#woke up and every muscle and joint in my body is aching

[jorvikzelda]

oh post-exertional malaise we’re really in it now

[natalievoncatte]

It began with a sneeze.

Lena’s entire body tensed, pain wracking her sinuses, and she tried to tamp it down and swallow it. There was a room full of investors, and she paused mid-presentation. She held up a protesting hand, signaling that she needed no help, and waved off her assistants. Finally the feeling subsided and she soldiered on, accidentally repeating part of the presentation. It didn’t matter, it was just a formality.

After, she was sitting alone in her office and she did sneeze this time, hard, into a silk handkerchief. A dull ache had settled into her bones and she felt droopy, tired. Still, she had work to do. Not the work she wanted to do. Not running the company, not strategizing. Not inventing or innovating. It was menial. It was assigned. She worked for her brother.

It was his pretty revenge, because Lena shot him two times in the chest. Then a bunch of very strange shit happened and Lena suddenly found herself in an entirely different world where Lex had never died, even though they both remembered it. A hellish nightmare world where Lillian was a philanthropist and Kara and all her friends worked more or less for Lex, keeping aliens in check.

Lena couldn’t go to her best friend for help, because her best friend had betrayed her. Lena almost wished she’d been erased when the multiverse collapsed, replaced by a copy of herself who’d never felt this agony.

There was a truth she would never admit, even to herself.

She’d feel better if Kara was here.

The days dragged on and so did her cold. Except, it wasn’t a cold. On the third day she woke to a high fever, feeling a little wobbly when she forced herself out of bed. Her sinuses burned and she had to breathe through her mouth. When she took her temperature, it was elevated, close to being dangerous. Every muscle and joint on her body ached and the sight of food made her retch involuntarily.

Lena had the goddamn flu.

She did something she’d never done: by a curt email, she informed her staff that she was ill and would not be in the office today. Instead, she rummaged through her closet, her breath catching on a familiar sweatshirt.

It was a Midvale High School Mathletes sweater. It was Kara’s, but Lena knew with a certainty that Kara had not been in Lena’s penthouse since It Happened. There was no way for this to get here but…

She stifled a sob. This world had its own Lena, one whose life she’d appropriated or merged with or God knows what, and that Lena Kara’s clothes in her home. Lena kept stumbling across them and it hurt more every time.

Had they been happy, before? Kara must have spent the night. They must have been close. Lena had been close with her Kara; they hung out and Kara had slept over a few times but they weren’t really on your-clothes-in-my-closet terms. Had that been what happened here? Did they share the bed? Were they…

Did they…

Lena put it on, felt it shelter her body. She put in two pairs of leggings and hoped her laptop would warm her. She curled with it on the couch, and got exactly nothing done. After three hours she closed the computer and flipped channels until she found the old friend of the seriously ill and the chronically unemployed: reruns.

Curling on one end of the couch, she laid her head to rest on the arm and her eyes slid closed.

It seemed that as soon as she did, she opened them again. Her head was throbbing. She tried to push herself up, but it was too great an effort and she flopped down again. Her throat was dry and sticky, and unable to breathe through her nose, air came in reedy wheezes. Swallowing only made it worse, and she felt a rising panic.

Something beyond sleep, thick and heavy, was dragging her down, even as she struggled.

A chill night breeze rolled over her, and she shivered explosively.

"Easy now. I've got you."

Powerful arms lifted her limp body and carried her. Gently, Lena was laid on her bed and a blanket thrown over her.

She opened her eyes. Kara sat her up, cradling her in one arm as she held a glass in another, so Lena could drink. She let the cool water wet her throat and did her best to breathe again. Gently, Kara lowered her back down to rest and folded a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. Lena sighed in relief.

“Get out. Don’t want you here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered. “I can’t leave you alone like this. I’ll be right back.”

She was indeed right back, Supergirl walking into Lena’s budoir carrying a drug store bag full of medicine. She sat Lena up again and administered the foul tasting stuff over Lena’s protests, then shut off the lights.

Lena tried to roll on her side. It didn’t go well.

Kara knelt and slipped out of her boots. Then, she undid one side, then the other, and unclasped her cape from her shoulders. She then swept it over Lena and tucked it around her gently.

“Kara,” Lena muttered.

“Hush. It’s a blanket. It’ll keep you warm.”

Lena wasn’t sure what happened next, if she dreamed it or if it was real, but she felt the bed shift as Kara climbed aboard and laid down beside her.

Eventually, she woke up again. Kara was tucked against her back, one arm thrown protectively over Lena’s side, resting on her blanket cocoon. Kara snored lightly, lying on the bed so that her chin rested on the crown of Lena’s head.

Kara noticed she’d stirred and silently stood, offering Lena her next dose of syrupy, nasty medicine. She accepted it just as silently and laid back down to sleep.

The cycle continued. Day came. Kara didn’t leave her. She drew the curtains and laid on the bed beside Lena, never speaking, never making any demands.

Finally Lena was well enough to roll over and face her.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard Gillian’s Island coming from your living room and thought you must be in danger.”

Lena snorted in spite of herself.

Kara softened. Her big blue eyes, eyes that could launch a thousand ships, carried such a weight of sorrow that Lena felt a surge of pain and regret in her heart, wondering why in the hell they were feuding. No. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just…

“I’m sorry.”

Lena tucked herself into the blankets. She wanted to roll over, to turn away, to stop this before she did something she would regret later.

“I keep finding your things in my place,” Kara murmured. “It makes me wonder if it was different here. If we were different. What if I’d made other choices. If I’d been honest with you. Bolder.”

“You weren’t,” said Lena. “You aren’t. That’s the way it is. That door was closed.”

“When I landed on your balcony, it was open.”

“A mistake I won’t repeat. Careless. Thank you for helping me, but I didn’t need it. I don’t need you.”

Kara closed her eyes and sighed.

“I hate doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“You’re lying.”

Lena jerked back, as much as her aching body would allow, anyway.

“How do you know?”

It didn’t hit Lena that she hadn’t offered a denial, at least not until later.

“Easy,” Kara smiled. “I cheat. Skin conductivity and moisture levels. Heat bloom on your skin. Pulse. Pupil dilation. Breathing patterns.”

“I have the flu. That’s why.”

Kara frowned.

“You’re wearing my sweater.”

“It’s not yours. It’s hers. The lives we stole.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s not what he did. Your brother created this world to live out his fantasies and make me suffer. That’s why your things are at my place and mine at yours. It’s showing us the life we should have had,” a tear shone on Kara’s cheek, “had I not been a fuckup and a coward. If I’d trusted you.”

Lena choked back a small sob, and started to cough violently.

Without a word, Kara gathered her up and rested Lena’s head on her shoulder, walling her up in those beefy, protective arms of hers. Lena allowed it, curling her fingers against the twitching muscles of Kara’s back.

Lena wanted to pull away…

No. That was a lie, a miserable fucking lie. She didn’t want to pull back. She didn’t want to fight. She thought she had to, that she needed to.

“Don’t cry,” Kara said, tenderly brushing a tear from Lena’s cheek. “I know you’re furious with me. I know things are bad. I know your brother has power over us. It’ll get better. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

“You already hurt me.”

“I know,” Kara whimpered, her voice wobbling. “I’m sorry, Lena. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my entire life. I wake up every day praying I can find some way to take it back."

"You can't."

Kara tensed.

"Maybe you don't have to," said Lena.

Kara's breath caught. She lowered Lena to the bed, and this time wrapped them in the blankets together. She was so warm.

"I've got you."

Blessedly, Lena slept.

Each time she woke, she felt better. Eventually, she was well enough for Kara to leave the bed. A few minutes later, Kara came back, and she brought breakfast. Her appetite back, Lena dug in, enjoying the tea Kara brought.

Kara took the tray and plates when she was done.

"You look a lot better."

Lena nodded. "Ah, yes, thank you."

Silence. There was a heavy pause, and then Kara sat down beside her on the bed.

"I wish I'd been brave before."

Lena looked at her, really looked at her, this enchanting vision looking at Lena like she hung all the stars in the sky, her eyes so full of longing that Lena felt she might fall into them forever.

"What would you do if you were brave?"

"This."

Warm fingers curled around Lena's chin. Kara leaned in, and Lena felt it happen even before their lips touched. When they did, it was electric. Lena felt the world spinning. Kara caught her and lowered her to the bed.

"I don't care about multiverses and cosmic entities and your evil brother. No matter what they throw at me, I will always find my way back to you. If you want me."

Lena pulled her down into another kiss, and that was her answer.

[blood-red-ocean]

Alcina Dimitrescu X Sick (Fem) Reader

As requested by @alcinaslittlemaid! I hope you feel better soon ♥️

(I wrote this on my phone at volunteering so please excuse any typos/formatting/grammatical errors! I'll fix it at home if I need to.)

Genre: Fluff/Comfort

Category: F/F

Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader

Word count: Approx. 1000 words.

Summary: You've come down with one hell of a flu, and you find yourself plodding to Alcina's quarters for comfort. Fluffiness and soft Alcina care ensues.

The Lady's bed dwarfed you as you lay in the centre of it, drowning in blankets and your own misery. When you'd awakened that morning, you felt like you'd been used as a chew toy for a Lycan, every muscle and joint in your body aching. You barely remember waking up in your own bed and miserably trodding out of your room and down the halls, blanket wrapped around you as a cape - what you did remember was your surprise when you entered the Lady's chambers, crawled into her bed, and were met with no strict words or resistance, only with an arm draped over you and a surprisingly soft voice. 

"Oh, draga... You truly aren't faring well, are you?" She had said, her voice breaking through the sickness-induced brain fog and prompting you to nuzzle into her embrace. She chuckled softly and you vaguely mentally registered her brushing some of your hair away from your face, tutting as her fingertips brushed your forehead. "You're positively burning up... We can't have you roaming the Castle in this state, now can we?"

You shook your head and coughed a little, wincing as your lungs protested the action. The Lady had tucked the numerous blankets around you as you hid your face your face in her embrace, her fingertips alternating between running through your hair and running up and down your spine. She hummed thoughtfully, murmuring to herself as you slipped in and out of a light doze. 

"Miranda, maybe...?" She paused. "No, Miranda wouldn't work. Donna, perhaps... Draga mea?" She was speaking to you now, and you didn't lift your head, just made a small sound of acknowledgement. "I need to retrieve something. It's of... Vital importance. Be a brave little thing and stay here, yes?"

If you had been more present, you would have noticed the lilt in her voice, and pieces together that she wasn't going to retrieve something for herself. As it was, you were exhausted and your mind was consumed by brain fog, and you could only whimper as she pulled away from you. She shushed you and caressed your cheek, whispering to you. "Do not fret, Iubita mea. I will return before you realise I've left. Be a good girl and stay here, for me."

And stay there is exactly what you did. The blankets covering you were heavy and soothing, the scent of the Lady's perfume making your senses come alight - or at least as well as they could, with your nose blocked. The crackling from the fire in the corner echoed around the room, gently lulling you back to sleep every time you woke up. Your sense of time was shaky in your sick state, and you weren't sure how long it had been since the Lady left the room. Just as you were thinking maybe you should drag yourself from the blankets and back to your own bed, the door swung open and the familiar sound of her heels on the hardwood floor blessed your ears. The sound came closer and there was a shuffling, followed by the bed dipping beside you. You distantly felt her hands patting the pile of blankets on top of you gingerly, and suddenly you felt them slip under you, pulling you from your little cave. 

"Now, now," she murmured in response to your indignant grumbling. "None of that. Come here, draga." 

She pulled you into her lap, where you curled up into her, your hand gripping the collar of her nightgown to keep her there. You closed your eyes and pressed your face into her, but not before you caught a glimpse of what she had brought in with her. Beside the two of you on the bed was a wooden tray, bearing an assortment of pastries, fruits, some honey and two cups of tea. One of them looked like regular herbal tea, and the other seemed to almost shimmer. You made a confused noise in the back of your throat and looked up at her. 

"That, dragostea mea, is a concoction of Donna's own creation." She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. The sight of the teacup in her larger than ordinary hands made you smile weakly. "It is a combination of healing herbs, some roots, and some berries for sweetness. Come, draga." She held the cup to your lips and added, "It will make you feel better. You have my word."

You placed your hand over hers and obediently sipped the steaming liquid, blinking in surprise as the mixture of spices and sweet, tart berries exploded on your tongue. You kept drinking, the Lady rubbing your back and murmuring to you in Romanian as you did so. When the teacup was empty she pulled it away and replaced it with a sweet pastry, which you nibbled on thankfully. True to her word, you started to feel better, your mind clearing along with your sinuses. You realised with renewed clarity where you were and you blushed deeply, attempting to sit up. 

"I-- Thank you for looking after me, my Lady. But I--"

"What did I tell you about calling me that, prințesa mea? You can call me by my name. It's okay." 

"Alcina," Using her name felt powerful, intimate. "I really should be returning to my quarters, I should rest--"

"Nonsense." Alcina held you closer to her, her grip around you tighter. She smiled sweetly at you. "You have a raging fever, ursuleț. No, no, I really do think you need to stay here. You need to be properly taken care of." 

You didn't have it in you to argue, or even think about leaving her arms. You closed your eyes and let yourself slump against her, and you felt yourself drifting off again as she ran her fingers through her hair and rocked you, singing a lullaby in soft Romanian - singing you softly to sleep. 

[tastybluesprite]

The Fall of Snow

Sooo it started snowing where I live. And coincidentally enough I happen to have started Supernatural! Soooo… yeah I kinda had to do this fic. I love this duo so much, I love them. I wanted to do a fic of the brothers just being brothers.

Warnings: None aside from tickling, so if that’s not your cup of tea just keep scrolling. ALSO this is not a ship at all, it is entirely platonic and brotherly (they’re brothers), so if you are a “shipper” then please get tf out. Thanks.

Summery: Sam wants to experience the nostalgia he had towards snow when he woke up to a winter wonderland one cold winter morning. Dean of course is annoyed and doesn’t want to be childish, but Sam will convince Dean to enjoy it with him.

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the battered and cheap motel room. The older Winchester, Dean, groaned as he rolled over in the creaky bed, trying to block the light with a pillow. He was not a morning person, especially not the morning after a grueling hunt. Every muscle in his body ached from the fight they’d barely survived the night before.

On the other side of the room, the younger Winchester, Sam, was already up, sitting at the small table with his laptop. Typical. Dean could hear the soft tap of keys, but something about the atmosphere felt... different.

Dean cracked one eye open, prepared to grumble something sarcastic, when he noticed Sam staring out the window, a rare, boyish smile spreading across his face.

“What’re you grinning at, Sasquatch?” Dean muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Sam turned to him, eyes alight with something Dean hadn’t seen in a while. Pure, unfiltered joy. “Look outside, Dean.”

Dean groaned, reluctantly sitting up. His joints protested the movement as he shuffled to the window. Pulling back the faded curtain, he blinked against the glare of pristine white. Snow. Thick, powdery snow blanketed the world outside.

“Well that’s just great,” Dean grumbled, unable to help thinking about his 1967 Chevy Impala. “Guess I’ll be digging Baby out all day.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re such a buzzkill, man. It’s beautiful out there. Don’t you remember how much fun we used to have in the snow when we were kids?”

Dean snorted, turning away from the window. “Yeah, fun. Like when you’d pack snow into icy death balls and aim for my head. Or when I had to dig you out of a snowdrift because you thought you could jump off the roof into it.”

Sam chuckled, unbothered by Dean’s grumbling. “Come on, you know you liked it. Just admit it.”

“I don’t like snow, Sam. Never did. It’s cold, wet, and got me sick more than enough times.” Dean said firmly, grabbing his flannel shirt from the chair. “Besides, we’re too old for that crap now.”

Sam folded his arms, his grin widening. “Too old? Really? Since when did you start sounding like an old man?”

Dean shot him a look but didn’t reply. He shuffled to the coffee maker, muttering about needing caffeine to deal with his annoying little brother.

But Sam wasn’t done. “Come on, Dean. Just for a little bit. Let’s go out there.”

Dean’s head whipped around. “No. End of discussion.”

“Why not? It’s just snow. You’re acting like it’s lava or something.”

“Because I don’t want to, that’s why.” Dean took a sip of his coffee as he sat down at the table, determined to ignore Sam.

But Sam wasn’t going to let it go. “You’re no fun anymore.”

“Never was.” Dean responded simply.

Sam leaned forward, an impish glint in his eyes. “Remember that time I nailed you with a snowball so hard you fell into Dad’s car and dented it?”

Dean’s lips twitched, but he refused to give Sam the satisfaction of a smile. “Yeah, and I also remember Dad making me shovel the entire driveway as punishment while you hid in the house like a little wimp.”

“I was ten,” Sam protested, laughing. “And you were way too dramatic about it.”

“Whatever.” Dean shook his head, but he could feel his resolve starting to crack.

Sam pushed his chair back and stood. “Come on, Dean. Just for a bit. We’ll stand in the snow, soak up the nostalgia, and come back inside. I promise.”

Dean sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Whatever. But we go back inside right after. I still need my energy to dig out baby.”

“Deal.” Sam said, grinning triumphantly.

Bundled up in their jackets, hats, and boots, the brothers stepped outside. The crisp, cold air hit Dean’s face, and he shivered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Sam, on the other hand, looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Man, it’s been forever since I’ve seen snow like this,” Sam said, gazing around. “Hey, remember when I’d beat you so many times at those snowball fights we’d have?”

Dean groaned. “Oh, here we go.”

Sam chuckled. “You’d always brag about how you could beat me, but I got you good more than a few times.”

“Please. I wiped the floor with you every single time.” Dean shot back.

Sam raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, is that so?”

Dean nodded confidently. “Damn straight.”

Without warning, Sam bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and hurled it at Dean. The snowball smacked him square in the chest, leaving a wet patch on his jacket.

“Son of a- Sam!” Dean exclaimed, glaring at his brother.

Sam grinned, already forming another snowball. “You said you were the best. Prove it.”

Dean hesitated for a moment, torn between annoyance and the undeniable urge to retaliate. Finally, he bent down, grabbed some snow, and lobbed it at Sam, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Oh, it’s on now,” Sam declared, laughing as he ducked behind a tree.

The snowball fight escalated quickly. Dean darted behind the Impala, using it as cover, while Sam ran circles around the motel’s small yard. Snowballs flew back and forth, laughter echoing in the cold air.

“You’re getting slow, old man!” Sam taunted.

“Keep talking Gigantor!” Dean shouted back, hurling a snowball that narrowly missed Sam’s head.

Eventually, Dean got the upper hand. Spotting an opening, he charged at Sam, tackling him into a snowbank. Sam yelped as the cold seeped through his layers.

“Dean! It’s freezing!” Sam protested, trying to wiggle free.

Dean smirked, sitting on Sam’s legs to pin him down. “Oh, that’s too bad… my hands are cold.”

Sam’s eyes widened in panic. “Don’t you dare.”

But Dean was already shoving his icy hands under Sam’s jacket and sweater, pressing them against his warm sides.

“Dehehehean! Stohohop!” Sam squealed, writhing as Dean’s cold hands sent jolts of sensation through him. “It’s sohoho cohohold!”

Dean laughed, thoroughly enjoying his brother’s misery. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Can’t handle a little cold?”

“Plehehehease nohoho!” Sam gasped through his laughter, squirming violently as he tried pulling his brothers hands out.

“Oh, I just remembered something else I used to do to you,” Dean said, his grin turning mischievous.

Sam froze. “Nohoho! Dehehehean, don’t!”

Too late. Dean’s fingers started to wiggle against Sam’s sides, this time tickling him mercilessly. Sam burst into uncontrollable laughter, his voice breaking into high-pitched squeals.

“AHahaha noHOhOho plehehease!” Sam flailed, his arms uselessly batting at Dean’s shoulders. “Dehehean, I cahahan’t!”

“Dude, you’re way too ticklish for a grown ass man.” Dean teased, his hands moving to Sam’s ribs, then his stomach, finding every spot that made Sam jerk and shriek. “This is even better than I remember.”

“AHaha noHOhOHOt tHEhEhEhre! Stahahahap!” Sam howled through the cold air, his face red from laughter and the cold.

Dean, grinning like a madman, didn’t let up. He moved his fingers up to Sam’s armpits, and Sam practically lost it, twisting and bucking to try and escape.

“DEHEHEAN! PLEHEHAHAHSE NOHOHO MOHOHOHRE!” Sam’s laughter was broken and desperate, but Dean couldn’t stop laughing himself. He had all too many memories when Sam would completely lose it from being tickled. He was still way too ticklish for his own good, but Dean was glad that some things about Sam just never changed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Sam, Dean relented, collapsing into the snow beside his brother. Sam was left gasping, his face flushed and tears of laughter watering his eyes.

Dean smirked at him. “You are still such a baby, Sammy.”

Sam shot him a glare but couldn’t hide the reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but you love me, dontcha?” Dean grinned, nudging him playfully.

As the snow fell softly around them, the two brothers lay side by side, laughing and catching their breath, letting the cold and the moment wash over them. Maybe the cold and snow wasn’t so bad to Dean after all.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

[frudoo]

Silk & Ivory — Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Hey y'all! It's been a while since I've written for anyone besides myself, so apologies if it isn't that great :,)) Anyway... the thought of Gaz falling for a musician has been stomping at the deepest parts of my brain and turning it to mush.

Fem!Reader.

The clinging of ceramic plates and the common bustling of a crowded restaurant was nothing short of taxing for the man sat in the booth at the back. Not even a third pint of beer could dissolve the incessant ache in his head; the rusty, overworked gears that never ceased their turning. Even the dim lights adorning the wooden walls were blinding, and Kyle rested his head in the crook of his arm that rested on the table. It was less than comfortable—the muscles in his forearm and bicep were painfully flexed from how tightly he gripped the pint glass—but at least it was a break from the chipper atmosphere. 

Everything that could have gone wrong had. He woke up late, couldn’t find a clean shirt to wear under his uniform, tripped over his unlaced boots twice, and his aim was that of a rookie’s. To make matters worse, his captain was battling a cold that made him extra grumpy, and Kyle got the short end of the stick. Price laid it on him hard during PT—so much so that his entire calf was bruised from a pulled muscle. He was sore and exhausted, every inch of his body in desperate need of some rest. Instead, he dragged himself to his favorite restaurant to grab some drinks and grub. 

He hadn’t accounted for how overwhelming it would be. A low groan escaped his lips when, on top of the already deafening climate of the busy joint, a piano started to sound. It was almost enough to make Kyle cry from frustration, his knuckles paling the tighter he held the handle of his pint glass. He was dangerously close to throwing some money on the table and storming out when the world seemed to settle down around him. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, finally lifting his head up and searching around for some kind of explanation. 

He found the explanation across the room, sat behind the shiny grand piano with an ethereal glow on her face, illuminated by the soft fairy lights that he had despised just moments before. Her lips were painted a deep red, accenting the black satin dress that draped just enough to show off the dip of her collarbones. Suddenly, the music wasn’t so shrill, and the piano turned into something he craved to listen to as long as it was her that played it. His eyes swept around the room once more to find that everyone else was just as enthralled with this mystery musician as he was. 

Just when he thought the stranger couldn’t possibly be any more beautiful to him, she opened her mouth and started singing. Kyle had to actively remind himself not to let his jaw drop, settling to rest his chin on top of his fist as he put all of his focus on this angel. That’s what he convinced himself she was—an angel, sent to serenade him and melt his headache that nothing else seemed to cure. He was entranced; unaware of just how hungry, famished he was for such a sweet sound. His gaze was fixed on her lips as they curved, plump and perfect, and the flow of her hands as they danced across the ivory keys. 

Kyle had to take a long swig of his beer to keep himself grounded. He was sure that if he didn’t keep his feet hooked beneath the legs of table, he would float up to heaven—and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that he had just found her here on Earth. Every lyric that rolled off of her tongue was manna to his malnourished ears, honey to sweeten his bitter temperament. Suddenly his terrible day didn’t seem so awful; his mind was no longer a sheath for his grievances, but a canvas that grew more and more colorful with every syllable she sang.

It wasn’t normal—perhaps even unhealthy—that he knew. To be so captivated by a woman he had never met, who he only discovered existed moments ago, was enough to make Kyle question everything he knew about himself. Maybe it was the beer, or the lack of food in his system, or the grueling headache that had plagued him making him this delusional. Still, he couldn’t help but hope that she would just look in his direction, meet his eyes and get the cliché love-at-first-sight experience every romance movie seemed to convey. 

In the midst of battling with what he used to consider his morals, he barely even noticed that the music had stopped and the chatter of other diners had picked up again. He furrowed his eyebrows, a slight pout decorating his lips as he watched the woman stand from the bench. He already missed the melodic resonance of her voice, the way her lips curled up when certain lyrics amused her. He was bound and determined to instill the sound of her voice in his head, to store away for when he needed a reminder that there were good things in this life. 

Kyle picked up the menu that had sat at his table for the past half-hour, deciding that maybe he should have something on his stomach before he made any irrational decisions. He was about to call a waiter over to order food when the click of high heels headed towards his table. His eyes trailed up the woman’s legs and body, and he was halfway inclined to ignore her, assuming it was some chick coming to hit on him. Then she knelt to meet his gaze, waving shyly. His soul almost skyrocketed when he saw the pretty pianist before him, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between her teeth. Kyle was at a loss for words, staring up at her with his mouth agape. He was sure he had fucked up when he saw the confusion written on her features.

And then she said hello.

I have proofread this countless times, but would not be shocked if there are mistakes. Please let me know!! Also feel free to reblog ofc <3

[heartsandstars46]

Thank you to everyone who voted! I guess I need to start doing one-day polls (why are there so few options, Tumblr? 😩😩) because this poll is now tied. But, in my mind, I closed it on 12/17, when Prequel was winning, so that is what we have this week! Hope you enjoy a continuation of this pre-bf tasm!Peter x fem reader fluff! 🩷🩷

Part 1

Word count: 1k

Be Nice to Spiders part 2

You always had a hard time sleeping when you were sick—it was impossible to get comfortable, hard to breathe… and that was without your cute office crush sitting inches away! So tonight was a lost cause. But when you woke up in the 2 o’clock hour, the desk chair was empty and you were alone. Okay, so he had left. Well, you had told him to. You hadn’t wanted him to waste his whole night here anyway.

So why did you feel so sad?

As you lay awake, every muscle and joint in your body aching, you began to hear a faint noise coming from the living room. Was that… coughing?

You crept out of your bedroom wearing a blanket like a superhero cape and found Peter sitting on the couch trying really hard to cough silently.

“Oh god, sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I can see that. Are you okay? Hey, are you shivering?”

He obviously was, even though he didn’t answer, so you took off the blanket and wrapped it around him.

“No, no,” he motioned for you to sit down next to him and then he draped the blanket back over your shoulders.

“Can’t we share?” You asked with a smile. “We’re already sharing germs, apparently. I’m sorry I got you sick.”

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s not you, it’s that Daily Bugle office. It’s like a Petri dish. Did you get any sleep? You tossed and turned a lot.”

You slid closer so the blanket could drape over both of you. “Eh, some.”

Peter smiled.

“What?”

“Even tossing and turning, you held on to my hand for a long time. It was pretty impressive.”

The heat of your fever was overtaken by the heat of embarrassment, and you wished you were still high on cold medicine. “I am so sorry you were trapped in there with me.”

“Who said I was trapped? I got some sleep too… until I started going downhill.”

“Sorry,” you mouthed, cringing.

“It’s okay, really—but would you mind if I laid down here? It’s just taking a lot of energy to sit up at the moment.”

“Oh my gosh, yes, please, lay down!” You jumped up so fast, your head throbbed. “Ah!”

“Boy, we’re a sad pair,” he mused, stretching out on the couch.

“Seriously. I'm sure this is your normal Friday night!” You said as you tucked the blanket around him and slid one of the throw pillows behind his head. 

He smiled, but he wouldn’t quite look at you. Oh lord, was did that mean?

“Thank you. But you’re sick too. You should lie down. Here.” He scooted over, making room for you on the couch. “I mean, we’re both sick already, right?”

You giggled and nervously slid in next to him.

Peter repositioned the pillow and blanket so you were both comfy. The left side of your body was pressed into his right side, and though it was hard to focus on anything else, you managed to ask, “Do you want me to read to you too?”

“Yeah, you know, somebody fell asleep during Be Nice to Spiders—“

“How rude!”

“I know, and I never got to hear how it ended. Helen really seemed to be doing a great job at the zoo.”

It was such an adorable thing to say, you couldn’t help but smile. “This is why you’ve gotta be nice to spiders, man. They’ll look out for you.”

“Yes, they will.” And then he started coughing again, poor thing.

“Peter, I am so sorry.”

When he could talk again, he said, “Don’t be. Dizziness, coughing, and feeling like death aside, I'm pretty lucky.”

“Why's that?” You asked laughing.

“Well, I get to spend the night with you.“

You had expected some witty barb, so you hoped your jaw hadn’t visibly dropped. Your face got so hot it might as well have been on fire.

Peter saw the look on your face and the rambling began.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean ‘spend the night together’ like that or anything. That is not my intention or expectation or anything. I just said it because we seem to be… literally… spending the night together.”

“Peter,” you said softly, touching his arm. “Peter, it’s okay. I knew what you meant, I guess I just didn’t expect to hear it… or, really, that you would be happy about being stuck here all night with me, err, with a sick person. While also sick."

“I’m not stuck here. Honestly. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

Your stomach fluttered. “Same. You know, when I woke up and thought you’d left, I….” Oh dear, how earnest were you willing to let yourself be?

“You…?”

“I was glad to hear you coughing, because it meant you were still here. I was really glad you were still here, okay?"

“Huh.” Peter looked like he could breathe again. He grinned at you. “Well, how about that? Hope you still feel that way after I spend all night coughing in your ear!"

It all happened so fast. Before you fully knew what you were doing (so as to stop yourself), you kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Ha.” You said sheepishly. “Hope that’s okay. Not that I wouldn’t want to, like, actually kiss you for real, but I think we should be sure we’re not going to give each other mono first.”

“Uh, yeah, no complaints here,” he chuckled. Then you felt a soft kiss on your cheek. Immediately, a smile spread across your face. “Oh and hey, forget reading, I want to make a different request.”

You laughed. “Okay…?”

“I think it would be nice to hold someone’s hand. I mean, I heard a rumor….”

You felt yourself smiling again. “I heard that rumor too. And I think I can help you out.” You slid your hand into his under the blanket. He gave it the sweetest little squeeze, then started coughing again.

“Oh boy, here we go,” he wheezed.

“Guess it’s good that we ended up keeping an eye on each other, huh?”

[anemicjellyfish]

Get Well Soon

A short, fluff-filled Stolitz fanfic.

Summary: Blitzø is sick & Stolas is a sweet caregiver.

Content warnings: illness, mentions of eating food and drinking water, medicine use (for illness), some sexual language.

Inspired by my current Covid situation. (I work in healthcare; it's inevitable for me. Please remember to wear a mask and be safe, everyone! 💖)

Blitzø shuffles himself onto his side, careful not to fall off his couch. Before he opens his eyes, the coughing resumes.

He didn't know where he'd picked up this bug, but like with most illnesses, he would bounce back in a few days. A few miserable days, full of coughing, fever, aching joints and muscles, and endless sneezing.

Blitzø reaches to move his blanket, only now noticing that it isn't his blanket. He's not on his couch, or even in his own apartment.

Groaning, Blitzø puts his head in his hands, remembering last night: he'd snuck through Stolas' window, as usual... and nearly collapsed from the effort. Despite Blitzø's insistence that he could live up to his part of the full moon arrangement they'd made, Stolas wouldn't allow him. And Blitzø ended up being placed in bed and falling asleep before he could protest further.

Blitzø glances at the bedside table. A beautiful crystal glass of water with two small tablets rests next to a piece of paper. In Stolas' too-perfect handwriting, it reads, "For Blitzy".

His throat too dry, Blitzø drinks most of the water before picking up the tablets. He considers sniffing them but knows he's unable to smell anything until the illness passes. Blitzø takes them with the rest of the water, shaking the glass a little to get every drop. Just as he sets it down, the door to the bedroom opens.

"Blitzy?" Stolas whispers, peeking in. "Oh, I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No, Stolas, I-" Blitzø's voice cracks a little, "I just woke up," he finished.

Stolas enters the bedroom, carrying a serving tray with fresh fruit, some type of bread, and a full pitcher of water. Blitzø's eyes widen, and he grabs the pitcher before Stolas can set the tray down. He doesn't care that Stolas should see him like this; his throat and body are screaming for water.

A look of concern on Stolas' face changes to amusement. "I'll call for more water," he says, sitting close to Blitzø on the side of the bed. "Are you feeling better?"

Blitzø pants and brushes away the water that had dripped down his chin. "I'm fine, Stols," he replied. "Or I will be in a few days, once this fuckin' bullshit is outta me. Don't you worry, when I'm better, I'll keep up my end of the deal. I'll show your feathered ass a real good time -"

"Easy, Blitzy," Stolas reached out, carefully removing the water pitcher with one hand and placing his other on Blitzø's cheek. "Not too much excitement, now. Why don't you rest here for a few days? Recover. Via and Stella will be gone for a while, visiting Stella's family. They never bother to invite me, anyway. Rest here."

Blitzø tries to protest, but when Stolas' hand slid down his back and settled between his spines - just where he liked it - his attempt turns into a weak cough.

"Fine," he finally says. Blitzø lets his eyes shut as he rests against Stolas' chest, letting the soft down feathers cover his face.

A small figure appears in the doorway, and Stolas uses his magic to bring over the new pitcher of water. The Goetia staff may talk amongst themselves about his affair, but Stolas can't bring himself to care now. The door shuts.

Letting Blitzø drink his fill of the water, Stolas set the pitcher aside and convinces him to eat. With the fever and cough now slightly better from the medicine, Stolas moves into the bed, pulling Blitzø onto his lap.

Without thinking too much about it, Blitzø wraps his tail around Stolas' leg and settles in once again. Stolas places his hand on Blitzø's back, letting his fingers slide in-between the spines.

"When I get better," Blitzø mumbles, almost asleep, "I swear I'm giving you the fucking of your life, Stols."

He feels Stolas laugh under him.

"I look forward to it, my darling Blitzy."

End.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

Jake x reader (we'll get there... I promise)

Words: 12.4k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drugs, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness, Panic Attacks, Use of Restraints, Mentions of Sex

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

The old wood of the rocking chair squeaks beneath me as I gently move my body back and forth, snuggling into my thick afghan wrapped around my body. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and I’d spent the majority of the evening out here on the porch, taking in the scene of my grandparents’ farmland before me. The lead in the pencil I’ve been writing with all evening is starting to dull, but I press a little harder to get the last few sentences written down into my journal. 

December 29, 2030

Day five back at Pap and Gran’s farm. We didn’t do much today except peel some potatoes and boil chicken for broth. Gran’s state has deteriorated since we made it back here. Paps and I truly thought that maybe bringing her back to her home would make her feel better, but she’s only gotten worse. Part of me thinks that she might have just wanted to find her peace here, in her own home, in her own surroundings before she decides it’s okay to let go. Awful of me to think that, isn’t it?

I miss my Mom. And I miss my dad, and I really, really miss my brother. Having nearly no time to mourn them has truly put me in a weird headspace, I don’t know how I’m making it day to day. Sometimes I think back to that fear I felt when I first realized I had to get the hell out of my house when I found the faultline in my foundation, that feeling that it could all come crashing down on me at any second, burying me in walls and furniture and drywall to the point I can’t breathe… That’s what this feels like. Like I’m standing in my basement again, just waiting for the whole thing to crush me. 

The only thing that is keeping me going is Paps and Gran. And the fact that if I stop, then they stop. And Gran is already slowing to a crawl. 

I pull out my pocket knife from my pants, opening the blade and sharpening the graphite in my pencil a bit before licking the tip, and getting back to work. 

I’ve lost nearly 16 pounds, and my hair feels so thin. I can feel my muscles starting to wear out, and the joints of my bones are beginning to ache. Lack of nourishment, I guess. But I don’t let it stop me, and neither does Paps. We are still getting up at the crack of dawn every single morning to look for roaming wildlife to catch. Thankfully we were able to get our hands on six chickens, a rooster, a goat, and the neighbor’s old Blue Heeler, Hank. Hank sits by my Gran’s side day in and day out… I think he remembers that she used to throw him scraps out into the front yard.

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel embarrassed to even admit it in this stupid journal. 

For the first time in months, I got the overwhelming urge to want to fuck. 

I wish I could write that in invisible ink like we used to do in text messages, yikes. But, I guess I have to realize that I am still a living, breathing woman who still goes through her monthly cycles, and still possesses the urges associated with it all. God, I  fucking laughed out loud at myself. I haven’t seen another man close to my own age since we left Nashville and I saw a group of young people throwing a cinder block through the front glass of a coffee shop. For fucks sake I’m so embarrassed. 

But I actually even dreamed about it last night. Real, true, romping sex in some strange place… it was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat with my heartbeat between my legs. Shit. I don’t even know who it was with, but that part didn’t matter. I used to love those pointless, carnal dreams that made you blush in your sleep. But damn, now? That’s as close as I’m probably ever gonna get. 

I had to spend the rest of the day fighting the flashbacks while spending time with my literal grandparents. Ignoring the fact that I used to daydream about it, then make a phone call to whoever, and make it happen. It used to be so easy. Shit, I miss random hookups. Fucking hell. 

Now I’m spending my days collecting freshly laid eggs before a pack of wild dogs come and kill my chickens. Goddamnit.

ANYWAYS. 

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. And I don’t even care. It feels silly to even think that even though the world is pushing me off the literal land I stand on, I still have to age. I still have to deal with being a human. And mourn the loss of my family. What the fuck. Just lost the last of my immediate kin, I’m digging up last season’s potatoes from the ground and nursing my sweet Gran as she lies in her bed in pain, and I’m having sex dreams. Really, really fucking good sex dreams. If I could roll my eyes with paper and pencil, I’d be doing it right now. The human experience is so fuc

My thought process is stopped when I hear the sound of something I haven’t heard in literal days. Weeks? I don’t know… But I hear it, the faint sound of a tune and a melody coming through an old, staticy speaker. I close my pencil into my journal and stand, realizing I’d been sitting outside for a while now as the stars had become bright and the moon sat high in the sky. 

My brow furrows as I listen harder. It’s Billie Holiday. I push the front door open and enter the warm house, firstly noticing the crackling fire that Paps had kept burning all day. I then saw him standing in the dimly lit corner, fiddling around with his old vinyl records and adjusting the volume of the music. The wall behind him is stuffed full of records, floor to ceiling and two shelves wide… all full of the music he filled mine and James’ lives with since the time we could walk. He’d been collecting his entire life.  Truly, I owe my love of music to him. 

“Paps…” I say softly as I enter the living room. 

“Hey youngin’, sorry if I disturbed ya…” he said, puffing some pipe tobacco smoke up into the air. I used to tell him he needed to quit, but now… what’s the use?

“You didn’t, Paps.”

“I sorta… forgot that music exists,” he chuckled, opening the cover of a Bill Monroe album and inspecting the inside.

I place my hand on his back, giving him a few pats as I lay my head against his shoulder, watching the record spin on his antique hand-crank phonograph. “I kinda did too, actually,” I reply, admitting it to myself. “What made you pick Lady Day?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Always loved her voice, hated it when she passed. She left one hell of a legacy, though, huh? Your Gran sure loved her, that’s for sure,” he mumbles on, looking back to the daybed we had set up for Gran in the living room so she could be closer to the heat of the fireplace. 

“Love her, Don. Not loved. I ain’t dead yet,” we both hear Gran stir from under her blankets. The both of us erupted in a fit of laughter at her unbridled and filterless sense of humor. 

“Hell’s fire, Jane. Didn’t think you’d be able to hear us,” my Paps laughs as he places the cover back down on the table and goes to join her at her side. I follow behind. “Did we wake you?”

“You did, but that’s okay. No better way to be woken up from a dreamless sleep than by some pretty music,” she says, propping herself up on her pillows. She still has so much strength, and though she’s weakening by the day, I’m still astounded by her ability to get up and even walk herself to the restroom. “And!” she boasts with her crooked finger in the air. “No way I wanted to miss my favorite granddaughter’s birthday when the clock strikes twelve,” she adds with a reassuring nod. 

“Gran, you don’t need to stay up this late! It’s almost midnight now, go back to sleep,” I push her, not wanting to miss one second of any rest she can get, while also wishing that she and Paps could sit up and reminisce with me until the sun comes up. I’d give anything to have just one more hour with my parents and James.

“Oh, child, I’m fine!” she pushes my hands away, pulling herself back up. “You’ve gained another year. This day and age, that means something, you know?” Her voice is weak, but she still sounds like herself, her southern drawl coming out to play as she tries to fluff the pillows behind her. 

I nod in understanding. “If you say you want to stay up, we’ll stay up!” 

There really isn’t such a thing as a true bedtime, anymore. I’m up at strange hours of the night, take many naps throughout the day… time doesn’t matter, aside from the rooster reminding us of when the sun is about to come up every morning. 

But we still set the clock, and we’ll change the batteries. The Grandfather clock against the back wall reminds us of each hour, every day. And how lucky we still are to have each and every one, no matter how long they drag us on. 

Gran taps her fingers along to ‘Love Me or Leave Me’ as Paps sings quietly along, and I place a few new logs onto the fire to keep it burning. The smell of this house has always stuck out to me– matured wood, the scent of the barn wafting through the cracked windows, the Murphy’s Oil Soap that Paps was always obsessed with cleaning the floors with… it’s all still stuck here, unmoving in time. Just like the photos on the walls, the dinnerware filling the shelves, and the wall that’s covered in pencil markings and dates, marking mine, James’, and my father’s height growth over the years. 

It’s all still here, exactly where they left it. Exactly where they carved things into the load-bearing beam that runs the span of the house. The wearing in the wood of the floor where Gran stood for fifty some odd years in front of the stove cooking meals. The screen door that hangs haphazardly on the front door, the screen ripped and aging as it served its purpose keeping the flies out of the house for however many summers.

A time capsule. And by god, were the three of us overjoyed when we pulled up and found it not sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole.

“Have you got any Sinatra?” my Gran asks, pulling me from my deep-thought trance as the Billie record spins now, without any sound. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Paps agrees as he stands to replace the record, knowing that he’d give my Gran anything she could ever ask for, just like he always had. 

He makes his way back over to his setup and finds exactly what he’s looking for, switching the vinyl out and putting the needle back down. Gran tilts her head back onto her pillows as she hears Frank’s voice come over the crackly violin sounds. 

“Ol’ Blue Eyes,” she mutters before sitting back up and grabbing at my hands. “You know, Y/N, I didn’t always love music, it was your grandfather’s doin’ that got me to fall in love with it.” Much like he did for me, actually. “Of course I’d go to the dances at the school and I knew a few songs here and there, but it was when I met him that I truly found my love and appreciation for it.”

“He’s had that effect on us both, then, hasn’t he!” I jest, smiling and squeezing at her frail hands. We both glance at him still standing by his collection, eyeing the spines of the covers and pulling them out to look over. I truly did owe a lot to him, he taught me more about artists than I could have ever taught myself. Older ones, especially. He knew the stories that were never recorded in interviews and tabloids. He knew, because he kept them all in the back of his mind as if they were his own family stories.

“That man got me to follow the Dead around for nearly six months before I told him he’d better get me back to Tennessee so I could have me a garden,” she went on, making my face warm with a grin. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but I’d sit and listen to it a hundred times more, if time would let me.

“Oh, shoot, Jane. We had a good time,” Paps interrupted, scowling at her as he puffed his pipe. 

“Didn’t say we didn’t, Don!” she pokes back, and I can tell they’re about to get into one of their little playful spats. “Your grandfather and I tried LSD for the very first time while we sat in a drum circle after a Dead show in Kansas City,” she said, her eyes wide as she still held my hands. 

Now that, they’ve never shared before. 

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

“What?!” she replies, shrugging her bony shoulders. “It was a damned good time and I can honestly say I came back a changed woman. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? I’ve lived one hell of a life…” she trails off, earning a scoff from Paps as he waves her off. “There should be nothing stopping you from still living your life, Y/N. Do you hear me? The Earth might swallow us up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running, keep on living, you understand, child?” she asks, moving her cold hands to cup my cheeks.

“‘Course I do, Gran. I promise,” I relent, and I envy her ability to speak to me with this regard, knowing that the end of her life is near.

“Good,” she pats the side of my face. “Don, how about a little acoustic for a dying old woman?”

Paps drops his shoulders. “Now Jane, do ya have to keep talkin’ that mess, or am I gonna have to make you?” he teases.

I laugh and stand to go into the kitchen as Paps makes his way over to the corner, plucking his old acoustic from its place. I re-wet Gran’s cloth in the icy water, wringing out the dripping water and returning to place it back over her chest. 

Paps sits beside us on the daybed, the smoke rising from his pipe as he plucks at his strings, his feeble but strong hands re-tuning them to where it sounds best. My grandfather is, and was, a very handsome man. Strong and built like an ox. I can see why Gran followed him around chasing after the Dead for six months.

Finally he strums a perfect chord, raising his eyebrows at Gran as she smiles back at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I never got my hands on an electric, hm?” he says as he bites the end of his pipe. 

Neither Paps or I have shown any signs of the rash, at all. No where. And neither of us could fathom why.

The two of us sit and listen to Paps play a plethora of familiar tunes, his fingers still agile enough to float over the strings and play little snippets of all of Gran’s favorites. I can feel Gran’s body relax as she listens to him, her mind probably floating through a million memories of watching him play over the years. He hums along a little as his eyes close on their own, listening to himself play. I swear I could sit here for days. 

After a few minutes, his fingers contort and play a little more harshly, strumming out a tune that hits a nerve buried so deep within me, I almost cry right there on the spot. His very own rendition of one of my favorite songs in the world, You’re the One. 

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

“Hush, child, let me see if I can still pull through these chords,” he shushes me. And he does. I want to scorn him for bringing up the music that was made by my favorite band in the entire world. But then again, in later months, Greta had become one of his favorite bands, too. 

“Babe, ain’t no denyin’, that I got you in my head…” he sings to Gran, making her cover her face with her hands. He plays through about half of the song before he stumbles over a note or two, and decides his hands have gotten too tired. 

“How dare you, Paps. You know that struck a nerve…” I say, scowling at him. 

“Oh, quiet, now. You used to walk around the house singing their songs for days on end. Watch those silly videos of them, hell. How many shows did you go to?” he asks, truly schooling me on my own obsession with that band.

“Twenty-three,” I mutter under my breath. 

“How many?”

“Twenty-three! Okay?” I play along with him, the both of us knowing that he attended the last five of them with me. 

We’d traveled over to Kentucky for his first time seeing them live after I’d shown him a few of their songs. He was hooked after his first play of From the Fires, ripping the album cover from my hands to read along with the lyrics. After that we moved on to Anthem of the Peaceful Army, Garden’s Gate and so on, each play enrapturing my grandfather even more than the last. 

“These kids have some damned promise, that’s for sure. This is a sound I haven’t heard in ages… and their talent? Boy…” he’d said. I still remember the day I surprised him with tickets to his first show, watching him fall in just as much love with them as I was. Swaying along to their classics, singing along with the lyrics he’d learned to love. He learned their names, he learned their personalities a little. He even met a few of the friends I’d made along the way, flirting with them as we’d all stand in line before a show. 

It was Paps and Gran’s travels with the Grateful Dead that inspired me to follow Greta Van Fleet around on their tours. Not for six months straight, as I had to hold down my job, but nonetheless. Twenty-three shows I went to over the course of nine years. Strange Horizons all the way up to their last tour before the world shut down. I had tickets and plans to meet up with my group of friends for a show after Greta had gotten back from Greece, but, of course that never happened. 

Paps grew to love them just as much as I loved them. Love them. For so many years, they were my escape. My solid rock to land on as the headaches of daily life surrounded me. I made lifelong friends through them. Traveled to other countries to see them, with my friends by my side. I watched them grow into men, as I had grown into a woman right alongside them. Watched them evolve, grow, and retreat into silence before exploding back onto the scene with something brand new and fresh, roping me right back into their world. Obsessing over every little detail they fed us. Digging deeply into the meanings of songs, and discussing all the lore with my cohorts on social media. I can account many of my life’s milestones to at least one song of theirs. 

Now, when I find the world more quiet than it ever has been in my lifetime, I find myself reminiscing on those times, some of the best times of my life with that band, and my friends that felt more like family. I catch myself humming their songs, just trying to keep myself centered and rooted to the earth as it literally is falling apart beneath my feet. Greta was always my solid foundation, and even during the End of Days, they hold true to that assignment.

The grandfather clock finally decides to strike midnight, signaling my 33rd birthday.

“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate like we normally would, sweetheart,” Paps says as he continues lightly strumming.

“It’s okay, Paps. Just having the two of you still here with me is celebration, enough.” And I truly mean that. I watch as Gran’s sullen eyes fill with tears as she watches the two of us, and I know I’d give anything to keep the two of them alive as long as I possibly could. But her rash is worsening by the day, and Paps and I can tell that though she puts on a tough exterior, she’s suffering inside.

Gran had fallen back asleep peacefully to the sound of Paps’ acoustic, and we covered her up and threw another few logs onto the fire to last us a few more hours, at least. Paps kisses my forehead after he places his guitar back on its stand in the corner, wishing me a happy birthday as we both retreat to our beds.

+++

The next morning, I wake to myself shivering; Paps and I both must have slept through the night without waking up to tend to the fire. I stretch my muscles and rub my eyes, but I’m instantly startled  by the sound of someone coughing. I throw on my robe and slippers and rush to the living room, finding Gran sitting up in her bed, coughing terribly. Paps and I are by her side in seconds, asking her what she might need to get through the fit, but she just shakes her head. 

Her skin is cold and gray, and it looks as though her muscles are shaking uncontrollably. She’s almost completely covered in the rash, now.

“Do you want to get in the tub, Jane? Do you need to get in the water?” Paps begs of her, kneeling by the bedside. 

She shakes her head more. “No,” she chokes out. Her throat sounds scratchy and dry and we offer her water, but that, too, she rejects. Finally her coughing subsides and she relaxes back, and Paps and I share a knowing look. A look that we’ve both shared three times, when everyone else finally succumbed to the rash. 

This is so fucking unfair. Why don’t I have the rash?! Why can’t I take this pain away from her? Why am I not suffering, too?!

“I’m ok Don. I’m ok,” she mutters, her voice barely her own. 

We both sit there with her for hours, until the sun is noting midday. We hold her hands, caress her face, talk to her, tell her stories… anything to get her to pass with as much comfort as we can. She coughs, still, but each time she begs us to carry on with talking to her. I watch as my grandfather finally sheds a tear, wiping it free from his face as he sniffles through it. 

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Don,” Gran says. “We’ve had a beautiful life together. Beautiful… family,” she struggles to breathe. My chest feels heavy, too, with the overwhelming amount of sorrow it’s holding. I want to throw my fist into the wall, curse everything that has ever lived. I feel a rage building up in my stomach, one that is beginning to burn with so much fury that when it finally awakens, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it.

“I love you, I love you both…”

And with one small exhale, she ceases to breathe any more. 

We both allow ourselves time to weep at her bedside for a minute or two before I finally stand and open the windows, uncaring of how it will chill the house. I wanted to let her soul be free. 

+++

It took me about three hours to dig my grandmother’s grave, as the ground was hard from the cold and one shovel can only dig so fast. Hank the heeler was by my side the whole time, sitting and watching guard as I threw the shovels of dirt into a neat pile. I insisted Paps let me do it alone, and he spend a little bit of time with her to say his goodbyes.

 It was cathartic, really, putting my body through physical grunt work as I let the tears fall freely. I wept for her, for the rest of my family, for the heartbreak of my grandfather. But mostly, I cried for myself. I shouldn’t have, it felt selfish to, but I had hardly allowed myself any time to feel sorry for me. Fuck, a person can only take so much. My heart was already broken into a thousand pieces, but the numbness of the past few months had shielded my ability to listen to myself. My body somehow must have felt the need to get it out, so that I could put a brave face on for Paps. He’d need me to. So, as a rare bit of bright sunlight came down and scorched my arms, breaking through the freezing cold wind, I allowed myself to cry again.

It’s almost sunset, now, and Paps had wrapped Gran up in a few white sheets, topped with a pretty lace tablecloth that she had woven many years ago. It used to cover the dining room table, but it did seem fitting for it to be with her, now. 

I give Paps a sweet smile as I make my way into their bedroom, sitting on her old chest as I open the top drawer of her armoire. There, arranged still so neatly, was all of her expensive jewelry that she hardly ever wore. Gold bracelets, diamond rings, emerald-encrusted pieces… all if it is so precious, so valuable, and so completely worthless. 

I take a second to collect it all up and slip it into a canvas drawstring bag, making sure first to keep just one piece out for myself. She’d have wanted me to, I’m positive of it. 

A sterling silver ring topped with the prettiest piece of deep blue turquoise. Her grandmother had given it to her many years ago, and she only ever wore it to special occasions, but it fits perfectly on my middle finger. And if I wanted something to remember my grandmother by, it would most definitely be this. 

I go back into the living room and gently grab my grandmother’s cold, bruised hands, replacing each piece of precious jewelry onto her fingers and wrists wherever I can fit them, stacking them one on top of the other. 

“Should we add her books, Paps?” I manage to ask. 

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, might be best to keep things like that above ground…” 

Paps and I make our way out to the barn as dusk falls, and I light the few candles he has placed around on the shelves and tables. It’s dilapidated but in a good way; the walls and ceiling showing wear of many, many years of hard work. I watch as Paps grabs up one of the candles and walks to a swing door I’d never really noticed before, using some force to pull it open and propping it with a cut of a two-by-four. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness as he walks further inside the room, illuminating the space. There in the center of the small room is a pine box casket.

“Paps, what in the world? When did you…?” I breathe, walking closer to it. I notice that it has my grandmother’s name carved right in the top, the letters painted in black.

“About fifteen years ago, I’d say. Jane and I always said we wanted to be buried right here on the farm, when our times came. Guess we never told you kids about that. Your parents knew, a’course, but we never dreamed they’d go before us…” 

Paps pulls his blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his nose, his eyes still dripping with remnant tears. 

“It looks really good, Paps. You did a great job,” I commend him, but he pays no mind. Instead he blows across it, relieving some of the old sawdust from its home on the lid. He pulls the top open and inspects it again, pulling a few pieces of straw from the inside. 

“Help me get it over to the site?” he asks, and I realize I’d never even asked him where he wanted me to dig the grave. I just picked the prettiest place that I could. Something tells me he would have picked the same place, too. “Under the willow?” he asks. 

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

We lower the casket onto the wheelbarrow and roll it across the back yard and along the fenceline, right beside the weeping willow tree. It was Gran’s favorite place to come and lie in the grass with a book. Hank walks alongside us, his snout on guard for any wild packs that may be a threat to us. 

Together, we lower the pine box into the hole I’d dug, making sure it was level at the bottom. “Want me to go get her?” I ask. 

“I’ll get her,” he responds as he takes off back toward the house. The wind is whipping my hair across my face, now, as the stars are beginning to show themselves, and I can’t stop myself from crying again. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be standing beside a grave I just dug, with a casket my grandfather built, watching his back walk across the tall grass to retrieve the body of the love of his life. This shouldn’t. Fucking. Be. Happening. 

In the moonlight, I finally see the figure of him coming back through the shadows with her in his arms. I silently thank the heavens above that he is a strong man, still yet, with more brute strength than any man his age should have. Just like James.

I help him lower her inside, but not before the both of us place kisses on either of her cheeks. I work to cover her back up with dirt as he stands behind, Hank begging his hand for a pet.

“You wanna say a few words?” I ask him as I throw the last shovelful of dirt on top, wiping a hand across my cold-sweat forehead. 

He takes a quick, chopped breath. “Sixty-two years wasn’t nearly enough with you, sweetheart. Won’t ever be enough. Thank you for every single laugh, every single tear, every single argument and happy moment. Thank you for our beautiful children, and grandchildren, and thank you for filling my heart with more joy than any man should have the privilege of havin’. You sure made my life worth livin’. Give ‘em hell up there in heaven, Janie. I know ya will. I love ya to the moon.” He sniffles again as he gives in to Hank’s requests, finally leaning down and wrapping a strong arm around the dog. I sidestep and wrap my arm around him, too, and we stand there in the wind until we can’t stand any more.

JAKE

“RRRUHHHHH!” I growl loudly as I wake up from unconsciousness in a full-on panic. My eyes are shifty and dry as I work to sit myself up quickly, my hands still bound at my back. The tape is gone from my mouth now, though. 

It’s dark, and it's cold, but I’m indoors. I just can’t fucking see a god damned thing. 

“Hey! Help!! Can anyone hear me?!” I yell, my voice echoing hard off the walls that surround me. My voice feels dry and knotted in my throat as I try to swallow what little moisture I have in my mouth. When I get no response, I crack my neck sideways as pain sets in over my body, and not just from my arms being bound. I feel as though my legs have been hit with something hard, and my back feels like it’s bruised and sore. What the fuck? What the fuck!

“Heyyyyy! Somebody come and fucking talk to me! What do you want?!” I yell again, my heart rate flying as reality sets in that I’ve been kidnapped from the cabin. Alone. 

The last thing I remember is being alone in the back of that truck, rolling around as whoever was driving had little care for it’s cargo in the back. Maybe that’s why I feel bruised and beaten. Or maybe it’s not. 

Yes, alone. In the truck… six intruders… weapons… it’s all coming back now, in little spurts of memory. Where is everyone else? Where is my family? When was I brought in here? I feel bile rising in my throat as I feel a panic attack setting in, and I grind my hands against one another so as to try and free them from their ties. But it’s no use, of course. It only digs them into my skin more. 

I sit in silence listening to only the sounds of my uneven breathing, trying to calm myself and make a plan of action. No time to fall into fear, Jake. 

I maneuver my body around to get to the walls, standing on my sore legs to turn and let my hands run along them. There’s nothing there– no windows, no chairs or furniture. Just a box. I diligently run my hands along every one. Four walls. With nothing. Nothing but– 

A door. 

I turn my body to try and find a doorknob or whatever to open it, and when my hand finally grasps the spherical knob, I realize that the mother fucker is locked. Of course. I turn and slam my shoulder into it a few times to see if I can pry it, but it’s no use. “Hey! You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I yell again, getting mad, now. 

“Quiet, Jacob,” a voice I do not recognize suddenly fills the room. My stomach drops. 

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing really comes to mind. The voice is male, but distorted. Quiet? QUIET? 

“Who the fuck are you? Open this door and come and talk to me!” I yell again, my body suddenly feeling like my blood is going to pulse from every orifice of my body. 

There is a long pause. 

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats. 

I grit my teeth. This voice is really pissing me off. 

“I’ll be quiet when you come in here and fucking show your face!” I yell even louder this time.

There is another long pause, and finally, I hear the metallic screeching of the heavy door opening. I waste no time in trying to push through it, relying on only my hearing to know what is going on, just as I had back at the cabin. Everything is so fucking dark.

But I get nowhere. I’m stopped by my body running into two stern and sturdy men again, pushing back further into the echoey room. I nearly lose my footing, but I press forward again, determined to get through that fucking door. But they stop me again, thrashing my body back so hard I hit one of the walls. It nearly knocks the breath from me, but I catch it. “Who are you? What do you want? I want to see my fam–”

“It’d really do you good to stay fucking quiet, like we told you to.” Suddenly I feel a gloved hand cupping across my mouth, stopping me from speaking. The man’s face is close to mine, whispering in my ear as he pins me back against the wall with his other arm. “Do you understand? Can you keep your voice down?” It asks, a little more lax. 

After a few seconds, I nod, but my mind doesn’t have the time to process another plan. Maybe if I cooperate, they’ll let me the fuck go. His hand slowly falls from my mouth, and I stay quiet, nothing filling the room now but my haggard and nervous breathing, again. “Who are you,” I whisper, my tone demanding. 

I notice that the second man must be standing behind the one still holding me to the wall, hearing him huff a laugh under his breath. How can they fucking see me? 

“Let’s just say that if you play your cards right, we’ll be your new best friends,” the man says as he releases my chest, allowing me to breathe. I hear the tear of velcro twice, realizing he must be taking his gloves off. 

“I don’t need any more fucking friends. I have plenty back at home,” I bark, still gritting my teeth as I stay at a quieter level. 

They laugh again. “Home? You mean the cabin you were holed up in? Barely surviving?” the man behind the first asks sarcastically. 

“Home is where my family is, actually,” I bite.

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” they laugh at me again as I hear that they’re both standing, now. I should try and run again, right? But it might get me knocked unconscious again. Maybe not. Not yet. 

“Little Jake Kiszka, maybe you really do have the heart of gold everyone says you have,” the first one says. “Maybe being rich and famous didn’t get to you, after all.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I ask. 

They both scoff again. “You’re fairly fucking famous, my guy. Lots of people know your name,” the second one blurts. My guy? Who–

“Well it’s pretty convenient that I don’t know yours, seeing as how you have me fucking tied up in a pitch black room. Can we cut the shit? Or am I gonna have to try and run again?” I ask, completely over this game. Suddenly, I don’t feel very threatened. 

“You won’t get very far if you do, Jake,” the first one whispers, and I hear his boots step closer to me again, and his breath hot on my face. “Listen to me, and listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

“We told you to stay quiet for a reason. You’ve been captured by an outfit that’s been around for a long, long time. But you weren’t caught for just any reason,” he goes on, barely audible. 

“What does that mean? What reason?” I ask. 

“They’ve got reason to believe that you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, confused. 

“Why the fucking world ended. Or actually, how. Your brothers, you all wrote about this, didn’t you? In your music?” he goes on, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure as shit am now. 

“What?!” I squeal, almost laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Hmm-mm. They aren’t kidding. Does it feel like they’re kidding right now? No.”

“Why do you keep saying they? You are the one that’s got me locked up, right now,” I retort. 

“Because we’re pretending,” suddenly the other one is in my ear. “They think we work for them. The brunt work. The dirty jobs…. Like kidnapping you,” he says. 

“Listen Jake,” the other interrupts. “We know you, we know who you are. We were… we were fans of your band, back then. But these people, the ones who hired us, they trust us. And they have worse plans for you than holding you in a dark metal box with your hands tied…”

“Why me? Why did they take me?” I ask. 

“Your music, your songs… you fucking predicted more about all this than you think you did,” the other explains. 

Josh’s dreams. 

“We didn’t predict shit, we were just writing fucking songs, we didn’t–”

“All of it is real, Jake,” the first whispers, his lips brushing my hair. “The stories you told, the worlds you built… all of it exists, and has existed for a long time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, blinking my eyes in the darkness. 

“The lyrics you wrote about, the Garden you all dreamt up… It exists. In a complete other realm.”

I damn near laugh in their faces. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

They stay quiet for a beat. “No jokes here, Jake. Just know that more is happening than you could ever even fathom. It’s not just the end of the world here. It’s the end of the world there, too. Well, it’s about to be, if the battle is lost,” the second says. 

“You’re both insane, and I’m in on some kind of prank. This is all a joke!” I argue. “We didn’t create that world...”

“No, you didn’t. But you knew about it. You wrote songs about it, didn’t you? You told tales of a Battle, wrote songs about war and peace, lyrics about the water rising, and the air so thin…”

My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache. And I could really use a fucking cigarette.

“Yeah, global fucking warming, who didn’t know about that?” I defend. 

They both laugh under their breath. “Let’s just say you guys literally wrote the time and space of another world as if you’d read their history books. And, lived there alongside them.” 

There’s no fucking way. This is absolutely ridiculous. 

“What do you mean if the battle is lost?” I ask, the question coming from my mere curiosity. 

The second crouches down in front of me again, from what I can tell. “Our world here has already begun to end, right? Technology itself is murdering us by the boatloads. The thing we created. It’s omnipresence became too much for earth to handle, started to suck away at her resources and poison her. Poison her natural way of ebb and flow. So she said fuck you humans, I don’t need you. You shall all suffer my wrath, and I’ll use the poison that you created to kill you,” his voice had gotten a little dramatic, as if he was reading a romantic tragedy. 

“Okay Shakespeare, we get it,” the first says, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Here’s the thing… the other realm is suffering, too. What happens on earth is mirrored in that realm, but the mirror isn’t a clear reflection. It’s more of a…”

“Cloudy and messy shadow of what happens in our realm,” the other says. 

“Yeah, actually,” the first agrees. “It happens here, it happens there, just not the exact same way. So their world is suffering, too. But they’re going to try and stop it.”

“How are they going to do that?” I ask.

“...Have you not figured that out yet, man? Don’t you think that uh— capturing a few guys who have predicted it all to a tee so far and using them for information on what’s to come next wouldn’t be a nice and easy route for them?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” I say blankly. “You kidnapped me because they think I know what’s going to happen next after the world ends?”

“Mm, kind of. You’ve gotten it all right, so far.”

No, Josh has. Apparently.

“That and… a pretty good other reason,” the first mumbles. 

“What other reason?”

“You don’t have any signs of the rash yet, do you?” the second inquires, throwing me off. How would he know that?

“No… but what’s that have to do with all of this?” I say, my mind spinning. 

“You’re an immune. Just like us,” the second says with a bit of pride in his voice. 

“An immune? How the fuck do we know that we just haven’t gotten it yet?” I press. 

“You’ve seen how fast that shit kills people,” the first scoffs. “Don’t you think you would have at least shown a little bit of a sign of it, by now?” 

He’s right. It’s been months since the first sign of the rash, killed more people than I’d like to discuss. And quickly, too. But my whole family… none of us have shown signs…how are we all so lucky?

“Maybe the earth decided that she’d keep a few of us, the ones who aren’t fucking assholes,” the second barks, earning what sounds like a slap to the chest from the first. 

“I don’t think that’s how it worked, idiot,” he says. “Anyways, we’ve already spent too much time in here with you, Jake. But listen. Remember we’re all pretending. They’re going to push you, they’re going to make us push you. But we want you to know we’re on your team, even if we act like we’re not. They’re out collecting immunes as we speak, trying to put everyone into some type of commune to protect the longevity of mankind. But you’re special, because they think you know. They’re special because they’re immune. You following me?”

“When they kidnap more immunes they’ll group me with them, but treat me differently because they think I can help them, got it,” I say, catching on fairly easily, for some reason. 

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue. 

“Do the people who hired you live in the other realm, too? Like, why do they care?” I ask, feeling like I just read the plot of a fantasy novel.

“Think of it like a family intertwined between both worlds. They’re able to bounce back and forth, but they all take up space in both places. One realm can’t live without the other. That’s why they’re trying to stop the end of their world there, so they have somewhere to be if our’s ceases to exist,” the first explains. 

“That’s fucking confusing,” I whisper. “If ours ceases to exist, one can’t exist without the other. Isn’t Earth already too far gone?” 

“Maybe her inhabitants are almost wiped, but as a planet, she’s still got a long way to go before rejoining the cosmos. If the other realm is saved, it could power Earth enough to stop her eradication. Plus we have immunes. Earth won’t completely die, she’s just trying to do a hard restart, if that makes sense,” the second one adds. “She’s sick, and she’s trying to make herself healthy again.”

I let out a huff as I try and wrap my head around the dystopian film I’m apparently a part of now. Half of me thinks these guys are lying to me. Playing games to distract me. But then again, why would they be wasting their time?

“Play dumb, Jake. Pretend you don’t know a goddamn thing. Especially when they start to question you about what you guys wrote in this last album,” the first says, standing to his feet and putting his gloves back on, from what I can tell. “This isn’t gonna last forever, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?” I ask, pulling hard on the ties around my wrists. 

“We are. With your help,” the second whispers. “There’s a whole group of us who plan on breaking free of this shit, we’ve just got to trust each other that we can run. Gather up the other immunes once they’re captured and create our own destinies.”

“But, if we don’t go along with them, won’t Earth completely shit out on us? If their realm dies too?” I ask. 

“Catching on quickly, Jake. I’m impressed,” the first whispers. “If we recreate our own line of mankind from the immunes, everything will be okay. We just want to do it out from underneath the thumb of these selfish motherfuckers. We can do it on our own.”

The two of them turn on their heels and start to walk toward the door again, leaving me sitting in the floor. “Hey, where is my family?” I ask. 

“They were assigned elsewhere. Separated all of you, we don’t know where they ended up. Sorry, man,” the second says. And within seconds they’re both gone, and I’m alone, yet again.

Y/N

I trudge back inside the house now under the cover of darkness, after having spent a few minutes outside trying to breathe and calm myself. Paps has lit a few candles inside, and I can see the warm glow of them through the windows making the house look like a jack-o-lantern. I smile a little at the thought. As I push the door open and lock it behind me, I turn and notice he’s stood by the kitchen table, a few more candles lit across it. There in front of him are two bowls of potato soup. 

“Paps, this is so nice of you,” I mumble as I hang my afghan on the back of a chair. “I thought you said you weren’t up for eating tonight?” 

“Your Gran would have been ticked if she knew we were too upset to feed ourselves, you know that’s a fact,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. I take a seat and I can smell the herbs he’s put into the soup.

“You’re right…” I agree. “She wouldn’t have been happy with us at all.”

“Plus, figure you could pretend one of these candles is on a birthday cake, and blow it out. Since we didn’t get to celebrate you the right way,” he adds as he takes his own seat. 

“I think I could do that,” I say, picking up my spoon to dig in. “Thank you Paps, you’re really too good to me.”

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

As we eat, I watch as Paps’ hands seem weaker now, and how they shake a little as he brings his spoon to his mouth. He’s done an excellent job on the soup, but we both know we’re choking it down, both of our stomachs too wrought with nerves and heartbreak to enjoy it like we should. 

As we clean our bowls, he pushes one of the candles toward me, holding his hand out to motion for me to blow. The candle is old and burned through almost all the wax, but it still smells of pumpkin and apple pie. “Don’t forget to make a wish, sweetheart. And make it a good one,” he says, giving me a sweet wink from behind his glasses. 

I take a deep breath and wrack my brain, feeling like making a wish right now is selfish. Normally, I’d wish for a happy next year, health and fortune for my family, or even for the next man that walks into my life to be the right one. 

But all of that feels stupid now, pointless to request of the universe. 

Next year isn’t even promised. 

Over half of my family is gone. 

And no man is destined to walk into my life to better it in the least, let alone offer me kinship of any kind. 

So instead I wish for Paps to stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and that the universe bestows good things upon us both. Because like he said, we’re all we’ve got. 

+++

After I’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks from the same sound I heard coming through the walls last night– the sound of quiet, staticy music. 

I find Paps with his record player again, cranking the handle on the side as the sound begins to spill from the horn. For a second, I’m happy that he’d kept this old thing, knowing that without it, we wouldn’t be able to hear music at all, probably ever again. 

I step up beside him and watch it spin, listening to “Lovin’ You More Every Day” by Etta James drift into the air. I know that Gran loved this one, too. It was one of the songs they danced to at their wedding. 

So I take his hand in mine, pulling him to stand with me on the old oriental rug in the middle of the room. I begin to sway around as he gently places his hand on my back, swaying right along with me. We’re dancing a little too slowly for the speed of the song, but neither of us care. We’re just enjoying our time, wishing that Gran was here to clap for us after the song ends. But as it comes to a close, we’re met again with static, waiting silently for the first note of the next song. 

“You’re a bit too big now to stand on my feet,” he says through a stiff smile. 

“Maybe so,” I giggle. “But it was your training that got rid of my two left feet…gave me a sense of some rhythm…” I grin. 

He smiles again as he sniffles through some more tears. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to dance with you at your own wedding, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he pulls me close, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. 

“Now Paps, don’t talk like that…” I argue. “Lord knows I’m not gonna find a man who can dance better than you, anyway.”

I hear a chuckle run through his chest. “May be, sweetheart. May be.”

We sway along to a few more songs before we’re both yawning. “Believe I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says solemnly, patting me on the head a few times before making his way to throw a few more logs onto the fire. 

“Me too, I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, realizing that this will be the first night in over sixty years that he is going to sleep knowing he won’t wake up to the love of his life. 

“When the rooster crows, my sweet. Love you.”

“I love you, Paps,” I say as we part ways, drifting off to our respective rooms. 

I’m thankful the weather isn’t too horrendous tonight as I snuggle into my bed, pulling the covers onto my chest. I relax, but leave my candle lit, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the day. The look on Gran’s face as she finally met peace, no longer feeling the wrenching burn of the rash that had enveloped her body. Poor Paps. I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now. 

I grab my journal back up and flip to the page I’d left off on, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a thought. Instead of finishing it, I start a new one. 

I write about Gran’s passing, how and where we buried her, how I adorned her hands and wrists with all her old jewelry, and how Paps had made me a special birthday supper. I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving nothing out as I let my hand flow from print to cursive. My eyes begin to get heavy as the candle light flickers, and I realize just how exhausted I am. How mentally and physically drained I’ve become, simply from trying my best to stay alive. 

My eyes close a little, drifting down onto my forearm that’s covered in tattoos. My dad hated them, but Paps and Gran always told me they were an expression of my life at the time, like a roadmap of all of the things I loved, when I loved them. Keepsakes I’ll never part with. I always thought it strange, that coming from grandparents from an era of humans who normally found tattoos distasteful, but. 

But they were right. I have over twenty tattoos, but my forearm is dedicated to the band that I knew and loved so much, and who brought me some of the happiest times of my life.

The first one sits right in the crook of my elbow, a simple sun and crescent moon that I got right after I fell in love with From the Fires. Then words, right below that, reading ‘In an age of darkness, light appears’ in small font, wrapping all the way around my arm. Under that, a swirling symbol that resembles a radar, 13 lines that make an almost complete circle to commemorate the song that reminds me to step back into the natural world. Beneath that, a sword and an arrow, parallel with one another. And lastly, a symbol that truly represented their fifth album, lines shaped into what looks like a bird in flight. 

I never got to get a tattoo from this last album. And honestly, the darkness of the theme of it made choosing what I would have gotten a little difficult, anyway. 

I run my hand over the dark black ink and my mind begins to sleepily drift. I wonder what my friends are doing right now…are they alive? Are they sad, too? Are they still clinging to the good times we shared to keep their minds from falling into the deep depths of solitude?

My fingers stop over the Age of Machine tattoo, the little ridges of the skinny lines still rigid on my skin. I think about how much this tattoo reminded me to unplug and drown myself in nature every chance I got. How that song truly motivated me to do the exact opposite of letting myself be pulled into the false world of social media, and spend my time in my garden, or swept up in a book. Strange, now… thinking about how it made me feel when I listened. Haunted, dizzy, and uneasy. Scared, almost, but cautious. Ominous and anxious, but in the most peaceful way. Now I’m glad of the inspiration it gave me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten the rash. It’s almost like that song was warning us of what was to come…

What are the men who wrote this music doing right now? Are they okay, too? My heart wrenches in a different way than it has, yet. Yearning to know of the state of people I had never met, yet worried about the wellbeing of for so many years of my life. “Silly,” I whisper to myself. But, it’s not silly. It’s just the heart they helped me find within myself to care about other people so deeply.

I close my pencil into my book again as I blow out my candle, thinking of all the nights I went to sleep excited to wake up before the sun and double check the luggage I’d packed, grabbing a quick coffee before I hit the road to travel to god knows where to see my friends and my favorite band again. Carefree, and careless. Living my life the way I wanted to, choosing the road ahead to achieve that happiness I’d always chased when it came to hearing their music live. Life unchained, the way Gran lived hers. 

+++

Just as my body is relaxing into a well-deserved sleep, I’m awoken by a loud rumble, a deafening sound so deep that I feel it in my bones. I shoot up in bed, realizing that the bed below me is shaking, vibrating. I pull the covers back quickly, rushing down the hall to find Paps already coming toward me with his candle in hand. 

“What’s going on?!” I yell above the loud rumbles. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he yells back, and we both make our way to the large picture window in the living room. The moonlight illuminates the hillside of the farm, revealing a giant faultline that reaches from one side of the field all the way to the next. 

“Shit,” Paps mutters as I feel panic setting into my gut. “Faultline.”

“What’s that mean?! Paps, what is it?” I ask in succession, watching as the crack as wide as a river is eating up the ground.

“Probably another sink hole. Or one is going to happen nearby, I’d say,” he barks as he turns and rushes back to his room. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to run,” he hollers. 

What?! Run?? We can’t run! 

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

“Get your backpack. Get dressed, hurry! We’ve got to get away from it!” he commands, his voice booming. The house begins shaking again as I run to my room, throwing on my pants, jacket, and boots, and tossing my heavy emergency backpack over my shoulders. I make sure to secure my toboggan onto my head before stuffing my journal into the free pocket of my backpack, rushing back out into the living room to find Paps ready and waiting. 

I hear plates and dishes falling from the shelves of the kitchen, and books falling off the shelves of the living room. It’s just like an earthquake, except I had watched a crevice form in the ground, right before my eyes. My hands are shaking, and I am already broken out in a cold, panicked sweat.  We rush to the truck, throwing our things into the bed as we climb inside. 

“Hank! Where’s Hank?!” I yell, looking around for him. 

“Leave him, we’ve got to go,” Paps says as he turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life for just a second, before shutting right back off. He tries again, pumping the fuel pedal to get the block to heat and the glow plugs to light. “Fuck, fuck!! Come on, baby! Don’t do this!” he yells, trying to coax the machine. But it’s to no avail. The battery has died.

We open the doors and clamber to grab our bags again, realizing that on foot is our only means of escaping the growing faultline. We take off rushing down the dirt road, still hearing the deep rumble of the ground separating behind us. I wish I could describe the sound, a noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The cracking and snapping of deep roots, the crashing of trees, a low bellowing sound so deep that it sounds like it came from hell, itself. Unreal. And utterly fucking terrifying. 

My legs carry me, and luckily so do Paps’, straight down the long driveway and back onto the main road. I hear the wood of the house start to creak, and more wooden-sounding bangs. Fuck. Please, not the house… 

“Should we go to the woods?” I pant, knowing that Paps is just as out of breath as I am. 

“No, to the knoll,” he points, panting too as he motions toward the top of a high hill. When we finally make it there, we stop, taking a breather as now it feels as though we’re far enough from the field to get a better view of everything that lies beneath. And there, right in the center of the field is another sinkhole, giant and deep and dark with half the farm swallowed up in it. 

Luckily, the house is untouched.

“How on God’s green Earth…” Paps breathes as he lets his hands fall to his knees, trying to catch his breath as the two of us look down on the scene in front of us. Like it was straight from a horror film. 

“Had to of been Gran. She wouldn’t let the devil himself take her home, if it was the last thing she did,” I say, earning a breathy laugh from Paps. 

“You’re goddamn right, sweetheart. You’re goddamn right,” he says, finally catching his breath. “We need to run, we’re pretty close to this thing, still.” We take off again, rushing back down the road as we still hear the ground shaking below us. We hear trees falling in the distance, and we begin running again. I’m truly thankful for Paps’ stamina and heart right now, his legs getting him to safety even at his age. 

“Keep going, Paps, not much further,” I encourage him, just in case he needs it. “We’re okay, we’re okay…”

Suddenly, I see a set of headlights in the distance, barreling down the road towards us in a cloud of dust. When it finally approaches, I flag it down until it stops beside us. An old man is sitting in the driver’s seat, his face just as panicked as ours. “Hop in! Hop in!” he says, and we listen. Paps and I rush to the passenger side and slide into the cab, the man already hitting the gas before Paps can even shut the door all the way. 

“You’ve got to turn around!” I say, “There are sinkholes this way!”

He turns the wheel harshly, and I’m glad he listens to me. We rush back the opposite way, zooming down the road so fast I can hardly fathom what’s happening. Pure panic. 

“We’re alright, Paps, we made it out,” I try and calm him, reaching for my canteen of fresh water and offering it to him as he catches his breath. 

Suddenly we’re being thrust forward as the man steps on the brake, and I’m close to cursing him before I notice he’s stopped before another faultline in the road. “My god…” the man says, opening his truck door and climbing out. 

“No, no… what are you doing?!” I yell, wondering why in the hell this man is getting out of our escape vehicle and walking towards the crack in the ground. I watch as he steps closer to it, inching his steps as he peers down over the edge. “Is he insane?! Are you insane? Please, come back!!” I scream, but he doesn’t listen. The ground shakes again, throwing the man off balance as it makes him stumble, swallowing him right up into it. 

“Oh my god!!” I yell as Paps lets out a guttural scream. My hand covers my mouth as I yell in disbelief, watching as the man is there one second, and gone the next. 

“Drive, Y/N, drive!” Paps urges me, pushing my arms to scoot to the driver’s seat. I throw the truck in reverse, pulling the door closed as I rush to get us away from it all, pushing the pedal to the floor as my eyes scan for more faultlines. It feels as though we’re surrounded by them. My heart is pounding, now, as my body does the necessary work on auto pilot. 

“Keep going! Keep going!” Paps says as we get closer to town, and away from the vibrating ground. After a few minutes of shaking panic, it feels like the buzzing of the ground has subsided, and I can finally take a deep breath. A shaky one, but a breath nonetheless. 

As I finally allow my eyes to adjust and my hands to stretch, I’m finally feeling in control of my body again. Okay, okay, I’ve got this. Just keep driving. “Paps, you okay?”

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” I breathe, taking another deep breath in to calm my shaking body. “God, why the fuck did he do that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, dumb and curious, I guess,” he says, taking another drink from the canteen before offering it to me. “Head toward the city, we’ll need to find a place to hunker down, tonight.”

And though my heart is still pounding as his words hit me, I take the right turn off the state route to head to the interstate, both of us in high hopes that the city will offer us more than it did when we left it. But honestly, I’m losing faith. 

I’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes on the empty road before I take a cutoff exit, determined to cut our drive time down and conserve fuel. The exit leads to a sideroad that is heavily wooded, but I know it will get us to the city more quickly. As the headlights shine down the two-lane road, I notice some kind of dark, shadowed figures standing down in the distance. I blink a few times, trying to see what is there. 

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps. 

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” he says, so I slow my pace. My headlights do little to light them up, but the closer we get, the more human they look. Tall, dark… just standing there?

And they aren’t moving. I bring the truck to a stop, my headlights almost no help at all as the figures begin to close in on us, instead of moving out of the road. 

“The hell is this, what’s happening?” Paps yells as the figures have us completely blocked from continuing down the road, now. My panic returns. I hear Paps cock his shotgun. “Drive, drive!!!”

My foot smashes the pedal to the floor, but the truck doesn’t move. The tires screech as I continue pushing it, willing the truck to keep going. But it won’t. It’s like I’m running it into a brick wall. “What’s happening!! Why won’t it go?!” I scream, my hands gripping the wheel as the truck begins to fishtail from the force of the tires on the ground. The lights from the truck are completely gone, now. We’re in total darkness. “Paps!”

“I’m here, I’m here, honey!” and I feel him grab my hand. Suddenly the truck doors slam open, and my body is being grabbed and pulled from the seat. I thrash and kick at whatever has grabbed me, but nothing works. It’s too strong. I feel a painful hit to my head, and my ears scream as I start to lose consciousness. I feel a dark cover be put over my head and secured, completely blocking my vision altogether. “Paps!!!!” I try and yell, but I’m slipping quickly into unconsciousness as my voice is barely a squeal. My hands are being tied in front of me, and all I feel is cold. 

+++

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands still bound as I sit with my back against a metal wall. My breathing is ragged as I try and take in my surroundings, and I realize I still have the covering over my head. I wince in pain from the impact of whatever hit my head earlier. I hear others beside me, many crying, panicked voices whimpering in the same room. I try and make a sound, but my voice is hoarse from screaming. I try and speak, but there is tape over my mouth. What is happening, where is Paps?!

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to raise my bound hands and remove the covering, but it’s secured tightly. I’m in pitch black darkness, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I try to stand, but my muscles are weak and sore, and I can hardly will them to move, let alone stand. It’s unclear how long I was knocked out, and how long I have been sitting in this cold, metal room, but it feels like only a few minutes have passed. I feel tears begin running down my face, I feel so helpless, so exhausted. So blind.  

Suddenly I hear a loud noise, like a heavy metal door being thrust open. I see a light through the covering over my face, and I try and yell again. But nothing comes out. Just like in those nightmares where you are unable to make a sound. I hear footsteps come into the room, heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor. My covering is forcefully removed, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. 

Finally, I’m able to see eight or ten others with me, all of us sitting with our hands bound, lined up against the walls of this room. Some beside me, some directly across from me. I watch as two tall, masked men work their way around the room, removing each and every face covering. A woman, a man, a teenaged boy, an elderly lady… and then, Paps. I make excited eye contact with him as I feel a squeal leave my taped lips. He’s safe. He’s here. 

I watch as the rest of the covers are removed one by one, the person seated directly across from me being saved for last. They leave him sitting for a few seconds as they exchange what looks to be laughs with one another before one of them gently kicks his legs a little before undoing his head covering. 

The man’s face is beaten and bruised, his brown hair tangled and long and falling in front of his face as he winces in pain. They throw his face covering back down to the floor beside him, laughing again as they turn and leave the room without a word, locking the door behind them. 

I peer to the hair-covered face again to get a better look, and I swear if my mouth wasn’t taped shut, I would have screamed out in disbelief. 

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

He feels my eyes on him as he finally looks up to me, noticing my awkward stare. Neither of us can speak. I feel myself smiling under the tape, what are the fucking odds? What is happening?! Where the fuck are we?

His eyes grow wide as he realizes I know him, and he stares back at me in utter confusion. Do I tell him I recognize him? Shit, he can probably tell I do, by now. For some odd reason unbeknownst to me, I maneuver my tied hands to slowly pull up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him the splattering of tattoos that line my forearm. I know you. I watch his eyes see them as I straighten my arm out, willing him to see them, recognize them.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he begins shaking his head slowly side to side, his breathing picking up significantly as he looks at me with red, swollen eyes. 

No? Is he telling me no?

Just as I hear the sound of the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall, I watch as Jake slowly lifts his bound hands to his face, his pointer finger sticking up in front of his taped mouth. 

My stomach falls as I realize he’s serious. Not only is he telling me no, he’s telling me to stay quiet.

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka @jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter

[flamingo-writes]

Moorning dear flamingo I come with another request that was on my mind all night after reading the last update for the 5th time, sorry for bothering you so much in advance.

So ok, I was thinking about something like this, hobie because of all the swings he usually does, he has these recurring back pains so reader makes a special oil/atom for him and they have this super cute scene of care from reader to hobes♡

Midnight, I swear, seeing your blog on my notes makes my day. You’d never bother me btw, keep dropping your ideas and I’ll make them happen 😭💕

Listen, with the whole moving houses, my legs hurt sm 😂 do I think it’s a beautiful timing (however not beautiful that my legs hurt). This took me 4 days to write help 😭

So, seeing from all older spidermen, Peter B Parker (ITSV), Tobey’s and Andrew’s Peters also had back pain, so, for things I’m gonna go for an older Hobie (instead of being Spider-Man for three years, I’m gonna go for more time)

Warnings: not proof read djsjejef

Like Magic — Hobie x Reader

Being Spider-Man wasn’t easy. The rebellious acts, the recklessly jumping from top buildings, the constantly facing danger. On a superficial level, it all sounded fun to Hobie Brown. But by the end of the day, he always came back home tired. He loved his side job as Spider-Man, he loved wrecking havoc and bringing smiles to people, but it was a demanding job with no free days and no pay check. At most, food the people he helped gifted him, the smiles and good wishes from people. It was gratifying, but it did nothing for his tired muscles.

Especially swinging from one building to the other. The constant tension on his muscles and swinging his hips to gather momentum, had a particular rough effect on his back. All of it. From his shoulders all the way to his lower back.

People always made jokes how one day you woke up, in your late twenties, and trying to crouch to pick something from the ground, something new cracked and nothing was the same afterwards.

While Hobie could still crouch and pick up stuff, he did a lot more rough jobs with his back. He didn’t think of himself as old. But being Spider-Man was not a job that was friendly on your joints or muscles.

With every passing year of being Spider-Man, he resented it on his back.

He slid into your shared bedroom, his body tired, exhausted. You were stitching something on the bed as you looked at him and smiled.

“Hey, baby,” You said cheerfully.

Your radiant smile made Hobie feel like some of the weight lifted off his shoulders, despite the ache all over still being there.

“Hey sweet’eart” He smirked and groaned as he took off his mask and put his guitar down. He went punto your bed and cupped your face, directing your attention to him as you giggled and pressed your lips against his, humming sweetly into his kiss.

“Watcha doing?” He asked curiously.

“Fixing my favourite skirt,”

“Good. I like that skirt on you,” He sighed. “I like it even better when you take it off,” He winked as he collapsed on the bed and groaned loudly.

“Are you alright?” You asked softly, Hobie groaned in response. “Is your back bothering you again?”

“Yeah…” He sighed. “You know, swinging and shit,” Looking at you with a sleepy smirk. “Baby…”

“I know,” You said anticipating his request as you got up and looked around one of the drawers of your closet, taking out some ointment. “You know the drill…” You said as he sat up and took off his shirt and top part of his suit. Lying back down, over his stomach, Hobie relaxed on the bed as you rubbed some ointment in your hands. “Lower back?”

“All of it actually…” He sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

As you started massaging his back, he let out a soft groan. Burying his face on the pillow. You chuckled. Gently pressing your fingers, you admired the little details in Hobie. His wild hair, thin complexion, the fading scars from wounds from earlier events, his enhanced healing factor quickly erasing any tracks from previous fights.

Your hands, soft and delicate against his skin, a lot warmer than your hands, as your fingers pressed on the tense points of his back. Each touch, making him sigh in relief. Following the line of his spine, the contour of his muscles, brushing his sides, tickling him every once in a while.

“God, how do you do it?” Hobie moaned softly. "It’s like magic,"

“Well you see, when you have to massage your boyfriend’s back on a daily basis, you learn a thing or two on massaging…”

“Lucky guy,”

“You think? I think I’m the lucky one, actually” you giggled as you leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss on his shoulder, making him hum.

“Are you sure? I’ve heard he’s a total punk,”

“Love that about him. He’s perfect for me so, people can say whatever they want about him, I won’t love him any less…” You purred against his ear.

“Would it be too bad if tomorrow I decided to stay in bed with you all day long?”

“I need to go to work,” You giggled.

“No you don’t. Your boss won’t mind,”

“Hobie,”

“When was the last time you called in sick?”

“Yes, you have a point there but,”

“Let’s be real, the book shop won’t crash just because you aren’t there. I know you love working there, and your boss in nice to you, but how many people buy secondhand books on a daily basis?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re right. We don’t get a lot of people, he can handle the store on his own for a day…” You sighed. "You win, Hobart…" You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

"I always win," he said with a cheeky smirk, rolling over his side as he looked at you with an inviting stare.

Sighing and dramatically putting your hands on your waist. His stare changing into a puppy look, making you giggle as you went over the bed and laid down next to him. As he pulled you into a tight hug. Nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around him.

"Thank you…" He whispered, his voice much lower and softer. A voice you only got to listen in times like these. "I promise I won’t ask you to skip work for the rest of the year…"

"It’s July, Hobie…"

"It’s my best offer, take it or leave it…" He chuckled as you kissed his forehead.

"You’re impossible," You joked.

"You love me this way," He smirked.

"I do. Very much, actually"

"I love you too,"

[thehermitsaltar]

Kurt Kunkle x male reader

Where he kidnaps the reader & has been stalking him online.

+ forces reader to wear a collar with his name on it

Maybe consensual sex later on because reader is really into it?

Tied up kink, marking kink.

A/n: This is the best request ever<3333 this request was so good that I had to do it immediately

Kurt Kunkle x Male reader

Warning: Smut, sort of dubious but everything is consensual.

All it took was looking away for just one second. Looking away from your mixed drink, coming back to it, unaware of what happened and what was stirring inside it. You downed the rest of the alcoholic drink in one gulp, your throat burning as your cup empties.

Your skin started to tingle and your vision became fuzzy and unfocused. You couldn't keep your thoughts straight, only feeling your skin heat up and the need for air rising above the haze. Pushing your way toward the door on clumsy feet before tripping on something. That's when it all went black. You don't even remember falling, or maybe you didn't fall?

You woke up and every muscle in your body felt too heavy to move, even opening your eyelids seemed like a challenge. Instead of looking, you focused on what you felt. Wrists pulled behind your back, tied together with metal handcuffs that dug painfully into your skin. You tried to shift out of the binds only to find them too tight, and now you realized you were tired to a chair, and you weren't alone.

You froze when you heard frustrated mumbling in the room and someone moving around, the sound of feet and things shifting heard around you. You couldn't help the groan bubble up in your throat at the dull ache becoming present in your joints.

"Sh-shit." The person mumbled before they stood in front of you. Finally fluttering your eyes open, cringing at the bright light, trying to adjust. "You're awake." The voice spoke again, a hint of relief in his sigh. Your vision focused on the floppy haired brunet in front of you. He was scrawny, and tall, considering the way he hunched over to be a few inches from your face.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything but all that came out was a soft rasp, throat dry and sore. Swallowing and trying again with better success. "Who are you?"

The man's face scrunched up before it cleared into a wide grin. "Im-im Kurt. I'm your biggest fan!"

Your face must have matched your confusion by the way Kurt giggled and leaned a little closer, his nose brushing yours while your eyes almost went cross with how close he was.

"I've been watching you forever! Since you started YouTube, really. I comment and like all your videos and any post you make on social media. Maybe you recognize my username, 'Kurtsworld96'?"

Kurt shifted away, kneeling in front of you and peering up at you with his big brown eyes. The drugs thrumming through your veins clouded all thinking, dulling the panic you should have been feeling. Only being able to focus on the way he looked at you, like you hung the moon and the stars.

"I've wanted to meet you for so long! We-we would be perfect collaborators- and- and I could take care of you!" Kurt leapt forward in excitement, missing the way you flinch backward slightly, jingling the cuffs around your hands. "And when you posted about going to Bobby's party- I mean it's fate really! I wasn't formally invited but me and Bobby are tight.." Kurt began to ramble and trail off, giving you a chance to glance around at your surroundings. It looked like you were in a bedroom. A desk sitting in the corner, posters littering the room and a mattress laying on the ground.

"I even got you a gift!" Kurt's voice snapped you back to reality, lolling your head to look down at him.

"What?" You mumble, watching him stand up and walk toward his desk, fiddling in the drawers before coming back. Standing in front of you with a hand behind his back. Kurt's free hand found your hair, gently grabbing it and guiding you to look up at him.

Kurt blushed at the way you looked at him, so pliant and malleable before him, lips parted and eyes glazed out.

"Pretty- pretty boy." He murmered to himself, chewing on his lip and removing his hand. Delighted when you keep looking up at him. He cleared his throat, revealing the 'present' from behind his back. It looked like a cheap dog collar made of blue plastic and black fabric, a small charm dangling from it.

Kurt rounds your chair, standing behind you and making you tense as his hands glide feather light along the side of your neck. He leaned down, whispering in your ear as he clicked the collar around your neck.

"I am not letting you go." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts about how serious the situation really was. Only focusing on his breath fanning against your neck and his slim fingers playing with the charm on the collar. "You are mine."

You whimpered, struggling against the cuffs again, accidentally drawing Kurt to the bulge in your jeans. The alcohol and drugs in your system lowering your restraint but the attention was the nail in the coffin, pushing you over the edge of control and making your cock leak.

"F-fuck. You- you like that? Like being mine?" Surprise evident in Kurt's voice as his fingers trailed down your arms, hooking in the cuffs and tugging harshly to pull you impossibly closer to the chair, straining your shoulders and arms.

"Say it."

You chewed on your lip as you tried to sort through your thoughts only to whimper out a small 'please'.

Kurt pulled away completely, leaving you cold and missing his presence, shame flooding you at the thought of wanting the man who kidnapped you. Those thoughts left as soon as Kurt kneeled in front of you again, his face soft as he immediately started working on your too tight jeans. Finally ripping them down, along with your pre-cum strained boxers.

You pant and gasp when your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach with a wet 'plap'. You whine and squirm in your seat, keeping your eyes trained on Kurt while his attention remains on your cock. Looking in awe and drinking in your bare skin before his eyes landed on your cock. His jaw dropped a little and he practically drooled at the sight of your drooling member inches away from his face. Kurt's hazy eyes flicked up to you, holding your gaze and shifting in his spot.

"Wanna worship you.." He leaned forward, placing a hesitant kiss on your calf, eyes never leaving your face, looking for any sign you didn't want this. "Wanna take care of you.." He placed another kiss higher, this time on your knee, the warmth of his lips making you whimper. "Wanna claim you." His final kiss was placed on your thigh, inches from your leaking cock that twitched at the contact.

"I'm yours."

Your own voice surprised you when you croaked out the words. You didn't have time to regret your words before Kurt let out a breath moan, diving in and leaving sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your cock. You jerked your wrists, wanting nothing more than to tangle your fingers in Kurt's messy brown hair, huffing when you couldn't touch him.

"Fuck. Dreamed about this for so long." Kurt continued to press wet kisses along your cock, slicking it with his spit and your pre cum. His kisses turned into kitten licks, then into long, broad licks. "So pretty.. and sweet.. fuck, you taste amazing."

Your whines and moans go ignored, all of Kurt's attention focused on wetting your cock and tasting your salty pre-cum. His warm hand wrapped around your cock, jerking you off while his mouth sucked on your tip.

"K-kurt." You tried to pull his attention to you, trying to warn him of your orgasm that was approaching too fast.

Kurt moaned and pulled his mouth off of your cock, a line of spit connecting him to your tip. His hand sped up, thumb stroking the underside and swiping over the tip before sliding back down to the base. His half lidded eyes looked up at you while he laid his head on your thigh.

"Say my name again. Please baby." He pleaded up at you with a slight pout, his hand getting faster until your vision started to blur around the edges.

"Kurt!" A deep moan rumbled through your chest as your cock gave a final twitch before ropes of cum painted his hand and your chest. Your vision going white, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, drowning out all thoughts.

"Good boy." Kurt whispered. His hand slowing, moving to your thigh, stroking it affectionately. You panted out labored breaths as you started to come to, looking down at Kurt lazily, feeling your sensitive cock twitch when you notice your cum splattered in his hair and across the bridge of his nose. "Made such a mess.." Kurt mumbles idly before reaching around and undoing the cuffs from your wrists. Your arms fall limply at your side, too exhausted to move anymore.

Kurt stands, leveling his tented jeans with your face. You moan weakly, attempting to reach up and undo his belt before he grabs your wrists gently, pulling your hands to his mouth for a soft kiss.

"Can I- can I fuck you?"

You would have cringed at his awkwardness if it hadn't of been for your cock already getting hard again at the thought of him making good on his promise to claim you as his. You swallow, making eye contact with him before nodding.

"Yes."

The next few moments were a haze of Kurt helping you to his uncomfortable bed, clothes being shed and hungry hands exploring your body, committing every inch of skin to memory. It ended with you on your back and Kurt nestled deep in your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin.

He blindly scrambled for his bedside table, pulling out lube and a condom. "J-just tell me if it hurts." You give a short nod in return, preparing yourself before a cold, slick finger circles your rim. You chew in your lip and groan when he pushes his finger in, quickly getting used to the feeling and craving more.

By the time three of Kurt's fingers were pistoning in and out of you, you were close to your second orgasm of the night. Moaning and clawing down his pale back while he stayed glued to your now sore neck, determined to mark you.

"I-I can't wait any longer." Kurt whined, finally slipping his fingers free, rushing to slip on the condom and line himself up with your entrance. You gasped when he pushed his tip inside you, hands tightening on your hips so hard you were sure they would bruise.

Once Kurt began pushing in more, he couldn't stop, slipping in in one go and bottoming out with a deep groan.

"S-So t-tight-" Kurt gasped out, shivering and shuddering above you. "Perfect, so-o perfect." He gave you no time to adjust before he's rutting into you, sliding out only a little before slamming the rest of his length back in with a brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him from your raw neck to look down at you. His lips were shiny and red, eyes full of lust and need as you watched him lose himself in your tight ass. His thrusts grew deeper and harder until he was pulling out until just the tip was inside and slamming back in, brushing your prostate with every thrust, making your eyes roll back and high moans escape your throat.

"Fuck yes baby, Iloveyouiloveyouilove-" Kurt rushed out before cutting himself off with a loud moan as he spilled his seed into the condom. His body shook above you, whines and groans falling easily from his lips as his thrusts slowed to a slow roll of his hips inside you.

He finally collapsed on top of you, his body sweaty against yours. You sighed and peaked down, face and chest heating up when you notice you came again at some point, your cock soft and covered in cum.

The only sounds in the room were yours and Kurt's soft pants before his soft voice spoke up and he reached up to play with the charm on your collar again.

"It says 'Kurts'.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

The Owl's Test: Jason's Version

Red Hood is trapped in the Court of Owls' not-so-fun house.

A Gotham Knights choose-your-own-adventure. Pick your favorite character to get whumped, or watch them all suffer :)

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

---

The entire world is covered in a haze. A persistent buzzing underlies the chamber’s ambiance, and the Earth tips slightly as Jason levers himself up.

God, does he hurt. His neck, his shoulders, his back. He supposes that might have something to do with the granite mattress he’s sitting on. If humans were made with stick straight spines, Jason imagines that this would be the ideal bed. As it is, a bona fide sacrificial altar makes for poor lumbar support.

Jason’s vision is still a bit fuzzy when he pushes himself off the altar, and a momentary head rush makes him lean back on the stone. Every joint in his body aches. Every muscle under his skin throbs. You’d think he’d just gone three days without sleep, but he just woke up from a nap that was long enough for someone to move him from the floor of the Penguin’s office to an altar in what appears to be a massive, underground cavern.

Jason isn’t old - not by a long shot - but this is what he imagines it feels like. Like an old, hungover man at a rock concert.

As he stumbles to his feet, he scans the walls. They rise up to oblivion, so high that Jason can’t see the ceiling. The whole place is covered with a chilly fog, and frost crunches under his boots.

“Well, if you weren’t before,” Jason gripes, “you’re on my shit list now, Cobblepot.” The world spins a bit, and Jason has to hold out his arms to stay upright. “The hell is this place, anyway? And what’s that smell?” He scowls. The mask covers smells pretty well, but there’s a distinct odor leaking past its filter. Like must and rotten meat.

“Belfry, do you read?” Jason calls. “Hood to Belfry.”

Nothing.

“Great,” he mutters. “I’m cut off.”

With no path forward except… well, forward, Jason staggers ahead. His vision is still blurry, the world is still spinning, and to top it all off, his helmet is malfunctioning, the edges of his vision fuzzy with static.

“The hell is wrong with this thing?”

Jason continues on. As time passes, the drug (or whatever the hell the Penguin gassed him with) wears off. His vertigo is abating. It gets easier to see. And it’s a damn good thing too, because he quite nearly charges into an obvious booby trap. The holes in the wall are a dead giveaway for killer spikes, which would have shish-kebabed him in a second. So instead he ducks and crawls past in the space between the floor and the lowest spikes.

“Inside of Gotham’s walls…” a sinister, echoing voice croons. Clear of the spikes, Jason jumps to his feet, but the speaker is nowhere to be found.

“Rule you one and all…” another voice calls.

There’s an inhuman hiss, like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth. And then a dark shadow darts across the path and scurries up the wall like a squirrel. Except it’s far too big to be a squirrel. Far, far too big.

“What the hell?” Jason tries to keep it together, but he’s drugged up in some underground maze. It’s getting very difficult to stay calm.

Jason turns the corner, just stopping himself in time to avoid being skewered. The spikes slam into the wall, grinding sparks against the cement. Jason takes a deep, shaky breath, crawling under this trap too.

There’s a light up ahead. Jason almost gets excited. The exit must be close. But the thrill instantly sours into disappointment. The light is too warm in color. It must be a candle, not sunlight.

And candle is putting it mildly. The next room is rife with flame traps, just waiting for Jason to step on the pressure plate and get charred to a crisp. He finds a path through, but it requires a significant amount of trial and error.  He weaves between pillars, jumping over dangerous tiles until he’s made it to the next corridor.

“Give up,” a voice orders from above. “It would be so much easier.”

And it’s tempting. Because Jason is drained. He was aching to begin with, and now, navigating this endless maze, he can feel fatigue creep up, threatening to overtake him.

But he keeps going, because when people say to give up, it's just further motivation to keep at it. And he keeps at it right until he smacks into a wall.

“Wh-?” It hadn’t been a dead end. Just five seconds ago, it had clearly been a hallway. But now it’s a wall, and Jason just rammed his body into it. “Oh, screw this!” he groans, standing up and turning back.

The next path makes Jason wonder if maybe it would have been better to have just fallen for the first spike trap. Because now he’s staring at a less hidden - but far more elaborate - trap. Saws and rods of spikes rotate from the ceiling to the floor. There’s a way through (there always is), but it will require a dangerous amount of precision.

Fortunately, the Bat trained him enough to know how to survive a simple spinning death trap. All he has to do is stay low, stay alert, and be patient. It’s annoying but effective.

And then Jason is back to running. Running down halls, making sharp turns, hoping and praying that the next corner is his way out.

But then his head gets floaty again. The lights are brighter, the sounds more muffled.

“I tried to teach you what I knew, but you were hopeless.” It’s not the voices from before. It’s angrier. It’s more…

It’s more familiar.

“Why did I ever believe you could be anything more than a disgrace?”

It’s Bruce.

Colors are blurring now, and Jason’s legs slow. It feels like he’s wading through concrete. He stumbles forward to a crossroads, devious laughter ringing in his ears.

Left? Right? Does it matter?

Jason doesn’t know which way he goes. He just keeps moving.

A dark figure - himself? - drops from the ceiling before being yanked back up by the throat. It’s shadowy and vague and obviously not-quite-right, but Jason isn’t sure where it’s coming from.

“That’s messed up,” he comments, immediately turning and heading back to the alternate path. He won’t waste his time on things that may not even be real threats.

But it’s no good. A similar figure appears, and a spike trap lies beyond it. There’s no space to crawl under this one. Jason groans in frustration, turning back again. He’s long since lost track of where he’s been.

Two armchairs and a gramophone are waiting in the next antechamber. The music is distorted, but if Jason concentrates (but damn, is it hard to concentrate), he can place the song. He doesn’t know its name or the artist, but he does know where and when he heard it last.

Bruce’s office. The week Jason was adopted. Bruce was busy, but Jason had felt so isolated and threatened by the giant, ominous manor that he knocked on the door anyway. And Bruce had dropped a record on the gramophone and sat with Jason in the armchairs by the fire. And it was warm and safe and-

Jason keeps going.

“Face it! You can’t save anyone, and you never will.”

Fake Bruce. That’s not the real Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t say that. Bruce can’t say that, because he’s-

“Alfred!” Jason is running before he realizes what’s happening, darting up to the figure slumped in the Batcomputer’s command chair. Alfred's neck is tilted at a ninety degree angle. The monitors behind him glow bright red, with smooth, faceless figures staring out at him.

“No,” Jason says, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s dealt with enough flashbacks - with enough trauma - to know how to assess reality. He fills his lungs. Wiggles his toes. Thinks back through his actions. How nothing really has made sense since Cobblepot’s betrayal. And then Jason makes up his mind. “No. This can’t be real.”

Alfred explodes into ash and drifts to the ground. It only confirms Jason’s conclusion.

Fatigue is creeping up his spine now, invading his every cell. But even still, he marches forward. He turns corridor after corridor before the shadowy figure returns. But this time, it’s close enough to identify.

The shadowy figure is holding a gun to its head. The shadowy figure is him.

Something disturbingly familiar ripples through Jason’s muscles. Sweat breaks out across his forehead. He knows it’s fake. He knows it’s not real, but… “Goddamn, it,” he hisses. It feels real enough.

The figure disappears in a cloud of smoke, and Bruce speaks again.

“I should never have recruited you!”

And then the world turns green. Jason feels like his head is being crushed. He slows, heart in his throat. He recognizes the sight before him.

“Oh, god,” he breathes. “Not a Lazarus Pit. Not again.”

The crowbar is solid in his hands. Heavier than it should be, but it feels right.

“You were the worst Robin.” Bruce’s loathsome baritone is mocking and cruel. It only makes Jason’s swing more satisfying.

Green drips from his hair. Rolls down his face.

“On your best day, you were nothing but a killer.”

Thump. Thwack. Thud.

The crowbar cuts across Batman’s cowl. Cracks a hole in his skull. Shatters his ribs. Punctures his lungs. Batman collapses, and Jason.

Keeps.

Going.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD-

“Kill… kill… kill…”

Jason drags Batman up, just to hit his limp form again. Into the neck. Across the face. Between the shoulder blades.

“We are the same…”

“NO!” Jason drops the crowbar. It clatters cheerfully on the stone floor. Batman falls in an ungainly heap beside it.

Jason presses his palms to his eyes. “That’s not who I am!” he tells the voices. “Not anymore!”

Batman disappears in smoke. The Lazarus green fades, and the crowbar melts into the ground.

Jason starts running.

“No escape…”

There’s a door ahead. He can see the door ahead. But it just gets further and further the faster he runs.

“No escape…”

Jason catches up. Grabs the handle and tries to open the door. But the door is wrenched from his grip, flying down the hall.

“Accept your fate…”

Jason has to sprint to catch up. He doesn’t waste time pushing open the door. Frantically, desperately, he rams his shoulder once, twice into the door. It gives way, and he spills out of the labyrinth. The door slams shut behind him.

“Is it over? Am I out?”

The comm still fizzles in his ear, and he’s still inside an underground lair. His vision is clearer though. The world isn’t spinning. The lights are warmer, and the room is less confined.

Jason isn’t safe. Not yet. But he’s out. He doesn’t hear the voices anymore. Shadows don’t warp into the past. And Jason considers that a win.

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

[lifeofafangirl1]

I’ve been feeling icky all week and yesterday I woke up with a rash all down my arms to my hands and all down my legs, I didn’t think much of it since I felt fine and went to school. I woke up this morning with the bottom of my feet burning up and every single joint and muscle in my body stiff and aching. Yet again, I pushed through and went to school. But now I feel absolutely shit, like I’m about to pass out, and literally googled my symptoms and have convinced myself I have Lupus.

[sinful-feminae-a]

Anonymously send my muse a wet dream. Make them feel horny or fluster when they’re awake.

Anonymous said: Kind of got carried away, the --- is meant to be a new paragraph.

Wet Dream for Niffty: The hallway zoomed past her as she became aware that she was running as fast as her legs could carry her. The rumbling came from behind, only whenever she turned a corner would it dampen, but only for a few seconds, then less, and she could see tendrils reaching from the corner of her vision before she came to the staircase of the hotel. Instinctively she'd jump down to grab at the banister and drop down from one floor to the other, dodging grabbing hands that reached out from the darkness. Looking down from the next ledge she could see an impossibly long drop, she appeared to be dangling over an infinite pit of agony, hellfire all around and the sudden rush of darkness starting to blot out everything else, leaving her dangling between damnation and torture, or the darkness unknown. But before her hand could let go of the remaining banister, her arm had been grabbed, a familiar hand, with long claws and a palm hot to the touch, she had been brought into the darkness, but instead of claiming her, it parted around her to form a bubble. The next instant there came the sensation of a firm chest, and arms holding around her, the smell of coffee, leather, and gunpowder came to her and a deep drawling tone could be heard from the darkness around her, making the darkness feel familiar, yet there was a note to it that said she was not done.---

Looking up she could see the dark form into an inky face filled with fangs that leered at her, a tongue slithering out and dripping on her face as it came closer, the tone becoming louder, darker, vibrating the air around her and her body. Her mouth opened without resistance, feeling the thick tongue push its way into her and the face pressing inches away from hers. Eyes with spirals circling the inky black pupil stared at her, feeling its hunger as her body was pressed against the darkness surrounding them, landing on her back as she felt as if he was all around and over her, the warmth became overwhelming as her mouth and throat got violated by the inky tongue.---

Feeling like her body had become submerged, she felt her legs spread apart as the form moved over her, and the tingling sensation shot through her as she knew what was about to happen. Her voice was muffled by their lips on hers as he took her on the spot, filling every part of her insides with a heat that numbed the aches and pains of muscles and joints. She had been utterly overcome by the dark entity that claimed her. from the pits of Hell and into its arms, marking her as his with everything it had and could give. Grasping at their arms, she could not feel herself able to pull off or away, as every movement made her sink deeper into the darkness, only able to see the eyes that had marked her as theirs, feeling her insides move to its wishes as she was used to their desires, body surrounded by nothing as the world had completely disappeared and all that was or would ever be was the monster that took her. The intensity had taken shape as she felt her whole body squeezed from all sides, and with a final shuddering effort, she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling of her dark room… It had been a dream.

Niffty woke with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat. Her breaths were slow and deep, chest heaving as she tried to get a hold of her senses. 

That was an intense dream and so real. Usually her dreams weren’t so vivid and she forgot most of them after she woke. But she remembered every detail of this one so clearly. She shakily lifted her sheets, confirming what she already knew. And those were her favorite panties. Oh well. She supposed she could always buy new ones.

She settled back under the covers and squeezed her eye shut. Niffty wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep the rest of the night.

[mamakspeaks]

The day is eerily slow, and quiet.

I woke up feeling all balance, and tired with a headache and body pain like I had been in a fight the night before.

Had I encountered a scene of violent destruction without my carnal knowledge, or was it old age catching up with ?

Either way, my body, mind and spirit was hurting massively, and I felt a change coming I was not ready for.

Every morning brings a new worry of my untimely death... you know from either a heart attack or stroke since body betrays me with high blood pressure.

I'm numb by the pain that I feel daily, the aches and pain from my deteriorating muscles, and inflamed joints. I push on knowing deep down inside I would rather just close my eyes and go to sleep forever.

The ceiling-to-floor windows in my bedroom are bursting with dawn's early light, as the sun ascends from orbit, rising into the skies.

Slivers of sunlight caresses my exposed leg that has escaped the black comforter on my bed. It's warmth reminds me that while fall is just around the corner, summer still holds on a little while longer.

Lying in bed, in the right position allows me a brief reprieve from the slight vertigo I feel brought on by the headache.

I say out loud, "Just a few more minutes, and maybe my body will right itself and I can get on with my day."

Little did I know the day would get progressively worst.

[casspurrjoybell-19]

CLAIMED - Chapter 8

*Warning: Adult Content*   

Beta Jaxson Ortiz’s eyelids fluttered open slowly as he woke. 

He felt a bit better this morning, although his throat was still raw and scratchy and his joints ached painfully even though he wasn't moving them. 

Although, he could tell that his fever had gone down, as he didn't feel as cold as the night before. 

In fact, he felt warm. 

A little bit too warm. 

His senses jumped to life a he registered the heavy arm that rested across his waist, a veiny hand hanging limply at the end of it. 

The weight of it pressed him into the mattress a bit and he scrunched up the back of his neck at the weird sensation of the warm breath that blew against it. 

He knew who was behind him, the sparks that flew throughout every cell of his body told him everything he needed to know but for some reason he couldn't find it within him to pull away from his Mate’s loose hold. 

He couldn't even remember how or when he'd fallen asleep last night, which shocked him considering he was used to waking up shaken over the terrors that came alive during his restless dreams. 

But this time his mind was peacefully blank as he slept, his only memories before waking up this morning being Pack Warrior Corey Cahill's voice from the night before.. 

'I think it is nice. It suits you.'

Ortiz’s heart pounded as the dusty, new feeling that was resurrected in his mind yesterday popped back up and he found himself smiling at the faint, unfamiliar sensation of happiness.

It had been so long. 

He couldn't believe that someone actually liked his name. 

"Jax..." Ortiz tried it out on his tongue, whispering it underneath his breath, still unable the shake it’s weird sense of unfamiliarity. 

However, at the same time he filled with pride at the sound of it. 

He felt in his soul that it was the name that was meant for him, opposed to the last name that had been forced on him from a young age, the use of it meant to anesthetize him against forming true connections with others.

Ortiz’s eyes flickered down as the veiny hand twitched, coming to life at the sound of his quiet whisper. 

He would never get used to how easily Corey was woken up. 

‘The Warrior Training must really be intense to fuck with their brain that much.’ 

"You're awake." 

Corey's morning voice was even deeper than his normal one, if that was even possible. 

Ortiz jumped at the sound, pushing his Mate’s arm off of him abruptly and sitting up, ignoring the slight spin of the room at the sudden movement. 

"No shit, Sherlock," he grumbled out, reverting back to his typical, sarcastic self as he slid off of the bed. I

He was in desperate need of a shower, he knew he probably smelled terrible due to all of the sweating he'd been doing over the past few days. 

He started towards the en-suite but winced as he felt a painful tug in his chest. 

‘This tether, or whatever the fuck it was called, was really getting on my damn nerves.’

Ortiz took a few steps backwards to ease the strain before turning around. 

By the ghost of a painful expression on Corey's face as he sat up in bed, Ortiz could tell he felt the tug as well. 

Although he was still apprehensive, he didn't want to push it as he had already caused the man more pain than he deserved. 

So, for once in his life, he swallowed his pride. 

"I stink. I need to shower. Can you just... sit on the toilet or something while I'm in there? I'll make it quick," he asked politely, although he stared at his feet as he couldn't find it in himself to meet his eyes. 

Ortiz wasn't used to asking someone for something so nicely, without a hint of sarcasm or bite in his tone but for some reason he felt like he couldn't be mean to Corey anymore. 

‘Not after he said he liked my name.’

Ortiz’s eyes flickered up at the sound of the bed creaking with Corey’s weight as he slid out of it, immediately widening at the sight before him. 

The Pack Warrior must have taken off his shirt during the night, as his sinewy muscles were on full display as he stood tall. 

His impossibly broad shoulders, abs and pecs were sculpted to perfection as if he was some kind of Herculean God. 

Ortiz’s mouth involuntarily began to water as he recalled the times when his tongue had traveled along all of dips and contours between each of his abs as he made his way down his body...

He snapped out of his train of thought as Corey turned around and bent over to grab his shirt from the floor. 

Ortiz took the opportunity to smack himself in the face harshly, jumping up and down and shaking his head violently to rid himself of the homosexual thoughts that seemed to be getting worse by the day. 

‘It was like I was having reverse That's So Raven moments but unlike her’s that were actually useful, my flashbacks always just ended up with me fantasizing about this man's dick.’

Corey grabbed his book from the bedside table before silently nudging his head towards the bathroom in a manner that read 'go ahead.' 

Ortiz followed Corey’s directions, walking to the bathroom with the large man following close behind him. 

Once they reached the medium-sized room, Corey quickly and silently settled on top of the closed toilet, crossing his ankles and opening up his book from where his bookmark left off. 

Ortiz felt slightly self-conscious as he slipped his clothes off, so he snuck a glance over at Corey, only to find him engrossed in his book, his eyes respectfully trained on the page. 

Feeling a bit better about his nudity, Ortiz discarded the clothes in heap at his feet, stepping out of them and into the warm spray of water that spewed out of the rain shower head. 

It felt unbelievably good to wash off the days of sweat that had accumulated on his body over the past few days that a moan of satisfaction bubbled up from his throat but he quickly bit it back, not allowing the embarrassing sound to slip past his lips. 

As he washed his body, Ortiz couldn't help but look over at Corey through the glass panels of the shower. 

His eyes were politely trained on the pages he was reading, not once glancing up to sneak a peek at Ortiz’s naked form, which would have been easy considering the fact that the shower stall was completely made of glass. 

The Beta couldn't help but smile at that, feeling another strange fluttering feeling at the fact that his Mate was so respectful of his boundaries, not ever pushing too hard.

It only took about seven minutes to do his shower routine and soon he was stepping outside of the stall and wrapping a towel around his waist, only for his own body to betray him. 

As soon as he shut the water off, his stomach growled loudly and he curled in on himself with a groan. 

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten, which couldn't have been good considering the amount of strain his body was going through trying to fix his stupid mistake.

"You're hungry." 

Corey and Ortiz locked eyes as he looked up from his book. 

The Beta quickly nodded at his Mate’s observation, shaking water droplets out of his hair as an excuse to tear his gaze from Corey’s intense one.

"Yeah," Ortiz scratched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling overly exposed as he stood in front of the man in only a towel. "Can we erm... Go eat?" 

Corey nodded, standing to his full height and stretching out a hand in a gesture for Ortiz to go ahead of him. 

Ortiz rolled his eyes at the action. 

‘He was always being so damn gallant.’

"I'm not a fuckin' girl..." Ortiz grumbled angrily under his breath, although he still complied as he stormed towards the door. 

However, in his haste he'd apparently miscalculated the amount of water he'd flung onto the ground upon his exit from the shower, as a moment later he yelped as he felt his feet fly out from underneath him. 

He desperately reached out for anything that would slow down his rapid descent as he felt himself free-falling forward. 

The world moved in slow motion for a moment and he could practically feel his teeth breaking on the ground already even though he hadn't made contact with it yet.

 Consequently, he was shocked to feel himself slam into something solid, sending them both tumbling to the tiled floor with a muffled grunt.

Ortiz found it hard to breathe for a moment as he tried to catch his bearings. 

A sudden onslaught of sparks came to life inside of him, making him shiver as he laid on top of whatever had stopped his fall, only his arms propping him up slightly. 

After a second of deep breaths, Ortiz opened his eyes, only to be met with the emotionless gaze of Corey himself. 

Their eyes were level as they stared at each other in this strange position on the floor of the bathroom and Ortiz soon found himself sucked into the black holes that were Corey’s intense, brown orbs. 

It was in that moment that Ortiz realized how... beautiful the man that laid beneath him really was. 

His lashes long, framing his almond-shaped, hooded eyes beautifully, and the high cheekbones that gave his features a sharp, somewhat dangerous look. 

He was really beautiful, in a handsomely rugged way. 

It was like they were the North and South pole of a strong magnet as they breathed heavily, entranced by the feeling of the other's touch as they pressed against one another. 

The tension between the both of them was so monumental that you could cut it with a knife and Ortiz shivered from the tickle of their noses as they brushed against one another, barely touching. 

It was so hard to remember the rules that had been carved into his brain at that moment. 

‘To be honest, it felt like my brain was complete mush and if you asked me right then I probably wouldn't even be able to spell 'logic.' 

It was like Ortiz wasn't in control of his body as he slid a hand up to Corey’s neck, feeling the strong pulse there and tingling with excitement when he felt his Mate sigh out at his touch. 

Ortiz didn't know who began to lean in first but they were both definitely on the same page as they moved closer, breath mingling and lips trembling with anticipation.

"Beta Ortiz. We need you to come to the infirmary now."

"FUCKING DAMMIT!" Ortiz screeched out, grasping the back of his head with both of his hands as he rolled off of Corey, his face contorting in pain. 

The sound of the Crescent Moon Pack Doctor Benji's loud voice linking Ortiz, startled the hell out of him, making him abruptly jerk his head up and bang the back of it against the toilet the very second before his and Corey's lips touched. 

"Are you alright? What happened?" Corey rapidly sat up, looking down at Ortiz. 

Although his face was neutral, the Beta could see his eyes held concern as he glanced up at him. 

Corey went to reach out a hand to comfort Ortiz but he pushed his hands away, standing up as he began to gather his bearings. 

"Yea, I'm fine," Ortiz replied, trying to keep his voice even and nonchalant sounding even though it felt like there was a trapeze show going on in his heart with the way it bounced around in his chest. 

Turning away from Corey in an effort to hide his reddened cheeks and heading towards the door, carefully this time, Ortiz muttered... 

"Doctor Benji Mind called us to the infirmary." 

Ortiz dressed quickly after he entered the walk-in closet, simply throwing on whatever athletic wear he could find first. 

He could feel that Corey was close by, as he didn't feel any strain on the tether, but was probably standing just outside of the closet as he let Ortiz have a moment to himself. 

Ortiz was grateful for it, as it gave him a few moments to process his jumbled thoughts.

His lips still tingled from the bathroom floor encounter and he found himself lifting his fingertips to touch them. 

It drove him wild as he thought of how close they'd come to kissing these past few times. 

The sexual tension between Ortiz and Corey was almost painful but it seemed like neither of them could work up the courage to address the issue head-on. 

So they danced a dangerous dance, their emotions and relationship in abeyance due to their stubborn inability to just talk about it. 

On one hand it was weird that just a kiss was causing him this much turmoil, seeing as to how they had done much more in the past but things were different now. 

After Ortiz spewed those nasty words at Corey and his father came back to haunt him, it felt like they were practically back at square one.

Ortiz just couldn't believe that he was so easily swayed by tingles the man gave him. 

It was like his body simply couldn't resist Corey’s touch and it was only getting worse over time and as they resisted more. 

It was like someone was amplifying up the voltage every time Ortiz pushed Corey away. 

However, the hardest part to admit out of everything was how damn good it felt.

At this point, Ortiz was past denying that it didn't feel absolutely amazing whenever they made contact, especially during the more... intimate moments they'd shared before he blew up at his Mate during the mixer. 

If it was purely his body's decision, Ortiz would have been riding his shaft like a cowboy right now but his mind was a completely different rodeo.

Remembering the urgency of Doctor Benji's tone, Ortiz exited the closet to find Corey leaning against the wall, waiting patiently for him to finish. 

He kept his blush under control this time as he walked over to the bed to grab his cell-phone from underneath the blankets. 

"What do you think Benji wants?" Corey asked, pushing away from the wall as Ortiz began to head towards the door.

"I have no clue but it better be good because I still feel half-dead," Ortiz replied with an annoyed tone, shoving his phone into the pocket of the grey sweatpants he'd thrown on a few minutes prior.

They walked in an uncomfortable, at least to Ortiz, silence on the way to the infirmary. 

The Beta smiled at a few Pack Members they walked past on the way, hoping to ease the tension but most just gave Ortiz a slightly curious look in return, whispering to one another as they tried to puzzle out the reason why the 'Beta and his Mate were taking a break from their positions for a while.' 

Ortiz quickly regretted his actions, settling for the uncomfortable silence between he and Corey over being gossiped about by his entire Pack. 

They reached the infirmary in probably around 4 minutes but Ortiz let out a breath of relief at the sight of the door, as the walk felt so much longer. 

He was quick to knock on the door and it was opened a moment later by the pink-haired medic, who ushered them into the room. 

Ortiz plopped himself down carelessly into a chair in front of the desk, while Corey settled gracefully in the one next to him.

The room held the usual suspects. 

Doctor Benji's hulking mate, Warrior Tank, stood menacingly behind his Mate's desk while Alpha Oasis Amador stood quietly, closer to the door. 

Tyrus Cahill and Fae, Daffodil stood between the two, looking disgustingly adorable as they always do, with their hands clasped together gently.

 However, this time Daffodil looked very sad opposed to his usual bouncing-up-and-down self, his big eyes glistening and bottom lip trembling as he held a whole lime tightly in his free hand. 

From the looks of the scene, they'd likely just had to coax the Fae to calm down by giving him his favorite food.

"Why did you call us here? I was very busy having my date with death before your little interruption," Ortiz sassed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. 

Doctor Benji sighed at his question, giving Alpha Oasis a look before leaning forward and setting his bony elbows atop his desk, leaning forward onto them as he addressed Cory and Ortiz.

"Before you passed out the other day, Corey asked us what eventually happened to the tethered couple," he started. 

The tone in the room suddenly became serious, or maybe it was all along and Ortiz had just started taking it seriously, as Doctor Benji spoke. 

The Beta had somehow forgotten that they never had a chance to finish the entire conversation before Daffodil thrusted he and Corey into a hurricane of lust that made Ortiz pass the fuck out but he definitely wanted to know now. 

His ears perked up as Doctor Benji continued.

"For a while, Daffodil refused to tell us but luckily we were able to... bribe him with a lime," Dr Benji's purple eyes flickered over to his big brother who sniffled, rubbing his face against the arm of Tyrus's long-sleeved shirt to wipe away his tears. 

The larger man had his hand resting on the back of the Fae's yellow head, rubbing gently in an effort to comfort him, not at all caring that his arm was practically soaked through with the tears that fell from the Daffodil's massive eyes.

"Okay and...? What did the kid tell you?" Ortiz pressed, sitting forward in his chair as he looked at Dr Benji, waiting for him to finish. 

The Beta’s stomach clenched in anticipation, his thigh jumping up and down and foot tapping furiously at the suspense of the situation. 

‘Why couldn't he just spit it out already?’ 

Dr Benji breathed out, pressing a thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of his nose.

"The couple refused to act upon the bond regardless of the tether. They neither rejected nor accepted one another, acting more like friends than the soul mates that they were destined to be," he continued, pausing at the end to assess our reaction to his words.

Corey sat as quiet as ever in his seat, staring calmly at Dr Benji as he spoke. 

Ortiz, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of the peaceful man beside him, his body practically vibrating with anxiety. 

He suddenly grew impatient with the Doctor’s winded explanation, standing up and banging his hands down on his desk. 

He instantly regretted his decision as his hands began to sting at the force he'd used in slamming them down but he was in too deep at that point to show it.

"Will you cut out the damn fluff and just tell us what the hell happened to them?" Beta Jaxson Ortiz shouted, feeling unbelievably jittery and frustrated at the fact that he and his Mate Pack Warrior Corey Cahill were completely in the dark about something that effected them so heavily. 

While this situation was basically uncharted territory and it honestly scared the hell out of Ortiz that they still barely even knew what it was.

Doctor Benji met the Beta’s eyes and his blood ran cold at the next two words that he spoke.

"They died."

[ofpedsruinous]

Alex had no idea how long he had been knocked out. Nor what had caused his accident. He had swirling thoughts of that damn jet. Last time he ever decided to take a first class jet, He damn well wasn’t paying for these medical bills, once he was released and back on his feet he made a mental note to send the bills over to Jackson. He was the one that never safety set that jet. He vaguely recalled being under one of the wings of the plane. He felt the aching in his body from head to waist. 

His lower half he felt nothing, he felt that ache in the pit of his stomach the second he stirred as he was starting to become more alert. He felt a hand on his palm, it was soft and gentle. Alex knew Jo; and she made a promise before his surgery to be here. To hold his hand until he woke up. He also lazily said three simple words to her. He meant every second of it. Alex knew he made mistakes; he carried the weight of leaving her on his shoulders. He thought trying with Izzie was the answer. Growing up he had a broken home. He always vowed to himself if he got the chance to be a dad he’d never turn his back on his kids. And that’s what motivated him to leave. But he was a coward, he had to forgive himself in order for Jo to forgive him. But damn she was a sight for sore eyes when he lifted his eyelids open. Taking an adjustment period for the male to take in her sight. 

He was lazy, and annoyed at the amount of pain his muscles were in. Aches in his chest each time he breathed out. The only part of his body that showed no pain was his hand; the hand Jo currently held in her own. She thought this was amusing; he saw it all over her face. “ While you’re at it. Tell Avery he’s paying for my hospital bills.” Annoyance in his tone as he exhaled lightly hoping it would stop any joint pain from forming. 

“ Like I was hit by a plane.” A stone cold stare as he uttered the words. Alex was tired and crappy, he had no joy whatso ever on his features. The only bright side was Jo; sitting at the edge of his bed. Fulfilling her promise; right now he felt ache after ache, he didn’t want to approach the subject of what we were? It felt messy; and right now Alex was in no mood to debate where each of us were in our lives. Time heals us; and right now the only thing that mattered to him was having Jo here; holding his hand each step of the way.

continued

@warriorqueenmd

Accidents; they have a way of whipping us into shape. Alex could tell you the amount of times he’s tended to patients from car wrecks, from plane crashes, and trains where it was two people who either were denying how they felt about each other. Or had broken up and one risk of never seeing the other again was a motivation. A motivation to admit to what rested in your heart. Alex knew he was the guy who made mistakes. He had a tenacity to lose his temper, he liked to believe he was an okay guy. But he also knew when it came to people he loved; he fought tooth and nail for. Jo she was the love of his life; he knew it in his heart. But he also felt his back against a wall. 

He had a family that had nothing to do with her; and this crash happened because he was again walking away from what rested in his heart. He had to ask himself if this was a sign. If this crash was an indication that he should be here in Seattle. Alex told himself he’d be damned if he walked away from her; because the second he laid his eyes on her again he knew. He was still hopelessly in love with her. But Jo she had a child; he had two kids in Kansas the odds did feel like they were stacked against him. He didn’t want to hurt her; again. And he saw Jo; he read her face like a book. She was barely holding it together. He hated himself for being the reason why she cried, why she had to walk away from him. 

He knew he was bleeding; it was awful because right now he could barely feel the movement in his legs, like his nerves had stopped functioning. But he saw it as a good sign that his eyes were opened, that he was alert. Because the doctor in him was assessing his own injuries. The bump on the head; the headache he felt each time he attempted to turn his head on his own. The worse part was the droplets of blood coming out of his leg. He saw the concerned expressions on Hunt and Bailey. Surgeon; he knew his life was in good hands. But given that Jo was the one on his side; she was the one that earned the job of distracting him, he had to use this opportunity for himself. Her lame joke; between baby vomit and cat; neither were quite the win if you asked him. 

Holding his lips together; he attempted to stop himself from laughing. A gentle small hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “ You need better stories Jo.” A light handed insult; but if he by some miracle survived and we tried to figure this unconventional relationship out; I needed to trust Jo would be able to make up a story at the beat of a bat. I made up stories all the time on a whim for my kids; the bedtime stories were our routines, the memory of the last time; I saw them. A few years to get to know Eli and Alexis, and now my life was flashing before my eyes. But not without saying the words; uttering the I love you; because if I was on my death bed, I needed Jo to know. It was always her; it would always be her. 

Hand laced through her; a slight tightest wrapped around her smaller palm. She loved me, now Jo could just be saying the words; so I wouldn’t feel like I was baring my soul out to her; but I didn’t want to hear the words; I needed to say it as my last words. Eyes slightly grew wide when I felt it; her lips on mine. As if no time had passed. Eyes shifted closed for a second. To hold onto this moment; the moment of kissing her again. It ended too soon if you asked me. 

“ Promise you won’t go anywhere.” I’d be back; I wasn’t going to let our story end like this. I heard Hunt; which is why My eyes were only focused on Jo; she was a calmness within this storm. Each movement of the gurney inching closer to the OR, I knew it was close when Hunt eyed both Jo and I. Her hand; I had brought her palm to my lips; pressing a gentle kiss to her skin. 

“ This isn’t over. It’ll be us at the end okay.” A promise; written in my words, I’d come back to her; I swore it with everything I had. Slowly I let go of her hand; As I nodded to Hunt. It was time to stop the damn bleeding. It was time to get this show on the road. Eyes fluttered shut as we made our way right into the OR. A minute before I felt the nurses start talking. 

“ We’re going to inject you so you don’t feel the pain, if the doctors want to repair your leg, and the wounds on your head.” I didn’t need to nod; my blood was dropping; I felt it in my body. I made a promise and I knew Jo; she’d hold me to the promise. Eyes opened looking right at the ceiling. Eyes glued to the white ceiling as I felt the injection to my arm; it was numb before I felt the mask lower down onto my face. 

The last image I saw was Hunt and Bailey who came to stand on each side of the table. “ We’ve got you Karev.” If I’d bet on any pair of hands it was theirs as eyes fluttered shut drawing me to darkness.