#sock big brained per usual

[chilschuck]

i need chilchuck to nap on my lap NOW!!!!! it's a need not a want

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ SOCKKKKKK YOU ARE SO RIGHT FOR THIS!!!! man deserves to rest… he works so hard and carries so much stress…

just imagine him laying his head in your lap after you manage to convince beg him, chil letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. especially when you begin running your fingers through his locks, starting on the top of his head, working your way down around his ears and to the nape of his neck. watch as he practically melts, situating himself ever so slightly to bury his face in your stomach and wrap his arms around you to bring you even closer. it wouldn’t take long before he’s blissfully asleep, probably in one of the deepest sleeps he’s had in a while. and as long as you can manage, you let him rest. <333

[scentedpepper]

Hiiii I really liked ur recent lip fic so I had a request if it interests u :) it's probably pretty basic actually

Lip x male reader where reader is basically struggling to find a decent job because they're falling behind on bills so they become over stressed/overwork by their current shit job. This being something Lip can relate to he tries to comfort them/tries to get them to relax. (Totally not self reflecting haha 🧍🏻)

Fish.

LIP GALLAGHER X MALE READER

Summary: Lip knows when you're right and when you're wrong.

Content Warnings: None

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Hey Anon 😼

Totally doable request

Gets a little angsty there for a sec cus I can't not put angst in my fics but yk

This has got to be the mushyest thing on my page so hopefully it's alright (^-^;

Allusiveness per usual..

The self projection is so real..

I'm glad you liked my last fic and I hope you find something that works for you soon tho!!

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

Fish.

That's the smell that immediately hits Lip upon entrance into the little studio apartment you call home.

Your cat stares at him, big eyed and blinking slowly from the peeled leather sofa with a blanket draped over it to hide the tweaks and imperfections of a Craigslist bought Lazy Boy.

If the boy was none the wiser, he'd assumed your place had been ransacked, burglarized and left with nothing but items not worth taking a second glance at. Though, it wouldn't be a half bad guess given that your front door was left open and there were clothes and trash strewn about the creaky floors, some of your furniture knocked out of place or even right on its side.

But he could hear you shuffling around the bathroom, knocking something over, the clatter of it to the floor, the less than enthusiastic curse from you and an internal groan that sounded like a hog dying as you bent down to pick it up.

–He wasn't sure how he'd heard that last one.

Intuition, perhaps.

Sheer connection, even.

But he wouldn't delve too much into that concept.

Despite the reality of its contents.

A sigh escapes him, he thinks, maybe one of these days, your recklessness will get you killed. But who is he to speak?

He locks the door from the inside before abandoning his shoes at the entryway, a task you never fail to stress upon to any guest who decides to stop in your home.

The cat is now perched comfortably on the end of your mattress, yawning and stretching as he makes sense of the newcomer in his house that just so happens to be intimately close with his owner.

Lip glances at his feet as he steps into the middle of the walkway, there's holes in his socks right where his toes protrude and they'd gone through their fair share of stitching and needless patching to keep them from slipping off his feet and turning into giant floppy gray lint brushes at his ankles.

Two people, similar living situations and yet two vastly different attitudes toward it.

He tries not to focus on that particular line of thought while he tucked his hands into his front pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels until you shut the bathroom door with a slam.

You're a sight for sore eyes, hair a disheveled mess, sunken in tired eyes, wearing nothing more than boxers, a white tee halfway up your arms when you pause abruptly at the sight of him.

"Hey. “

He finally acknowledges with a little side-smirk that immediately makes you feel a way that's contradictory to every single negative emotion running wild in your head.

You look at him quizzically, pulling your head through your shirt so you could breathe through the collar and clear away some of the exhaust building up after you tugged at your own hair like a horse suffering from some sort of brain-storm induced illness.

"Door was open. " He states the obvious, just to ease the awkward silence beginning to swallow you up.

In response, your eyebrows raise, tugging at your facial features and making your frown look even more drawn, and weary as your lips, that had seen better days, curl up in such a subtle, effortless smile that Lip fails to suppress his immediate burning response.

It's an ironic smile, but it charms your features nonetheless.

“Yeah.. I-” You clear your throat all the sudden, your sentence falling off into a mumble as you grab your hair before releasing it, only succeeding at making it less than structured. Your eyes dart around the room, suddenly aware of the chaos surrounding you. “Been busy. “

You move past him with rushed steps, partially knocking into the broom leant up against the wall, it clatters to the floor loudly behind you.

Lips eyes follow your frantic movement, tracking you as you stumble past him. The broom punctuates the silence like an exclamation point and he notices your cat jumping up out of his peripheral.

He doesn't move to pick it up. Instead, he stands there, hands still in his pockets as he watches you fumble with a stack of envelopes on the counter. He sees the tremble in your fingers despite the effort to suppress it, the tips pushing deep into the thick, yellow colored paper with bold, red text emblazoned on them.

“You know, “ Lip starts, voice low and measured, “I've got a pretty good idea about what those are. “

He steps over the broom, careful not to crowd you, the air between the two of you feeling heavy and charged.

Your shoulders tense at his words, a barely perceptible flinch. For a moment, the only sound is the soft padding of your cat's paws as he slinks away.

"Yeah?" Your voice is strained, almost challenging, but there's an underlying note of relief. Of being seen.

Lip's gaze drifts from the envelopes to the deep bags under your eyes, the knit in your brow, the stain in the creases of your face, to the worn-out shoes by the door, to the empty fridge humming in the corner. He finally settles back on you, confliction in the seas of his eyes.

“Look, “ he starts, then pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. You feel him get closer to you, his warmth invading your senses at once and you have to close your eyes at it.

He takes another step, less than half, not quite touching. An invitation, not a demand.

Your fingers trace the edge of the envelope as your mind blanks, for once. The paper's supposed to be rough, you know that, but you can hardly feel it with the way your fingers have calloused with the grime and weight of construction. You battle with your instincts, not moving an inch, freezing at his non touch touch.

“I have some extra cash from–”

“No. “

It's immediate. You don't think and your body instantly makes flee from him, the sizzling of the fake fish on the stovetop re-registering in your mind.

Lip doesn't flinch, but his eyes follow you as you retreat to the stove. The sizzling fills the silence between you, a mundane sound at odds with the emotional undercurrent.

"Okay. " He says softly, his tone careful but not placating. "No money. Got it. “

He leans against the counter, giving you space but not leaving. His presence is like a gravitational pull you're fighting against.

You focus on the fish, flipping it with more force than necessary. The spatula scrapes against the pan, a harsh sound that makes you wince.

"I don't need—" You start, then stop, unsure how to finish. Charity? Help? Him? All feel like lies on your tongue.

Lip waits, his patience a contrast to your agitation. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost confessional.

"You know, when I was at my lowest, I couldn't stand the idea of anyone helping me either. ”

There's something so melancholy in his voice, a darkness creeping into the depths of the ocean that usually swims with his gaze that draws your attention, once again, back to him and his story.

He pushed himself off the counter, coming just a little closer to you with gentle steps like he's scared to startle you into abandoning him for a second time.

"It sucked, " he goes on, "It felt like shit, it made me feel even shittier. "

Then he's behind you and he isn't reaching for you, isn't touching you and it's even more dizzying than if he just was.

You shut the burner off and slump, feeling smaller as his breath ghosts across your skin.

The fish continues to sizzle, filling up the gaps where you don't speak, almost like it's speaking for you.

He's an inferno, a personal sun, everything burns in his orbit, you're convinced.

But you don't like the heat, the tension.

So, instead, you stand straight with a grimace as you say,

"What're you here for, Lip?" You glance at the clock on your stove. "It's nearly midnight. "

His eyes trail down your neck and he says nothing.

Everything goes quiet. So quiet, that when you tilt your head away from him, you catch the cat staring blankly at the two of you with his tongue out and drool pooling on the ground beneath it.

You press your lips together as your brows, furrowed, meet the bridge of your nose with creases and wrinkles you've picked up from excessive worrying.

"Here for a hookup?" You don't face him as you say this, instead you busy yourself with retrieving a plate but fail to find a clean enough looking one amongst the pile of dishes in your sink and settle for a coffee filter instead.

"Jesus christ, Y/N. “ He leans forward so he's sure you can hear every word he says. "Stop projecting your shit onto me. "

Ouch.

Your lips purse, pulling down to a flat, disapproving line at that.

"You're an asshole. “

You place the faux fish on the makeshift plate with a slightly shaking hand and then turn to him, looking him in the eye in distraught before you're speeding past him again, to the couch to rip the blanket you've got on there back over the chipping surface before you finally land on it, slumping into the battered cushions with a huff and a deep, tired sigh that has him blinking at you.

The cat has since vacated the premises upon the third trip you made around your apartment, choosing to go do gods knows what over sitting on his owner's lap which is even more distressing than anything Lip had seen on his way over, or once he had actually stepped inside.

For a moment he stands awkwardly in the kitchen, staring at the back of your head, unable to fathom what you must be thinking, so he ponders, maybe trying to relieve some of that pressure instead.

"Why does this—" he catches his own sentence, having almost used the words "make you", and quickly removes that option from use. "How's your stress lately?" Is the question he elects to ask instead.

"Stress doesn't bother me. "

You lie, blatantly, blatantly lying.

He clicks his tongue, finally removing himself from the stagnant stance and strolling toward you.

One foot before the other, before the other, before the next and the next and the next, finally finding himself within the circle that surrounds your worn out couch.

"Come on. " Lip grunts lowly, eyeing the coffee table you're sat before that's cluttered with junk, and half gone boxes of garbage, with rags and bottles, stray pens and hair ties.

"Lip–"

"Lemme see. " He hums at the sight of an empty plate with something half burnt and some sort of vegetable fried in butter but otherwise undistinguishable. He's pretty sure he might have to scrape it off from how long it's been sitting there, hardening.

"I didn't say you could help clean my shit. " You warn him, trying to maintain a certain sort of coldness even though there was no way of disguising the way your shoulders lessened at his voice, or the way your back pushed in further in the seat.

That's okay. He liked your stubbornness more and more with each passing minute.

You kept him on his toes.

He sighs in response, mumbling out a comment he kept to himself over your unwillingness to accept some kind of help; like you were starving– dehydrated.

He kneels slowly in front of you and reaches out his hands until your body stiffens and then wilts underneath them.

For the sake of your pride and that stubborn resistance to accept any amount of comfort, or to even bring up the fact that Lip is, in some ways, your rock.

He can do that for you, he tells himself. He likes being relied on by someone.

Someone who needs him in a way you never let anyone see because you had this notion to keep it all locked away inside of you like you could be dependable, like you were all you had.

"Listen to me. " He takes the tasteless fish away from you and for a moment you look appalled and ready to snap, but then he grabs your hands from your lap and slides his fingers along your palms and the fight is gone at that instant.

Your eyes glaze, darkening the circles underneath and he can't help but tug you away from the makeshift plate, from the furniture, the piles of stuff on the ground, the stack of boxes in the corner, the scattered clothing and the woes of your life.

Before you know it, his arms are cradling you and his warmth, his body heat, his scent, it's all encompassing.

"You don't gotta be perfect, you know?"

You grit your teeth when he says this, laying limp like a baby on your half living room, half bedroom floor with your face buried against his collar as he practically lay above you, holding you.

"Stop. " You force out, then a second time and a third before you can get anything more coherent from your lips.

He quiets you each time with another and another gut wrenching statement and soon, your intensities are practically splayed out across the stained, Dollar Tree carpet.

"It's not anything I can't handle. "

"I'm sure you can– you always find a way. " He shifts a bit, but it doesn't disrupt your hold on him. "But it's okay to need help every once and awhile. It's okay. Even to ask for it. "

"Lip, I just—”

He hears the anger in your tone, and he shushes you with a coo like noise and a slight nod of his head.

"I can't find a fucking job. " You mutter a few moments later into his shoulder, where his hands had snaked up into your hair so he could run the pads of his fingers along your scalp.

He nods, sympathetic, "You'll find something. You'll figure it out. "

"What the fuck am I doing wrong?" Your fingers raise from the carpet in silent resentment as you ask this, reaching up to claw at the thin, coarse fabric adorning his chest.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You're fucking great. The problem isn't you. Okay?"

"Sure, " You sigh, gripping onto his shoulders tighter, pulling his torso closer to you. "You say that because you think you'll hurt my feelings if you say anything else. "

"That's not true. " Lip snickers, sliding the hand back from where he was gently squeezing the back of your neck to play around with your hair instead. "If I was, we wouldn't be talking right now. You know?“

"Right. " You sniffle, a bit of a laugh bubbling up within the depths of your chest. "Because your heart belongs to anyone other than yourself? Doubt it. "

And the snark causes a giggle to erupt into the quiet of your little studio apartment.

You can smell him. His smell is like his scent mixed with coffee and sugar– for those Mondays when you want a treat, but are too lazy to walk the three blocks to the bakery for anything different than a cup of joe.

"Wow. " He snorts in return, resting his forehead against the top of your head where your nose met the tuffs of his curly, messy looking hair. "You're lucky I like you. "

"Uh huh. " A strained chuckle pushes past your lips, eyes sliding shut as your hands find his hips.

The sound of your heart beating in your ear is all you can hear as his fingers clasp around the sides of your face.

Everything is calming, cathartic. His demeanor is like honey; it runs down your bones, seeping into your open wounds and they begin to grow a bit plumper under the heat.

"Sometimes I just—" you pause, the feeling of his thumbs stroking back and forth across your jawline is too distracting for you to pay attention to the fact that you're trying to get your point across, "feel like there's something bad coming? Something coming for me, you know?"

"Yeah, " he blinks, hands gliding from your cheeks to the underside of your ears. "I know what you mean. "

His hands flatten, then run down until they find the collar of your shirt and a part of you relaxes as his fingertips stroke the outer lining of the stretched fabric.

"I get the same feeling too. " He adds, voice, so wonderfully low, rumbling from deep within his chest. "All the time. " He sighs quietly, rocking a bit.

"I'm gonna help you. " His eyes are dilated, even against the muted white ceiling light that hung above the two of you. You don't think twice to notice. “Get something going. Something solid. “

"Lip. " You choke a bit on the inside as he says this, turning your head to the right.

"I know you don't need it, but I want to. "

Against your better judgment, you take a dive and glance him right in his eyes and he doesn't falter.

It surprises you, then it doesn't.

A short sharp intake, air filling your lungs and Lip smiles. Just a sliver of skin at the edges of his lips. You take note of his change of expression immediately.

"When was the last time you had something actually good to eat?”

You narrow your gaze at him, ready to throw back an answer at his statement when he silences you by raising his hand up, index finger flying to shush you as he points at something past the two of you.

When you turn to look, you see your cat lapping his sandpaper tongue on your fish, seemingly enjoying it more than you had been.

"Been awhile for him too, apparently. "

You groan quietly, leaning back into him where the sound of his beating heart feels like music from some unknown realm your tired mind couldn't hope to understand.

"C'mon, " Lip nudges you gently.

"I'll get you something to eat. “

[spaciousreasoning]

Checking on Family

Cold and foggy again this morning, although the sun appears to be attempting to shine through. The high for today is forecast to be 51 degrees.

My blood sugar went back up to 158 this morning. Probably the leftover lasagna for last night’s dinner, without benefit of a salad or veggies.

We had our morning coffee and played the usual brain games, followed quickly by a breakfast of oatmeal. Nancy had scheduled a 10 a.m. call with Peggy, her spiritual advisor.

Two more fake texts showed up purporting to be from the USPS about a package with a bad address. They were deleted immediately, of course.

Last night during my insomniac period I finished off pages with listings and maps for the remaining covered bridges in the state. Not sure how soon we’ll be able to get out and see any more of them, but at least a few are still relatively close by.

We had a quick lunch of sandwiches and chips and a boiled egg, leftover from what we were going to take crabbing with us yesterday. The sandwiches weren’t bad after sitting for a day in the fridge.

We headed out to Kalen’s to check on her after her shoulder surgery yesterday. I also got another load of wood while there. There was sunshine and clear blue sky on the way out, but on the way back toward Springfield a big bank of fog had moved in.

We got back from Marcola too late to walk. I may regret missing the exercise — and other things — when I meet with my PCP tomorrow afternoon.

I skipped the Thursday recovery meeting tonight. We went out to Johnny Ocean’s Grille for dinner then went to Costco for some socks, soup, chips, and other food as well as more wine for Nancy. We also topped off the gas, as we were already down about half a tank. It was still $2.97 per gallon.

This evening we streamed the Wednesday Colbert, with guests Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen, who discussed their upcoming New Year’s Eve show; then another episode from the new series of “Hope Street;” and, finally, another “Tracker” from the first season.

It’s not supposed to be quite as cold tonight, only getting down to about 34 degrees. I’m grateful we have a decent cover for our bed, not to mention the heating system here at our place. This weather takes some getting used to.

[for-the-ninth]

Happy Friday!!! from the trope bingo card, "in a cabin in a middle of a snow storm" - Cullen and whoever you want? bonus if his book collection becomes relevant in some way 👀

Okay so first of all THANK YOU for this prompt because it was hilarious to write. Last week, I was sitting here thinking about who I could do this with and my brain immediately went to Cullen/Lavellan in my current fic timeline bc there’s nothing funnier than ppl who hate each other being forced to huddle for warmth HOWEVER in the spirit of challenging myself, here’s Cullen being awkward and Bull being…himself. (PS there's no snowstorm, just very cold rain and a cabin in the Fallow Mire lololol) @dadrunkwriting this post is brought to you by tequila

***

“Really comin’ down out there, huh?” Bull stood—hunched, rather; the cabin was too small for him and his horns—and stared out the window, sipping his flask and soaking the floor with wet clothes he seemed in no hurry to change out of. 

“Indeed, it is,” Cullen muttered, scrambling to free himself from the horrendous texture of wet socks clinging to damp skin. 

He searched the abandoned room for blankets, towels, old cloth—anything to stave off the bone-deep freeze of a rainy night in Ferelden. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, and he coughed as he shook it loose from an old quilt chewed to bits by whatever critters made it their home before he and Bull arrived. It was big enough for all of him, or maybe one of Bull’s legs.

“Here.” He thrust it in Bull’s direction. “I may have another rolled up in my pack.”

Bull’s shoulders shook with laughter as he pinched the cloth between his thumb and forefinger, like a handkerchief. “Thanks, Commander. But I think I’ll manage.” 

“Suit yourself,” Cullen said. He rifled through his pack, mumbling curses under his breath. Everything was soaked—his tools and spare clothes, the matches, his—

“No, no, no.” He pulled a leatherbound book from the bottom of the pile, shaking his head with furrowed brow. Though the cover survived, rain seeped through to the binding, and the pages were falling out in sopping, haphazard clumps. 

Bull crouched on his heels by Cullen’s side, lips pursed. “You brought…books?”

“Yes, I brought books,” Cullen snapped. “Some of us like to read.” Bull maintained his gaze, brows raised, and took another swig from his flask. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Any drawings in these books of yours?” 

“Any…what?” Cullen shook his head. “I’m not following.”  

Bull grinned. “Pictures, Commander.” He peered over Cullen’s shoulder as he tried to reassemble the pages. “Maybe of the naked variety.” 

“Andraste, preserve me.” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No, Bull. There are no pictures of nude women in my book collection.” 

Bull chuckled. “Never said it had to be women.” He stood, took a final drink from his flask, and started undressing. “Can’t believe you brought books to the fucking Fallow Mire.”

Cullen’s cheeks grew hot, both from embarrassment over his penchant for nighttime reading and the abrupt sight of Bull’s naked ass in full view. He knew better than to stare—if Bull caught him, Cullen would never hear the end of it—but when he was at eye level with Bull’s…endowment, it became exceedingly difficult not to. 

“Jealous, or horny?” Bull asked, grinning. 

“Neither. I, erm…” Cullen cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Well, we should settle in for the night.” He resumed rifling through his pack, inwardly groaning at the sorry state of his books. Why had he brought them to the fucking Fallow Mire, of all places? Perhaps because he knew, per usual, when the group paired off, the Inquisitor would send him out with Bull. The only thing more irksome than Shielan’s juvenile teasing was Bull’s, and the only way to avoid it entirely was to cozy up with a book and ignore him. 

“Those wet clothes are going to give you pneumonia, you know.” Bull kneeled at the fireplace in the center of the house and sighed. “Not a dry log in sight.” 

Shit. He was right. With no fire, no dry clothes, and temperatures that continued to sink, they’d be blocks of ice by morning. “What are you suggesting?” 

Bull took another swig from his flask. “Body heat.” 

Cullen swallowed thickly. “I’m not sure I follow…”

“Sure you do,” Bull said, chuckling. “Listen”—he turned to Cullen, who begged his eyes not to look down—“I don’t know what kind of hang-ups your people have around this sort of thing, but I’m good with it.” 

“Good with…what, exactly?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Bull leaned his head back and sighed. “Unless you want to wake up with frozen toes, we have to spoon—naked.” A devilish smirk crossed his face. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’ll let you keep your little blanket.“

Cullen clutched the aforementioned blanket to his chest, eliciting a maniacal cackle from Bull’s throat. He was not a prude. 

...

Fine. He was a bit of a prude. But he hadn’t a great deal of time to devote to bodily pleasures over the years, nor had they been encouraged in his position—and Bull certainly wasn’t making things easier. Perhaps this sort of routine melted the hesitations of women in the tavern. All it did for Cullen was make his muscles clench. 

He huffed a nervous laugh, one hand running down the back of his neck. “You could at least buy me a drink first.” 

Bull howled with laughter, and very nearly choked on his latest gulp of whatever bitter concoction lived in his flask. He slammed a fist into his chest and coughed. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Commander.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Cullen said. “It’s not my title anymore.” 

“Ah.” Bull waved his hand and plopped down next to Cullen. “Consider it a nickname, then.” He looked Cullen up and down, tutting. “Hate to be pushy, but we should probably get this thing going before your tiny body gives out from the cold.”

Cullen wrinkled his nose. “I am not tiny.”

Bull gave him a little pat on the back. “You’re all tiny to me.” 

“Fair enough.” Cullen cleared his throat, searching for what to say. “If you could just…erm…” He twirled his finger in a circle. 

Another ripple of laughter shook Bull’s body, but he obliged, and turned away. “By all means, take your time. I’m not freezing my ass off or anything.” 

“I’ll be quick about it,” Cullen muttered, and he meant it. The sooner he got undressed, the sooner they could get this over with. 

“Hand me your clothes and I’ll hang them up.”

Cullen shoved each article into Bull’s waiting hand without checking to see if he’d turned his head. Maybe he peeked and maybe he hadn’t. Knowing would make Cullen no less embarrassed. 

As Bull threw their clothes over someone’s old dresser, Cullen shook the blanket a second time—how was it still so dusty?—and settled onto the floor.

“Not the bed?” Bull asked. 

“Well no, I…” Cullen cleared his throat again. “I assumed you wouldn’t fit. No offense.” 

“None taken,” Bull said, and Cullen breathed a sigh of relief—he could hear the grin in the Qunari’s voice. “You ready for me?”

Maker, was he? When was the last time he’d touched another? Long enough for him to forget. Long enough for him to forget what it felt like to yearn for it. It’s only a matter of practicality, he told himself, which was true! There was no need to stress himself over what boiled down to survival. 

“Come on, then.” He waved Bull over, back turned to avoid his eyes, and prayed there’d be no further comments about his “tiny” body. Then again, he’d assumed the position of the smaller spoon without question, so perhaps his comrade had a point. 

Bull sank to the floor and reclined alongside him. He did so quietly, his movements soft and careful, and pulled Cullen closer, until skin met skin. He wrapped his arm around Cullen’s body, palm pressed against his chest, and Cullen’s breath quickened. 

He felt trapped, suffocated all the sudden, like the room was closing in. His body shook harder, and he clenched his jaw, fighting the irrational urge to struggle. 

Bull loosened his grip. “Easy, Commander,” he murmured. “I’m not going to bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Cullen forced himself to laugh until it felt real. “I might be, if you ever get around to buying me that drink.” 

Over the next hour, the Qunari distracted him with absurd stories he’d never believe if he didn’t know Bull, tales that encouraged questions and kept him laughing until his muscles unfurled, and he allowed himself to settle into the warm reprieve Bull’s body provided. It wasn’t until his eyelids grew heavy that Cullen realized how easily he'd been disarmed by a Ben-Hassrath. But maybe that was okay. He was warm, and he was safe.

Maybe it would all be okay.

[plounce]

Do u have tips for getting into like Clothes and Outfits and stuff? I have exactly one outfit and it's one of several identical pairs of pants and almost identical shirts 😭😭

i like to go to secondhand/vintage stores because it makes looking for clothes feel like an exciting treasure hunt... (plus it tends to be less overpriced, plus i don't buy from fast fashion stores)

ive got a cheapskate brain so i loooooove to buy anything that has a pattern. so i have a lot of patterned blouses. basically i like to buy clothes that have visual interest to them. otherwise my brain goes "this is not worth money". which means i have to force myself to buy solids (so i can wear patterned pants without a competing and probably mismatching shirt pattern) (not that you can't wear two patterns at once. i just think that if one part of my outfit is the star of the show, i don't want to take focus away from it. this is why jeans and black pants go with everything)

i guess my tip is... when i make an outfit, i pick a general vibe or color palette or theme. ms frizzle it. ive got a lot of fun brooches and earrings so i can say "ok i wanna wear a cowboy brooch, what kind of cowboy outfit can i throw together?" and ill throw something that's dusty and orange together. basically accessories (a hat, earrings, a scarf/bandanna, socks, shoes, etc) can help make an outfit feel like it's got a Fun Theme! and that makes it fun to wear the outfit!

so yeah. find pieces of clothes that excite and delight you - maybe it has a fun print on it, maybe it has some cool embroidery, maybe it's your favorite band, maybe it's a color palette you like, maybe it's got an interesting cut... and then pick things to go with it!

there's a primary color... a secondary accent color... and then maybe one more color in small doses. red shirt with embroidery on it... black pants and black scarf... gold earrings

basically fashion goes between "big shirt and tiny pants" and "tiny shirt and big pants". apparently society is currently on the latter. i don't really care.

im not really into shoes - i basically only wear my costco outdoorsy birkenstock sandals, and secondarily my Big Black Boots if the day calls for it. but i know many people are!

as i said in my last outfits post (and a recent catcrumb), going on an outing means that i can wear a fun outfit! it's a big plus if i'm hanging out with somebody, but even if i'm just going out by myself (which i like to do most of the time, ive realized that i enjoy solitude, for better or worse)

i also realized a few years ago that i can never look Cool or Hip or On Top Of The Instagram Trends, but you know what i CAN do? to the hilt? with joy? i can look like a teacher / librarian. and leaning into that idea of my style has made me feel a lot more joyful and free in fashion. i'm not in high school anymore. you look good if you look like you're wearing clothes with intention. also it doesn't matter if people think you look "weird" or "bad" if you aren't going a job interview or a date. so like. whatever. strangers have no impact on my life

i guess that's my advance. but this is just my personal approach to Fashion, which comes from my love of Themes and Visual Interests. someone else would give you different advice! plus i was rambling as per usual. so. hopefully some part of this helps! thanks for asking! i appreciate that you think i have advice to give!

[lexa-lives-in-us]

Saving Tips for Hard Times

I found this old document where I collected a series of tips to save money. This is all part of my experience of when I was near homeless, and some work depending on where you live, some don’t. Here we go.

BILLS:

1. The optimum temperature for refrigerator operation is 5°C, and -18°C for freezer operation. As a rule of thumb, for each additional degree of refrigeration output about six percent more electricity is used.

2. Unplug your appliances. Lamps, microwave, tv, computers etc. They don't need to be plugged until you use them, and it saves energy to keep them unplugged. Therefore, money.

3. Do homework for phone companies and internet plans. Call them! Often they are toll free and if you mentioned that you were already with them or thinking of going with them and then found out another company had a better deal, they could offer you deals for lower prices. I had to do it all the time for my phone, until they couldn't really offer anything better.

4. BIKE. Invest in a used bike if you can, especially for the warmer months. It offsets the transit costs and better your health.

5. WALK. That's the same as the bike, honestly.

6. Pay your bills on time, you will avoid late fees which can up to HUNDREDS of dollars wasted over the course of a year. If you can, set up automatic payments so you don’t forget.

FRIDGE:

1. Every time the refrigerator door is opened, cold air escapes and warm ambient air enters. To compensate for the temperature increase in its interior, the refrigerator must then use energy to bring the temperature back down. Always avoid opening the door unnecessarily and for too long.

2. When defrosting frozen food place it in the refrigerator. Not only does this ensure that the food is carefully defrosted, its presence cools down the refrigerator interior, reducing the amount of work that the compressor has to do, and therefore lowering energy consumption.

3. Never put warm food in the refrigerator as this will heat up the interior, as well as other stored foods. Hot food should always be allowed to cool to room temperature before placing it in the refrigerator

MONEY:

1. Keep all the containers like glass bottles, juice bottles, jars, cans etc. Look for your Return-It depot and have trips to return them. They give back coins for laundry, small expenses etc

2. Use that junk mail. Go through it, find coupons for food, for essentials like toilet paper or shampoo.

3. CHECK. THAT. DOLLARSTORE. They often have things like pasta, ketchup, toilet paper, batteries etc for literally 1 dollar.  Pasta is pasta, toilet paper is toilet paper. Seriously. Don't need to spend 5$ on a shampoo bottle when you can have it for 1/5 of the price.

4. Do homework and check with different banks for which one offers a better plan. Some of them are willing to help out. Sit down with their advisors, find the best solution!

5. Use the envelope system! For example, one envelope with a label “food” the other with “entertainment” the other with “bills”. Then set the right amount of cash for each. That’s what you’re allowed to spend each month. If you realize you need more for food, grab it from the entertainment envelope. Adapt and arrange as needed.

6. If you can, set up an automatic saving (example 50$ every paycheck) for both regular saving AND an emergency fund.

7. Use the 24-Hour Rule. Avoid purchasing expensive or unnecessary items on impulse with a self-imposed 24-hour rule. For any non-essential item, wait 24 hours before purchasing. It’s perfect for online shopping where your items can simply be added to your cart to purchase later.

8. Make a grocery list BEFORE going to the grocery store and STICK to it. You’re going to avoid buying things you don’t really need.

9. DO. NOT. SHOP. WHILE. YOU. ARE. HUNGRY. Or you’ll end up buying food that you actually don’t need just because you feel snacky!

10. Only use ATMs from your bank, or you get charged small fees.

11. Set a “No Spend Day” per week, where you consciously DO NOT spend any money for that day.

12. Ditch the paper: Cutting out paper towels and using cloths and napkins that you can simply wash and reuse is a simple way to save.

13. After you wear clothes, hang them outside your wardrobe, on a door or something. You can air them out a bit, then stick them in the closet without washing. You can basically reuse the same clothes two or three times without having to wash them, sometimes they just need a bit of air and they won’t smell AT ALL.

14. If you don’t own or want to spend money on an iron, hang whatever blouse you need to iron in the bathroom while you shower. The steam will humidify the fabric and straighten it up.

15. Hang stuff to dry. Really don’t need to spend money on the dryer.

16. Sign up to the library. They have so many books and DVDs nowadays. You can also just go, sit at the library and stay warm for a while, so that you don’t have to sit at home and either suffer the cold or use money on your own heat.

17. Budget, budget, budget. Get a lil notebook, write down the monthly expenses, cut what you don’t need. It gets easier with time.

 FOOD:

1.       Make a meal plan. Write 10-14 days worth of dishes that you can do (lunch, dinner, everything you need). You can then toss them around as you go on with your week, but that way you have a pretty clear idea of what you use and the food you go through for how long. It also reduces the risks of getting take out since you already have plans for what to eat.

2.       Cook double! Seriously. Make that dinner and double it up. Leftovers can be frozen or put in the fridge for the day after.

3.       Meal prep. Once a week, prep a bunch of different recipes. Let them cool down, stick them in the freezer. At that point you’ll already have all these meals at the ready to just thaw/microwave or oven up.

4.       You don’t need pop. You don’t need alcohol. You most likely don’t need milk, but go for it if you wanna. Just remember dairy products go bad WAY more quickly than non dairies, so consider getting food and drinks with no dairy in them. Mainly, though. Water. Just drink water. Lots of it too! Sometimes our brain can’t tell the difference between hunger and thirst. You think you’re snacky? Drink some water instead! It’ll quell your hunger.

5.       Freeze fruit! If you think you’re not gonna be able to eat fruit in time, put it in a Tupperware or a ziplock and slap it in the freezer. You’ll be able to then use it for smoothies.

6.       Use the Italian saying “Colazione da re, pranzo da nobili, cena da poveri.” Which quite literally means “Breakfast as a king, lunch as a noble, dinner as a poor.” Breakfast should be very filling, carbs, protein, vitamins. It carries you for the whole day. Lunch should be quite filling too! But supper doesn’t really need a lot of it, and if you REALLY have to skip a meal, skip supper. Your body doesn’t need that much sustenance while sleeping.

7.       This is for the desperate times but I’ve done it, and I would do it again if I ever had to. Go to markets that have like… Fruits and veggies. Talk to them. Ask them “HEY, can I have the fruit/veggie that you have to throw away?” Ask them if you can have the ugly produce, the one that doesn’t look pretty enough to be put out. Or ask them to have whatever extra they have to dump because is past the expiry date. EXPIRY DATE IS USUALLY MUCH LONGER THAN WHAT THE LABEL SAYS. I wouldn’t risk it with dairy stuff or with things that are VERY expired, but one or two days? Totally fine, I promise. And if you have to? Dumpster Dive. Especially at markets with fruit and veggies that have to be sold on the same day (because it’s not considered “fresh” past that day.) Or behind pizza places like Dominos or Panago or whatever chain. They get pizza orders wrong all the time. Just give a peak behind these buildings and look inside their boxes. You have no idea how many times I found perfectly fine pizzas. For free! IF YOU DUMPSTER DIVE, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE GLOVES, A MASK AND PLASTIC BAGS TO PUT YOUR STUFF IN. ONCE AT HOME, DISCARD GLOVES AND WASH PRODUCE THROUGHLY. Also check tumblr for your divers community, they usually know the best spots.

 CLOTHES:

1.       Thrift shop! So many GOOD used clothes are out there! Honestly! My whole wardrobe is thrifted and everything looks brand new. It takes a bit of research and maybe that shirt you liked is not in your size, but you can find EVERYTHING, from socks to bras, at a thrift store. Don’t thrift underwear though. You want to go new with those.

2.       Invest in some needle and thread, then open youtube. There are SO MANY tutorials that teach you how to mend holes in socks and underwear. And really, no one will really notice if a mend is perfectly done or not. After a week, you’ll forget it too! But that prevents you from throwing away clothes that could just be mended a little.

3.       Something doesn’t fit you? Too small, too big? YouTube, homie. They have tutorials on how to fix these kinda things! All you need, again, is needle and thread.

4.       Organize clothes swaps with friends and/or neighbors. Everyone brings clothes they don’t need, put them in a pile. Go through the pile and grab whatever there is. There’s no money exchange, one could go home with 1 item and one could go home with 50 items. Who cares? The extra stuff… DONATE IT TO A SHELTER.

Feel free to add more, and stay safe!

[telli1206]

(Per our discussion 😘) It's summer, but Carlos tends to layer up. He falls asleep after a long day out while Jay's in the shower or something, so Jay decides to tuck him in like that and go to bed, but then Carlos starts getting wiggly b/c he's way overheated btwn. his clothes, the blankets, and Jay being a human furnace, so Jay tries to wake him up to get him to strip down so they can both be in peace, but Carlos doesn't wake up and Jay thinks he's faking, so he starts to help things along. 😉

Finally getting the inspo to write this one @hersilentlanguage​, so I hope it was worth the wait 😁

WARNING: Mild smut with sexual implications

Jay grunts and jolts suddenly from the feel of a sharp pain under his arm. He blinks furiously to coax the sleep out of his eyes, the fog in his brain too deep to even register what’s happening.

Not that he really needs to, he kind of already knows what’s going on. It’s always the same person who’s to blame for his shittiest nights of sleep.

Jay should be angry. Fuck, he has every right to be. Is there anything worse than being ripped from a deep sleep by a physical attack? He can’t think of anything. Still, he just sighs and rubs at his side. If he didn’t love the boy so damn much, there’d be nothing stopping him from grabbing him and just chucking him off the bed. And yet...

Auradon may have made him soft, just a little bit. But he’s pretty sure Carlos Oscar De Vil was already well on his way to turning Jay into a teddy bear anyway.

He reaches for the culprit of his pain, managing to curl his fingers around a sock-covered foot before another jab has him wincing and scooting back, positioning himself away from another attack.

“Fuck, ‘Los,” he moans, still gripping tightly to his boyfriend’s foot. “You can be a little shit, you know that?”

Carlos starts to mumble unintelligibly, his nose scrunching adorably as the utter nonsensicals spill from his lips. He’s moving as he tries to talk, his body shifting and wriggling it’s way up the bed, jerking out of Jay’s grasp. He kicks up Jay’s side, bit by bit, scurrying his lithe body upwards until it lands flat and flush against their headboard.

Jay sighs, watching as Carlos finally settles just above his head. His new position on the hard wood of their headboard looks terribly uncomfortable, and Carlos must subconsciously agree as he clearly continues to squirm, batting Jay repeatedly on top of his head with the billow of his sleeve in the process.

“Carlos!” Jay tries again, his voice hushed but firm. He grabs at the sleeve in his face and tugs, but Carlos simply rolls the other way, pressing his body onto the wood with a discontented hum.

Jay huffs as he props himself up on his forearms and turns fully to face Carlos. His plans of going to sleep at the moment have gone to shit, so he may as well try to get Carlos situated again. His best shot at a proper night’s sleep anyway is when he’s wrapped around his favorite warm body, his face pressed into Carlos’ soft expanse of white curls.

So he’s doing this for both of them, really.

Jay carefully snakes an arm under Carlos, moving slowly to keep from jostling him too much and potentially waking him. Once he can reach, he wraps both arms around Carlos and pulls him into his chest, holding him tightly and remaining as motionless as possible, hopeful that the few movements aren’t enough to cause him to stir.

To Jay’s surprise, Carlos hardly startles. Actually, he hardly moves at all. Definitely not what he expected.

He decides to loosen his grip to check on Carlos, and Carlos surprises Jay again by spinning slowly to face him. Though his eyes are pinched closed, Jay can still hear his soft mumblings, coming and going lightly with each breath.

“‘Los?” Jay leans in closer, pressing their foreheads together as he tries to focus on his boyfriend’s words.

Carlos moans at the contact and pushes in even closer so they’re practically cheek to cheek. He’s slick with sweat, and Jay can feel the dampness and heat radiating off of him. Jay reaches over to cup Carlos’ cheek, running his fingers gingerly over the moist skin.

“Fuck, I’m sorry pup,” he sighs, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have let you sleep in all this shit. It’s way too hot.” He thumbs at the zipper of Carlos’ hoodie with one hand while his other moves to Carlos’ head, gently pushing his red beanie back until it slides off and drops behind them and onto the floor.

Despite today being sunny and warm, Carlos had opted to layer up his clothing as usual, throwing Jay’s hoodie and beanie on over his shorts and t-shirt. It’s a habit that Carlos just can’t seem to shake. But, after years of Carlos feeling that he needs to hide...both his imperfections and his existence as a whole, no one had really expected for him to change that overnight.

Besides, Jay is more than happy to see Carlos wearing his clothes. He doesn’t want to look possessive, but, he really is. Especially when it comes to Carlos. He’s been dying to claim the cute freckled boy since they met, and it finally feels safe, normal even, to do that in Auradon. So he’ll gladly take every chance he can get to show that Carlos is...well...his.

It’s not like anyone is complaining about it anyway. Carlos is fucking adorable when he’s in clothes that are too big for him. That’s just common knowledge.

Still, Carlos overdid it with the layers today. And Jay scolds himself for being a lazy boyfriend and just dropping Carlos in bed to sleep instead of helping him change first into something less...suffocating.

He’s definitely paying for that choice now.

Carlos gasps when the beanie falls away and exposes his head to the cool air of their room. He tips his head back to shake out his matted down curls, relaxing back into Jay with a sigh of relief and resting his head on Jay’s shoulder.

“Does that feel good, pup? Do you want me to take off a little more? Cool you off?”

Jay reaches for Carlos’ zipper again, dragging it down slowly just an inch or so and then stops, waiting for Carlos’ reaction.

“Just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Whatever you want I’ll do it. I just wanna help you sleep.”

Carlos is quiet, his head unmoving from Jay’s shoulder. Jay breathes soft and shallow, his hand still frozen at Carlos’ zipper as he listens for any type of response from him. But the silence hangs in the air for over a minute, and Jay is starting to wonder exactly how deeply his boyfriend may be sleeping.

Finally, Carlos starts to shift, moving his hips slightly to bring his body even closer to Jay’s. He drapes a leg across Jay’s waist as he tilts his head up to bring his lips to Jay’s ear. He doesn’t speak, instead choosing to kiss his way down the shell of Jay’s ear, stopping only to tug at Jay’s lobe with his teeth.

“Pupppp,” he moans, biting down hard on his lip to muffle the sound. His hands fly to Carlos’ hips, squeezing tightly as Carlos’ kissing continues its way down his jaw to his neck.

“I didn’t think undressing you would get you in the mood that easy, but I’m not gonna complain,” Jay chuckles. But his laughter fades away with his breath when Carlos bites down on the junction of his neck and starts to suck at his most sensitive spot.

Jay chokes, his mind numbing with pleasure as he starts to fumble for Carlos’ hoodie again, this time grabbing the zipper roughly and ripping it down. Carlos is still latched to his neck as he pushes the sleeves down, quickly freeing Carlos of his hoodie and dropping it to the floor to join his beanie.

When Carlos’ mouth finally detaches from Jay, he takes the opportunity to dip down and kiss over Carlos’ collarbone, letting his hands glide down Carlo’s t-shirt as he does so. When he reaches the bottom he hooks his fingers under the hem, pulling away for only a second to tug it over Carlos’ head and toss it aside.

Carlos hums his approval, his eyes still closed but his mouth spread wide in his most pleased smile. He looks utterly content when Jay starts to kiss fervently over the newly exposed freckled skin of Carlos’ chest, flushed and warm under his lips.

Jay smiles against Carlos’ shuddered breaths, his body responding almost desperately for more of Jay’s touch. And Jay is eager to please. He kisses his way down Carlos’ stomach, reaching for the button of his shorts as his mouth descends closer. Within seconds he has them unbuttoned and unzipped, and they’re off and on the ground before Carlos can react.

Not that he would. He’s already distracted himself with the skin of Jay’s neck, scraping his teeth along it and mouthing lightly at Jay’s pulse.

Jay is encouraged further by Carlos’ moans, hot and tingly against his skin. He snakes both of his hands down the back of Carlos’ boxers, grazing along skin that’s too soft, and feels too delicious against his own. He stops to  playfully squeeze at firm cheeks, as perfect and perky as he’s ever had the pleasure of touching. He peppers kisses at Carlos’ shoulder, massaging tenderly with his hands before lifting his arms to slide the material down--

“Uh. Um. J-Jay?”

Jay stills in his movements. “Yeah, Pup?”

He shifts backwards, his eyes searching for Carlos’ in the dim twilight. But when their gazes meet, Jay can feel guilt pooling in his gut.

Carlos’ eyes are wide...confused. There’s no recognition in his features at all, no indication left of the passion he and Jay were engaging in just moments ago. Jay releases his grip when he feels Carlos start to squirm, sliding his hands out of Carlos’ boxers and urging some space between their bodies.

“Are we...is th-this...”

Jay winces at the uncertainty in Carlos’ tone. His brow furrows, unable to hide his worry.

“Shit ‘Los, I’m sorry. I thought you were...I thought we were...were you not, into it? Evil, if I did something you didn’t want, I swear I didn’t mean to-”

Carlos puts a finger to Jay’s lips to end his ramblings. Jay complies, laying silent as he stares into Carlos’ deep brown eyes. They’re more alert now, but laced with softness, and they stare back at Jay with an intensity that’s making his heart constrict and his breath hitch. When the finger is dragged away from Jay’s lips, Carlos is quick to replace it with a tentative kiss, light and airy with barely a brush of contact.

“Jay.”

Jay opens his eyes, unsure as to when he even closed them. Carlos is smiling at him now, bright and toothy and so, so beautiful. Jay silently hopes his damn eyelids didn’t deny him of this for too long. Every single one of Carlos’ smiles is his favorite thing in the world.

“Jay,” Carlos repeats, brushing his fingers across Jay’s cheek. “Are you good now? I swear, you’re too damn sweet for your own good sometimes.”

Jay blinks and blinks, his face blank as tries to understand what he thinks he heard.

“Too...sweet?”

Carlos shakes his head and laughs. With a swing of his hips, he flips Jay onto his back and rolls on top of him. When Carlos sits up, he’s straddling Jay’s waist and looking into surprised eyes. He smirks and flicks a finger to Jay’s chin, snapping shut his slightly agape expression.

“I thought I was dreaming, Jay. That’s all. I know you’d never mean to do anything I didn’t want to. I’d never think that. You’re so good to me.”

Jay exhales, grinning up at Carlos, who leans in for another kiss.

“Ok, thanks pup. I-”

He’s cut off by Carlos squeezing his face and pressing a kiss down firmly onto his pursed lips.

“Besides,” he mumbles against Jay’s mouth, “Who the hell would complain about waking up to their dreams coming true?”

Carlos slips his hands underneath Jay’s shirt, splaying them out as he sits back upright with a cocky grin.

“Now, can you fill me in on what we were doing? Because I’d like to continue.”

[soft-for-them]

frumpkin ♡ caleb widogast x reader

Annon🪐: Hey!! I saw your post about writing for critical role and got so excited, always happy to have more writers! I'd love to see a Caleb x reader where he comforts the reader during a panic attack. I don't really have a preference as to headcanons vs one-shots, so whichever you’d prefer. Hope I didn't miss anything, thanks!

Anyone can read this, can be platonic or romantic, it’s based on my own panic attacks so sorry if it’s a bit specific, not proof read like usual.

Panic attacks have always plagued your life, it’s a thing you have unfortunately learnt to live with.

You know all the breathing exercises and mind tricks to get you out of an attack but really all you ever want when you feel the nervous feeling of panic rile up in you is a friend to talk to. For trying to stop a panic attack by yourself never truly works. You always find that stopping a panic attack by yourself makes you feel down for the rest of the day.

When you were a teenager you had ran away from your home to the circus, taken in by the half elf Gustav Fletching. For the first couple of years you helped the circus folk set up tents and decorate, then you found your love for art (no matter how good or bad you are at it).

Many years later you still helped out with the big top but you had become a portrait artist getting extra money from the patrons that came to the shows.

When you were around twenty or so you had met Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin.

The blood hunter and barbarian had always had their own ways of calming you down before you could have a full on panic attack but neither of them have ever seen you have a proper one.

Molly is always the type of person who would tell you stories to try to get you to calm down and Yasha would always try and stay near you becoming a shoulder to cry on if need be. However, none of them have ever seen you pace up and down whilst tears stream down your face and your hands shake in absolute discomfort.

No, they have never seen you fully break down.

Your panic attacks have almost disappeared since joining the Mighty Nein, since your found family has grown bigger. Yeah, you miss the carnival but you now feel like you’re doing something with your life now that you’re on this journey.

The Nein and you have all be travelling, in between quests, the canopy of the forest lighting the squiggly path to the next town. Right now you are setting up you tent that looks like a mini high top, the happy memories of your carnival days flooding your brain.

The tent is big enough for three or four people, depending on how bulky someone is. Normally it’s you, Mollymauk and Yasha snuggled in the tent much like you’re used to.

With a good meal in you and the sun setting you take the first watch, watching the orange sun blending in with purple that the night sky brings.

Soon enough Fjord taps you on your shoulder telling you softly that you watch is up.

With a soft smile you give him a small hug and a hearty goodnight, wishing him a peaceful sleep. The tall half orc only splutters out a ‘You too, goodnight (y/n).’

You have developed a soft spot for the half orc. You hug him once more him now sitting down and you bending down to do so you say your finale goodnight.

It’s a short walk to your tent, it’s very hard to miss, the patched up striped reds and pokkadot patterns stand out even in the dimming lights of the night. With a long stretch, your arms raised above your head, you walk into the tent Molly already in his corner of the tent.

‘To bed this early?’ you muse as you take off your boots and light armour.

‘Need my beauty sleep.’ He jokes sipping on a little flask presumably of some strong alcohol.

‘Well sleeping does help with beauty sleep.’ You joke back as you like down in the middle of the tent, leaving a gap to you over side for Yasha or any other person who feels like sleeping inside your tent (though it’s always been you, Molly and Yasha inside the colourful tent.)

For a while the two of you talk, mostly on the subject of setting up Yasha and Beau up like the good friends you both are but soon the talk turns to who Molly might want to set you up with.

‘You fancy someone don’t you?’ he teases knowing full well that you do have a thing for someone in the Mighty Nein.

‘Shut up Molly!’ you mutter turning away from him and snuggling into your covers.

Your try to sleep but he keeps on talking.

‘Is it… Caleb, you two share a similar quiet and shy nature, though you actually wash.’

You ignore him.

‘Or Fjord? I think he likes you and your hugs?’

You cover you head with your blanket.

‘Oh, are you into one of the lovely women of the group, Jester has been spending a lot of time around you lately?’

‘Mollymauk Tealeaf I will smother you if you don’t let me sleep!’

The purple tiefling chuckles but drops the questing, allowing you to fall asleep.

.

.

You wake up in fear, cold sweat dripping down your neck and back, the white of your shirt surly soaked. Your eyes shift around quickly to the people sleeping soundly in your tent. Molly is were he was before, deep in his beauty sleep. However, you are now sandwiched in between him and Yasha.

She must have fished her shift for she is fast asleep stealing part of your blanket.

 Your breathing is laboured and you feel weak.

‘It was only a dream (y/n).’ you try to reason with yourself, sitting up and throwing the rest of your blanket onto Yasha.

Surely you can’t wake them up now, right?

The feeling you have is panic but you aren’t in a full blow panic attack yet, Molly and Yasha know what to do to calm you down. But they are asleep and you fear that if you wake any of them that they’d be angry with you.

They certainly won’t be angry with you but your brain says untrue things to you when your panicky.

First you try some breathing exercises.

They do not work.

You then try and search around for your sketchbook. Jester had drawn a cartoon of you and her in it that automatically makes you feel happy.

You can’t find the book in the dark.

You truly don’t want to wake up Molly or Yasha, you really don’t.

So, you scramble out of your tent, no shoes or coat, you just need to get out.

The cold early morning air hits you, the sun not even up yet but the moon low in the sky.

 When you had first met the Nein you had tried to get to know everyone, despite your more introverted nature compared to the more colourful characters of the group. One night you had helped Nott pick pocket a rich man, not your greatest moment but it was very fun.

Out on that little stealing adventure Nott had said something that has stuck with you.

‘Sometimes just walking about outside calms me down, stealing helps as well.’ The stealing part might not help you but the walking part might.

With socked feet and hands stimming you begin to walk towards where you were earlier taking watch.

Molly, Yasha or Fjord won’t be there but there must be someone there to talk to before your start to cry.

The short walk towards the watch area seems like you’re walking a mile and your breaths start to become even more infrequent, you forgetting to breath out when you inhale a large breath. Tears begin to rim your eyes and your hands carry on shaking.

You’re not going to make it to whoever is on watch, you are going to break.

You stop and drop to the floor, legs crossed and hands going to you face, wiping away the now falling tears that don’t seem to stop. In this sitting down position you begin to slowly rock back and forward, tiny sobs escaping your lips.

Unknown to you the place you have decided to sit down and cry in is near enough to the person on watch that they can hear your sobs.

 Caleb stands up, looking over the camp, seeing you breaking down on the forest floor.

He has no clue what to properly do.

Normally he is alone when he had any kind of panic attack but then he realises something. The last couple of attacks he has personally had Nott was actually around to help him. Nott was always there to calm him down with cuddles and calm words.

Could he go and get Nott?

No, that would get more attention on the panicked you.

Who else helps him?

Frumpkin!

Caleb quickly summons the cat familiar and he points over to you.

‘Go over to (y/n), ya?’ the Bengal cat nudges his head into Caleb’s legs then pounces off to the crying you.

As soft lump steps into your lap and nudges to hand covered face with its soft fur.

You nervously take down a hand to see Frumpkin nudging you in the way only cats do. He pauses for a moment but proceeds to carry on nudging you when he still sees tears dripping down your face.

Your breathing hitches but there is some kind of clarity as the cat nuzzles the wetness of your cheeks almost like he’s purposely wiping away your tears.

‘…Frumpkin…’ tears well up again but not in sadness per say, it’s a combination of still being panicky but also happiness that the ginger cat is trying to calm you down.

Your arms snake around the slim cat in a small cuddle, you still rocking just a bit.

‘D-did Caleb send you?’ you whisper to the cat in your arms, knowing the answer to the question.

Once your wobbly words are spoken you look up to see a nervous looking Caleb standing near. He fidgets a bit, not looking you in the eyes, though you aren’t looking at him directly either.

‘May I sit down meine liebste?‘ he asks. All you do is nod your head.

He sits down about a body away from you but you automatically nudge up to him so your legs are touching, Frumpkin purring at the two of you.

Your breathing is still a bit funny, a breath being held in. Caleb pauses as he, his hand stops pats Frumpkin’s head.

‘Let your breath out, breath.’ you look at Caleb and try to match his breathing.

‘Thank you, Caleb.’you eventually say.

Your body is still hunched over but you have calmed down, the panic attack has passed, which is very different to normal.

‘Not need to thank me (y/n), no need to thank me.’ He takes his had off of Frumpkin’s head and pats your knee, albeit a bit awkwardly but it gets you both looking up to each other.

You give him a small smile which makes his ear turn red in a blush.

‘C-can I take watch with you for a while?’ you ask.

‘Ya, we can watch the sun rise together.’

.

.

.

i had a bit of a hard time formatting it so sorry if it looks odd.

also, please send in some more critical role requests! (do mind that i’m new to listening to campaign two.)

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 03.04.21 lb

aryan is literalllllllly the fuckin dumbest. zero peripheral vision or gut feels.

lmaoooooooooooo yeah right, i’d like to see you shoot at vansh bhai, aryan. i really wanna see this lololololol.

lo aa bhi gaya vansh. (fuck he looks good in this shirt!!!!!! damn my stupid hormones making me horny for the absolute baaaaaaaaare minimum.)

ANGREEEEEEEEEEEE ZINDA HAIIIIIIIIII BHAGWAAN KA LAAKH LAAKH SHUKAR, MAIN MAHA MRITYUNJAYA JAAP KARWAUNGIIIII ISKE NAAM PAR

vansh [seeing an obviously shot angre]: angre, kya hua???

samosa khaate waqt ketchup kandhe pe gira diya........... DIKH NAHI RAHA HAI KI GOLI LAGI HAI TERE CHUTIYE BHAI KI WAJAAH SE?!?!!?! ANGRE DESERVES SO MUCH MORE THAN A FUCKING RAISE, MY GOD.

plan ke hisaaaaaaaaaab se. god i hate all the men in this show so much. angre honestly, why are you suchhhhhh a chaaatu for vansh’s ootpataaang plans?!?!

anyway long story short, vansh saw aryan spying, went and replaced all of aryan’s bullets with blanks, and sent the sms about riddhima being alive. LMAO DOES THAT MEAN HE ALSO CONNED A COOL 2 CR. OUTTA ARYAN?!?!!?! ASDKSADJLASKDJLKASDJKAS GOOD JOB, VANSHHHHHHHH.

angre like why i had to die for this tho???? oh angre, you sweet summer child. do you know NOTHING about your bhaiyya/bhaabi’s amaaaaaaazing relationship????? you think he’d give up a chance to emotionally manipulate her like this????

how’d the dumbass finalllllllllllllllly figure this is real riddhima tho??? also he has fully made his peace with treating his PREGNANT WIFE this way huh????

ishani/siya having a girly convo about siya’s “date”. ishani’s like “was it sizzling, burning, sensational?”

uhhhhhhhhh siya, if you’re feeling all these things, you should go see a gynaec. sounds like an STI to me.

this is a very creepy convo ishani is leading, about how far siya got with vyom. who wants such specific sexual details from their sister????????

asalkdjlaskjdlaskjdlaskljk ishani is like “men are like goats [....] they’re dumb. and women are powerful.” can’t say i disagree.

anyway this convo is really dumb and cringey and i can’t take it anymore. inke bhaiyya ka chutiyaapa dikhao, instead of this nonsense. 

angre is over the moon ki this is riddhima bhaabi itself, unaware that boss is fuming ki uska chutiya kat raha hai.

6 ghante 6 ghante 6 ghante blah blah blah FUCKING OUT WITH IT ALREADY

the only time i like vansh as a person is when he’s smirky over buddhu banaao-ing aryan. 

idhar aryan ne aake chugli kar di sabke saamne.

yeh anupriya ka kya hi chakkar hai, idgi. is she fr on vansh’s side now??????

riddhima khud entry maaar rahi, to prove aryan right.

everyone except siya’s reactions are like ugh, this bitch again 😒😒😒

LMAO VANSH/ANGREEEEE LOST RIDDHIMA AND SHE REACHED HOME BY THEN

ouff 10 min of dadi’s mafia queen reactions nonsense now.

lo vansh bhi aa gaya.

ASALKJDLASJDLSKAJDLKSAJDLKSAJDLKSALDKJLAS DADI STANDING ON THE STAIRS PULLING THAT KHAANDANI RIFLE ON HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM LEGIT LOSING IT LMAO.

ALSO ISHAANI IS STANDING BEHIND DADI, FULLY FOR IT. BAGAAAWATTTT KII PYAARI BEHENAA NE!

riddhima trying to interfere to save vansh (why???), and dadi’s like STFU B.

lol vansh playing stone cold stupid, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

he’s spinning yarn after yarn ki “YEH riddhima hai, WOH jisko maara woh humshakal thi. MERA PYAAAAAAAR WOULD NEVER GIVE ANY OF US DHOKAAAAAAAAAAAA.” pftttttttt.

vansh breaking it down for the truuuuuuuuuuuuuly stupid, ki he shot a girl who had riddhima’s face, she was dead, aryan confirmed it. now there’s a riddhima standing in front of all of them. thus............???????

bechaara aryan. bachpan mein thode aur badaam khaata toh shaayad itna bewakoof nahi hota.

lollipop girl is nodding appreciatively at all this drama; she’s honestly the most relatable character here. if i was a houseguest here, main bhi roz roz mazze looot rahi hoti in chutiyon ka.

le aryan ne phir bandook taan di riddhima par, to get her to uglofy the truth. ab toh isko pakka maar padne waali hai. remains to be seen by whom. hoping it’s vansh as per usual, but i shall take dadi also.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA RIDDHIMA’S LIKE ARYAN HAD KIDNAPPED ME. OMFG LOLLIPOP LADKI’S EXPRESSION AT THAT. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE WANTS TO BE ADOPTED BY VANSH/RIDDHIMA’S DEVIOUS ASSES.

anyway riddhima flipped the whole damn game and is like dadi, aryan wanted to make you distrust vansh and that’s why he did all this and lmaoooooooo even vansh is a little stunned for a second or two and then jumps in and starts haan mein haan milaao-ing with wifey’s story.

ARYAN LIKE HEIN HEIN HEIN HO KYA RAHA HAI YEH SAB?!!?!?!? HAAAYE BECHAARA. SO SO STUPID HE IS. 

riddhima rubbing it in reallllllllll good in front of dadi ki aryan tried to killllllllll meeeeeeeee!!!!! and now aryan’s like bitch imma kill you both istg and got the gun on them.

LOLLIPOP LADKI’S AMAZING FACES LIKE GO ONNNNNNNNN, DOOOOOO ITTTTTTT, I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU DO IT, SIR. LMAO MAN I LOVE HER.

ASLKADJLAKSJDLASKJDLKSAJLDKJSLAKDJLAS DADI’S GOT HER GUN SET ON ARYAN NOW!!!!!!!!!!! honestly, this whole family is just so fucking dysfunctional, there needs to be a wholeass team of mental health specialists monitoring them and writing case reports about them at all times.

vansh trying to talk aryan down and got shot in the arm for it. pehli baar aryan ne zindagi mein kuch sahi kiya hai.

LOLLIPOP GIRL IS HORNY AT THAT ALSO. MAN SHE’S SUCH A WHORE FOR DRAMAAAAAAAAA AND I FULLY RELATE TO IT.

oh goddamnit. he didn’t get shot. coz aryan sucks at aiming, just like he does at everything else.

ASLKJFDSLKJFLSDKJFLDSKJFLKDSJ VANSH STALKED UP TO HIM AND WAS LIKE “TUMHARA NISHAANA HAMESHA SE HI KHARAAB THA” AND GAVE HIM ONE SOLID SOCK TO THE JAW FOR THAT HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

someone make rrahul trim his damn beard, that thing is like a foot off his face. there must be whole ass beehives and civilizations inhabiting it.

aryan passing by dadi and is like you’re making a big mistake believing vansh/riddhima and their lying asses. and what did he get for that? one jhaapad from dadi also. lol. just not his dayyyyyyyyyyy, man.

LOLLIPOP GIRL’S SMIRKING AND HAS HER ARMS CROSSED AND I LEGIT ONLY CARE FOR HER REACTION SHOTS IN THIS SHOW NOW, LITERALLY NO ONE ELSE.

oh shit dadi is throwing aryan out the house. does he have anyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy skills to fend for himself outside this place? he’s gonna die in like 15 minutes.

dadi warning vansh ki if aryan’s baat sahi nikli, she gonna murder his and riddhima’s asses too. hey vansh??? now would be a good time to take your 5000 cr. and fuck off outta this crazy house rn.

riddhima can’t stop reliving angre’s death.

vansh’s here and just sooooooooooo cool about it. shouldn’t that tip her off?!?!?!?!

she’s like BITCH WHY ARE YOU SUCH A PSYCHOPATH, YOUR BEST FRIEND IS DEAD AND YOU’RE LIKE MEH????? HE DIED FOR YOU.

ohohohohohohoho ofc, he’s like he didn’t die for ME, he died for YOU. you and your dhoka are why he’s dead. today angre’s dead, tomorrow it’ll be me. waaaaaaaaaaah bhai. amazingggggggggg manipulation only. you should write papers and give TED talks about it, that’s how much of an expert you are at this.

do not tellllllllllllllllllllllllllll me she falls for this shit. pls god do not.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HER BRAIN FINALLY WORKED!!!!!!!!!!! SHE’S LIKE IF ARYAN’S SUCHHHHHHHHHHH A POOR SHOT THAT HE COULDN’T HIT YOU WHEN YOU WERE LIKE 5 FEET AWAY FROM HIM, HOW TF DID HE GET ANGRE RIGHT IN THE FUCKING HEART FROM SO FAR AWAY?????????? YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SIS, THIS THE KINDA SHIT I’VE BEEN WANTING TO SEE FROM YOU FOR AGES NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

lol vansh is really pushing on the 6 ghante thing and she’s like ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, i get it now.

toh ofc he has to resort to sexy fuckery and pulls her under the shower to seduce it outta her.

riddhima don’t think with her pussy no more. she’s like you want the truth????/ i gotta confirm some shit first. took the gun (which he’d taken from aryan earlier) and left.

yup she went outside and found a blood ka packet. lolllllllllllllllllll vansh ki khairrrrrrrrrrrr nahi ab.

sopping wet saiyyaan is like what youuuuuuuu doing??? and she pulled the gun on him. bwahahahahaha. sis not so much of an idiot anymore.

LMAO SHE SHOT AT HIMMMMMM AND HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I LOVE ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

she’s like bitch you and your lies and your dhokasssssssssss.

oh dang she fully called out his game, from sending aryan to manipulating her into being guilty for angre’s death. MANNNNNNNN, WHY DIDN’T WE HAVE THIS RIDDHIMA FROM THE FUCKING START????????????

oh now he’s gaslighting her about the dhoka. he’s got some nerve. i swear to god he’s asking to be shot for reals.

she’s like you know what, i woulda told you, but now, after all this fuckery, imma take it to the grave. bwahahahahahhahaha, i love it. exactly what my petty ass would do.

challenge challenge challenge and tashan waala walk-off. lol, what’s the point, tum dono ko jaana toh ek hi kamre mein hai.

ishani’s freaking the fuck out at angre’s haalat. oh damn. she really does love him!!!!

angre’s all mehhh, it’s part of the job, and OMG YES ISHANI IS LOSING HER SHIT AT VANSH BHAI’S CONSTANT CONTROL OF THEIR LIVES!!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“tum pehle mere husband ho, phir unke bodyguard!!!!!!!! HE HAS TO UNDERSTAND HIS LIMITS!!!!!!” OMGGG  YESSSSSSSSSSS QUEEEEEEEENNNNNN BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND. LEAVE THIS HOUSE WITH YOUR BOY AND NEVER LOOK BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

idhar riddhima and vansh seem to have made up???? she’s waking him up cheekily, and he’s all “good morning to youuuuu too, my love. 😏😏😏” they fucked in the night, for sho.

he’s like is this love or repentence for yest? and she’s like bitch tf i got to repent for????

lmao the way she’s staring at him as he drinks his coffee makes me think she’s poisoned it. or spat in it, at the very least.

standard pulling and falling and sexy stuff. lol these two are so dysfunctional. constantly trying to sex the other into submission. at least it’s more equal now, than just him making all the moves.

yeah, she’s doing all this shit to protect him from some shit FOR SURE. ugh yaaaaar. oh well, at least she got some chracter development outta it.

lol he got mad at her for not melting at his do takke ka seduction. son, you thought a bloody forehead kiss was enough? we’re not saying SHIT for less than 3 orgasms.

riddhima cooolyyyy regarding jeeta-jaata chalta-phirta angre, who thankfully has some sharam for his actions.

she’s like don’t worry, i’m not mad at you, i know vansh put you up to it; and he’s like yeah you know i have zero self respect when it comes to vansh bhai. he says jump, i ask how high.

and she’s like you’re your own person dude. and i hope you’ll one day realize that and do what you think is right, not just what vansh tells you to. DUDE I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY DIDN’T GIVE US THIS RIDDHIMA TILL NOW. 

asdkljlaskjdlaskjdlaskjdlaksjdlkasj vansh speaking chinese was really not necessary but....... lol ok.

wtf even is this black box, dude?????? like.............. you know what, idec anymore. nothing in this show is worth wasting brain cells over.

snort, vansh assures his shady business friends that the black box is in safe hands, and instantly riddhima comes and picks it up from the table.

some sultry talk about love and war as they keep taking the box from each other. lol man you’re both so fucking lame.

anyway he put it in the safe and is being patronizing to her, and she’s like be careful at how you play this........ “kahin meri dukhti ragg pe haath na lag jaaye....” OH DAMN. DUDE. I THINK SHE’S LOST THE BABY OR SOMETHING. IT HAS TO BE SOMETHING THAT’S HURT HER MASSIVELY TO BRING ABOUT SUCH A DRASTIC CHANGE (OTHER THAN THE SHOW MOVING FROM TV TO ONLINE)

asldkjsaldjlskadjlksadjlksajd she’s threatening to tell dadi that he played this whole farce in front of her and he’s like U WOT MATEEEE

anyway both of them smilingly fucking each other up about 6 ghante ka raaz and how the other one will lose. man, y’all need SO MUCH THERAPY.

riddhima’s here talking to stupid shunya fucker; and he’s just laughing and talking about his stupid saxophone.

he’s all only the two of us know about this deal we have, no one else in the worldddddddddd knows......

and she’s like actually................................. there’s a third person.

cut to: MY DIL JAAN JIGAR KA TUDKA KABIR, STILL IN CHAINS, SCREAMING RIDDHIMA’S NAME, AND GROWLING ABOUT HOW VANSH WILL KILL HER WHEN HE FINDS OUT HER SECRET.

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh boy. why did she have to tell vyom that kabir knows? now vyom’s gonna try and kill kabir for sure and i want the reverse to happen!!!!!!!! please god gimme some #kava love where vansh saves kabir from vyom to make up for that one time kabir saved his life from chang!!!!!! i just want my two boys together!!!!!!!!!

precap: same old chutiyapa. vansh got her fingerprints off a glass to open her phone; she tries to steal the black box from his secret room and he catches her. abbe yaaaaaaaaaaaaar. 

[feeling--pink]

Oh boy it’s the start of @ducktober2020 !! :D

I wanted to start big but I still had school today so I played to (what I consider to be) my strengths which is character design so I made the kiddos fall outfits!!! :D

And as per usual I have an explanation for each outfit under the cut! 

~ 

Huey

I like giving Huey sweaters/sweater vests in a slightly different red so I did exactly that!!

I gave my age up design for Huey a sweater vest so I didn’t want to be too close to that so sweater!!

If I could do it again I’d make the sweater more pink but I'm fine with how it turned out!!

Let Huey wear more pink cowards

also didn’t know what to do for a pose so random bag??

Dewey

Dewey is kinda already suited for colder weather so I didn’t want to change much

changed his undershirt to a turtleneck because that’s what I do when it gets colder

His color scheme is kinda wintery so I gave him halloween socks to counter that! 

Also earmuffs because I feel like thats 100% in character no I will not explain

oh right and I wanted to give everybody something for their legs so that was either pants or shoes & socks so that’s a thing!

Louie

gave him pants

Legally speaking, Louie is lazy so therefore I get to be lazier with my character designs

Also I feel like he wouldn’t change much he’s already set for colder weather!! 

I have Huey and Dewey socks & shoes so Louie gets pants

thats how it goes

Webby

This outfit is based off of one of mine! 

I have this really cool long skirt that’s black with green and blue plaid accents so I tried to kinda recreate that but with a more Webby color scheme!

Thought about giving her her usual sweater vest but thought that would be too close to the original

I really like how she turned out though!! :D

Lena

I’ve been thinking about the movie Knives Out recently (idk why either thats just how the brain goes)

Anyways in the movie one of Ana’s outfits includes this really really long scarf draped like so!

Anyways I thought it was really cool and gave it to lena In her original sweater’s color scheme!! 

The rest of her outfit is just simple long sleeves and such ‘cause I wanted the scarf to be the main draw =)

Violet

Violet’s outfit is already suited for fall

So I was like let's just add to it!

I like cardigans a lot so violet get’s a cardigan!! 

I also gave her age up design a cardigan so I felt it made sense!

I also gave her age up a long pleated skirt so to not make it too similar I made it a short pleated skirt!! 

Boyd

Whoops made Boyd really tall in comparison for some reason but let’s not worry about that!! 

I literally just gave him long sleeve versions of his actual outfit

0 other changes

I’m not sure it seems practical since it’s getting a little cooler!!

Boyd already has a nice fall color scheme so I didn’t really need to change much! 

Gosalyn

I’m still getting a hang of drawing Gosalyn

Sorry this one’s so wonky I just didn’t have time to do another

Gosalyn also falls under the “this outfit is already perfect for fall” category

So I was thinking and her original jacket’s green right? What else is green? Leaves. What color do leaves turn in fall? Orange.

Hence the orange flannel!!

Flannel is also very fall so I needed it somewhere!  

So I changed her jacket to orange flannel and her shoes to match! 

Purple and orange is also a halloweeny color scheme so there’s that too!

Okay that’s all I have! Thanks for reading if you made it this far!! See y’all tomorrow!! :D

[scatterpatter]

Story time(again)! Under the cut, cw for nightmares and mentions of body horror

So I was having nightmares last night, no biggie. I think the weird thing is how somewhat vivid they were on top of relevancy to irl- usually nightmares are very vague but I specifically remember 3 major points

The... The cast of Total Drama was there. Yes, I've been binging the series recently because I liked it a lot as a kid and wanted to re-experience it, sue me.

Monsters kept appearing. Most notably some of the ones featured in The Mandela Catalogue and Gemini Home Entertainment. Yeah I get these being recently in my brain and triggered by my episodes but like sue me they're really cool.

Texting my friends- this is actually something I dream about sometimes and when I wake up I have to check whether the conversation actually happened or if it was just a dream. Trippy stuff.

So with that context out of the way, I'm having this nightmare and basically these monsters keep showing up and bugging me and it's not fun. I'm texting my friend Stella at one point and she sends me the word "Snake". Like. Just the word Snake.

Well as I'm trying to wrack my head around why she would send that, another monster appears. Now towards the end of Mandela Catelogue's latest video, Exhibition, we see a still frame of a window with the vague outline of what looks like some humanoid creature outside. It's tall, slender, and way too tall for a human, and even appears to unnaturally bend over so its head can still be seen in the window- very candy cane type of shape, as silly as that sounds

Well, that creature spawns and like. That's fun.

At this point I had a mental record scratch as minor lucidity kicked in. You see whenever I go lucid, I often have a sort of... dream entity that is sort of me, but acts as though he and I are separate beings, and will often talk to me directly in lucid dreams. I call him Hyde and he's cool actually :)

Anyways, at this point Hyde shows up and is like "Okay woah woah woah. Like I get it, you're scary, but I'm just trying to figure out how the fuck Stella saying ~Snake~ triggered you to spawn??? Like sure I get it you're long slender and can bend like that but you still don't look anything like a snake so like how did that trigger you to spawn what the fuck-"

At that point the creature suddenly rushed at him, and by extension me, and just did a big jumpscare in our faces

To which Hyde rolled his eyes as if he were dealing with a tantrum-ing toddler and not a horrifying monster and goes "Oh, shut the fuck up!" And even??? Has the balls to sock the monster in its face(?) to get it to back off?????

I don't remember much of what happened after that but like

Anyways per usual this is Hyde Appreciation Post... Hyde my lucid dream buddy not Hyde as in Jekyll And

[yourdeepestfathoms]

You Say Stuff Is Way, Way Too Go, Go Away

five times Orla caused a disruption and thought she was messed up for doing so, and one time someone assured her she wasn’t

ft. Good Big Cousin Erin

also: title from Stuff Is Way

TW: Vomit

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

1.

  “I don’t like it, okay!?”

James’s outburst took everyone by surprise. His face flamed red as he began to shout in anger, spitting awful words about how terrible fried food was. Not that anyone expected anything less from a Brit.

  “It’s too greasy! It’s much, much too greasy!!”

Underneath all the yelling, there was a whimper. It went unheard by everyone, however, as all the attention was turned on James.

  “Even the smell of it makes me physically sick!!”

Silence.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Fionnula,” Michelle said. Then, in James’s ear, she hissed, “You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

  “Get him out of here!” Fionnula ordered.

In a muttering, awkward heap, the girls (and Brit) began to file out--

  “Oi!” Fionnula barked. “You forgot one!”

The gang stopped, turned around, and that’s when they finally noticed that Orla was on the floor, huddled in the corner between the wall and the counter, with her hands clamped firmly over her ears.

  “Orla, let’s go.” Michelle said.

Orla didn’t move, though. She just scrunched her eyes shut and curled her fingers into her hair. She looked like she was in pain.

  “Oh shit,” Erin muttered, then darted down to Orla’s side. She didn’t touch her cousin, rather let her hands hover over Orla’s lanky body, which she realized was wracked with trembles. “Orla. Orla, hey, it’s Erin.”

Orla pried one eye open, glanced at her, then slammed it shut again. A tiny whimper escaped her lips, and a piece of Erin’s heart broke off.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Erin told her. “Can I touch you, Orla? Is that okay?”

Orla nodded, and Erin had her securely in her arms a moment later. Orla nuzzled against her, but kept her hands placed firmly over her ears. James yelling must have set her off.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Erin murmured, stroking Orla’s unruly curls the way she knew her cousin liked. “Everything is okay… James startled you, didn’t he?”

Orla nodded wordlessly and buried her face against Erin’s chest. Due to her height, she was having to lean down, practically laying on Erin, but neither cousin seemed to mind the position.

Fionnula, however, did mind, and did not appreciate the scene that was going on in her restaurant.

  “What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” The woman said impatiently.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Erin snapped. “It’s not the end of the goddamn world if we linger around for a moment! My little cousin is freaking out! Have some respect, will you!?” Then, in a quiet, soothing voice to Orla when she flinched and whimpered, “Shh, shh. Not you, Orla. I’m sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Orla made a tiny noise in response. Erin tucked her head underneath her chin and held her closer, rocking her in slow, gentle motions.

  “You still like being rocked, right?” Erin asked quietly.

Orla nodded.

  “Wonderful. Just making sure.”

They remained there on the floor for awhile, ignoring all the stares and whispers they were receiving. Erin might have cared a little more if it weren’t her baby cousin in her arms. 

  “Are you okay?” Erin asked after a few minutes of silence. “Feeling any better?” Orla slowly uncurled herself from Erin, pulling her hands away from her ears. She looked tired and shaken, but slightly less traumatized.  

  “We can sit a while longer if you need,” Erin told her.

Orla shook her head and slowly stood up. She nearly toppled right over, but Erin leapt to her feet and steadied her.

  “Take it easy, love,” Erin said, and the pet name slipped out without her even thinking about it. “No need to rush.”

Orla looked at her, blinking her bleary golden brown eyes, then latched onto her hand. Erin stroked her knuckles gingerly as she led her out of the building.

To their credit, Michelle, Clare, and James waited a moment before bombarding the cousins with questions. Unfortunately, “a moment” seemed to be more like a millisecond because there were suddenly a barrage of comments spewing out of eager mouths. Erin gave her friends an evil warning glare when Orla whimpered in distress at their volume.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Clare apologized for her and the other two. “We’re just worried.”

  “You sound like you want to hear the latest news,” Erin said.

  “Can you blame us?” James said. “That was the most eventful thing to happen this week! What was that?”

Orla shifted uncomfortably. The discomfort on her face wasn’t an expression she usually wore, and when Michelle noticed it, she added for James, “He means you can tell us when you’re ready.”

  “Better.” Erin said. She squeezed Orla’s hand. “Maybe some other time, okay? I’m gonna get Orla home. She’s tired.”

Orla nodded and rested her chin on Erin’s head, letting her eyelids flutter shut. It wasn’t an act to get away from the questions, she genuinely looked exhausted- both mentally and physically.

There was a scattering of agreements from the other three before Erin began to walk Orla down the street.

  “Do you think Orla will be better by the time I steal that notice board from Fionnula’s shop?” 

Clare and James whip their heads around to Michelle.

  “WHAT?”

2.

Orla wasn’t sure what woke her up- her brain not wanting to stay asleep any longer or the buzz in her head. Probably both.

It took everything in Orla not to whine out loud when she realized that buzz was an oncoming migraine. Of course. 

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was in Erin’s bed, per usual (she never slept in her own bed) nestled in a burrow of blankets. Erin was still asleep, sprawled out on her back with her mouth open slightly. If that John guy saw her like this, snoring softly and drooling ever so slightly, he would probably run for the hills. Orla giggled softly at that image, and that small sound rebounded uncomfortably through her head.

Footsteps made Orla perk up a little. They were a little distant, but someone was definitely awake. After waiting a few minutes, Orla released her head from the grip her hands had on it and got up, too.

Simply walking down the short staircase was difficult with Orla’s increasingly intense headache. She stopped on the third step and had to take a deep breath before continuing on. Luckily, she got downstairs without any injury.

When she got to the bottom step, she saw the kitchen lights on and her Aunt Mary heating up a kettle on the stove. The woman looked surprised, but smiled warmly when she noticed the girl.

   “Good morning,” She said, “You’re up early.”

Orla waved and then shrugged, padding across the hardwood with her fluffy socks. She peered at the kettle curiously, like she was expecting a rose to sprout out from the lid. Mary studied her thoughtfully.

   “Do you have any preference for breakfast?” Mary asked.

Orla shook her head. She would eat anything. Although, right now, her head was pounding enough to make her lose her appetite.

   “Can I help?” Orla asked after a moment.

   “Of course!” Mary said, pleasantly surprised. “You can start the eggs.”

Orla nodded. Mary made friendly conversation with the girl as the two of them began to cook breakfast, though Orla wasn’t much of a talker. Even if she was, Orla’s migraine began to get worse and worse until she wasn’t able to pay attention at all anymore.

   “Orla? Orla!”

Orla reeled backwards, hissing in pain. She had no idea what Mary was yelling about until she noticed the egg in the pan was smoking. She ogled the pan with wide eyes, hands fumbling, and Mary had to turn off the burner for her.

  “Orla, what has gotten into you?” Mary said, looking at the girl. “Maybe you should sleep in some more?”

Orla shook her head and backed away. She lifted her hands and squeezed her skull between her palms, like she was trying to keep a headache at bay. Mary noticed, along with the fact that something was very wrong, so she helped the girl over to the couch so she could sit down.

  “Are you alright?” Mary asked, setting a hand on Orla’s back.

Orla shrugged. 

   “What’s wrong, honey?” Mary tried asking something else, keeping her voice low.

Orla hesitated, then gestured vaguely for her head.

  “Your head hurts?”

Orla nodded.

  “I see,” Mary frowned. She thought for a moment, then began to rub Orla’s head comfortingly.

Orla’s gaze snapped up at her with wide eyes. Mary quickly pulled her hand back.

  “Sorry.” Mary said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to be touched.”

Orla tapped the top of her head. Mary furrowed her eyebrows.

  “But I thought--”

Orla tapped more, so Mary put her hand back on her head, rubbing gently.

Orla pressed into the touch, closing her eyes in bliss. The pain from the headache began to melt away with each stroke over her skull, soothing her. She couldn’t help the content cooing noises she began to make.

Mary chuckled. “You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Orla nodded. She keeled over into Mary’s lap and rolled over onto her back like a puppy seeking pets. She grabbed her aunt’s hand and placed it back on her head, even making rubbing motions like she was reminding her what to do. She sighed happily when the affection resumed.

  “So much for starting breakfast,” Mary chuckled lightly.

3.

The ride back to the house wasn’t very fun for anyone: Michelle, who was trying very hard not to swerve off the road because she was a tiny bit tipsy (don’t drink and drive, kids!); Clare, who was simply still reeling from what had happened at Jenny Joyce’s party; James, who was moping because he missed the one chance he would ever get to lose his virginity; Erin, who was stewing in embarrassment after all her accusations; and Katya, who had to sit with all of them in the same cramped car. But most of all, Orla, who could feel her stomach roiling as Michelle swerved haphazardly down a turn in the street.

  “Erin,” Orla leaned forward to the passenger seat and tugged on her cousin’s sleeve with one hand, holding her stomach with the other. “I don’t feel good…” 

Erin snapped her head around to her. “I thought you said you could handle it.” She whispered as if this discussion was some type of super secret spy mission, although Orla did appreciate her not shouting it to the rooftops.

  “Mm-mmm,” Orla shook her head. She moved her hand from Erin’s sleeve to her stomach with the other.

Erin looked around at the dark road the car was speeding down. “Can’t you, like, hold it in?”

Orla swallowed thickly, trying to reign in her growing nausea, but could only shrug as an answer because she truly didn’t know.

  “She doesn’t need to piss, Erin,” Michelle said not-so-secretly. “She needs to boke. There is a huge difference.”

  “Yeah, one is not so easy to hold in,” Clare added.

  “Thank you for your addition, Clare,” Michelle said. “We all definitely did not already know that.”

  “If you vomit on me I will bust your nose in.” Katya said coldly to Orla, who shrunk away with a tiny whimper.

  “Why did you eat so much if you knew you were going to be sick?” James asked Orla.

  “It seems she always eat that much.” Katya observed. There was a hint of cruelty in her words as she smirked slightly and said, “Like a pig.”

  “Oi! Don’t call her that, you bitch!” Michelle snapped, jerking around to glare at Katya (and not paying attention to the road at all).

  “Watch what you say,” Erin hissed.

  “What?” Katya said innocently. “I only say truth.”

  “THE truth,” Erin corrected. “And it is not the truth! Just because Orla likes to eat doesn’t mean she’s a pig.”

  “Erin…” Orla moaned, hugging her stomach even tighter. A sudden rush of saliva filled her mouth.

  “Sounds like the definition of pig to me,” Katya said. She peered at Orla, apparently not noticing how pale she had gotten. “She even has chocolate still on her face. And shirt. And hands.”

  “That means nothing.” Erin said dismissively.

  “Erin…” Orla called out weakly again, but it still went unheard.

  “Oh really? So you are allowed to insult me and call me prostitute, but I cannot say a word about your pig of a cousin?” Katya said.

  “Stop calling her that!” Erin growled. “She’s not! You aren’t allowed to talk about my family that way, ESPECIALLY my little cousin!”

  “Erin!!” Orla wailed.

  “What?!” Erin whipped around to Orla.

And that’s when Orla threw up all over herself.

Naturally, the rest of the ride was driven in silence. Nobody really knew what else to say, so they all just stared forward as if one of them weren’t covered in her own vomit. They dealt with the smell by rolling down the windows and spoke nothing of it until Michelle parked outside the Quinn house.

  “Night,” Michelle muttered. Clare and James echoed her phrase as Erin got out of the passenger seat and Katya climbed over James to go out the other door. Orla almost crumpled right out of the car, but managed to catch herself. Vomit poured down her legs from where it had been congealing in her lap for the past seven minutes.

  “Erin,” She whimpered, staring teary-eyed at her cousin.

  “It’s okay, Orla,” Erin told her. “Just get it out.”

  “It really is not.” Katya said helpfully and Orla threw up again. Erin shot Katya a burning glare.

  “Will you shut the fuck up?” Erin snarled. She went to Orla’s side and held her hair out of the way, ignoring how her fingers grasped tightly onto bile and digested chocolate marshmallow-soaked locks. 

  “No, because you did not at party.” Katya said. “Why should I?”

  “Because my little cousin is SICK and you are just a BITCH, and so help me god I will STICK MY FIST so far up your ass that you will TASTE the coconut lotion I put on a few hours ago!!” Erin roared.

That was what got Erin’s family (and some old woman she vaguely recognized) to come storming out to see what the commotion was. And, boy, was it a sight. Michelle speeding off down the road before anything could be linked to her, a very pissed off Erin and Ukrainian, and Orla, who was covered in vomit.

  “What is going on here?!” Mary yelled.

  “I couldn’t handle it,” Orla gurgled, and then threw up again.

4.

The gang arrived at the bus stop with Orla clinging to Erin’s hand like it was her lifeline. Orla had an expression of discomfort and uneasy on her face and she kept leaning down to bury her face against Erin’s hair like she was trying to hide. Something was wrong.

  “What’s up, fuckers?” Michelle greeted them. She had a wide smirk, but her eyes kept glancing over at Orla with obvious worry.

  “Nothing much,” Erin replied. “Orla’s going nonverbal today.”

Clare and Michelle nodded knowingly, sympathy suddenly oozing into their gazes. James blinked, looking slightly confused.

  “But she’s usually nonverbal?” The Brit said, then got elbowed in the ribs by Michelle. “Ow!! I was just asking!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Michelle hissed lowly. She looked at Orla. “Ignore him, doll. He’s being stupid.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t mean it,” Clare added.

Orla nodded slightly. She buried her nose against Erin’s blonde locks and kept it there until the bus pulled up. When they all crowded inside the vehicle, she would shudder in an awful way when someone’s arm would brush against her side or back. She seemed uncomfortable when someone other than her cousin would touch her.

Orla curled against Erin when they sat down, sandwiched securely against her older cousin and the window. Erin eased her to completely lay down in the seat, her head resting in her lap, brown curls sprawled out all over her thighs. Erin rubbed her back comfortingly, humming softly to help soothe her further.

  “Is she okay?” James asked quietly when Orla had fallen asleep. Even with all the bumps on the road, the young girl didn’t wake up. 

  “She will be,” Erin answered. “I think it’s a burnout. So she’s pretty tired.”

  “What caused it?” Michelle asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all.” Erin sighed and combed her fingers through Orla’s hair. “Don’t give her a hard time today, please?”

The other three nodded.

The group soon fell silent for the rest of the bus ride, either staring out the window or watching the semi-peaceful face of the youngest in the gang. Erin’s hand never stopped stroking Orla’s hair for the entirety of the trip to school, and when they finally arrived, she was hesitant to wake her cousin up.

  “Hey, Ors,” Erin shook Orla’s shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Orla’s eyes fluttered open. They looked darker than usual, weighed down by exhaustion and emotional fatigue. She blinked slowly at Erin.

  “We’re at school, lovely,” Michelle said. “Unfortunately.”

Orla nodded and sat up. Erin helped her out of the bus, squeezing her hand comfortingly, while Michelle, Clare, and James followed like protective guard dogs. They all walked into the main hall for announcements, and Orla was instantly set off by the closed space.

  “I know, Orla, I know,” Erin murmured when Orla whimpered in distress. “It’s going to be okay. It won’t last long.”

Orla stepped closer to Erin, practically pressed against her, but Erin didn’t seem to mind. She was more than happy to wrap her free arm securely around her little cousin to help her feel more protected.

Announcements soon began. Sister Michael’s voice boomed loudly through the microphone, causing poor Orla even more discomfort. Orla whimpered again and released Erin’s hand to cover her ears.

  “E-Erin…” Orla croaked. Her voice was tight and pitched with anxiety.

  “Breathe, Orla.” Erin instructed. “Breathe. It’s okay. It’s almost over.”

  “N-no--” Orla gasped. “It’s too loud-- Erin, it’s too loud--” She crumpled to her knees, keening a strange kind of distress call, and rocked back and forth.

Girls started to turn and stare at the spectacle. Sister Michael stopped talking and pursed her lips with a mixed expression of annoyance, confusion, curiosity, and concern. Erin lunged down to Orla’s side and clasped her hands over Orla’s own to further help muffle the noise. Orla collapsed against her, sobbing into her chest. The poor thing was shaking so badly.

  “Shh, shh,” Erin murmured. “It’s okay, Orla. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Orla released her ears and clung tightly to Erin with her nails dug in. She was gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack, and she may as well have been with her symptoms. She kept whimpering and whining in elongated cries that cut Erin’s heart into tiny pieces. Erin held her tighter.

  “Try to focus on my heartbeat,” Erin instructed, pressing Orla’s head to her chest. “Can you hear that, Orla? It’s my heart. Use that to ground yourself. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “God, Erin,” Someone scoffed from nearby. Erin recognized it as Tina o’Connell. “Can’t you tame your retard?”

Michelle, James, and Clare froze in shock. Orla whimpered. Erin looked up slowly with an expression of murder in her eyes.

  “Michelle. Take Orla.” Erin said, not breaking eye contact with Tina. When Michelle swooped in and brought Orla into her arms, she stood up and then began undressing. First, her scarf. Then, her blazer, tie, necklace, and ponytail. And then she threw herself at Tina in a flying tackle, screeching like an enraged banshee and swinging her fists in a whirlwind.

Pandemonium instantly broke out inside the room. Girls began to shout, a large crowd formed, nuns and teachers rushed over, and Erin and Tina fought violently on the floor like a pair of pissed off cats. James, Clare, and Michelle watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

  “Your cousin is kicking ASS.” Michelle whispered to Orla. She began to tenderly stroke her hair like Erin had been doing. “You’re definitely gonna be okay, Ors. We’ve got you.”

It wasn’t long before Sister Michael broke through the crowd and ripped Tina and Erin apart with ease. Both girls were scratched up and Tina had a busted lip, but luckily there wasn’t much damage done. Unluckily for Erin, though, because she had wanted to beat that little bitch into a bloody pulp.

  “She came after me for no reason!” Tina exclaimed once they were all dragged into Sister Michael’s office. 

  “No reason?!” Erin barked a harsh laugh. “She called my cousin a--!!” She glanced at Orla hanging onto her and then lowered her sharp tone of voice. She leaned in to Sister Michael. “She called my little cousin a retard. Was I supposed to just stand there and let her get away with that? While Orla was having a sensory overload? It isn’t her fault she reacted that way!”

Sister Michael looked at Orla, who hasn’t looked up from the floor since they entered. Both of her hands are grasping onto Erin’s arms and she had her face pressed against Erin’s neck like she was trying to hide. Tear stains were still glistening on her cheeks from when she had been crying.

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael asked Tina.

  “I--”

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael repeated firmly.

Tina hissed underneath her breath and then grumbled, “Yes, Sister.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Sister Michael said. “Such language will not be tolerated in my school.”

  “But she and her friends say stuff like that all the time!” Tina cried.

  “They have never said such a disgraceful, disgusting, hurtful slur before.” Sister Michael said. “They may be hooligans out to drive me mad, but they aren’t savages. They know better. Unlike you.” 

Tina sputtered, but wasn’t able to come up with a good reply. Erin had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

  “A week suspension should give you enough time to think about what you’ve done,” Sister Michael said. “Now, out with you. Wait in the hall while I call your mother.”

Tina opened and closed her mouth several times, but wasn’t able to come up with something to say, so she stormed out in anger. Sister Michael waited a moment and then looked at the cousins. When she spoke, her voice was strangely soft.

  “Is she alright?” She asked.

Erin glanced at Orla, who didn’t glance back at her. She lifted a hand and cupped the side of Orla’s head protectively.

  “She will be,” Erin said. “The noise set her off. But she wasn’t having a good day to begin with.”

  “I see,” Sister Michael nodded. “Is she okay to go back to class or would she like to sit down for a while longer to recover?”

Erin looked at Orla again, who didn’t seem to be in any shape to learn anything.

  “I think we’ll wait a moment longer.”

Sister Michael nodded and gestured for the couch in her office. Erin guided Orla over to it and they both sat down.

  “Oh, and girls,” Sister Michael said. “If Orla is ever feeling unwell again, stop by my office. It’s quiet in here. She can stay until she calms down.”

5.

When it came to her issues, Erin, believe it or not, was the most patient. Erin repeated over and over, made Orla look at her eyes or her mouth, asked Orla to repeat, to show her that she remembered.

It was strange. Erin was sometimes the one to lash out the most, although she had her reasons and they were very good ones.

A lioness waiting to pounce. That was what Erin reminded Orla of.

(Orla tried to get herself to stop comparing to animals, but that sort of failed because she was still doing it. As seen here.)

Regardless, Erin was smart in a way Orla wished she could be.

(She tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about people being better at things than she is. She knew how those thoughts caught like hooks in her fish-mouth brain and tug and tug and tug and tug until she broke the surface, struggling to breathe.)

Clare and Michelle are usually good. They love Orla enough to not snap at her when she loudly goes “Huh?” for the fifth time in a row. They dealt with her strange mannerisms and comments as if everyone acted like she did. They played along with her when her brain made her skin feel like it was too tight. Michelle let her mess with her hair and jewelry for hours and Clare simplified things that might have been too much to take in.

They’re good with that. Orla loved them so much.

(She loved them enough to let them be, to pull herself away, to shut herself away in herself as best she can when she finds-- when she realized she’s not--

When she saw the clench of Michelle’s jaw and the twitch of Clare’s nose and the way they glance at each other, and it’s never mean, it’s never intentional, it’s just…

Orla knows herself enough to know when she’s too much, and she loves them enough to spare them the discomfort of having to actually tell her she’s too much, to figure out how to explain that she’s overstepped, to put into words that they have limits.

People have limits. Orla tried not to push them. She does.)

James is still new, and he’s doing his best, he really is, but it’s the adults who are the least patient. Adults try, they always try. Orla liked that they tried. But adults get a pinch between their eyebrows after the third time they repeat an explanation, like they’re starting to wonder if Orla is just being a little shit. Adults are quick to get annoyed, or to fake annoyance, and sometimes Orla can’t tell the difference. Sometimes it feels like there is no difference.

Still, she dealt with it. She always did. Always oblivious, air headed, Orla who doesn’t know better, who doesn’t know what she’s saying, who doesn’t know how to act like a normal person.

She didn’t know where this was coming from or how to stop it. She couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore it, impossible to block it out, impossible to disagree with the things it made her think about.

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it--

Everything became too much. Orla was too overwhelmed. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating, burning.

She felt like she was dying.

Erin had had enough of all of this when she found Orla collapsed in her bedroom, keening in pain. She kept saying over and over again that the lights were too bright, distant noises were too loud, her clothes were too tight. She had somehow managed to claw open her shirt around the sleeves and stomach before she was in her current position. Curled up and biting herself.

Before Erin came rushing in, noises from outside in the house were all encompassing, rattling Orla’s skull, eardrums threatening to burst. She squeezed her eyes closed, covered her ears, rocked frantically with her head bent to her knees in an effort to block it all out. But no matter what she did, she can’t, and that’s it.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let out a loud, pained, keening noise as she cracked her head back hard against the wall behind her, digging it in firmly when she sank to the floor. She clawed at her shirt like fire ants were crawling all over her, desperately trying to get it off but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. The material tears, eventually, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck.

Her head shook hard, side to side, side to side, repeat. She swore she can feel her brain trying to detach and fly out her nose. Her hands snapped to her scalp, pulling harshly on her hair and god-fucking-dammit, it’s still not enough. Her fingers left her hair with one last tug, loose strands of curly brown hair stuck between them, and balled into tight fists to strike down on the sides of her head. She pushed her feet firmly into the floor, thrashed and squirmed in the corner.

Nothing is enough nothing is enough why is this happening nothing is enough--

She slammed her feet down harder, dug the heels into the floor until her thighs ached. Then, she lifted one arm and clamped down hard and firm on her wrist with her teeth. Her other hand found her hair again, this time not tugging but holding it in a death grip and staying there.

She stayed like this, rocking and writhing and biting at her wrist with tears rolling down her cheeks, for what feels like forever. All she knew is she can still feel it- the lingering, bone-deep pain of the noises, eyes sore like she’s looked at the sun too long.

That’s when Erin rushed in. She had heard the commotion from downstairs.

The sight terrified Erin, to say the least. Watching her baby cousin spasm and sob and bite herself like a rabid dog made her blood run cold with fear. She snapped into action almost instantly, practically gaining wings due to her panic.

Orla didn’t register Erin as Erin. She didn’t even register her as a human being, just a presence she felt nearby. The touch she began to feel on her body, however, made her whimper in fright. First on her stomach, grazing lightly over scratches she knew she had carved in the flesh, then her head, where strands of hair had been pulled out, next her shoulder, over more angry red claw marks, and finally her wrist, with blood dripping down freckled skin. The hand was gentle with each prod, which was the only reason why Orla didn’t scream. She even relaxed into it a few times, almost cooing through her painful sobs.

But then fingers wrapped around her wrist and she bit down on them.

Erin hissed on pain, flinching backwards a little. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

   “Orla,” She said softly, despite the pain. “Orla, let go. Let go. It’s just me.” She felt like she was speaking to a dog rather than a human being.

Orla showed no sign of hearing her. Her eyes were glassy, blank, and glazed over, which terrified Erin even more. Her cousin looked more dead than alive at this point.

   “Orla,” Erin tried again. “Orla, babes, it’s me. It’s Erin. I need you to let go.”

Orla’s eyes flickered up a little for a moment before darting back down. Her entire body shuddered and she bit down harder for some kind of grounding. Erin had to grit her own teeth to keep from screaming as it felt like her fingers were about to detach from her hand.

   “Orla--”

She winced at the increasing pressure. The skin broke open and blood filled Orla’s mouth.

That’s what snapped her out of her trance.

The girl lurched backwards with enough force to make the wall rattle when her spine connected with it. Erin ripped her hand back and shook it in the air to try and ebb some of the pain. There were marks left on her fingers, scarlet at the center and purple all around them. She hissed, shaking her hand again.

Meanwhile, Orla looked to be completely out of it. Her head was lolling back and forth across the wall, Erin’s blood still wet on her lips. Her tongue instinctively flicked out and her entire face contorted into a grimace. She blinked once, twice, then saw the bruising already forming on her cousin’s hand.

Orla was guilty, to say the least. She would not stop apologizing for two days and couldn’t even look Erin in the eye out of shame for what she had done. Erin, however, constantly told her it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t mad. But it didn’t make it better. Orla still felt horrible for hurting her cousin.

That’s all she seemed to do. Mess up. Because SHE was messed up.

+1

While at the market getting groceries, Erin noticed Orla staring at something. She shimmied over with the heavy cart and realized it was some kind of toy in the window of a store. 

  “Like that?” Erin asked with a light chuckle.

Orla nodded. “It looks so soft…” 

Erin laughed.

Orla didn’t ask for the toy, rather just kept glancing back at it as they walked away. Erin watched her, and then a lightbulb lit up in her head.

  “Mammy, I need some money.” Erin told her mother when she got home.

  “Absolutely not.” Mary said instantly. “You already almost went over today.”

  “No, it’s not--” Erin looked around, then whispered, “It’s not for me, Mammy.”

  “Oh, is Michelle having you buy alcohol, now?”

  “It’s for Orla.”

Mary faltered. “Orla?”

  “Yes.” Erin nodded. “She hasn’t been well lately. I know you’ve seen it. And when we were at the market, she kept looking at this thing in one of the stores. I wanted to get it for her because it might cheer her up and--”

Some money was placed in Erin’s hands. Erin blinked in shock that that worked and looked up at her mother. Mary smiled.

  “Go get Orla’s thing.” Mary said.

Erin lit up. “Thank you, Mammy!!”

An hour later, Erin returned home from the market, barely able to suppress her giddy grin.

  “Orla!” She called. “Orla, where are you?”

Orla peeked out from the kitchen and Erin hurried over with her hands behind her back. 

  “I have something for you,” Erin said excitedly. 

Orla tilted her head and Erin held out the ostrich beanie baby. Orla’s eyes went wide, mouth opening in a quiet gasp. She tentatively grabbed the stuffed animal and turned it over like she was trying to make sure it was real, then held it close to her chest. 

  “Like it?” Erin smiled.

Orla nodded rapidly. Erin laughed.

  “I’m glad! I hope it’ll help, Ors. I know you’ve been a bit unwell lately. I just wanted to get you something so you’ll know you aren’t a burden or something. Because you aren’t.”

Orla’s eyes glistened, and then she sprung forward and hugged Erin tightly.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter eighteen 

-Move on-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen

Chapter Summary: Some news reach Margate. Alfie is less than pleased. 

Wordcount: 4700

Warnings: hallucinations, disordered eating, panic attacks 

Other: a tiny bit of nsfw content in this 

As per his new routine, because Lord forbid anything is ever easy, Alfie wakes up in the middle of the night, shirt sticking to his back and with a groan caught in his throat. Tommy is plastered against him, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest and face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm little puffs of air blow against his skin as he breathes and one of his legs is slung over Alfie’s hip. That definitely weren’t there when they went to sleep. But he’s migrated even closer during the night, craving the warmth. And yeah that leg? That’s definitely a fucking problem.

Alfie finds himself breathing too harshly, heart beating loudly in his ears, can almost feel the blood pulsating through his entire body.

Carefully, he inches Tommy away from him until he can safely climb out of bed. To hide in the bathroom. Doesn’t even dare fucking breathing until he’s locked the door. Then he lets the water from the faucet run cold and splashes it over his flushed face.

He doesn’t remember the dreams. Rarely does. Only in those dazed moments right when he opens his eyes, when he’s not entirely aware it was a dream at all and Tommy’s warm body is pressed up against him, further blurring the lines. But the hard cock pulsing between his legs is all the reminder he needs.

Fuck.

He leans heavily against the sink. Closes his eyes and thinks of that list he made -sour milk, wet socks, thorny bushes- but it doesn’t really work tonight, he’s too far gone already.

When he wraps his fingers around his cock, he tries to at least picture someone else, some other pretty thing, with… green eyes perhaps. Lighter hair.

It’s useless of course, trying to be logical about it. His body knows what it wants. And with the arousal clouding his mind like warm, heavy fog, all he can think of is Tommy.

He comes so hard he doubles over, hanging onto the sink as his hips move into it.

The return to the real, logical world afterwards is as brutal as always. What fucking business does he have indulging in behaviour like this? He’s not an animal, bound to give in to his baser instincts. And now he’s fucking stuck in here, because it’s too much to handle, the thought of opening that door and getting back into bed next to Tommy, or worse yet, finding him awake and terrified because he’s been left alone. Looking at him with those big eyes of his, trusting Alfie to hold him until the nightmares fade again without any ulterior motives or indecent thoughts.

Then again just leaving him alone out there for the rest of the night isn’t an option either.

He unlocks the door and stands there with a hand on the doorknob, stuck between a rock and a hard place. He closes his eyes and thinks of black mould- Tommy’s face, lips parted, long lashes resting on pale cheeks.

Alfie draws himself bath.

Lying there in the hot water at least wrings the tension from his muscles, always something. And his thoughts clear slightly. He’s skilled at compartmentalizing. No use in lingering on mistakes past, right? He just needs some time to breathe and then he can go back out there and focus his energy on nursing his poor bird back to health. Can even pretend it was all a fucking dream. Maybe he sleep walked and just ended up here in the bathroom and decided to have a soak while he was at it? Entirely possible.

But this was the last time. Last fucking time-

There’s a knock on the door.

“Alfie?”

He clears his throat before answering, “Yeah? I’m here. Just having a bath.”

Which makes him reflect upon the fact that it’s indeed a strange fucking thing, taking a bath in the middle of the night.

Tommy, predictably, says nothing.

“Needed it to help with… back pain,” he calls then. Which isn’t a complete lie. Silence. He thinks of Tommy standing out there, wrapped in his blanket and staring at the door, terrified of some otherworldly spectre Alfie’s left him alone with. He pinches the bridge of his nose, silently congratulates God on having a wonderful fucking sense of humour, and calls, “You can come in. Door’s not locked. And I’m all decent. Or at least covered in suds.”

The door opens and in steps Tommy, unruly locks sticking up at odd angles and with the trusty blanket firmly clasped against his chest. Alfie checks again to make sure the water is adequately soapy in the right places.

“You need something, eh?”

Tommy’s eyes are a bit too wide. Darts in various direction. Alfie doesn’t much care for the idea that he might be sharing this room with a ghost right at this very moment. He motions towards the chair where he usually sits to make sure Tommy doesn’t drown while he’s bathing.

“You can sit over there. If you don’t want to be alone. Just got to warm up my joints for a bit and then we’ll go back to bed, alright?”

Tommy closes the door before seating himself on the chair, back turned against him. Alfie sinks a bit deeper into the bath. The room is laden with strange tension. Because even though they’ve been in plenty of strange situations together, this new one beats all of them.

“Baths truly are one of the very good things in life, eh?” he mutters, to break the silence. “Good for many things, aren’t they? Aching joints and bones. Warding off sickness. Or just be a nice, completely useless and unproductive activity one can indulge in.”

Tommy has pulled both feet off the floor, always needs to make himself as small as possible.

He glances quickly over his shoulder at Alfie.

“Yeah, yeah, still here. Promise I’m not vanishing into thin air.”

Tommy is fidgeting with the blanket.

The strange mood in the room lingers. Alfie listens to the droplets from the faucet as they hit the water. Tries to come up with something to say, any useless story, true or not, will do, but his brain seems to have shut down. On his chair, Tommy is so laden with tension that he vibrates with it.

“Fine, fucking hell, come here,” he says and waves Tommy over as he glances over his shoulder, puzzled. “Not into the fucking tub obviously. But you can sit here if you’d like.” He motions towards the general area right next to the tub. It’ll all around make for an even more awkward situation but he doesn’t fancy having to climb out of the bath and help Tommy down from a full on panic attack. This is the better option.

Tommy obeys, doesn’t even bring the chair, just pads over on bare feet and curls up on the floor next to the tub. And fuck it, he likes what he likes. Seems to help, too. Being closer. He stops his incessant fidgeting, some of the tension drains from his shoulders. Things are even somewhat… nice. For a while.

But eventually, Alfie has to get out of the bath. Can’t stay here until he dissolves. Even if that might be preferable. He puts both hands on the edge and braces himself.

“Right, I’m getting out. If you don’t want an eyeful you’ll have to close them. Your eyes, that is,” he tells Tommy. “Yeah? I mean you’re of course free to leave the room but I’m assuming you don’t want that?”

Tommy nods and obediently squeezes his eyes shut. Puts his hands in front of them too, a gesture which is far more adorable than it should be.

Alfie takes yet another moment to gather himself. This might be a new record as for strange and mildly humiliating situations he’s put himself in. Never been that bothered about modesty before, it’s just that it’s… Tommy. He first heaves himself upright and then carefully steps out of the bath, holding onto the sink for support just to be on the safe side. Thankfully all of his body, even the parts that don’t always function that well in situations like these, decides to cooperate and there are no falling incidents. He grabs a towel and dries himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Putting on the sweat drenched clothes doesn’t seem very tempting, so he just leaves those where they lie.

“Right, all clear. Somewhat. Think we can end this little midnight escapade and go back to bed.”

Tommy opens his eyes and stares up at him. Blinks slowly and looks utterly exhausted.

“Go on,” Alfie says and nods towards the door. When Tommy still doesn’t move, he grabs his arm with one hand, the other firmly holding onto the towel, and pulls him to his feet.

Suddenly Tommy is very close. Alfie finds himself holding onto him. Some learned instinct, perhaps, knowing Tommy is so often unsteady on his feet, prone to fainting even now when his food intake has increased ever so slightly.

Tommy’s eyes are trained on his chest.

Alfie can feel his pulse pattering under his fingers, hidden away under the soft skin on his thin wrist. Or perhaps it’s his own?

Fucking hell.

This close, he can count every freckle on Tommy’s cheeks. There are a few of those now, the meagre hours of sunlight eventually adding up to bring them out. A smattering of pale spots over his cheeks and nose. He wonders if Tommy thinks about them. If he likes them or not. Some people are so particular about freckles, aren’t they?

He flinches when a cold hand suddenly ghosts over his chest. Tommy flinches too, stares up at him with wide eyes, but doesn’t have the sense to take the hand away.

What the hell do you think you’re up to? is what he should ask.

“Yeah, ‘s from the war, innit? Shrapnel,” he says instead. Tommy is watching the scarring on the left side of his chest. Nods. Trails his finger along one of the scars.

“Your hands always this cold?” Alfie asks and catches the hand before Tommy can move it away. Holds it against his chest, over his heart.

“You’re warm,” Tommy whispers. Inches a bit closer. Eyes still on his chest, trailing lower in a way that should make him feel uncomfortable or at the very least… scrutinized but doesn’t. Instead it lights a stack of hot coals in the pit of his stomach. Tommy’s lips are parted ever so slightly, he’s so close Alfie can feel his breath on his skin. “You’re always warm.”

“Yeah, blood runs that way,” he says. Rubs his thumb over his bony knuckles. Along the fingers, each and every one of them. “Could just be you that’s very cold.”

Tommy inches a bit closer yet, gravitates towards him. As if he does feel cold and wants to warm himself. So close that if Alfie just bowed his head a little, put a finger under Tommy’s chin to make him look up-

His eyes catch on the jagged scar, barely visible under the hair now, but still there.

He releases Tommy’s hand and brushes past him, setting for the door.

“Right, should probably get some more sleep, yeah?”

Tommy lingers in the bathroom, doesn’t come out until Alfie’s already pulled on a clean set of underwear and gotten himself back under the covers. He quietly climbs into bed and curls up as closely as he can without touching him.

Eventually, Alfie gives in and wraps an arm around his back.

….

Thank fuck, things are quite normal the next morning. Normal as in: they’re as strange they usually are. Tommy is already out of bed when Alfie wakes up, sitting on the windowsill and smoking. Which seems to be his new routine. Alfie’s rather grateful, even if he pretends to be mad every morning, telling Tommy about the dangers of smoking before breakfast from the comfort of his bed while Tommy finishes the cigarette. Eventually Alfie climbs out of bed and puts an ashtray in front of him, it gets put out, and they go and have breakfast. And despite what that cigarette may do to his already lacking appetite, Alfie is quite happy with this development. Because it means he gets the pleasure of watching Tommy sit in that window with the morning light catching in his hair and lashes. Which, objectively, is something no sane man would be able to resist.

With that part of the morning done, they as always embark on the ever exciting breakfast mission. Tommy is currently eating porridge with a teaspoon (which shouldn’t look as endearing as it does and is a testament to how strange their ‘normal’ is, but if it works it works, right?) Meanwhile Alfie is occupied with the misery that is today’s news. Nothing much has happened in the world. Business as usual; people killing each other, buying things they don’t need, the concept of weather and consequently weather reports and related news continuing to exist…

He’s caught off guard when he suddenly finds himself staring into a pair of familiar eyes, drained of their blue colour by the black and white photo, but just as recognizable. They look up at him from under a bold headline and his heart seems to drop into the pit of his stomach as he reads it, and sinks if possible even further as he scans the text below.

After months of speculations, Thomas Shelby has been confirmed dead. There have been rumours that Shelby’s long absence from politics and the public eye is indeed not due to a holiday, as has been previously proclaimed by the family, but a health related issue. Now the family come forth to reveal that Shelby has passed after a prolonged illness, the nature of which they chose not to divulge at this time.

“We hope the public will respect our wish for privacy in these difficult times,” Michael Gray says.

He makes quick work of the lengthy piece. Like trying to set a disjointed shoulder or remove a bullet -quick and painful is better than dragging it out. It’s not a pleasant read. Fuck’s sake one might think a paper would have some kind of decency when speaking of a dead man. Or at the very least hoped the fuckers Tommy’s family would’ve paid someone off to spin the narrative and tone down the fucking triumphant tone of the piece. The reporter seems more pleased to have been right than anything and spares no details in the speculations and analysis of Tommy’s behaviour before his disappearance. Delving into all the controversies and the divide his decision to associate with Oswald Mosley has caused. Even go as far as to dig into the unsavoury beginnings of Shelby Company limited. Which, as Michael fucking Gray proclaims in the interview, were ‘the old days’. Things are done differently now, and with him at the helm… Alfie thinks his molars might crack as he reads his statement. And despite the nauseating smugness Michael’s every word exudes, the by far worst part is where the article expands on the hushed rumours of Tommy’s increasingly unstable psyche. Does the fucking paper have no standards anymore?

Alfie skips a few lines. Ends up where Michael is speaking about Tommy’s death instead.

“It was of course terrible, watching him suffer the way he did, but he died peacefully in his home, and perhaps sometimes, that’s more merciful.”

Michael is the only one in the family who’s bothered to answer the reporter’s calls. Alfie’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

The whole thing leaves him with his jaw clenched and his pulse throbbing dully in his temple.

Fucking tasteless, is what it is.

Tommy’s eyes look sad even in the picture. He wonders if there is a single picture where they don’t.

Suddenly aware of his company by the table, he flips to the next page. Tommy seems oblivious. Which is lucky -it feels like it’s visible on his face, the distaste. But beneath the immediate surge of anger, there’s a tiny flicker of relief. This means they won’t come looking. This means Tommy is safe here, with him. No one is coming to take him away. And as Alfie watches him sit there with the morning light playing over his sharp cheekbones and the soft curve of his nose, fully focused on braving the portion of porridge, he’s overwhelmed by such a wave of tenderness that he’s certain he’ll use is bare fucking hands to end anyone who dared try.

He closes the paper and puts his hands together, making Tommy jump slightly in his seat.

“Right! Weather’s beautiful, how about that walk? You eaten all of your food? Yeah, there’s a good lad. Let’s get some sun on that face…”

And as he gently ushers Tommy out of the kitchen, he forgets about the paper.

…

Later that day he’s alone in the kitchen, graciously making tea for Tommy as Esther is occupied with the wash for the week. He cuts up Tommy’s regularly scheduled afternoon meal (which has now increased to a whole apple and a canned pear cut into the normal tiny pieces and mixed together in a bowl. A slight but important improvement). Puts that, along with the pot and two cups, on a tray and balances it back to the living room.

He finds Tommy in his usual chair. Holding today’s paper in his hands, staring down at it with wide eyes, white in the face.

‘Why don’t you find the crossword, hm? I’ll be back in a second’. That’s what he fucking told him, right before going to the kitchen. Which his brain decides to remind him of now, far too late. Had been an attempt to practice this whole ‘being alone’ thing, rather than following Alfie in his heels. For his own good. The realisation flushes through him like an icy wave.

“Tommy? What do you got there?” His question goes entirely unnoticed and he shoves the tray onto a nearby table, sending a paperweight crashing to the floor with a heavy thud. Walks up to him in two long strides and kneels in front of the chair, doesn’t even feel his knees complaining at the sudden motion.

Tommy’s eyes are flickering over the page covering his supposed passing, breaths coming in harsh puffs as he chews his bottom lip. Every single spiteful word in the article rushes all at once through Alfie’s head

“Tommy, let’s put this away, alright?” He grabs the paper and it slips out of Tommy’s hands despite his white knuckled grasp, as if his hands have lost all strength. “Let’s put this away and forget about it. They don’t know shit, you hear me?”

With the paper gone from his hands, Tommy grasps at his head instead. Fingers clenching tightly into his hair as he looks straight past Alfie, to those unknown corners of the room. Places he couldn’t see even if he tried.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. A hoarse, broken sound. “I’m sorry.”

Alfie clutches at his wrists, tries in vain to catch his gaze as he begins to quiver. “Tommy, hey, look at me. You’re alright. Just you and me here, eh?”

“I was just trying to- to-” Tommy gasps. Looks so utterly fucking distraught. “Didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.” Then he can’t get any more words out, they all turn into this awful, choking sounds as his breath catches in his throat. Lips turning pale and cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Fuck, Tommy, you’re going to fucking pass out unless you start breathing.” Alfie inches his hands in under Tommy’s, forcing them away from his head, covering the scar and holding his head still. Tommy grasps his wrists in response, clings to them as if they’re the sole thing keeping him from drowning. Continues to gasp frantically for air that doesn’t reach his lungs, choking out barely audible words in between. I’m sorry, he keeps saying, eyes distant.

Alfie holds him a bit too tightly. Maybe the fragile skull will shatter underneath his hands, all the cracks finally giving in…

“Shh, shh, Tommy, just let it pass,” he whispers “Remember what we talked about, hm? Right now all you have to do is breathe, and it’ll be okay.”

He fights the impulse to tear him out of the panic, wants to shake him viciously, wring a hand into his hair and fucking force him to come back. Instead he just sits there. Let’s Tommy hold onto his wrists. The helplessness is fucking maddening.

Finally, Tommy deflates. Sags in his grip, fingers growing weak around his wrists. Alfie allows him to fall forward, rest his forehead on his shoulder. He cards his fingers through his hair and listens to the steady slowing of his breath. Both of his legs are asleep and there’s a distinct twinge somewhere around his left knee, he really should get off the floor. But moving even an inch is out of the question.

“Oh dear, did something happen?” Esther’s voice comes from the doorway, barely above a whisper as she comes into the room.

Alfie simply nods towards the paper where it lays crumpled a few feet away.

Esther sets down her basket of linens and her eyes go dark when she scans the page, mouth drawing into a tight line. She folds the paper up tightly and puts it into the pocket of her apron.

“I’ll throw that out, if you don’t mind, Sir?”

Alfie just nods before turning his attention back to Tommy.  

“Right, Tommy, how about you lay down for a while? Relax a little?” he asks and manages to stand up, despite the complaints from all his joints. Tommy won’t let go of his wrists. Grasps onto them tighter now when Alfie’s shoulder is gone, head bowed. Alfie makes a half hearted attempt at making him lean back in the armchair but looks around the room for other options when Tommy whines quietly in protest. “Okay, what about the sofa, then? Hm? We can both fit on that.”

He motions Esther over with a jerk of his head, just to be on the safe side, and together they pull Tommy to his feet. It’s wobbly and precarious but he stays upright, albeit by plastering himself against Alfie’s chest and with Esther’s arm around his back. Alfie walks him over to the sofa and slumps down, Tommy nestled closely against his side.  

Esther brings the blanket over to them to tuck him in and Tommy finally releases Alfie’s wrists, burying his fingers in that instead.

“There we go,” Alfie mutters and brushes the hair out of his eyes. “All better. Now we just sit here for a little while, yeah? Nice and easy. Can even close your eyes if you fancy it”

Moments later, Tommy has fallen into an exhausted sleep.

And Alfie is left alone with his thoughts.

Every time one of these things happens he’s reminded of how much he’s in over his fucking head.

There’ll be those brief moments of calm, something akin to normalcy. Even if it’s a new normal, one very far from the common definition of the word. Even if Tommy is… different now. Broken beyond repair perhaps, eyes catching on invisible spectres in the corners and all those cleverly spun words stolen from his lips. But Alfie might be slowly learning to fucking handle it, is the thing. That new normal. Because of those short moments where Tommy will emerge from the fog. Stubbornly smoke too many cigarettes. Ask when they can go outside with something almost resembling eagerness tinting his voice. Point at something in the crossword and have the answer all figured out. Quietly eat one of his small meals without breaking out in cold sweat. Good days will consist of many of those moments, lighting a reluctant but persistent little flicker of something in Alfie’s chest.

And then something like this happens. Or like the incident the other night, in the living room. When he disappears completely.

And it still happens far too fucking often.

He’s not sure what caused the panic this time. Guilt welling up perhaps, over things he’s done. Things he hasn’t done. Or the finality of it all; seeing all the ties to his previous life so ruthlessly severed. By his own fucking family, too.

A sudden swell of rage rises in his chest. Take and take, don’t they, and once he’s got nothing left to give this is what they fucking do? Ungrateful vultures, the lot of them, picking at the last scraps of meat until there’s nothing but bones left-

He needs to move. Do something with his hands.

Tommy is so out of it he doesn’t even stir when Alfie lays him down on the sofa to amble out in the hallway and stretch his legs.

He wants to shoot something. Wants to put a gun to each and every member of that ungrateful fucking family’s head and watch the skull burst into a million fractured pieces. In lieu of any members of the Shelby clan showing up at his doorstep to allow for this, a seagull would have to do for now.

But he just continues pacing up and down the corridor.

When he’s on his fourth lap, Esther comes towards him with another basket of freshly washed clothing. She peers into the living room as she passes.

“Still asleep?” she whispers and he they meet halfway down the corridor, still in view of the living room. To be on the safe side.

“Yeah, yeah they always drain him completely, these things,” he says quietly, scratching his chin as he watches Tommy’s sleeping form on the sofa. “Wrings his poor brain out like a dishrag.”

Esther has a sharp wrinkle between her eyebrows as she sets her laundry basket down. Alfie waits for the thought she’s clearly forming while she pulls the paper from her apron and unfolds it.

“Is this something we need to be worried about?” she thumbs the page where Tommy’s sad eyes are looking up at them. Glances down as the wrinkle is joined by a few more, just as sharp, just as concerned. “These… people.”

The way she says it tugs a mirthless laugh from his throat.  

“His family?”

Esther huffs as she eyes the paper again.

“It’s not right,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Why would the lie? And then let the paper write something like this.”

Alfie sighs as if the weight on his chest could be pushed off through sheer force. “No fucking idea. An attempt to keep up the neat façade I suppose. A hell of a lot easier to say someone’s died after an illness, I reckon. Rather than admitting they’ve gone fucking mad in the head and run off somewhere. And even after months, you still have no idea to where. They’re not very fond of that, the Shelbys. Losing control.”

“But wouldn’t they’ve made them leave out these bits then?” Esther taps the paper, even if the text is illegible at this distance. “There are clearly assumptions being made about his- well, his mental state.”

“Because they’re fucking morons, I assume. Don’t know if they’ve bothered demanding to approve the article before it went to print. Or if they did and just didn’t give a damn.”

“Wish he hadn’t had to see this. Poor thing.”

“Don’t let him know you read it. I don’t think he could fucking survive it if you- if you held those things against him. Not now.”

“There seems to be plenty of people who do that already,” Esther says firmly. “I hardly think I need to add to that list.” She turns towards the living room and her eyes grow soft as they land on Tommy. “I just want him to feel safe. That there’s… room for him here.”

Alfie’s throat grows uncomfortably tight at her words, much to his annoyance.

He grunts something barely intelligible at Esther involving air and keeping an eye on Tommy for a second, and goes outside to find a seagull to shoot.

[heroofpenamstan]

RELATIONSHIP ASK MEME: JACOB SEED + JOANNE BURTON

( Tagged by @f0xyboxes​ and @mackie-hattwie​ (was just about to tag you in this, as well!); thank you so much! x gonna tag anyone that wants to do it, but still going to throw out some blogs because I know they may or may not have some amazing OCs: @shallow-gravy​, @ariestals, @jacobseeds-mainhoe, @hawkfurze, @sammystark, @iamnotyourmusebitch, @shellibisshe, @foofygoldfish

Full template here because I skipped a section whoops;

Warning: crossed out text contains sensitive content! Also, very lengthy and quite smutty at times! Too long for my own good, tbh. )

DISAGREEMENTS:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Joanne; her bark is sharp and loud, uncontainable when irked. Jacob’s grave tone is enough to make anyone wary without him having to raise his volume.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Jo. Always Jo. Jacob’s smile always promises to bring her back to him, regardless if she does go or not.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Unsurprisingly, Jacob. Some slights against his siblings are just too large to be buried in the shallows, so he steps down periodically. Joanne feels his absence like a bucket of freezing water, leaving her cold for days.

Who trashes the house? You’d think it’s Jo with her tendency to pop off and shatter a glass or five, but the shelf barely hanging on a bent hinge is all Jacob.

Do either of them get physical? They get into brawls, but only when severely wronged by one another. Being who they are—dysfunctional assholes to the core, but equal in their prowess—the scraps and bruises blooming on their skin prove to be sufficient payback, enabling them to carry on with whatever the fuck is brewing between them.

How often do they argue/disagree? Initially, their differing worldviews and methods and everything they stood for caused uncontrollable rifts. Now? They know better than to spend their restricted time together conflicting about unchangeable facts that would get them riled.

Who is the first to apologize? Most often Joanne; she always gets at Jacob for his operation and tactics. Yet, when Jacob points out her mirrored misconduct, she concedes, albeit reluctantly. Jacob, on the other hand, is unapologetic for his actions; means to achieve an end—stop fucking glaring at me, Jo—

SEX

Who is on top/bottom? It’s a tumble down the hill for these two. Sometimes Jacob relishes in her heat and her weight sinking down on him, other times it’s Jo clutching at his scarred shoulders and wrapping her bruised legs about his waist. They switch and adapt most often than pick a preference.

Any kinks? Choking and spanking; nothing too severe, though they do get pretty hot and heavy and rough.

Who has the strangest desires? Not really odd, but Jacob craves Jo’s caresses and kisses at his scars at his most vulnerable sometimes. Joanne never holds it against him, nor comments. 

Who’s dominant in bed? Both of them are clashing alphas, and it’s a constant battle to get the other to submit. However, because they do regard one another as equals, neither has a single qualm with being pinned down and ravished.

Is head ever in the equation? Most often.

If so, who is better at performing it? Surprisingly, (or not) Jacob. Jo always praises his fingers and his tongue and ravels at the scrap of his beard against her sensitive flesh.

Ever had sex in public? For them, public sex is usually safer than in Jo’s abode on Dutch’s (camera-filled) Island, or the Peggie-infested walls of Jacob’s holds that may or may not whisper back to the Father. Although, there once was an incident in a cage and a recruit walking in on something particularly gnarly that made both of them reconsider—Jo still hasn’t found out what had happened to the young trooper after that. 

Who moans the most? Joanne doesn’t know how to sock it during a fight, a spat, or when Jacob traces her neck with an eager mouth.

Who leaves the most marks? Jacob. He likes seeing her pretty skin marked up by his teeth and his tongue; Jo, admittedly, can’t recognize her own claim that doesn’t involve sharp nails running along the expanse of his back.

Who is the more experienced of the two? They’re on the same page, give or take. Jacob has numerous years over her. However, Joanne’s troubled past of drug-fueled mistakes stemming from a young age quickly catches up on him.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Jo can count on a single hand the amount of times her and Jacob made love. It has always been their primal urges that meshed them together, or the hate burning at her chest, the desire brewing in his eyes. Yet, sometimes, he’s soft and she glows; Jo might even mumble something she isn’t supposed to, and that would spur Jacob on further.

How long do they usually last? It depends on where they are and how long someone would note their absence. When he is able, Jacob drags it out for as long as he can, wanting to see his little soldier crumble and cry for him. But, more often than not, it’s a rough, quick spur that leaves them both snarling and kneading.

Rough or soft? Rough; nearly always rough.

Is protection used? Joanne thanks the day implants came into play. (In the past, there was always a possibility of her hurling the pill back up her esophagus once the withdrawals set in, but now, with the Collapse right around the corner, she’ll be safe for the next years to come, much to Jacob’s delight.)

Does it ever get boring? No. They always have an ever-burning drive for one another, albeit not the most healthy—but it’s always there.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? The aforementioned cage can’t be topped; nothing will change Jo’s mind.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children? Jacob thinks himself too old and too unsuitable for children of his own. Y’know, you remind me of the Old Man sometimes, John had said, only once—in a light manner, at that—but Jacob had shut the thought of his own kids at that exact moment, if he hadn’t before. He has his Judges and he has John, and that’s enough. Joanne herself thinks herself too irresponsible in that regard. She doesn’t fancy bringing another life into a fallen world once the Collapse hits, focusing on the Ryes if she ever gets a longing for children, only to be reminded just why it would be a bad idea in the first place. 

If so, how many children do they want/have? —

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle? Joanne. On the rare occasions her and Jacob share a bed, she cuddles up against him subconsciously. She wakes up with her head tucked at his neck.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Jacob, usually. He’s not exactly subtle, but he’s no fool, either. He knows how to time his touches as to not get caught out in the open.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves? Jo would say it’s Jacob, but he would argue. (He has receipts in the form of crescent moons perched on his shoulders, after all.)

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Jacob isn’t one to cuddle, but when it comes down to it, he doesn’t mind losing circulation in his shoulder if Jo curls into him like that.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? As simple as it sounds, talking is their favorite past time. Just connecting with another person who’s been chewed up by the world is therapeutic for both of them, especially with them having to sneak about and not getting to do much of anything else. Also, sparring with each other, once Jacob changes tactics.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Jacob’s cot, against a sturdy tree trunk, a boat once or twice.

How often do they get time to themselves? Never. Never, ever; especially Jacob, having to train his flock vigorously for the Collapse.

SLEEPING

Who snores? Joanne; she tends to sleep on her side for it, paranoia of choking and suffocating clouding her brain yet, from the time her nostrils were clogged with Naloxone and and her lungs constricting and her heart stopping— Jacob bumps her if he hears her snore, pulling her to his chest, turning her on her shoulder if needs be.

If both do, who snores the loudest? —

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? If they get to spend the night with one another, they share.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? They start off a bit further off, but cozy up to each other if one or both get nightmares of times still fresh in mind.

What do they wear to bed? Usually, they simply wear the clothes they had on during the day in various states of undress, for if they are sleeping outside of Jacob’s private lodgings, either or both may need to scramble out in a haste.

Are either of them insomniacs? Jacob; Jo is an actual log. ( “I don’t think you sleeping in for that long is good for ya’, pup.” Joanne can only snort: “So is napping for three hours a night, but I’m not gonna start.” )

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Joanne has pledged to never take any kind of drug if she wasn’t in mortal peril or doesn’t have her hands tied, resorting to herbal remedies to lessen the weariness. Jacob, too, shares this sentiment, but refuses Jo’s minty shit, fuck.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Joanne hooks her leg across Jacob like a lifeline. He doesn’t complain.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Jacob; the Herald has a face-full of braids, too.

Who wakes up first? Jacob. Joanne hates the early morning shift when he rises from bed.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Not prepares, per se, but Jacob does drop something pre-made or snack-y on her lap when she starts to stir.

What is their favourite sleeping position? They definitely tend to spoon ( Jo likes being the big spoon, tracing the scars littering Jacob’s torso. ) Joanne sometimes snuggles into Jacob while he’s laying on his back, too.

Do they set an alarm each night? Jacob has a strong internal clock, waking himself up at the slightest creak, so he doesn’t usually have a need for an alarm. To Jo, Jacob is the alarm clock; be it him pulling the curtains, pulling the sheets, or pulling her closer to him in the morning when their time is running out and they have to part ways.

Who has nightmares? Both of them. Jacob dreams of a raised hand and a child's wail, of a flaming barn and violent shouts. Most times, he hears Miller’s laugh, and that haunts him more than the carcass he reduced him to. Phantom gun shots make him jolt in bed as if shot, and Jo reminds him that you’re dreaming and it’s okay; I got you. On the flip side, Jacob sometimes wakes to the sound of Joanne nearly death rattling. It unsettles him, makes him wonder how she must feel when he is the one trying to spring to life as she does when he shakes at her, telling her to breathe. She always does, in the end, but it leaves her shaking and clutching at him for support.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? “Can you please turn off the monitor, at least for now?” Jacob pushes her swatting hands away with a huff. “No can do, Jo.” ( He has six more hanging in his room, besides the aforementioned. )

Who has ridiculous dreams? Joanne had once shared one of her dreams with Jacob, and the ingrained look he gave her prevented her from sharing any more of them.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Joanne may as well be making snow-angels if it wasn’t for Jacob caging her in.

Who makes the bed? Jacob, with a deep, resigned sigh fixes the bundled up sheets once Jo decides to finally step—fall—out of his bed.

What time is bed time? In the early AMs.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Joanne tries to take care of her hair as much as she can, what with the mud and grime and blood Hope County rubs into her scalp and her braids on the daily. Jacob double-checks everything before going to sleep, from looking at security footage to radioing his Chosen to confirm one thing or another.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Joanne by far; Jacob actually smiles when she throws a pillow at him.

WORK

Who is the busiest? On average: Jacob. Yet, oftentimes, Joanne gets sent on lengthy errands that take up half of her week.

Who rakes in the highest income? Jacob can dip his hand into the Cult’s fund, if he so wished, without much complain from John.

Are any of them unemployed? Technically speaking—both of them.

Who takes the most sick days? Jacob and Joanne don’t really know what it means to slow down if they have duties they must uphold, cold or flu be damned.

What are their jobs? Jacob runs the cult’s security, whilst Joanne is waiting for the second to leave the County and turn in her badge for good; helping out a Resistance by doing unlawful things is too much of an anchor for her mental health.

Who sucks up to their boss? Joanne, at first, when she finally lands the job she never thought she’d get, what with her history of drug abuse ( that had been painted way prettier than it actually was for the sake of entering the Academy. ) But once the Reaping began, Joanne felt less and less inclined to participate in all the bloodshed while still having her badge, oftentimes even ignoring direct orders from the Sheriff himself. And, Jacob—well. He doesn’t suck up to Joseph, but he does follow his orders obediently—unless they involve Joanne; he likes to detour.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Joanne; she doesn’t comprehend how Jacob, preoccupied as he always seems to be, is able to be where he needs to be as punctually as he is.

Who stresses the most? Jo is easily aggravated, and some minor inconveniences makes her loose it. Jacob just tuts at her nature, finding it more amusing than irritating most of the time.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Jacob doesn’t enjoy it as much as he sees it as a necessary sacrifices to perform his duties, while Jo grows to despise her job, for the people of Hope County expect her to gun down and demolish Peggies at the drop of a hat unprovoked, just because she’s the Junior Deputy. ( Apparently, that means she is in her right to snap a neck of an unsuspecting Peggie, according to some members of the Resistance. Jo would argue with that fiercely. )

Are they financially stable? Yes.

HOME

( Going to skip since they don’t live together. )

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem? For Jacob, money hasn’t been a problem since his brothers resurfaced. For Jo, however, money has never stopped being an issue, not after her funds have been drained by her addiction for so many years.

How many cars do they own? Jacob can have a pick of any of the vehicles the cult has to offer. Joanne, running along the same lines, but with more stealing and hijacking involved, owns an ATV she has had to  fix up more times than she could count, an RHIB she stole from one of the coastal guards and keeps in the Silver Lake Boathouse, and a car Dutch had provided her with that she uses to blare all her top hits from.

What’s their song? NFWMB by Hozier (lmao)

Do they live in the city or in the country? County.

Do they own their home or do they rent? Jacob owns several properties to his name ( Thanks, John ) and Jo has made Johnson’s Lookout Tower her home—with a lot of cleaning and refurbishing involved.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Both of them love the outdoors, and Hope County has a lot to offer in that regard.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Joanne assists people in need most of the time. Otherwise, she indulges herself in the freedom she has to roam about however she likes, be it cruising through the Henbane or chilling about Dutch’s Island, scouring the patch of land for supplies. Jacob performs his role as one of Joseph’s Heralds, training his soldiers, sniffing out the Whitetails, attending his brother’s sermons in order to keep an eye on him, planning and mapping out how to go about when Joseph’s supposed prophecy will come into fruition.

Where did they first meet? The catastrophic Church arrest wasn’t the first time they’ve laid eyes on one another, interestingly enough. Joanne has had a run-in with John Seed near his barely-finished ranch at the beginning of the summer, an affair of a volatile Peggie disrupting the peace in Holland Valley, and the lawyer having to jump in to save the nervous man’s hide. In the driver’s seat of John’s white pick-up, blue eyes stared intently at the interaction between his brother and the new Deputy, cataloging her features and her manner, the way her jaw seldom relaxes when John places a friendly tattooed hand upon her shoulder, the teasing roll of her title evoking nothing but an irritated brow to rise. Seeing as how the situation has been defused and dragged out, Jacob Seed had leaned his head out the rolled-down window, barking at John to get a move on since Joseph is waiting. The heavy gaze of the Junior Deputy still sears at his skin as he shifts back into drive.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Both of them don’t tend to burn money, only focusing on necessities and some odd trinkets here and there.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Jo had flashed her ( stolen ) helicopter in front of one of Jacob’s outpost, and it took everything in him to cease fire on the chopper.

Any mental issues? Jacob has PTSD, including some other disorders here and there, laying just beneath the surface. Jo has unresolved trauma of her own, among other things caused by long-term drug use.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Joanne will crack up every single time the composed soldier loses his footing. Every. Single. Time. And get payback for it.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither.

Who kills the spiders around the house? The spiders and these two live in harmony; it just can’t be helped when you live on the countryside.

Do they have any fears for their future? Loads, although Jacob is more at peace with the inevitable. Jo, on the other hand, frets about her future outside the county, about the off-chance Joseph is right, about whether or not her and Jacob could last, will last. About what would happen if people from both sides find out about their affair. 

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Joanne; she can cook up a storm when she’s in the mood. 

Who pays the bills? None of them, at the moment, do.

Who’s the tallest? Jacob, by nearly a whole foot.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? After some time, Jo finds that Jacob has no shame whatsoever; and for good reason,

Who wanders around in their underwear? Both of them do, Joanne more often than not.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Up Where We Belong by Joe Cocker is simply belted out as Joanne rows through her shooting assailants, trying to ignore the sickening squelches of the run-over bodies by positively screaming where the eagLES CRY— 

What do they tease each other about? These two assholes hold nothing back, their teasing coming out as pure, unadulterated jabs. About Jacob’s scars or Joanne’s anger issues and impulses. His hair and her fevered face. His demeanor and her short height.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Jacob knows that Joanne doesn’t really have many insecurities about her appearance, but sometimes, he just can’t help but wonder about what sort of thought process occurred in that head of hers to wear that.

Who crushed first? Jacob. It took Jo a little while, but it wasn’t long until she was positively consumed by him.

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Joanne has had a severe drug addiction since she was fifteen; joining the police force seemed like an ideal way to go straight and help rehabilitate people suffering from the same things she has. Currently, she’s been clean for two years, excluding a few times with Sharky that involved Oregano here and there. Jacob, on the other hand, had tipped into the bottle a few times after his discharge, but has since forsaken drinking himself into oblivion since his rough period.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Joanne—there’s no doubt about it.

Who swears the most? They both swear equally as much, but Jacob makes it sound classy, somehow.

( I am so, so sorry if someone actually read through this ugly monstrosity. I just wanted to establish some of their details for myself, hence, this fucking fanfic-sized ask. )

[youreverycolor]

An Unlikely Love: Text Wars (Rafael Barba x Anna Stein)

AN: NSFW AT ALL. No prompt for this one. I just got in another mood. This is 100% pure filth. Please enjoy some masturbation, orgasm denial, spanking, sexting, oral sex, and good old fashioned fucking.

So much love to @madpanda75, @thatesqcrush, and @misssirenlove for love, support, idea-bouncing, and being frigging awesome. Can’t talk about smut and kinks with just anyone, you know.

Tagging: @danahart1 @nikkijmorgan @ele-esposito @dianilaws @sunnyfortomorrow @mommakat32 @lucifersadvisor @gibbs274 @oliviamariathegirl @evee87 @tropes-and-tales @garturbo @delia26 @neely1177 @jennisdirtyimagines @lostintech0011001 @letty-o @lucifersadvisor @sunnyfortomorrow @literallyprentissstwin @gibbs274 @dianilaws

Song: “Buttons” by The Pussycat Dolls (and you’re really gonna wanna listen to this one).

~*~*~*~  

It wasn’t even eleven o’clock and already Rafael’s day had made him pop four Advil. Nothing was ever easy anymore. Every case SVU brought him had some kind of glaring problem, from a lack of DNA to a non-complying witness, to a non-complaining victim. The latest one was against a frat house on Hudson University’s campus—again­—and, per usual, the school had covered it up. The victim had showered, no rape kit was performed. He hated telling Olivia that he couldn’t prosecute, but it seemed like that’s exactly what he would have to do. So, not an auspicious start to his day. He also had a hearing during which he suspected he was going to get metaphorically spanked by Judge Bates for filing an indictment prematurely. That was going to be a real slice.

Anna’s text tone broke the silence of his office. She was at home that day; her only class had been canceled so she had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on a novel. Expecting nothing more than a brief check-in, he opened the message and almost dropped the phone. He was looking at a photo of her, taken in a mirror. She was turned halfway around, dressed in one of his white button-downs, which she had rucked up just enough that he caught a glimpse of pink polka-dot cheeky panties. The accompanying text message was infuriating. How do I look? it read.

He immediately typed out a response, short and sweet. I’m at work, you know.

Thirty seconds later, the phone pinged again. You didn’t answer my question.

He groaned. This was a game, he knew, and she was winning it. This isn’t funny! I have a hearing in forty minutes and now all I’m going to be able to think about is fucking you.

He could almost feel her arousal from across town when she replied. I’ve been thinking about that all day.

He did not understand how just seven words could make him so painfully hard. Well, two could play at this game. You better still be wearing that shirt when I get home. If I have to suffer here all day like this, then I want the full visual later.

He didn’t get an immediate response to that and thought perhaps she was done tormenting him. He thought wrong. I’ll keep it on if you promise to get home on time. Otherwise, I might have to take care of myself via battery-powered means.

Then, a second photo came in. This one was full-frontal. She had undone all but the center button of the shirt, and he could see the outline of her breasts through it—especially her hardened nipples.

He almost came in his pants right there, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. Batteries aren’t the only thing that can keep going and going. I can and WILL keep you up all night. Don’t tempt me.

She sent one more text that made him grit his teeth. I hope so, Guapo. See you tonight.

It was only then that he realized that the front of his pants was actually developing a damp spot. What the hell was he going to do about this? The hearing was in half an hour, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand up properly. The photo was burned into his brain; even if he didn’t look at it again, it would still be there, as would the promise she made of keeping it on when he got home.

He looked at his closed door. Carmen was just on the other side of it, but the blinds were drawn. She couldn’t see in.

It was completely inappropriate, he realized, but he didn’t think he could wait until he got home. Not that that meant he wouldn’t want to fuck Anna just as badly—one glance at her wearing that shirt in person would no doubt make him immediately hard again—but trying to make it through the next six hours without a release would be impossible.

He got up from his desk, still hard as a rock, and locked the door. Then, he sat back down and unzipped his pants, pulling them down just past his hips so he didn’t accidentally leave evidence of his crime. He spit in his hand and rubbed the fluid leaking out of his cock over the head. It provided just enough lubrication to get him going. His closed his eyes and as he suspected, the image of Anna in those panties and his shirt was right there. When she acted like this, wanton and needy, he felt like he was twenty years old again—which would certainly explain why he was in his office, unable to keep his libido in check for even a few more hours.

He sometimes couldn’t believe he had a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old woman who loved him, much less one who sent him racy photos and texts during his workday. Even though he tried to pretend that he was irritated by it, he knew how lucky he was. And there it was—that image again, except this time, all she was wearing were those panties. God, the way her ass looked in them. But what he wouldn’t give to be able to pull them off of her, throw her on top of his desk, and fuck her hard enough to move it halfway across the room.

His hand moved up and down his length, twisting at the base, squeezing harder at the head. Suddenly, the Anna in his mind was on her knees in front of him, looking up with big, blue eyes—and still wearing that shirt. Her hair spilled down her shoulders and he wrapped his hand in it, pulling her toward his cock. She accepted him eagerly, taking him slowly in until she had him fully in her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks and, at the same time, ran her tongue up the front, which never failed to shoot lightning through his entire body.

The biggest difference between Anna and the other women he’d been with was that she actually enjoyed having him in her mouth. She told him so, often. And she was so good at it; he had no idea where she’d learned to do half the things she could do with her mouth, but he was more than grateful to be the one reaping the benefits. And her hands, Christ, she would use her hands on him at the same time, doing to him exactly what he was doing to himself.

He felt the tension in his thighs increasing, the way it did every time he entered her for the first time. Sometimes even just one thrust was enough to make him cum—he had to focus on first-year property law to keep it from happening. He imagined sinking into her from behind—his favorite position when he just wanted to fuck her senseless—and feeling her involuntarily tighten around him. His cock felt heavier in his hand then, like all the blood in his body had pooled there. He was close, so close. And then, he swore he heard her voice in his head, saying the dirtiest things imaginable: “Fuck, you’re so big, my God!” “¡Damelo duro! Ahora!” “Adie me lo das como tu.”

He was pumping faster now, gripping his cock like his life depended on it. He used his other hand to cup his balls, feeling them tighten slowly under his touch. Fuck, he thought, please, please, please…

It wasn’t until he thought about her wearing his shirt while he was fucking her—pulling her up toward him, pressing her back against his chest, rubbing her clit for her while he hammered into her—that he felt the familiar sensation of heat rushing to his core.

And then, suddenly, his office phone rang and startled him so much that he jumped in his chair. He grabbed the for it and tried to return his breathing to a normal rate before he said hello.

“Mr. Barba, this is Judge Bates’ clerk. The hearing was scheduled to start ten minutes ago, and defense counsel and the judge are waiting on you. Is everything okay?”

Rafael looked at the clock. It was half past eleven. “Yes, I’ll—I’m sorry, there was an—a personal—I’ll be there in five minutes,” he stuttered.

Fuck! he thought. And that, he knew, was exactly what he intended to do the second he walked through his door that night. He hastily pulled up his pants and used the hand sanitizer on his desk. Then, he grabbed his briefcase and whipped out his phone with the other hand. Just before he unlocked his office door, he sent a final message to Anna.

Anna was lounging in the bedroom with her novel, still wearing nothing but Rafael’s shirt and her panties, when she got his text. She lifted her phone and opened the message, heart beating faster as she read four little words.

You asked for it.

***

Anna heard the door slam from the bedroom and her heart leapt into her throat. She threw the book onto the nightstand and got up, legs shaking in anticipation. She knew she had worked him up beyond what she had even expected, just based on that last text he had sent. And that had been hours ago—he had the entire day to stew about it. She had only just made it to the bedroom door when he appeared in front of her. His suit coat, shoes, socks, and tie had been discarded along the hallway, leaving him in just his pants, shirt, and suspenders. His face was set to what she called Courtroom Dom: serious, brow furrowed just a bit, jaw set. But there was one difference—she had never seen his eyes so bright and so dark at the same time.

She momentarily wondered if he was as nervous as she was underneath all that bluster, but before she could think on it, he pushed her against the bedroom door, lifting her up by her thighs. She was always surprised at how strong he was; she was small, of course, but no one else she had been with was ever able to hold her up like this. Maybe that was why she found it so unbelievably hot. He kissed her, hard, like he was drunk on her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and could feel his erection straining against his pants.

“Too many clothes,” she finally managed to moan, trying to slip his suspenders off of his shoulders.

“You don’t get to dictate anything right now, cariño,” he replied. “Not after that stunt you pulled today.”

She smiled innocently. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t like.”

He set her down and took one of her hands and pressed it against his crotch. “Do you feel that? That’s been like that most of the day thanks to you.”

Her breath came quicker, and she felt wetness pool in her panties. “How terrible for you.”

He kept her hand on him, pushing into her as he kissed her neck feverishly. “I was late to my hearing because of you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my fault,” she cooed. The innocence in her voice contrasted with the sexual tension between them was almost too much for him. He spun her around and moved them into the bedroom, pressing her chest against a nearby wall. His fingers were on her hips, grabbing them so hard she was sure she would bruise. She didn’t care.

His teeth grazed her shoulder. “You got me so fucking worked up that I had to lock myself in my office and jerk off just to get some relief. Do you know how inappropriate that was?”

She decided to be deliberately combative. She almost wanted punishment at this point. “You jerking off in your office or me sending you photos?”

He bit down on the junction between her neck and shoulder then. She felt like she might combust. “I have some bad news for you.”

“What’s that?” she asked as his fingers left her hips. One hand trailed down her stomach to the front of her panties, while the other reached under her shirt to palm a breast.

He put his lips right next to her ear and lowered his voice almost an octave. “I didn’t have time to finish. Which means you’re about to get good and fucked.”

She turned her head back to look over her shoulder at him. “What makes you think that’s not what I wanted?”

“Enough games,” he growled. He picked her up and all but tossed her onto the bed behind them. She crawled backward toward the pillows and looked at him exactly the way she had in his fantasy earlier: pupils dilated, lashes lowered, lips pouted just so. That look along with the real-life recreation of the photos she’d sent him earlier was hotter than it even was in his head. He made short work of the rest of his clothes and stood at the side of the bed. “Over here. On your knees.”

They had a safe word—Pennoyer—and she knew that all she would have to do to stop this game would be to say it. But it was precisely because of that fact that she didn’t want to stop. She loved rediscovering her sexuality with him as well as discovering new parts of herself that she didn’t know existed. For instance, she didn’t know that one of her kinks would be giving him a blowjob while he ate her out—especially when he was on top of her—until they did it, and suddenly, it was the hottest thing in the world. She didn’t know sex could be this fulfilling, even as he ordered her to her knees in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

She crawled over to him obediently, surrendering to him completely. But she didn’t wait for him to tell her what to do. She’d wanted this all day, and despite what he’d said about not being able to dictate anything, she somehow suspected he wouldn’t complain. Without any further prompting, she took him into her mouth, immediately moaning around him. The reverberation from that moan sent his hand into her hair—again, just as he had in his fantasy—and he groaned above her. She gripped his cock at the base, stroking him in time with her mouth’s slow movements, almost torturous.

“Fuuuuck,” he hissed. “Do you have any idea how hard I got thinking about you doing this?”

She moaned again. Her panties were practically soaked through by that point, and with his dirty talk, she didn’t think she could get wetter. Except she could, because then she looked up to him only to find him looking back at her. Her lips wrapped around him was indescribably sexy, but he knew what would make it sexier. He grabbed the shirt she was wearing and hiked it up, revealing those damned polka-dot panties and her tight ass underneath them.

She pulled away for just a moment, lips swollen with the exertion. “Is that what you were imagining today? My lips around your cock?”

Before he could answer, though, she went right back to what she was doing, taking him into her mouth completely. He gasped and nearly fell forward, bracing himself on the headboard with one hand. And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, one of her hands moved lightly up his inner thigh and he felt her fingers press against his perineum.

“Jesus Christ,” he roared. That hadn’t been in his fantasy, nor would he have ever thought to imagine it. The sheer intensity of just the lightest pressure there drowned him in pleasure, and he had to practically shove her away before he exploded in her mouth. “Holy shit,” he gasped. “What were you just doing to me?”

She licked her lips. “Again, nothing you didn’t want.”

His expression darkened again. “Oh, mi querida, you have no idea what I want. But I’m going to show you.” Without warning, he flipped her onto her back and crashed his lips to hers again. He swirled his tongue against hers, dragged it along her lips occasionally as he gently pinched one of her nipples. She squealed with delightful pain. He pulled back and looked her directly in the eyes. “You have a choice. Slow”—he dragged his tongue up her neck, over her throat—“or hard.” Then, he pulled her toward him as he leaned back, as if he was at prayer between her thighs. Off the panties came, flung over his shoulder to God knows where. He waited for her answer before he made another move. “Use your words, Anna. I need to hear the words.”

She was panting by that point, almost unable to form coherent thoughts, and he was asking her to make decisions? She managed one word: “Hard.”

He pushed her legs roughly apart and before she knew it, his mouth was everywhere: her thighs, her folds, her clit. She was so turned on that it all felt good. He lapped at her so ferociously that she was surprised he could breathe. When he dipped his tongue inside her, his nose brushed against her clit and she was so worked up that she might have orgasmed just from that if he hadn’t stopped. “What are you doing?” she whined. “Don’t stop!”

He licked his lips sinfully. “When I was in my office, I didn’t get to cum because I was interrupted,” he said, voice as dark as his expression. “It’s only fair that you should have to wait.”

Glorious bastard, she thought. But she knew how to get her way. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, please, Rafael. I need it. I need your mouth. I need you.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t resist her when she said she needed him. It was primal and sensual at once, like she was telling him there was no one else who could do this to her, and no one else she wanted to do it. And the truth was, he enjoyed licking her as much as she enjoyed letting him. He sat up just a bit on his haunches and pulled her hips up so that she was almost arched off of the bed. Well, she thought, this is new.

She didn’t have time to think anything more than that, because he moved his mouth back over her, this time sucking her clit and flicking it with his tongue at the same time. She started to quake from the toes on upward, and then she was splintering apart, undone by his mouth, undone by him. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—oh, God, I’m coming!” He let her ride the waves of her orgasm, holding onto her hips so that he could keep fucking her with his tongue. The rush of liquid that came from within her was one of the sweetest things he’d ever tasted.

As Anna came down from her high, she was convinced of it—even if someone else did exactly what he was doing, it wouldn’t make her cum as hard, simply because it wouldn’t be him. It wasn’t the physical act of sex; Rafael was what made it so good. “You—you have no idea—how amazing—” she sobbed. He crawled back over her and kissed her once again, letting her taste herself on his lips. She drank him in, helpless beneath him, only able to run her hands through his hair and down his back.

“I have some idea,” he murmured against her ear. “Now, you have another choice. Do you want me to take you from behind, or do you want to ride me?”

After the orgasm she’d just had, she literally didn’t have the energy to ride him. “Get behind me,” she replied, giving him one last furious kiss.

She got to her knees with some effort—her legs were still shaking—and she felt him come up behind her, pressing just the head of his erection against her folds. He rubbed it back and forth over her already sensitive clit. She mewled in response, just wanting to feel him inside her.

Now he had her where he wanted her. She may have won the battle earlier that day, but he would certainly win the war. “You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, mi querida. Have you been this way all day?”

She lowered her upper body so that her ass was even higher in the air. That resulted in a firm smack against one of her cheeks, which only served to deepen her need. “You know, you talked about wanting to fuck me since this afternoon. So fuck me already! I’ve been waiting for it all damn day!”

He didn’t have to be told twice. With one swift movement, he plunged into her. It was better than fantasy, better than memory, better than anything. There was nothing like being inside her. He stilled for a moment to let her adjust to him, but when she looked over her shoulder at him, he pulled back out nearly all the way. She whined desperately, full of so much need and want and lust and love that she could barely breathe from it. But then he gave her what she craved—he set a steady, unforgiving pace, hitting the deepest parts of her with every thrust. She grasped the sheets underneath her, holding on for dear life as he snapped his hips against her. Every so often he would give her ass another smack and she would cry out with the pain and pleasure of it.

“This is what I thought about,” he snarled. “Pounding into your pussy, watching your ass, making you scream.”

She couldn’t respond. She just held on and focused on her heartbeat, her breathing, the feeling of him filling her up entirely. The entire room was filled with the smell of sex—it was intoxicating and was giving him almost a high. And that was when he remembered the last image he had before his fantasy had been ripped away from him.

He leaned forward just slightly and wrapped an arm around her waist, hoisting her straight up and sitting back on his heels so that she could be on top of his cock at the same time as he was behind her. Her shirt—his shirt—was pressed against his chest, still fastened by just one button, the fabric rubbing against his skin as she fucked herself on his throbbing dick. He was actually living his fantasy from earlier; the mere thought of that was enough to unravel him, but he held on, waiting for her.

He moved her hair away from one of her shoulders and bit down on the back of her neck, sending shockwaves through her core. They were both thinking it—this was, without a doubt, the hottest thing they had ever done together, and that was saying something.

There was a familiar tingling between her thighs. Everything faded away except the feeling of him inside her, still mercilessly thrusting as he reached down and rubbed her clit furiously. She found her voice just long enough to scream his name before time simply ceased to exist and stars burst behind her eyes.

He fucked her through her orgasm, and felt his start to build, just as it had that afternoon. Except this time, there would be no phone to interrupt him. Nothing could have pulled him away from her. And then he felt something shatter inside himself, along with a jerking of his cock inside her.

“Anna—Anna, oh God, oh my God, Anna!” he cried, practically screaming her name. Everything tightened, and he held her in place by her hips, thrusting into her one last time. She contracted her muscles around him, deliberately milking every last drop of him, which only served to drag his orgasm out even longer. And then they both collapsed, falling next to each other, completely and utterly incapable of moving. “That—oh, God, Anna,” he gasped, clutching his chest to make sure his heart was still inside of it. “That was the hardest I’ve ever come in my entire life.”

She was breathing just as heavily and gazing up at him, pleased with herself. The façade of Courtroom Dom was gone; once she could think clearly, she needed to come up with a name for this look in case she ever saw it again. For the time being, she would settle for gloating. “Was it worth the wait?”

He found the strength to roll onto his side and, with a hand on her lower back, pull her toward him. Then he kissed her, just as passionately as he had when he walked in the door. “Of every fantasy I have ever had,” he said, “you are the one that’s always worth waiting for.”

[wexhappyxfew]

Ho Shannon! I’d love for you to make a post about your writing process; if there’s something that you struggle with while writing, if sometimes you find yourself writing just because “you have to” and not because you feel like it, or on the countrary if you ever have your head full of ideas but can’t put it into words! (Always happens to me, that’s why I’m asking, ha!) I mean, tell us how you cope with all the struggles! I love that you’re so passionate about your own writing 💛 ily!

Hello!! Thank you so much for your question, I am so excited to answer it!! :) 

WRITING PROCESS

So just to start off simply with my writing process, when I start getting the feel for a book that I want to write or something that I want to play off, I get very into, very quickly, and I start writing little one or two sentence notes of dialogue or topics I want to pinpoint and soon enough I have notes that are FILLED with things!! And my writing process in general is a very loose one. I write when I want, I don’t have a plan in mind, more of just little things about my characters, where I want the plot to go, character dynamics things like that. But something that works best, is no promises to myself in the beginning, because I can guarantee that I’m not going to be kept on the path I choose in the beginning! I just write and see what happens because for me, personally, it turns out better for me because I just let the flow of writing carry me! 

Now to your questions!! 

Something I struggle with while writing is making sure that I continue to write like I did throughout the story and that I keep it consistent and that I stay true to my characters and their thought process and such. I tend to go off track and get distracted by things, easily really, and then I lose focus and start writing something I wouldn’t. I’m also hard on myself if you can believe it :( i’m just a perfectionist though, so I want everything to be the best it can be, even though it won’t always be perfect, but I try to the best of my ability. 

There are days where I find myself forcing myself to write just because I know if I don’t, I won’t ever get through the rough patch I’m in. So some of the things I do are play playlists of like soft rock, or gentle calming music and I immediately find myself drawn into the writing mood. Other times, I tell myself, you know what, don’t write, do what you want, that sorta mentality, because my writing for me is just for fun and I don’t want to stress myself out over simply just writing because then it wouldn’t be fun anymore and I’d feel that would suck :( Something else I do is look at quotes, about life and stuff and I feel the inspirational juices in my brain start flowing and immediately find myself drawn in - as you can tell, I easily draw myself into the context of writing LOL 

Now on the opposite side, I have more days filled with all the ideas and the inability to write it the way I want or fear I’ll forget what I initially wanted to write and I get overwhelmed. I then use notes, to write down topics or sentences or phrases just so I have something to look back on and just have there for myself as I write, which usually helps me remember most of the time. 

AW THANKS! I am super passionate about my writing because it has been such a good thing for my mental health especially in quarantine I feel because I can express myself through an art that is just words on a page. I can evoke emotions and feelings in people through words and I find that so amazing!! So thank you!!

I feel the most prevalent thing about my writing is that I do it for fun and if it doesn’t feel fun anymore, I know there’s an issue. I always find writing so much fun, so when I recognize myself getting into different moods where I don’t want to write, I have to stop and rethink. It helps!! And taking my time!! If I don’t feel ready for an update, I tell myself I’m not ready and I take all the time I need for it, and tell myself I’m doing this for me, for myself. Because that’s what matters - if you like your story, that’s all that matters. I feel that’s the biggest part of writing, if you love your story, that’s the best part. You control your story and no one else. 

Sometimes I’ll see comments on my stories, like your character should’ve done this, like that’s not their character or they’ll be telling me everything I’m doing wrong when I’m just trying my best?? And it just gets me down sometimes, because I do as much research as I can and I truly try my best, so I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes I can’t help but feel bad about it, like I messed up when I’m just trying my best and writing a story. That’s definitely something that gets in my mind a lot. And when people start telling me what my characters should do in comments, I get a bit peeved if I’m honest, because it’s my characters, not theirs and a writer knows their characters the best, they’re like children to us. I usually answer back kindly just saying that this is what the character in my head would’ve done, things like that. But it sucks sometimes and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but to have people tell me to do certain things that are out of character just bothers me because I know my character like my own child :) never let anyone say something to sway your decision. Always do what you feel is best for you for your story. 

And reach out to people!! I know people are always willing to give such good suggestions for stories and such good advice, even on the littlest things like character development and such! I always support the whole writers supporting writers thing - they may not know your character but they know things about writing that can help you expand so much and can give such great ideas and helpful tips! Writers are friends - great ones at that!! <3 

And something I want to talk about, just a helpful little tip I’ve learned about while writing like I have, is simply writing with the flow of things. Let me give you an example: 

The silent soldier sat with a loose fitting white shirt, that had some holes in it - it must've been the PT shirt guys wore underneath, and he had dirty OD bottoms on, with socked feet. His eyes had dark circles that surrounded his eyelids, and his eyes seemed emotionless, like a dark gate was pushed over them, concealing each and every emotion that was inside, back and away from sight. His eyebrows were slack, relaxed, but the stress lines around it showed. He was young and he already had the stress marks of a 30 year old. His lips had cuts in certain areas and his cheek had a tiny scar, from the war, Hazel assumed. His dark brown hair was greasy, he hadn't showered in a while and the stubble along his face was unkempt - but this was the war taking over a human life form, not a soldier of war.

This is from Chapter 7 of Ad Astra Per Aspera called The Silent Soldier. Something I like to do in my writing, is use description to my advantage as well as emotions. I’m actually creating a post about emotions specifically associated with The Soldier of Stars because I really talk about how I want emotions to really show whether they are happy or sad, I feel it is important :) 

I really like to go in depth, and describe the external figure or topic I’m discussing like “ his eyes had dark circles that surrounded his eyelids and his eyes seemed emotionless “ as the external description. Then I move into internal, based off emotions “ like a dark gate was pushed over them, concealing each and every emotion that was inside, back and away from sight.” I feel writing it like this, expands on that external feeling with an internal feeling as well, I’ve always liked using this concept. 

By the end, I usually relate it to the overall concept, something in this case that has to do with the impending war that has caused all this “ but this was the war taking over a human life form, not a soldier of war.” In the way I use it, I talk about as if there is this alien species taking over a human; in this sense it is something turning from a human to something that was that of a human-like form. By then ending it with ‘a soldier of war’, a soldier of war gives the idea of that perfect soldier on those posters of the war, and the previous description gives the complete opposite of the harsh reality and that’s what I hoped to portray!! If that makes sense though :) 

I hope this helped!! My inbox is always open, and feel free to ask ANY questions you ever have, I will always answer to help anyone and give any of my insights that I have!! I know writing can be stressful sometimes so if I can do anything to help I am always glad!! Thank you sm for the ask and I really hoped this helped!!