#like how did they safely pull off burying several of their actors?

[kata-loging]

Thomas Ian Griffith as Jan Valek in John Carpenter's Vampires (1998)

[natasha-in-space]

Mystictober Day 11 - Candy

Zen/gn!reader

"Oh wow, I've never seen so many sweets in one room before!"

With a gasp, you covered your mouth with your palm, and gazed around your boyfriend's apartment in amazement. Your eyes were met with what seemed to be dozens of colorful baskets, stuffed with a variety of desserts: from bright-colored fruit candies to homemade mochi in charming wrappers with tucked-in notes of admiration and gratitude from his fans. Apart from sweets, you could make out several bouquets, stuffed animals and paintings, packed neatly on the coffee table.

Zen's popularity has indeed skyrocketed over the past year thanks to your collaborative efforts. However, you definitely didn't expect this level of support. And, judging by the flustered expression on the handsome actor's face, he was somewhat dumbfounded by this predicament himself.

Giggling to yourself, you walked over to your boyfriend, carefully stepping over the many gifts from fans and grabbing a couple of sweets that caught your eye as you strolled by.

"Now, I might be wrong, but it looks like your fans really enjoyed your performance as Jean Valjean. It's... kind of hard to tell though." You teased, prepping up on your tiptoes to leave a chaste kiss on his cheek, watching him flush adorably in response to your jolly remarks. Zen sighed as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up to his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Don't tease me like this, babe... I know I may have overreacted back there, but, to my defense, I had no guarantee they'll like it this much!"

You snickered as he wined into your neck, patting him on the back. "Are you joking? I told you, you were great out there! You worked so hard to play this role perfectly, and you did exactly that. You had nothing to worry about. You should really believe in yourself some more, sweetie."

Zen took a step back after quickly kissing the exposed skin of your shoulder, which made you shiver with delight. His shoulders sagged with relief, his posture relaxed, and his beautiful features lit up with a genuine bright smile for the first time in weeks.

All his hard work has paid off in double, making your chest swell up with pride for his efforts. Zen has always put his absolute best into his work, and that's what attracted you to him in the first place.

Although he was undoubtedly gorgeous and had a natural charisma that made you blush furiously and choke on your words more than once, his passion and drive for his work was what has always captivated you the most. He was an inspiration to you, in more ways than one.

You just wish he would start trusting himself more. You did all you could to make his brand as authentic and real as possible, all while keeping his image appealing to the general audience. You were his personal manager, after all, it was your duty to make his work as comfortable and safe as it can be.

Zen chuckled and scratched the back of his neck in a bashful manner, and you couldn't help but focus on everything he was doing, focusing all your senses on every single detail of his facial expression at that moment. How his long beautiful lashes fluttered as he looked at you with pure adoration in his ruby eyes, how his pale cheeks bloomed with a light blush painting his pale skin like he was glowing from within, how his nose scrunched up slightly, barely visible from the distance, and yet, you could take notice of that smallest bit of movement on his face with ease.

He always did that whenever he felt extremely happy, while trying to keep his composure. He reminded you of a delighted child in a way: doing his very best to mask his enthusiasm and failing miserably without his knowledge.

Well, at least his front wouldn't work on you, that's for sure. You two knew each other so well by this point, it's no wonder you could read him like an open book. He could do the same thing and turn the tables on you without missing a beat. You were a unit, and this meant that you trusted each other with the deepest secrets of your hearts.

That's why you stopped your teasing altogether, letting him absorb this genuine happiness and joy surrounding him from all around the room. He could allow himself to act like an excited child around you, and no one would laugh. You would never judge him for that, not after getting to know about the very rocky road he had to take in order to get to where he was now.

He never had the opportunity to feel the childlike wonder of accomplishing something great and receiving the recognition you deserve. However, now, he had you, right by his side. He had Jaehee, who is always more than happy to cheer him on as he pursues his life's passion. He had Yoosung, who admires him from the bottom of his heart, appreciating all the hard work he puts into his craft. He had Seven, who's more than glad to share Zen's work with the masses, providing much-needed guidance when it comes to more modernized aspects of his career.

And... He has Jumin. Jumin and Zen have a lot in common, beyond what he initially thought. Long gone were the days when you could see them bickering about the silliest of things in the chatroom first thing in the morning. Now, they shared a quiet understanding that made you smile in relief whenever you could observe their peaceful interactions with each other.

Zen had a strong support system to lean on whenever life got too out of control. For the first time in his entire life, he felt like... he had a family. A family where he belonged.

And that thought alone warmed your heart like nothing ever did.

"I never thought I'd get a chance to star in Les Miserables of all musicals... I feel like my life is just full of miracles after I found you. Or maybe... it's you who is a true miracle."

You blinked, wrestled away from your sappy thoughts and entered sweet reality, where your partner had already put his warm palm onto your cheek, gazing into your eyes with a gentle smile playing on his lips. Your heart was caught in your throat, the room spinning all around you as if you were a lovestruck teenager swooning over their crush. It amazed you how he could sweep you off your feet with such ease, even after so much time had passed between you.

Zen closed the gap between you by putting his warm lips on yours and tangles his other hand into your hair, gently tilting your head into a more comfortable position. You closed your eyes, arching your back and trying to get as close as it was humanely possible to him. Like you wanted to become one with him, to melt into his soft embrace. The kiss tasted of lemon and apple, making you sigh in delight, affectionately stroking the smooth skin of his cheek with your thumb.

God, you were waiting for this exact moment ever since he came onto the stage... Your good luck kiss was short and sweet, but this kiss of triumph burned with bright passion and relief, sending waves of goosebumps all over your skin. It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally pulled away from each other, flushed, breathless, yet so unbelievably happy.

He put his arms around your waist, rested his forehead against yours, and gazed deeply into your eyes. It felt like you were the only thing he saw. "You know, I've actually tasted a couple of desserts before you came back... But you are still the sweetest of them all. Now I don't know what to do with all this candy when you're the only dessert I want."

You burst out laughing, playfully bumping him in the chest.

"Oh my God, you're such a dork!"

Zen joined in with your loud laughter, refusing to let you go out of his arms and only pulling you in closer. "That's why you love me, babe~"

Well, you certainly couldn't rebuke that.

[barnesbabee]

Like A Pornstar || C.S

Summary: Among all of the sex professionals, San takes a liking in you, the most unexperienced person in the room.

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: Several I’d say

Genre: Smut

⚠ spanking, choking, sex worker!au, pornstar!au, dirty talking, teasing ⚠

A/N: Idc, San gives off pornstar vibes. Enjoy 💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

Seonghwa ver. || Hongjoong ver. || Jongho ver.

  You watched as the man laid on the bed and guided the woman on top of him. His fingers were buried in the woman's waist and his eyes watched her movements carefully, beads of sweat falling from his forehead and small moans escaping his agape mouth.

    "Cut!"

    You had been so immersed in the action that the yell almost startled you.

  The way his pleasured expression immediately fell off his face and was replaced with an almost bored one was astonishing to you. Once the cameras stopped rolling the actor's face and body stance immediately changed into a more relaxed stance, as if he hadn’t just been inside a woman, fucking her relentlessly. He wrapped his body in a rope after the woman had gotten off of him and headed towards the director.

  "San that was perfect, we're going to try some shots with her on all fours and then we wrap it up with a facial."

  San brushed his sweaty hair back with his right hand whilst the other held the robe's furry belt, and he nodded at the instructions. The director gave the actor a pat in the back.

 "Take a break, we'll keep rolling in 30."

  San left the set and headed to the little room reserved for him.

  It was truly entertaining to watch that man work. It was like he turned into a whole different person when the cameras turned on, and the way he shut out the world around him when the lights flashed upon his skin was admirable. He was so embedded in the act that the entire crew surrounding him seemed to disappear... Mesmerizing.

  "Assistant!"

 "That would be me... " You whispered to yourself.

  You plopped off your chair and made your way over to the director who had called you. You didn't know men could be bitches until you met this old, horrendous man. You had to admit, you felt a little uncomfortable by the environment and people around you in the beginning, but then again, money doesn't grow on trees, and college doesn't pay for itself.

  "Y/N," The director started, once you'd made your way close to him "San requested some water and he just told me there is no water in his dressing room. Could you be any more useless!?"

 Had that been months ago, tears would've brimmed in your eyes and your voice would've become shaky, but at this point you were used to it.

 "My bad, I'll get that taken care of..."

 You walked away without another word and headed to the small warehouse under the building, which was the only place on earth where they stored dildos next to water bottles. You sighed and grabbed one of the packs which contained nine bottles of water, since you wanted to make sure you didn’t have to go through all of this trouble once more.

 You then made your way to the small room where the casted male pornstars would stay in, to rest and fix themselves. You knocked on the door softly, and when you heard a small ‘come in’ coming from the inside, you turned the handle and entered the room.

  “Here’s your water Mr. Choi.” You told him and put the waters down on the coffee table behind him.

 The male was sitting in his vanity, scrolling on his phone. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. The smile on his face could trick anyone... He looked like a little kid that had just gotten a lollipop whenever he smiled. His eyes turned into two crescents and his dimples enticed anyone who laid eyes on them. Even you, who had seen every part of this man (literally) almost got fooled by those innocent eyes.

 “Miss Y/N I think anyone who has seen my dick up close can call me on a first-name basis.” He said and giggled.

 How did he do it? How could something like that just slip out of his lips while giggling? You chuckled at his silliness and shrugged.

 “I guess you’re right, but I haven’t seen it up close, I’ve seen it from afar.” You defended, victoriously crossing your arms in front of your chest.

 San licked his lips and stood up. He settled his phone on top of the vanity and stepped closer to you.

  “Well, would you like to?”

 You eyed him weirdly and pushed him away, with your index finger placed on his chest.

 “Don’t joke like that!” You whined, wearing a soft frown on your face.

 The smiley face that made anyone comfortable under its presence faded quickly, and was replaced with a serious look. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly much heavier, and you could hear his heavy breathing. His eyes, although almost fully hidden by his dark fringe, had a new feeling to them, and intimidating, almost scary one.

   He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close, so close that his hard-on began poking at you.

  “I’m not joking.”

  “But... Me? San, you have sex with professionals for a living surely they’re better than me...” 

 You weren’t insecure about your body nor about having sex, you were insecure, however, when the partner in question had a wide range of previous sex partners who were professionals in the matter.

  “But that’s exactly why... They’re professionals, they’re the same as me, we have fun but at the end of the day, there’s nothing new. But you...” His head dipped in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, and licking a long strip from the bottom of your neck to the spot below your earlobe “you’re so new. You look so innocent, so breakable. God, I wanna destroy you.” 

 He applied more pressure on the grip he had on your waist and you shivered at his dominant tone. The fact that you knew he was naked and hard under the robe didn’t help you calm down. You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, not knowing what to respond.

 San chuckled and held your chin.

  “Don’t look at me like that... I don’t have much self-control baby, I’ll fuck you against this wall.” 

  The director called everyone on set, obliging San to pull away from you and make his way toward the door. As he turned the knob he looked at you over his shoulder.

 “You better be watching what I do, cause the whole time I’ll be imagining it’s you under me.”

 He winked and left the room. You stood there, frozen, still processing what had happened. It was almost inconceivable that such a man wanted to fuck you, yet his actions proved his intentions. Remembering his words, you turned on your heels and headed over to the set. 

 You watched each of his moves with twice as much willingness and attentiveness now, and not long after, both you and San were imagining the girl being taken by the man was you. You bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together, his sentences and his deep, sensual voice replaying over and over in your head. San stole a little glance at you, and you could tell he noticed your stiff body stance by the smirk that appeared on his lips. San gripped a handful os the poor girl’s hair and picked up the pace, as if telling you ‘be ready for later’.

   A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your body and you could feel wetness spreading between your folds. You couldn’t help but envision what he could do to you, if only a couple of words and glances had gotten you like that, your body begging for his. 

 When the woman finally sunk to her knees on the floor and San came all over her face with a loud moan, the cameras stopped rolling and the lights were turned off.

 The director told everyone it was a wrap and gave the staff and the actors the green light to go home. You walked over to the back of the room to grab your purse, when you felt a big pair of hands grab your hips and pull you back. Your back hit what you assumed to be San’s chest and you blushed.

  “Wait for me outside, okay baby? We’ll have a good time today...” He whispered in your ear. 

 San teasingly bit your earlobe and left, presumably to get dressed.  Your legs trembled and your nubs hardened at the sudden neediness and craving for his touch.

 You did as he had told you, and once you had gathered all of your things you headed outside and waited for him by the door. Not long after you heard heavy footsteps behind you, and a cheeky hand slid into the back pocket of your jeans.

  “Hm, you waited for me like I told you? What a good girl...”

 The praise and the little squeeze he gave your ass almost forced a small whimper out of your mouth, but you contained yourself.

 San walked you to his car, and once you had settled in and he had started the car, you started feeling nervous.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place, love. I don’t have a sex dungeon to fuck you in.” 

  Your cheeks flushed a little and you mentally slapped yourself for the idiotic question. San placed a hand on your thigh and squeezed reassuringly.

  “Don’t be nervous Y/N.”

 His loving smile was back, and you couldn’t help but ease a little at the sight of it.

 The ride was silent, with nothing but the faint background music playing, which was exactly what you needed to get your thoughts in place. When the car came to a halt, a new wave of nervousness and doubt hit you. 

 You stepped out of the car and followed him nonetheless.

 His house was not one bit less intimidating than him. It was a big, futuristic-looking house and as you paced your way inside it and looked around, you realized how much money a pornstar really must make.

 San caught a hold of your wrist and pulled you inside of one of the rooms, immediately shutting the door behind you.

  “Safeword is Purple, okay baby?” He told you, as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

 You nodded, as you stood in the middle of the room with your hands clasped behind your back. You were already scared, and the safe word ordeal did no good.

 His shirt fell to the floor and soon his jeans joined, and no matter how many times you had seen his naked body, every time you laid eyes on those broad shoulders, his protruding six-pack and his gorgeous thighs, your mouth would water.

 You allowed him to push you down onto the bed. His fingers played with the hem of your t-shirt as he looked at his own fingers playfully.

 His head lowered and he connected his lips to your neck. He left small kisses at first, but the innocence soon washed away and the soft pecks were replaced by rather harsh bites and some sucking. 

  San pulled your shirt off of your body, taking a second to appreciate the nice shape of your breasts. He cupped both of them in his hands and gave them a squeeze.

 His fingers experientially unhooked your bra and threw it somewhere. Before you could cover your breasts with your hands, San, who had seen that coming, grabbed your wrists and pinned each of them beside your head.

  “Don’t try that baby, your body is mine to take now.” He whispered in your ear.  Your body quivered under his touch and never before had you been so desperate. 

 San’s tongue danced along the curves of your right breast. He took his time teasing you, before taking your hardened nipple in his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he sucked on it. He left no piece of skin unattended, as he gave you a hickey in the skin between your breasts when his mouth made its way to your left nipple.

 He let go of your wrists, allowing you to tangle your fingers in his hair, while his own fingers traced a pattern down your body, making their way to your jean’s button.

   Every touch, every bite and every moan drove you crazy, and San slowly uncovered a new façade of yours.

 San undid said button along with the zipper. He pulled away from your breasts so he could hook his fingers on the waistband of the pants and pull them down your body, however, being the cheeky man he is, as San’s fingers caught your pants, he made sure they’d also get your panties, and so they disappeared somewhere in the room with the rest of your clothes.

 Suddenly you felt very exposed, and the feeling soon became bigger when San took the liberty to spread your legs for him.

 His fingers hovered over your womanhood for a second, before two of his fingers parted your folds. He hummed and bit his lower lip at the side.

  “You look so good baby...”

 You hissed at the contact, as his middle finger easily slipped inside of you.

  “I thought I was going to have to prepare you...” He pulled out his finger, glistening with your cum and held it in the air “But it seems you’re already wet enough.”

 Remembering how much your innocent, puppy eyes had affected him you decided to tease him. You looked him in the eye, with the exact same expression.

 “Does that mean you’re going to fuck me now?” You asked, purposely pulling the clueless card.

 San’s jawline tightened and he settled between your legs. He slapped your thigh and gripped it harshly, as his lips came down to meet yours in a rough kiss. It was a type of kiss you’d never experienced before, there was a mix of hunger, lust, and somehow desperation.

 His teeth took your bottom lip between them and bit it lightly. You moaned at the harshness, and he pulled away. San stripped from his boxers and let his tip hit your bare pussy, rubbing it between your folds teasingly.

  “San please... Don’t tease me...” You begged.

  His hand, that was placed on your hip, traveled up your body, and wrapped around your throat, squeezing it.

  “Oh, baby, whatever will I do to you. I’m going to wreck you...”

  He followed his sentence by entering you. His thrusts were strong and slow at first, but the pace soon picked up.

 You couldn’t help but wonder how he still had so much stamina after a shoot like that... But he sure spared no mercy. He pounded into you until your hands were gripping the sheets and the headboard hit the wall loudly.

  The sounds of your moans and his groans echoed in the room, however, your main focus was on the lewd sounds his dick made as it rammed inside your pussy.

  Suddenly he pulled out and stood up from the bed.

  “Turn around princess, ass up.”

  You did as you were told and quickly perked your ass up for him. San shuffled with something in the room for a second and then you felt the bed dip by your feet. His hand caressed one of your cheeks and squeezed it.

  “Good girl...” He praised you.

  You then felt a sharp pain in your ass and you yelped. By the sound of the buckle and shape of the item that had hit you, you assumed he had fetched the belt he previously wore.

  You felt another whip to your ass, this time on a different cheek and you yelped louder. You didn’t know this about yourself, but you enjoyed the way the pain turned into pleasure, and whip after whip, your yelps morphed into moans.

 San loved the pink tint on your ass, and he would’ve loved to spank you for as long as you could handle, but his cock was already twitching and he wanted to come either in you or on you.

 He knelt behind you and lined up his tip with your entrance, carelessly and violently pounding into you. He would often smack your ass, reminding you of how much you’d loved the belt.

  “Fuck San, you’re so good...” You moaned.

 San gripped some of your hair in his fist and tugged on it.

  “You like it, hm? You like being fucked like this?”

 You moaned a loud ‘yes’ in response, earning a groan from the male behind you.

  “Be a good girl for me and cum on my cock Y/N... Please.”

  A couple more spanks and thrusts and you happily obliged to his wishes. Your arms gave in and so would’ve your legs if San didn’t hold up your waist. Your head was buried in a pillow and your back was arched as you moaned San’s name.

  Your beautiful sounds and your tightness almost sent San over the edge. He pulled out of you and jacked himself off to the view of your ass, cumming all over it soon after accompanied by a loud moan.

 San collapsed behind you on the bed and chuckled at your fucked out state. The man sweetly played with your hair and kissed the top of your head, as if saying ‘you did well’.

  “So, did you enjoy being fucked like a pornstar?”

[caswellprmanager]

out of the closet (and into my arms)

read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

TW: transphobia, deadnaming, gender dysphoria, panic attacks

Summary: Ricky has certain items of clothing that EJ loves to steal.

Notes: I exclusively blame @random-nerd-3 for planting this idea in my head in the discord server so now it has manifested itself. *british accent* I can't believe you've done this 😩

EJ was not above pretending to be sick just to not go to school. He didn't go to theater camp for nothing. One time when there was this really mean kid who sneezed on him in third grade, he faked having pneumonia so well that their mom made them apologize for infecting him. One could say he's basically a natural born actor.

But today... he's not even pretending when he says he feels sick.

He woke up that morning, running through all the things he had to do for the day, and then promptly chucked it out of his mind when he looked at himself in the mirror. He's been on T for a while now but his parents refuse to pay for top surgery. He'd do it himself with the money he has in his bank, but whatever he purchases alerts his parents. So looking at his tank top clad torso with no binder on and the tell-tale bumps of his breasts lightly tenting the material up front made him want to punch his mirror.

His breasts weren't big but god were they noticeable. At least for him. He shakily runs a hand down his chest and wishes more than anything for the offending things to disappear. He mentally computes how long it will be until he moves out of the house to go to college — just so that he can finally get the surgery he's always wanted.

Yet, even after computing, it still seems so far away.

"Eliza? Are you up? Breakfast is ready?"

There was a dull ringing in his ears when he woke up a few minutes ago but it was deafening now at the sound of that name.

You know that's not my name.

EJ feels his chest tighten and his breath come out in shorter bursts. He grabs the edge of his bathroom sink shakily, knuckles turning white the louder the ringing in his ears gets and the faster his heart beats.

Drowning.

He's drowning.

He's drowning in thoughts he doesn't want to have but invade the forefront of his mind.

He's drowning.

"Eliza? Eliza, answer me!"

Stop calling me that! EJ pulls at his hair, vision blurring at the seams. Stop fucking calling me that—

"EJ!"

A hand on his shoulder practically yanks him up to the metaphorical surface. He's breathing, but only barely, and he subconsciously falls into someone's arms, gasping through sobs.

"Hey there, handsome. You're okay. I got you."

The voice was soothing, familiar like the feel of his favorite childhood blanket wrapping around his shoulders. He buries his face into the fabric before him, inhaling the scent of sandalwood, cherries, and throb cologne.

Throb cologne.

"R-Ricky?" He whispers, not really believing it himself. The one holding him answers by tightening their hold around him and EJ feels himself collapse even further in their arms. He breathes in Ricky's scent like it's the only thing keeping him grounded right now – and it might as well be.

"I'm here, Elijah. I'm right here." Elijah. EJ visibly relaxes at the sound of that name – the name he gave himself.

"How did you–" He tries to say but the tightness in his throat only allows his voice to come out in a whisper. Ricky runs their hand through his hair.

"I thought I would go to your house before school for a change. Your mom let me in." Ricky doesn't force EJ to look at them and he's grateful for that. His vision was still impossibly blurry and he feels a strong headache approaching after what just happened. "But I have a strong feeling you don't want to go to school today."

EJ buries his face even deeper into Ricky's chest and Ricky kisses the top of his head right after. He's taller than Ricky – not by much, but he'll hold that over Ricky 'till the day he dies – but right now he feels like a little kid wrapped in Ricky's arms. Small. Secure.

Safe.

"C'mon, handsome." Ricky says into his hair, placing another kiss on the top of his head. "Let's get you back to bed."

EJ doesn't even remember being tucked back into bed, nor the third kiss Ricky gave him on his cheek, or even the sound of Ricky conversing lowly with his mom at the door. All EJ really remembers is feeling absolutely exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that the second his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

After a few hours, EJ woke up again, still with a lightly throbbing headache and his room plunged in darkness except for the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling.

EJ focused on the constellations he painstakingly stuck there in the first grade. He remembered breaking his arm trying to get off the ladder and crying all the way to the hospital. The memory seemed to give his mind a distraction but he wasn't distracted enough to not notice the extra layer on his body.

EJ fell asleep with a tank top on, just like he always does. He runs warmer than most people so he doesn't usually sleep with a hoodie or sweater on until the winter months. Even then, he just turns up the thermostat in his room.

So... where the hell did this hoodie come from?

"Knock, knock!" Came a voice from the other side of his door and his heart stared beating a little faster, hoping that it wasn't either of his parents about to scold him for skipping school. But when the door opened — revealing a smiling Ricky — he could practically feel the tension lift from his shoulders.

"Oh good, you're awake! Your parents left for work a few hours ago so you don't have to worry, by the way." How Ricky was able to figure out what exactly was on his mind was beyond him. But it did put him ever more at ease. Although, he was still confused as to why Ricky was still here.

"Ricky did you... Did you skip school?" He asked, sitting up against the headboard just as Ricky sat next to him to feel his forehead. Ricky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of their neck.

"I couldn't leave you alone." Before EJ could protest, Ricky continued. "Don't worry! I texted Big Red to update me on rehearsals. I also texted your co-captains for the Water Polo and Lacrosse teams that you weren't feeling well, so you have to skip on training. I figured they'd spread the word to the rest of your clubs. You're in, like, a million of them."

"It keeps me busy," EJ mumbles but allows Ricky to climb into bed with him. He immediately relaxes into Ricky's chest when he opens his arms invitingly, knowing that he can't resist an invitation to snuggle. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's one of those days, isn't it?" Ricky asks and EJ nods. Ricky hums in acknowledgement. It's one of the things EJ appreciates about their relationship — one that took a lot of trial and error. They're different in a lot of ways but when it comes to their struggles with gender, they've found someone to relate to. EJ doesn't think he's ever dated anyone who just... gets it like Ricky does.

"It sucks," he mumbles into Ricky's chest with a little pout. "Plus I don't have any clean binders today so that makes it suck even more."

"Well, I'll be right here if you need me. Just say whatever and I'll help you in any way I can." EJ could feel tears well up in his eyes and buries his face into Ricky's neck, overwhelmed and filled with so much unbridled joy for Ricky's mere presence in his life right now.

Which brings him all the way back to the mere presence of the hoodie he's wearing right now that is definitely not his. But he can make an assumption from the smell alone.

Sandalwood. Cherries. Throb cologne.

"Darling?" EJ says into Ricky's neck slowly.

"Hm?"

"Am I wearing your hoodie?"

"...And If I say yes?" Ricky teases, using their nails to scratch at the nape of EJ's neck casually. EJ fights the fluttering of his eyelids to focus on the task at hand. He pulls away from Ricky a bit to look at them inquisitively, which thankfully results in Ricky sighing in defeat. That basically answers EJ's question, and just as he's about to remove the hoodie, Ricky gently places a hand on his chest.

"Keep it. It looks good on you."

EJ looks down at the brown and white color block hoodie. When Ricky wears this, it engulfs their entire frame and makes EJ want to smother them in kisses. EJ has never admitted it but... this was on his top list of favorite hoodies that Ricky owns.

But he also knows this is also one of Ricky's favorites.

And yet... the more he looks at himself in Ricky's hoodie, the dysphoria he felt in spades just hours go subsides, even just a little. It makes his chest look properly flat and it was awfully comfy. He feels Ricky's eyes on him as he brings the fabric of the hoodie to his nose, breathing in Ricky's scent one more time.

Sandalwood. Cherries. Throb cologne.

He smiles for the first time today and Ricky smiles back.

He could get used to this.

--

Ever since that day, EJ has started to slowly come into the possession of... several of Ricky's clothes.

Now, stealing might be too heavy of a word to use here. Though he's not unfamiliar with the concept — he just prefers to use the phrase... indefinitely borrowing.

But if one were to ask anybody else, EJ was most definitely stealing Ricky's clothes.

It started off with the color block hoodie Ricky gave him that day. That damned hoodie even changed his nightly sleeping routine – with wearing that very same hoodie as the last step before he's able to truly fall asleep. It's absolutely insane how one piece of garment can make him feel. How having something of Ricky's makes him want to have more of them.

And so EJ just never stopped.

--

One day before rehearsals, on a particularly cold afternoon (and EJ knew it would be cold. He checks the weather forecast on his phone everyday), he deliberately forgot his letterman jacket in his locker. After arriving to the bomb shelter, and coincidentally hearing from Miss Jenn that the janitor hasn't fixed the heater yet, EJ casually mentions to Ricky that he forgot his jacket in his locker. And that it's way too far to retrieve now.

"You poor baby," Ricky says with a knowing glint in his eye. It's a subtle game they play, the two of them, and EJ likes to think he wins it every time. "Here, take my sweatshirt. I sprayed extra throb on it for you."

"Okay agenda for tomorrow," EJ teases while pulling on the sweatshirt that indeed wreaks of throb. "We're going shopping for a new cologne."

"I thought you liked throb?" Ricky replies with a cheeky smile. EJ sticks his tongue out at him – a very mature response, thank you very much.

"It does remind me of you." EJ says this as he brings the collar of the sweatshirt up to his nose. He tries to hide the way his lips curl up automatically at Ricky's familiar scent. He wouldn't hear the end of it if they were able to catch that. "But it doesn't mean I like it."

"But you like me, right?" Ricky says this with a hint of a tease and a larger hint of vapid curiosity. It's almost as if Ricky is just waiting for the confirmation that EJ most definitely still likes them, which isn't much of a surprise. Ricky doesn't exactly have the best of luck in the romance department. It actually took quite a bit of time before the two of them even got together. But, now that they are together, EJ makes it a point to remind Ricky that he will continue to choose them everyday.

And EJ doesn't mind reminding Ricky how much he loves them — it's practically a part of his daily routine.

"I love you, angel." EJ says, lacing each syllable with as much affection that he can muster. Ricky bites their lip and tries to hide their blushing face with their hands. EJ chuckles, leaning over to place a kiss to Ricky's temple before wrapping an arm around them.

"EJ... I..." Ricky starts to say but the words don't ever take shape. EJ knows this though. He doesn't mind the wait.

"I know, baby." EJ kisses Ricky's forehead this time. "I know."

--

bowen (affectionate): did i leave my blue-grey hoodie at your house? i cant find it anywhere...

caswell (derogatory): [sent 1 attachment] oh you mean this one?

caswell (derogatory): :-)

bowen (affectionate): ah

bowen (affectionate): there it is

caswell (derogatory): do you want it back? i can bring it to school tomorrow

bowen (affectionate): nah

bowen (affectionate): actually no yeah bring it to school tomorrow

bowen (affectionate): but you have to be wearing it 🤷‍♀️

caswell (derogatory): u dont have to tell me twice 😘😘

--

[1 new notification: @ejwaterpolotheaterguy posted a new photo]

ejwaterpolotheaterguy: boyfriend sweater 😍 @sk8erbowen thanks for the drip 😚

--

There are days where EJ feels dysphoric and Ricky isn't there.

It just so happened to be the very same weekend that Ricky decided to go visit his mom up in Chicago when EJ woke up once again wanting to claw at the offending mounds of flesh on his chest. He nearly punched his mirror before Ricky called him to ask how he was doing.

"I'm so sorry, EJ. I wish I was there."

"I'll get by. Just gotta cover the mirrors all around the house and exclusively live in one of your hoodies for the next 24 hours." EJ rummages through his drawers, trying to find the exact hoodie he's been thinking of since Ricky called. It was the one that was big even on EJ and felt like getting a hug from Ricky. The second his fingers felt the familiar purple fabric, he quickly put it on, almost completely forgetting that he was on facetime with Ricky.

"Well look at you, my handsome boy." EJ blushes when he realizes that Ricky could see him but the smile that makes it to his lips is the most genuine one he's had all day. "How're you feeling?"

"Safe." was the first word that came to mind and EJ couldn't have stopped it from leaving his lips even if he tried. Ricky's answering smile made the slip-up worth it, though.

And there really isn't any other word that describes how wearing Ricky's hoodies and sweatshirts makes him feel. It's like getting a cup of hot chocolate by an open fire on Christmas morning. Like coming home to a warm embrace after a terrible day. With Ricky he was safe. With Ricky, in Ricky's hoodies, there was comfort. Sure there are moments where a storm hits and neither of them have an umbrella... but that just means they'll end up finding an awning together, soaking wet but basking in each other's warmth.

Sandalwood, cherries, and throb cologne.

And as Ricky smiles at him through the phone screen, he knows there's no one else he'd gladly weather any storm with but them.

[thevoilinauttheory]

survivin’

[ FFxivWrite 2021 Prompt 8: Adroit ]

The Five Part “In the Dreams of Ashley” series is done! Go read the others here! {Prelude} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Wind} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Fire} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Water} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Earth}

[ HEAVY HEAVY CONTENT WARNINGS: implied child abuse/assault, detailed suffocation, detailed burial while alive, heavy grief and regret surrounding death ]

[ video has lots of moving colors ]

Dreaming about being buried alive is very frightening and is a warning that all of the things in your life that are causing you anxiety and despair should be thrown away. You have let things build up to a point that you are no longer able to control anything and now you risk being completely destroyed.

==

Ashley was forced into a uniform with little knowledge as to why, having just woken up with a raging headache and handcuffs on. Confused was an understatement. “Y’good?” There was a soft voice that addressed him, a soft voice that belonged to a large man. His hand set on his shoulder, some level of comfort and grounding while he gathered his bearings. “Wh-What’s goin’ on?” “Y’don’t know?” “Pretty sure the knot on th’back o’ my head answers that.” The man let out a laugh, then nodded. “Guess so. Yer bein’ conscripted.” “Conscripted? How in the hells!” Ashley pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh… he should have been more upset about this, but honestly, it felt like the worst kind of inconvenience. Still, he didn’t fight it, worked with the flow of everything as he usually did. “Guess I’m stuck here.” “We all’re, friend.” “What’s your name, friend?” He snorted. “Hunter. Ya’?” “Ashley.” “Nice t’meet ya’ Ashley, too bad it ain’t on better terms.” He nodded in response.

-

“Yer gonna get caught.” Ashley chuckled. “I never get caught. That’s the thing ‘bout growin’ up in Ul’dah.” “Mm.” “Hand me your rations.” “Are y’kiddin’? I ain’t givin’ y’anythin’!” “Sure? Thought y’wanted to get out o’ here, same as me. N’if y’do, you’re gonna have t’give ‘em to me.” “Why?” “Uh… food to last us until we get home?” “N’how ‘bout the energy they’re makin’ us use t’fight?” Ashley snatched Hunter’s rations from him, stuffing them into a tight and inconspicuous corner with the rest of all of the little items he managed to get away with - some string, blades, pins, badges; even things like hair-ties and pens. Anything he could get away with shoving in his pocket, he did so. He bumped his elbow back into Hunter and lowered his voice. “Get somewhere else, someone’s ‘bout to come in.” “Eh? How’d’y’know?” “I’ll tell you later, jus’ get or we’re gonna get caught.” Hunter backed off, going back to his own belongings to check them off; leaving Ashley to slide a sizeable block of concrete in front of the hole in the wall, covering it completely. “Tucker!” “Yes, sir!” “What are you doing on the floor, get your arse up now.” “Sorry, sir! I dropped my badge.” He stood up, adjusting the collar of his uniform with a small pin on it.

-

“How are we going to get past them? Did you even think that far through?” The Auri woman that had joined along prodded at him while he was thinking. “Will you shut it?”

Four of them clamored and cramped in the vents, waiting for a good time to drop out of them. They were dressed in different uniforms, to match those of the area they were about to infiltrate. When an opening arose, he dropped out of the vent, brushed off his clothes, then pretended to idly look at the schedule board that was on the wall. Well, he was looking at it, but also waiting for another good time to signal another body. He tapped his chin, stretched his arms above his head as the last person in the hall walked past him - he held up a signed “C”, and waved his hand. That let the other two know to let Colette drop down first, she did just the same - brushing out her uniform before striking up an uninteresting conversation about the schedule.

They waited for the hallway to clear again. She held her thumb and forefinger together and waved, signaling Ruta to come down next. As the next crowd came through, she pretended to be scolding them. It cleared, Ashley waved, and down came Hunter. Hunter always came last - he wasn’t the best actor or liar, so they made sure that he could be ready to move immediately. They walked down the hall, past many unsuspecting soldiers and medics, until they were able to escape the facility they were locked up in. “Oh, thank gods.” Hunter let out a sigh of relief at the fresh air, no matter how cold it was. “Sh. We ain’t there yet. There’s still the entire damned city. Make sure your bags are on tight, n’if not, fasten them. I mean it. Y’gotta be ready to book it once we get through.” “What are we going to do after?” The question was, thankfully, vague enough to not alarm anyone they were passing by; but Colette anxiously gripped the shoulder belt to her bag. “Hoof it.” “On land? All the way back?” Ruta folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve worked it out already, trust me.”

-

“How in the hells did you manage that!” Ruta laughed as she ran across the snow, outside the metal confines of Garlemald. “It’s cold, but kami, it’s free!” “I came prepared.” “Is that why your bag is larger than ours.” “Yeah. Managed to snatch a few uniforms and some blankets. We’ve got a long way to walk - most of it’s dead here. No life whatsoever, just snow. Ruta, yer on the way back first.” “Wait… is that why we’re walking?” “Aye. Othard connects here - stowing away on a ship or airship would skip over you entirely. So prepare t’get intimate with one another, ‘cause we’re gonna need a lot of body heat.” Ruta stopped and blinked at him. “...Thank you.” “You can thank me when y’get home. After Ruta, we’re going to stowaway on a merchant vessel - it’ll look more Garlean than Hingan, but it’s goin’ to get hijacked by pirates from Limsa. Which is how we get Hunter home. After that, Colette n’I’re gonna hitch a ship back t’Vesper Bay, and I’ll walk her back home.” They all seemed… shocked. Appalled, even. That this stranger would go out of his way to know so much about the way back, and that he’d help them even. “Where’re y’goin’ after that?” Hunter pat Ruta’s shoulder to get her moving again. “Mm. Back home, maybe. I dunno. Maybe I can get a job like this.” He laughed.

==

“Mister?” “Mm?” Ashley looked up from his book, pipe hanging loosely from his mouth as his eyes caught a young girl standing next to him. Her face was red from crying, and looking over her clothes brought back memories and images he wished he didn’t have.

“...Need help?” His voice lowered, to not draw attention. She nodded, and he stood up from his seat to pull off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders - it was obviously too large, but that was the point. He pulled a hair-tie from his pocket to tie back her hair, so that its general style was different at a glance. He lifted her up to sit in the chair, having her hold the book up as if she were reading it. He placed his arm on the back of the chair, talking random nonsense about words in the book to the girl as his eyes caught a glimpse of several people walking in, looking around for something or someone. When he noticed the girl’s grip on the book tightened, he figured those were the people she was hiding from. He placed his hand on one of hers, holding the book up as well - and he kept his voice just as low.

“Relax… don’t show any tension. If they see white knuckles, they’ll get suspicious.” She did just that, nodding slowly. “Okay… uhm.” She was afraid her voice would be recognizable if she spoke, so she kept it low. “What’s this word mean?” “Eh?” He looked back at the book, noting she was just pointing at the word “the”, to which he smiled - she was trying to play along with him. “That word? Oh! That’s a name, sweetheart. I know, all them Elezen got such fancy names, y’could swear y’saw ‘em in a dictionary.” They kept on like that until he saw all of those same people leave. “There y’go. All gone. Need someplace safe t’stay?” “Mm..” She didn’t trust like that, and he noticed. He laughed, waving one of his hands. “Not with me. I have a friend who takes care of children goin’ through what you are. I can make sure y’get there with no problem. Unless you’ve got a place? I can take you wherever you need most.” She smiled a little bit, nodding. “Someplace safe… sounds nice.” “Good! Now up y’get. I’ll look inta these people that hurt you, okay?”

==

He stared down at those graves, the ones he made; carved up of nothing but rocks and dirt, with desert blooms laid in place. All the thoughts welled up there - what he could have done, what could have gone better. Memories of all the times they had, wondering why he never said more. A lot of things were left unsaid - Ruta never got to propose to Colette, they never got to choose the colors of their wedding, or what flowers, what food and drinks; they never got to dance, and the last sight of each other wasn’t even a damned smile!

He cursed himself silently.

Hunter never got to go on about his newest niece, never got to tell the unheard stories of his family, never got to see the world as much as he dreamed, never got into a bar fight with a pirate; that the last he’d see of him was a damned smile! He never got to tell him-- He never got to tell them…

Ashley stared at the graves and knew…. this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

He sat down in the dirt in front of them, offering some vague notion of a smile. “Y’won’t believe me. I know it. But… helped someone out today. Didn’t turn ‘em down. Didn’t make any snarky comments or nothin’. ‘Member that time out in the eastside of La Nocsea? It was like that, unfortunately. But, despite their faults n’corrupt nature, got the Blades t’clear ‘em all out after trackin’ ‘em to wherever they were hidin’.”

He let out a soft sigh. “...I miss y’all. So much. Y’meant so much to me. I was jus’ s’posed to take y’all home… n’y’stayed with me. You were my family… everythin’ I had. N’I… n’I jus’...” He shook his head. “I wish I could’ve done more. I… I… I love y’all, with all I could. Each n’every one o’ya’. I… never got t’tell you that. I hope… wherever y’are now… you know that. I’ll keep livin’ on, keep y’strong. Yer memories aren’t wasted, aren’t gone. Not yet. I’ll be damned if your story don’t get heard, though.”

He closed his eyes for just a moment

He snapped awake, not upright; he laid flat and stared at the pitch darkness in front of him. The bed below him was hard - it felt more like a floor. Wasn’t he in the dirt before? He could’ve sworn he was outside but a few seconds ago. It must’ve been a bad trip, lost all sense of time and ended up wherever he was now. All he had to do was find his stuff. He tried to sit up, only to slam his head on a short ceiling. “Augh… ow…” He tried to rub the spot he hit, only for his arm to scrape a wall right beside him. What was going on? He placed his hands flat on the shallow ceiling, feeling around - it was wood - he tried to find some means of escaping. There must’ve been a latch *somewhere*. One hand lowered to his pocket… most, if not all, of his gear and possessions were stripped of him; though he pat around to find an assortment of objects in the corners of his prison. When his hand landed on a lighter, it immediately lit up.

A coffin. Was he dead? Had they found him and buried him with his family? Did he… even want to be dead? The response of him slamming his hands on the lid and screaming for someone answered that question. There must’ve been a mistake, he wasn’t dead - he wasn’t! There was no way, none of this could be real. Dirt fell in between the cracks of the splintering shell he was incased in, no one was going to come. No one could hear him. He could feel the tears at his cheeks, the deepest recesses of his mind coming forward.

He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t ready to join them. “Gods, please… please…” He hoped some entity would come forth to dig him up and let him breathe. It was getting hot, he could barely catch his breath; like something stuck in his throat. He tried to cry for help again, met with the same silence. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, settling on his mouth and face and numbing his skin while he choked on nothing. He slammed his hands against the wood. Maybe there was just a small bit of air, if he could just get out. He dug his nails into the splinters and chips, tearing back his fingernails for just a *chance* at being able to dig his way to freedom. He was getting tired, though, exhausted. His chest hurt, and he could no longer hold up his arms. He stared at the darkness above him. Regardless of whether he wanted it or not, he could feel his vision fading - he tried to keep his eyes closed while gasping for the air that didn’t exist.

==

Ashley snapped awake, upright, this time; eyes forced closed by the brightness of the sun reflecting off the walls of the city - still in front of the graves of his family. He panted heavily, head reeling from the nightmare.

A nightmare.

Just a nightmare.

He was never so thankful for knowing it was just a dream.

[jayyisntcool]

Villain (Darkiplier x Reader)

Summary: Actor is jealous of Darks S/O

Warnings: Angst, Kidnapping, Slight violence

Pairing: Dark x Y/N

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

For as crazy of a man Mark was, he was damned smart. Smart enough to realize that if it was his story, he could rewrite it. So that's what he did. Making a situation where Dark had to protect you, making Will go into a sprout of anger. It gave him just enough time to grab you, and Dark was powerless to stop it.

You had done everything you could to escape Marks manor. The windows wouldn't break, Mark left your door locked, and when you did get to go out, Mark held your arm to him. You couldn't contact Dark either, and it seemed as though he couldn't enter the Manor. If he was able to, he would've taken you through the void and away from the madman.

The creaking of the staircase made you sigh, you were tired of replaying the same situations a million times over. Mark would bring you food, try to convince you to stay with him and 'Let him rescue you', agree to let you go back with Dark, then somehow make sure you never got there. It was always the bad ending. How many times have you been through this? It was hard to keep track. You didn't exactly remember the events, it was fuzzy, only certain pieces sticking to your memory.

The door clicked, the man unlocking the several locks on the door and letting himself in. "I brought you some food, Y/N. Chef made it special for you, Iberico Ham topped with White Truffle and Saffron." He sat the plate down on the nightstand, taking a seat on your bed. You scooted away, making him scowl.

"Thank you." You spoke, motioning to the food. It smelled great, but you weren't hungry. You hadn't had much of an appetite since you arrived here.

"Now, Darling-"

"Don't call me that." You snapped, Darks nickname for you sounding like venom off of Marks tongue. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Now, Y/N, we need to have a serious conversation." The actor spoke. Had he rehearsed this speech to perfection? He never changed a word, except what food he had Chef prepare for you that day.

You cut him off, not caring to hear the monologue again, "I need to choose between you and Dark, blah, blah, blah. It's my choice, it always will be, I call the shots, you just want me to be safe and away from him. I get it. I remember. Your tricks get old, Mark." You turned to him, holding your legs to your chest.

He frowned, "Not exactly what I would have said, but yes. I only want the best for you, dear. I only wish to protect you and keep you away from the harmful evils that I have rescued you from." You shook your head. It was hard to stand up to Mark, not because you didn't want to, but because of who you used to be. He used to be your friend. God, you two even dated years ago. It hurt seeing him, it hurt to know that the Mark you knew was just another role.

"If protecting me is keeping me locked in a room away from the people I care about, then I'd say you're doing a damned good job." The tone of your voice caught Mark off guard. It wasn't that this wasn't how you usually reacted, but nonetheless he seemed surprised. Did he really think you would change your mind?

"I am the hero! Why do you keep running back to the villain? You're supposed to pick me!" The man yelled, standing up roughly and pulling your face to his. "You will pick me. Eventually, you will get tired of making the wrong choice. You will forget about Dark and you will do whatever I wish." He pulled away, opening the door and motioning you out of it, "Go on then. You've made your choice. Return to that monster."

You did what you were told, walking out the door and through the mansion, making it to the front doors and quickly sliding out of them. Just as you had done before. What would your fate be this time? Another gunshot wound? Chef beheading you? Perhaps something more exotic, like a tiger jumping out to rip out your heart. It didn't matter, you'd do the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

You cautiously walked down the steps, pacing down the road that led away from the manor. It was peaceful in a way. To get this small bit of freedom. It was the only tranquil moments you had in this loop of suffering. You looked behind you, seeing Mark watch you out the window. This was further than you usually got, he never fully let you make it to the gates.

You jumped when you heard the sound of cracking glass, looking around. There wasn't anything that looked dangerous as you approached the gates and opened them. You took a step out, was this it? Was he letting you go? You made a sigh of relief before your vision went black, the air around you suddenly going cold. It felt as though you were in the void, but it was different. Where as the void was more of a lack of any temperature, here was cold, cold enough to make your skin burn.

"Well, it seems that you've finally figured out how to get through my barriers, Damien."

"Don't call me that. Damien is gone, you know that better than anyone." You smiled when you heard the voice, as distorted and distant as it may be. You turned around to see both your lover and your capture, standing at opposite sides of the darkness.

Mark grinned, "Very well then 'Dark'. I would have appreciated a warning before being pulled into-"

"Shut your mouth. You know why we're here, and you will let me leave with them." Darks tone was full of anger, his shell splitting and the colours behind him flickering rapidly.

"Oh that pretty plaything? You care about them don't you?" Mark spoke with a chuckle. You heard the cracking of glass, now from behind you. You took a deep breath as Mark disappeared from in front of Dark and appeared behind you, his hand wrapping around your waist. "It's truly a shame they didn't just listen to me. It would have been far easier to go through y/n than you." He spoke, pulling your hair back and holding you still. "You know," He continued, "My loop, my games, they don't affect anything here. It would be a shame if... Something were to happen."

"Get away from them!" Dark snapped, stepping towards the two of you.

"Ah, ah, ah." Mark spoke, raising a blade to your throat. "Come closer, and I swear I'll make them look like Jack's glitch bitch." He spoke coldly.

"I thought you were the hero?" You spoke, hating to fit in to the Damsel in Distress cliche. Mark chuckled, leaning in close to your ear.

"Hero's will do anything to defeat the villain, it is the greater good, dear."

Dark stood still, popping his neck. "What do you want, Mark?" He spoke, his shell slowly starting to calm down and return to normal.

"Me?" Mark questioned, smiling as he slowly pressed the tip of the knife closer to your throat, "To make sure the villain never gets what he wants." Marks tone had grew cold. He was no longer just playing a game. You had no doubt he could kill you without a second thought. If he had done it before, surely he would do it again.

"Give them to me!" Your boyfriend snapped, his body glitching violently. "They chose me! You hurt them! You ruined their chance at normality!" He yelled, multiples of him forming before merging back to him. "You cannot expect your games to work if you cheat the player."

Mark suddenly pulled the knife away from you, using it to talk as he used his hands. "It is my game! My rules are final! I have-" He was cut off as Dark suddenly appeared in front of him, the knife flying out of his hand and Darks hand reaching the actors throat.

"You are scum, do you understand me? If you ever come near me or y/n ever again, I will personally be sure that you are ripped into two. Now run back to your amenities and leave us be." Dark spoke calmly, smiling as he did so. Mark just laughed, not seeming to care. Dark quickly let go of Mark, grabbing you and pulling you into the void.

"You'll come back! You always come back!" Mark yelled after the two of you, still laughing as he did so. You held onto Dark as you arrived back home, at his manor, burying your face into his neck.

"I was so scared that I was never going to see you again." You spoke, smiling as you realised that the nightmare was finally over.

Dark returned the embrace, resting his head on yours, "I will never let him get near you again. I swear to you, I will do everything to protect you." He spoke quietly.

"It's not your fault it happened. You were protecting me and he used that against you." You spoke, only getting a nod from the demon. "I love you so much." You mumbled, making Dark chuckle.

"I know, darling." He spoke, rubbing your back, "Now let's get you cleaned up. A nice bath, some dinner, and then a movie and bed." You smiled, knowing Dark wasn't a villain. He never truly could be, not to everyone. He cared about you, he cared about the other egos. You followed him to the bathroom, your mind finally calming for the first time since Mark had taken you.

If Dark was a villain, than you were happy to follow.

[lunarliteration]

Kyle Hemmings — Notes on The Biography of E. H. Munch (3rd Edition)

1.   A recurrent regret by Munch throughout his days is that he always felt he “skimmed the surface of life,” without ever taking the plunge into its depths, never explored its secret caverns and precious archaeologies, never gave himself over to “smiling mermaids who spoke a universal sign language with bubbles and sweeping hand motions that could never be imitated by land wishers”.

2.  Munch was fond of misquoting Nietzsche. He believed in the philosopher’s view that the best time to die was when one was at the height of one’s powers. Munch said at parties, most likely as a joke, that he should have died at the age of ten.

3.  The relationship with Hedda Grubber has frustrated many would be biographers and cultists. It is filled with gaps and inconsistencies. Salek recalls from an interview with Munch that he (Munch) had met her at a Parisian nightclub “where the air stung one’s nostrils with all varieties of rose and orchard scents mixed with the heavy smoke from Turkish cigarettes.” He claimed that the singer seduced him that night by stuffing her sequined underwear down his trousers. Inexperienced in all matters of love and conquest, Munch and the older Hedda made love “on rooftops, on deserted beaches at night, inside army tanks scheduled to be scrapped, inside the belly of a shrine to the Ghost of North Halifax.”

4.  At the age of 95, Hedda denied much of what Munch revealed to journalists of the New Left. She did admit that Munch often trembled and remained silent for long periods of time after love making. When she asked him if anything was wrong, he gave his usual cryptic response, “Everything is wrong, Darling. The whole world is wrong and is in a downward spiral. I want to cry for everyone. But for the two of us, I will remain speechless. Perhaps we are all that matters.” They would then stay side by side in bed, holding hands in the darkness for hours, recalls Hedda.

5.  As noted by Gremlich, Munch exhibited a fascination with lizards and snakes in his early sketches. He remarked that they represented “the crudest forms of politicians and bureaucrats”.

6.  Hedda does recall the failed plot to assassinate Himmler much later and how several members of the Horst Brigade, including herself,  helped to spring Munch from prison and to a safe passage to Switzerland. There, Hedda gave birth to a baby that didn’t live long, but Munch denied it was his. During his bouts of depression and mental cloudiness, he claimed that a young British spy posing as a Nazi officer was the real father and Hedda refused to speak to him for weeks. In a more lucid and serene state, he described Hedda to Salek as a cross between “a big-hearted prostitute with wings and a shadowy butterfly denying the death of flowers.”

7.  “Try telling that fathead to behave himself before I knock his lights out,” was how Hedda often referred to Munch at all-night parties to the Dadaist, Martin Rou.

8.   There are two contrasting versions of the incident at Goat’s Head View. According to Munch, he was staying that summer with a young British friend who had invited him. Munch claims that he was kneeling at the edge of a cliff overlooking a glittering sea when his host, the prankster, Marshall, climbed up the cliff and taunted Munch to pull him up. When Munch attempted to, Marshall let go, perhaps hoping that Munch would fall over. Instead, Marshall fell backwards and spent the rest of the summer in bed with two broken arms and one fractured leg.

Marshall’s version differs in that it claims that Munch was the one who was taunting, and always “full of clever little tricks.”

9.  After the incident, Munch’s family moved him to an exclusive school on the continent where he excelled in languages and science.

10.  Munch often said that he never left the “ravaged grounds of puberty” and always experienced an erotic obsession with woman having large breasts, curvy hips, a Cheshire smile, and a mercurial temperament.

13.  What is being referred to here is the period of The Blank Canvas. Munch and Hedda decided to take a break from their tumultuous relationship. “So many broken eggshells with missing eggs and little white lies turning monstrous and black,” recalls Hedda. Actually, The Blank Canvas Period lasted roughly about seven months. During this time, Munch painted little, and cavorted with the amorous Hollywood starlet, Wanda Thrush, a one-time fling of Fritz Lang, although the latter denied it. Munch summarized the period as “a beautiful way to deny the emptiness of last night’s hangover.” Thrush later took up with the writer/safari hunter–Hugo Dietsch. Both she and an inexperienced guide were mauled to death by a lion. Dietsch was later killed by a Spanish bullfighter whose estranged wife the actor was romancing and were seen together swimming nude in the sea .

14.  Hedda was known to take her martinis with three olives “standing straight up”.

15.  The years between 1948 and 1964 were the most productive for Munch, art-wise. It was during this period that he developed his Red Lady series of semi-abstract paintings. Munch had become fascinated with the “emotional properties” of red and blue, with gradations of yellow thrown in. Most of the pieces have an abstract background composed of blue and red swirls and in the foreground, a faceless woman dressed in flapper hat, short fringe dress, and holding a cane, a la cabaret style. Art critics remarked that the red mostly likely symbolized the blood that later Munch obsessed over to such a degree that he painted skies and clouds streaked with it, until right before his institutionalization at Geneva, when he painted huge red balls against a dark canvas, perhaps symbolizing for him not only his ensuing blindness, but also, the end of the world.

16.  Roughly five weeks after his release from Saint Morgan’s, Munch, as noted by the increasingly brittle Hedda, seemed to be at peace with himself. However, after an argument in which Hedda accused him of “killing our baby,” even though Hedda had not given birth in over 38 years, Munch retreated into his study and shot himself with a revolver. The same one he intended to use on Himmler, many years before.

In her memoir, Hedda reconstructs this incident by stating that by “our baby” she meant the book of poems and paintings that she and Munch had been working on and off for years. She claimed that in a fit of rage and frustration, Munch had torn up the drafts, flinging them outside their Paris window, calling them “worthless birds.” He then fell into her arms and sobbed uncontrollably until he fell asleep. The next morning, Hedda found him dead from a gunshot wound, in the study.

17.  Hedda later moved to Norway, lived the rest of her life alone, and maintains in her memoir that Munch was the only man she ever truly loved, despite her numerous affairs with late Dadaists and young college students whom she taught as an associate professor of Modern Literature. She was later buried alongside Munch at a small cemetery in Bavaria. Wallach notes that “visitors claim they can hear them both dreaming of the other through closed caskets.”

18.  Translation: They must dream loudly.

X

[supremeuppityone]

Written for Klaroline Valentine's Day Bingo 2020 @kcvalentinesbingo

Prompt: Casablanca

Author’s note: This was inspired by Ricky Gervais’ 2020 Golden Globes monologue, in which he thoroughly pissed me off.

Warning: Potential triggers; implied assault survivor

Please review here.

           Red. Everything was red. The rage sank into Caroline’s bones until nothing was left. From the uncomfortable murmurs of the rest of the audience, it was clear that she wasn’t the only one furious with Alaric Saltzman’s patronizing speech to open the Oscars ceremony.

           “If you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a political platform to make a political speech. You're in no position to lecture the public about anything, you know nothing about the real world. So, if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent and your God and fuck off.”

           There were so many things wrong with the washed-up comedian’s vile statement, that Caroline let out an audible gasp, not bothering to let her features settle back into a polite mask. Her agent was going to be pissed if the cameras happened to catch her now. But it was nothing compared to how pissed Katherine would be in a little while. As a nominated filmmaker, Caroline understood she was in a unique position to make a call for social change. And as one of the few female filmmaker nominees, it was her responsibility. She covertly took out her phone, typing a quick message to her staff, and then leaned back into her seat with a self-satisfied grin. Game on.  

           Her documentary focused on Congolese women who were taking back their communities torn apart by sexual violence. It was her honor to give voice to the warrior women who had created safe spaces for women — teaching them self-defense, providing legal representation, and fostering marketable skills.

           She toyed with the orange and red bracelet, hiding a bittersweet smile as she recalled the way some of the women at the community center had attempted to teach her how to make the rolled-up paper beads. It was the day she shared her story with them. Her pain had been her own for so long. She’d nearly punched Katherine for telling her the bracelet clashed with her designer gown and that she should instead go with the loan from Bulgari.

           The back of Caroline’s neck prickled as though she could feel the weight of someone’s stare. Casually glancing around the packed theater, her blue eyes widened when she realized Klaus Mikaelson was staring at her. Wildly famous, the dimpled British actor’s mantle must be overflowing with prestigious Oscars, BAFTAs and Golden Globes. Why was he staring at her? Again. Despite years in the industry, this was the first awards season her work had garnered enough attention to warrant nominations. And unwanted attention from A-listers.

            A few months ago, she’d attended the Directors Guild Awards, slightly starstruck and still in disbelief that her work was finally getting recognition. She nervously was sipping champagne when someone insistently tapped her shoulder. Familiar with many of the more heinous Hollywood Gropers, she whirled around, ready to shred some wrinkled, self-entitled balls. She stopped short when she realized it was a skinny teenager who somehow managed to look even more nervous than she.

           “Um. Hi! So, um I think you’re Caroline Forbes. Right?”

           Caroline softened, assuming his painfully earnest demeanor meant he was an intern or one of the stage assistants. Her smile was gentle as she said, “Yes, I’m Caroline. What’s your name?”

           Brown eyes went round with excitement as he took both of her hands in his, wildly shaking them up and down as he gushed, “I’m Henrik and I go to USC and we just studied you in my Defining the Feminine Narrative class!”

           Flustered, she could feel an enormous smile spread across her face. It was rare that she encountered someone who knew who she was. Now what? Offering to sign something or pose for a photo sounded unbelievably pretentious. “Oh, wow. Thank you,” she finally said, “I had no idea.”

           “I’m actually um, doing a research paper right now on your documentary about dowry-related violence in India,” he shyly confessed, hiding behind his long brown hair.

           “Seriously?! I just started cataloguing some additional footage; trying to decide if there’s another story to tell. If you want to give me your email, I’d be happy to share my research with you. Maybe it will inspire you to create something amazing.”

           Before Henrik could respond, an unexpected voice interrupted, “Impressive chat-up lines, little brother.”

           Klaus stood there with his sexy dimpled grin that always spelled box office gold. And he’d been poured into that tuxedo. Damn. “Klaus Mikaelson,” he said, as though she hadn’t watched every movie he ever made, “and I had no idea Henrik was such a fan.” He put a companionable arm around the timid boy, telling her, “Henrik’s the true talent in the family. Thank you, love, for noticing.”

           He eyed her with interest, and she immediately reddened, cursing her painfully white skin for making every emotion so obvious. “These ceremonies are so frightfully dull. Would you like to join us at our table, and then perhaps later, you and I could go for a drink?”

           Damn it. He was one of those guys. Now flushed with irritation rather than embarrassment, Caroline replied, “You should ask Tatia. It’s only polite — since she’s your date.” Lately, the gossip sites had exploded with headlines gushing about the whirlwind romance between Klaus and the stunning supermodel, Tatia Petrova. Even if there was the chance it was a clever ruse to garner media attention, there was no way Caroline wanted any part of that nonsense.

           Klaus flashed that dimpled smirk again, his accented voice amused as he said, “Tatia is more of an...inconvenience than a permanent fixture in my life. There’s only so much frivolous chatter I can tolerate. But I suspect that you would provide endlessly fascinating conversation, sweetheart. You’re starting to make a name for yourself with all those exotic travels and penchant for saving the world. There’s a light that shines in you; it sets you apart from the rest.”

           He was seriously giving her the ‘you’re not like other girls’ speech. Dick. “Pass,” she said flatly, already starting to walk away. “But thanks for adding bad pickup lines to my ever-growing list of atrocities I need to save the world from.”

            Thunderous applause interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. Where Klaus was still staring at her rather than paying attention to the clip they were showing from his nominated performance. His performance in the Casablanca remake had earned him the Best Actor nomination, with critics and media outlets proclaiming his work in the big budget production to be a crowning achievement in his stellar career. Despite her indifference to the original 1940s movie, she still eagerly went to see Klaus’ remake, and his performance as the expat Rick had left her breathless. His American accent had been impeccable, and she actually got a bit teary-eyed when he arranged for his onscreen love interest, Lisa, to board the plane to safety while he stayed behind.

           Caroline could feel the heat rising in her cheeks the longer Klaus stared at her, irritated at herself for paying far too much attention to the gossip sites that announced Klaus’ amicable split almost immediately following their disastrous first encounter. She did not have time for Hollywood fuckboys. Even the ones with dimples. She had a world to save. Lost in her thoughts of burying her stupid crush on Klaus, she completely missed that he’d apparently won and was being herded offstage.

           She leaned forward eagerly as her documentary category was called. Regardless of the winner, her documentary had garnered enough attention that a few months ago, she’d learned an anonymous donation singlehandedly funded the Congolese women’s charity for the next decade. It was rare that people surprised her. Maybe one day she’d learn the identity of the generous donor. While the vignettes played for each nominee, her heart giving a funny little tweak as she held her breath in anticipation.

           “And the winner for best documentary feature is...Conflicted Hearts: Congolese Women Fight Back, by Caroline Forbes!”

           The thunderous applause was deafening, and Caroline sat there in shock for several moments, unable to get her legs to move. When she finally managed to walk to the stage on shaky legs, she fervently hoped she hadn’t sweated through her Arcadius original. She cringed as Alaric grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him for a congratulatory kiss that she managed to avoid by jerking her head away. He should know better. Hazel eyes flashed as he angrily hissed, “Just smile for the camera and keep the whole ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting’ bullshit out of it. No one cares about your whiny politics.”

           She burned him with her gaze, the oranges and reds of her gown a perfect backdrop for her fiery rage. Not bothering to respond to his unspoken threat, she stepped to the podium, pleased to be bathed in the stage lights, drawing energy from their warmth. “I’ve now been told twice tonight not to get political. It’s stupid to think I’m going to start following orders now. We’re some of the most fortunate people in the world. We have an extraordinary platform that allows us to reach millions. And it’s our responsibility to use it. We live in this world too and we should be working just as hard as anyone to make it better.”

           The loud clapping sounded like vindication, and she hoped that the cameras were zooming in on Alaric’s face as it immediately purpled in anger. “My film is dedicated to the Congolese women who let me into their world, whose unparalleled strength gave me the courage to put into words my own trauma. They are warriors, and I hope that the anonymous donor who helped fund their women’s charity for the next decade understands the hope they’ve given to so many.”

           Her smile was a vicious blade as she announced, “Thriving in front of my bullies is sometimes the whole reason why I get out of bed. I just started a charity tonight because I know I can’t be the only woman who’s been told to keep ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting bullshit out of it’. My organization will help women speak out about sexual harassment and assault in the workplace, providing much-needed legal assistance and support to help them overcome the personal and professional consequences that make it difficult to speak out. It’s called ‘CARE’.”

           The standing ovation was immensely satisfying, but then she added, “And it stands for Condescending Asshats Refuse to Evolve’,” which had the theater shouting her name excitedly. Not a bad night.

           As Caroline was ushered backstage, she basked as so many warm smiles and enthusiastic handshakes congratulated her, pausing only once to catch Alaric’s furious expression. She held his gaze just as fiercely, pouring out every viscous word she wasn’t ready to speak. But one day she would be.

           Backstage, she nearly ran over Klaus. Flushed from his own win, he beamed at her while offering her a steadying hand. “Congratulations, love. Your win was well-deserved, and I don’t recall a more compelling speech. You’ve set a precedent tonight that undoubtedly will bring about much-needed change.”

           She blushed to the roots of her hair, wishing she hadn’t worn the intricately plaited hairstyle so she could give her hands something to do. “Uh, thanks, and you too. Your work in Casablanca was amazing.”

           “You saw my movie?”

           Caroline was taken aback by his hopeful, pleased tone. “I’ve seen all of your movies. Everyone has.”

           “I’ve seen yours too,” he confessed, ducking his head shyly. “Henrik is quite the fan and has all of your documentaries — even the one you created fresh out of film school where you exposed the hypocrisy of a ‘morality clause’ for beauty pageant contestants in your hometown.”  

           “Seriously?!” She gaped at him, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t thought about that in years. That documentary had gotten the attention of several groups, which eventually led to funding for bigger projects and more exposure to the causes that she was the most passionate about. “I had no idea that you’d...I mean, I’m flattered you took the time to watch my films.”  

           The tips of his ears reddened as Klaus replied, “Meeting you was a bit of a revelation for me. Your drive, your fearlessness at giving people a platform so their voices and stories can be told — it’s inspiring. It made me want to make some changes in my life, which I started doing several months ago.”

           “I had no idea. I’m, uh, glad to have helped. Can I ask about the changes?”

           “Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” he answered enigmatically. “In the meantime, I’d be honored if you would accept my donation to your CARE charity. I’m doing my best to be a reformed condescending asshat.”  

[writeyourownlifestory]

SUCKER PUNCHED

Chapters: 5/9 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: Mention of past child // psychological abuse, Fight Club!au, mentions of suicide attempt. Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, learning to love yourself

Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking, @ambitiousskychild

By the time Eddie was 13, he was allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, and several cooking oils. By 15, he had never swum in gym class and never went to a friend’s birthday party or had one of his own. By 16, Eddie knew that he liked looking at boys rather than looking at girls, though that didn’t seem to matter at the time. By 18, he had graduated high school and that was the end of his social life. And by 21, Eddie’s life had been torn to pieces.

He was a victim of Munchausen syndrome by proxy and now left without a mother, without a home, and without a clue. On top of being told he should go to group therapy, his caseworker had also suggested doing something to blow off some steam. Join a book club or go to the gym. Or maybe join a need-to-know based fight club. Either or.

Chapters one, two, three, four

Eddie Kaspbrak had never had a crush before. While some assholes might have believed due to never being able to leave his house, he would wind up with some Oedipus complex, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Eddie wouldn’t have been attracted to his mother for several reasons, but the main one, aside from the whole incest factor, was that he didn’t like women.

The truth was however, he didn’t seem to like men either. There was perhaps a small inkling that in reality, he did favor one over the other, but he hadn’t ever found someone he longed to be with. No actors came to mind when Beverly asked him who his favorite celebrity crush was and whenever Mrs. Hanscom would tell him he could invite someone special over for dinner, he always drew a blank.

The only person he ended up inviting was Richie because he was special in his own right. Richie wasn’t the only friend he had during his time in Bangor. He had gotten closer with Bill, and Mike, and Stan just as much as he had with Ben and Beverly.

Bill and he had begun to see one another outside of the group meetings. It started after Bill had taken a hard hit to the face after a fight and it seemed Eddie was the only one with any knowledge on patching up a wound. He blamed it on spending so much time in doctors' offices and asking the pharmacist what all the different products did. He fixed Bill up and the two became friends, with Eddie showing Bill all the different ways to keep himself from bleeding out and how to hide certain bruises with certain products.

After Bill, it had been Mike, who had taken Eddie under his wing on nights he went to watch the fights. He tried to explain in further detail the different movements and marks the fighters were making. There was so much more terminology that Eddie had ever expected. Each punch had a name, each foot motion had a title. It wasn’t just punched and block, it was jag, and cross, an uppercut, and a hook. Outside of the fighting, Mike was a gentle soul who enjoyed spending time with the animals on his family's farm and welcomed Eddie to come along and do the same, though that was still something he had yet to find any real enjoyment in, though the invite was nice.

Stan and Eddie had found a nice middle ground based on them both rolling their eyes at Richie’s antics and taking comfort in relaxing activities such as puzzles and building ships in a bottle. Stan had taken Eddie bird watching with him and he had to admit that being out in the woods wasn’t as terrifying as his mother made it out to be. He didn’t have to worry about poison ivy, or ticks, or quicksand-like she had always warned about.

Having friends was so much different than Eddie thought it would be. He wasn’t putting on a show or wearing a mask. He wasn’t trying to blend in or force himself to laugh or smile just for somebody to include him. The gang liked him for who he was despite the obvious oddity that he had walked out of.

The only one who seemed to try to get a reaction out of him was Richie. Sometimes he would say something, give him a little nickname or make an obnoxious joke in hopes of getting a rise out of him. He had found ways to keep himself from freaking out, not wanting to upset his mother by being unhappy or annoyed.

With Richie, it was hard, however. He would just be so bothersome and then just laugh it off without a single thought. He never pushed too far, never made him feel too bad for it, he was just doing it to be a little shit.

There would be times when he was just sitting there and Richie would try to prompt him. They had gone out to the quarry and Richie would splash him while he was trying to read and sit in the sun, soaking up all the healthy rays that he had been denied during his childhood. They had gone to Mike’s farm and all agreed to take turns in the hammock. Richie had refused to get out and ultimately pulled Eddie in with him, forcing them to share it because he couldn’t be bothered to just let Eddie have his turn.

Rather than just letting it slip, however, Eddie had found himself lashing out at Richie. Never cruelly, never enough for them to get into an actual fight. Names would be thrown around, most of which Richie found pure enjoyment in. After all, he was doing this to rile Eddie up. To pull him from the shell he had found comfort in.

Nobody else had bothered to do so. Sure, Ben and Beverly allowed him to take his time, always ready to help him with anything he needed help with, but it was Richie that pushed himself into Eddie’s space and forced him to release all those urges that he hadn’t realized were still buried deep inside of himself.

So it was no surprise to Eddie when he began thinking of Richie whenever they were apart and dreaming of that goofy smile he would flash whenever they were together. He had begun to wonder if he was just not meant to feel sexual urges and then he’d wake up with a hard-on all because of the thoughts surrounding those glasses-wearing jackass.

Eddie didn’t know how to approach this. He was 21 years old. He was a grown adult, who could legally drink, though he didn’t drive and he didn’t have a car. It was the first time he had ever had a crush on anybody. He hadn’t felt this pathetic since the time he openly admitted to Greta Keene that his mother would be his Valentine when he was 12 years old.

He tried to shake it off and tell himself that it was just because they were friends. Who didn’t get a boner because of their buddy, right? But the hardening of his member didn’t come when he thought of Bill, or Stan, or Mike. And if by any chance it did come because of Ben, Eddie was fairly certain he would cut his dick off. The last thing he needed after escaping his home was to get turned on by his actual cousin.

Luckily, or unluckily depending on the situation, the only person that made him feel that way was Richie. The only person that made his stomach do flips and his heart to beat faster and faster, was Richie.

He tried to tell himself it was normal irritation, but he knew it was more. He found himself unsure if he wanted to slap Richie with his hand or his lips most days.

Eddie was sure it sounded ridiculous. Here he was, this lonely little virgin, dealing with this childish crush on his best friend. He felt stupid and dumb every time he thought about it. But he couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming in. Couldn’t stop the daydreams of grabbing Richie in the middle of their workouts and dragging him into the back room so he could have his way with him.

He knew about porn. He had masturbated before. He wasn’t that sheltered. He hid away in the darkness of his bedroom and touched himself back when he was a teenager who woke to morning wood almost daily. That shit was all biology. The stuff he dealt with now had Richie’s name all over it.

The worst of it had been at the stupid carnival that happened. It came to town every summer and it was probably the most exciting thing they had going on in Bangor. There were rides, and funhouses, and games to play. Ben, Mike, and Richie were pretty revved up about it, while the others just followed along because it was something to do.

They went on some of the rides, which were modestly fun to absolutely mindblowing. Eddie had never been to anything like this, so rollercoasters, and funhouses, and the merry-go-round were all things he was trying for the first time. He had been a little iffy on the Ferris wheel, as heights weren’t something he had ever been too keen on.

Richie had convinced him, however, promising that if he went on it with him, he’d win him something nice later. Eddie didn’t so much care about that but allowed Richie to tug him into the metal cubby that was no way safe and kept his eyes closed as they took off. Richie, for the most part, didn’t taunt him by rocking the stupid thing back and forth and instead kept his eyes focused on the horizon, instructing Eddie to do the same.

The sight was beautiful, but seeing Richie so content as he looked out at the sunset as even better.

When they got off, Richie made good on his promise. He followed Ben around, trying to win something for Eddie even though the latter repeatedly told him he didn’t have to. He had lost a handful of times, consistently going to the ATM to get more cash. When he finally did win, he saw a little girl pouting in the corner, having lost the game, and Richie, not being a monster, gave her the prize and thanked her for letting him win so he could show off. He went back to trying, leaving Beverly and Eddie to hang out on the sidelines.

Beverly, who had her arms full of the large stuffed animal Ben had won for her, was jittering off to the side. She had been trying to quit smoking and was dealing with the side effects of going cold turkey. “I’m proud of you,” Eddie mentioned to her, knowing how hard it must be to fight that urge.

“You’re sweet,” Beverly mentioned, picking aimlessly at her nails. “Ben said the same thing. When he found out I made it the two weeks without breaking, he bought me flowers.”

“Just imagine what he’ll get you when you go an entire month? And then six months? And then a whole year?”

Beverly just smiled, squeezing the large teddy bear to her chest. Across the way Ben stood, providing support to Richie as he continued to try and land the basketball into the hoop. Eddie watched the two of them smile at each other, the loving tension lingering between them.

“Bev,” Eddie spoke quietly. “Why are you and Ben just friends?”

Beverly snorted then, offering a faux look of surprise. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not blind, Beverly. Nobody is. Ben won’t make the first move because he doesn’t want to force anything, but why haven’t you?”

Beverly looked away then, out into the distance. She chuckled, the same way Richie had the night he admitted he tried to kill himself. That short, dry laughter meant to fill the void as they collected their thoughts. “God I could use a cigarette right now.” She admitted.  

“You do like him, don’t you?”

“I would be a fool not to.” Beverly pointed out. “But I would be an even bigger fool to steal him from somebody who deserved him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m damaged goods, Eddie. The shit my dad put me through, there’s no going back from that. I . . . I’ve grown as a person, I know that is true, but Ben deserves better than some secondhand trailer trash that got fingered by her dad after he came home from work because he wanted to see if her hymen was still intact.”

“So what, you think because you were abused you don’t deserve love or some shit?”

It had been a topic brought up often during their group meetings. People like them, who had been hurt so badly by the people they trusted, didn’t know how to function in the real world because they didn’t see themselves as normal. To them, they were shiny toys that had been scuffled up and broken. Nobody would choose them, not when they were lying on the floor and the other person had the choice to buy something pretty and new.

Eddie himself had dealt with the issue, unsure as to why Mrs. Hanscom and Ben had put so much time and patience into him until he finally realized that was what family was meant to do. They were meant to be good, and gracious, and kind to one another. They weren’t supposed to lock them up and throw away the key.

“Ben is going to go places, Eddie. He’s going to get into an amazing college, just like Stan and Bill, and he’s going to leave this place behind and never look back. And I want that for him. He deserves that.”

“So do you.” Eddie insisted. “Beverly. All that shit you went through? You’re better because of it. It’s like they say in the meetings, the key isn’t to just survive but to live. Live your life after all the garage and prove our abusers wrong. You’re not doing that by keeping him at arm's length.”

“Since when did you get so insightful.”

“He is my cousin and he’s crazy for you. And you’re my friend and you’re crazy for him. Am I crazy for wanting you to be happy?”

Beverly didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on Ben or at least in that general direction. “You know, I could say the same for you.” She mentioned after a moment had passed. “When do you plan on living your life and making a move on Richie?”

“What?”

“He won’t ask you out because of his track record, but the guy is in to you, Eds.”

Eddie shook his head, refusing to believe it. “That’s just how he is, Beverly.”

“He can be an annoying prick at times, but it’s nothing compared to how he is with you. Face it, Eddie: pissing you off is Richie Tozier’s form of foreplay.”

“Spaghetti man!” Richie shouted as he jogged over. That big, bright smile that made his eyes light up was prominent on his face. He stopped in front of Eddie, holding his chin up high to him. “A Lannister always pays his debts.” He announced in a tight British accent.

He pulled something out from behind his back then, a small little koala bear that had come from one of the games.

“Bullshit,” Beverly called. “Either Ben won that or you paid the barker to hand it over.”

“You wound me, Ms. Marsh! I won this little guy fair and square.”

“It’s true, Bev. After about thirty tries, Rich finally wacked enough moles to be declared the winner.”

“Always knew I was a champion at walking off,” Richie announced proudly.

Eddie took the bear, hugging it closely to him. It wasn’t anywhere near the size of the one Ben had won for Beverly, but he couldn’t care in the least. He stood and followed the rest of the game over to the concession stands, all eager to purchase some overly greasy fair food, and thought about what Beverly had said to him.

Maybe Beverly had a point there. After all, Richie had begun to pester Eddie and Eddie only. Sure, he liked to push Stan’s buttons and flirt with Ben, but never to the point of getting a reaction out of them. Maybe he was just the only one receptive to it.

Still, Eddie didn’t want to focus too much on it. He had something else he had been working towards, and that was getting into the ring.

He hadn’t planned on ever fighting, but the more he worked out and gained muscle and the more he would go and watched, he began to think about what it would be like to be inside the ring just for a moment. The possibility of having the absolute shit beat out of him was obvious, but he could bow out any time he wanted to, no shame on it.

He had spoken to Richie and Ben about it, both of which seemed rather apprehensive about the idea, but neither was going to stop him if he wanted to do it. They told him he had to work a little bit more and gain more upper arm strength before trying it out.

Ben showed him a few pointers here and there to work on and Beverly even agreed to spar with him a couple of times just to get him in the general mindset of it all. She completely kicked his ass every time, but it was still nice to have an idea of what to expect. Richie continued to work at the gym with him, assisting in any way he could.

Eventually, it came to the point where he felt ready to step into the ring. They went to the farm one Saturday night and he gave his name to Mike to add to the list. Mike and Stan exchanged a swift look but didn’t argue. After a bit of time and more people signed up, the roster was posted.

Bowers vs Huggens. Corcoran vs Bannerman. Marsh vs Ripsom. And finally, Kaspbrak vs. Criss.

He would be going last, which was a bit of a baller busting moment since it meant waiting around. It also meant giving Richie the chance to try to talk him out of it. That of all things was a little off-putting. He had been working hard, building up to this moment and to know the one person Eddie wanted to prove himself to didn’t believe in him was disheartening.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in you dude,” Richie insisted. They had walked off for a bit, standing off by the torches lightening the area, just a bit far away so they could talk over the yelling and cheering. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I can handle myself, Rich. Besides, I see you get hurt all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

“My face is ugly to begin with, short stack. I’m trying to protect that pretty boy thing you got going on.”

Hearing Richie calls him pretty wasn’t anything new. He had said it from the beginning and lasted throughout their quick friendship. He complimented everybody, so it was never a real surprise to Eddie when Richie would drop some form of flattery on him. The only difference was Eddie happened to be the only one who got any real reaction from it.

The fight from over way had finished and it was Beverly’s turn next. Eddie had never missed a fight that any of his friends fought and he wouldn’t do it now. “I’ll be fine, Rich,” Eddie said, letting the words sink in before going off.

The fight between Beverly and Betty had been a wild one; not for the actual things going on inside the ring, but the reactions of the men around them. Seeing two women go at it was something Eddie would never gain pleasure from, but it seemed to work on the other guys.

“This is the most we’ve made in a while,” Mike commented as Stanley counted the bets.

“God bless sexism,” Stan replied dryly.

Mike had mentioned before that other men had offered to bet double if he got the women to dress a bit more scandalous. Both Betty and Beverly agreed to the show shirt, no shoes rule, but they had the sports bra that was more useful than fashion and wore either shorts or leggings.

Of course, the sex-driven pigs that loved the idea of two women tearing at each other begged the two men running the show to make them wear something over to underwear or a bikini, but they refused, insisting that the women could fight naked if the men did the same.

Beverly wound up winning, leaving the ring with a messy bun and fat lip, but she was the champion and that was that mattered to her.

When it was Eddie’s turn, he tried to keep himself from vomiting right on the spot. He accepted a hug for luck from Beverly, and a nod from Ben, and a final glance from Richie before climbing into the ring.

Vic Criss was a skinny guy with short, styled blond hair. He was good friends with Bowers and could be a bit of shit sometimes, but he wasn’t the worst of those who liked to throw punches.

Eddie tried to remember all the tips that Ben had given him before signing up. Just do the movements, focus on the other man’s weak points, and dodge and block everything he could. Tiring out the other opponent was also a good strategy but he also had to remember this wasn’t boxing or wrestling. Anything could be thrown at him at any given moment.

“And just remember, if you want out, just say so. No shame in stopping.” Ben reminded him once the final time.

Mike counted them in, stepping out of the way once it was time.

Eddie got into the stance, typical of most fighters. Vic started slow, mostly hitting his upper arms to throw him off. Eddie threw some jabs of his own and even landed a kick to Vic’s hip, but that was the last of him having the upper hand.

Vic didn’t go easy on him, making sure to quickly remind Eddie the point of this was to kick the shit out of his other. He got a good punch right to Eddie’s left cheek, cutting it open in a matter of moments. They got to the floor and tumbled together, and Eddie was able to snag a few hits of his own, but Vic was able to throw him off and land an elbow to Eddie’s nose. Blood came pouring out and he stopped for a moment when it touched his hips.

That had been his fatal flaw however and it gave Vic the chance to knock Eddie off his feet. He tackled him, holding him down and pinning him there for as long as he needed. Vic was announced the winner and Mike were there in a matter of moments to pull Eddie to his feet.

Vic turned to him then, shaking hands with him like any proper fighter. Eddie left the ring, letting Beverly look over his bruises. His cheek was cut and would need some damaging and his nose wasn’t broken but had a good amount of blood coming from it.

Eddie’s face from his nose to chin was stained in his blood and while that should have been rather horrifying to him, he found that he loved it. The rush that came from throwing and landing a punch was far more electrifying than Eddie ever anticipated.

Richie hurried to his side, offering a wet towel to help Eddie clean up. “How do you feel?” He asked automatically once Beverly was finished going over the damage.

“Amazing,” Eddie admitted, almost surprising himself with it. “I shouldn’t. I got punched. A lot. I should be revolted and feel like shit, but I just wanna jump back in there.”

“Fun, huh?” Richie beamed, placing his hand warmly on Eddie’s shoulder.

“It was fantastic. Almost arousing. Practically titillating.” Eddie rambled on, using big words he could think of to describe it. “Orgasmic.”

“Sounds hot, Eds,” Richie muttered, those big eyes drawing down to Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie would have thought it was due to the blood-splattered there, but he knew better. “Is my face still pretty, Rich?”

The taller man faltered for a moment before that big, goofy smile came across his lips. He reached out, gently touching Eddie’s chin with his thumb and index finger. He tilted his head up just slightly, moving in closer to him. “Cute, cute, cute.” He whispered.

Eddie waited for him to make the next move. To do the one thing they both wanted, but he didn’t. Richie stepped back then, releasing Eddie’s chin after a beat. For a moment Eddie began to question everything, wondering if he had missed something between them or was making it all up in his head.

He had already been bold once on this night, so he figured why not go for gold? Closing the space between them again, Eddie lifted his bruised and unwashed hands, grabbing Richie’s he’d and pulling him downwards as he leaned up. He kissed him then, his first kiss ever.

It was hard and his mouth was still somewhat covered in blood, but he loved it. And when he pulled back, he waited. A small part of his brain thought Richie would have reacted badly. Would have thought the actual idea of kissing Eddie was merely laughable and having his blood smeared across his face as a result of their kiss would be practically traumatizing.

But he just laughed. Heartly and full of joy, he laughed and smiled before dipping down to kiss Eddie again. It was proper this time, with a better angle. Eddie fell into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, ignoring the discomfort that came from his nose and mouth pressed against Richie’s.

He had waited long enough for this. Besides, if it meant kissing Richie, the pain didn’t hurt that much anyway.

[hostgalli19]

Markiplier Fluffy Collection  Chapter 6: Out of My Hands - Part 1

Chapter Summary: She had crossed the line this time. Dark never wanted to take Mark’s place. Never. But now he had choice. 

Note: I'm on a roll today. This chapter takes place in the same universe as The Safety Net, go and read that if you want to understand what's going on here. I didn't intend for this to be finished but it seemed to stop at a perfect place

Length: 1,228 words (2 pages) 

Tag List: @wilfordwarfstacheisbae, @matt10nt, @scuttling-thoughtfully, @lamiasluck, @andybemarky, @devon-rever-860

Link on Ao3

Date: 25/12/19 Time: 5:45 pm - 7:41 pm

“Leave him alone, he didn’t do anything to you,” A voice yelled, it sounded like Dark, but not at the same time. Silver, King, Wilford and Bim shared an alarmed look ran into the entryway just in time to see someone fall over the banister, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The man's neck-breaking on impact

Silver scrambled away from the man when he realised it was Matthew, well the person looked like Matthew. He looked up to see Damien standing at the banister staring down at him, a horrified look on his face, the familiar ringing sound was defending as Matthews walked out to see what was going on. Stopping in front of his look-alike, crouching down and cursed.

He looked up at who was standing near the banister. Silver looked up and saw Dark, except he didn't like exactly like the Dark they knew. He looked horrified and just shook his head a little backing away from the banister, his eyes starting to water before he disappeared and Matthew's look-alike got up, cracking his neck and looking at his hands. Tears started to leak down his face. 

Silver caught him when his legs gave out. He had no idea what was going on but whatever it was, it was serious, otherwise, Matthew's look-alike wouldn't be crying. He didn't appear to be aware he was doing it as blood dripped down the side of his head from a wound. Silver could feel him shaking. He appeared to be going into shock 

Matthew reached to touch him but stopped when his look-a-like shook his head. Matthew pulled his look-alike into a hug, he buried his head in Matthew's shoulder as Matthew looked up at Damien, who was leaning against the banister in shock. Silver had no idea what was going on but knew whatever it was, it wasn't good and had to do with the person he knew was standing just out of his sight.

He could hear their heartbeat. It was slightly elevated, but they didn’t seem anywhere near as shocked as everyone else.

“What the hell where you thinking Celine?” Damien finally got over his shock, turned to glare at Celine, who was standing behind him with a smug look on her face, she seemly completely unconcerned. Anything Celine could have said was cut off by the loud pained scream, she leaned over the banister to stare down at Matthew’s look-a-like, he was slumped on his knees screaming.

Celine looked pleased with herself.

Silver, King, Wilford, Bim and Damien were forced to watch as he collapsed on his side before going to completely still, his eyes turned black before fading. Dark appeared again, coughing up blood before curling into a ball, his eyes were flickering. Matthew kneeled next to Dark and gently pulled him up, he didn’t put up any resistance, just burying his head in Matthew’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“You’re a sick twisted bitch, you’re not going to get away with it,” Dark stated, it sounded like several people were speaking at the same time even as tears dripped down his face, Celine just laughed. Damien looked like he wanted to punch his sister, the only thing stopping him from doing just that was how close they were to the banister. Matthew had a cold look on his face as he stared up them.

“Get away with what.  I haven’t done anything wrong,” Celine answered, she only laughed when Damien glared at her. Bim stared at him wondering how Celine thought she was going to get away with this. It was clear by Matthew’s reaction or lack of reaction that Celine had done something wrong.

Dark was smirking up at her like he knew something she didn’t as the shoulders seemed to bend her and Damien.

“We’re aren’t in our universe; this is the main universe. Good luck explaining to Matthew and Cu what you were planning on killing our universe version Mark. Time to pay the piper sweetheart. Did you really think you’d be able to get away with it forever without someone finding out,” Dark replied, Bim stared at him wondering why it sounded like several people were speaking through Dark.

It took him a few seconds to realise that was because several people were speaking through Dark. Google and Bing grabbed Celine before she could say anything, as soon as she was gone Damien collapsed against the banister and Dark started to sob quietly, it sounded strange. Bim stared at the three wondering what the hell was going on.

There was clearly something going on that they didn’t know about.

"We're different. Unlike in this universe, I'm am an ego. Sort of. We're parts of his personality. The Author, Actor and "William Barnum" didn't exist in the real world. He was all of them. Markiplier was a personality he created. Celine made sure Mark was shot in the chest, falling over the banister after having acid thrown in his face.

We had no idea until shortly after Eric and his father were created. Derek was "unwritten". Something about that made Markiplier start to fade. I don't really understand it. Mark was ... different from Markiplier. It took us a little while to get used to the change. We had to figure out a way for him to continue making videos when he was blind.

We figured out a slightly unconventional way to make it work. We would partially possess Mark allowing him to use our eyes while he played the game and did the commentary. It took a lot of practice to make it look natural but we managed. Not ling after that Damien come to visit. He never died.

Well, he did get shot but that's because he was being an idiot-" Dark was cut off when Damien started laughing, he turned and glared at him. There was something so startling about this version of Dark, he felt different.

"It wasn't my fault someone decided to steal his gun, I still don't know how they even found it. I know Mark made sure to lock it in a safe so something like that couldn't happen," Damien answered rolling his eyes as he walked down the stairs.

He looked older than their Damien.

"Celine was likely the one who got into the safe. She did go through all of his paperwork. Are you really surprised that she found the pin to the safe? It wasn't exactly the best," Dark replied, he looked like he was contemplating hitting Damien. Not that Matthew blamed him. Damien was staring him then paled, he looked alarmed.

"Are you certain, she went through all of his paperwork?" Damien questioned, he looked worried, Dark stared at him wondering what was so bad about that. Mark had kept all his sensitive information in a place Celine could never find it and a place she would never think to look. He got the feeling Damien was more worried about Mark's personal information.

"He got incredibly upset at her for going through the stuff in the filing cabinet he kept in your office. The one with all the information about his scripts and that leather-bound manuscript he freaked out over you touching" Dark answered, his voice sounded different. It took Matthew a few seconds to realise Wilford was the one speaking.

Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I’ll see you next year ;)

[theinvisible-rogertaylor]

We Are The Same

For @alexaaab — Hii, I was wondering if you could do a Ben x reader imagine where they just started dating and the reader is a very famous actress, she’s with Ben at the Paris Fashion week and after all the fashion week stuff they spend a few days exploring Paris and they became the new it couple or something like that. Sorry if this is too much! Anyway, thank youu. A/N: I changed it a bit, due to how my Sweetener series is going to go, put most of what you asked for is the same! Warnings: mild suggestive content. FLUFF Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader.

It’s safe to say that when Ben invited YN to Paris on vacation, she was shocked but also rather excited. They’d only been dating for about four months, so a trip like this felt important to her. Perhaps it meant things were getting serious. Or, it was just convenient, considering that she was finishing up filming season 2 of The Alienist in Belgium and he was already in Paris for Men’s Fashion Week. But, being an optimist, she chose to believe the former of the two. When her flight touched down in Paris around 4 PM on that Friday night Ben left a message on her phone. 

“Hey babe, I’m sorry I can’t be there to pick you up from the airport, but I’m sending a car service to drive to to my hotel. I left a key with the concierge for you. See you later.”

YN smiled at the message and grabbed her luggage from the baggage claim. Thinking about how any of her other ex-boyfriends would have just sent her a text and expected her to find her own way. But not Ben. He always had everything planned out and was always 2 steps ahead. 

When YN arrived at the suite, she admired the old Parisian details of the room. Making her way into the bedroom, she smiled and giggled, seeing that there were rose petals all over the bed and a trail of them leading to the bathroom. Her smile grew as she noticed a note on the vanity. 

YN, I’m out at the Alfred Dunhill show. I made reservations for 8 PM at Laserre. So, relax, have a bath and put on your nicest dress, darling. If you’ve brought it, I like your black Gucci one. ;)

See you soon love, Ben xx.

YN smiled and put the note down — she had heard of Laserre, according to Vogue magazine and Zagat, it was one of the top 10 romantic restaurants in Paris. Sitting on the edge of the claw foot tub, dipping her hand into the fragrant rose petal bath, it was still hot. He must not have left long before she arrived. 

YN heard Ben arrive back to the hotel before she saw him. As he eased the door closed she called out to him from in front of the mirror as she applied her lipstick. “Hey babe! I’m in the bathroom.” Rushing in, ben picked her up from behind and spun her around. “Ugh, I’ve missed you, sweetheart!” He groaned, burying his face in her neck and pulling YN close before giving her a true kiss. “I’ve missed you too, babe.” YN smiled, wiping the lipstick from the corner of Ben’s mouth. “I’m just going to shower and change and then we’ll head out to the restaurant, alright love? Gosh, you must be starved.” YN smiled at the genuine concern in Ben’s voice — yet again another characteristic many of her ex’s lacked. “I’m okay, I ate the chocolate off of your pillow when I got in.” YN giggled. “Thank you for the bath and the rose petals by the way, very romantic.” She added, kissing his cheek before turning back to the vanity to finish her makeup and encourage him to start his shower. “Hey, babe!” Ben yelled from inside the shower, “did you bring that Gucci dress I suggested in the note?”

Before YN could answer, Ben stepped out of the shower and into the adjoining bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist. Sneaking up behind her quietly, Ben smirked. Placing his hands on YN’s shoulders Ben kissed the exposed skin of her back and shoulder blades. 

YN jumped a little at the sudden contact, but moaned at the sensations nonetheless. Turning to face him, YN kissed his lips and unwrapped his towel, cradling his half-hard cock. Before he could walk her toward the bed, YN pulled away and Ben groaned at the loss of contact. 

“As much as I would like to continue this little... or not so little rendezvous, we’re going to be late for our reservation.” YN smirked, looking down at Ben’s erection. “Tease.” He smirked, shaking his head. “Here.” He continued, turning YN around and zipping the back of her dress before moving her hair and kissing the nape of her neck. 

Pulling out her chair for her at the restaurant, he whispered in her ear. 

“I’m glad you took my advice on the dress, love. You look amazing.” YN blushed and gave a shy smile taking Ben’s hand across the table when he’s seated. “You look very handsome yourself. So, what do you have planned for us this week?” She asked as the sommelier arrived at their table to pour the wine. “Well, I know you’re a huge Gossip Girl fan, so I was thinking we could be Chuck and Blair for a day. Breakfast tomorrow at Chez Julien, a few hours at the Louvre, we’ll pick up some macarons from Ladurée on our way back to the hotel before dinner at Baccarat.” Ben said before sipping his wine. YN’s jaw nearly hits the floor and she lets out an excited gasp. “Ben are you serious?! All that in one day? We have a whole week here! And Baccarat is much too expensive, we definitely don’t need to go there.” YN responded. 

Though both were successful actors and models in their own right, she didn’t want Ben to feel as though she was taking advantage of him, because she wasn’t. She paid her way to Paris and could afford her own dinners, so she didn’t want him to feel like he had to pamper her or provide everything for her. She was just happy to be there with him. They could hole up in the hotel all week, and simply enjoy one another’s company for all she cared. 

“I want to take you there, YN. I know you don’t like being spoiled, but you just wrapped a massively successful series and we’ve been apart for weeks.” “And to answer your other questions... we aren’t exactly staying in Paris all week.” Ben said, looking down at his plate of dessert. “W-what do you mean?” YN asked, rather confused. “Well, remember when we first started dating you told me that you hadn’t been back to Italy since you were a kid?” He smiled mischievously. “You didn’t?!” YN gasped again. Getting up from her seat at the table she ran over to Ben and hugged him as he stood to take her into his arms. “The train leaves Saturday at noon.” He smiled, kissing her. “I love you, Ben.” YN said, for the first time in the four months they had been together. “I love you too, YN.” Ben smiled.

The young couple stood like that for several minutes, in the middle of the fancy dining room. Oblivious to the looks they received from fellow diners and the French conversations going on around them. In that moment, the world stood still.

Upon arriving at the train station in Rome, YN admired the architecture of the city around them while Ben called for car service. 

As he reappeared beside her, YN placed her arms around his waist and kissed him. 

“This place is amazing. I can’t wait to adventure with you.” Ben responded into the kiss. 

Hand-in-hand walking across the street, the couple was spotted by several photographers as the stepped into their town car. Ben, being the gentleman he was opened YN’s door for her and walked around the other side of the car. Men with cameras and thick Italian accents made their way closer to the car as it pulled away. 

“Ben! YN! Why are you in Italy?” one shouted. “Ben, are you planning something special for YN?!” another yelled. YN just laughed and placed her legs in Ben’s lap in the backseat as the driver headed for the hotel. 

“They do know we’ve only been dating 4 months right? As much as I love you, I sincerely hope you don’t pull a Nick Jonas and propose this early.” Ben chuckled at this and kissed her cheek, “no, darling. I do love you, but I’d at least hope to be introduced to your family before I propose. I have no hidden agenda for us this week, just a busy couple finally getting to spend some time together.”

Arriving at the hotel, Ben hands the front desk receptionist his credit card. 

“No, Ben, please let me get this! You paid for everything during our stay in Paris, I insist.” YN cut in, handing over hers instead. The receptionist looks from YN to Ben as he huffs and puts his card back in his wallet. “Yay!” YN cheered. 

Walking up to their room, Ben said, “I can take care of you, you know.” Opening the door to their room and turning on the lights YN says, “I know you can, and I can take care of myself too. I want you to know that that isn’t why I’m with you. Not for the fame, or money. I’m with you because I care about you, and you understand this lifestyle. My other boyfriends always thought that they needed to take care of me, and I hoped you’d be different.” YN sighed, flopping onto the bed. 

Sitting next to her on the bed, Ben caressed her cheek, and looked her deep in the eye.

“I know you can, lovie. You’re very capable of taking care of yourself, but this whole week away was my idea, and I just wanted to treat you. You’ve been working so hard and I’m unbelievably proud of you.” He smiled. “Thank you, baby. That means everything to me, but you have treated me, several times in the last few days, I may add. I want to pay for the room, and dinners. I’m in an extremely good financial situation right now. With The Alienist wrapping, the Burberry campaign. We are equals in this relationship, my love. Get used to it.” YN smiled, leaning forward to kiss Ben. Climbing on top of her and deepening the kiss Ben responded, “alright, sugar mumma. Let’s get some rest, you’re treating me to dinner after our nap.”

YN just laughed as Ben took the position of big spoon.      

[journodale]

Why I’m mad about the Rise of Skywalker

My first reaction to The Rise of Skywalker – once I got past the litany of eyerolls and “oh, come on!” reactions while I was watching it – was just how mad I was about it. It’s not a deep-abiding rage, mind you, and much of my anger is a form of disappointment, but some of it is just about how petty and spiteful aspects of the film seemed to be in response to things that happened in The Last Jedi. (Spoilers, and occasional salty language, about herein).

My biggest and first complaint is that JJ Abrams and his co-writer, Chris Terrio, turned Rey into Ken the Jedi Prince. Ken. The. Fucking. Jedi. Prince. For those of you who are unaware, these stemmed from a series of largely shite (but occasionally charmingly shite) young adult novels in the early 1990s, as the franchise was experiencing its first major revival with the publication of Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy. Several of those books revolved around the discovery of a Jedi “prince” named Ken, who started to follow Luke Skywalker around until he discovered that he was indeed Palpatine’s grandson (the books had a whole story arc about his father, Palpatine’s son, being a three-eyed mutant), though these storylines and characters conveniently disappeared from the old expanded universe and were never spoken of again. Around the same time, Dark Horse Comics also published Dark Empire, many of the plot points therein were also lifted liberally by Abrams and Terrio – specifically that Palpatine has resurrected himself by use of clone bodies and mysterious dark side powers – the film simply called the planet Exogol rather than Byss, but the broad strokes are the same, including that Palpatine was eventually trying to move his essence into a new body (in this case it was Leia’s unborn third child rather than Rey). These comics touched off a whole litany of spin-offs wherein the nature of the Force and the conflict between the Jedi and Sith descended to increasingly cartoonish depths, and yet here they are, reviving themselves, because of the need to give Rey a bloodline.

In an interview with Terrio in The Hollywood Reporter, Terrio stated that they chose to make Rey a Palpatine because it was the “worst news she could receive,” and then handwaved a bunch of bullshit about “dark side royalty” and how she was choosing her own family over her ancestry. The problem is that this makes no sense, either from a story perspective, or from the broader continuity of the Star Wars universe. Terrio insisted that the original films established that the Force ran along family lines because of Luke Skywalker’s line to Leia in Return of the Jedi about how the Force was strong in their family – discounting that this was Luke’s awkwardly trying to tell a woman who made out with him six months before that she was actually his long-lost twin sister, or the fact that the whole existence of the Jedi Order and their prohibitions against marriage and children precluded there being Force-wielding dynasties out there. Rian Johnson in Last Jedi to make the significant revelation that Rey was the children of junk traders and nobodies was not only “democratizing” the Force – that one didn’t need famous parents to feel the Force – but also to being a hero. Terrio insisted that they weren’t slighting Johnson – and that could be the case. They instead were taking the laziest course to telling the story of the film.

Absolutely nothing in the story demanded that Rey be of Palpatine’s bloodline – if they insisted on bringing back Palpatine (another lazy choice, but more on that later), he could simply have demanded that Kylo Ren find her because she was simply a powerful Force user, whom the Force seemed to manifest in her as a response to the rising darkness (which would seem to have been the whole promise of The Force Awakens’ title). They wouldn’t have needed to invent a son for Palpatine (and then handwave away the fact that he apparently didn’t have Force powers despite their insistence on strong Force lineages, or if he did, how he managed to avoid being groomed as his father’s new apprentice and heir, and how he wasn’t the subject of a war of succession to the throne upon Palpatine’s death), and they would have maintained the notion that the Force belongs to everyone – not the Jedi, not the Sith, and certainly not to famous bloodlines (as Johnson made explicitly clear in Last Jedi). But no – giving Rey a bloodline was about fan service, and the constant need by certain fans that she be related to somebody important (never mind that all of the theories they put forward would not have worked out in terms of ages and timelines).

Another example of Abrams and Terrio totally not thumbing their noses at Johnson was the complete abandonment of the core theme of Last Jedi – that it’s people and relationships that matter, not things. What Abrams and Terrio replaced it with was about turning objects into fetish items – lightsabers in particular. The fact that they insisted on Rey having rebuilt Anakin/Luke’s lightsaber – recreating it exactly rather than turning it into something new – or having Rey build her own lightsaber before the film opened, coupled with the fact that they also introduced Leia’s lightsaber to imbue it with special meaning, as though it was the fact that it was these two lightsabers in particular that imbued Rey with particular symbolic meaning for the final fight was a complete abrogation of Johnson’s message. Lightsabers are not Excalibur – they are not magic swords bestowed upon Jedi by women in lakes. That said, Abrams is pathologically incapable of writing screenplays that don’t have MacGuffins (though the Sith Wayfinders were themselves also MacGuffins, and the dagger another one – even though its appearance and history made absolutely no sense), so this is more of his particularly lazy writing. As an aside, the whole Wayfinder MacGuffin is itself partially lifted from the Jedi Prince series, where the Imperial warlords were looking for the Glove of Darth Vader and found it in pieces of the second Death Star…on a water planet. I’m not even kidding.

The redemption of Kylo Ren didn’t make any sense. Terrio tried to handwave some Joseph Campbell bullshit about how great myths required atonement with the father figure and the great sin of patricide, but Ren’s actual rejection of the dark side was completely nonsensical – particularly because of how they used the device of Leia going into some kind of meditative state that eventually led to her death, as though it was her mystical intervention and self-sacrifice that somehow drove it out of him, as though the dark side was some kind of demonic possession. It also didn’t make sense how Rey decided to heal Ren immediately after she struck him with a lethal blow with her lightsaber – which they played as an act of mercy – and it was Terrio’s contention that it was what allowed Ren to let the light in and see his father again (which was a memory and not a ghost, because how else were they going to get Harrison Ford wedged into the film for fan service). There’s no logic to any of that. Both Force Awakens and Revenge of the Sith showed that going to the dark side was a choice – Ren chose to kill his father because he thought that was what would allow him to bury his past. After a career of mass murder and raping the minds of his interrogation victims, he’s going to suddenly turn it all back because he got stuck by a lightsaber and healed? Really? I’m not buying it. (Incidentally, the fact that Ren’s body dissolved in the end also makes no sense either – Kenobi, Yoda, and Skywalker’s corporeal dissolution had to do with the powers that Qui-Gon Jinn learned to unlock to maintain his presence in the Force after death, which he later showed Yoda how to do in The Clone Wars series and in Revenge of the Sith. I can see Luke having taught Leia the powers, but Ben/Kylo Ren before his training had been completed? I have a hard time with that).

Yet another of Abrams and Terrio’s lazy choices was the need to bring in a Big Bad™ in the form of Palpatine rather than engaging with another of the significant aspects of the Last Jedi’s themes, which was about the banality of evil. The whole point of the casino sequence that fanboys like to deride is that it showed Finn the evil of indifference of those who profit from war, while the underlying theme of the rise of the First Order in the films had to do with people being nostalgic for fascism – sure, a lot of people got trampled underfoot but at least the trains ran on time and we were “safe” with stormtroopers on every corner. It made the film as relevant to the 2010s as George Lucas did with commenting about Nixon and Vietnam in the original trilogy, or his construction of a trilogy of films about political violence and the rise of authoritarian populism with the prequels. Killing Palpatine does nothing about these bigger, underlying societal problems that the Resistance has to confront. Remember in Last Jedi where Poe talks about being the spark that will light the flame that will burn the First Order to the ground? Well, that’s all evaporated with the revelation that hey, it was Palpatine pulling the strings all along. Nothing to confront here, people, let’s just kill the Big Bad™ and go home. Again, it’s cheap, it’s lazy, and it’s fan service.

I have a big problem with the way Abrams and Terrio treated the Finn/Poe relationship, which all of the actors were pushing for. Abrams, in several interviews, dismissed this as the fact that they have a bond that’s “stronger” because they’ve been through the fire together, or some bullshit like that, then assured fans that they would get their LGBT representation because it’s important to show queer fans that they too belong in the Star Wars universe. That “representation” – the fact that a tertiary character from Last Jedi shares a same-sex kiss with another woman (whom the materials accompanying the film identify as her wife) – is brief, in the background, and was easily sliced out of the film for foreign distribution. And yet, Abrams expects plaudits for his “representation,” while also trying to reinforce Finn and Poe’s hetero credentials with the ambiguity of what Finn planned to declare to Rey as they were sinking in the quicksand, and with Poe’s awkward flirting with Zorii Bliss (and we did learn in the subsequent materials that the pair’s previous “emotionally complicated” relationship was when they were teenagers). Abrams later said that a kiss between Finn and Poe would be “heavy handed” – erm, you know, like the fact that he had Rey kiss Ren, the man who chased her, tortured her, tried to rape her mind, killed her friends, and was a mass-murderer. Yeah, he’s a dark, broody soul who just needs the love of a good woman to complete his redemption story (and I’m sure that the Internet is replete with all kinds of fanfic about how her magic vagina cures Ren’s manpain). That’s totally not heavy-handed, heteronormative fan-service in the slightest. There was actual ground that could be made where Finn and Poe were gay male leads in one of the biggest blockbuster franchises on the planet – something that has never been done before. It would have been ground breaking, keeping entirely with the story that had been established, and would have actually been worthy of applause.

The diminution of Rose Tico’s role is also bullshit, and Terrio’s assurances that they filmed more good stuff with her that just wound up on the cutting room floor also doesn’t pass the smell test. Terrio asserted that it was great how she rose from being a lowly mechanic to being one of Leia’s right-hand advisors – which conveniently had very little screen time. There was an opportunity to have her included with the group aboard the Millennium Falcon on its spy mission right at the very beginning of the film, rather than the insertion of the puppet creature Klaud, so as to show that Rose was an integral part of “Leia’s best agents” entrusted with getting the valuable intelligence from their spy in the First Order, but no, that would be a little too obvious. What is left is essential proof that they have caved to the loud and obnoxious fanboys who objected to her presence in “their” films.

There’s a lot of other nitpicking I could do – whether it’s Abram’s inability to grasp how hyperspace works, the fact that the celebration scenes at the end don’t make any sense with the exception of going down the fan service checklist, or the fact that the closing scene contained so much cheese that I’m surprised the Supply Management marketing boards didn’t file a trade complaint and impose 300 percent tariffs on it. The pace of the film was so frenetic that any scene that could have been poignant or moving was lost in the bang-bang-bang editing. Overall, however, I’m just incredibly disappointed in the lazy writing and fan service that pretends it’s being clever.

This was not the film we deserved. This was a film that rewarded the legions of fanboys who complained that films with strong female characters who don’t wind up in bed with a man at the end were a “feminist agenda;” that films that didn’t pander to the very straight white male entitlement to a particular fandom were the works of “social justice warriors” that hate their own fans; that films that don’t recreate the wonder they felt when they were twelve years old – which is an impossibility – are somehow raping their childhoods. The CBC’s Eli Glasner called it “cinematic comfort food,” but it’s more insidious than that – it’s a repudiation of attempts to grow the franchise beyond just a nostalgia cult, as it increasingly morphs itself into (and by cult, there is now a legion of online “truthers” who trade conspiracy theories about how the films have been hijacked by executives with agendas). And because it will rake in billions of dollars, it will assure the people with the purse strings that this is what the market needs more of. My hope for the franchise is moving toward vehicles like The Mandalorian, and the other forthcoming live-action series on Disney+, because the lessons for blockbusters are apparently to be hollow facsimiles of what came before.

[breg21]

Ladynoir Month: Vigilante

@ladynoirjuly2019

Ao3 FFN

I was not sure what to do with this chapter, so I hope it came out alright? Lemme know your thoughts.

Warning: fluff.

But, I mean, if you didn't know that already… I'm sorry? Lol

"There she stood. Fierce and determined. She knew what lurked down in the depths of the bank beneath her very feet. And he was gonna kick show them what a shadow in the night really was like, for she was Ladybug, v-"

"Chat, no."

"Shush. Now, where was I?"

“How about we don't and say we did."

He ignored her. "Ah, yes. And so, the vigilante Ladybug swooped in, knocking every bad guy— and a few cops, but we won't go into detail about that one—onto their butts, saving the bank from the robber-"

"Tell me again why I'm listening to this story? And where do you even come up with these ideas?" Ladybug interrupted, breaking him from the story without gusto. "Because, honestly, I'm rethinking some of my life choices right now."

He huffed, winding his arms a lighting tighter around her waist, and pulling her snuggly back against his chest. His hand began to automatically stroke her hair softly."I put a lot of effort into that story, thank you very much. My mind is very creative."

She snorted. "Sure you did."

"I did." He poked her side, invoking a giggle from her when he found a particular tickle spot. Once he realized just what he had found, he attacked, mercilessly. She knew he wasn't thinking about the consequences, as he provoked tickle after horrible tickle.

When they were super bored, were too busy with their schedules to go out on dates during the day, and ran out of safe story time tales, Chat restored to making up stories. Sometimes fun ones, sometimes goofy— there was one time last month where it was downright scary and she had to cut him off so she wouldn't have nightmares later that night— but it was just a nice pastime.

Between choked laughter, she got out, "Okay, okay." Several more fits of chuckles. She had to get ahold of herself as to not wake the sleeping city that laid down in the streets. It was late enough as it was. "Enough." She playfully swatted away his hands, and retracted them reluctantly.

Tonight's story was outright nonsense. Chat babbling about a vigilante Ladybug, and how she saved Paris from wrong doers. It would've made her roll on her back and die of absolute laughter if it hadn't been for the fact that when he talked about Ladybug, it reminded her of how much he truly treasured her.

She knew, that when he talked about this vigilante Ladybug, he was really speaking about her. Of what he thought of her, what he saw of her and it caused her heart to melt. He spoke of his story Ladybug as this strong, smart, caring, selfless and righteous person, and how she was a someone that everyone— himself included— looked up to.

Her lungs didn't really wanna work after that.

Then there was the vulnerable side that he spoke about her. How he saw her fears, and springling mind when things become too heavy on her shoulders, and how it only made her more. It made her more human, and that was okay, in a world where cops and everyone else was after her, she stayed true to herself, even when she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders,m and the doubt crept in. But she always found a way, always found who she was.

It honestly made her forget that he was telling a story for a moment.

When her heart finally calmed, she looked to him, seeing the fake disappointment heavily on his face. He was a good actor, she would give him that. "Remind me why I love you, kitty?"

His kitty ears perked straight, as his tail rail romped into a fine line, and it only took a second after his strange reaction that she realized what she had actually said. "I-I mean."

"D-did you mean it?"

Her heart thumped at the way his eyes lit up and were swallowed with hope. She never knew it was possible for one person to look so happy. If emotions could be a person, he would've been the embodiment of it.

Her eyes went sideways as to avoid his gaze as she shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe.."

He went rigid. "Yeah." He coughed. "Awesome, Good. Amazing." It looked like he was desperately trying to get the air in his lungs to corporate. "I mean, you know I'm in love with you, have been for a while. So… ditto?"

She laughed. She just couldn't contain it. Because that was, without a doubt, her kitty being him. Enduring was the closest word she could think of, but it didn't even come close. "Yeah.. kinda noticed that." She teased.

Her laughter caught on and he joined in as if it was everything he wanted to do. "I really do though— love you, I mean."

She took his face into her hands, rubbing her fingers along the outline of his cheeks, just beneath his mask. "Love you too, kitty. I wish I could tell you everyday."

She could see her words nearly brought her to tears before he pulled her in, crushing her to him as he just held her and buried his head into her shoulder. "This is enough." He promised fiercely, loudly, even though the words themselves were quiet. "This is more than enough."

And she knew he was right. It was enough for now.

She couldn't wait until the day where it could be more though.

Because like…. Love?

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Till tomorrow! Lots of love!

P.S. Tomorrow, we're going to be seeing more of Marinette and civilian life and school, and Adrien and stuff— nothing romantic interactions, between the two, because I'm not gonna have them cheat, even though Adrien will always have a special place in Marinette's heart. First love doesn't always go away so easily— before we get to the ladynoir. But you'll see how it builds on and things start to… get a little too similar for later ;)

BUT THE REVEAL IS NOT A LITTLE WHILE YET.

[ursoself-satisfying]

All Things Must Pass

this was a request!!! hes so young here wow

Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, sad/comfort fluff

A/N: i have so little time to write this was a struggle,,, i projected a lot onto this fic, using the language i use when im in a negative headspace n such so i hope it doesnt thro anyone off,,, i went thru a lot of what i felt then wrote that cus i deal w mental health issues n tried to portray what i go thru in a semi-accurate way but not one so specific its not readable u kno??? y'all that peep my references here tho get bonus points

Warnings: none rly,,, its kinda vague n sad like dealing w not discussing whats wrong n such,,,,, nothing bad tho,, not even any language wow!!! jk one language wh00ps

The warm mug in your hand didn’t improve your mood. The steam of the drink drifted up from the contents and swirled in intricate patterns near your face. You pursed your chapped lips and blinked your drying eyes. A feeling had been swelling in you for days, but you couldn’t quite identify it yet. With soft blankets curled around you and your body folded up on the couch, you pondered it again. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. It had been happening for years. The bite of the sharp night air bled through a crack in your draping covers and you shivered, conserving your heat by pulling further into yourself. Though familiar, this state you were in was anything but comfortable. Even if you really were comfortable like this, you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it.

The kitchen light was the only thing shining through the apartment. It wasn’t your apartment, no. This wave had to come crashing down on you when you were far from the safety of your home. This apartment was safe It belonged to your boyfriend and he made you feel safe, but he wasn’t there right now. It was just you and the sound of minuscule little droplets of rain pattering against the window. The street lights made the storm seem like a glitter against the glass, reflecting back the business of the night.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, but you had to remember it was ok not to be ok sometimes. “We naturally go through emotional highs and lows, everyone does,” she told you, “it doesn’t mean you’re broken if you feel bad- it means you're human.” ‘Remeber that,’ you'd thought, ‘remember it’s ok. You’re ok.’

Your drink smelled sweet and a little burnt. You breathed in the warmth wafting from it before slowly and cautiously tipping the cup to your lips. A hiss escaped your lips at the still scalding temperature colliding with your raw skin and you sighed. Your love of the cold weather had betrayed you and left you weak. The entire situation was stressful and tiring, and you’d cry if you could but for some horrible reason you just couldn’t.

Your mind struggled to focus on one thing at a time that had led to your current emotions but it mostly focused on the bad. Your mind was foggy and muddled and insisted on making a mental list of all the reasons your life was the absolute worst in this very moment. ‘Perhaps,’ you reasoned, ‘if I identify what's wrong, I can fix it.’

You were far from home. New York City was scary and big and loud and dirty and new to you. This was exciting and terrifying at the same time. You wanted to see everything, and Joe wanted to show it all to you, but of course, he still had work things and you were left alone. You only had so much time there and even less time with him. There was never any way you could have fit in every important place you wanted to see into the few precious hours you could share.

That led into your second reason, which was that you just desperately missed Joe. He hadn’t wanted to leave you alone,  but duty does call and he had to answer. “I love you, ok? I’m so sorry, I- I wish I could have planned for this but-”

“You couldn’t have known! It’s ok,” You’d smiled at him and he kissed you before he left. Every morning and every night and every time he had the chance, he kissed you. God, it gave you life. His face just seemed to fit into your so perfectly, like your hands were molded against his cheeks. You closed your eyes and could almost feel him there with you, his warmth keeping you sane, but when you opened your eyes, he was gone.

Maybe the third reason was that your relationship was fairly new and you were insecure in the commitment for a number of reasons- or maybe it’s just that the holiday season was upon you and that ‘seasonal depression’ was hitting you hard. There was so much to do, so much to not miss out on, and so little time to relax and actually enjoy this time of year. Joe hadn’t managed to decorate for anything yet and had actually planned to do so with you, but it didn’t look like you’d have the chance to now. There were no lights up anywhere, no festive knick-knacks up on the shelves, nothing.

‘Or maybe,’ you thought, ‘it’s not seasonal, it’s just me.’ This was a turning point and you were scared. Joe had never seen you in such a deep, naturally dark headspace before, and you had little explanation for it. There was no one thing you could blame for the way you felt. It was just- Everything. A vague yet overwhelming anxiety rolled through you that made your guts feel like they’d turned to sawdust and were swirling around inside you like you were the floor of some horrible workshop.

The lighter side of your mind spoke up, ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad comparison, I mean, you are a workshop, always tinkering, changing, evolving. You are a human bent on self-improvement. Recovery,’ the voice reminded, ‘is not linear.’

“But any step forward is a good step,” you said out loud.

“What’s that from?”

“Holy fuckin’ sh-!” Your entire body jolted violently at the surprise of the response and your drink sloshed over the sides of your mug, spilling all over your blanket. Thankfully, it was no longer hot. “God, what a- what a waste of a good cup of-” Your curses trailed off into angry murmurs and you stood before looking over at Joe standing in the entryway looking equally as startled.

He’d just come back from a meeting with a potential director for an upcoming film to be met with his girlfriend completely spaced out on the couch. She’d been sitting there for several minutes without knowing he’d come in. When he spoke and surprised her, he jumped nearly as much as she did. He went over to help her clean up the spilled drink with a soft, sorry expression. She’d already gotten up, though, and shuffled to the kitchen without really acknowledging him. Something about the situation made Joe feel sick and guilty. “I’m so sorry. I, uh,” he paused and breathed a laugh as he picked up a pillow slipping off the couch and looked at the form that had moved into the kitchen, placing the empty cup on the counter with a soft click of ceramic against marble.

His breath hitched and he forgot whatever it was he’d intended to say to her. She was cast in odd shadows from the lights of the streetlamps inside combatting with the yellow glow of from above the stove. The scene carried none of the normally blissfull air his lover had. It was sharp and contrasting, like the set of an old expressionist film. He thought she would look fit beside the likes of Nosferatu, her in her cloak of covers and tussled hair barely emerging from the makeshift hood that supported her neck. The way she’d cocooned herself reminded him of a lost child standing alone in the cold, one no passing stranger would stop to notice.

It was silent for a moment as the actor continued absorbing her aura. The cars driving about in the rain echoed through the building. The sounds of splashing through puddles and revving engines drifted by his ears. [Y/N] stared at the sink before slowly meeting her boyfriend’s gaze. They just looked at each other. Joe felt like he wasn’t even there though like she didn’t see him there. She stared through him with the same disassociated look she had when he’d walked in. His shoes suddenly became of great interest to him and dragged his attention from her to the grain of the floor. “I’m,” he gulped and raised his eyebrows in a mixture of guilt and concern, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here with you today.” He looked at her again and she finally seemed to notice him standing there.

His sad puppy dog eyes bore you down. You’d fallen so hard for them. Before you’d even learned his name, you knew him by his eyes. You forced yourself to process what he’d said and were quickly overcome with guilt of your own. “Oh- Oh, no! Joe,” you pleaded and sighed as you rushed to him with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, I just, like, spaced out- I’m fine, it’s all fine.” You nodded lightly at him with a stretched smile and looked up at him with hands gently placed on his chest, holding tightly to the coat he’d yet to remove.

“I know you have to work and I could never-” You bit your lip as your mental search for words was shown through the frantic lines your eyes traced, “I never want to be an obstacle.” With a softened gaze, pleading for ease in the oddly uncomfortable situation, you continued, “I’m pretty sure I’m always gonna love you, and I’ll be here,” his mouth parted as you paused, “just for you. No matter how many dates you miss, as long as you’re doing your best.” A pitiful chuckle fell from your lips.

So early in your relationship, you weren’t sure when an appropriate time to address your current emotional state would present itself. Then again, is any time a good time to discuss something like this? You felt he deserved an explanation, at the very least, to ease him a bit from the stiff form he kept since he’d returned that night. ‘Where to begin’, you wondered. Before you could let another sad syllable drip from your clenched teeth, jaw tight in distracted thought, arms wrapped around you and a bristly cheek pressed against your own.

“This is weird.” He whispered, “Why are we weird right now?” The blankets around were nuzzled out of the way so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. His nose pressed hard against your hot skin. You were unprepared for the contact. All you could focus on was his heavy breathing beside your ear, every exhale slipping down your back and making you shiver. Cautious hands danced up the back of his neck, barely touching the airs that stood on end from the undefinable energy surging between the two of you. Molding yourself to fit perfectly in the empty cavities of space left, you were flush against him, clinging to the back of his head and letting his arms shift under yours to support you.

“I’m bad right now.” Your voice was almost a whimper, choking you on it’s way out. It wasn’t even your voice, the words were breaths you let out at all once. Joe- You weren’t sure he understood, and you didn’t expect him to immediately. He has no context yet, no reference besides what you’d carefully revealed to him. It was never your intention to hide any of your traits or symptoms or past from him, or most anyone, really, but it wasn’t exactly a hot topic of conversation.

He’d remembered briefly her using the phrase ‘when I was bad’ once or twice when referring to her mental and emotional state, but she didn’t often talk about it. Either it was sensitive or simply private, but it was fine. He didn’t push. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable or drive her away. While respecting her privacy and her past, he still swelled with concern at the thought of not knowing. It was a loving kind of fear that filled his stomach when he’d imagined moments like this; moments where something was wrong, something was off and he was in the dark. He didn’t need a reason to love and support her, but he was unsure of how to help in the best way.

“Bad emotionally,” she started in barely a whisper, though it was louder than before, “not ‘bad’ like-” There was a hot huff of air with a small laugh behind it and [Y/N] sniffled, “not ‘bad’ like- like ‘I’ve been bad, officer’- not in a sexual way-” It was punctuated with a cottony laugh.

Joe shook his head softly and gave the girl in his arms a squeeze. His smile was wide, though she couldn’t see it. Her squeak made him laugh a little and he could feel the air around them suddenly lose about five pounds. It was easier to lift his shoulders in this new situation.

After a moment of breathing in sync, cars passing by, and rain beating rhythmically against the windows, the man broke the silence. “You don’t have to say anything-”

“You know I can’t do that, Joe.” He held onto her for a moment longer then pulled only his head back slightly to kiss her turned cheek while she was still in his embrace. In the warm kitchen light, the patterns of the blanket and the shadows of the passing headlight combined like brushstrokes on the scene and turned them into the likeness of a Klimt painting. Yellow cascading down their backs and an iconic arching connection made this art.

“If you’re bad, then let's make it better.” The words were pressed into her skin by his plush lips. Before pulling away, their hands found one another’s and gripped them tightly, like he was a rope and she was dangling over the ever looming pit of her past.

For the first time, she could feel a wetness pricking at her eyes. Without effort or dismay, she could cry. There were no sobs to accompany it, just silent streaming tears. She didn’t stop them for they were a gift. The damp streaks beneath each eye bent around her growing grin as she looked up at her lover through the filter of emotional release. Everything but the earthy brown around his pupils was a watery mess in her eyes. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘This- He is a good one. He is so- He is so beautiful.’

Joe could feel the pain in his chest as his heart shook, threatening to crack at the image of his love in such a fragile form. “Let’s just-” He could have claimed the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat but the truth is there was nothing there to get stuck, nothing to follow what he’d started saying. “Is it ok if we just,” he took a deep breath, “be together? Would that- Would that help?”

“You already help. Being here helps.” Her voice was back now, though, physically, she didn’t look in any way improved.

Joe handled his girlfriend gently and urged her to the couch with him, pulling down onto his lap so they both laid on the piece of furniture long ways. Her bundled body blanketed his and he leaned back, letting her warm him. Struggling to slip off his coat as he kicked off his shoes, Joe also snaked his arm into a pocket to retrieve his phone. He pulled it out with a small noise of pride and held it out in front of him. “A little George Harrison makes everything better, right?” There was a sleepy hum of agreement and ‘My Sweet Lord’ played softly from the speaker of his device. He nestled into [Y/N]’s and closed his eyes. He held the phone in his hands, clasped together as his arms wrapped around the woman.

The ‘hallelujahs’ seemed in time with the weather outside as the couple drifted further from the present and into their own billowing comfort. The lights still were yellow outside, as they were inside, and the cars didn’t stop speeding through the puddles. Though you doubted the return of these feelings would stop, for now, you were content. Joe was there with you and it somehow, just his presence, made some of the sadness wash away. He was like a rain on your pity parade, saving you from any continued celebration of your own inabilities. Tomorrow, there might be explanations needed, but tonight you felt blessed. He was safe. He was warm. Your mind wasn’t racing and your eyes weren’t dry. This was better than anything you’d been feeling, anything swelling inside you the past few days. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience, and you’d hoped it would never become one.

Glancing up at the man beneath you one last time, you smiled genuinely, bliss settling in your center, and you closed your eyes. George Harrison lulled you to sleep that night, and safely asleep you fell, holding tightly to Joe through it all, just as tightly as he held you.

[banshee1013]

Through The Looking Glass

A little something for my Family Business Supernatural RP Twitter family.

Don’t worry, gals - we’ll go on our hunting trip with the boys soon. First, gotta lay some groundwork... 

*********************************************

I think… I think I've actually figured it out. 

How to get to Dean's world. To Sam, and Cas, and Jack. 

And maybe even get them back here, too. But, one thing at a time. 

A mirror stood propped against the closet door in my spare bedroom. Standing in front of it, I wonder if I have the strength, and the courage to try. 

Maybe not - but I certainly have the will. This is something I've wanted since… well, a year ago, when I first discovered this universe existed.

And even more so after meeting them, talking to them - even if only through the "magic" of Twitter. 

Yeah, "magic" - because that doesn't exist in this world. I can't draw a sigil, light a concoction on fire, and mumble some Latin to make it happen.

It's going to require more… MUCH more.

 **********************

 @Redbanshee: Hey Dean… are you there?

@DWImpala67: Yeah… what's up? Are you ok?

@DWImpala67: I mean, you never DM me…

  @DWImpala67: Cee? You ok?

 @Redbanshee: Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, just… trying to figure out how to approach this…

@Redbanshee: Out with it, I guess. So, I've figured it out… I think.

@DWImpala67: Figured what out?

@Redbanshee: How to get there. To your world.

 @DWImpala67: Uh. That's not possible.

@DWImpala67: … is it?

@Redbanshee: It might be. I guess we'll find out. Where are you?

@DWImpala67: At the Bunker. Why?

@Redbanshee: And Sam? Cas? Jack?

@DWImpala67: Jack and Sam are. Cas is still not back from Heaven.

@Redbanshee: OK… ok. Just… head outside the Bunker, ok? By the door.

 @DWImpala67: … why?

 @Redbanshee: Because, for the first test, I don't want to try to breach the Bunker's defenses. I can visualize the outside well enough, and it's safer.

 @Redbanshee: Dean? Still there?

 @DWImpala67: Yeah, I'm still here.

@DWImpala67: I just don't know how you're going to do this…

@Redbanshee: Well, if it works, I'll explain how it happened.

@Redbanshee: No sense in talking about it if it doesn't work.

 @DWImpala67: Ok, I'm outside now.

 @Redbanshee: OK. Here goes nothing…

 ********************************

 I started to prepare myself, visualizing the outside of the Bunker, as I'd seen it a million times on the show. 

I checked my phone - Twitter was still up, the DM to Dean still active. Do I have everything? I'm going to a place where monsters - real-life monsters - exist. But I'm entering at a relatively safe place with that world's greatest Hunter waiting for me, outside a literal fortress. I should be ok, at least for this trial run. 

Then I thought of something…

"Alexa… what time is it in Kansas?"

"It's 7:54 pm"

 OK then.

I closed my eyes and focused hard on the image in my mind. I envisioned the position of the sun, how it would be dipping toward the horizon and heading into late twilight. I imagined the smell of the dust and brush outside the Bunker door, how the gravel and dirt would crunch under my feet… and walked toward the mirror. 

I walked into the mirror…

 … and miraculously, through it.

 ***********************************

 I felt a tingle, like the prickle of course hair, across my skin. The brush of the carpet turned into the crunch of dirt, and kicked up a dust cloud I could smell as I stumbled slightly at the change of footing. The air was cool and dry, and a light breeze brushed a lock of hair across my face. The light through my closed eyelids changed hue, going from the pale white of LED lights to a golden glow.

 My eyes were still closed when I felt two hands on my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks.

 "Holy crap… Cee… is that really you?" Dean's deep, gravelly voice, right in front of me.

 I opened my eyes to a flannel-covered chest an arm's length away. Blinking, I slowly looked up… and up, damn he was tall… and found myself staring into the face of…

Jensen Ackles.

 OK, a way more world-weary version, with a few more worry lines and a fresh cut at his temple from the vamp hunt he had just returned from. Eyes wide, the fading sun catching them and sparking them ivy green. Mouth slightly agape in surprise. But the resemblance was UNCANNY.

 "Wow. I guess Jensen really *was* born to play you…"

 The hands at my shoulders squeezed, hard, as if to test my solidity. I flinched, and convinced I wasn't a figment of his imagination, his hands lifted and hovered briefly before falling to his sides as he continued to stare, wordless.

 I was not yet convinced I was here. I reached up and poked him in the shoulder… HARD.

 He was solid, all right… and as he was not prepared for it, I actually managed to knock him a little off balance.

 "Holy shit.". Both of us, at the same time.

 The next thing I knew, my face was buried in his flannel shirt, his arms wrapped around me in a tight hug.

 I wrapped mine around his waist and might have even bounced a bit. "Ohmygod Dean!" I might have squealed a little. "It's… it's really you… YOU!"

We broke the hug and finally I saw it, live and in concert - that soft, sweet, beaming smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners.

 "C'mon… we gotta talk about this… how the hell… Sammy's gonna lose his shit!"

 He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the Bunker.

 ***********************************

 The walk into the Bunker was surreal - the grunt from Dean as he hefted the heavy outer door open, the scrape of metal as it closed. The tap of shoes on metal as we climbed the spiral stairs down. The squeak of the inner door hinges as it opened, and again as it closed.

 The sight of the glowing map table, the ancient radio and electronic monitoring equipment. The hum in the air I felt more than heard.

 Sam Winchester, standing in the archway leading to the Library.

 Sam. Fucking. Winchester. Staring at me like I were a ghost.

 Like Dean, he was the spitting image of Jared Padalecki, the actor that portrayed him. But Jared's soft smile and puppy-dog eyes were gone, replaced by ones with a harder edge to them.

Not that I can blame either of them - I know the things they've seen, and fought, and endured.

Dean's hand at the small of my back urged me down the stairs, and Sam met us at the base. He grew taller, and taller… and taller, as I descended and by the time I reached the last step I was craning my neck back in order to meet his puzzled hazel eyes.

 I thrust my hand out, grinning like an idiot. "Hey, Sam, it's me… Celina, from Twitter…"

 Ignoring my outthrust hand, he gave a tentative squeeze of my arm, testing much like Dean had - then pulled me into his giant hug. I thought he was going to suffocate me for a minute as my head barely reached his ribcage, and discovered that, yes, breathing was still a required activity here which probably ruled out astral projection. I happily squeezed him right back, then broke the hug to catch my breath.

 He grabbed my shoulders, holding me out at arm's length. "But…h- how?" he stammered.

 Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and led the way past the map table and into the Library.

 "That's next on the agenda."

 ********************************************

 I was sitting at the table in the Library. THE. BUNKER. LIBRARY.

I swirled the glass of whiskey Dean had poured for me. Raised it to my nose and inhaled the heady aroma before taking a long pull. It burned my throat as I swallowed, and it was *delicious*.

 Confirmed, once again - all five senses present.

Sam sat at the table across from me, laptop open, fingers tapping against the keys. Dean sat on my right, his own glass already empty. He rose and walked to the trolley where the liquor was kept up to pour himself more, and after consideration, brought the entire bottle back to the table. Sitting back down, he tipped another finger's worth into my glass.

"Thanks." My gaze took in the room, noticed the quiet. "Where's Jack?" I asked to no one in particular.

 "In the Dean-Cave," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Watching 'Star Wars' for the umpteen millionth time." 

"Oh cool! Can I go see him?" I started to rise from the chair.

 "Not so fast," Sam said curtly from behind the laptop, and Dean reached for my arm, pulling me gently back to my seat.

 I got it. Like good dads, they wanted to vet the relative stranger who miraculously appeared on their doorway before exposing him to me. I totally agreed  - especially since I was still unclear how this all worked, and wouldn't have the slightest idea how to explain it to him how I got here, anyway.

 I also knew his first question would be if I were there to take him to Disneyland as we had talked about - another thing I didn't have an answer for - yet.

 Sam looked up from the keyboard and switched to full interrogator mode. "Ok, so… HOW did this happen? How are you here?" He gestured toward the laptop. "There's nothing in the lore about traveling between universes that doesn't require a powerful witch and archangel grace."

 I took another swig of the whiskey to gather my thoughts. How to explain this?

"I walked through a mirror," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

 "You walked… what? Like 'Alice in Wonderland' or something?" Dean asked, skeptical.

 "Yeah, I know what it sounds like… but that's what I did. " I turned to Dean. "What did it look like… when I came through?"

 His eyes unfocused, recalling. "There was… a… shimmer, sorta like, I dunno, light… bending around something." He scowled, uncertain.

"That's… impossible." Sam declared. "Something like that would *have* to require some form of spell - and we know for a fact that doesn't work in your world."

 I nodded in agreement - I knew they had already experienced that lack when Balthazar had thrown them into my world several years ago.

 "That doesn't mean there isn't… power there, for lack of a better term." I paused, trying to find the words. "It's belief… believing in something *so strongly*, that it comes into being."

"Tulpa." Dean and Sam said simultaneously. A grin flashed across my face, hearing the fandom squeal in my head: "I love it when they talk in unison!"

 I shook my head. "Can't be. A Tulpa is a real thing… creature?... here, but not where I'm from. This was *literally* the power of… positive thinking."

 I thought of all the self-help gurus making millions off this idea - "The Secret", et al. Jesus, could they be right?

 I mean, I've tried visualizing winning the lottery for *years* to absolutely no avail. Of course, would help if I actually bought a ticket. The Lord helps those who help themselves, or something.

"So you're trying to tell me you just… WISHED your way here?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "Like… friggin' OZ? Clicked your heels and said 'There's no place like home'?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his expression - brows furrowed and lips downturned to a frown, as if outraged at the idea.

His scowl deepened at my laughter, but Sam snorted.

"Wow, Dean… that's two literary references in under 5 minutes. That's gotta be a record!"

 "Shut up!"

 Sam laughed again, turning back to me.

 "Walk us through what you did," he said patiently.

 So I did. I told them about visualizing the Bunker grounds and the door, focusing on it, and walking through the mirror… "Oh, and Twitter. I had a DM open to Dean when I did it." I shrugged. "I thought it might act as a sort of… I dunno, GPS?... to guide me here."

 "Well, that begs another question, " Sam mused. "How do you get back?"

 My brain stopped for a moment. I hadn't stopped to consider *that*. HAHA, oops. "Uh… I dunno?"

 Dean rose from his chair to glare down at me. "You… wished yourself here, without an exit plan?" he growled.  "A WORLD FULL OF MONSTERS, and Chuck breathing down our necks?"

 "Dean…" Sam interjected as I involuntarily backed away at his tone.

 Yeah, just as intimidating in person, if not more so.

 "I don't believe this!" Dean threw his arms up in exasperation.

 "I'm s-sure it's not that hard…" I stammered. "Maybe just, uh, kill the Twitter feed, or… just stop believing…"

 But that was going to be difficult. I have living, breathing, SHOUTING proof that it was ALL REAL, and all RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

 And it would be bad news bears if killing Twitter was the key - what if my battery died while I was here? Would I just pop out of existence, and back to my world?

Actually, that could come in handy if it were the case, and a pack of monsters were after me. But what if it happened and I didn't want to leave?

 What if I ended up in some… limbo somewhere?

 I was snapped out of my musing by Dean's hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see an apologetic look on his face.

 "Sorry, kiddo." he sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You're not safe here."

 That was the crux of the outburst, wasn't it? Dean's overwhelming need to keep everyone SAFE. I smiled wanly up at him.

 "Well, only way to find out is… to try it." I reached into my pocket for my phone… and realized with a jolt - of course I wouldn't have signal here. Verizon might exist in this universe, but I sure as hell didn't have an account with them. A check of the signal indicator confirmed my suspicions.

 I showed the phone to Sam before Dean snatched it out of my hand to look for himself. "Well, that's just great." He pinched his nose with his fingers.

 "Dean, we'll figure it out…" I said, reaching a hand to tug at his sleeve. "I.. I’m sorry. Please don't be mad… I didn't know how else… I had to try it to see if it would work!"

My eyes betrayed me, leaking several tears.

 Dean took a deep breath, and sighing it out, sat back down. "I know we will," he said, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. Seeing the tears, his face fell and he reached to wipe them away.

 "Hey, hey… none of that. It's gonna be ok, kiddo, I promise."

I had to laugh at that. "Kiddo, huh? I'm older than you, sonny."

 Dean smirked. "No way… and it doesn't matter because you're new here, so you're still a 'kiddo'."

 Sam matched Dean's smile, and reached over for my free hand. "Besides… it's really good to see you!"

 "It's… amazing to see you guys, too. You have no idea…" Dammit. My eyes were betraying me again.

 Sam released my hand and came around to the other side of the table. Leaned over to hug me, his chin on the top of my head, arms wrapped around my shoulders.

 Dean grabbed my recently freed hand and squeezed both, then pulled me up, Sam rising along with me. Dean pulled us both into his arms and I found myself squished between them.

I've had photo ops like this, with their doppelgangers. Those were awesome.

 This was SO MUCH BETTER.

Dean released us, and Sam let go as well. We were still standing there when Jack walked in.

 "I heard shouting… oh, hello!" He waved at me, a happy, if puzzled, smile on his face. "Who are you?"

 "Oh… hi Jack…" I said weakly, as Sam said "Jack! Uh… I thought you were watching 'Star Wars'?"

 Jack turned to Sam. "I was, but the movie ended and I was putting on the next one when I heard shouting, and I came to see what it was." He turned to Dean. "I thought it was Cas… is he home yet, Dean?" A worried frown creased his innocent face.

 "I'm sure he's fine, Jack," Dean said reassuringly. Jack smiled, of course believing him. "I'm sure you're right." He turned back to me, and his head cocked like a puppy, expectantly, awaiting an answer to his earlier question.

 No sense in putting it off… besides, he was just SO adorable and I unbelievingly happy to see him. "Hey Jack… you're not gonna believe this, but it's me… it's Celina. From Twitter."

 His head cocked the other way, expression puzzled. "But… how can that be?" He turned to Sam. "You said we couldn't go to where our Twitter friends were…"

 "We're still trying to figure that out, Jack…" Sam said calmly. "But it's real. It's really her."

 "It's really me, Jack." I walked slowly around the table, approaching him, my hand held out to him.

For the third time, I found myself poked and squeezed, before being squished.

"Is it true? Is it really YOU?" he asked excitedly. "Does this mean we can go to Disneyland!?" He was practically bouncing at this idea, and I couldn't help but laugh.

And I totally called it with the Disneyland thing.

"I dunno, Jack, we'll have to see. This was just an experiment and we're still working out the details," I smiled up at him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. "but I sure hope so. We would have SO MUCH FUN!"

Jack smiled winningly down at me, eyes bright. "We would. I hope we can go."

"We'll work on it, Jack, I promise," Sam said. "Why don't you go watch your movie so we can get back to work figuring this out?"

Jack looked at me forlornly. "Will you be here when the movie is over?"

"I don't know, sweetie," I said hesitantly, then smiled back up at him reassuringly. "But I promise I'll say goodbye before I go, if I can."

"Okay!" He gave me another hug. "It was so good to see you! Bye!" He turned away and headed back to the Cave.

I turned back around. Sam and Dean looked at me expectantly.

"So… what now?" Dean inquired, looking at me, then at Sam. Sam shrugged.

"Since I'm here…" I hesitated. Was it too much to ask? Too bold? I took a breath…

"Wanna tour?" Dean asked, beaming.

"HELL. YES!"

**************************************

Dean led the way, Sam following. He took me to the armory, but refused to let me fire any weapons ("Later, kiddo." "Dean… I'm OLDER THAN YOU!" "Yeah, whatever…"), the infirmary, the gym ("Wow, you have a gym?" "Yeah…” "Surprised you actually found your way here, Dean…").

Then a short series of steps to the garage. Dean flipped on the lights… and there she was.

Dean's Baby, gleaming in the light of the overheads.

"Oh… wow." I breathed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dean beaming at her like a proud papa.

"Well, you gonna go say Hi, or what?" He gave me a gentle shove toward her.

I approached her slowly, reverently, like the holy artifact she was. The Most Important Object In The Universe. Grazed a hand over her fender, and reaching the driver's side door, leaned in the window.

The initials on the back window deck.

The army men in the ashtray.

I could imagine the Legos in the vent.

I reached in and brushed fingers over the front seat leather. I glanced up over the roof, to the two men standing in the Bunker doorway.

Dean leaning against one of the shelves, grinning at me like a fool.

Sam leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, eyes rolling. "You're worse than he is!"

Dean laughed and sauntered over to join me at the door, leaning in next to me. "Pretty awesome, right?" I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Gently moving me back, he opened the driver's side door with a flourish and a small bow, sweeping his hand toward the driver's seat.

"Go on, try it out." He faked a frown. "One time only deal."

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, I slid into the seat. Placed my hands on the steering wheel. I couldn’t reach the pedals, obviously.

I bit my lip to keep from crying, and glanced over at Dean. His smile was soft, holding out a hand to assist as I climbed out of the seat, and reached behind me to close the door. Still holding my hand, he led me to the trunk. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he opened the trunk lid, the inside emblazoned with protective sigils, and raised the false floor, propping it up with the sawed-off shotgun.

I've seen the contents of this trunk hundreds of times, but nothing prepared me for the reality.

Burlap bag filled with salt. A flask marked with a cross - Holy water, of course. An ancient-looking urn full of what could only be holy oil. Several different varieties of religious artifacts. Machetes, and daggers made of several different metals and materials.

The grenade launcher.

"So, you guys almost done with the idol worship? I'm STARVING" Sam huffed from the doorway. Dean glanced at me and rolled his eyes. I snorted and Dean laughed as he lowered the false floor and closed the trunk lid.

He draped an arm over my shoulders. "Sam's right, we need some grub." My stomach took that moment to loudly grumble to accentuate his point. Dean laughed again. "Ok then. Any suggestions?"

"Any chance I could get one of your famous cheeseburgers?"

Dean grinned and gave me a squeeze. "Hell yeah! Let's go!"

We headed back to Sam and the door into the Bunker. Sam flipped off the lights and followed as Dean led us to the kitchen.

 ************************************************

 While Dean made the burgers, Sam asked me what it was like, to live in a world without monsters? I explained to him that we still had monsters, but ours were harder to find since they looked just like us, and even harder to get rid of because of it.

 What about angels, or demons? Nope, none of them either - although every organized religion wants you to believe otherwise.

 "I'm really bummed I missed meeting *your* angel, though…" I said sadly. I was not about to admit the gigantic crush I had on him… or rather, the character as portrayed on the show depicting their lives.

 But… Sam and Dean were *exactly* as they seemed on the show… so one would have to assume Cas would be as well. I gulped, and figured it was probably a good thing he wasn't here so I didn't have the opportunity to make a COMPLETE fool of myself.

 Dean served the burgers, Sam grabbed the beer, and we sat around the table in the kitchen. The burgers were phenomenal, the beer cold, and the company was, in a word… AWESOME. I had to stop for a moment to take it all in - sitting in the kitchen of the Bunker, with Sam and Dean Winchester, eating burgers and drinking beer. It was all so surreal.

 Sam, noticing my glazed look, nudged me. "Hey, you ok?"

 I blinked and refocused, then smiled at him. "Yeah… yeah, I'm great." I waved a hand around the room. "It's just… this." I grabbed his hand, then reached across the table to take Dean's. "You… both of you. I can't believe I'm here…" I swallowed down a wave of emotion. "I can't believe it's real…"

 The hand holding Sam's started to tingle… then my arm, and the rest of my body. The smell of the kitchen and the burgers began to fade…

 "CEE!" I heard Dean's voice shout. "HEY! Hey…c'mon, come back!"

 I felt sharp pressure on my arm, and the room began to solidify again. Sam's hand squeezing my upper arm, Dean pulling on the other.

 "OK… ok, I'm back." I shook my head to clear it. I felt two sets of concerned eyes on me.

 Squeezing Dean's hand, I met Sam's concerned gaze. 

  "Well… I think I figured out how to get back…"

 ***********************

 "So let me get this straight," Sam stated, all business. "you felt yourself being pulled back when you began to question the reality of being here?"

 "Yeah… I guess? But I've tried repeating it, and haven't been able to." I sighed.

 "OK, so," Dean asked, "what do we do now?"

 I smirked at him. "Any more vamp nests nearby? Would love to go see if choppin' up some fang is as easy as it looks on TV."

 "NO." Dean growled. "HELL. NO." I threw my head back and laughed.

 Sam scowled. "Seriously… we have to figure out how to get you back home."

 I sighed. I knew he was right, and there were still so many unanswered questions.

For instance… was the passage of time different here?

 "Dean… what time is it?"

 Dean glanced at his watch. "Goin' on 11… why?"

 So I've been here three hours… what if that were three WEEKS back home… three MONTHS… YEARS…

I felt the panic growing… but it couldn't be that big of a time difference. I talked with these guys on Twitter practically *every day*, and there was no indication that time passed any differently here than there. If anything, it was only a matter of minutes, certainly less than an hour or two.

 "OK…" I breathed to calm down and focus. "Here's the deal..." I thought back to the tour we took of the Bunker. I didn't recall seeing any floor-length mirrors - this might present a problem. "Are there any mirrors… like, big ones? Floor-length?"

 "Yeah… in the gym." Sam answered.

 "Ah, right. So… I'm gonna go say goodbye to Jack like I promised. Then I'm gonna do the opposite of what I did to get here - stand in front of the mirror and visualize the room I came here from." Took a deep breath, let it out. "But I'm gonna have to do it alone, and it has to be quiet. I have to focus, and you guys being there will keep pulling me back."

 Sam nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He stood and offered me a hand up from the kitchen table, drawing me to my feet and leading me out of the kitchen to the Dean-Cave, with Dean taking up the rear.

 I peeked inside. "Return of the Jedi" was playing, Jack sprawled on the couch like your average teenager, fully engrossed in it. I grinned, thinking I should introduce him to the Star TREK movies next.

 "Hey, Jack…" I said loudly over the din of the battle on the screen. Jack lifted up to peer over the arm of the couch, saw me and waved, smiling happily. "Hi! Have you come to watch the movie with me?"

 "No, I'm sorry, Jack… I have to go. I came to say goodbye, like I promised."

 Jack fumbled for the TV remote to pause the movie, and came to give me a hug goodbye. He then stood back with a somber look on his face.

"Did you figure out how to get back home?"

 "I think so. I'm going to go try it now." Before he could ask, I offered, "And if it works, I'll start working on how to get you over to my world so we can take that trip to Disneyland, ok?"

 He beamed. "Okay! And we'll still talk on Twitter, right?"

 His smile was infectious, and I beamed back at him. "Of course! I'll talk to you tomorrow." He waved goodbye and went back to watching his movie. I turned and left, a smile still on my face, but it vanished when I looked at the boys.

 It was time to say goodbye.

 And I was suddenly so very tired. I stumbled, and Dean caught me as I fell.

 "You ok?" Hands on my shoulders, a worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 "Yeah… just… really tired. I think there must be some sort of energy drain by being here as well." I took a deep breath, rolled my neck and shoulders to rouse myself.

"Ok… let's get you to the gym and get you home." Dean guided me down the hall, hand on my back in case I tried to fall again.

We reached the entrance to the gym, and I sighed. "OK guys, this is where you get off."

 Dean snorted, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Really, Dean? What are you, twelve?"

"Hey, she started it!" he choked, trying to hold back the laughter, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. What an idiot… and I loved him. I reached up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck to give him the biggest hug I could muster and a kiss on the cheek. He hugged back, hard, briefly lifting me off my feet before setting me back down.

Giving me a kiss on the forehead, he let me go.

"It was really awesome seein' you, Cee," he said, his voice rough, the green eyes bright. I smiled into them and patted him on the cheek.

 "We'll do it again soon, ok?"

 Then Sam spun me around to say his goodbyes. After a giant moose hug and a kiss to the top of my head, he leaned down to look me in the eyes.

"You focus in there, ok, and you get home safe," he said, his voice cracking.

 "And you DM us the second you get back, you hear me?" Dean insisted.

 "I will. First thing." I grasped each of their hands for a final squeeze. "See you around, boys."

 I turned and walked into the gym. Turning, I take one last look at Sam and Dean Winchester, standing in the hallway. I blew them a kiss and closed the door.

 *************************************

 Silence. Not even the hum of the hidden electronics in the walls to break my concentration.

 I focused on the feel of the carpet under my feet, the hue of the LED lights in the bedroom… I *did* have the lights on, right? Yeah… the sound of the ceiling fan whirring.

 I closed my eyes and walked toward the mirror.

 I walked into the mirror…

 … and once again, through it.

 Again, my skin tingled, and I stumbled briefly as my feet left the rubberized floor of the gym and onto the low pile of carpet in my spare room.

 I opened my eyes. I was home.

 First thing I did was look at the clock - 9:23 PM. Converted to Kansas time - no time difference between here, and there. Good to know.

 My phone began to beep repeatedly, as messages stockpiled while I was out of signal range began to arrive. I ignored them and fired up Twitter, to do as I promised.

 To let the boys know I made it back.

 *************************************

 @Redbanshee: DEAN! SAM! I made it back!

 @DWImpala67: Oh thank G… UGH. We gotta come up with a new saying for that.

@DWImpala67: That's awesome! I'm so glad you're safe.

@ItsSam1983: That's great news, Celina. I'm so relieved!

@Redbanshee: That was… something, wasn't it?

@DWImpala67: Yeah it was something all right…

@DWImpala67: It was CRAZY. INSANE. DANGEROUS.

 @DWImpala67: …and it was awesome to see you, and now that we know it works and you can get back home, I hope you come to visit again soon.

@ItsSam1983: What my brother said. It was foolhardy, but also amazing, and awesome to see you in person.

@Redbanshee: I can't wait to do it again, I had THE BEST TIME. And I'll have sweet dreams about those burgers, Dean…

@Redbanshee: Speaking of dreams, I'm about to pass out here on the floor, so I'm gonna hit the hay. Can you tell Jack I'm ok, and I'll work on the Disneyland thing?

@ItsSam1983: You bet. Don't be a stranger.

@DWImpala67: Go get some sleep, kiddo.

 @Redbanshee: UGH WITH THE KIDDO THING.

@Redbanshee: … but I love you anyway. :)

@DWImpala67: … I know. :)

 @ItSam1983: Rest well, Celina.

@Redbanshee: Hey Sam… call me Cee. :)

@ItsSam1983: You got it… Cee :) 

*****************************************

 FIN

[ahomeganeyatsu]

Ran Off in the Night (Part 6)

His brows were furrowed. Deep blue eyes staring intently at the device in his hand. A series of numbers stared back at Lucas and the teen contemplated if he should go ahead with it or not.

He had silently hoped that 24—it was either that or Crunchy Choco, and Lucas wasn’t going to call him the latter—would show up in his balcony. He had felt the guy watching him in his own room before. Lucas assumed it wouldn’t be far from being unlikely if he somehow finds him standing in a corner, still as a shadow and looking like a better, hotter version of Edward Cullen. Or for him to materialize like a ghost right in the middle of the disarray that happened to be Lucas’ room.

Fucking ninja, he muttered in his head.

(Lucas mused if he should have called him Stormshadow instead what with the eye color and how he had been shadowing him the past week. It also fit with the ninja thing. 

He shook his head.

The jerk didn’t deserve a badass name, so 24 will just have to do.)

He hadn’t bothered covering up the disappointment when he discovered 24 wasn’t waiting in his room. Or that he wasn’t planning on making any more appearances for Lucas that night. He was sure. He hadn’t been able to sleep until four in the morning.

Which brought him to his current predicament.

Lucas wasn’t sure when 24 was going to come find him. He had resolved yesterday that he wasn’t going to sit around and wait. He figured the past hours had been ample time for the guy to come to Lucas and start explaining. There was no guarantee that 24 would even come back. If he really will tell Lucas anything.

It didn’t matter if Lucas had seen the promise in those eyes. When he kept running away and leaving Lucas just like that, he couldn’t give him the barest amount of trust.

So yes, Lucas was going to find him.

So two mugs of coffee, a blueberry muffin, half a plate of Carbonara, and several hours later, Lucas had pulled up one of his contacts on his screen. It was a number he never used. And yet, he never thought of deleting it. He was glad he hadn’t. You never really did know when things like these came in handy. He was still pondering on his next step when a notification pops up at the top of his phone.

He tapped it and froze. It was a friend request. A friend request from none other than Chloe. Thoughts of finding 24 came to a standstill. Blue eyes regarded the screen unseeingly. Lucas began to chew over how he should proceed. Does he accept? Or does he leave it there? It wasn’t like Chloe knew he saw the request. She was already following him on Instagram. She already messaged him there and asked why he left in such a hurry. He nearly replied, to escape from you! But he wasn’t that much of an asshole. His maman taught him otherwise and he was doing his damnest not to imitate his dad.

He wasn’t sure why Chloe was so bent on connecting with him. He hasn’t expressed any desire to pick up things between them from last Saturday. Lucas was fully on board letting things remain where they had left it, which was back in the party last Saturday, in the past. Did he miss something in the heterosexual’s guide to hooking-up? Was there a signal? A gesture? That flew completely over his head which told Chloe Lucas was interested in more?

Or maybe Lucas was reading too much into this? Maybe Chloe really does want to be just friends? That this friend request was simply the digital equivalent of extending a hand in friendship like it was meant to?

His finger hovered for a beat over the “accept” button. He blinked, looked at the request once again and finally tapped “accept”.

“Lucas,” Mika’s voice interrupted him.

“Mika,” he returned with the same inflection.

It seemed he had to put his hunt on hold.

  He texted his dad about the transfer again.

He received no reply.

  24 was absent the whole Saturday. Not a peep. Or a shadow of him.

Sunday brought the same.

On his phone, a message was opened up.

From Q

Wow. Good to hear you’re still alive mon loulou.

And of course, the shop is always open for you! Come down whenever.

Lucas exited from the messaging app. He closed his eyes and breathed. Phone clasped in his hands and pressed against his forehead. He’ll find him. He’ll catch him. Lucas was going to make sure of it.

  It was dark.

He was walking down a narrow street. There was a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that told him to stop and turn around.

It was eerily quiet.

No barking dogs. No yowling cats. Only the sole of his shoes scraping on the asphalt. The wind barely a whisper in his ear. The buzzing of the lampposts urging his feet to move faster. The distance between the lampposts veritable dark voids, and that didn’t sit well with him.

Suddenly, there was another pair of footsteps. He stopped right at the lamppost, right into the light. Standing in the middle of a spotlight like an actor ready to deliver his heart-wrenching soliloquy. There was person, standing just right outside of the light’s radius. Their eyes glowing in the darkness.

He wanted to run but his feet refused to budge. He was rooted to the floor. He didn’t understand why. The gaze held him in place, chains slithering around his body and binding him to the spot. He watched as the figure stepped into the light. It was a man. Maybe in their early twenties, sandy-blonde hair cropped short, handsome and dangerous. He was dressed in a coat jacket which topped his V-neck white shirt that exposed his collar bones and part of his chest, and he noted how pale he was. It couldn’t have been healthy. The man was smiling at him. The closer he got, the more he felt his grip on himself loosen.

“Mind if I have a taste little one?” the man asked and he cupped his chin. His fingers were cold against his skin. He could only shiver. He tipped it up, exposing his neck. He saw the man’s nostrils flare as he breathed him in. He could scent something metallic in the air. Something familiar.

“Please,” he heard himself plead breathlessly.

“Perfect.” The hand on his chin migrated to the back of his head, fingers grasping at his hair. Another snaked around his waist and pressed him close to the man. His head was cocked to the side, the vulnerable column of his neck displayed. From his peripheral, he saw something glint in the light. “Bon appétit.”

He gasped and his body quaked, pleasure shooting down his spine. He tried scrambling free but bit by bit, he gets drunk in the feeling until the point he questions himself why he was even fighting this. Why he wants to get away. It was too good. This is good. He wants to stay like this forever.

He closed his eyes.

 Lucas woke up shivering in cold sweat. His sleep shirt clung to his body like a second skin and it disgusted him but he can’t move. Not yet. He’s curled up on his side, knees pushed up and touching his chest, hand clutching the side of his neck where he could feel fangs sink in, the ghost of lips and tongue cold and wet against the skin there. His heart jumping in his chest like a rabbit on caffeine.

It was dream. Just a dream. But it felt too real. Too fresh. His body knew it, it was crawling from the encounter and he couldn’t stop shaking. Tears stung his eyes and he didn’t want to close them, too afraid to be greeted by that face.

He had seen it before.

The night Mika had found him sitting on the streets, fucked out of his mind and crying. Too shaken from his maman’s latest episode, ashamed he couldn’t do anything for her, lonely because he couldn’t tell anyone about it. And he had seen him watching him, caught his eyes but quickly looked away. He didn’t pay him another glance. Dismissed him as one of the curious humans. Besides, Mika, who he still didn’t know then, had kneeled in front of him and was asking him if he was alright, if he needed him to call someone. Lucas was shaking his head, words too garbled from sobbing and he had forgotten about the man.

But the man hadn’t forgotten him.

He wondered if this has happened before. If it had happened more than one time. That maybe he had just forgotten about it. His mind burying it deep into the unconscious because he wasn’t ready to deal with it. Was this why he wore scarves with increasing frequency? Why he suddenly decided to let his hair grow out? Too afraid to expose his neck? For what? There weren’t any marks. No, evidence that it happened.

But it did, didn’t it?

It happened.

His dreams weren’t just dreams. This latest one. It really happened. He wouldn’t be reacting like this if it hadn’t.

Was this why 24 said they had a lot to talk about? Because Lucas’ has been what— vampire snack for gods-know-how-long and forgetting all about it?

And gods, 24. He wanted him so badly to be here right now. Despite how annoying it felt to have him tailing him around, Lucas had quickly grown used to his presence. Having him keeping an eye on Lucas, the teen had been glad for that. It made him feel safe even if he’ll never admit it to the jerk’s face.

24 wasn’t here right now. He hasn’t been in the past days. Although, he did have something close enough to him.

Lucas took a shuddering breath and uncurled from his position. He crawled to his desk, where a small box was perched right at the edge. He grabbed for it and took out the black hoodie. He was sweaty and disgusting. It was four in the morning and he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep.

He took his towel and a clean pair of boxers. He stepped out of his room and quietly made his way to the bathroom.