanted to scream that that was the most idiotic fucking thing you could possibly do unless you planned to like hide under a pile of coal like it was the Soviets coming to collectivize us in 1918 or something, and as far as I knew there wasn’t any coal down there. I ran over and grabbed Aysel’s hand and said something mean under my breath to Chad. Aysel’s hand felt all sweaty. We weren’t going to make it out before the cops came in but we could get out of sight so I hung onto her and tore around the corner and flattened myself toward the floor. We were near an exit and there was nothing blocking it. If there was some kind of distraction I thought we could make it. The cops might surround the place but I had bets that the back garden wasn’t covered yet. I thought about the time in Philly when someone had beat apart the fuse box with a hammer when the cops got called because they had a hiding place right near it and all the lights went out and nearly everyone got away. If I turned out the lights the cops might just start shooting and plant guns on our dead bodies later. I couldn’t hear any helicopters but I thought there might be some I couldn’t hear, because everyone was being so fucking loud.

I told Aysel to be ready to run and meanwhile I was thinking about how she probably could not run fast enough.

Chad was standing there like a stupid idiot and shouted some bullshit and tried to be all heroic. His body was all tense and upright. He said something loud I don’t remember and then the cops opened fire and I yanked Aysel’s arm out of her tiny arm socket and we fucking bolted. I hated running from shit then and I hate it now and I will hate it forever. I stopped smoking but my lungs still hurt all the time and I can still barely breathe. The safe house in Salem was ok at least because it’s up against all these private yards that you know the cops won’t clamber into so you can throw yourself through them and lose people pretty fast. I got leaves and wet mud up the sides of my jeans but I barely registered it.

“Did you see who they shot?”

Aysel panted something and I couldn’t hear her.

We stopped and I was seeing sparks in front of my eyes and my heart was pounding like a fucked clock or whatever and it hit me in an instant that Chad was like, probably really dead, and the way my life was together wasn’t a thing that was actually together, it was just stuck haphazardly into a shape and the shape had just broken. I looked at Aysel and she looked like this fucking kid, suddenly, like she always looked young but suddenly she was looking at me like I was her mom and I wasn’t her fucking mom and her real mom was looking for her and I wasn’t anyone, I was this nobody loser asshole who had taken her to the movies like I was some kind of predatory lesbian from a pulp novel and then taken her to a weird political meeting that had gotten busted by cops and she was just in it all and knee deep in her own excitement and I’d fucked her over and now we were covered in mud in some parking lot. Her hair was matted and I thought about how she wasn’t even fucking out probably, she hadn’t even had her first lesbian haircut. I knew she wanted one, I knew from just like seeing her that she wanted short hair.

I hugged her thinking about how I was a fucked up person and she needed someone better and I needed someone grown up. I felt tears streaming down my face and I felt Aysel crying against me all burning and little. I felt her hands against my back and suddenly realized she was holding me tightly, like I was something stable. I ripped myself away from her and tore over to the chain link fence separating the parking lot from the road. I wanted to hurl myself onto the asphalt so the passing cars could crush my skull. If Dad had shown up with his rifle I would have taken it from his hands and hyperextended my arms backwards and shot myself in the throat with it. I felt more scared than I ever had in my whole life and I felt my body like electricity in a bathtub. I punched the fence over and over with my hands barely in fists, just tearing the skin on my knuckles open against the rusted metal. I have never had a tetanus shot and I thought about the diamonds in my mother’s drawer when I was a kid and how if I died nobody was going to put diamond earrings on me when they buried me. I wasn’t going to even die in a ditch in Kansas or on the railroad tracks or in a hospital, I was going to die in a gutter or on the street like roadkill. My hands were bloody and the blood was on the fence. I screamed at the cars and grabbed the fence with two hands and shook and kicked the fence with my boots until I slipped against the gravel at the edge of the pavement and stumbled and almost fell over.

“Do you want a donut?” she asked me.

There was this donut shop she was pointing to in the strip mall parking lot. I didn’t want to be seen but it was worse just sitting there and so we went in and I let her buy me a donut, feeling like pond scum. I felt the holes in my mouth with my tongue and bit down against my own teeth, grinding until I could feel the cavity that was slowly burrowing down towards my jaw.

I told Aysel that her friend was probably okay. I had no fucking idea where her friend was.

[rcsegarden-blog]

holy moly i just took a good three hour nap after class, and i missed all the introductions. well since i’m never on time to anything ( sorry don’t hate me ) i tried to make up for it by explaining my trash child in depth below, you can skip through the first half to read the summary at the end bUT i promise the self para is worth a read if ya wanna know my gal. i’ll try to get past the boring stuff, i’m aria most people tend to call me ari & i can’t wait to meet everyone of you. please don’t judge how many hamilton references i’ll make, it’s a problem and i’m working on it. any whoot i can’t wait to plot w every single one of you babes ! ps tw: death, depression, trichotillomania, self harm, & suicide risk ( if you’d like to not hear about any of these things, feel free to message me & i’ll give you a summary of rosalina without them! )

a self para?? ( bc i’m so extra )

How do you mourn when your own body is a complete and total reminder of your loss? Rosalina hadn’t quite figured it out.  She stared at the reflection of her sister in the mirror.  Identity was a fickle thing, especially when half of it is ripped away overnight.  Her heavy head fell to the side, tilted and her jaw slightly slackened leaving her soft pink lips parted.  The shadows fell heavily across her face making the contours look like deeply pitted bruises in the early morning light that filtered through the shades of her bedroom window.  A fierce, stern knock sounded from her door. The noise nearly caused Rose to jump out of her own skin.  If only it were so easy.

“Rosalina, you’d better be up and getting ready,” it was her father’s authoritative voice advised through the door.

Of course Rose was awake.  It was rare when the girl truly slept, not since everything happened.  The pills they gave her, coupled with their white lies of faith and healing, kept her in a fog during the day but her mind buzzed horribly during the night.  Uncountable hours were spent watching the pillow on the bed opposite hers which had long since stopped smelling of her sister, her attention buzzing with unthinkable concepts to healthy minds, all while her forefinger unknowingly traced the roadmaps of scar tissue telling a journey of loss across her forearm.

The face of her double stared back at her in the mirror making Rose’s stomach tick and curl.  She felt her chin quiver and she sniffed hard looking at the contents spread across her vanity.  The smooth tan surface was stained with rich, bronze foundation and drugstore hair dye in attempt to strip the features that had tied her to Penelope. She picked up her foundation sponge and watched the nude liquid drip onto the back of her hand, a perfect match. Rosalina had long since stopped fooling herself that a change in her appearance would fool others into security concerning her mental state.  She dipped her sponge tentatively before applying it to her face over her eyelids and lips.  She opened her eyes again, their slight green, like a spring she knew would never live to see come, the only relief from the bronze-smooth skin.  

The lid to her cream blush hadn’t been put on correctly.  She looked down at the small pot of dried out, deep pink cosmetics cracked like a small section of scorched desert. She parted her lips, which had been stuck together from being held together so tightly in anxiety, and spit into the jar.  She rubbed the saliva around the blush to reconstitute its creamy texture. Had Poppy been there Rose surely would have been scolded, maybe even roughhoused a little in lighthearted affection. Rosalina’s only consequence was a comfortless silence.  

The doorknob to the closet had been taken off promptly after Rose’s outburst. She stuck her fingers in the hole, pulling the door open.  Her hand lifted to the back of her head as her eyes scanned the array of clothing. Rosalina twisted a single strand of hair around her finger and pulled upward, a swift, small, quick action, pulling the hair out from the root.  She dropped it to the floor, pulling another, another, another, before ever noticing the action.  Her face flushed as she ran the tip of her finger over the area she had pulled from.  The empty space was detectable, a few hairs poking at her where the regrowth had begun again.  She rushed to her mirror, grabbing the brush in urgency.  She pulled her hair up into one hand, hardly able to contain the curls in her grasp, even with what she was convinced was an entire lock and curl of hair pulled out from the roots, before pulling an elastic band to hold it.  She would have to wear her hair in special ways.  Her mother was sure to notice.

Trichotillomania was only one of the many words thrown across the clinical room from the doctor’s file to her grief stricken parents. Depression, self-harm, suicide risk and survivor’s guilt followed. Rose had hung her head in defeat. The words and diagnosis meant nothing to her but a botched attempt at true healing.  What did this man know about her, or her parents? Didn’t any of them know the weight upon her chest, the terrible love she’d been subjected to by the virtue of being the surviving twin? The burden of living without her same wasn’t one she could carry.  The absence of Penelope wore away at Rosalina like the agony of a phantom limb.

They were going to send her there again, a strange place with blindingly white walls.  When she walked into those doors it make her problems seem to grow three fold.  She felt more alone than ever before.  Still, out of instinct, she found her hand reaching to take Poppy’s for comfort, desperate grasps for that same phantom limb.  Instead she got pills, diagnoses, white lies, blank notebook pages to express her thoughts and document her loss, and forced smiles like those on her grandmother’s painted china clowns.  They frightened Rose screaming, live, live, live.  Some stranger in her brother’s skin had showed up as well.  Since when had he cared? And did he think he was like the sutures in her arm, a simple fix that could replace Poppy by virtue of common blood, to stitch her together and heal her? They pressured her to live on without half her heart, breathe without lungs, but all Rose could think of was how peaceful it might be to drown.

She had looked up statistics. A person could last six minutes without oxygen, but Rosalina knew she hadn’t breathed in months silently cursing the human body and all it’s resilience.

Summary

Originally from Santa Cruz, California Rosaline was born into a middle class family beside her twin sister Penelope & an older brother ( possibly a wc i’ll be sending in, definitely think it’d be interesting to see him played! )

Heading home from a party on west cliff, they were just sixteen when the accident changed Rose’s entire existences. They hadn’t had more that two drinks Rosalina was keeping track the entire night, and yet when the twin sisters climbed into their beat up Toyota they were forced to share – One of them never made it home. Falling asleep at the wheel, partially intoxicated, Penelope drove the pair off the rocky cliffs straight into the ocean current. It’s a miracle Rose had survived, she heard that more than a million times the months following. Yet, as those months passed the more she wanted to be in that deep water with the same fate her sister had faced. Living without the one person in the world who truly understood her, it was like the world was constantly on fire without Poppy. Nothing made sense, nothing felt right, every passing day she lost herself a little more.

The pills helped settle the depression, the therapy over the next three years helped her work through the hair pulling, but life never really felt normal. Loosing a twin isn’t like loosing a sibling, that night Rosalina lost a part of herself she could never get back. A part of herself she blamed for not being able to save, arguably the best part of her heart. Though it’s not something she can shake, living every day wishing things had turned out different, with time Rose learned to live life again. Finishing high school a year later than expected, she applied to colleges around the United States – anything far enough to start a new life. 

Flash forward six years from the accident – Rosalina strays away from any memory of that night, the nightmares don’t haunt her quite as often, and though she misses Poppy every day she’s attempting to live life in honor of her sister. Rose is the kind of girl you can’t help being friends with, though she has a soft & effervescent exterior that one would assume glows from the inside out – she’s also quite mysteriously and drawn back at times. It’s a numb existence filled with prescription medications, a drink to forget the past, and a few puffs to relax the tension where her body seems to ache in place of her double. It’s still taken on day at a time, with pre rehearsed responses to the same “how are you feeling?” she’s learning to be okay with not being okay some days. Moving to Norely has helped get her away from the memories, and though she’s still in school waitressing pays most the bills now a days. 

I hope that gives you a good idea of who my trash child is & I can’t wait to see everyone on the dash as a big family. I’ve been dying to play Rose out for the past three months, I just hadn’t found the right place so I’m hoping this is it for us! If you’re interested in plotting please feel free to like this post or ofc come to my ims & I’ll reply asap x

[2djdanger]

RAMBLINGS OF AN ANIMATION STUDENT ON THE BOSS BABY AND THE INDUSTRY ITSELF AND WHY I LOVE THE BOSS BABY WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL:

Words cannot describe the love I have for The Boss Baby. I saw an advanced screening of it a few weeks back with the director there & it blew my mind it’s like 3D animation meets 2D along with gorgeous art & so many opposites attract motifs like the baby acting like an adult & the graphic bold bright comic book feel type scenes that also meet this almost soft pastel 1950s/1960s vibe going on. AND THE EMOTION IN EVERYONES FACES AGH IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY AS AN ANIMATOR!!! It’s such a fast paced movie & everything happening at once & throughout all this everyone’s showing a variety of different emotions in a few seconds & the writing is amazing like not many animated films these days go back to the roots of traditional animation & just making it for a wide variety of an audience from all walks of life instead of making the same movie over & over again with great animation but a story line that seems rushed & choppy & not thought out but they keep making sequels anyways whether we wanted them or not just because m o n e y. I’m looking at u Disney with almost everything & Illumination with Despicable Me. It’s not to say that I don’t like sequels bc those companies have made some I enjoyed but it makes me disappointed when they could be putting their talents towards something fresh & new & original. This movie was o r i g i n a l in every sense of the word. Go take your kids to see it, yourself, your parents (I took mine & im a fully grown adult as are they & we loved it), your grandparents, your grandparent’s grandparents!!! It’s so great!!! It’s literally what the 3D animation community needed. I’m a traditional/2D animator myself & it seems more of the 2D movies out there recently have been trying to keep it original and don’t even get me started on the amount of work the animators do in not only 2D but 3D as well. But like recently 3D animation seems obsessed with the technology realizing they can make anything look more & more realistic nowadays then say when Pixar created Toy Story & their shorts in the 80s. These big companies keep churning out these movies not putting much thought into it & spending everything to make it look as real as possible. But that’s not the point of animation at all! They’re losing touch with why we animate in the first place!!! As my old storyboarding teacher once told our class on why we animate, we animate because it shouldn’t be possible in the real world. When you make anything animated you should stop & think: why am I making this story animated? Does it really need to be animated? Can I do this in live action? If you can make a story in live action then why are you animating it at all in the first place? It doesn’t need to be animated! Literally animation is just beautiful. You can do anything with it. And more & more especially with the technology in 3D films they’re slipping away from those values & ideas & making things that can be replicated in live action. So to see The Boss Baby really utilize the original concept of animation to tell that beautiful crazy impossible story & to top it off tell it through the bright eyes of an over imaginative child make it all the more better because it gives way to these big brilliant imagination sequences with these bold graphic designs that I’d die for. The editing and the animation in this movie is literally perfection it’s one thing flows into another into another into another & it works ANNND THERES EVEN GOOD COMEDIC TIMING!!! Sometimes movies live action & animated just can’t capture that kind of fast paced back to back tension followed by good comedic timing so to the writing team on The Boss Baby I say bravo to you & to the animators as well because God knows how difficult it is to draw out a normal sequence of actions but to follow the writing & get that vision out there in the open & follow it & draw it out so every detail works that’s just insane. This movie just inspires me so much & it’s relatable. My childhood was like Tim’s where everything was perfect & I was happy until my baby sister came along & we went at it for years. Another thing back to the genius writing in the film is this style where it forces you into Tim’s shoes because when they first introduce Boss Baby & for the first half of the film you’re made to hate him & he acts as the villain of the film until about halfway through Boss Baby really comes out of his 1 dimensional evil villain shell & just sees Tim in distress & reveals why it’s not only bad for Tim the current situation but why it’s bad for him too & then proceeds to give Boss Baby this insane narrative & beautifully tragic multidimensional backstory. Tim as the first main character has already been developed as a multidimensional character with different feelings & emotional expressions because he doesn’t know much about the world except for his imagination since he is a kid but by showing this then completely flipping everything on it’s head & giving Boss Baby real flaws & strengths that balance out Tim’s strengths & weaknesses it makes them seem a lot more like real relatable people & more so like siblings who depend on each other. As an older sister I can say some of my weaknesses end up being my sisters strengths & vice versa. Then by the end of the film,Boss Baby is this character you can't help but love & root for hoping he wins & can get out of the bad situations like when his formula was stolen so he kept going baby again it's like you feel panicked because you don't want Boss Baby to be normal you want him to be his crazy quirky self. Also this whole tragic narrative really hit me like it just stuck with me because I’m a sucker for these kinds of dark/sad stories layered in a brighter happier story & they coexist in harmony like that’s when you know a film’s really working. So SPOILERS AHEAD even though if you got this far there have already been some light spoilers I couldn’t avoid talking about but these get right into the grit of it. So the idea that Boss Baby was never really born fascinates me. In this world in the movie it makes sense. It’s also really sad as Tim points out as we’re finding out more about Boss Baby that he never had a childhood & how Boss Baby even says himself he was “born” or more so created (in both the universe of the movie & if he was self aware ((which he isn’t but for the sake of explaining this just humor the thought if he was)) that he was created as a character to work in this movie world realm plane of existence whatever you want to call it) all grown up as an adult in a baby’s body. Just think about that for a minute. What if you were born an adult & never went through childhood, never had a family, no one ever loved you or played with you or anything, all you knew was co-workers & business stuff. You never had fun or imagined things. That’s a really sad life if you ask me personally. He never had a chance to be creative or find himself all he knew was what the cold adult business school taught him from day 1. Most adults these days forgot what it was like to be a child & have fun & I think that’s what they were trying to get at with this backstory especially when Tim’s on the plane to Vegas with Boss Baby & just trying to teach him in small little ways how to use his imagination & just be a kid & not be so serious & black & white all the time. Also, I feel like that’s the issue sometimes with my own parents. As an animator I see animated movies as just another way of telling a story whereas people like my parents who don’t understand much from my line of work see it as a children’s media with no substance & pretty pictures. I want to break that barrier because the first animated pieces were NOT made for kids they were for other adults. I feel like it shouldn’t matter anyways if the movie’s marketed for kids because it could always be a good movie regardless of that & people like my parents forget what it’s like to have fun & see a good kids movie. They were kids once, we all were. As with many animated films before it, The Boss Baby brings subtle tasteful adult humor to the film as well as some just downright outrageous adult humor like Boss Baby running around butt naked with a censor bar over his nether regions. When you can marry adult & child humor together in a movie & make it work nicely it’s always a sign of a good movie. So tonight’s the opening night of The Boss Baby in cinemas everywhere & because I have so much love for this movie after seeing the advanced screening & listening to the director, producer, & designer from the movie speak about it & their own experiences they put into this film, like I stated before I dragged my parents out of the house on a Friday night when they would normally be in bed sleeping really early & shared the joy & beauty of the animated feature film with them. Normally my dad’s the one who will give almost any film a try & watch it & really like it. My mom however is extremely picky & if it doesn’t please her in the first 10 minutes or less she will zone out & fall asleep taking a nap through over half the movie. Both of my parents were on the edge of their seats tonight paying the utmost attention to the movie. It was a really beautiful moment to see my parents actually giving this animated movie a shot & they both ended up loving it as much I did on my second go seeing it. I’m not gonna lie I saw the trailers for this movie late last year & it caught my interest but I had this nagging thought that it wasn’t going to be a fresh new story it would just be typical & only made to make some money & keep Dreamworks in the game another year. I was happily proven wrong & this movie just takes everything about these money making no story movies & flips it on its head entirely. I even bought the art book for The Boss Baby because the artwork alone is enough to inspire me while working on my own projects. And that my friends is why you need to see The Boss Baby

TL;DR: The Boss Baby is an A+ gorgeously animated film with a breath of fresh air new story told in a way that’s really interesting & new & takes you back to the old days of 2D animation classics despite being a 3D film so disregard Rotten Tomato’s obviously wrong ratings & go see it for yourself because as an animator this movie makes me happy & I want to live in it forever ❤️❤️❤️

[anxiousramblingsblog]

a new day, a new week

10-8-18

I went to bed pretty early last night. About 11:15. I was hoping to sleep hard, have relief from my brain and the torment it has been lately. I slept well until about 4:30 when I abruptly woke up and immeediately was filled with anxiety. That familiar tightness gripped my chest. I tried all my usual tricks, squeezed my blankets tighter, cuddled my dogs, played thunderstorm sounds on my phone to help my brain shut off.... but I tossed and turned for over two hours... my brain churning over a million things. Very aware of how much time I had until my alarm would go off for work. I must have finally fallen asleep again sometimes after 7am... my alarm woke me up at 8 and I cried internally as I knew the day was already going to be bad. I thought of excuses I could give to get out of work or go in late, but managed to pull myself out of bed and become functional enough to get ready for work. I got my dogs into the car and stopped for food. Dropped my dogs off at my exes so they wouldnt be alone all day, and headed to work.

I thought about the conversations I had had with my partner the previous day... lets call him Joel for now. I wondered if today would be better or would already be tainted with negativity. I decided not to message him and let him come to me. I spoke a little with a member of my polycule, I will call him Paul. He is not very good with emotions but he usually listens to me as at least offers comfort. He gave me a little insight from his point of view and it calmed me slightly. I did decide to message Joel, just to let him know that I loved him, that I was here for him and I wanted to put all the negative energy behind us and be good partners to each other. I really only want his happiness. Hed already stated he’d be going dark for the day so I know not when he will see my message, nor if he will reply. But I hope it at least touches his heart a little. I truly think everyone deserves someone willing to put up with the tough times and not give up on them when they are working thru their own shit. Thats why I wont give up on him. Thats why I’ll be here through the tough times and wait for the sunshine on the other end. That, to me, is what good partners do. I have yet to find someone willing to put up with my tough times tho, or someone strong enough to not give up on me... but I know what I would want and that’s what I’ll give to him.

For my job, I work with kids. I wont get more detailed at the moment. I got thru my first few hours, very dazed, not really focused on what I was doing. Paul had reminded me that being Poly, I have the ability to go out and meet new people, potential partners. I know this but it slips my mind. I dont like the idea of “looking” for partners. Im not interested in dating to “see where it goes.” I consider myself demi-sexual. I have a hard time pursuing anything that I dont feel strongly connected to. I dont do hookups or casual sex. I hate dating sites bc to me, no one looks interesting. So why would I waste my time? I prefer meeting people naturally, making connections naturally and having things evolve organically. I have had the most fulfilling relationships this way, even if they ultimately ended. However, I decided to put some dating apps back on my phone, just to test the water, see how it felt.

I browsed, half-heartedly. Mostly swiping not interested..but again its so impersonal. Youre asking me to judge people on their looks alone. and thats just not how I work. Im more attracted to a persons personality. But I figured I should make an effort since Im feeling very alone and my partner at this time can not give me as much as I need. Then the messagees start flooding in. I forget how annoying this is. I reply to a few, trying to make light conversation...still attempting. When I get a message from a guy I recognize. It seems everytime I decide to attempt a dating site again, I run into him. He’s very nice but anytime Ive talked to him, hes had a partner who as monogomous. But Im happy to see a familiar face and talking with him in easy. Messages keep flooding, the rate is increasing. I become annoyed and start deleting people. Then I just close the app and continue to talk to Rob elsewhere.

Around this time I also messaged my metamour, Lilly. I asked her for help with understanding our shared partner, Joel. I explain I just want to be a better partner... I am scared to talk to her because I usually do not get a very frendly reply but I am desperate. I make it about him. We both care about him. Its our mutual ground. She explains he’s stuck in his own head, that he’s been having trouble processing since the accident. I explain he never told me about the accident. That he gets mat at me for things he never told me about. She says I cant depend on him for my emotional needs. She explains it took him over a year to open up to her at all. That he will be seeking a therapist. We talk a bit more. It helps to get clear answers. To know a direction to go to in regards to Joel. I thank Lilly and we both return to work.

Im much calmer now. The storm has nuetralized. The tightness has released. I try to focus a little bit on work so I dont feel like ive completely failed my cliients for the day. Ive been completely zoned out and am surprised I havent gotten in trouble or spoken to about phone usage. I really need to get better about this.

Joel returns from darkness and says he is feeling a bit better. He shares a positive experience with Lilly and I. It makes me so happy he is doing well at his job. Hes working hard and it shows. Hes making progress. My heart aches for the pain I know he has inside. But ‘ll be here, for when he’s ready for my love.

I need to be better also. I need to do better. Find ways to stay grounded.

I know my posts are long, but if you manage to stay with me thru it, thank you. I appreciate you.

[apatheticshit]

*01.09.2017* Half-assed

12:10 AM I am waiting for Austin to head over to my apt so he can pick me up and we can get some fooooooooood. I just ate a Guatemalan Tamale, but there is always room for desert ya feels. 

After my last post I went to work and worked with Priscilla and Crystal, which was a cool time for the gals. I feel like this trio together is good.

After work I came straight home, and have been zoning out in this chair ever since... 9? Sure, probably. 

I suppose I’ve been thinking about my sleeping disorders for a while now, which has been causing me to stress out a bit. The thoughts on mind that come NATURALLY are never quite positive, which is fine, it is just something I noticed. Weed helps me with positive thinking and maintaining a healthy mindset, it has convinced me. After two years of owning a med card, at the ripe age of 18, I am sure enough to say it really did help. 

* Zone out: I believe that if you teach a child at a young age that evil and fear manifests itself in the form of sin or Satan, demons and wrong-doing, then whenever the body or mind feels stress, fear, threatened, weak then your body will associate those two together in the form of dreams, and like I said: fear. My former self is so scared of paranormal evils such as: ghosts, spirits, demons, and/or Satan. When I was young I was taught fear is doing wrong, and so my thought processes were always rolling wondering if my actions were right or wrong. Being an off and on church kid growing up, the Christian bible, somewhere within its pages says a sin is a sin no matter what in the eyes of God, he sees them all the same. I do not know exactly where he says that, but I know it echoes in my mind quite often. I felt guilty when I thought of the disgusting sins some people take action upon, and in the eyes of God they are just the same. I suppose that is why I decided it is better for me to NOT believe in Christianity. If I do not believe in this folklore (I use the term very loosely) then my very real life experiences I face with sleep paralysis are not actually satanic things trying to reach me, instead I am just stressed and this is how stress manifests within myself. Since I am committing to this diary I am also going to write my dreams for a dream journal. 

I bring religion and sleep paralysis together for a reason, because they go hand in hand. Many of my nightmares feature the same fears, like the ones stated above. One day I will write about my sleep paralysis journey, but for now let us think about how they occur in late 2016, early 2017. Sleep paralysis for me, is getting stuck somewhere in between being awake and being asleep. Sometimes, depending on my sleeping position, and which of my senses are heightened, the sleep paralysis “dreams” aka nightmares occur differently. The thing that is different between a real dream and sleep paralysis dream is my real life mind when I am awake is present for the dream/nightmare. My body does not know how to process getting stuck in between the natural sleep cycle and it manifests itself in a variety of ways: loud noises, grappling hands, a dream, seeing something scary, etc. I guess since I believe fear and stress were taught to me at a young age to be centered around the Bible’s good and evil themes, when sleep paralysis happens to me, many of my dreams are themed with the bible’s evil themes. idk. if that makes sense. It isn’t biblical at all but I often find myself fearing over Satan or demons or things that can hurt me or that are watching me or something. I know this is not true, but it is in innate fear that resides within myself, because it enveloped my mind when I was young. I’ve ALWAYS had a hard time sleeping, because I would keep myself up in fear due to ghosts or something. I still sleep with the light on, mang.

1:01 Am Idk where this zone out went/is going

Either way, I realized that when I try to fall asleep in the fetal position my sleep paralysis dream can manifest itself in the form of a roller coaster dream. I’m still scared of roller coasters but these dreams are not the same as any regular dream would be, instead I feel clamped up, rigid, sitting in a seat, head hanging forward 

I’ve been having a few roller coaster dreams, the most recent one I explained to my mom in the garage. She wanted to take me somewhere so people could pray over me but I explained to her that would make me really uncomfortable. In my dream it felt similar to final destination 3, where that one girl does not want to ride the roller coaster but she puts on a brave face for her friends. I felt like that girl and I don’t remember who was on the roller coaster with me because if Austin was there I would remember I feel, so he wasn’t but in my head I’m like thinking this is a devil ride if you open your eyes you're gonna be really freaked out so don’t open those eyes, all the whiles I am in my seat and my head is stuck down almost as if i am in the fetal position sitting upright in this roller coaster chair, fists clenched, and eyes clenched. I am ready for this I tell myself because I have to go through the drops anyways. This dream started out as a dream and transitioned into sleep paralysis. I had gotten sleep para

12:19 AM: I don’t feel like finishing what I started here because it feels a liddo bit like homework, and IM ON BREAKKKKK lul

Im hanging out with austin watching mark wiens from migrationology cause he got sum freaky eyessssssss 

k bai