#uselessly specific tags

[art-of-mathematics]

[personwholikespmtok]

i have made infinity on the google calculator

[enneamage]

Not directly to Generation Loss, but I've been given a lot of thoughts to the younger generation of minecraft streamers and their attempts to do big projects to "break out of" the minecraft mold: obviously, with Ranboo, we have Generation Loss, which seemed to go over well with his fanbase (enough so that he's stated he's thinking of quitting MCC, which is really the only tie he's had to the game for about a year atp), with Tommy, we have his New York vlog series and now his liveshows, and with Tubbo, while still Minecraft-adjacent, we have Tubnet. I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about what would make a cc successful at shifting their core audience into a brand new project that isn't necessarily the type of content that they got famous for. Do the audiences of all three ccs differ enough that they would need different strategies to shift their content? My running theory is that Generation Loss was mostly successful among his fanbase because it played on the tropes that were apparent in his minecraft lore from the beginning: mind control, a protagonist forced to do awful things against his will, a base npc type character that occasionally has overwrought freakouts over their lack of control, etc. It was just in a medium outside of Minecraft.

Meanwhile, Tommy is finding himself in a rut because he can't fully apply his storytelling skills to a non-Minecraft setting (in part because he's focusing more on comedy, and while his fans like his sense of humor, I think, in his lore, they also liked the Marvel-esque main character energy, which doesn't translate when it's just the cc having a huge ego, and the angst) and his vlogs, when they aren't completely on the backburner, seem too formulaic to have their early charm. As for Tubbo, while obviously a minecraft server is, well, minecraft, there wasn't enough "entertainment"/lore/a connection to the streamer to encourage his core audience to play Tubnet, at least not in the form it was released as. In short, I feel traditional mcyt-ers are looking for narratives or entertainment value from these bunch of ccs. Although maybe Lovejoy's success goes against this theory. It just seems like all the younger minecraft streamers have attempted to release a large project within the last year or so, and while that might not be indicative of them trying to leave the fandom, I sense a restlessness in all of them and a wish to move on.

(Okay so this is going under a readmore because it is a long’un)

As of 2023 in a post-lockdown and post-DSMP world I got the sense that a lot of people were restless regarding what to do and where to go next, CC and audience alike. I think that because the DSMP was such a specific time and place in people’s lives it’s inevitable that the majority of people (because those numbers were huge) will have moved on to watching/wanting other things, so retention through sameness may not work, but you’re onto something with the feeling like there’s no in-character story to follow anymore. The thing I poke at from time to time is that there’s no out-of-character plot to follow anymore either, most of the irl narratives have been resolved or brought off-camera so even the RPF people have to scavenge for food.

Lovejoy has a rising star narrative that people can invest in if they want; with them breaking free of associations with mcyt to be treated like serious musicians, and I think it also serves a purpose ofpeople trying to wash off post-mcyt shame in themselves. (“this is Wilbur Soot and this is WILL GOLD” they tweet, as though that is not a literal man onstage performing, but they’ve already decided what they want to believe in.) I’m sensing some misguided stabs to try and not be treated like the bottom of the food chain in the vocal fanbase by desperately trying to push away from the MCYT association, which is probably where those peoples heads are at all around. Most lovenjoyers are fine with it and just enjoy the music because it’s obviously how they got there, but there’s clearly a friction going on.

Ranboo has a kind of watered-down version of that following them. I remember when I first saw someone say very defensively that Ranboo wasn’t an MCYT, they were a variety streamer. Ranboo has been drifting away from MC for a long time, both moving into the variety realm and daydreaming about Genloss. When people win the internet lottery young it makes sense to want to put the money towards a project that they would only be stuck imagining otherwise, and Genloss very much feels like that kind of dream. I would say that Ranboo has successfully pivoted to variety and even completed their first big project, but they’ll need to re-capture that audience every time they make a Generation from now on, which could be hard to do with breaks in between.

Tubbo has also moved into variety streaming, which is kind of a necessity for the hours he keeps. He also has an ongoing love for big projects like Recipe for Disaster. Tubbo’s longterm investment and labor of love was Tubnet, which would have established him as the owner of a server like the one that he used to play on when he was younger. I don’t know what Tubbo’s relationship to storytelling is, I’ve heard he does it on a small scale but he also has a unique love of engineering, which Tubnet was more about. As far as I know there were a lot of things that eventually led to Tubnet’s low player turnout, but one of them had to have been low demand; I remember people saying that there was no use re-inventing Hypixel when Hypixel already had all the Hypixel players. Regardless of if this was fair or not, Tubnet didn’t wind up developing a large player base from his fame, which unfortunately shows that not all attention rolls over equally.

Tommy has been pouring his storytelling skills into writing his live show, which he’s advertising as the best thing he’s ever written as well as his biggest self-disclosure. It’s autobiographical theatre, but also a puppet musical-- we will see what the audience reviews think. Tommy’s been experimenting the most to see that he wants to do next, I know he’s stated that 2022 was a big ‘try’ year for him and he’s also talked about focusing on the quality of viewers over the quantity because focusing on hard statistics made him miserable. I know Tommy doesn’t want to move away from Minecraft, he’s actually very tightly holding on and trying to find ways to love it again, as well as make it worthwhile for audiences. Some of the things Tommy has been saying lately make it sound like he wants to turn back time a bit, recapture what streaming and video gamed used to feel like for him when he was younger, so we’ll see what resonates with the others. There’s a lot of really dense nostalgia around Minecraft (look at these comment sections they’re haunting) and judging from his current taste in video essays he’s got a moderate case of it.

I think the pattern here is marrying the thing that you want to with what audiences want, which is infinitely harder to do than it is to say. Human motivation is fluid and weird, and not many people are going to be able to say what it is they’ll want or like until something or someone is put in front of them. What people want also changes over time, so it can be a bit like chasing the wind or catching an updraft to get in the air when it comes to getting an audience. There’s a formula for the YouTube algorithm, but there’s not a clear map for the less cheap or predictable parts of the psyche. 

Even when you’ve got an audience, when it’s time to pivot over to something completely new it’s kind of time to be a whole new person to them; your function and role in someone’s life is changing. It’s rolling the dice and seeing if you can do and be something that resonates in a new form. People fall out of love with other people all the time, and I think that CCs get the same effect as the seasons change-- sometimes people change and cause a split, sometimes people stay the same and get stale over time. For the same reason that people can be ride or die because a CC is themselves, when someone falls out of love with a cc there’s not much that can make them stay if the rest of the content doesn’t deliver. I don’t see people talk about it at length, but I have seen this image make the rounds so it’s a shared thing.  

Shortest answer is I think there’s no formula that can be divined outside of a retroactive twelve hour video essay breakdown of each individual’s creators strengths and weaknesses, and a matching breakdown of where the audience’s head was at. It’s much easier to look back on something specific and say ‘this is why this worked / didn’t work’ than grind out guidelines beyond ‘avoid making the audience feel completely alienated or betrayed.’ It can really come down to the audience, who can be attracted and put off by people for reasons that seem borderline intangible, like ‘authenticity.’

The good news is audiences need change and newness even if the content they like has a pattern, otherwise they would keep watching the same video. Even channels that make ‘more of the same’ put out a continuation of what they did last time, moving things along or adding to the collection somehow. Whether it’s in-character or out of character or a kind of abstract “I show up to this channel and things I like are on it,” I think people like to be able to make sense of what they’re clicking on so that they keep doing it. As long as the core remains intact, the people who are sufficiently invested in the creator tend to stick around unless life gets in the way.

As for the restlessness, I think that being on the frontier is kind of addictive. Not long ago someone pointed out to me that I had started wondering what the next big thing would be on behalf of the CCs because it’s an interesting question, especially coming off the back of the DSMP blowing up. I think that online can be a very punishing place if you don’t keep up with trends and frontiers since things change so fast, it’s rewarding if you get in early but you’re in danger if you’re left behind. This is actually as true for regular internet users as it is for CCs, think of the strangely potent social shame of using an out of date meme or not being up on the state of The Discourse, you’ll genuinely get punished if you’re too far out of sync with things. We’re in a year that is both hung over on lockdown and desperately trying to get moving again, right in the moment before the answer to what happens next is ‘obvious.’  

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

WE CAN DIP IF YOU’RE READY ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere imo), mild age gap (five years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach.

but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room; listening to the sound of the nearby sea. you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture. 

(i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.)

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking at you, looking through you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god; his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod, smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of pancakes on the kitchen table, sugary and sweet, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends. 

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

… except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was nineteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a naive little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

five years later, on a breezy summer evening, you step onto a bustling train platform with your luggage in tow — breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look up at them, and then back down; everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you. 

there she is. with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, a yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other just a month ago — you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko…”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, sulking. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards a familiar house, resting in the distance. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.” 

(… ah. right.)

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb.

from within an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze, the buzz of an old radio spills out. when you strain your ears, you think you hear humming — gentle and sweet.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own. “good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”… i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off, muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own — leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice.

”i bet,” he hums. ”take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot, unable to properly look into his eyes. for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward.

one large stride towards you, as sudden as a lightning bolt, before he leans down to wrap his arms around you. squeezing your waist, with his biceps, not quite as tight as you remember his hugs being; you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can. 

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen. 

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly. 

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves. 

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.” 

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a too-loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for the right words, brain tied up into fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, grounding, and all you can do is gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“… you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet, now. soft and sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. you love her for it.

but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating — but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament. 

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.” 

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm. 

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat. 

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?” 

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes… 

suguru. 

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by... i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers. 

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid. 

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look. 

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe. 

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room. 

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan flowing from his throat. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze, one you aren’t accustomed to seeing. you crane your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him? 

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing, even though you’re anything but.

one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening. 

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more — unable to help yourself — you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“… it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re five years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet. 

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it’s dripping with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it, okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair with a gentle caress. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her. 

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up. that your legs were long enough.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart, and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated, even if you’re completely delusional and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds. 

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thighs, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable. he’s strong. very strong.

the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and, honestly, you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually… some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy. i hope you can understand that.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not some random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he stands a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet. satoru, your first love.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat. you’re not sure he heard you. if he did, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time. 

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think, more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have. 

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you. solemn, steady, a pillar of salt.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking with the sound. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking, if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, and oxygen spills out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“… has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

now he’s just teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm; his voice set to a melodic lilt, as if tempting you to close your eyes. it’s summer, in a quiet port town.

and you adore him again. 

that’s right, you muse, belatedly. loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t ever an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so. if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown yard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom — just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away; at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all, that’s it. that was always it.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts, unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off little ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right. 

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you both. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

[stars-for-circe]

Save A Horse… (1000 Special) - Part 1

Tags / cw: headcanons, cowboy!ellie x high society/noble victorian!reader, 1800s dual Victorian and Wild West eras, historical romance, hidden/forbidden romance, sexual tension, fluff

Surrounded by other patrons in a busy seaside bar, Ellie sat in the corner booth, lazily swirling a whiskey glass in clockwise motions. Her Stetson hung low on her head, hiding her face from the many who chose to seek shelter from the sweltering heat. Occasionally, the doors would be opened, letting in the bright midday sun and outdoor buzz, but the ambiance of the bar remained otherwise undisturbed. Peace and fucking quiet - something Ellie had been needing.

Cowboy!Ellie who was drinking at that oceanside bar when your family first arrived in the Americas

She could remember it clear as day, how it went from a bustling street outside to yelling and gathering in excitement. It seemed that everyone was rather keen to see the new family - and new wealth - moving into the town.

She could also remember the bells ringing and the thudding of the wooden stairs as they lowered for your family to step off the ship, one by one. Curiosity won, Ellie thought, as she raised her hat to take a look out of the window next to her, and she counted four people - two parents and two young boys. Behind them a large group of maids carrying enough luggage to weigh down a small boat.

For a moment, Ellie thought that was that, but then - in the corner of her eye - came a flurry of bright fabric as you ran to the stairs, almost tripping in your dress on the way down. And for the first time in a long time, that heady buzz of the port went quiet, as almost every man (and some women too, Ellie noticed) watched you in awe.

But Ellie ignored everyone else, and their plans and advances on you. Because the moment you stepped off the ship, catching her eye - and quite possibly her heart - in the process, Ellie knew you would be hers.

Cowboy!Ellie who was hired to do work on your property, only to meet you the very first day

The estate your father bought was fucking huge - she could tell from the very end of the winding road leading up to the hill it stood on. But the paddocks were messy, and unkempt. In hindsight, Ellie really should have guessed she’d be hired to fix it up…

…And also get closer to you, of course.

It was a boiling hot day that she was ordered to ride shimmer up to the property, for a tour and and instructions and all that. And by the time Ellie got up there, she was drenched in sweat - all this money and they couldn’t offer her a carriage or something?

It was just before noon, too, so it would only get hotter. Ellie could only hope that the first few hours would be spent inside the property and away from the afternoon sun. She unbuttoned her shirt down by two, pulling it back. and forth to uselessly fan her partially exposed chest. This was a bullshit job for the pay she was promised.

But, she thought, as she noticed not one, but two figures walking out to meet her on the patio, the promise of you once again most definitely payed the rest. God, you were even more beautiful closer up - the sun casting a glow on your face, as the wind at the top of the hill blew your hair around your face like a halo, and the baby blue silks of your dress around you like rippling water.

You walked up to her with your father, as he introduced the both of you to Ellie, and welcomed her to the property along with all the other necessary formalities. She shook hands with him - quite firmly, too - as he told her of the projects and repairs needed to be done on the property. But she couldn't help but let her eyes trace back to you, as you took turns glancing at your father as he spoke, and at Ellie. Or more specifically her hands, that now rested at her side after she shook hands with him.

Partly, she listened to the long list of chores your father had set up, but Ellie was mostly just focused on your wandering eyes finding their way back to hers, and she smirked softly as you blinked in surprise when you realised she was already looking at you, taking you out of your trance. And, as your expression grew slightly more shocked, cheeks warming just a tad past normal, her expression could only be described as one of a mischievous grin, as the never-ending speech your father gave only meant one thing:

She was going to be here, with you, for a while.

Cowboy!Ellie who then spends every waking hour finding spare time to be around you

It would have been a few weeks by now, each day within that filled with stolen glances, shy smiles and sly smirks between you two. Each and every time you passed the old storehouse Ellie had been assigned to repaint, you would feel her gaze leave the building and become fixated on you, daring you to turn around and make eye contact. You almost did - to be fair - by letting your eyes wander the grassy path between the both of you, and travel up her soiled boots and paint-stained jeans, up her dirty wife-beater hidden under baggy flannel, and to her sheening neck, almost glistening under the hot summer sun.

But never her eyes. You weren't ever going to lose that game to temptation, not when she so obviously wanted you to play. Instead, you simply walked past, book tight in your hand as you crossed the field and into the middle of an empty paddock, letting her gaze follow you all the way to the large oak tree standing proudly in the centre - after staying here for a while, you had found the perfect place to read. And, well, the swings on hanging down from the tree gave you the perfect view of Ellie hard at work, safe from her attention.

Unfortunately, however, it seemed that you had been spotted after all these weeks. At first, you hadn't even noticed, much too engrossed in your book. But the clearing of her throat as she smirked down at you, hands on her hips, told you everything you needed to know.

"Nice book you're reading" She spoke, taking her eyes off you as she leaned against the trunk of the tree behind you, placing a cigarette between her lips. And the sun at this time of day did nothing to help, creating shadows and rays through the leaves that made her just that much hotter.

"You mind?" She asked, raising a brow while making a gesture to the lighter in her hand.

"Not at all" you replied, taking your attention back to your reading, before registering what she said. You furrowed your brows and snapped your book shut.

"I didn't know you read books."

She glanced up at you as you said that, huffing out a laugh as she took the lit cigarette from between her lips, the smoke billowing out of her open mouth.

"Nah, but those books definitely ring a bell, doll." You paused, confused for a moment, before realising what exactly you had brought out with you.

"I- you mean you- you're..?"

Ellie let out a full on chuckle this time, kicking her leg out from off the tree trunk and putting the cigarette back between her lips. She took another puff, before giving you once last glance as she walked off. But not before calling out to you one last time, as she headed back downhill.

"You're a smart girl, doll. You'd be right to trust your gut."

...Damn those sapphic poets.

Author's note: *peeks head behind door slowly* hiiiii.......No but actually, I went MIA for a bit sorry ab that </3, there's actually a lot more to life than tumblr when you discover the outside world and fresh air, surprisingly. But anyways! I hit 1000 about a month ago and felt like I really should have posted something for it so here's this! There's actually another half thats incomplete but I felt like you guys at least deserved something after so long without any posts, so here u go <3

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @flowersforvi

[anystalker707]

Weak spot

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender neutral] Reader Kinktober prompt: Oral Fixation Tags: Oral / sloppy / lots of spit / no plot / he's absolutely wrecked / his titt gets bitten !!

KINKTOBER LIST MASTERLIST

          It was funny, really. Just a weak spot you happened to find while Zoro was drunk and insisted that you should keep the kiss going for a little longer than usual. He didn’t remember it the next morning, but you made sure to keep a mental note of it so that you could have something extra for him in the right moments. Like now.

Zoro was on top of you, pressing closer as he kissed your lips, giving you multiple pecks with soft groans. His body was over yours, an arm by each side of your head, and he wouldn’t pull away from you no matter the complaints.

“‘Need you,” Zoro would groan between kisses.

The fact he needed you wasn’t the problem, it’s just that you’d rather have a little bit more control right now, do something other than just holding on to his hips while he suffocated you against the mattress like that. It took you a while, but you finally managed to get a grasp on the hair on the back of his head—it was short, yeah, making it harder to tug on it, though it was still enough. Zoro gasped at the sharp pain on the back of his head, giving you just enough space and time to push your tongue inside his mouth.

Zoro’s mouth tasted like sake and another non-alcoholic drink he’d had earlier to help with the heat of the day, the same drink you’d had, so the kiss didn’t have a bad taste. You let your tongue press down to his, then ran it along the back of his teeth before pressing to his tongue again. It alone made Zoro moan as he pressed his tongue back against yours, deepening the kiss.

When Zoro tried to pull away, however, you kept your hand on the back of his head to hold him in place and keep the kiss going. Zoro whined lightly with it, his hands balling into fists as he had no choice other than to kiss you in return. Don’t get him wrong—Zoro loved it, but he was also a little anxious since it was something new with you, at least while he was sober.

A muffled moan came from Zoro’s throat, deep, followed but a sharp gasp as you kissed him. Your tongue rolled around his, and opening your eyes briefly, you could see Zoro rolling his eyes back with the way your tongue glided against his. Great.

Zoro whimpered, gasping softly as he uselessly tried to keep up with the kiss, but he just let it grow sloppy, not caring any more as long as you kept kissing him so good like that. Aw, shit.

Your name escaped Zoro’s lips in a long, dragged groan once you finally let him go. He felt so weak at the way you’d found out about that, all awkward, shy, but… That was also good. Anticipation drummed under his skin as he thought about all the stuff you could do to him, and he would just accept it, of course.

Many thoughts clouded Zoro’s mind, making it fuzzy as you exchanged positions with him and took the top this time, straddling his hips. The strength Zoro once had was now reduced to bits; he just accepted being at your mercy, his face burning red.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you breathed as if you could read his mind, grinning. “You love this.”

“Shut up,” Zoro groaned, but he didn’t fight you when your hands tugged on the hem of his shirt. A chuckle escaped your lips, and you pecked his lips before getting rid of his shirt properly. He lay there, looking at you, waiting for whatever you were going to do to him. He was complicated.

You rolled your eyes at your own thoughts, ignoring the glare Zoro sent you, and instead moved to kiss along his jaw. Zoro sighed, relaxing against the mattress as his hands wrapped around your waist. It felt good at first, but it got better as you kept using your mouth on him, kissing and sucking on his skin without restrictions. He was so lost in it that he only came back to reality again when your mouth met his chest—there was a specific nibble around his nipple that made him moan and arch his back, consequently pushing into your touches.

“Damn it,” Zoro sighed as your lips ran along his v-lines, teasing the skin while your hands worked on his pants. Were you going that fast already? He didn’t feel like arguing, though, sighing softly as he propped up on his elbows so that he could look at you. It was hot, honestly.

Zoro helped you with removing his pants and boxers, but he couldn’t help but be a little extra flustered at the fact he was the only one naked there. You still kept your clothes on, eyeing him so hungrily. He didn’t know what to expect now, but his cock was rock hard between his legs, twitching again once your lips returned to his chest. How was he supposed to resist it? Having you using your mouth on him was the best thing he could imagine right now. He was hard ever since you trapped him in that kiss, taking his breath away and making his eyes roll back with pleasure.

Sparkles ran down Zoro’s spine with the way you nipped on his chest, sometimes actually giving his pecs full-mouth bites, and he could already see where you were going, after some point. He’d happily learned that you loved leaving marks on his chest—marks that sometimes let everyone know who he belonged to whenever he wore a kimono or removed his shirt.

Thankfully enough, you were going down again. Zoro already expected it but still jumped and gasped when he felt your tongue on the underside of his cock, running from the base to the tip while it still rested heavily against his stomach, leaking.

No way, you were fucking pampering him, giving him the best time he could ever wish for, using your mouth so nicely on him like that. You lay on the bed, between his thighs, holding his cock by the base while eyeing its tip. All of it was so hot to Zoro, for some reason. He loved the way your mouth looked when your tongue peeked out, giving his tip kitten licks to wipe away the pre-cum. Eventually, the licks grew bigger, with the new objective of coating his fat, mushroom tip with your spit.

Zoro hissed, biting his lip when you wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked on it, pressing your tongue flat against his slip. It was so warm and wet. Were you trying to make him cum quick?

Your lips looked so pretty, all flushed and swollen as they ran up and down the side of Zoro’s cock, letting the spit escape your lips abundantly. He didn’t care if his elbows would start hurting from sinking into the mattress like that for so long—he couldn’t miss the show. Your hand pressed his cock against his stomach again, and you licked along the veins on his underside. So hot. Zoro let out a long moan as you went from his base to the tip again, making a zigzag motion with your tongue that didn’t fail to reach all the good spots.

“Mmph…” Zoro’s breath was unsteady, and he was absolutely dazed.

Zoro felt his cock twitch in your touch when your lips latched around his tip again, licking away the pre-cum once more. Different from what you’d been doing so far, you started to actually take him into your mouth this time.

“Shit, you feel so good,” Zoro moaned, thighs quivering. “Your mouth feels so good.”

You leaned in, taking about a third into your mouth. The second time, you took half of it. Within a few times, Zoro could finally feel his tip reach the back of his throat, snatching a low groan from him. Unlike the other times, though, you kept Zoro in your mouth for longer, swallowing around him and running your tongue along the underside as you pulled back, slowly. You blinked, looking at Zoro from under your lashes—he was going to lose it.

Curses escaped Zoro’s mouth as you took his cock into your mouth again. This time, you slowly took it all inside again, swallowing around him once more, but you didn’t pull away so soon. Your hands were tight around his waist, and your mouth was hot around his cock. He couldn’t take his eyes off your lips, the way they stretched around him so perfectly, and the way spit trailed down the corners of your mouth. It was sloppy, messy, but it was also so fucking good. Zoro let out a shaky breath, hands curling around the bedsheets.

The next moan that spilled from his lips was throaty and loud—you’d re-found his sensitive spot under the tip of his cock, tonguing at it, making his cock twitch and leak more. He hummed, struggling to keep his hips still.

“Don’t stop— Don’t, don’t,” Zoro’s voice fell in frustration as you stopped tonguing at his tip, and your attention was on his balls instead. He liked that, but he also knew it was a method of delaying his orgasm; he scrunched his nose, holding onto the bedsheets tighter as your tongue ran along his balls before you sucked on them lightly. He couldn’t help the moans, breath faltering and sometimes melting into whimpers.

You were so hot. Your mouth felt so good. Zoro could feel himself going to heaven and coming back, mind fuzzy, eyes rolling back as your mouth went up his cock again. You were tonguing at his sensitive spot again before your tongue pressed to his slit, then your mouth was hot and wet around his cock once more.

Zoro did his best not to push his hips up into your mouth—he wanted to feel your mouth work on him, not to fuck your mouth this time. He whimpered pathetically, biting his lip as you deep-throated him, swallowing around his cock before actually sucking on it. His whole body felt so hot, melting under your touches, as he threw his head back. Sweat trailed down his skin, his muscles straining under your touches as it kept getting harder and harder to keep his composure.

He eventually gave up on holding back his sounds, openly moaning when your cheeks hollowed around his cock—he hissed and pressed his eyes shut for a moment before he tried to gather himself together again. He needed to see your lips all wet and swollen around his cock. See the cum trailing down your lips once he came.

The tingling was already forming itself in the bottom of Zoro’s stomach, the knot tightening as you kept working on him with unwavering determination, doing him so fucking good. He hissed, one of his eyes closing as he struggled to keep observing you.

“Mmph,” Zoro whimpered, calling your name weakly before he was fucking cumming, thighs quivering as he arched his back a little. Still, he observed it as you kept sucking him off, milking him dry until the last drop of cum and the first tinge of overstimulation. He gasped for air as if he’d been underwater all this time once you finally pulled away, panting heavily, and the fact you had some of his cum trailing down the corner of your mouth along with spit didn’t help. He was so lost.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[adverbally]

Together We’ll Break These Chains of Love

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Miscommunication” | wc: 1,599 | rated: E | cw: restraints, sexual content, traumatic flashback, references to past torture | tags: kink negotiation gone wrong, aka steve is way too confident in his ability to bounce back from being held captive and tortured, light BDSM, praise kink | title from “Chains of Love” by Erasure

———

The handcuffs are cool as they lock around Steve’s wrists with a final-sounding click. He welcomes the chill, since the rest of him feels too hot with anticipation and excitement and want. If he focuses on the cold metal, he won’t think about the last time he was restrained like this, hands joined in front of him, beaten and bruised—

Eddie tugs on the short chain between the cuffs, testing their security. “Too tight?”

“No, they’re good.” It’s not a lie. The cuffs aren’t the problem. And actually, he’s handling this better than he thought he would.

“Good.” Eddie steps closer, delicately trails his fingers up from Steve’s wrists, along his arm, around his shoulder. It makes Steve shudder a little. “You’re so beautiful, being so good for me.” With a guiding hand on the back of Steve’s neck, he brings their lips together in a gentle kiss.

Steve quickly forgets the coldness of the handcuffs as a hot flush comes over him at Eddie’s praise. “Thank you,” he mumbles, looking at the messy floor of Eddie’s room. “Sir.”

Adding the honorific felt right. Eddie hadn’t mentioned what Steve should call him, but he thought there should be some distinction between his sweet, goofy boyfriend and the dominant personality he expected to see tonight.

Eddie raises his brows, looking pleasantly surprised. “And so polite, too.” His smile takes on a bit of an edge. “We’ll see how long you can mind your manners.”

He guides Steve to the bed, gentle pressure on his shoulders directing him to sit on the edge. Eddie sinks to his knees in front of him. “I have two rules for you tonight, sweetheart. First, I want you to keep your hands to yourself. That’s what the cuffs are for.” Eddie runs his hands up Steve’s thighs, ruffling the hair against the grain. “If you touch me without permission, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve’s mouth is so dry it’s sticky, but he can already feel himself relaxing. He doesn’t have to think about what to do with his hands, doesn’t have to worry about being charming enough or experienced enough. All he has to do is follow the rules.

“The other rule is that you can’t come until I say so. I need you to tell me when you’re getting close and ask politely so you can get your reward.”

Steve’s stomach flips. That part had been his idea when they brainstormed this last week. What had Eddie called it, a scene? Like they were writing a script and putting on a play? As silly as it sounds, Steve likes being able to anticipate what Eddie will ask of him, likes knowing exactly what he needs to do to be good. It’s a safety net he never knew he was missing.

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie reaches for the waistband of Steve’s boxers. “Do you want to practice first?” Hooking his long fingers under the fabric, he eases them down Steve’s hips, wiggling him slightly to get them out from under him and tugging them off once they’re free. “Why don’t you show me how politely you can ask to be touched?”

Steve isn’t sure he can speak at all, not when Eddie is looking up at him through his lashes, his dark eyes shining in the lamplight, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His jaw works uselessly for a moment before he croaks, “Will you please touch me, sir?”

“Good boy,” Eddie praises, dipping his head to mouth at Steve’s inner thighs. Between wet kisses, he scrapes his teeth across the sensitive skin. Long fingers wrap around Steve’s knees to spread his legs further apart and make more room for Eddie.

It’s an exquisite tease. Steve knows Eddie is doing this on purpose, trying to make him be more specific with his language, testing his patience. He can do what Eddie wants. “Please, will you suck my cock?”

Eddie grins, his mouth already looking red and wet. “Of course, baby. Thank you for asking so nicely.”

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that Eddie swallows him right down, but it is. Usually he takes his time, playing with Steve’s balls, licking up the sides of his cock like it’s an ice cream cone, tongue lapping at his slit to taste him straight from the source. Instead, he engulfs him almost completely, all the way to the back of his throat and most of the way down Steve’s shaft.

“Fuck,” Steve wheezes, fighting to keep his whole body from jackknifing at the intense sensation. The cuffs dig into his wrists as he instinctually tries to separate them and bury them in the sheets on either side of him.

The little noise Eddie makes is amused, but more importantly it vibrates through Steve’s cock.

Steve clenches his jaw so hard his hearing gets weird, the wet noises of Eddie’s mouth and their heavy breathing sounding muffled. God, this is harder than he thought it would be. He forces his hands to stay up in front of his chest, almost in a prayer position, so he won’t reach out for Eddie. He would normally have his fingers threaded in Eddie’s hair by now, just grounding himself until Eddie encourages him to pull. It’s like muscle memory.

Eddie pulls away with a wet pop. “You’re being so good for me, Stevie.”

“Thank you, sir.” He’s proud to keep his voice so even, especially when Eddie sucks him down again mid-sentence.

His abs hurt from bracing himself, his whole body tense as he reminds himself not to move. His feet remain planted so he doesn’t accidentally kick Eddie. His hips don’t jerk upwards so he doesn’t choke Eddie. His hands… Oh, his hands are trembling, resisting the handcuffs even as he pointedly does not touch. And when Eddie uses a forearm to hold his lower body in place, he’s suddenly–

back in the depths of Starcourt Mall, in the Russian lab, restrained at the thighs and upper arms and wrists, his whole body hurting from the beating they gave him but he’ll take more pain as long as they don’t touch Robin, feeling her warmth at his back as the warmth of the truth serum bubbles like champagne in his veins, then someone is grabbing his hand and he doesn’t like the tool they’re holding and he can’t get away–

“Steve!” Eddie sounds frantic, like this isn’t the first time he’s called Steve’s name. He’s holding one of Steve’s hands, though the other one isn’t far away either, and he doesn’t have any torture devices that Steve can see but the panic swelling in him isn’t governed by such logic.

“Let me go!” Steve jerks his hands away from Eddie, tries to wiggle away.

Eddie looks like he’s about to cry, eyes wide and wet and horrified. “Let me unlock the cuffs, baby, we’ll get you out.”

Steve hadn’t even noticed that Eddie was holding the key, quick to end the scene as soon as he noticed Steve freaking out. He blinks down at him, and this is certainly goofy boyfriend Eddie and not dominant Eddie, and he suddenly feels ashamed of his reaction. Eddie wouldn’t hurt him in any situation, not unless he asked him to, and here Steve was, acting like Eddie wanted to rip his fingernail off instead of checking in with him.

Eddie takes Steve’s distraction as an opportunity to unlock the handcuffs. His movements are quick and efficient. Maybe Steve will be vaguely jealous about that later. But for now, Eddie is pulling the metal away from his wrists and massaging at the red, chafed skin there. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I shouldn’t have–”

“No, I should’ve told you when we planned this.” Steve is quick to take the blame. “I thought I could handle it and I couldn’t and I put you in a situation where you were scared for me because I lied to you–”

“Shh, it’s okay.” From anyone else it might sound condescending, but Eddie’s voice is so soothing and Steve knows he’s genuinely trying to comfort him. A little bit of tension seeps out of him, followed by a little bit more when Eddie brushes Steve’s hair back from his face and kisses his forehead. “Right, you’re okay?” He looks at Steve intently.

Other than the slight awkwardness of being naked while Eddie is still fully dressed, Steve feels fine once the cuffs are off him. “I’m okay. You’re okay?”

Eddie smiles at him, a little ruefully. “I’m okay. I think we’re done for tonight, though.”

“With the bondage stuff, yeah,” Steve agrees, “but the night might still be young enough for hot cocoa and bad movies. After I shower,” he grimaces.

“The Munson hot chocolate recipe will not be constrained by mortal constructs such as time,” he intones as he gets to his feet. “So it’ll be ready as soon as you’re out of the shower.” He offers a hand to help Steve stand too. “You sure you’re good? I can go with you.”

Steve leans in for a tender kiss. “Nah, go make my cocoa.” Another peck. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Go get clean.”

Steve will let the hot water wash away any remaining wrongness from the evening. He’ll curl up on the couch next to Eddie in his softest pajamas, with a fresh mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows. He’ll listen to Eddie’s running commentary on whatever they’re watching, feeling his voice resonate where his head rests against his chest. It sounds like heaven.

Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now. 

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

Thank you for reading! You can support your favorite writers by the simple act of reblogging AND liking! Thank you again!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[lys-jeorge]

He's my favourite player to watch in the whole world and I love him, I will keep him.

If you're watching Heretics Vs BDS I have an important question for you

[bleaksqueak]

Man.

So, of course, the rampant theft and disregard for artists has never been ideal, but Pinterest has always been an invaluable tool despite that since it's a paradise for reference and discovery (so you know, always tag your art.. .in multiple places. I started tagging mine with more subtle watermarks in the dead center since uploaders were cropping my tag out, even though like, with the elias respite image, it ruins the composition by ruining the card look and frame... Why do you want to crop my sig out so bad to ruin the composition lmao) Anyway Point being, I have gotten more use out of pinterest as a reference archive than any annoyance it has ever brought me. I've found some artists I absolutely adore using it, too, especially when people use it as its (mostly. sort of) original intended purpose, being a huge communal bookmark/pinboard... those that leave the links directly to the art/artist are saints. However, I really, really hate seeing it being over run by generated Aye-Eye shit. Especially since, apparently, no one ever told the Aye-Eye bros the common sense of "DON'T make the exact same picture 500 times with only an ever so slight difference, are you stupid?" (rhetorical question, ofc.) But it's getting harder and harder to keep the search feeds tailored because these morons cannot understand the value of quality > quantity, so I love being flooded with the slightest variant on the same gd picture over and over. I really hope this bubble bursts or the world gets its act together and outlaws it/heavily regulates it soon. I've said before I wasn't even completely against it as a potential for a fun tool back when it made actually cool dream-like collages of really wacked out whimsical shit, but even then it was like "... but you shouldn't have free reign to just steal to make this stuff. At least it looks nothing like the source, I guess?" but the "Better" it gets, the more uselessly souless and obnoxious it gets, and the more "well that's just straight up obvious theft" it gets. I see so ,so so so many recognizable styles , sort of just hollowed out husks, in these awful things... but hilariously, the more over saturated they get, the more they seem to just feed off of each other, and they start looking like the most homogenized, soulless ero-game style art I've ever seen. Anyway, I just needed some reference for a specific cut of dress pants, and somehow *that* started turning into a feed of nothing but the same soulless pseudo-anime twunk generated over and over and over with bulbous buttocks stuffed into passable pantsuit pantaloons. so I guess i'll just get my ref the old fashioned way - going to specific websites/blogs with actual photos. I'm just glad that for the most part tumblr and bluesky both are strongly anti-aye-eye, they're the only two places where I rarely have to see the shit.

[screamingcrows]

Tie a tether here - Dottore x OC (Celeste)

Note: I don't even care if Dottore is ooc because I needed this. Don't squint too hard at this. Takes place between Tomorrow and Change of Pace. Do not fucking feed this to ai, I'll get you Trypanosoma rhodesiense. Warnings/tags: MDNI, self harm (specifically cutting, scratching, and ripping out hair), delusions (the psychotic kind, not the vision mimics), mental breakdown, not established relationship, bad comfort.

Breathe in.

Hold.

A foreign scream rattled the modest bathroom.

Hold.

Celeste's ribs were about to snap.

Nails raked along her scalp, fingers tangling in the soft hair and ripping out one strand after the other.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

The tiles were cold against her knees, legs numb from how long she'd remained there.

Breathe out.

Someone was there with her.

Her ears flicked, picking up the sound of something moving in the halls. It felt too uncertain to be acknowledged. Heavy boots. A soldier? They'd walk by and be none the wiser. All that mattered was the absence of Dottore, his leave ensuring privacy here in his sanctuary.

Clawed hands grasped at the cold sink in preparation to hoist herself up, head lowered in irrational fear of the polished mirror. Something she'd polished herself one week prior. Dottore had needed it clean, not that he'd asked.

Her visage was foreign when it invaded her mind uninvited. Dark bags lined the pale skin under her eyes, their discoloration the worst of all. What had he compared them to before? The break of dawn over the mausoleum? Bile rose in her throat, body jerking with the onset of coughs and gags.

Nothing was expelled from her body save the tears that refused to dry. If only it was that easy. Foul laughter erupted from her throat, bubbling to the surface as it was wrung from her body. The tears flowed faster, confusion and fear at the foreign sounds being brought to life. Was that her fate, bring about such terrible things?

Several familiar faces danced at the edges of her vision, her own reflection baring its sharp teeth in a mocking sneer. Her head was pounding, the laughter threatening to crush her skull and what little sanity remained.

Murderer.

They kept whispering that single word, the sound echoing painfully in her head, burying itself where it would never be uprooted. Their grins remained intact, empty eyes boring into her even as all faded to black. A sharp pang went through the haze, fresh blood pooling around her claws as they dug into her shoulders, shaking with a need to rend. Celeste felt her muscles spasm, fighting a futile war with itself, torn between serving justice and self preservation.

Glass cracked and splintered under the weight of her fury, uselessly clattering to the ground to join her ambitions. Another howl tore itself free while she sunk back to her knees, masking not only the sharp knock but also the immediate creaking of hinges.

"And why, exactly, are you in my quarters Celeste? I might have given you a key out of convenience, but that was hardly an invitation."

Everything shattered around her, hands desperately flying to her shoulders to cover and hide, back rounding as she curled in on herself. A small shake of her head to spread the white locks of hair, praying it had no visible stains already as it blanketed her form.

Revenge?

"Privacy… You were gone anyway," the lie seared her tongue, shaky enough that it was no doubt obvious.

A cry for help?

Her eyes closed in relief when Dottore showed a rare mercy and let the question drop. The respite was short-lived as any other pleasantries in this world. Three sharp clicks from his heels and soft leather meeting bare skin, the grip on her shoulder light yet still bordering on painful as it threatened to crush her heart. His gloves would be bloodied again. The cacophony of voices had calmed at the touch.

"Make no mistake, you will be reprimanded for this mess in due time, Celeste," an unamused sigh followed, the silence that stretched reminiscent of late nights where a solution was taunting them, just out of reach, "for now, collect yourself and go to the locked lab. Delta can patch you up in there, I would rather this stay between us."

That was it? Of course it was. What else did she deserve?

Celeste found herself longing to smack his hand away, bite it perhaps, anything to shift her focus from the quickly expanding pit of her stomach. It was all so tiresome, body heavy and sluggish as she let it curl in further on itself, as if the world could be shut out so long as all senses were dulled. A sob left her lips. It could, she knew it could.

The weight on her shoulder moved, awkwardly firm in the way it shook her.

"I said collect yourself, tardiness has never been a vice for you and it would be unfortunate to develop the habit now," Dottore's words lacked their previous bite, more resigned than anything.

Another cackle wormed its way from her throat, building to a manic laughter as her own hands flew up to catch it at the source, squeezing around the delicate column, anything to make it stop.

He's laughing at you. It's natural. A pathetic creature who can do nothing right. Escaping fate takes more than fleeing a nation.

"Celeste," his voice was sharp again, sharper than the feel of his palm colliding with the back of her head.

Everything went quiet again save for the dull thud of an aching heart.

"Don't make me drag you there."

The thumb rubbing against her shoulder now was far more rugged than the familiar leather. When had he removed the glove? A sigh left her, focusing on the drag against her skin and the stinging pain that accompanied it with every swipe just barely dodging the open cuts. Her breath was coming in short puffs, adrenaline coursing through her veins as the formless voices continued to lurk in the shadows, waiting for the time where she'd be alone again.

Celeste was well aware that the anguish, the way her voice cracked so pitifully, was undoubtedly irksome for Dottore, but nothing could be done to stop it.

"Being patched up isn't going to-"

"Do you think I'm unaware? Tell me then, what can be done in this very moment? From where I stand, there's no immediate solution to this, and clever as you are, you'd have already found it if there was. And if I," he hesitated for a moment, finger digging painfully into a wound before reluctantly pressing on, "if we cannot fix that, then at least the vessel can be maintained."

A few tears were wiped from her cheeks, slowly turning as if compelled to look at him. Dottore had forgone the mask, a rare occurrence. There were creases around his eyes, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles trembled.

By no means should those words be calming.

Celeste let her head fall, eyes closing as exhaustion took root. Her eyes stung from the lack of tears left to shed, a light pressure still remaining, the only thing keeping complete emptiness at bay.

"Don't- don't look at me like that."

No words were offered in response as his thumb continued to trace over old scars and fresh wounds alike, touch far too delicate for the man he was. A hiss left her lips when her hair was moved out of the way, knowing that nowhere she could reach on her thorax had been spared throughout the years.

"And don't touch me…"

Don't touch me like that.

"And here I thought your gravitation towards high necklines and covered shoulders was simply a testament to professionalism."

Another silence ensued, uncomfortable and far too long. Already broken shards of the mirror cracked under Dottore's boot as he shifted before kicking them away, some of them disappearing under the crumpled fabric of the discarded shirt.

"It's hideous-"

And I'd rather be spared the faux sympathy.

The words felt heavy, he'd already been burdened enough by this outburst. If only she hadn't gone to his quarters in some silly pursuit of false security, this could've all been avoided and her dignity would be intact.

"I seem to recall your lips tracing along my body, saying my numerous imperfections didn't matter. 'merely proof you've lived' if I remember correctly. Explain to me the difference."

"There's a- a good reason you look as you do," a reason you won't share with me, "it was out of your control, but this-"

"Do you harm yourself out of a desire to do so?"

"I mean- I," a cloying breath of air invaded her lungs, the sense of anticipation heavy upon her tongue, how could he still be so innocently curious, "I don't know? Sometimes it's just, I have to, it's always.. it's always there and nothing makes it shut up and- I think I'm broken."

With surprising patience, Dottore let his hand fall away, walking around to lean against the sink.

"Does it work?"

"What?"

"Does it ease your mind?"

A part of her wanted to scream that of course it did, why else would she resort to it. It would be a lie. And if she hadn't imagined the regret in those garnet eyes, he knew it.

"It gives me something else to think about," the words were forced out with a shudder, fingers playing with a shard of glass.

It was crushed under his boot before her fingers could grasp it, the tiny splinters glittering against the floor.

"We have better things to distract ourselves with."

She flinched, tail stirring as it curled around her waist, body finally giving in to the thought of soothing itself. Maybe he was right, there'd never really been a quick solution to anything, had there? Her eyes flickered to the thin trails of crimson that adorned her arms. At least not any worth pursuing.

Celeste took the outstretched hand that was offered, seeing the drying blood on her hands stain his skin as she fought the sinking feeling that slowly crept back. Surprise briefly ran through her system at the slight smile that met her, the whisper of 'there you are' faint enough that she didn't dare acknowledge it, merely following Dottore out of the wrecked bathroom, thoughts frustratingly quiet as long as his hand enveloped her wrist.

[honeysorwell]

Two hearts can fix everything 

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x fem!Reader 

Word Count: 1,3k

Tag list: @paulsonix​​ @d14n4ol​​ @harknspet​ @strawberryshorttcakkee and if any of you want to be added just let me know!

Summary: Wilhemina Venable. A strange name, but one that has never caused a stir in the redhead's life. However, when a new coffee shop opens near Kineros Robotics, her unusual name is what brings Wilhemina and Y/N together. Charmed by Y/N's sweet smile, Wilhemina doesn't have the courage to correct the barista when she spells her name wrong every time the redhead orders a coffee and, as time goes by, a feeling grows in Wilhemina's heart and she is tempted to almost add an I and an L to her register.

But one day, this little misunderstanding has to end.

A/N: Hello! i'm back with something new! 

fuck… I miss good fanfiction, so I got inspired and finally fell ok with writing again for this social network after all this time, and nothing better than writing about this pretty redhead who lives in our hearts... 

I have in mind five chapters to this fanfic (to be really specific), but if you all like this I can extend the fanfic to 7 or 8 chapters, just like I did with (a very unprofessional) game changer . 

As I said last time, English is not my first language so something might sound strange, but as always, I did my best.

Anyway this is basically a coffee shop au (mix w 5 times +1) were the cute barista keeps mispelling the other persons name but it's been too long now so the person don't even know how to tell them that without it being 100% awkward BUT happy ending included! And they are cute!! 

Enjoy!

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 1

The first time that it happened, Wilhemina was supposed to go home after a really long day of work, because she couldn't be more irritated on a Monday. Jeff and Mutt started the week smelling like cheap booze and both extremely tipsy, stumbling between the rooms of Kineros Robotics while laughing for no reason at all. Even though the redhead knows that their brains are absolutely useless for anything, she still finds herself getting irritated by their lack of professionalism. And this irritability gives her a headache right away.

The redhead took an antibiotic for the pain, even though her back wasn't bothering her, silently and uselessly wishing that the relaxing medicinal effect would be directed at the throbbing pain in the middle of her forehead. Her primary instinct is to simply get into her car and go home, but as she leaves the building where she works, a sign shines in the sunset across the street and consequently catches Wilhemina's attention.

The sign had been ready for a few days now, full of green plants and eye-catching flowers to the point that the redhead believed it was a flower shop. But now it is clear, thanks to the colorful and festive letters that basically scream “Gardenhouse Coffee”, that it is a coffee shop.

And the redhead simply knows that she will not like it there.

Wilhemina can see, just through the ornate glass of the colored windows, that this is not the kind of place she frequents. It is a mix of shades of green, yellow, purple, pink and blue that contaminate the redhead's vision. She knows that she cannot call it ugly, because even though it is confusing it does not seem ugly. It is just not for her. Definitely not for her.

But when the redhead's headache worsens, as a reminder of her current situation, Wilhemina imagines that, perhaps, there is no harm in visiting the place. After all, the cause of her headache could be the lack of coffee in her day. It made sense since she did not drink coffee in the morning and also did not stop her work for it at any time during the day.

And suddenly, getting rid of this pain quickly turns out so important to Venable that she crosses the street and enters the coffee shop right away.

The inside is not as bad as the facade. There are wooden tables with several plants in different colors, but with green and brown staying everything seems to make more sense. The place is busy, but everyone is already seated at their respective tables and engaged in parallel conversations, and knowing that she doesn't have to wait for anyone to place her order or stand under the gaze of strangers while waiting for a measly coffee makes Wilhemina calmer.

The coffee shop is not as small as Wilhemina imagined looking from the outside, and part of the redhead is surprised to discover that only one woman works there. She wears a light brown apron with some plants printed on it, as well as the name of the coffee shop and a name tag.

Y/N.

The name is written clearly, in a size acceptable to be seen from a distance and with beautiful handwriting. But what really catches Wilhemina's attention is her face. Y/N has bright eyes and a smile that seems to shine in the middle of the coffee shop, as if she were a being oblivious to all the evils of the world. And Wilhemina almost gets scared when her eyes shine with a kind of natural affection directly in her direction.

“Hello, welcome to Gardenhouse Coffee! How can I help you?”, her voice is also soft, full of joy and Wilhemina can’t decide if she likes it or not.

“Just the menu.”, the redhead didn’t mean to, but her voice came out less inviting than she anticipated.

“Here. Just let me know if you need anything, or if something on the menu is confusing.”

“I believe I can find myself on a sheet of paper. Thank you.”

Y/N doesn’t answer her, just nods and focuses her gaze on her own counter, as if looking for something to do besides looking at the redhead. When Venable focuses her gaze on the menu, she notices that the names are absurd. Full of lame puns, or ingredients that are not very inviting to her, and Wilhemina has absolutely no time for any of that, especially when her head starts to hurt again. So, she doesn't bother to look at the entire menu to turn her attention to the waitress in front of her.

"I'll just have a strong coffee, medium size. Black, no sugar or anything else.", as the words slip past her lips, Wilhemina slides the menu to the counter again, and as she does so she can see that Y/N notices that she is not available for any silly conversation in the middle of this sale, and the redhead feels grateful for that since her head continues to hurt more and more with each second.

"It's on its way! What's your name?", the waitress's smile is there again, but the question confuses Wilhemina.

Why does she want Wilhemina's name if she is the only one inn line there waiting for a coffee? And honestly, a simple, regular coffee doesn't take long to make so there's no chance that Y/N will forget what to do or to who it is directed before it is ready.

The redhead thinks about being unpleasant and asking questions in a loud and clear tone for everyone to hear, questioning the attendant's IQ until the incessant smile disappears from her face, but her head is about to throb without pause so Wilhemina just answers quickly before watching Y/N work.

"Venable. Wilhemina Venable."

Maybe it would be better for her back to just sit down, because the idea of ​​the pain in the center of her forehead being accompanied by a much more unpleasant one in the middle of her spine made her saliva taste bitter. But sitting carefully in chairs that seem too low, and then having to get up to leave with the same care, both to avoid hurting herself and to avoid attracting curious looks, is so exhausting that perhaps the first option is actually the best on a comparative scale.

It's official, she prefers to stand and only sit down when she is really comfortable and without pitying looks on her, in her car.

Trying to use the time she has in a profitable way, the redhead takes her wallet out of her bag and then her card, but as soon as she looks up, she sees Y/N writing something down in a cup filled with a dark liquid that Wilhemina could swear is hers.

It really was fast.

The cup is handed to her with a sweet smile, and Wilhemina almost feels obliged to mirror it, even if it was with a slight robotic lift of her lips, but then she sees it.

Wilhielmina.

At another time, Venable would have stared at the striking and beautiful line of the barista's handwriting on the glass, or even the two drawn hearts that accompanied it, but the error in her name screams so loudly in her ears that she can barely think of anything else while staring at the hot drink.

If the redhead were living an ordinary day, her first reaction would be to complain to the person in charge and ask the bright-eyed barista if she was illiterate. After all: an I and an L, really?

But her head hurt so much, her body was really tired and crying out for a shower, and her knees were now tired of supporting her weight.

Wilhemina really just wanted to go home. And so the redhead just grabbed the cup and gave the barista a polite nod before heading out of that rainbow-shaped nightmare, not caring if Y/N had said a word to her.

After all, Wilhemina wouldn't go back there.

The coffee must be bad, so she doesn't care if her name is spelled wrong.

She wouldn't go back there anyway.

[tintagel-or-cockleshells]

after a long, long time of not doing stuff - behold! Stuff! It's an AU (can I write anything else?) loosely based on Buffy. It's like, what if Xander wasn't a giant tool, and also fell for a guy?

Thanks to the taggers - @cha-melodius, @inexplicablymine, @zwiazdziarka, @kiwiana-writes specifically for WIP Wednesday and for the people who tagged me for fic interviews/first line and last line/stats posts.

Nobody would suspect the shifty guy who runs the pawn shop of being one of the world’s foremost experts in demonology. The one who’s kept them alive on multiple occasions. As far as Alex knows, that’s just how Raf likes it. Nora started dabbling in magic back in freshman year, and almost caused a natural disaster when she tried to give herself more hours in the day. That was 36 hours of unrelenting sunlight in the middle of summer - Alex remembers the sweat pouring off him, no relief coming with night’s cooler breezes. He urged June to stake her when they found out who was behind it, but now he grudgingly admits maybe he was right to spare her. She’s one of his closest friends. June kills monsters. She protects people, and the town, from vampires and werewolves and vengeful ghosts. It’s a job that’s unpaid and never gives her the day off, and she wears it every day. Alex does what he can from her - making excuses when she misses parent-teacher night or Mom finds her bed wasn’t slept in, making sure she eats - but when she has a specific trial, or some evil demon demands she come alone into a trap, he’s shut out. Luna and Nora close ranks around her, and Alex just… hovers. Uselessly. 

Tags? Well, if you insist. @clottedcreamfudge, @dustratcentral, @dumbpeachjuice, @suseagull04, @firenati0n, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @cricketnationrise, @rmd-writes, @read-and-write-, @14carrotghoul, @celeritas2997, @everwitch-magiks, @cheesecurdsgravyandfries, @daisymae-12, @nixieteeth.

[hazardous-who]

Can I ask for ObiKaka with a smidge of ObiRin/KakaRin? Specifically with some trans Kakaussy? I’m fine with anything so long as it at least that but if wanting more specification I would also love something “fucking wrong person” where Obito meant to for it to be Rin but it ends up being Kashi maybe who was asleep? Some mixup? Do whatever you want!!! I hope you know I am big love of elusive roommate fic <3<3 ice snow too thank you for feeding us with so many different genre Who

Of course of course ! I hope this is everything you were looking for. 💕 Also I’m glad you’ve been enjoying my other fics, thank you for reading them !

⚠ New Fic Alert - [ Right Place, Wrong Time ]

[ Pairing: Obito Uchiha / Kakashi Hatake & Obito Uchiha / Nohara Rin (implied) ]

“Hey- you shouldn’t just barge into someone’s room when it’s not your house-“ Obito shot over his shoulder, trying to embarrassingly cover his and Rin’s nudity uselessly while scolding whoever had tried to come in.

“Well it’s a good thing it’s my house then.” Rin chuckled.

What?

Obito paled as he shot to his feet, eyes wide as he took in that, yes. That was Rin. In the doorway.

Not in the bed.

🚩 Rating - Explicit.

🏁 Finished One-shot.

As usual, mind the tags on the actual Ao3 page.

Link Here - [ click click ]

[the-lights-are-loud]

Childhood

You’re drifting away on a forgotten, broken slab of what once was. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The false safety you once felt ripped away by a storm of chaotic thoughts and new emotions. You can’t tell if the drops of water on your face are rain, sea spray, or tears. Everything is wrong and there seems to be no hope of getting back to where you were. No more safety, no more hand-holding, no more carrying you back to bed after falling asleep in the car. 

The water feels like ice. Your veins frozen, the blood sluggish and unwilling to move. Your heart aches with exhaustion and anguish. Each breath sends icicles down your spine. You can feel each wrinkle in your hands as more water soaks into your skin. Your legs hang uselessly off the edge of the rough, splintered wood. There’s still a glow-in-the-dark star stuck on the peeling paint. Your bedroom door, a fragment of what it used to be. Sometimes a wave of deadlines and due dates crashes down on your face, leaving you spluttering and close to drowning. The taste of saltwater and tears, almost bitter to the tongue. 

And yet, you still grip the splintering wood. The TV shows on Saturday mornings. The first video games you beat, the first book series you owned. Your LEGO collection, your favorite song from when you were little. The stuffed animal you’ve had longer than your siblings. The Facebook posts your mom made when you started elementary school. Your little nook, too small for how long your legs are now, where you would dive into new and exciting worlds. The blanket forts that covered your basement, and had individual rooms. The sleepless nights of hiding under your race car blankets, playing your DS, even though your mom took it away from you that morning. The park where you and your friends would play tag at. The tall hills that you would roll down in a race with your younger siblings. Your older brother helping you with your homework.

What will you do when the door breaks down and you fall? When you drift into the ocean of responsibility? Will you keep the splinters of nostalgia in your hands? Will you wash the peeled paint off your jeans, the paint you meticulously picked out when you were five? Will you see if you can breathe under this heavy water? Or will you sink, drowning in the impossibility of it?

Does it hurt to hold onto the rusted knob of your childhood? The pain of your loss sticking to you like the stickers that covered your binders? Your knees sore from the waves like the rug burns from your carpet. Toes frozen like when you would sit in the snow for hours, attempting to make an igloo. 

You can’t swim.

You never learned how.

When you would sit in the pool because you used to enjoy the weightlessness and cold enveloping hug of a blue expanse. You were eleven when you had your first swimming lessons. You were terrified when the teacher would watch you sink into the water because you had to tread water in his specific way. Everyone wants you to do things in their specific way.

You are only a child. Why grow up when you will surely drown? Will there ever be a boat that sees you flailing, desperately trying to stay afloat? Will it guide you to adulthood safely? Will you finally be able to step back and realize that your childhood is gone? And maybe, just maybe, you will be okay?

Masterlist

[the-lost-girl-in-the-tardis]

Eater Of Time

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Gender Neutral Reader

Song: Babylon- Barns Courtney. Darkness of the Day- Cadalay

Warnings:

An: This is something that I plan on re-writing in the future. Maybe even making it into a short story. But it's an idea i've been toying with for a long time now so please consider this as a first draft of sorts. Any feedback will be appreciated.

Tags: @simplymurdock

Word count:4586

Last part first

"Help me. Remind me why I'm here."

-Kim Addonizio, from 'Death Poem', Wild Nights: New and Selected Poems.

"What are they?" Your voice shakes. The creatures in front of you move and shift along the shadows. Their eyes are hungry. Feeding off of the very being of you.

"Eaters of time." The Doctor spoke from beside you. Quiet. Soft. Almost scared if one could believe it. You glance up at him as he still stares back at the creatures.

"Eaters of time?" You ask. One of them lurches forward and the Doctor places you behind him. His sonic whirs uselessly against them. The darkness they spread swallows the little green light. "Doctor." You whisper. "Doctor please. What are they?"

You have never seen that look on his face before. So broken. Empty. You've seen his joy, his anger, his sorrow. This. It.

"They eat time, Y/n. Specifically the time someone has lived. They eat it. Consume it. Almost immortal because of their hunger." He pulls you away from him and towards the open forest the two of you had trekked god knows how long ago. "I'm sorry." He gives you a hug. Presses a kiss to your brow. "I am so sorry. But I need you to run. Go. To the Tardis. She'll take you home."

"I'm not leaving you!" The creatures surge as your voices rises. "Doctor. I will not leave you." You voice is hoarse. Your body strung tight. Muscles and a base primal fear begging you to do just that. Run.

His face hardens and you catch a glimpse of the Doctor that only those who whisper his name in fear have witnessed. Not at you. No. But that foolish heart of yours. The one that begs to stay. To help.

"I need you to run. Now." He begins to push you away from it all. Away from the baying creatures. The forest seems to grow. To swallow the both of you as he pushes you further and further away. "Go! Before they-"

First part second

"Let me sit here, on the threshold of two worlds. Lost in the eloquence of silence."

-Jalalud'din Rumi (1207-1273) 13th century mystic and poet.

"One of the most beautiful forests in this galaxy." The Doctor whirls as he steps in front of you. Throwing the Tardis doors open with a flourish he grins. "Y/n I give you Tenebris Silva."

Beautiful indeed. The forest had a dark ethereal beauty to it. Shadows clung to the spaces in-between. White fog flowed and clung to the trunks of the trees. Deer like animals peered from around them. Their large eyes catching the light from inside the Tardis before darting off into the darkness.

The trees were such a deep green they matched the eternally night sky. The tops brushing the sky as if they were painting the smattering of stars and clouds high above. They moved and swayed with the breeze. Creaked and groaned as the wood fought against the wind far above.

All you could do was look in aw. Spinning on the spot as your feet dug into soft earth and pine needles. The air was so sweet. So clear and clean. It was if you were taking a breath of air for the first time. You breathed in deeply. As if you were trying to etch this air into your lungs. Commit it to memory so you would never forget.

You could hear the Doctor laugh as you did this. You must have looked a little silly you thought. Spinning about like a child. Still, you didn't stop. Trying to drink in every bit of this place you could. Trying to remember it so that one day you could look back. Such a happy memory it would be.

The Tardis doors closed and for a brief moment you were plunged into darkness. The half moon provided little light. As did the stars far away as they were. You jumped when you felt the Doctors hand land on your shoulder. A flashlight was pressed into your hands as the Doctor turned his own on.

"Come along then. There's a cabin here." The two of you began to walk. The Doctor stopped. Muttered to himself then began walking in the complete opposite direction. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. "Oh hush you. Unless you don't want to see the once in a lifetime meteor shower." You really did laugh at this.

"You wouldn't." You nudged his shoulder with yours. He tried to keep that angry look on his face but it soon fell.

"No. Not to you." His free arm wrapped around your shoulder. "But you'll love it. When they fall they light up every color you could ever imagine. It's like a firework show but better." His head dipped low. "And I can guarantee whatever you are imagining isn't even going to compare to what you are about to see." He pulled his head up. "Although that doesn't mean that you lack imagination. Or that you don't have a brilliant mind or." You stopped him by shining your flashlight in his face.

"Stop it you." You turn your head shining your light about the lightly worn path the two of you were taking. It was more of a deer trail really. A thin worn dirt path with a decent amount of brush on either side. "How far is it to this cabin?" You shiver. The planet may have an eternal night but it was no colder than a normal night on Earth.

"Not far." The Doctor responded. "Tired already? The fun hasn't even begun! We're supposed to." He stopped. Shined his light away from the path. You followed yours with it.

"Doctor?" You ask. Peering around him as he plucked something off of the brush next to him. You heard him hum as he brought it in front of him so you could see.

"Fabric. That's strange. No one else is supposed to be here. Or have been here for a long time." The fabric was a dark denim. Similar to the jacket you were wearing now. The Doctor moved it about. Checking it every which way. He brought it to his nose and gave it quite the loud sniff.

You arched a brow and chuckled. "That smell any good?" The Doctor looks to you. Shakes his head. He looked as if he were trying to recall something. He pockets the fabric and pulls you along the path.

"It's nothing. Probably. Maybe." The two of you broke through the brush. The tree line opening up to an open field with the cabin in the center of it. The ground breaks off to a cliff face with mountains jutting above the horizon. "And no. It didn't smell good." The both of you laugh.

The cabin is dark and very very big. It toward at least three stories and spread the length of a football field and then some. There was no electricity either. Candles and lanterns lined the walls. The Doctor flicked his sonic as the two of you entered. The inside of the cabin bathed in soft orange light.

The floor was carpeted. Paintings hung on every available inch of wall. Only broken by cabinets or hanging plants. The air smelled of something familiar to you. One you couldn't place.

You took the time to look around while the Doctor scribbled away in what you assumed to be a log book. Like the kind that hotel owners have. You brushed your fingers along the frame of one of the paintings. Was this place a hotel? You would have to ask the Doctor.

"Alright! Off to our rooms then." The Doctor spun bringing his hands together. The lanterns lit themselves as the two of you climbed a flight of stairs to the next floor.

You couldn't help but get a weird sense of deja'vu as you walked. Something bugging you in the the back of your mind. You shrugged your shoulders as a shiver ran down your back. While the Doctor was unlocking the door to one of your rooms you glanced back down the hallway. The further down it went it seemed like the darkness swallowed the light.

Your ears began to ring as your continued to look about. Something. Something wasn't entirely right. One of the lanterns flicked before going out briefly. Cold washed over you and you couldn't help but feel like you were being watched.

"Y/n?" The Doctor's head popped over your shoulder as he looked down the hallway with you. You jumped and spun on the spot. A hand over your know rapidly beathing heart.

"Jesus Doctor! You scared the life out of me." He looked from down the hallway to you. A curious look on his face. 

"Are you alright?" His hands were on your shoulders. Eyes searching your face as if he could find the answer he was looking for there.

"Ya. I." You stuttered out. "I was just lost in thought in all." At this he gave a soft huff. 

"Must have been some thought." His voice was quiet. "Anyways. Your room!" The door swung open to reveal a lavish room. A large canopied bed with sheer, wine red curtains. A dark chestnut chest sat at the end of it. As you walked through the door you saw a plush couch that matched the color of the bed. In the center of the room was a small table with chairs at either side.

"This looks like something my parents would love to be in." You said. You turned. Brushing your hand along the fabric of the couch. Then again. That smell. Something so familiar you could almost place it. It was stronger here. "That being said. It's beautiful Doctor." The Time Lord in question  was leaning against the door frame. A soft smile on his lips. "Thank you for taking me here." You genuinely meant it. Everything this man has shown you. You wish you had more than just words you could say. 

"No need for thanks y/n." He pushed himself away from the doorframe. "Cards?" He pulls a deck from his pocket. How deep those things are you'll never know. You've seen him pull out things that range from childrens toys to tools, and the oddball snack.

"You always win though." You grumbled. "It's not fair." Despite your protests you sat down at the table. The Doctor had already been dealing out the cards.

"Ace of spades?" You asked with a yawn. The cards blurred in your hand. It could have been ace of spades. It could have been the queen of hearts. 

"Go fish." Another yawn. You pull out a card from the half hazard pile on the table. 

"Doctor?" You ask. Shuffling the cards around in your hand. You had well over ten cards. Maybe more. The Doctor hummed in response. "It's late." You laid the cards face down on the table.

The Doctor turned his wrist. Checking the time. "That it is." He shuffled his cards. Picked his head up.  "Oh." His mouth rested in a small o. Slightly looking away. "Oh! You need to sleep!" He laid his own cards down. Standing up as he took in your tired state. Head rested on your hand. Eyes struggling to stay open. Slightly nodding as you tried to stay within the waking world. "Oh you need to get to bed." 

You were laughing as the Doctor lifted you to your feet. "Come on to bed with you." You through your jacket on the table. "Humans. Really I forget sometimes." You doubted that. The poor man was apologizing left and right as you unlaced your boots. Tossing them to the left of you somewhere. 

"Doctor its fine." You were sat on the edge of the bed. You almost sunk into it the mattress was so soft. "Really." Instead of listening he was rattling off everything that could happen with sleep deprivation and "Really. It's ridiculous how much you lot need to sleep. Oh what am I going to do." You tuned him out after a bit.  Instead choosing to lay back onto the bed.

There. Again. That familiar scent. Sort of woodsy. It was clean and bright with something spiced at the end. What was it? You turned your head.

Oh. Your bag.

When did you bring that?

Sure enough there was your backpack. The poor thing was worn in a lot of places but you used it every time you stayed the night somewhere. It was essentials mostly. Toiletries. Extra clothes. Phone charger and camera. And your perfume.

You sat up abruptly. The Doctor stopped his rambling then. He was watching you as you pulled the bag into your lap. You were digging around when he came next to you. There. The bottle.  

You pulled your perfume out of the bag and looked at the bottle. It was something you used almost all the time. This one was brand new though.

The bottle was halfway empty. Did you put the wrong one in?

"When did I bring this?" You whispered to yourself. Head tilting as you tried to remember when you had packed the bag let alone brought it with you. The Doctor said nothing as you placed the bottle back inside the bag. There was something in the air between the two of you. Something you were both forgetting. Something important.  

"Time for bed. Ya?" You spoke after a moment. You looked up at the Doctor. The two of you staring at one another for a moment. Something unspoken passing between the both of you. 

"Sleep well. I'm right across the hall." The Doctor told you. You didn't move even after he had left the room. The smell of chocolate and patchouli lingering in the room when he did. It fades after a few minutes. 

You're sat at the edge of the bed. The pajama's you planned to change into sitting in your lap. There was just something you were unable to shake. How was it you were able to smell your perfume when you've never been here before? And your bag. How was it here? You didn't remember grabbing it when you left the Tardis.

And that scrap of fabric. The one the Doctor had tucked away.  " No one else is supposed to be here. Or have been here for a long time." The Doctors words echo in your thoughts. Then how was it here? Just how long has this planet been alone for? 

A once in a lifetime experience. Then how come there wasn't more people? This place could house hundreds upon hundreds of people and their families. 

You change into sweats and a long sleeve t shirt.  Laying your old clothes on the table you had been playing cards on just moments ago. Your jacket. You couldn't help but stare. Something you wore quite often. An unassuming piece of fabric you had never really given a second thought to before. 

You shook your head and laughed at yourself. You were being silly. Thinking to deeply into something that wasn't event there. Drawing the covers back you crawl into bed. The Sheets were smooth and silky. Soft against you as you sunk down into the mattress.

Sleep came quickly and easily. Your body and mind to tired to be able to do much else. 

Second part Third

"I am fragile and Unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat."

-Tanaka Mhishi, Literary sexts II ( Via Ghost tears)

Something was horribly wrong.  What it was he didn't know. And oh how he hates not knowing. Especially  when the lives of one of his companions were on the line.

There were clues here. Blaringly obvious clues that go together. He just couldn't figure out how. There, in the woods. A scrap of fabric torn from y/n's jacket. It was clearly theirs. The scent of their perfume still clung to it. And it was here to, in the hotel. It floated in the air so thickly he could almost taste it.  What was normally a scent he found comforting and refreshing turned his stomach.

Why. Just why would they do that? Why would they do something that made it so clear that they were here before? 

Then there was the ledger. Names upon names from hours ago. The planet had a day night cycle that would last one earth week before plunging back into the day. They're names were at the top. So why was it dark? 

The Doctor found himself leaving his room. Stopping momentarily in front of y/n's door. His ear pressed against the wood. He could hear their breathing. The soft speaking they always did. Although they didn't admit it. Safe. They should be safe for now.

He opened one door. Then another. And another. 

Each one was filled to the brim of life. A lack of people but clearly it had been lived in not to long ago.

The last door he checked he opened so harshly it smacked against the walls. The door bouncing back with a mock laughter as he entered. His sonic went wild as he scanned the room. His twin hearts began their panicked beating before his own thoughts could catch up.

They needed to leave. And now.

 Chronophage.  Chronophage . Chronophage . Chronophage .

The words were painted on every single wall and every available surface there was.  The Doctor brushed his fingers against the paint. It was tacky. Not quiet dried yet. 

"Time eater." His body rushed with cold. "Time eater." He spoke again.

That 's why. Oh they were most defiantly here before. It could have been days. Weeks. Months.  The Doctor turned on heel. Running back down the length of the hallway.  There was no knowing on how long it has been. But he knew that y/n had less time to give. They could gorge themselves on the lives he's lived. Let them take it all.

But them? Oh gods not them.

He was rounding the corner when he heard it. Palm pressed against the wall as he steadied himself. Paintings fell. Crashed to the floor. 

His body when ridged when a shrill scream echoed down the hall. 

If he could he would have ran faster. Willed his body to do so. Praying with the names he knew that they would be ok.

Crashing and banging. 

"Doctor!"

He has never heard them scream like that.

.

Something had woken you from your sleep. It wasn't that uncommon for you to wake multiple times when in a new place. You body to on edge to truly fall into a deep sleep. Every strange noise would have you tossing and turning. 

So the next time you woke you took  a moment to just lay there. Eyes closed as you listened to the sounds around you. There was the softness of your breathing. The creaking of the hotel settling. Somewhere outside and animal bayed. Calling out to the moon that filtered light through the curtains canopying your bed.

You were warm and comfortable. Cradled by the thick blankets and pillows surrounding you. You breathed in deeply. Sighed. Another deep breath and.

What was that?

Fabric rustled in front of you. The sound of skin gliding across silken material hit your ears next. You stilled. Cold washing over you as your began to realize that you were not alone.  The bed dipped next to you. The wood creaking and groaning from the added weight.

Your breathing stuttered. Everything stilled. 

For a moment you tried to convince yourself that it was the Doctor. That he was just playing a cruel joke on you. But you couldn't find the smell of chocolate and patchouli. A scent you found comforting. Safe.

No. No. No.

Something hovered above your cheek. Something so cold you could feel it before it even touched you.

Your body wound itself tightly. Your heart pounding a rhythm in your chest. Your fist balled beneath your pillow. 

And with a yell you struck. Cried out. 

The creature screamed as it scrambled backwards. Taking the curtains and the blankets with it. 

Move. You needed to move.

You were glued to the spot. Sitting near the edge of the bed but to terrified to move. You tried to. Tried to at least yell. To cry out for the Doctor.

Everything stilled. 

The fabric on the floor moved. Going up like a joked attempt of a sheet ghost before falling away from the figure it was draped on.

It was tall and skinny. Skin going from hues of grey to a deep rich black. That black seemed to swallow it. To consume the room. You could almost feel it. It was so close to being tangible that you could feel pinpricks hit your skin. It was painful. Almost fire like.

It's head tilted. Golden eyes widening when it saw you move. Just a twitch of your leg.

It leaned forward.

Move.

It's hand brushed the now bare mattress.

Move.

The darkness followed with it. Flowed over the white of the mattress.

MOVE!

And you did. Falling backwards onto the floor before scrambling to your feet. The creature stood to move with you but got caught on the railings for the curtains. You took this brief moment to grab your boots before darting to the door.

A shrill scream left you lips when you heard it growl and snarl. It toppled the bed in its anger. The tables and chairs being thrown to the side as you crossed the threshold of the door.

"Doctor!" A sob tore through your throat. Nothing but desperation left your lips.

'"Y/N!" The Doctor caught you in his arms. Held you closely as your body shook. "We have to go. We need to go. Now." The both of you turned towards what was once your room. The creature inside was yelling. Crying. Upset that you had left.

Quickly you pulled your boots on. Allowing the Doctor to take you hand the two of you ran from the hotel. Down the halls. All but flying down the stairs and towards the large double doors the two of you had crossed not long ago.

Third part Last

"If there is a light then I am going to swallow it. If there is a god then i'm going to make him cry."

-s.osborn, from "blasphemies as the 5th street station, " published in The Rising Phoenix review (vialifeinpoetry) 

The forest was dark. Deep and heavy as it swallowed the both of you. The creatures would not leave you be. They followed every step you took. Swallowed every sound you made. The two of  you were prey in the worst way possible. A horrid game of cat and mouse as they turned you around again and again.

The Doctor had explained the best he could. These paradoxil creatures. That the two of you had lived this moment more than once. They would send their victims back again and again with a little less of themselves each time. 

They consume the life you have lived and use it for themselves. They take and take and take until they are almost immortalized.  Their own veritable fountain of youth.

Their victims would becomes less of themselves each time. Losing pivotable live moments that shaped them into who the had become. Entire lifetimes lost until they became a husk. Unable to do anything  more that live on a robotic life.  And many did not last long afterwards.

You could see the path that others took. Deep footsteps pressed into soft dirt. They had dropped things ranging from clothes and jewelry. Childrens toys and the odd suitcase here and there.

"We helped them." The Doctor told you. Spinning in circles as he tried to use his sonic to find the Tardis. The poor girl was calling out to him. A victim in this just as much as you were.  "There." The Doctor stilled. The light of the sonic bright and green. It sung out a high pitched tune as you stumbled up next to the Doctor. 

You were tired and worn. Mentally exhausted and hurt from head to toe. Both of you were  in a sorry state. The Doctor had lost his dress coat. His bowtie  had been torn away and the white of his shirt was slowly being stained a muddied brown. You were no better. Holes in your shirt from where the brush tore it. There was mud stained from hip to ankle from when you tripped. 

There again. There they were. Slinking around the trees. Calling out to you. Hungry. They were so hungry.

You were pulled away from them. The Doctors hand was on your upper arm. His face was alight with worry. "Run." The word was whispered. Desperate as he spoke to you.

Run you did. Cut off time and time again the closer you got to the Tardis. They were not going to let you go. 

"Why won't they let us go." It was a broken sob that left your lips. To worn and tired to truly care about the way you sounded. You wanted to go back to the Tardis. To find comfort in her and the Doctor as the two of you tried to put this all behind you.

"Me. They won't let me." The Doctor drew you in close. "I am sorry. So so sorry." He hid you away from the world for just a moment. He could see the Tardis in the distance. She called out to him. Begged him to come back. To bring the two of you back to her where she could get the both of you to safety. To anywhere but here. 

He could feel you tremble and shake. The soft push you gave as you tried to get even closer to him. "No." He felt you mutter into his neck. "No. I know what you mean by that." You pulled away. "I will not let you sacrifice yourself. We leave. Together or not at all."

The Doctor, for the first time, cursed you humanity. Cursed the fact that you cared so deeply.  He pressed his head to yours. His hand curling around the back of your neck. You could hear him speaking. Muttering in a language that the Tardis refused to translate. Even now. In this moment. 

The creatures. The Chronophage. You could hear them. Speaking. Whispering. Calling out to you. Begging you to help them. That they were starving. Near death. How could you be so selfish just feed them.

For a brief moment you see it. The meteor shower the Doctor had brought you to see. The  reason why you were even here. It seemed the shower itself were in your eyes. It took your breath away as the air around you lit up in color. 

The Doctor had pulled away. Watched you as you watched the sky. Something you would never have seen in your lifetime if it had not been for him. He has seen this before. Time and time again he would come back. He was grateful that in this moment, despite the horror around him, he got to see it though you. Such a soft look on your face as you forgot about the beasts around you. 

Chronophage. Time eaters. Eater of time. There is only a few names that made the Doctor fear for his life. 

 It would be a miracle if you two made it out of here. Already the both of you had lost pieces of yourself that would never return. Moments in time that you will never get back. The simplest things shaping you into who you were. And not for the first time the Doctor mourns your loss.

There. The Tardis. Just feet away. 

Already he was losing you. The creatures were feasting even as the two of you ran. The Tardis had thrown her doors open. Calling out as loud as she was able. Soft yellow light bathing the ground in front of her. 

Not again. She would not lose the both of you again.