#sleep deprivation really turns you into a poet

[hellheighthuman]

green is really common as a fall holiday color because all the green is gone

[wileycap]

Beings Suffering From Extreme Sleep Deprivation Should Not Attempt Turning To The Dark Side

There he was. Anakin Skywalker, the prize jewel of the Sith... even if he did not know it yet. Sitting in the office of his friend, the Supreme Chancellor.

All the pieces were now in place, and the only thing left to do was to reveal his identity to Skywalker and let him break down. The satisfaction that permeated the form of Sheev Palpatine was so great that he nearly forgot that his parents had named him Sheev.

But not for long. Distaste prickled up his spine. Still, they were entering the glorious morning of a Sith Empire that would never see night. Or, rather more accurately, the night would be neverending. And the metaphors would be better - he would hire (and by hire, he meant enslave) the greatest poets to compose endless lamentations for the suffering he was about to unleash.

Skywalker sat in the chair, looking listless. The nightmares Palpatine had sent had done their job well - it seemed like he had hardly slept. His thoughts were sluggish, his resistance gone, and his terror absolute. Terror for his "secret" wife, who he feared would die in childbirth.

And while the "visions" were far from genuine, oh, Palpatine intended to make sure that Padmé Amidala would.

With the death of his wife, Palpatine's control over Anakin Skywalker would be perfect. And, in ten or twenty years, thirty even, the boy would become his new vessel. After all, the plans of the Sith were measured in the millenia, and Sheev Palpatine had no intention of planting trees in whose shade younger generations might sit. No. He intended to sit there himself, chasing off the whippersnappers so they might get sunburnt. (He really needed to consult a poet.)

But the creation of his Empire was a far more immediate goal, and a very worthy stepping stone indeed. And since all it would take was a push, he had better get to administering said push.

"Dear boy, I don't think I've ever seen you look quite this... disturbed," he intoned, perfectly miming the tones of a concerned grandfather. "Not - and I am terribly sorry to bring this up, but I can't help but be concerned - not even... not even when your mother died."

There. Skywalker was an easy instrument to play. A veil of concern, a dash of "you can tell me anything." A hint of his past trauma, which so neatly (almost as if by design) connected to his current fear. Even calling attention to Skywalker's sorry state served to remind him that the structures he could depend on were now shaky and unsure, ravaged by war.

Palpatine briefly entertained himself by wondering what the boy might think of the sheer amount of planning that had been put into his fall.

"Mom?" Skywalker asked, voice groggy and wide eyes betraying his shock.

And said nothing more, just gaped at Palpatine, as if he were about to pull Shmi Skywalker out from under his robes. Idiot boy.

"I'm terribly sorry for shocking you, Anakin," Palpatine said, suffusing the room with his phony concern. "I know it must be horrible to think about, especially in these... present circumstances."

Well, he'd thrown subtlety out the viewport, but that would certainly get the job done.

Skywalker did not respond. He was blearily gazing into middle distance. And Palpatine was running out of time - Skywalker needed to fall now, before Kenobi could return from Utapau and somehow pull him back from the brink, again.

So, subtlety? Subtlety would die the same death it always died in Skywalker's presence: a sudden one.

"Actually, I've called you here on an important matter," he said, injecting some urgency into his tone - no longer a grandfather, but a concerned statesman. "I now have every reason to believe that Senator Amidala and the Delegation of Two Thousand are planning a coup."

"Huh?" Skywalker said, attempting to sit up. "Padmé's planning..."

And then his train of thought appeared to slip away again, and he resumed his vacant staring.

"Yes." Palpatine gritted out. "Padmé Amidala, your wife, is planning a coup."

"Oh. Yeah, she's good at politics," Anakin mumbled, offering Palpatine a tired smile. "I'm sure she'll do a good job."

"A coup against me." When nothing more than a "hmm" was forthcoming, Palpatine continued. "And it appears she has allied with the Jedi Council."

Skywalker suddenly stood up, ramrod straight. Finally, Palpatine thought.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you have to find out this way-"

"No, no, this is great! She's finally hanging out with my work friends! Now she'll know what it feels like!" Skywalker shook his head. "Like, it's only fair, right? I've sat through a ton of formal dinners and stuff. And Bail is okay, I guess, and Mon, and Fang Zhar is kinda funny, but... they're so boring. Treaty this, agreement that, 'what do you think, Master Jedi?'"

Skywalker started pacing. "Yeah, but who's laughing now, Padmé? I hope she tries to take them out for lunch. Then she'll get to see twelve Jedi Masters meditating to discern which restaurant the Force is pulling them towards."

He turned to Palpatine, as if to explain. "And that takes hours. You wanted lunch? Sorry, it's dinnertime and also tomorrow, and the spot they picked, which, by the way, is always the one Yoda wants,-" and, to the Sith Lord's horror, he launched into an imitation, "'mmm, great darkness I sense within the Jundland Buffet, perhaps to Stewcruiser, we should instead go', but when we finally decide to go to Stewcruiser, it's closed on Taungsday, and the whole thing starts all over again!"

And at that, Skywalker sat down with a huff.

"Indeed," Palpatine said, no longer able to keep the coldness out of his voice. "The inefficiencies of the Jedi are... vexing."

"Tell me about it," Skywalker mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"But rather more pressingly, they are planning a coup." Palpatine said, rather icily.

"Yeah, right," the boy said, looking a bit shamefaced. "Sorry."

"It is no matter," Palpatine replied, still eyeing the Jedi. Skywalker made no move. "What do you think about the coup?"

"Oh, yeah, uh. Like I said, I'm sure she'll do a great job. Sorry, I don't really... pay attention to politics."

Palpatine opened his mouth. And then closed it again. "A coup is a bad thing, Anakin."

"Uh-huh," Skywalker said, clearly paying no attention, and that was just about the limit of Palpatine's patience. He hadn't set the entire galaxy ablaze to be uh-huhed by the boy.

It was time to go for the throat.

"Anakin, I'm going to kill your wife." He said, enunciating every word as clearly as he could. He needed to provoke the boy into fear and anger, which would feed his guilt and shame, which would lead him to the Dark Si-

"Oh, okay. Good luck."

"What?!" He hissed. "I just threatened to kill your wife!"

"Yeah, but..." Skywalker scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean, she's been in like, twenty battles. She can handle herself."

"She is eight months pregnant!"

Skywalker actually shrugged. "The med droid said she can keep doing her usual activities for as long as she feels able. And no offence, but you're kind of... old."

"Old? I am the Lord of the Sith, young fool! I possess powers your feeble mind can't even comprehend!"

Something had gone blank in Skywalker's eyes, but Palpatine was far too angry to notice. "I orchestrated this entire war! All of this is my doing! I planned for your mother to die, I corrupted the Tuskens myself, I was behind Kenobi faking his death, beh-"

And that's about as far as he got, because a sky blue blade had just passed between the spot his head occupied and the spot that was occupied by his body, and had kindly suggested to the two that it was time to part ways.

"Chancellor, Sith Lords are a specialty at the Jundland Buffet," Anakin muttered, turning off his saber. He tried to hook it back on his belt, but apparently somebody had taken his usual hook, and the handle fell to the ground. Sighing, he called it up with the Force and shoved it into his boot for safekeeping, when a thought struck him. "No, that's not right. How did Obi-Wan say it..."

And then he commed Obi-Wan, because that seemed like the thing to do. After a long wait, a small, blue Obi-Wan appeared, looking harried. Before Anakin could compliment him on his new size and color, Obi-Wan was already talking way too fast, something about killing Grievous.

"Hey, Obi-Wan, uh. I killed the Sith, but I-"

"What?" Obi-Wan's voice had a lot of static in it. He should really get that checked out. "Sorry, Anakin, did you say you killed the Sith Lord?"

"Yeah, anyways, back when we were fighting Dooku, you said something about Sith Lords and a specialty, and, uh, is it a specialty dish somewhere? And can we go there next time the Council has lunch? I'm getting really sick of Stewcruiser."

"Anakin. When was the last time you slept?"

"Oh, uh, two weeks ago or something."

There was a heavy, staticy sigh from the other end of the comlink. "Alright, Anakin. Turn the comlink around and show me the Sith, and then I'll guide you through cleaning up the pieces of the duelling droid you dismantled this time, and - oh Force, is that the Chancellor?!"

"Uh-huh," Anakin nodded, forgetting that he wasn't in view of the receiver.

"Don't uh-huh me, Anakin! Did you kill the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Yeah, he was the Sith?" There weren't any more words coming through the comlink, so Anakin figured it was safe to continue. "He said that he orchestrated the whole war and he was the Sith. Also, for some reason, he moved out here to the desert, and that's weird, because I don't think it's gonna agree with his complexion."

There was more silence from the comlink. Anakin remembered to turn it so he was again visible to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan appeared to be frozen.

"Are you... disappointed?" Anakin asked, after a while.

"No more than the usual amount," Obi-Wan sighed. "Go take a nap."

"Oh, good," Anakin smiled. And then frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'the usual amount?'"

[everyl1ttleth1ng]

For reasons I will blame on a tweet that said “I just saw someone refer to TS and TK as ‘The English teacher and PE teacher getting it on’ AND I LOST MY MIND” and one of Taylor’s many amazing new songs on TTPD, “So High School,” it appears that I have joined the ranks of the psychos writing fanfiction about real people. We do AUs pretty well here on tumblr so, in this alternative universe of mine, the names, appearances and some elements of what is publicly known about these real people have been borrowed from actual reality and used to populate an entirely fictional story about teachers in a cross-discipline romance. Obvs I do not know any of my “actors” in real life and obvs this is not meant, in any way, to speculate about any of the named people’s actual lives. Also, some of my “actors” are just identified by their first names here but they are all played by real people in my head and you’ll probably pick ‘em if you’re even vaguely aware of actors, musicians and prominent figures across and around the NFL. And it’s set in the high school that Devi Vishwakumar goes to because, why not?

…

“She’s back,” announced Dalton, slumping into his chair and dropping his head dramatically onto his desk amid a tangle of whistles.

Pat chuckled. “Sorry dude, I was going to warn you but I never thought she’d agree to sub so soon after getting back into the country. Tammy must be desperate to cover classes. The poor girl’s probably still jet-lagged.”

“She doesn’t look jet-lagged,” muttered Dalton without lifting his head. “She looks like her perfect Disney Princess self, just more tanned from a year under the Spanish sun.”

“Dude,” said Pat, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if PE is the right spot for you. You’re still young, it’s probably not too late to switch to something more dramatic.”

Travis looked from one colleague to the other. “What am I missing here?”

“Dalton has a crush,” said Pat. “It’s kind of endearing. She’s only a full decade older than he is and completely out of his league.”

“Shut up,” groaned Dalton.

“Knock, knock!” called a voice from the staff room doorway. “Paging Mr Travis Kelce.”

“English teachers?” said Travis, getting to his feet, his tone incredulous. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me or is that a pair of lost English teachers at our door? What are you two doing slumming it over on our side of the school?”

Dalton looked up in wide-eyed horror which quickly turned to relief when he saw which of the English teachers it was, or rather, wasn’t.

“Hey, Trav,” said Jack, accepting the embrace the bigger man offered with a grin and thumping him warmly on the back. “Em and I are worried we might have developed some kind of Stockholm Syndrome since our shared week on Grade Seven Camp. We really miss you, buddy.”

“Jack and all his pretentious poet friends are used to looking down on jocks. Now that he’s embroiled in a bromance with one, he’s finding it all very confusing.” Emma waited until Travis had released her from her hug before she added, “And we’re here to use you for your access to sports equipment.”

“Hurtful,” said Travis. “But it’s nice to have you guys visiting me in my staff room for a change. I kind of stick out like a sore thumb in yours.”

Jack snorted. “You know those old ladies love you.”

“They’ve started bringing in packets of those chocolate cookies you like just in case you pop by,” said Emma. “Better not leave them hanging, Trav.”

“Cookies, huh? Ok, I’ll be round tomorrow recess.”

“Nah, that won’t work,” said Emma. “Taylor swans in for thirty seconds this morning in a sleep-deprived haze-”

In the background Dalton surreptitiously lifted his head off the desk, the faint imprint of a whistle on his cheek.

“- mentions she watched Dead Poets Society on the plane ride home from Spain and suddenly they're all selecting extracts of poetry, dusting off an old gramophone and sending us over here to you lot to borrow some soccer balls.”

Travis looked from Jack to Emma with a bemused expression on his face. “Am I the idiot here if I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about?”

“I know!” piped up Dalton. “Are you guys gonna recreate that scene with Robin Williams on the oval?” He nodded knowingly. “Iconic. I should tell Taylor I’m a fan too.”

Pat laughed. “Yeah, Dalton, you should. And maybe Taylor could come over while you watch the movie with your girlfriend. Remember her?”

Dalton glared at him then resignedly dropped his head back to the surface of his desk.

“Who’s Taylor?” asked Travis. “Is she another one of the old ladies with the cookies?”

Dalton scoffed dramatically, muffled though it was.

Pat cackled. “You okay there, Kinkaid?”

Emma pushed on Travis’ arm to get him moving. “C’mon, we’ve all gotta get to our homerooms eventually. We’ll explain while you take us to the soccer balls.”

…

“You are a lifesaver, my girl,” said Tammy, patting Taylor fondly on the arm. “I cannot thank you enough for coming in today.”

Taylor pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and blinked sleepily. “What if I fall asleep on them? You don’t understand. I think it’s a real danger!”

Tammy laughed. “Hard to fall asleep in PE. Besides, you’re just there for the supervision ratio given that this is all of Grade 8 combined. Travis will have it all under control.”

“Travis?” asked Taylor. “Am I so tired that I’ve forgotten the name of a guy I’ve worked with for six years or is this someone new?”

Tammy looked up from her laptop in surprise. “Oooh, no, you wouldn’t have met Travis yet. He’s an old friend of Pat’s from college. Apparently they used to play football together. When Bill retired at the end of last year, Pat put in a call to his buddy and this place has not been the same since.”

Taylor nodded. “Ok, yes, this is sounding familiar. Britt did mention that some old friend of Pat’s had started at Sherman Oaks and that he was always at their place. I’m a bit worried he might have muscled into my spot at Friday Night Wine.”

Tammy considered her a moment. “So did you meet anyone in Spain? On your big single girl adventure?”

“I mean, I did.” Taylor shrugged. “He was nice, I guess, but nothing really came of it. We went our separate ways after a month or so. If I’d found the one, I might not have come home.” Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Hang on, why do you ask? What does this have to do with PE?”

Tammy patted her hand and handed her the class attendance papers. “You’ll see. Let’s go introduce you to Travis.”

“Okaaay,” said Taylor warily, as she followed Tammy dutifully out of her office. “You’re the boss, Mrs Reid. I’ll just grab a coffee and meet you there.”

…

The local school district’s baseball competition had half the PE staff out at a neighbouring school for most of the school day and long into the afternoon but Travis wasn’t worried, even in the face of all the Grade 8 PE classes combined. Tammy would find him a spare adult or two to stand around the edge of the gym and take care of supervision and he would get to teach more of his favourite unit - Grade 8 Dance. Last combined lesson they’d learned the Electric Slide and totally nailed it. Today he was gonna make the kids partner up and learn the Cha Cha. 

He plugged his phone into the sound system and cued up his playlist of Latin beats, cranking the volume as high as it would go, then headed over to unlock the gym doors and usher in the waiting students.

“Mr Kelce?” a familiar voice called from the gym entrance once the students had all shuffled in.

Travis turned to see the wife of his former football coach, now one of the Sherman Oaks deputy principals, waving to him. “Mrs Reid!” he boomed back, dancing his way over to her. “Come and cha cha with me. Let’s show these kids how it’s done.”

The older woman laughed and said, “Why not?” momentarily placing her ever-present sheaf of paperwork on a table near the door and giving him her hand.

The kids whooped and cheered as they watched Travis demonstrate how to be the perfect dance partner. He had particularly high hopes for these Grade 8 boys. They sorely needed a good example of how to treat other people, especially girls, and he hoped he could fill that role for them. The song playing came to an end and he spun Tammy out into the middle of the floor so they could both bow extravagantly, hamming it up for the student reaction.

“Let’s thank my extraordinary partner one more time,” Travis called. “Give it up for Mrs Reid!”

Tammy waved and curtsied then grinned at Travis and made her way toward her pile of papers and the door. 

“Ok, get yourself into the grid we learnt last week,” Travis instructed as he walked over to the sound system to cue up Shania Twain’s Man, I Feel Like a Woman. “We’re gonna warm up with a few rounds of the Electric Slide and I know that you guys are awesome at this so make sure to give it your own flair!”

He cued up a few songs to follow, mainly chosen to give the students a laugh. He chuckled to himself as he selected Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby and Kool and the Gang’s Get Down On It. 

Raising his eyes from his phone and looking over the heads of the line dancing students, he saw a statuesque blonde woman walk through the gym doors, a huge smile on her face as she took in their enthusiastic movement.

“Ms Swift?” cried out one of the girls. “You’re back!”

“Hi, Sophie!” she replied, waving as she made her way around the outside of the grid towards Travis. “Keep dancing! We’ll catch up later!”

Travis suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He barely stopped himself from shoving his phone into the pocket of his shorts and disconnecting the cable to the sound system.

“Hi,” she said as she drew near, smiling broadly and holding out a hand to him. “I’m Taylor.”

“Travis,” he replied, taking her slender hand in his. “Nice to meet you.”

…

“Hey Trav,” said Jack, wearily looking up from the pile of papers he was grading. “Em’s around here somewhere if you’ve come to get the soccer balls back. Thanks for that by the way.”

Travis waved a hand. “No rush. Was it a success? Should I be worried I’m gonna lose half my football team to poetry or whatever?”

Emma’s head appeared over the top of the partition dividing their desks. “Not if their essays are anything to go by,” she said dryly, yanking off her massive headphones.

“Oh, hey, Em. Didn’t see you there.”

She gestured with the headphones. “That was kind of the idea. I was laying low. But then I remembered how much I hate marking and how much more fun it is talking to you.”

Travis grinned. “So, it seems you two left out a crucial piece of information when you were talking up your pal, Taylor, this morning.”

Both sets of tired eyes lit up.

“You’ve met her already?” asked Jack excitedly. “What did we leave out?”

Travis rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “Neither of you told me she was gorgeous.”

Emma whooped. “I’m gonna get some of those cookies.”

Jack grinned, shoving his pile of papers aside and leaning back in his desk chair. “Tell us everything,” he said.

[auxiliarydetective]

The OC Halloween Challenge - Day 7

You can find the challenge here!

Today's prompt was...

The Comedic Relief

Honestly, they make even the scariest movies bearable. They’re almost never the main character but almost always the most liked. They say laughter is medicine for the soul, so which of your ocs soothes the characters and the situation with a joke made at the worst of times?

R.I.P. to the two people that weren't funny enough: Iris Winchester and Charlotte Inari.

This prompt isn't really too well-fitting for a graphic in my eyes, so I wrote a little 5+1 sort of deal - except it's only three so that the +1 can be evil number 4:

3 times Charlie Drake laughed death in the face and 1 time he regretted it

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

"Someone needs to distract it," Egon declared as they were all squatting behind the garden wall, listening to the sounds of the ghost inside the greenhouse wreck the place.

Immediately, a wild pointing of fingers was started, but before anyone could say something to go along with it, Charlie slipped off his proton pack.

"I've always wanted a cat," he said with a grin.

Equipped with only his flashlight, he headed for the greenhouse. The other Ghostbusters looked on in confusion. Was he starting to go mad from sleep deprivation? That wasn't a cat, that was a ghost! One that had been a huge moster only a few minutes ago. But Charlie was having none of it and strutted towards the greenhouse.

"Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!" he called, waving his flashlight along the wall of the greenhouse.

Immediately, the feline ghost jumped against the glass, theeth bared, frantically chasing the light. Charlie laughed brightly.

"Good kitty! Where's the light, huh? Where is it?"

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

"Charlie!" Egon called tensely as his friend was dropped from the ceiling in a bubble of slimey ectoplasm.

The blob splatted flat onto the ground and Charlie lay there, motionless. Quickly, Egon hurried over to him, followed by Peter. When they reached Charlie, he huffed quietly. With every cough, spitting up droplets of ectoplasm, his lips curled further into a smile, until he started laughing like a maniac.

"Wow, that was stupid! So, this is how it feels, huh? Getting slimed?"

Egon pulled him to his feet, having to shake ectoplasm off his glove once he let go.

"Glad it happened to you this time," Venkman commented as he looked around the room to try and find out where the ghost had gone. When he turned back to Charlie, he immediately took on a defensive stance. "No, I know that look, don't you dare-"

But Charlie was already creeping towards him, hands in the air with his fingers wiggling about.

"Oooooh, I think the slime possessed me..." he cooed, doing his best to suppress his laughter.

This was Peter's cue to start running. Immediately, Charlie set after him. He was seemingly not slowed down by the heavy proton pack on his back at all, catching up to Peter with ease and tackling him into a hug, giggling furiously.

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

Ray banged against the wall, almost see-through, looking like a fluid, yet solid to the touch. On the other side, Winston tried firing his particle thrower at it. But both of them were met with the same fate - their attacks at the substance rebounded, knocking them backwards. Charlie just laughed.

"You're really arguing with a mirror, huh?"

"You got any better idea?" Winston asked. "We're in here while that spook is wrecking havoc."

"Well, if I remember correctly, our ghostly pal used to be a poet," Ray mumbled, "maybe-"

But before he could finish his sentence, Charlie threw himself dramatically against the wall.

"Oh, envious wall," he gasped, "why do you block lovers? How great would it be if you let us be joined in whole body, or, if this is too much, if you rather lay open for kisses to be given?"

Suddenly, miraculously, the wall disappeared as Charlie giggled.

"Who knew my charm worked on walls, too?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you didn't come up with that," Winston commented.

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

It was their first bust after defeating Gozer. Charlie had been extremely tired that day, but it seemed he had recovered. Or at least that was what everyone thought. By the time Ecto-1's siren was blaring, he was grinning and practically emitting energy again. Their spectre of the hour was a Class 3 or 4 entity, identity unknown, but witnesses had described it as "having escaped from a Wild West movie". To make things even worse, the thing apparently had fully tangible guns, stolen from a gun store.

Charlie's plan to trap the entity was simple: A shootout. A quick-draw contest, to be exact. The spectre with his guns, Charlie with his particle thrower. Demons like Charlie couldn't die and so, even if he lost, he would still win in the end. It was a very simple plan, but one that sounded very effective. Especially since the other Ghostbusters would be surrounding the ghost, ready to give Charlie a hand.

"Hey, cowboy!" Charlie called with a wide grin, positioning himself opposite the spectre. "Wanna duel?"

It took the bait with no hesitation. Silence spread across the battlefield as the two supernatural beings faced each other.

Suddenly, a loud bang cut through the air. The ghost had fired. Almost immediately afterwards, the Ghostbusters' proton packs fired up, trapping the ghost in their streams. All except Charlie's. He was late. Incredibly late. But over the sound of the buzzing streams and the struggling of the spectre, nobody noticed. The ghost was trapped in record time.

"Great job, everyone!" Peter said in his usual sarcastic tone. "Now, let's get home before the horse shows up."

Everyone smiled. Everyone except Charlie.

"Um... Egon?" he said slowly. "I'm gonna need your scientific expertise here."

Egon turned around to look at him, immediately going white as a sheet. Charlie's flightsuit was tinted scarlet at the chest, the same color as Charlie's fingers which he stared at incredulously. Quickly, Egon rushed to his side and tore open his flightsuit. This couldn't be happening. It was impossible, it-

"Is this what I think it is?" Charlie mumbled.

Only a second later, his legs gave out.

[jon-withnoh]

100, 121, 129!

100. Your favourite Gothic novel:

It’s impossible to choose just one so I‘ll give you several. I spent a lot of time with Jane Eyre during my English degree and it‘s still one of my favourites. There‘s just so much there! (I‘d also recommend Wild Sargasso Sea and Jane Steele as interesting takes on the Jane Eyre story.) Secondly, people are sleeping on The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë. I actually prefer her prose to Charlotte‘s and she opens up extremely interesting subject matter (a woman fleeing her abusive husband with her son and earning her own living as an artist, to give the briefest of summaries). Thirdly, I do of course have to recommend Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It‘s an extremely rich text that rewards multiple readings (I am currently on my third reread, armed with book tabs and a pencil). Definitely try to get a copy that has Sally Beauman‘s introduction (or find it on my blog under the rebecca das musical tag, hehe). It gives a lot of context and provides a jumping off point for further research.

121. A book that makes you nostalgic:

Anne of Green Gables (specifically the German translation I read as a child). I „borrowed“ (read: stole) the copy from my cousin, fully intending to give it back but never actually doing it. I‘m pretty sure she never noticed. It had the first two books of the series and I reread it countless times, especially over the summer. It‘s the perfect mixture of a heroine I could really identify with and an atmosphere that fits really well with that endless, sunny feeling of childhood summer holidays (at least in my memory).

Another book that makes me very nostalgic now is Alanna, the First Adventure by Tamora Pierce. I had the first two books of the series in German translation and read them many, many times. (I actually didn‘t end up finishing the series until I was in my early twenties).

129. A book with beautiful prose:

I have to recommend another book connected to Rebecca here (mainly because I just moved and all my books are in boxes, depriving me of visual reminders of the books I have actually read): Mrs de Winter by Susan Hill has very smooth, atmospheric prose that I enjoyed a lot.

I haven‘t read a lot of fiction in the last couple of years because I focused on poetry in my MA, so I also want to recommend a couple of poetry collections:

Flèche by Mary Jean Chan — this collection changed me. I want to memorise it and have it with me everywhere. I‘m stealing this description from the back of the book since words really are failing me: „As complex themes of multilingualism, queerness, psychoanalysis and cultural history emerge, so too does a richly imagined personal, maternal and national biography. The result is a series of poems that feel urgent and true, dazzling and devastating by turns“.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith — you might have read the title poem of the collection, „Good Bones“ that went viral a few years ago. This whole collection is a delight though, with images that appear and reappear in different places in the collection, thoughts on maturing, motherhood, and the feeling of being anchored to — or escaping — the place where you grow up.

No Map Could Show Them by Helen Mort — I recommend this book to everyone who asks me about poetry. I am not lying when I say that this is the book that made me a poet. I solidly thought of myself as a prose writer before I read it. It‘s a collection focusing on present day and historical women mountaineers (with detours into other subjects). What always draws me in about Mort‘s poetry is her incredible gift of getting the imagery and form of her poems work together to really make them sing. I could give a twenty minute lecture on her use of white space alone. I love this book.

[mrworldwidesleftbigtoe]

I think poets should stop using AI and should instead get high and sleep-deprived and write during a thunderstorm and unlock their third eye. We are simply the media we consume, what if you only consume AI? Are you a robot? A walking machine of the same recycled ideas? Does your writing become just an echo chamber, have you tried to write without Grammarly? Have you scribbled your mad ideas onto a restaurant napkin? Have you tried to write a novel in your mind on the bus, have you lifted your gaze from your phone?

Have you tried to really write and have you felt in the very marrow of your bones?

I ask you simply, open the laptop, turn off the internet, don't sleep for one night who cares, and WRITE.

Oh, for god’s sake write, we need your stories, your ideas, your mind and life

[purplekiwis]

Poet Harry being a menace in the kitchen

@wildflowerry OKAY! i know it has been a long time, but i haven't forgetten your cooking blurb concept! 🍲 It's a short one 'cause I'm running on a tight schedule but I couldn't stop thinking about this last night. 🥺

Prompt: Y/N owns a small bookstore and Harry is her chronically sleep-deprived poet lover. (You can check their first blurb here)

Wordcount: 953

**

“Ah, look who’s finally awake… my precious bookworm.” Harry smiled, tilting his head back towards the end of the hall where his still very sleepy girlfriend now stood, coming from the bedroom.

They had been taking a nap after coming home from a tiring day of working at the bookstore, and Y/N had now just woken up alone to the noise of pots rattling in the kitchen and the fragrance of something burnt itching up her nose. “Mhm…” She hummed, fist rubbing at her eye as she came closer to where her boyfriend was, leant over the stove, with her colorful, fish patterned cooking apron on.

The apron had been a gag gift from her parents at the time she decided to move out of their family home, and frankly she never really used it… but her messy boyfriend did, and she loved to see him in it.

He was always the cutest little thing in the kitchen - with his hair tied up in a sprout bun, face hot from the steam and that slight panicky skew of his brows he always unconsciously put on whenever he became stressed - whether over not finding the right words to express his emotions in a poem he was working on, or over still not having finished mincing the garlic by the time the chopped onions were already turning a shade too brown in the pan.

That night was no different. As per usual, Harry was running around rather tousled… so you weren’t that surprised when you watched him hastily bend over to taste the sauce he was making, only to blab out an array of cusses once his forehead bumped harshly against the exhaust fan, leaving you with no doubt whatsoever that besides his pompous poet vocabulary, he also had a much more extensive profanity lexicon than you did. “That hurt like a bitch…” He still grumbled, as you took a hand to his head and rubbed at the sore area as he focused back on the stove.

“What are you up to, silly?” You questioned, wrapping your arms around his waist, and peeking over his shoulder just so you could have a look at the pan perched on the stove. He was preparing some sort of gnocchi dish. “Looks tasty.” You commended, opting to overlook the fact that your kitchen looked like a murder scene, with tomato sauce splashed all over the counters, a thin layer of dried oregano slowly charring under the hob, and a few lose pieces of half-cooked dough on the floor that you were guessing had fallen off the pot due to Harry’s brusque stirring movements.

He hadn't gotten around to pick them up yet … or rather, hadn't had the time.

“I'm sorry, I know.” Harry sighed apologetically once he caught you covertly staring around to evaluate the damage. “I haven't mastered the whole clean as I go thing yet. Cooking is very stressful… I don’t know how you always do it so effortlessly.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled, nuzzling your entire face against his shoulder blades, as your palms rubbed his belly appreciatively. “Thank you for cooking. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Harry replied, stringing out his neck just so that he could kiss your forehead. He wasn’t the best cook yet, but he had been trying as of lately, and you couldn’t not appreciate him for it. Especially when you knew that if it were for him, he would have been fine with half a bottle of wine, an instant soup, and a cigarette on the porch. That's what he used to have before he had you… but luckily for his health, now he spent most nights in your apartment, where you fed him nice one-pot dishes and homemade soups… and now he wanted to return the favor.

“Should I start setting the table?”

“Mm... not yet. But can you do something else for me?” You nodded plainly, already guessing what he was about to ask. “Help me fix the sauce? It’s quite… pungent. Not in a good way. I tried to fix it, but... being honest I think I only made it worse.” You chuckled at the puny frustation in his face, reaching to grab the wooden spoon perched over the handle and giving a quick stir to the pan, where the sauce was already beginning to stick at the bottom due to the overly high temperature of the hob. You lowered it, stirring a little more before finally taking the spoon to your mouth for a taste. “So?” Harry pried once you fell silent, save for the gentle smacking your lips made while savoring the strong taste radiating all over your mouth.

“Pungent is a great word to describe what I’m tasting right now.” You finally disclosed, lovingly scratching at his shoulder in response to the sullen look that had taken over his features at your words. “What did you put in there that made it so… soapy?”

“I don’t know…” Harry huffed, crossing his arms over the apron. “Normal stuff, I guess… I even added a pinch of sugar and baking soda to temper the acidity of the tomatoes like you’ve taught me the other day.”

“How much baking soda did you use?”

“...I thought I wasn't supposed to measure it, was I?” Your boyfriend questioned back; brows irked with surprise. “I sort of just... poured it by eye. Roughly the same amount you did the other day.”

“Yeah babe, but the other day I was cooking for 6 people…” You rationalized, with a knowing, yet understanding smirk stretching across your mouth.

At that, Harry's eyes fell on the pan again. Both of you laughing airily as he let out an insightful “Oh.”

[i-have-oneirataxia]

Barley Lightfoot Headcannons:

i wrote all of these sleep deprived and hungry so please exuse all of it-

Dates:

Going on a quest.

Quests of Yore night.

He'd play a mixtape he made you.

You'd star gaze together on top of Guinevere.

Dance sessions in the back of Guinevere.

Midnight trips to 24hour gas stations for snacks and slushies.

Going to concerts together.

Making each other playlists. 

Getting lost in the woods.

Going to a museum.

Going to a skate park.

Going on a camping trip.

Going on a picnic.

Drive-in movies.

Board game night.

Going bowling.

Have a Nerf gun war.

Cooking together.

Taking a dance class together.

Watching the sunset on top of Guinevere.

Pillow forts and movie nights in the back of Guinevere.

Making a fire pit and roasting marshmallows on the beach.

Favourite Forms of Affection:

To Do To You:

Kissing your hand (the back, your knuckles, your palm, etc,.); He’d take your hand in his, bowing down, his lips brushing delicately against your knuckles. He’d look up at you from this position, his eyes locked onto yours, enchanted.

Kissing your forehead; He’d lean down, his lips pressing to your forehead comfortingly.

Cuddling; -Read excerpt below-

Holding your hand; Your fingers laced together, swinging between you as he gently strokes your hand with the pad of his thumb.

Holding your face; He enjoys holding your face in the palms of his hands, stroking your cheeks and breathing you in.

To Have Done To Him:

Playing with his hair; Your fingers gently comb through his hair, massaging his scalp with your nails.

Kissing his neck; You lean up, your lips brushing the crook of his neck, leaving a delicate peck.

Hugging him; You embrace him fully, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, nuzzling his chest and taking him all in.

Stroking his upper arm/chest; Your fingers dance along his skin, doodling and writing little notes of fixation.

Kissing his forehead; You get up on your tippy-toes, taking his cheeks in the palms of your hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, right between his eyebrows. Then leaning your forehead against his, just admiring him.

Big Spoon V. Little Spoon:

Barley is very cuddly and doesn’t really mind either way, he just likes being near to you. 

He enjoys holding you close to his chest, wrapped safely in his arms where he can breathe you in. You love listening to the calming melody his heart plays for you whenever you’re like this. Your nails draw soothing shapes and patterns along his arm, dancing along his skin, as his chest rises and falls beneath you, almost lulling you to sleep. He just watches, enamored by you, as his pointer finger draws a delicate line between your eyebrows and along the bridge of your nose over and over.

Or when you have him laid on your stomach, whispering words of adoration as you gently run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He’d lay there, his fingers wandering tiredly along your outer thigh, writing your name again and again. 

It doesn’t matter to him, he just enjoys laying with you in his company.

Nicknames:

Nicknames he'd use for you:

Treasure

Beloved

My Heart

My Heart’s Fire

Mouse

Little Mouse

Love

Pumpkin

My World

Sweetness

Strawberry

Peanut

Bumblebee

Angel Eyes

Honey

Hon

Nicknames you'd use for him:

Prince Charming

Charming

Sweet Boy

Teddy

Teddy Bear

Angel

Sugar

Little Bear

Love

Biscuit

Little Biscuit

Honeybee

Buttercup

Honey

Hon

How He Kisses (slight nsfw)

Him cradling your face in his hands

You having to get on your tippy-toes for a kiss.

Him lifting you into the air to kiss you. 

Sweet and modest kisses, very soft and slow, but also passionate.

His lips are slightly chapped, but you don’t mind.

He’s a gentle starter, very innocent and tender.

Sweet kisses turning into heated make-out sessions.

Lots of soft moans and gasps swapped between lips.

Him biting your bottom lip when things get heated.

For him to lift you up and wrap your legs around his waist when fervent. 

What it's Like Sharing a Bed With Him

Lot’s of cuddling- he’s quite the cuddle-bug.

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat while he plays with  your hair.

Falling asleep on separate sides of the bed and waking up with your legs in a tangled heap and you wrapped tightly in Barley’s arms.

Songs That Represent Your Relationship

‘Mr Loverman’ by Ricky Montgomery

‘Line Without a Hook’ by Ricky Montgomery

‘Nicotine’ by P!ATD

‘House of Gold’ by Twenty One Pilots

‘Sweater Weather’ by The Neighbourhood

‘Everybody Talks’ by Neon Trees

‘Soldier, Poet, King’ by The Oh Hellos

‘I Wouldn’t Mind’ by He Is We

‘Royalty’ by Conor Maynard

‘Honeybee’ by Steam Powered Giraffe

‘Nightingale’ by Demi Lovato

‘Stereo Hearts’ by Gym Class Heroes

‘A Teenagers Romance’ by Ricky Nelson

‘Put Your Head on my Shoulder’ by Paul Anka

‘Hey Stupid, I Love You’ by JP Saxe

‘I do Adore’ by Mindy Gledhill

‘Still into you’ by Paramore

‘Someone to you’ by BANNERS

‘Bad Romance’ cover by Halestorm

‘Feel it Again’ by Hudson Taylor

‘I’m Yours’ by Jason Mraz

‘Unconditionally’ by Katy Perry

‘Would you be so Kind’ by Dodie

‘Loser’ by Julian Moon

‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley

‘18’ by Anarbor

‘Someone you Like’ by The Girl and the Dreamcatcher

‘Gentleman’ by Will Jay

‘My Life Would Suck Without You’ by Kelly Clarkson

‘Sk8er Boi’ by Avril Lavigne

‘Partners in Crime’ by Set it Off

‘Shut up and Dance’ by WALK THE MOON

‘Take my Hand’ by Picture This

‘Out of my League’ by Stephan Speaks

‘Yellow Hearts’ by Anthony Saunders

‘Giants’ by Dermot Kennedy 

‘Safe and Sound’ by Capital Cities

‘Be Around Me’ by Will Joseph Cook

‘Snow’ by Ricky Montgomery

hello, if you enjoyed, thank you, if not, valid. im going to start taking requests for fics if youd like to send any in, go for it! :^)

[stoneworldsimp]

the dying poet

senku x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of food/water deprivation, swearing

day seven.

fuck, fuck, FUCK!

it felt like you had been running for hours, trying to shake this wild animal off. you made sharp turns behind large bushes in hopes of losing it, you’d hold as still as possible behind large roots on the ground, but the animal kept finding you in one way or another.

“please go away,”you panted. “c’mon. you’ve been chasing me fucking forever, can’t you just give up?!”

you were tired; your legs were about to buckle in on themselves. dinner one night was suddenly ruined when you realized the fucker was watching you eat. in the beginning you thought it was only after your food, not you; you threw a random ration away from your camp in hopes to get it away from you. in hindsight, it only worked until you fell asleep.

you were lucky to wake up the next morning alive; your set up had been ripped to shreds, and footprints were on the ground around your body. it was painstakingly slow and nerve wracking to escape your position, but once you had everything you absolutely needed, you booked it.

sprinting for miles after miles proved to be very difficult for quite some time now.

the phone...it’s weighing me down. my bag of food isn’t even half as heavy as the phone.

looking down at the call button in your hand, you thought about tossing the phone. maybe i can fix it.. no, i don’t have any tools, the fucking animal chewed on them like dog bones. is there any way to put the wire back together...?

“FUCK my life!”

you took the phone off your back and threw it to you left, careful not to trip yourself in the process. immediately, you and your body felt the difference. with your new found energy, the run away was becoming easier, and helped you see a large cave just over the horizon. using the last of your energy, you took as large of steps as you can, and practically threw your body into the cave. the animal’s footsteps were nowhere to be heard, but you figured you didn’t want to take any chances and look behind you. you were finally breaking free from being chased, just a little deeper into this cave, and if i can find specific markings then i can backtrack—

a deep, loud rumble took you away from your thoughts. in no time, you were engulfed in dust and thick particles you didn’t know of.

the caved had closed in.

day one.

“i can do it.”

“are you sure? its a pretty perilous trip—“

“you should at least bring one other person with you—“

you sighed, exasperated that you had to defend your case once again. it had been days since the decision was made; you were going to make a trip to another part of the island in hopes to find extremely specific materials for one of senku’s projects... and it was far, far away.

quite frankly, you were the only one fit for the adventure. you were known to travel well on foot, had an exceptional sense of direction and you had a good eye for natural elements, as well as food; you also were unintentionally the least helpful when staying in the village. you didn’t have the crafting skills to successfully make glass or metal components for his experiments, and you never trusted your brain when helping senku with calculations and blueprints.

hearing senku and gen talk about this long trip to another part of the island was almost a dream come true. it was perfect for someone with your skillset, and kept you from being in the way of everybody else.

“it’ll be fine. c’mon, you guys have SOME faith in our traveler, right?”

you turned around, a smile on your face as you caught senku walking out of his lab. thank you, you mouthed.

once senku reached you and the group of villagers crowding near you, he spoke up again. “this trip is a straight shot from the bridge, the only problem would be that it’s going to take some time. possibly a month just to get there. but you,” he turned to face you,”have excellent outdoorsy-type skills that will make it really easy for you to spot what we need right away. everyone needs to stop worrying, because you’ll be there and back in no time. two months will pass like nothing.”

as the rest of the group walked away, mumbling their skepticisms, senku took your hand and tugged you back to the lab.

“what’re you taking me here for? oh wait,”you planted your feet at the front of the lab curtains, keeping the both of you from entering. “are you making me help you with your math again? because—”

“no, you’re pretty terrible at calculations,”he replied. “i have something for you.”

you puffed out your cheeks in embarrassment, but your expression completely changed once the curtain was opened.

on the table, there was a telephone. if was the size of a backpack, but it still had a speaker, a microphone, and a call button.

“i made it for you to take on the trip, in case you have any emergencies. i fully trust you in your own survival skills, but you never know if something extreme happens.”

you gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. as you walked closer to the table, you touched the outer fabric. you turned back to senku. “thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me. i’m only making something that’s essential to your travels.”

“even still,” you trailed off. “i appreciate it.”

you turned back around and beamed at senku. “i’m not going to call you until i get there. i want to make sure that no enemies try to tail me if they hear me, as much as i’d want to give in right away and hear your voice. something like that...”

“how corny.” senku smiled and pulled you close while you laughed. you jumped a bit when his hands made their way around your waist.

“a bit touchy today,” you asked, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “but i’m not complaining.”

“i’m stockpiling the feeling of you for the weeks to come. we’ve never spent this much time apart before; it’s only logical.”

“i guess you’re right.”

he kissed you, multiple times; each one was deeper than the last.

day eleven.

he brought me a flower every morning, because i always slept in later than him. he’d wake up at the asscrack of dawn, just to have more time to jot ideas down. i used to try and pull him back to sleep with me, but he was so overflowing with plans, i didn’t want to stop him.

you turned on your side.

i remember he went to explore with chrome really early one morning, and apparently they found some huge meadow with a bunch of plants. ever since then, he would bring me a different kind; it was always a single flower, too. they were different colors and shapes, and some were enormous and some were smaller than my finger. he never woke me up for it, though. he would just leave it for me when i woke up on my own. it was always a surprise, almost startling when i’d open my eyes. it was my own pick-me-up for the day, in a sense.. no matter what happened the night before, waking up to a new type of flower would put me in a good mood every time. it was better than a coffee in the morning.

i wonder if he’s looking at the flowers with chrome everyday while i’m gone. man, i still wake up hoping to see a new one in front of me.

sure, reminiscing was fun and felt good, but what’s the point? you had eaten all of your food approximately two days ago, you only had about a teaspoon of water left, and there was no getting out of there. the way you came in had been covered in a dam of rocks. you couldn’t even dig yourself out.

you furiously wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. “senku...why did i think i could go alone?”

day fifteen.

poke, poke—

something was touching you. no, someone was touching you. your head bobbed side to side, in an attempt to shake them off.

damn, that’s persistent.

opening your eyes, you woke up to senku smiling. he was knelt beside your form. “wake up, sleeping beauty! it’s been almost three hours.”

it’s only been three hours?!

you sat up way too fast, and felt lightheaded as you tried to ask,”but...why didn’t you.. wake me up earlier? did everybody...did everyone eat already?”

he laughed. “yeah, sorry. we all thought you were out doing something with chrome. but,” he turned around, to grab something behind him,”i saved some in case you got hungry when you came back.”

you took the food in a dizzy haze. was it even food? you didn’t care too much, it felt like you hadn’t eaten for a long time. any food at this point was good food.

you couldn’t even swallow the first bite. “do you- is there..any water?”

“what?” senku pulled away from you, a look of disbelief painted across his face. it was clear as day.

you hesitated, feeling more lightheaded than before. “w- water?”

“don’t you remember?” he asked. he turned away from you. “there hasn’t been any water in days.”

it’s been days.

your body jolted from its spot, and harsh reality hit you square in the face.

yes, right. you shakily rubbed your eyes to make sure they weren’t cemented shut.

in the cave, finished your food, no water to be found. making yourself walk around was no use, either; without the fuel, your body was essentially just a trembling mess.

you scowled at yourself; unsure of what to do, what to even think.

day eighteen.

you remembered how he kissed you. the first kisses the most; you always had to tell him to not look so terrified. you also had to remind him to not stand like a statue when you kissed. pretty soon, after some reassurance, he got comfortable. there was nothing but confidence in the way he caressed your face in his hands. usually he was the one to pull away; you were so mesmerized, it felt as if the world completely stopped.

they were always quick and out of the way in public. usually, it was on your forehead or your one of your cheeks. the deep kisses you felt when you two were alone were incomparable. soft lips remained on yours for what felt like centuries. he tasted sweet, in his own way—

wait, who?

you licked your lips slowly, trying to think.

it was no use; you couldn’t even remember what he looked like. you lolled your head to the side and stared at the outline of a rock a couple of feet away.

once i get out of here, i’ll kiss him. whoever it was. it won’t matter if it’s just us, or more people. i’ll kiss him forever.

maybe if i go to sleep.. i can see him again.

[kosmosguk]

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.  

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation,  mentions of suicide, gore 

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.  

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

[alia-turin]

Hey dear Alia!

How do you feel about a little prompt that displays Eredin's lifestory?Just a little one? 🥺 You did it justice when writing some stories about Caranthir and Imlerith as i am curious what's the deal with Eredin being The Eredin we all know and admire.😋

Hello anon, I know I have been sitting on that for more than two weeks but there were several ideas stewing in my brain. I think there is a lot of angles you can approach Eredin, there is just so much to him you can explore. I think I picked his soldierly side as I just enjoy writing stuff like that, I hope you do like it. Please check the warnings and if that is not your cup of tea do let me know, I won’t take offence, but I do want you to enjoy it and there are certainly other stories to be told. 

Warning: Violence, death, graphic descriptions 

AO3 Link

Eredin sat in his tent looking over maps trying to find the weak spot of the fortress. There wasn’t one, he knew it, staring at that map will not make an entrance for him, he had to fight. But fighting will lose him men, and losing men was not something he could afford right now. Not now.

“Any bright ideas?” Imlerith looked at him from the other side of the table, Eredin didn’t respond. He hated admitting defeat.

He remembered a time when he was younger, much younger. He wasn’t even of age then, just an arrogant boy with a talent. The throne room was filled with people, the king sitting, how mighty was Auberon then, Eredin could remember himself looking at the king and thinking that was how a king looked like. Eredin had walked through the throne room, people looking at him and nodding in approval, and why not he was to be the youngest general Aen Elle ever had. All these years of blood and sweat, his father making him sleep in the barracks like a common soldier had paid out. He walked to the throne and knelt, when he raised, he was Eredin, the youngest general they all had seen.

“I built that fortress.” he said in frustration. It was brilliant truly, it was not indestructible, everything could be destroyed even this pile of stone. But Eredin built it to withstand sieg for months.

“They will starve.” Imlerith added.

They would, but months from now. Eredin didn’t have months, he couldn’t be away from Tir na Li,  not now.

“You want to storm it.” the only other man in the tent spoke. Aedan has been silent through the whole discussion, that wasn’t typical.

Like him, Aedan was one of the younger soldiers in their unit. Son of a common soldier he had talent for fight that could rival even Eredin’s. But where he was calm and cold, Aedan was fire, hard to control, never followed orders or at least not as they were given. They were opposite in almost everything, even the way they looked, Aedan’s golden hair versus Eredin’s raven, sapphire blue eyes versus Eredin’s emerald green. Somehow the man grew on him and he trusted him with his life. For hundreds of years now he had never allowed himself to relay on one person as much as he relied on Aedan an the man never disappointed.  

“I say we wait.” Imlerith’s words made Eredin focus again at the task at hand. He knew that was the wise choice. He could win either way but why risk his men over few rebelling humans. Imlerith was right, but Eredin couldn’t wait. There was a bigger game for him and he was missing on it here.

“I agree. Let them starve.” Aedan, still unusually serious, added.

“One for waiting, one for starvation. Attack it is. We will storm at nightfall.” Eredin looked at his two most trusted men, Imlerith’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the map, Aendan’s were pinned somewhere behind Eredin. Unusually quiet. Neither of them protested, he knew both of them were against the idea, if he were them, he would be as well. He knew it was a bad idea, but he had to choose between his ambition and that fortress...were his  men worth his ambition? They were. He would sacrifice his men now, so he can make it better for them tomorrow. “Aedan, you will scale the wall, from the sea. Pick fifteen men.”

The blonde just nodded. Both of his generals walked out of his tent in silence. Eredin was left alone, he had a few hours before the night covered the sky and it was full moon. Bad time for a surprise attack but he could not wait.

He kicked his boots off and undid his sword belt leaving it over the map. He needed to rest, but he could never sleep before battle. He did lie down on his bed, there was some strange comfort in camping beds. They were uncomfortable, small and your back hurt after sleeping in one for too long, but it was familiar.

Eredin never doubted himself, doubt was a feeling unfamiliar to him. He was the youngest general to ever fight for the Aen Elle and he was the leader of the Red Riders. He had made some bad decisions and some tough decisions, but today just couldn’t get out of his mind. He was about to storm a fortress, he knew it was a bad idea. He knew there was a better way to do it, but he couldn’t wait.

Years ago shortly after Lara was killed, he had come back from a hunt. Aedan and two of his other captains were with him. They had walked in the throne room, Auberon sitting in the throne, Avallac’h and Ge’els next to him. It was hard to shock Eredin, but he was shocked this time. He had been away for weeks and when he came back the king was a shell of a living thing. Eyes unfocused, skin pale, his body looked weak. Eredin had always had a dream, but nothing like this sight to make him want his dream to be reality. It wasn’t, however Auberon’s frail look that made him put his plans in motion, it was the look on his men’s faces. They all had seen Auberon before, he knew what they had seen, their strong and unfaltering leader. Now he was a ruin. The mages had failed them.

It wasn’t that moment when he had made his mind he wanted to be a king, but that was the moment that made him realise it wasn’t just his ambition he was fulfilling. The Aen Elle needed a strong leader, and Auberon was not that anymore. He had planted the seeds long before that and he continued planting them long after, but he had to be in Tir na Lia, not on the other end of the kingdom dealing with human rebels.

He watched as the masons worked on the cenotaphs, sounds of metal against stone filling the air, dull and grim. That was what was left of his most trusted men. Almost all of them were gone. Grey stone and white marble. He wasn’t sad and he wasn’t grieving. They got warrior’s deaths and that was all they could hope for. He was angry. Pointless deaths born of weakness and bad decisions. He wondered if the plan all along had been to deprive him from those he trusted the most.

“Ceiran had a child.” he had heard Aedan’s step behind him but the man had been standing in silence until now. It wasn’t just Eredin losing friends, it had been both of them. “I will look into it.”

Eredin nodded. When he took the crown no  more of that. His men would die soldier’s deaths but it won’t be for nothing.  

Eredin walked out of his tent and he found his way to where Aedan and his men were preparing. They were all ready to go, nobody wore armor, just normal dark clothes, no capes, no swords, only knives, their faces covered in dirt and charcoal, everything shiny from their clothes either covered or taken off.

“Let it be known that Eredin Bréacc Glas likes it the hard way.” Aedan pointed at the full moon.

“I will give you an hour to scale the cliffs and then another thirty minutes to get half of the fortress, after that the soldiers inside should be looking in the opposite direction, but not for long.” Eredin turned to Imlerith who had just joined, fully dressed in his armor. “Put the rest of the men on the ridge there, spread them, but make sure the archers have good range and visibility when the commotion starts, I need you on me.”

“What are you going to do?” Imlerith asked before he put his helmet on.

“Negotiate.” everyone who heard that started laughing.

Hour and thirty minutes later Eredin, no armor, no sword, was walking to the fortress. One of his soldiers next to him, holding a while flag.

“Another step, pointy ears, and that arrow goes between your eyes.” a human from behind the walls shouted.

Eredin didn’t need to make another step, he needed to be right here, right now. He always rehearsed his plans in his head, multiple times looking for weaknesses. This whole plan was dangerous, but it was going to succeed even if it was just due to his sheer will. He was exactly where he needed to be, he built that place, he knew every stone and every brick, that was the place, not too far, not too close.

“My name is Eredin Bréacc Glas and I am here to negotiate with your leader.” He had to be confident it will go his way, otherwise all it took was one arrow, maybe two and that would be all for Eredin.

“We won’t surrender, pointy ears” another man shouted.

“Not here to negotiate that.” he paused. He had to win time, that is all he needed. He could see movement on the walls and more torches coming to the front. What did old poets say? There is no actual difference between bravery and stupidity? Someone must have seen Eredin in this very moment to say that. “I want to give you the fortress.” he could almost hear all the men behind the wall gasp in surprise and the mummers. Or maybe he was imagining it, after all it was very far.

“Well, gather your men and leave, butcher, no need to negotiate if we already have your fortress. We know who you are Eredin, General of the Red Riders.” it was the voice of the first human. Butcher wasn’t really a creative way to address him, but humans were not creative in general.

“No, but if I just withdraw my forces, someone else will come, someone more patient than I am. I want to negotiate, what are you going to give me, so an Aen Elle never bothers you.” as soon as he finished that he heard new noises, screams and shouts of surprise. Metal hitting metal and more humans shouting.

“Kill him!” a human screamed, but Eredin was already running to the fortress, his back hitting the wooden gates, the arrows couldn’t reach him here, but he hoped Imlerith moved his ass faster. Aedan had scaled the wall faster than he thought, which was good because there was only so much talk of defeat he could pretend without breaking the pretend. The man that was carrying the flag for him was on the ground, ten arrows sticking out of him.

One.

Imlerith and the rest of his men rushed at the gate under a storm of arrows. He could see some of his men falling, but most made it. Imlerith’s back hit the gate and he passed Eredin his sword belt.

Nobody spoke, his men’s shields were raised, but still allowed some well placed arrows to sneak. Eredin counted -

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven

Eight.

Aedan and his men were surely taking their sweet time.

Screams from inside, dull sound and the gate opened. Eredin rushed in but stepped to the side to talk to the soldier who had opened the gates for then. He had expected Aedan.

“Where is your captain?” he asked as he watched his army pour inside.

“He went to look for their leader.” the man answered as he pulled a sword from a dead body nearby and took it as his.

Eredin started running to where he knew the main hall was. Kill the leader and it will all be done. Aedan had the right idea, but the man had only a knife.

Some of his men followed him, he was cutting through everything that was human and stood in his way, his clothes soaked in blood as he was not wearing armor, his sword leaving a bloody trai behind him.

He reached the main hall, the doors were closed but it took him a kick to open them.

“Eredin!” a tall human from the other end of the room shouted. He was holding a severed head in his hand. “Your dog came sniffing.” the human threw the head and it rolled in Eredin’s feet.

Eredin looked down. The golden hair was a mess, Aedan’s face was oddly calm, but his bright blue eyes were turned into glass now. He could hear one of the men behind him choke and gag. It was just a moment but it felt like hours. That was disrespectful. He launched at the human, there were others in the room but he did not care. Aedan had a knife and no armor. The man had armor and a sword. Eredin didn’t have armor but he had his sword and that was planty.

The human was injured which made Eredin’s easy task even easier. Took him two moves to disarm him and then another one to get him on his knees.

“Size him.” Eredin ordered two of his men who had come closer. “And take his armor off.”

His men were not gentle, they tore the straps of his armor and pulled the gauntlets. Even without armor the man was still large for a human.

Eredin grabbed him by the throat and pushed him to a nearby table, with his free hand he reached for his knife and pushed it into the man’s wrist nailing it to the wood. The human screamed in agony.

“Knife.” Eredin ordered, someone passed him another one and he used it to nail the other wrist to the table.

When he finally looked at the room, his men had overpowered the humans, everyone else here was dead. Imlerith walked in his armor covered in blood. He looked at Aedan’s head and stepped around it carefully.

“There were women and children downstairs and we are bringing them to the courtyard.” Imlerith announced. “We also found a pyre, we could identify items from the garrison here, they put them to the sword and burned them.”

“Do you have family, human?” Eredin turned to the rebel leader. “I’m sure you do. You humans breed like cockroaches. Was it what provoked you to do that? You didn’t want your daughter or your son to serve us. To be a slave like you. You should have slit their throats in the crib before they grow up if you wanted mercy for them.” he turned to Imlerith. “Behead all of them, don’t care what you do with them before that.” The man on the table screamed this time not in pain it was frustration.

Eredin had not forgotten about him. He walked to where Aedan’s body was lying, his hand still gripping a knife. Eredin took the knife from the dead fingers, he wouldn’t need it anymore. He slowly walked to the man who had started struggling against the restrain, but pointless, Eredin dug the blades too deep and the pain was probably more than a human could take.

“Was it worth it human? Rebelling?” the man struggled and didn’t answer. Eredin smiled as he pushed the dip of Aedan’s knife in the man’s throat, feeling flesh and bone give in under his weight. The man tried to scream but he choked on his own blood instead. He stepped back and watched the man die in agony.

Eredin turned his gaze to Aedan’s severed head. His oldest friend. Hundreds of years fighting next to each other. Killed by a human rebell. Human, who somehow saw weakness in Aen Elle and decided that he could carve his piece of history. Tir na Lia desperately needed a change.

Nine

He watched the mason work on the marble over Aedan’s tomb. Dull chiseling, scratching the back of Eredin’s head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Eredin didn’t need to turn to recognize Avallac’h’s voice behind him. “Auberon sends his gratitude.”

“Let me guess, he feels unwell?” he didn’t even turn to face the Sage. Avallac’h would do everything to defend the king.

“He is busy Eredin, humans rebelling is not our only problem.” there was annoyance in Crevan’s voice. “Was it necessary to kill all of them?”

“If you are soft on rebellion, Crevan, it grows.” Eredin knew Avallac’h wasn’t sentimental about the humans. It was about the fact that they disagreed on principle. He did not approve of Crevan’s methods nor the other way around. Auberon was growing weaker by the day, it was all a matter of the right moment now, however he had to figure out a way around Avallac’h as well.

He looked back at Aedan’s tomb and all the other statues and graves of Red Riders and soldiers who had died. Some of them had good deaths, some of them had avoidable deaths but most recently all of them had deaths that could have been avoided with better leadership. He was going to fix that. The Aen Elle would be the force to be feared, again, not a dying race of old men and women.  

[latinforstardust]

Tips for high school/college/life in general:

-It’s okay to not know who you are or what you want to do when you get older

-You don’t have to have one “style” of dressing

-relationships are hard. breakups hurt. But it’s okay, not everyone is a perfect fit. Relationships are about seeing what you like and learning

-For the love of everything holy: take. breaks. mental health, emotional, stress.

-hate everyone? eat. hate yourself? shower! everyone hates you? sleep

-even if the homework is late: TURN IT IN.

-If you have to get it done on time because your school (like mine) has a dumb late policy: 80% complete is better than a 0

-textbooks: read the summary before the chapter, read the chapter before class.

-book book: read the chapter before class or at least skim it.

-chewing gum or gummies helps focus

-if your really tired in class, Record the lectures and listen later because you probably zoned out

-it is okay to be “emotional” and “sensitive” and cry a lot. (on the flip side of that there is nothing wrong with not crying often)

-ask those questions i promise it helps. if your too nervous to do it in front of the class ask the teacher after class

-talk to your friends. stay up late texting (but don’t deprive yourself of sleep), plan events to hang out, facetime, call. If you don’t have many friends? Try online ones! (be safe tho.)

-Buddy system. Mall, park, anywhere. Two of you at least.

-YOU CAN BE SUCKY AT ART. It’s so totally okay. It’s okay if you can’t sing on key, it’s okay if your art is bad and sloppy, it’s okay if your guitar or piano sounds bad, it’s okay if you never took dance lessons, it’s okay if your not a professional poet or writer. Do it. Do it because you love it. Please. It will make the world a more bearable place.

-and finally: You. are. not. broken. I promise.

[leylinefiction]

Criminal Minds, Skewer: Chapter 4

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” - William Shakespeare

Savannah was right. It did look bad. The tubes and IVs are invasive but it is the sound of the ventilator that bothers Spencer the most. The whoosh of forced air is a constant reminder that the machine is breathing for her. He is able to find about six inches of skin on her forearm that he can wrap his fingers around to ground himself. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Hey,” there is a soft rapping at the door.

“Hey, Garcia,” Spencer greets tiredly. He doesn’t know when the last time he slept  and judging from the repressed energy of Garcia, she hasn’t slept much either.

“I grabbed your go bag in case you wanted a change of clothes.” She sets the leather bag down next to his chair.

“Thank you.”

“Did you eat anything?”

He shakes his head and she pulls out her phone. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“You know,” another voice says from the doorway, “that’s why you’re still so skinny.”

Some of Garcia’s bounce comes back as she says, “I may have brought more than just your go bag.”

Spencer is certain that sleep deprivation has finally caught up with him. “Mom?” He doesn’t truly believe she’s really there until she hugs him and he can feel her heartbeat. When he steps back, he’s shocked to see his father standing in the doorway. “Dad? You both came?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Diana rubs his arm and looks down at Celia. “Penelope told us it looked bad. She was right.”

“But she’s stable?” William asks.

Spencer nods, still stunned at his father’s presence. “Yeah, yeah. The doctor’s are waiting for one of her lungs to function enough to take her off the ventilator. They said it could be as early as next week.”

The sounds of the medical equipment fills the silence of the room until Diana starts to move. She grabs Spencer’s bag and hands it to him. “Okay, Spencer, go get cleaned up and changed and I’ll sit with Celia. Penelope and William will run out and get some food.”

Garcia gives Spencer a quick hug. “On it.”

He watches Garcia and his father leave before turning to his mother. “I can’t believe Dad came.”

His mother sat down in the chair Spencer just vacated. “Why not? You two have been speaking.”

“But speaking and dropping everything to fly across the country-wait, you flew?!”

“My daughter-in-law of two weeks almost died and my son needed me. Somethings you just grit your teeth through. Now,” she squeezes his hand, “go get cleaned up.”

He watches as his mother reaches into her bag and pulls out a couple of poetry books. Just the briefest glance tells him that she brought Celia’s favorites: Sylvia Plath, Pablo Neruda, Emily Dickinson, and William Yeats. When he goes into the bathroom, as soon as the door is shut, he leans his head on the fake wood and cries. Not only did his mother make the trip to DC to be with him and Celia, but she remembered Celia’s favorite poets and that is all he can keep repeating to himself: she remembered.

***

The next week goes by in a blur. There is a new case but the hospital staff and the FBI grant Spencer a work space for calls and research while still keeping Celia in his line of view. His father is also keeping up with cases but it’s from Spencer’s apartment and in between acting as a shuttle service between the apartment and the hospital. Between the three of them, Celia always has someone beside her as they wait for the word from the doctor that it’s time to take her off the ventilator.

Spencer is on the phone with Hotch, watching the vital readouts on the machine. “Geographically speaking, it looks like the body dump sites are starting to form an unfinished pentagram. That would also explain the candles and pouches of bird bones and feathers that are found with each of the bodies.”

“It could be a Satanic ritual,” Hotch replies.

“Yeah, it also explains why the unsub is choosing young girls from social fringes in the local high schools. They could be sacrificing virgins, or those that society would see as virgins.”

“How much of the pentagram is complete?”

Spencer looks at the map that’s pinned on the hospital room wall. “It looks about sixty percent complete. If they carry through and complete the pentagram, we’ll be looking for five more victims.”

“Good work, thank you.” There’s a pause. “How is she?”

Spencer looks over at the vitals again. “Her blood oxygen is continuing to increase so the doctors are thinking of weaning her off the ventilator this afternoon.”

“That’s excellent news. Keep us updated.”

“Of course.”

“And just so you’re aware, Rossi is already making up the menu for the reception and Garcia just accepted a shipment of 2000 yards of string lights.”

Spencer smiles. At first the thought of having a large reception made his skin crawl but after the last week and a half, he would love nothing more than to hold Celia in his arms again for a dance, no matter the size of the crowd. “Thanks for the warning.”

He ends the phone call as his mother arrives in the room. “Did I hear right? They’re going to try to take her off the ventilator?”

“Yeah,” Spencer answers, taking the map down from the wall, “it’s called weaning. They slow down the amount of air being pumped into the lungs to see if the oxygen levels can maintain a healthy level. If the levels stay at a healthy enough level, the ventilator is removed.”

Diana rubs the six inches of skin on Celia’s arm that isn’t taped and tubed. “Did you hear that, sweetie? We can get you off that racket maker.”

“Maybe,” Spencer cautions. “It still may be a couple days before she’s completely removed.”

“Always the realist, my son.” She sighs, sitting back and pulling out a book of poetry. “You know, I never really liked Pablo Neruda, he was far too contemporary for my taste. But I was reading this last night and all I could think of was you and Celia when I got to the 100 Love Sonnets.”

“Is that the one starts, ‘“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.?’”

Diana nods her head. “Yes, that’s the one. ‘I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.’”

“That is beautiful.”

“And very fitting for you two, I believe. Those eight weeks you both spent in Las Vegas with me, there was never a moment that made me doubt just how much you loved each other.”

Spencer pulls up an extra chair and touches Celia’s hand. Eight and half days of learning the new landscape of her body with all the IVs and tubes makes it easier to find those precious spaces that are still Celia. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I told her I loved her?”

“No, I don’t think you have.”

He smiles at the memory. No, he hadn’t told anyone about that moment given just how horribly wrong it went. But Celia had promised him they would laugh about it later and he has to admit, the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth does come fairly easily now.

***

After the disappointing case in New Orleans, Celia stayed in DC for two weeks while the paperwork and grief were sorted out. Spencer had spent every possible moment with her knowing that the clock was ticking down to her inevitable return to Charleston. Even though much of the time was spent completing applications for the expungement of her juvenile record and teaching certification programs, there were quieter moments of Chinese take out, confessions of past losses, and comforting embraces.

He tells her about Maeve at the end of the first week. She tells him about the times Simon came to visit her in the detention center. They spent an entire night sharing letters from Maeve and Simon with each other, like trading scraps of their hearts over glasses of wine and an abundance of tears. Every time he hands her a piece of himself, she returns the favor by giving a piece of herself. There were no walls to hide behind or personas to impersonate. There were no masks, only truth.

It was beautiful.

So when he dropped her off at her hotel room so she could pack and get ready to leave in the morning, it was with a conflicted heart and hands that weren’t ready to let go yet. He promised himself to say goodbye on the sidewalk but found himself in the lobby. He would say his goodbyes at the elevator, but then entered into it with her. When they reached her door, she fixed him with a sad but determined look.

“The longer you stay, the harder this is going to be.”

He knotted his fingers together so he didn’t grab a hold of her. The probability of him letting go would be low. “I know.”

“I’ll be back at the end of the month.”

“That’s two weeks from now.”

She smiled wryly. “Yeah, just think, you’ll have read about seventy-two books and solved six cases by then.”

And she’ll have had enough time for some handsome, strapping CEO tourist to come into the Gin Joint after a day of golfing at a country club and sweep her off her bartending feet. She’ll forget all about the quirky, skinny weirdo in DC…

“Spencer.”

He snapped out of his nightmare. “Sorry. This isn’t-“

“Easy, I know.” She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him chastely on the lips.

That was all the catalyst that he needed for his hands to find themselves sliding against her jaw line and slipping into her hair, holding her in place so he could return the kiss without the chastity. She immediately leaned into him, her hands scrambling to hold onto the lapels of his jacket. Deductive reasoning told him there was only reason for the desperation and sadness in his reluctance to leave.

He was in love with her.

Unexpectedly, utterly, and completely in love with her.

He wanted to beg her not to go, tell her she could stay with him until the sun burned out. There were bars in DC. There were teaching certification programs both online and local she could pursue while continuing to inhabit his space. He wanted to tell her that he needed her like air, caffeine, and the most beautifully structured sentence in a book. He knew thousands of words but looking in those sea glass colored eyes, shining with unshed tears, he forgot them all.

She smoothed down his jacket. “Two weeks will go by in a flash and I’ll be back before you know it.”

The average human being suffers brain damage from four minutes without oxygen. Death will come between eight to ten minutes. How was he supposed to survive 20,160 minutes without her? But he merely smiled as best he could and nodded. “Before you know it.”

She touched his cheek briefly with a featherlight brush of her fingers before slipping into her room and the door quietly clicked shut. He rubbed his face in frustration as he walked back to the elevator and pushed the down button. The words that he wished he had said started to form on his tongue but it was too late to utter them. He mechanically stepped into the elevator when the doors opened but before the doors closed, he lurched back through them.

No, he needed to say his piece to her. Working this job for as long as he did had taught him that no one is guaranteed two weeks, or one week, or one day. Maeve’s loss had nearly destroyed him to the point that he never thought anyone else would ever get that close to him again. And yet, someone had. Finding love once was a gift, but finding it for a second time was a miracle. He went back to her hotel room door and started knocking rapidly.

“Celia, I know you need to go back to Charleston but just for a minute, just one minute, think about staying here with…with me. Two weeks in the face of infinity is a blip, I understand that, but for me it’s an eternity.” He was hiding behind words and walls again. He needed to be honest and straightforward. He took a deep breath. “I, uh, I, love you. I love you so much and just thinking of not having you in my life, in my state even, it just…” he laid his forehead against the door and sighed deeply. “I love you and don’t want you to leave. Please? Please, stay?”

The lock turned and he stepped back, bracing for her to laugh in his face. But the eyes that stared back at him were not seaglass green. They were blue, set in soft wrinkles and looking quite amused.

He was at the wrong door.

“I am so sorry, ma’am.”

She still kept a smile on her face and folded her hands primly in front of her. “That is quite alright. I must say that was a better proposal than what my husband gave me.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head in utter defeat.

She reached out and patted his arm gently. “I do believe that the young lady those words were meant for did hear them though.”

He turned around to see Celia standing in the doorway of her room with her cell phone in hand, surprised eyes, and tear stained cheeks. The woman leans around Spencer to address Celia.

“I think he’s a keeper, sweetheart.”

Celia nodded and smiled shakily. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

The woman closed her door and Spencer went back to his original position outside of Celia’s room. Embarrassment crept up his neck and heated his face. He struggled with looking at Celia in the face. He couldn’t even tell her that he loved her properly. He felt her gently slip her hand into his and lace her fingers between his own. She brought the phone up to her ear and started speaking into it.

“Hey, Travis?”

Spencer was close enough to hear the man on the other end of the call and his despair increased. Of course she was already on the phone with another man.

“Was that him, Cece?” the man asked with a deep southern drawl.

“Yeah, it was. I told you he was eloquent.”

He laughed. “You did! The boy sounds sincere too. Can’t fault you for that.”

“Thank you, Travis.”

“I’ll forward your last paycheck to whatever address you send to me. Many blessings to you, sweetheart.”

She ended the call and looked up at Spencer. “That was my boss at the Gin Joint.”

His brain started to put pieces of the puzzle together. Boss…last paycheck… “Did you just quit your job?”

She nodded her head. “I thought after you left how there was nothing that I wanted to return to in Charleston. I lived there for three years and couldn’t think of one person that I couldn’t wait to see again. But here, there’s Penelope and JJ with their girls nights, there’s Dave and his spectacular dinners. I feel like I’m part of something here. And Spencer?” She squeezed his hand and waited until his eyes connected with hers. “I love you too.”

He swallowed down the insecurity and embarrassment of just moments ago. “So, you’ll stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” She started to lean up to kiss him but turned away at the last minute. “I wonder if Derek will let me sleep on his couch while I look for a place?”

The relief made him giddy. “Hey, I have a couch too, you know.”

“And what exactly are the chances of me sleeping on your couch and not…elsewhere in your apartment?”

He feigned thinking about it as she opened the door to her hotel room and tugged him inside. “I believe the probability of that would be about five million seven hundred thousand two hundred and eighty-four to one.”

She gave him a wide smile. “I have to say, Dr. Reid, I like those odds.”

***

It is about two in the morning. The absence of the ventilator noise leaves the room almost silent. Two weeks of listening to the heart rate monitor has made it easier for Spencer to push it towards the back of his mind as merely white noise at this point. The doctors make an exception for him to spend the night in the room with Celia since the possibility of her waking up is high.

He had been talking to her, telling her about how the team had taken down the wannabe Satanic cult and saved the three cheerleaders that were going to be sacrificed that night. When he finished that story, he read a chapter from Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein,” her favorite book. When that doesn’t elicit a reaction, he reaches for a Sylvia Plath poetry book.

“Alright, Celia, maybe you want to hear your favorite poem.” He opens the book to a dog-eared page and clears his throat. “A Mad Girl’s Love Song-”

There’s a low groan that comes from the bed. He leans forward and sees eye movement, more than he had witnessed from earlier in the night. He slips his hand under Celia’s and presses their palms together.

“Alright, let’s keep going.” He looks down at the page and starts reading the first line. “‘I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead-”

Her hand twitches in his, her fingers instinctively curling around his. The eye movements continue and a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He holds his breath as the eye movement soon gives way to the opening of her eyes. Once again, he can see those seaglass green irises and his off-kiltered world finally rights itself. Her mouth moves and he leans closer to hear what she’s saying and he realizes she’s quoting the next line of the poem but her voice is raspy from the intubation. So he repeats it for her.

“‘I lift my lids and all is born again.’” He gently smooths back the stray curls from her face and fights back tears. “It’s so good to have you back.”

A tear slides down the side of her face as she tightens her grip on his hand. “I promised…I would stay…with you.”

[oikawa-tuwu]

🍬 Halloween Candy 🍬

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Tendou Satori

Rating: T

Synopsis: Tendou watches you make Halloween candy and thinks about love and the joys Halloween. Post-time skip, established relationship. (1.8k words)

Warnings: One swear, mentions of past bullying, dealing with insecurity things

(A/N: lol remember when I said I was going on hiatus?? Yeah so I was making hard candy last night and was literally slaughtered in the middle of boiling the sugar when I remembered that Tendou is a chocolatier so my lonely, Halloween-loving, and candy making self wrote this self indulgent thing. Enjoy, but its kind of a mess D: )

-

Tendou Satori’s favorite holiday is, without a doubt, Halloween.

There’s nothing quite like the buzz in the air of a brisk October 31st, children in costumes, ready to consume ungodly amounts of sugar, teenagers giggling as they leave a haunted house, only to turn right around with more cash in hand. Even adults get into the festivities, using the holiday as an excuse to drink copious amount of booze.

Its indulgent and its creepy and Tendou loves it with all of his heart.

In the past, if someone were to ask him why he liked Halloween so much, he'd just laugh and say he had a sweet tooth, because really, he didn't know how to articulate the joy that he gets from costumes. He could remember, as a kid, gleefully skipping down the aisles of a shop, flipping through the mass produced costumes on the rack until he found the perfect one.

The ones that came with masks were always a plus, too.

He supposes, looking back on it, Halloween was his favorite holiday because it was the one day where being “creepy” benefited him. It was on-brand, in-season, like the pecan pies that sit neglected in the summer months before being sold out by mid-November. And even if his hair or his gaze or his height was still terrifying, it was easier to hide behind a Batman mask. Perhaps it wasn’t a healthy way of coping, but somewhere along the way, he’d learned. He’d grown, and shifted, and costumes weren’t his favorite part of Halloween anymore.

No. This is his favorite part of Halloween. The build up to the day in question, preparing for the hordes of children coming to his apartment door, and you, standing in his kitchen, holding a candy thermometer.

It had been your idea at first, to make the candy at home and give it to the trick or treaters, rather than just handing out store bought. Of course, getting homemade candy from a stranger is usually a red-flag for parents, but not if said stranger is a somewhat C-list celebrity chocolatier, as you so kindly put it.

And it was true. There was some hesitation at first, but after a moment of putting together his face, the name on his apartment door, and the clearly professional design on the bags, parents were much more willing to accept the treats. Now, it’s a tradition of the apartment complex, and last year, he ran out of candy by 7 PM.

“You need to make more next year,” you had said, with a sort of confident finality that made him laugh. “Don’t you feel bad for the kids who got there just a little late?”

Did he feel bad?

Now that was an interesting question.

The thing was, he had been that kid. He’d gotten the short straw in life and it had been up to him to make something of it, even when others decided to cut the straw even shorter just for fun.

With an amused glint in his eye, he watches as you lean down, narrowing your eyes to read the fine print of instructions on your phone.

The kitchen is a mess, there’s no way around it, and although he’s deemed you proficient enough to be trusted with his equipment based on your past attempts at culinary efforts, he can tell you feel out of your league as you stir the molten sugar. Your cheeks are flushed from the heat and he’s certain there’s a few more hairs sticking out of place than there were ten minutes ago. Still, you square your shoulders and crack your knuckles as you read the temperatures, one oven mitt armored hand bracing the handle of the pot, and he idly thinks that the apron is officially his favorite piece of clothing on you.

Apparently, you didn't hear the door open and close, because your eyes are still trained on the soon-to-be caramel, and you let out a frustrated, "Why won't this sugar caramelize already?"

"It's stubborn like that."

He always expects you to jump at his voice. Somehow, you never do. Instead, your eyes flick up to him where he hovers in the entry-way, the barest of a smile gracing your lips.

"Welcome home," you say, pulling your eyes away from him to peek at the candy thermometer's temperature. "I feel like this sugar has been at 240° for way too long, is that normal?"

Tendou clicks his tongue, daring to venture further into the candy coated mess. "You have to be patient."

"Funny, coming from you," you smirk, but he notices the way the tension in your shoulders relax, and deep down, he knows he doesn't have the fight to even try to feel offended.

Still, he scoffs and leans against the counter next to you and puts the effort into looking offended, one hand fingering through the petals of the dying roses in a vase. "I'll have you know, I'm a very patient person."

You just give him a look. That look, specifically, with the skeptical eyebrow and wry tilt in the corner of your mouth. The look that always managed to see right through him, reaching in and sorting through each and every memory and quirk and thought and yet still managed to say I love you at the end of the night with a genuine smile.

Tendou knows you. He knows you, understands you, memorized the posture of your sleep deprivation, the quick bite of your words when you wait too long to eat dinner, the strange laugh that, to be honest, sounds more like a car backfiring, when a joke catches you particularly off your guard.

But also, on a much deeper level, he didn't understand you at all.

Why had you chosen him? Was it for the same reason you brought those half-dead roses home, saying, with a self-conscious flush, that they looked sad, dying all alone in the shop.

Was he those flowers? Bruised and beat-up and something to take pity on?

"You're too quiet," you muse, and Tendou realizes that he had been too quiet for much too long, the only sounds coming from the boiling sugar and the soft music playing over a speaker in the corner. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't know how to phrase his insecurities out loud like that, doesn't know if he even should, so instead, he asks, "Am I the roses?"

For a moment, you're silent, and he can see the way you're processing his words, toying with them until you figure out whatever metaphor or inside joke he's referencing. "I would say you're more of a lily guy, if that's what you're asking."

His next question is more blunt. "Why do you like me?"

This one surprises you. He can tell from the way you blink, just once, but also the slight curvature of your eyebrows. He wonders how long it's been since this expression was used in reaction to him.

"I don't understand," you say, finally. "Love and attraction are virtually indescribable emotions that poets and writers spend their lives trying to capture. I don't know why, exactly, but I do know that I enjoy being around you. You make me laugh, and my heart feels happy when I see you walk through that door. Isn't that enough?"

It should be, but Tendou has bad impulse control, and he can't stop the next words from falling out.

"But I'm weird."

The word weird sounds trivial. Weird is the word that girls who dye their hair and listen to indie music and post cryptic pictures on Instagram call themselves, not him. Maybe freak would have been a better word.

"And I don't like the sound of my laugh. We've all got insecurities, things that the rest of the world doesn't like about us so they force us to not like it about us. I know my voice is fine and there's nothing particularly ugly or abnormal about it when I giggle, but I can't help from hating it."

"I like your laugh," he says, and by speaking it aloud, he knows it's true, like whispering a spell that only makes him fall more in love.

"Exactly. And I like you. Weird bits and all. Keeps things interesting."

And just like that, it's gone. It shouldn't be this easy, to dismiss his fears like that, just a few confident words and a smile and suddenly years of his childhood and upbringing are null in comparison to you.

The sugar boils.

As he watches, you leave the almost-caramel on the stove to search for the pan to put it in to cool, already greased and ready for the molten sugar. It's a significantly bigger pan than last year.

When you notice his gaze, you say, "I wasn't joking about making more this year."

Tendou grins.

In high school, Ushijima briefly had a girlfriend. A cheerleader, if Tendou was remembering correctly. He wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't, he didn't pay much attention to her. But, one day, he walked past the gym and found the two of them. Ushijima was teaching her how to serve. Now, Tendou knew Ushijima was a strange person. The only thing he cared about was volleyball and his comically stoic, social ineptitude is what bonded them in the first place, but still, Tendou remembered thinking that bringing your date on your day off to play volleyball was really weird.

But, he supposed, now he understood, as one of your hands reached over to clasp his, the other, still stirring the sugar. He understood before that want, no, the need to share a passion with the one you love.

He squeezes your hand. Absent-mindedly, you squeeze back. And then he squeezes back and you squeeze back and back and forth and back and forth, until you realize the temperature hit the blessed 340° and now you're swearing like it's a prayer, oven mitt hand clasping the pot handle and pouring and hoping it didn't actually burn and-

-

The candies last until 8 PM this year.

He watches you hand the last one over to a kid dressed like some vaguely tropey children's superhero, watches that soft smile slowly warning whatever chill leeches in from the open door.

A wave and a nod to the child's mother later, you slowly shut the door, grin lingering still moments later. You turn to him, that determined gleam in your eye, and say, "We're making more next year."

Tendou laughs. "Fuck no."

But then you smile again, and he knows he can't say no, and, internally, he's already working on a timeline to get all the candy ready by the 31st.

And for some reason, the only thing he can think of is the we in your statement, and it cuts right into his heart faster than a knife as you pull him close and the words just seem to slip out faster than a well-greased cake pan.

-

"I love you."

-

"I love you too."

-

(A/N: Happy Halloween, nerds. Nowwww back to hiatus)

[gingerwritess]

It’s my birthday tomorrow!!! Can I get some wholesome Loki birthday content? 🥺 ilysm

sorry i missed it hon, happiest of birthdays to you and all the birthdays i’ve missed!! hopefully this makes up for it!

read on to get a little drunk with Loki on cheap champagne (this is the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written oh lord it’s my new favourite)

For the past couple weeks, Loki’s been plotting.

You’d say planning, but that’s not quite what’s been going on. He’s…plotting. Setting an elaborate plot, not just making plans, thinking he’s being slick about it.

Not quite.

The fifth mistake was his random “let’s play would you rather” attempt around the dinner table.

Starting subtly with “would you rather drive or fly somewhere?”

You’d opened your mouth to answer, but Elliot cut you off.

“I’m learning how t’ fly. Mr. Wilson’s teachin’ me.”

…which only caused immediate chaos in the Loka household, resulting in a few panicked calls to Sam wondering how in fresh hell he thought putting your six year old in a flying robot-bird-suit was a good idea.

Apparently it was only once, and Bucky was on the ground watching, and Elliot wasn’t wearing the suit, I was carrying him—‘cause that’s so much better.

So on the evening of the day before your birthday, when Loki insisted on starting the celebration, you didn’t call Sam or Bucky. You called Peter.

Why is trusting a seventeen year old kid with your children easier than trusting two grown adults? THOSE grown adults??

He’s a good kid, and actually had been Loki’s first choice of a babysitter. He arrives right on time, ever the politest, and immediately gets dragged off by an excited Elliot to go play Legos.

“Feel free to leave!” He yells from Elliot’s room, “I’ve got them under control!”

“I’m unassured,” Loki announces.

You have to agree.

After showing Peter where to find dinner, Frigg’s favourite blanket, extra diapers just in case, the fire extinguisher, and the other basic items needed for Loka-home survival, you both kiss your kiddos goodbye with a stern “be good.”

Loki lays your coat over your shoulders and offers you his arm.

“We’d better be off, and I’m driving. No arguments.”

“Goodbye forever,” you sigh to your children.

—

Loki’s evil scheme turns out to be…not so evil.

He did drive, rather well, actually, and simply booked a reservation for two in a chic, modern restaurant overlooking the city.

“Surprise,” he smiles, offering his arm once again when you step out of the car.

You take it, albeit suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“Elliot made me promise not to keep you to myself on your birthday,” he explains with a laugh. “So tonight is just for us. No obligations, no diapers, and absolutely no stress.”

Right there in the middle of the parking lot, you wind your arms around his neck and pull him close, pressing your lips to his.

“Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, grinning against your lips. “I adore you.”

There’s a skip in his step when you head off towards the city walk, hands intertwined and swinging mindlessly between the two of you.

A dream of golden darkness, night has fallen beautifully over the city, bringing an unexpected rain along with it as people hurry by, window shop, stroll aimlessly.

“Ah, your first gift,” Loki remarks when you step out from under the parking structure, lifting his face to the rain. “A kiss in the rain. Redeemable whenever you see fit.”

“Please tell me you didn’t put Thor up to this,” you giggle, grabbing the umbrella from his coat pocket. Opening it with a quick shake, you give Loki’s hand a tug and pull him under it. “Bribe him for rain tonight or anything.”

“Mhm.” A soft smile tugs at his rain-speckled lips. “I use my brother to seduce my wife, of course.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“Maybe,” he purrs, arms slipping around your waist to pull you against him. “I’d say it’s working, wouldn’t you?”

You just hum contentedly and let him sweep you off into this rainy, city-lit dream, complete with a kiss in the rain that leaves you breathless, the umbrella slipping from your grip.

“We really should be going now,” he whispers when the kiss morphs into an embrace, catching the umbrella and moving it back over the two of you. “Don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“To hell with the reservation—”

“No,” Loki laughs and pushes you gently away. “I did something relatively normal and exceptionally midgardian, so we’re following through with it, no questions asked.”

You huff and complain the whole way, grabbing Loki a few times in the middle of crosswalks to steal a smooch—not that he argues against it, at all—but eventually, Loki comes to a stop in front of the restaurant and pries his hand from yours.

“Remember,” he hums as he opens the door for you, “we’re perfectly average humans.”

“Gotcha. You definitely aren’t a wizard.”

“Exactly.”

Loki’s apparently in the mood to impress you tonight, judging from the beautiful restaurant and the prices on the menu. There’s a tiny hint of smugness to his smile as he helps you out of your coat and pulls your chair out for you before sitting down himself, so once he’s seated across from you, you quirk a suspicious eyebrow.

“So. What movies have you been watching, dear?”

He quirks an eyebrow right back.

“The same as you, my love, why do you ask?”

“You’re being weird.” You prop the menu up in front of your face, just to send him pointed glares right over the top.

“I am attempting to be romantic,” he replies, mirroring your actions with his own. “Now shush and let me spoil you.”

You give an indignant scoff, but go back to browsing the menu, pretending not to notice how Loki’s locked his ankle with yours.

That may be the worst conflict he’s had to face yet - whether to sit next to you and be within touching distance, or across from you to more easily speak with and gaze at you.

He’s left one hand empty, resting on the table as he scans the menu, so you take it and lean over to press a quick kiss to his knuckles.

“Heh—no, I’m supposed t—y-you don’t—”

“Shush, Loki.” Behind your menu you smile, overly pleased at his instant fluster. “Let me spoil you.”

After composing himself slightly—though not letting go of your hand—he flags down your server and asks for the “most expensive, hardest to acquire bottle of wine in your stock.”

The server, some twenty year old named Matt, looked slightly confused, but brought it nonetheless.

Loki, ever the showoff, pours it with a flick of his fingers all the while mouthing something close to you are so beautiful across the table. You don’t last long; crumbling into a fit of laughter, you shove his hand away and bury your face in your hands.

“You’re so weird,” you laugh, shaking your head. “What is your deal tonight??”

“Look, it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to go out.” He shrugs, a grin on his lips at the sight of yours. “I’m just trying to take every advantage of tonight! Just drink your wine and let me spoil you, norns.”

“I thought you wanted to be average tonight,” you snort and lift your wine glass. “But okay, fine. To spoiling each other.”

“To spoiling you.”

“No, you.”

“Don’t start this,” he warns, clinks his glass against yours, and takes a sip with you.

The drink hits your tongues and for a split second you consider—only to spit the wine right back into your glasses.

“Oh, my god, that was disgusting,” you gag, trying not to laugh when Loki takes the napkin straight to his tongue.

“I don’ think ‘at kid was e’en old ‘nuff t’ drink,” Loki responds ever so eloquently.

When Matt come back around, Loki spits out the napkin and orders the exact opposite of this bottle: “your cheapest, please.”

It’s a simple champagne in a golden bottle, and this one Loki pours by hand.

“Take two.”

Another clink, another testing taste—

“Oh, yeah. Much better.”

By the time you’re done with the bottle, it tastes expensive.

Ever since Frigg was born, it doesn’t take so much to get Loki tipsy—no more immediate need for some special “Asgardian” liquor, because with the general sleep deprivation and slow deterioration of hyper-masculine Asgardian “tolerance” levels, he’s been slowly relaxing.

You can’t complain. Luckily, alcohol only adds to Loki’s charm, turning him into a giggly, affectionate, ridiculously touch starved poet who doesn’t give a single crap about opinions on pda.

Judging from the flush of his cheeks and how he’s stroking your calf with his ankle, he’s teetering off the tipsy edge by the bottom of the bottle.

“You,” he announces, and points his fork at you, “are my lover.”

“Mmmhm.” The pride shines clear on your face, and you don’t mind him seeing.

“That’s so…so fantastic. You are the one who loves me. And I am the one who loves you.”

“Life is so cool.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Loki grins. He takes a bite of his dinner and washes it down with another sip.

And there in that much-too-posh restaurant, soaking in a bubble bath of golden champagne, you absolutely cannot die, it’s simply incomprehensible, so you lean in with a grin of your own and theatrically whisper one of his favourite words.

“Never.”

The wink you slap on the end of your promise seems to send Loki’s thoughts spiralling into elsewhere, and you go back to your dinner with a flustered little smirk.

Loki doesn’t hesitate to order dessert, waving off your tipsy concerns about how expensive the first three courses were, and when the pièce de résistance arrives in all it’s nine layer, dark chocolate, gold flakes and vanilla gelato glory, your protests drown in the second champagne bottle.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Loki tuts when you reach for it, and he holds up his own fork, visibly fighting back a laugh. “You are my birthday girl. This–this has to be something romantic.”

“But I wanna eat it all. Romantically.”

He plucks up a beautiful, decadent bite and lifts it to your lips, his chin resting on his hand as he watches you lean over to take the bite off his fork.

Even with your lamely “seductive” attempts to lick your lips, Loki promptly bursts out laughing.

“What??” You cry, grabbing a napkin and furiously searching your mouth for any messes. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you, darling,” he snorts and lifts his fork to show you. “I can’t–I can’t feed you anymore, I can’t—”

He can’t breathe, he’s laughing so hard, forehead on the table and shoulders shaking as you watch on in confusion.

“I’m kinda offended, baby.” You reach over and take your own slightly angry bite of dessert. Maybe it wasn’t the prettiest bite you’ve ever taken, but hell, it’s your birthday and you’re drunk.

“All I see is our kids,” Loki wheezes, nearly crying with laughter. “We’ve fed them both, so–so now I just—heheh—all I can see is feeding you—”

Then he breaks off into incoherent snorts, and you manage to piece it together.

The image of little Frigg, onesie-clad and head lolling back onto her high chair with her mouth consistently open and ready for food to fall into it, flashes through your mind.

She makes these little open-mouthed grunts if she doesn’t get food upon request, head still thrown back and mouth still wide open, like a tiny baby raven freshly hatched and begging it’s mother for a meal. With that striking image of your daughter in mind, you consider what you must have looked like just then, across the table, and burst out laughing, too.

The two of you give it a couple more tries, switching off with who’s feeding who, but when you decide to bounce the forkful of chocolate heaven towards Loki’s mouth with a giggly “here comes the train—choo choo!” Loki wheezes so hard he falls out of his chair, and you collapse onto your silverware, weeping with laughter.

Matt calls you a cab.

The driver is a wiry little man with a tough face and a shiny bald spot, and brilliant blue eyes. Todd, Loki deduces as he climbs in after you. He refrains from commenting on the bald spot, but norns, it shines like a diamond.

“Todd?” Loki asks after a moment of sitting primly in your seats, heads held high and hands folded in your laps.

The epitome of “too much to drink,” but to the two of you, right now, you could pass as perfect royalty.

“Yup.”

“If I were to double the price of this trip, would you mind if I kissed my wife?”

Todd ponders the request for half a second.

“It’s her birthday,” Loki helpfully adds.

And shoots you a ridiculous wink that seems ridiculously attractive, at the moment.

“Meh, what the hell.” Todd shrugs. “But clothes stay on.”

Loki salutes and is on you in an instant, and the rest of the trip is a complete blur of giggles and shushing and sloppy kisses with no seatbelts until Loki rips himself from your grip to gasp “here!” to Todd.

You blindly follow him out of the car, still ridden with giggles and not at all minding the view you get when Loki climbs out of the cab, only to find yourself standing on the sidewalk of an empty street, glowing under a streetlight in the leftover drizzles from earlier’s rain.

He pays Todd with a wad of cash that’s most definitely more than double the charge, but Loki thanks him profusely for the ride and the backseat and insists he keep it.

When the cab drives off, Loki jumps in a puddle, sighs, and walks over to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pressing his lips to your temple.

“We need to walk it off,” he says, and you agree. You’re only a few streets away from home, so you don’t bother with the umbrella.

The fresh air does wonders as you and Loki amble towards home, arm in arm and leaning on each other, the occasional leftover giggle escaping.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

You miss a step and glance over to him to find him already staring, a soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you wind your arms about his neck. “Thank you for everything, Loki.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.” You emphasise it with a kiss.

He returns it, not the most precise but still laced with effort, and it’s so gentle and warmly caressing that you know in the end, he still got the last word.

“Love you,” he mumbles, and you mumble it back, leaning into him with a tight hold of his arm to land another kiss on his neck as you turn onto your street.

Loki laughs and kisses you right back, ducking under your ear and pressing his lips to your pulse point before you can squirm away. Your hands find his shoulders and you shove him with a giggle, only encouraging him to pounce again and hold you tighter.

“Okay,” you gasp through giggles, “okay, stop it, stop, we’re home!”

He resurfaces with a grin and straightens your shirt for you. “To be continued.”

With a roll of your eyes you grab his hand and drag him to the door. “Remember. Sober and mature. We’re adults with kids.”

A solemn nod.

Then he bangs the door open and sings “we’re hoooome!” before you can say or do anything.

Peter looks blankly up at you from the kitchen table.

“Oh.” The two of you push through the doorway, fighting back more laughter. “Sorry, Peter. We’re home.”

“Hey, welcome back.” He stands with a grin and Loki sticks out his hand for a shake—which Peter gives, a little confused. “Everything was great here, just perfect, they’re great kids.”

“I know,” Loki sighs, still shaking Peter’s hand, “I made them.”

“We,” you correct.

“Right, right, couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Okay…cool.” Peter pries his hand from Loki’s grip with an awkward chuckle. “Anyways. I gotta go, um, just…just one little hiccup we had…”

“Did Elliot set something on fire again?” You groan, fishing around in your purse for your wallet to pay the kid. “Damn it, I told Loki he was still too young—”

“No, nothing caught on fire!”

Loki bumps you with his hip and holds up another wad of cash—I’ve got it.

“He was really hyper,” Peter explains, pretending not to notice Loki leafing through what’s got to be the biggest wad of cash he’s ever seen. “We went outside and ran around and everything, but nothing could get him to stay still, so uh…Mr. Loki, is it legal to take money you conjured?”

“Perfectly,” Loki assures him, pressing the money into the kid’s hand. “I worked for most of it.”

“O-okay…”

“It’s all real,” you promise him with a laugh. “Really. It’s not illegal. How’d you get Elliot in bed then?”

“Right, I might have kind of sort of had to…” he scratches his neck, laughs. “Um, well, I maybe had to usemywebtostickhimtothewall.”

Loki just nods understandingly and pats Peter on the shoulder. “Wonderful. As long as he’s asleep.”

You can’t bring yourself to mind too much, either. It’s certainly not the strangest thing that’s happened in this household.

After assuring Peter that you’re not at all upset that he webbed your son to a wall, Loki sees him to the door and waves goodbye after another very formal handshake, then he turns back around and lets out a giant breath of relief.

“I think I covered that perfectly. He had no idea.”

“Definitely.” You give him two thumbs up. “Wanna go see if Elliot’s really on the wall?”

A grin splits over Loki’s face, and he dashes down the hall to Elliot’s room with you hot on his heels.

“Unreal,” he whispers when he peeks his head inside, “he’s dead asleep. He looks comfortable.”

You stick your head through the doorway and have to pull back immediately, letting out a loud snort of laughter at the sight of your little son, spread eagle against the far wall and snoring lightly with his Iron Man plushie clutched in one hand, webbed and weirdly comfortable.

“There’s no way he’s—”

Loki claps both hands over your mouth with a very loud “shhhhhhhh!” before slumping against the wall with his own silent fit of giggles.

“Shuddup.” You lick his palm and he laughs harder.

Seconds later you’ve tackled him to the ground to smush your hands to his mouth, the two of you giggling and screeching and shushing and slowly forgetting your two kids are sleeping behind these doors.

He finally catches your wrists and holds them tight, keeping you above him as you catch your breath, still grinning and breathlessly laughing.

“Do you want your present now, my love?”

“Loki,” you gasp, pretending to be scandalised, “in the hallway? You dirty boy—”

“It’s an actual gift,” he groans, head falling to the floor with a thud. “Sometimes you’re worse than I am.”

“Yup.” You settle onto his hips and smile down at him. “I’ll take the present now.”

“You don’t want to move somewhere more comfortable?”

You wiggle a bit; he grunts and lifts an eyebrow.

“Nope, this is pretty comfy.”

“Careful.”

Resigning himself to your hallway-lap-straddle, he sighs and pulls a package wrapped in brown paper out of thin air. “For my birthday girl. Our birthday girl.”

You eagerly rip through the paper, and a thick leather-bound book falls onto Loki’s stomach.

“Ooh…”

Running your hands over the smooth cover, the stamped gold embellishments, you catch Loki’s eye.

“I’m writing you a book,” he explains.

“What’s it about?”

“You.”

He pushes himself up to lean back on his hands, guiding you to open the book and flip through it. Sure enough, it’s handwritten, about half of the book already filled with Loki’s beautiful script, a couple sketches, some pressed flowers, loose papers…

“It’ll never run out of pages.” He points to the spine, the thickness. “I used the entire book just trying to capture the kind of person you are and the beginnings of how we met, so I charmed it to always carry enough blank pages for our story.”

“Sheesh, that’s a lot of writing.”

“And there still aren’t enough words in the universe to describe you.”

You scoff, but Loki shushes you with a finger to your lips.

“It’s a constant work in progress, and one with an conclusion I never want to reach. But, I can assure you that it will have a happy ending, when it arrives.”

“Loki. Thank you.”

He looks up at you with those big puppy dog eyes and smiles, dimpled and ageless, and you lean forward and kiss him.

—

Midnight passes and it’s your birthday, officially, as you and Loki eat some bread and drink some water, sitting on the kitchen counters quietly laughing and teasing and reminiscing—among other things—until you’re exhausted and heading back towards sober.

The two of you carefully cut Elliot off of the wall and carry him to bed, slowly realising that Peter actually webbed your child to a wall and that maybe you should bring that up again with him tomorrow. Elliot clings to you for a minute when you try to lower him into bed, whispers “bappy hirthday, momma,” tries to kiss you on the cheek, and falls back to sleep.

Frigg, when you check on her a room over, is a little sack of cotton footsie pjs and dark hair, mouth wide open blowing spit bubbles as she sprawls across the mattress of her crib.

“I love her,” Loki croons, kissing the tips of his fingers and brushing them over Frigg’s round little cheek. “She sleeps like you.”

Your elbow finds it’s way nicely under his ribs and he hisses.

In bed, you’re snug under Loki’s arm smushing your cheek to his chest, ankles entwining. He’s tired, but still awake, so you reach over and grab your new book, setting it on his chest.

“Read to me?”

His drowsy chuckle rumbles under your ear and he takes the book, thumbing past the in-depth love letter/birthday dedication you already cried over twice.

“On this day, some years ago,” he begins, yawns, and scoots you closer into his arms, “you were born. You came into this world and I like to believe you cried a beautiful song, unlike our own screeching children (spoiler alert, I am so sorry). At this time, I was, of course, well into my adulthood, just waiting for the day you would try to kill me. Not to make this weird.”

“Brilliant.” You lean up and plant a sweet kiss on his jaw.

“Darling, you’re making me blush.”

“Shh, I know. Keep reading.”

“Luckily, this is not my story, and my wife has a thing for older men.”

You poke him in the gut.

He laughs and steals a proper kiss.

The two of you huddle even closer, trying to press yourselves into one, and Loki reads you the beginnings of your happy ending until neither of you can keep your eyes open.

You fall asleep in a tangled mess of searching limbs, Loki’s book lying open over his heart to save your spot.

―   ―   ―   ―

fuel the writer?

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@toozmanykids 

[cantcomeupwithacreativename]

The Experiment Chapter 6

"Will F/L/N Y/N please report to the office?"

I ignore the 'ooooohhhhh she in trouubllleee's' and head down.

"We've decided to transfer you to 1 A. One of our previous students decided the hero course is not for him, and someone from general studies is going in, however, Aizawa refuses to re-teach the new kid what he's already taught the others, so we need to transfer someone from 1 B in, and since you were already being considered, you're the perfect candidate." The little rat grins at me. Who the hell is Aizawa? I've never heard of him.

“Ok. Sounds good.” I figure there’s no point in fighting it, the alternative is expulsion. As I’m walking over to the door, the rat speaks again,

“Oh, you’ll be moving classes now, so go get your stuff. We figure the faster the transition, the smoother." What am I supposed to do about my friends?

"Can I say bye to everyone?"

"Of course." He says a grin on his little rat face.

Great, now I have to reintroduce myself, and avoid questions, and explain my quirk all over again. One the bright side, I'll be with that Momo girl… she was super pretty. Oh, and that jackass blonde kid, and that bitchy two toned.

On my way back to my old class, I plan out what I'm going to tell Monoma. Poor kid, they don't get him like I do.

I sigh and push through the heavy door.

"Hey, what was that about?" Kendo's face is knitted with concern once she sees my expression.

"I have to transfer classes. To 1 A."

The classroom is silent. Vlad king looks disappointed. He loves all his students and had grown quite attached to them, as he did each year.

"No, you can't leave us for them!" Monoma said, betrayal flashing in his eyes. "You can't leave me…" he whispers to himself. 'Not for those 1 A brats, who, like everyone else in his life, believed he couldn't be a good hero. They insulted us, called us worthless, and now they think they can take you away? His first friend he's had in a long time?'

"We can still hang out during lunch and after school and stuff Monoma, I'm not dying."

But he wasn't listening to me. He looked like he was having a flashback. 'Does she think they're better than us? Is that why she's leaving? Because I'm not good enough? But, I'm just as good as them, we got in on the same test… there's really no difference, just letters. I'll show those bastards how good we are. That will prove to her that we're the same.'

Tetsutetsu was a bit disappointed too. He enjoyed having such a tough girl in class. You fought those bullies! It wasn't a crush, per say, more of an admiration for your spirit.

2nd person

On the other hand, Pony was glad you were being transferred. Not in a rude way, no, actually quite the opposite. She remembers you fighting those jerks, and knows that if you are in class 1A, you can ride off the wave of fame from that villain attack. The more famous you are,,, the easier to become a pro.

But not that you would know this.

Back to Y/N

I wonder what these new kids will be like. They can't all be selfish jerks.

Outside of the 1A door, I hear a muffled voice say,

"A new student is being transferred in, in Mineta's place." Footsteps alert me that he, whoever he is, is approaching the door. "Come in." He says as it opens. Oh shit, it's that teacher who caught me fighting. I step through the door, which is conveniently wide, easier for my wings to get through.

"Hey, I'm F/L/N Y/N. Uh, I'm from 1B and my quirk is Raven."

"Good. Sit behind Midoriya, Midoriya raise your hand." He said, sounding sleep deprived. A green haired boy raised his hand, and I walked over there. In front of Midoriya, was the jerk. As I walked by, he scoffed and said,

"The fuck's wrong with your face." I ignored him. He didn't deserve my answer. Behind my seat was Momo. Oh good, I get someone nice. Next to me was a guy with a black bird head. He looked me in the eyes and said

"Ah, a fellow creature of darkness." He looked so dramatic as he said it, like he was a stabbed poet. He must have been talking about my wings and I didn't know what to say, so naturally, I said,

"Ok." He seemed satisfied with my answer, and he turned back to Mr Aizawa. Behind him, was the two toned jerkface who wouldn't let me sit with him. He looked at the scars on my face, his face blank, and then looked away. What a weirdo.

"Copy down these notes." Mr. Aizawa said before pulling out a yellow sleeping bag and slumping down. Wait, What?

"Yeah, he does that," says a guy with pointy bangs, "we've gotten used to it by now." I nod in acknowledgement, and look down at my paper. Fuck. Small problem. I can't read. I know my name, and how to write it, but other than that, I never learned. Kei read me the textbooks out loud, and the acceptance letter was verbal. Vlad King read the notes out loud as he said them. Oh my god. I'm in high school and I can't read. This is horrible, people will find out, I'll be kicked out of UA for being stupid. Momo tapped me on the shoulder.

"Are you ok? Is Midoriya's muttering bothering you?"

"What? Oh, no." I hadn't even noticed. As I listened closer, I realized he was saying the notes out loud as he wrote them. As I listened, I pretended to look up at the board and wrote my name over and over as I listened. Perfect.

The lunch bell rung, and the class filed out. The green haired boy, Midoriya, walked towards me, a smile on his freckled face.

"Hi! I'm Midoriya Izuku! How does your quirk work? Does it have to do with those splotches on your skin?"

"Nah, they're burns. My quirk is pretty self explanatory," I said, widening my wings for emphasis. "Oh, and I can do this," I hardened my wings and shot the blades out within seconds. His eyes went wide as they pinned his arm to a wall. A brown haired girl ran to his side.

"Deku are you ok??" She looks like she's worried enough to faint.

"You shouldn't use your quirk so recklessly!" A blue haired guy with glasses started scolding me.

"Chill out, he's fine." I said as I started to walk away. I heard a faint snort from the back, and when I turned my head I saw the blonde bastard staring me down.

"You got a problem?" I said, loudly for everyone to hear.

"Yeah, you better not be thinking you're better than me!"

"Hey man, chill out," a red haired guy grabbed his shoulder and he turned and glared, then shrugged him off a couple seconds later, but he didn't continue his speech to me. He stomped out of the room, backpack slung around one shoulder.

"Sorry about him," the red haired guy said, rubbing his neck,"he can be a little-"

"Bitchy?" I interrupted.

"Um, yeah…"

"Badass." I heard a whisper from the side of the class. When I turned my head, a yellow haired boy winked at me. The green haired boy, Deku, or whatever was gaping at me. He looks like a pushover.

On my way out, after a few other kids, I heard the yellow one talking to a pink girl. I didn't pay attention until I heard my name.

"I bet 5 dollars she'll sit at our table." The yellow one said.

"No way! She'll totally sit with Todoroki! You see those marks?" There must be an invisible person in this class, because there were floating clothes.

"I think she'll sit with Deku, he seems to like her." That pink girl said.

"I hope she sits with us, she's so manly! Though Bakugo doesn't like her…"

"Kirishima, Bakugo doesn't like anybody but himself…"

I ignored them and walked out.

I could feel a couple eyes on me as I walked into the lunchroom.

"Oh." I heard from a couple people in 1A as I sat down with Monoma, Kendo and Tetsutetsu.

"So, how's the famous class 1A. Do you have any dirt on them?"

"I don't know. They seem normal. The teacher sucks though."

"So they're not as good as everybody says?" Kendo looked disappointed in my answer.

"No. Nothing special. " I said.

"So what's the deal with my spot? Do they have a new person yet?"

"Nah, they said they're gonna wait till after the sports festival to see who can earn the spot." The silver haired boy spoke for the first time. "I'm excited to shove it to those 1A bastards."

"What's the sports festival?"

All three stared at me.

"It's a competition between classes of U.A. haven't you seen it on TV before?"

"Um, no," I said, shifting my wings uncomfortably, "I've never had the chance with all my training." Usually I'm a good liar. Strange.

We ate, and the bell rung again, signaling the end of lunch.

"Bye guys, see you later!"

After lunch, it was time for basic hero training.

"I AM HERE!" The large man yelled. It's Allmight. This would be so cool if I actually gave a fuck.

"Everybody suit up and meet me in field A!" He said as he pushed the button that sent the rack that holds the hero suits out of the wall. Everybody in this class has different quirks, so I get to see the new costumes! This is exciting!

After walking out of the locker room, I spot Deku, that girl, and a suit of armor. I walk over to them.

"Holy moly Y/N! You look amazing!" The girl says. I must've misjudged her, she seems nice.

"Thanks! You look great too!"

(Sexy)

"Though not entirely appropriate for a high school…" this came from the armor. Oh, it must be the mean one under there.

(Baggy)

"Though not flashy enough to stand out amongst the others.…" This came from the armor. Oh, it must be the mean one under there.

(Normal)

"Who's your favorite hero?" Deku asks, his eyes shining.

(Sexy)

"Midnight."

(Baggy)

"Hawks"

"Awesome! Did your costume take inspiration from hers/his? Mine is based on my favorite hero Allmight! He's so cool and I want to be just like him!"

"Yeah, it did."

"Ah, I see. Taking inspiration from your favorite hero is admirable. My costume is based off of my personal hero, Ingenium! I misjudged you! Tenya Iida!" He said while bowing.

"Yeah, I also just like wearing stuff like this." That jerk's not going to slutshame/ make anyone feel bad about their style anyone on my watch.

"Hey you! Scarface!" Both me and the boy with the split colored hair turned around.

"NO NOT YOU YOU ICY HOT BASTARD! THE NEW GIRL!"

(Sexy)

I walked over to him. I could see the yellow haired boy staring at my costume with a light blush on his face. The red haired one was quickly looking away to pretend he wasn't staring. I was honestly kind of surprised. It's probably just because there are only a few people with skimpy hero costumes. He's not actually interested. I don't have a curvy body. I'm only a(n) (A,B,C,D) I guess the fishnets and garters did their job. I don't have big hips or thighs. To be honest, I do have long legs. I stand at 5'7'' I'm eye level with Bakugo normally, but in these heels I stand about 5'9"

(Both)

I walk over to Bakugo, who's glaring at me the whole way. Once I reach him, I try to embarrass him as much as possible. If he's gonna call me scarface, I can make fun of him.

(I was thinking boots like these, but they can be whatever you want.)

https://m.ericdress.com/product-11509725.html?currency=USD&gclid=Cj0KCQjwhvf6BRCkARIsAGl1GGjf9TV6-_c2gPz3-hTjYFiEffFIIwLPzQuBk5YSN8KYq1rZnRd6WkMaAqD-EALw_wcB

(Baggy)

"Same pants!" I say, glancing down at his legs.

[Optional:Baggy]

My hero costume was sweatpants, a jacket, and a sports bra. Mind you, it was a full coverage bra, that made sure I was covered and safe. I would have worn something loose, but I couldn't for 3 reasons. 1) I needed to be able to fit my wings through the back and move them easily. 2) I couldn't wear a loose shirt while flying or it would tear off. 3) A loose shirt would be easy to grab during a fight.

I also wore sleeves to cover my arms, and weighted knuckle gloves. (gloves with hard stuff in the knuckles to make a punch hurt more)

(Sexy)

As I got to Bakugo, he said

"You better not be looking down on me bitch!" Which I thought was ironic, because I'm taller than him.

"It'd be hard not to. I'm taller than you." I lean in real close to intimidate him, but he freezes, and then as if shaking off a thought, frowns and yells,

"That's because you're in stripper heels you whore!"

"They aren't stripper heels, they're platform boots. Moron." Redhead stares wide eyed, as if he's expecting a bomb to detonate any second. I suppose in a way, it is.

"WELL HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO KNOW THAT!!! I BET YOU CANT EVEN FIGHT ME!! WEAKLING!! I'LL KICK YOUR ASS!!"

"Do you want some Zoloft or something? I can get you some." I really can, Kei knows a couple dealers, having made a few runs for extra cash. She mostly cuts contact with the shady stuff though.

"NO I DON'T WANT YOUR DRUGS YOU SHADY WHORE! FIGHT ME!!!"

"Hey bro, calm down! Let's make a plan for winning and proving we're the best at UA!" The redhead said, clearly trying to diffuse the situation.

"Stay out of this shitty hair!"

"TIME FOR CLASS TO START!" A booming voice yells. "THIS WILL BE A PARTNER ACTIVITY, SO PAIR UP! REMEMBER TO CHOOSE WISELY, TO BE THE BEST HEROES, ONE MUST WORK WELL WITH OTHERS!" Ha, looks like the Bakugo kid did not like that last part.

"WHY YOU LOOKIN' AT ME?!" He yells at Allmight.

People began to pair up, Uraraka and Deku, Bakugo and Kirishima, etc. The girls were crowding the split one, and the bird boy came over to me.

"Would you like to be my fellow partner of darkness in this activity?"

"Sure," I said.

"There are 30 of these sandbags hidden around the facility as hostages. There are also 20 of Ectoplasm's copies scattered around. They won't always be near the hostages. Once down, a copy will stay down. It is not required to fight any of the clones. Attacking anybody but the clones is prohibited. The team to rescue the most sandbags wins. You have 8 minutes to make a plan with your partner. Starting… now."

“What's your name?” I said. It's probably something emo or edgy af.

“Tokoyami Fumikage.”

“Ok, what does your quirk do?”

“This is dark shadow. He fights.” he said as a black mass with yellow eyes emerges from his back.

"So, you could fight clones while I look for hostages… but then we wouldn't be able to help each other… and my quirk's not very good at fighting."

"If we both go everywhere together we'll rescue less people, separating would be more efficient...but then what if the other finds someone? Maybe someone could

"I think that we should work together. We should set up a base and we can bring the bags there." I said. He nodded.

"Everybody line up! It's time to begin!" We did

"Ready! GO! PLUS ULTRA!" He shouted and we scrambled to the door. Someone jumped in through a window, her tongue hanging out.

Once in, I found myself in a maze. There were 4 hallways to choose from. I ran down the closest one, Tokoyami in close pursuit. I turned a corner to find a wall and a sandbag on the ground. This is easy. With no villains in sight, I pick it up and the door slams shut. A person shimmers into vision, one of the clones, because he's in Ectoplasm’s costume. He pulls out a knife and makes a jab at me. Tokoyami bangs on the door, but it's metal. I can easily move out of the way, because I live on the streets, and there are homeless drunks who will stab you, so Kei taught me how to dodge, grab their wrist, break it, and slam their head into the nearest surface. Unluckily for the clone, that was an iron door. It melts and leaves a button on the ground. I push it, and it opens the door.

We run a bit more, turning and twisting through the cemented labyrinth, until we find a clone. It has a few hostages, a big one and a small one. It must symbolize a kid. This clone just pulls a knife and slits the bigger bag open, the sand pouring onto the floor. I freeze. It grabs the small bag and holds a knife to it. He must not have a quirk because he hasn't used anything yet.