#I will fucking manifest in your house in the middle of the night to bite your head off

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

seeing all these posts in canon jc tag saying how jc did better than madam yu ... pretty sure madam yu never hit jc (did she? if im wrong tell me xd but still he'd be the same if she did cuz he hits jin ling in anger multiple times), or expose him to herself torturing innocent people to death so much that jc would be used to smuggling them out... yea jin ling and his relationship turned out better no thanks to him tho, jin ling got lucky to be more jin than jiang tbh cuz majority of his time would be at the sect he's heir of and jc does love jin ling unconditionally but madam yu in all her abusive glory also loved jc unconditionally, like jc was willing to die for jin ling, madam yu was willing to die for him too, that aint undoing the harm the two adults ended up doing to the two kids in the scenario at least in the emotional sense, and aint no way ppl are saying hes doing better than her, hes at least on the same level in lack of affection cuz jin ling was so unused to being even hugged or how to handle a hug the barest of affections jin ling turned out better and grew purely on his own effort coz jc sure wasnt setting any positive examples for him-

It seems to be implied that Madam Yu herself has no issue getting physically harsh with either of her own children as well,

1:

Madam Yu sent a look at Jiang Cheng. “Horsing around again? Come, let me have a look at you.”

Jiang Cheng scurried over, and Madam Yu squeezed his arm with her slender fingers before giving him a sound slap on the shoulder.

"Not a bit of progress in your cultivation. You’re almost seventeen and still acting like an ignorant child! Running around with this lot, doing mischief all day—do you think you’re the same as them? Hell knows which gutters they’ll be crawling in in the future, but you’ll be the leader of the Jiang Clan!”

Jiang Cheng staggered from the force of her slap. He hung his head, not daring to argue back.

2:

"Sorry!” said Wei Wuxian loudly. “I didn’t know shijie would come! I’ll go look for my clothes right now!”

Madam Yu was even more incensed. “You dare run from me?! Get the hell back here and kneel!”

As she spoke, she cracked her whip. A searing pain spread down Wei Wuxian’s back.

"Yowch!” he exclaimed aloud. The pain was so intense it almost sent him rolling on the ground.

Just then, Madam Yu heard a soft voice ask, “Mom, do you want some watermelon…?”

Jiang Yanli’s sudden appearance startled Madam Yu. With this delay, the group of little brats had vanished without a trace. Madam Yu was so infuriated she turned to pinch Jiang Yanli’s cheeks.

Eat, eat, eat. That’s all you know!”

The pinch made Jiang Yanli’s eyes water. Vaguely, she said, “Mom. A-Xian and the rest were hiding here to cool off. I came looking for them on my own, so don’t blame them… Do…do you want some watermelons…? I don’t know who sent them over, but they’re very sweet. Eating watermelon in summer can relieve the heat and quench your fire. They’re sweet and juicy. I’ll slice some for you…”

Violence seems to be an unfortunate overarching theme regarding the Jiang Family and how they exhibit any emotional behavior. Madam Yu each time she is on page is the main instigator of physical punishments and pain out of anger, Jiang Cheng seeing her as his own role model follows this same pattern with Jin Ling. The above passage of Madam Yu'a introduction as a parental figure and Jiang Cheng is terribly similar to what we get for Jiang Cheng's introduction as Jin Ling's uncle and a caretaker,

"Since Hanguang-jun wants to punish you, take the lesson this once. It’s not easy for him, either, to manage the juniors from another clan.”

His tone was sarcastic, but it was unclear to whom it was directed. Lan Wangji, who never responded to such provocation, ignored him.

Jiang Cheng turned, his voice scathing. “What are you standing around for? Waiting for the prey to run into your sword itself? If you can’t catch the creature here on Mount Dafan tonight, then you needn’t come to me again in the future!"

And to answer the main point of your ask, no, Jiang Cheng is not any better towards Jin Ling and how he treats him. He treats him exactly as Madam Yu did with Jiang Cheng. With cruel ever changing expectations that were too high for a child to ever be reasonably expected to achieve without help or the care that should have been exhibited to raise a confident child. Jiang Cheng took the role of his mother in all ways and superimposed his life onto Jin Ling as well. Generational trauma is not always easy to of course pick up when you have grown within that environment. Yes you may know something is not "normal" as you interact with others but it's hard to name or describe why. Jiang Cheng thought of his mother respectfully despite her own many flaws, generational deference is difficult to question when that is all you have known until you are in a better environment to explore and comfortably learn despite being less than grand in execution. Jiang Cheng did not get that chance in life, but he does finally let Jin Ling have that as Jin Ling seeks out Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji for nighthunts to learn from.

Unconditional love isn't always a saving grace, and that is an unfortunate reality of life that not all love is always good or healthy despite how very much you love them or each other. Unconditional love can be selfish cruel and hurtful in the ways that people choose to express it when they don't want to be better for their loved ones. The play of trauma and victim blaming is terrible when you are both the abuser and victim and continue that cycle.

The only thing that Jiang Cheng "did better" than Madam Yu, was living to let go of his hates and insecurities enough to stop imposing them on to Jin Ling as well so the child could grow better and with actual role models that encourage a nurturing non-mocking environment first and foremost.

[angelamajiki]

PARINGS: Brother! Tamaki Amajiki x Female! Sister! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, stealthing, con to noncon, quirk play, riding, manipulation, possessiveness, slight angst, implied kidnapping

AN: thank you to @suzuki-violin-school for beta reading!! @sightoru @bonesoftheimpala come get y’all juice

You always had a strange relationship with your big brother, seeming to be just a touch close for your parent’s liking. But the pair of you never paid too much mind to it. Something about it just felt natural and right. You were thick as thieves, always confiding and comforting each other when no-one else seemed well enough to do the job.

When you ran to your brother’s house the second your first boyfriend broke up with you for a completely arbitrary reason, leaving you to cry on your nii-san’s shoulder to deal with your heartache.

“I told you he was no good for you, bunny. I knew from the start that something was wrong with him. There’s no one that’s good enough for my baby sister.”

Then it happened again. And again. And again, until it seemed like every partner you’ve ever had lost interest after the first few months of your relationship. It was devastating to feel unloved and unwanted, but at least you had your big brother to make everything better. Tamaki always reminded you how much he loved you, how smart and intelligent you were, how anyone would be lucky to have you, and the people who have dumped you were complete fools to not see what a gem you were.

And anyone would be lucky to have your big brother; you reminded him as well. The number seven pro hero who had finally blossomed into a confident, top-tier hero with a heart of gold. He was so strong, not to mention a heartthrob. Maybe it felt wrong to be jealous of the attention he gets from the media for his work along with his looks. Still, maybe it was because you knew better than anyone else that one day, the devotion he showed towards you would be the devotion he showed towards his own partner.

Not that you ever planned to tell him you didn’t want his undivided attention to be cast elsewhere, but just like everything else about your relationship, it flowed out naturally when you were crying about your recent first date that had ghosted you after dinner.

“Tama-nii, I’m never going to find someone! Why does no one want me?”

You sobbed into his chest, clinging to him like you did when you were a child, searching for the lost innocence of your youth in his arms. His strong hands embraced you without question, without judgment, as he kissed the top of your head tenderly while shushing you gently.

“Oh, bunny. That’s not true at all-”

What could he know about your struggle? The media treats him like the very man who hung the stars in the sky, and how could you blame them? He was the moon, the very embodiment of tenderness that waxes and wanes with a gentle, shimmering brilliance that you can’t help but hide in the shadows of.

“Yes, it is! What could you possibly know of not being wanted when you’re just going to end up leaving me like everyone else does?” His silence spoke louder than your own sobbing. “One day, you’ll find someone and leave me to be alone again because no one wants me!”

His hand, that touch you’ve become so familiar with, gently strokes your lower back.

“Who said I don't want you? You're making assumptions, little bunny.”

His words tickled your ear, got your heart racing as he quelled your cries of anguish. “Because I certainly do.”

Nimble fingers tilted your chin up to meet his soft gaze, lust clouding his eye like the calm before the storm.

“B-But not like that-”

“Exactly like that.”

His words lit a fire in your core, but forced ice to run through your veins. Your brother could never have you in the way you wanted him to, the way you needed him to.

“It's not that simple.” You choked out, straining to contain yourself from your fleeting desires. This fleeting feeling of weakness can't let you risk your relationship with your brother, or worse, let him be your everything for just a moment and watch him walk away when he's done. “We can't.”

“And why is that? Isn't it obvious that I'm not going anywhere unless I'm with you?”

His face inched closer to yours, a blush splattering his pale skin up to his ears.

“It’s wrong-”

Your eyes flicked to his lips for a brief moment as you found yourself frozen.

“Not if I love you.”

Plush lips sealed over yours, enveloping you in the tenderness you'd had always envied him for. The love, the obsession he had for you had come crashing down in waves over you as you kissed him back, eager to feed off his affection and attention.

Teeth and tongue clashed together in a messy display of the taboo; hips pushed flush against each other as you whined into his mouth, sobbing in the relief of finally feeling yearned for.

The question of whether or not it was right wasn't plaguing you anymore, not like it did you when you scorned yourself for the infectious desires that coiled in your core late at night. His love cleansed you, cured you of your ailment as his tongue and lips made their way to your neck.

Sweet nothings tickled your ear as he nibbled and kissed along your tender flesh, leaving bright pink spots in his loving wake. The tears from your eyes dripped onto his hair, but neither of you seemed to care.

“Don't cry, my love.”

His words were like a symphony, enthralling you with the melody that he carried in his voice and the song he sung to soothe your overwhelmed state. “Let your big brother take care of you, okay?”

Clothes were discarded in a flurry, tossed somewhere beyond the couch the two of you were grinding on. His hands were so strong, yet so gentle as you were carried like a princess, his princess, to his bed where he no doubt intended to indulge in every one of your desires.

Your knight in shining armor kissed you breathless under the moonlight that trickled through the window, casting his shadow over you. Even now, he stole the limelight but you couldn't find it in yourself to care this time, not when he touched you so lovingly.

Nimble fingers kneaded and pulled at your plump flesh, making their ways down to the wetness between your legs. Shame flushed your face as he throatily chuckled. “Wet for me already, imouto? You're flattering your nii-san.”

The pad of his thumb circled your clit gently, sharp eyes watching as your body jolted and twitched at the sensation. “You’re acting as though you've never been touched before.”

You hear the smile in his voice without even seeing it. It only served to flush your shame even further, avoiding the eyes that were fucking you with everything they had.

“Don’t take those pretty eyes off of me.”

His middle finger prodded gently at your hole, teasing the twitching thing with circles of his forefingers. Shyly, your eyes turned to him, begging, pleading for him to stop teasing already!

And how could he deny such an unspoken request from the love of his life? Tamaki already knew what you wanted before you even did, he always did. He’s been able to read you like a book, already knowing what would be on the next page before it was written.

Still, he liked to tease, or more so needed to. It would fuel him like no other to finally hear you beg for him, beg for the love only he knew how to give you. Not that he would be so selfish to deny you of all that you wanted, he was more than prepared to spoil his lovely princess.

But, the man couldn't deny the inklings of his insecurities coming back to bite him. There was a chance that you could regret this later, that you would run far from his reach the second the realization that you slept with your brother donned on you. Tamaki wouldn't have it, now or ever.

Your moans drew him back to the present as his finger pumped in and out of you, dragging along your spongy, wet walls that gripped him oh so nicely. He could hardly handle the anticipation of getting to feel you around his cock.

“N-Nii-san! I can't wait, want you inside!”

Your broken cry sent a shudder down his spine and a jump to his cock. Such a desperate little thing you were, but you were his desperate little thing.

Maneuvering the both of you, he sat you in his lap while holding your ass flush to his hips.

“You know what to do, pretty girl.”

Swallowing thickly, you pulled his cock out of his boxers and positioned yourself to sink down on it.

“Y-You’ll pull out, right?”

“Of course, imouto.”

That was all you needed. Determined to please him, you pushed just the tip in before sitting all the way down on it. A choked gasp filled the space as you felt the fullness of your brother’s cock inside of you.

“S-So full, nii-san!” He stretched you perfectly, letting any pain fade comfortably into pleasure.

It was then that Tamaki decided he would ruin you, not only for himself but for anyone else who dared to think they would be able to please you.

As you ground your hips down into his, you couldn't help but start to feel him grow inside you. Was this normal for sex?

“Ah! Hold on, it's really starting to hurt nii-san.”

Your hips lifted off of his, only to be slammed back down by those strong hands you've come to love.

“Just relax, princess. I'm doing this because I love you.”

Admittedly, this was his first time to try to manifest this part of his body, but he had to try for you, didn't he? Your future with him depended on it. The kiss he pressed to your temple was to soothe himself more than you, focusing on the horse meat he had eaten early that day just after you called him.

He shushed your struggles, hugging you close and stroking the ever-growing bulge in your stomach as he completed his manifestation.

“There we go.” He kissed your cries of the pain away. “It’s okay, you’re okay, princess.”

You had to understand that he was doing this for both of you. He’d ruin that cunt of yours, make it so no man other than Tamaki and his quirk could ever satisfy you.

“You were made to my cock, and mine alone, princess. I'll make you see that.”

The pain was nearly unbearable as he began to thrust up into you, hitting your cervix with the strange cock head he had produced. His hand stayed flush to the bulge on your stomach, stroking it gently as he pounded into you from below.

Your cries and moans meshed together in a perfect melody, one that was always destined to be sung by the both of you, together as one.

Neither of you were going to last long, not with his quirk in play.

“Oh God, I'm gonna cum, princess!” His thrusts became erratic, pounding into you with a new vigor.

“Y-You promised to pull out!” You cried in frustration, feeling his cum fill you up to the brim and dripping out of even with his cock still inside. Tamaki thumbed at your clit to help push you over the edge as he shrunk his cock back down, feeling you cum around him with a cry and shaky legs.

He pulled out, looking at the bulge his cum inside you left behind as he pushed on it gently, watching it gush out of you.

“Now no one else will ever want you.”

[amymel86]

Bitches keep starting new Jonsa fics!

I’m bitches.

Shit. It happened again. Sansa really doesn’t need to be thinking about this on the day before her wedding but it happened AGAIN. The Red Keep Hotel’s 400 thread count, Braavosi cotton sheets are still balled up in her clenched fists. Sweat still dampens her brow.

A quick look over at the heavy blackout curtains shows no hint of daylight peeking from around the drapes. And stretching over to unplug her charging phone confirms that it is not yet dawn on this – her ‘Wedding Day Eve’ as Beth had coined it.

Should she make a call to her therapist once the world starts to wake up? She won’t go into great detail this time of course – but Sansa had thought that these dreams had stopped. It’s been ages since he’s featured in them and tonight-

Tonight...

Tonight he’d fucked her in her wedding dress.

Oh, Gods! How awful is that? Sansa is due to get married in under 48 hours and she’s dreaming of having sex with her groom’s brother?!

Deep breath.

Sansa closes her eyes.

In.

Out.

What was it that Brienne had suggested during their last session when she’d brought up the dreams?

“You may be manifesting these kinds of dreams because Jon is one of – if not the only – person that, outwardly, doesn’t show that he likes you. You’ve admitted yourself that you are a people-pleaser, Sansa, and I can imagine having someone in your life that you can’t seem to please would frustrate you very much.”

She was right, of course. It did frustrate her. Sansa was good at getting on with people – with everybody.

Except for Jon.

Even when they were younger, back in the north. That was before his dad had made contact with him – back when all he was was Miss Snow’s boy – the boy next door – the boy who was Robb’s best friend. He was always at their house but Sansa had little to no interest in him at the time and she was sure he had felt the same.

They were just too different.

The only time she really remembers having any kind of connection with him was when she’d hugged him for beating Joff’s ass when he’d hit her. But even that – she’s sure he’d only stepped in out of a sense of loyalty to Robb. The rest of the time he hardly acknowledged her beyond a bored looking grunt.

He’d gone away to college and Sansa had heard through Robb and Arya that he’d later dropped out, tried his luck down in King’s Landing at one of his father’s many, many investment businesses.

That hadn’t worked out either.

Sansa had just about forgotten all about Jon Snow – the boy next door – when, just three years ago, he’d contacted her via her old email of all things – couldn’t he have slid into her DMs on one of her socials like a normal person?

After short chats back and forth for a while – honestly, Sansa hadn’t been aware that Jon even knew how to hold a conversation until then - she’d found out that he had stayed down in King’s Landing and owned his own tattoo parlour now – a far cry from the respectable suit and tie gig that his father had envisioned for him.

He knew she was desperate to visit the capital and invited her to do just that.

That had been the first time she’d met his brother, her now fiancé, Aegon.

... and now she can’t seem to stop having sex dreams about a man who is decidedly not her husband-to-be. Honestly, he’s not even nice to her half the time and she doesn’t even know why – what has she ever done to him that was so bad? Aegon says Jon’s just too used to living and working in Fleabottom now – that the rough side of the city has rubbed off on him and caused him to forget his manners.

Sansa wonders if he ever had any in the first place?

Then she remembers how his lack of manners had made her react in one of those dreams and she can feel her whole body flush from her head to her toes.

“Mmm, fuck! You all wet for me, Princess?” Jon rumbles, his strong hands pinning her wrists back into the bed as he fills her. She whines before cutting off the noise with a bite to her lip. “Oh no, none of that,” he nips, teasing out her plump bottom lip with his own teeth, “I wanna hear aaall the noises Little Miss Perfect makes when she comes.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest as she stares up at him above her, a devious smirk on his face while he fucks her slow and measured.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth, Jon Snow,” she hisses.

His smile doesn’t falter, his hands tighten around her wrists above her head. “I think you like my dirty mouth.” His hips halt their torturously drawn-out movements and he stills, his cock completely buried inside her. He kisses Sansa with more force and desperation than she’s ever experienced, all while his body lay heavy and still above her. She squirms and whimpers – she wants more. Jon lets a self-satisfied chuckle escape their kiss.

“I hate you!” she pants when he finally releases her from his lips. His tattooed arms skim down her frame and then faster than is possible, he flips them so that she now straddles his hips. Sansa braces herself on his chest as he grins up at her.

“That’s right, baby,” he coos, voice rough, hands smoothing up and down her thighs, “show me how much you hate me, sweetheart.”

“Christ,” Sansa curses, falling back against the sheets at the memory. She stares up at the ceiling for two, maybe three seconds before rolling to her side. Huffing, Sansa shoves a pillow between her legs and prays for more sleep – preferably dreamless.

***

Fuck! Jon wants to throw something – his phone, a pillow – something. He can’t because Ygritte is asleep beside him, here in this swanky hotel bed in the middle of the night. But Jon can’t sleep. He doesn’t know why he can’t sleep – well, that’s a barefaced fucking lie but Jon refuses to look too closely at it because if he does, he’ll get mad all over again and even further from drifting off.

The night is dead still and heavy as he sits up, letting the fancy, soft sheets fall away from around his waist. Briefly, Jon considers waking Ygritte up and offering to go down on her – that always led to sex and if he got some, maybe he could sleep? Urgh – no. That was pretty fucking selfish. Plus, his girlfriend has been in a mood with him since she’s not keen on weddings, nor his family and Jon is kind of forcing her to go to this thing anyway.

There was no fucking way that he was gonna show up alone to watch his brother marry Little Miss Perfect. The only way he managed to sway her was by revealing that his father had already paid for their suite for three nights and that there would be a free bar at the wedding.

Sighing, Jon scrubs his hands down his face and reaches for his glasses. His phone tells him that it’s 2am.

The en suite bathroom light flickers on and the extractor fan kicks in instantly. Jon cuts the noise as fast as he can by flipping the exterior switch. Ygritte turns over in bed but doesn’t wake.

Closing the door with a soft click, Jon lets out a breath. The light overhead hums quietly and the reflection in the over-sink mirror is a sorry and accusing one. Bracing his weight on the porcelain sink, Jon glares at himself. His eyes catch on one of the first tattoos he’d ever gotten; a dragonfly in flight over his heart.

“Fucking hell, you’re pathetic,” he whispers to himself.

Maybe he just needs to jerk off and then he’ll be able to sleep?

Jon snorts snidely at himself. Yeah, ‘cause that’s not pathetic at all. Christ.

He almost walks out the bathroom but then stops, coming back to the basin and opening his phone. It’s not pathetic. He is a man – he has needs, dammit! As long as he’s just looking at generic porn and doesn’t open up that hidden file he has that contains images and videos from a certain person’s social media, then it’s fine – it’s all fine!

His traitorous thumb hovers over that file none-the-less.

Oh, so we’re just gonna jerk off to pictures of the bride on the day before her wedding, are we?

“I can’t handle this,” he grumbles - grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees sparkles.

Standing in the doorway, the light from the bathroom behind him floods in and lands upon one of the little amenity tables backed up against the adjacent wall. On top had been an expensive looking vase of fresh roses and a professional brochure listing all the important information about the hotel and their stay. It had boasted a long list of facilities – including a 24hr gym.

If Jon’s feeling too guilty to see to his frustrations one way – perhaps he should try another.

[fbfh]

Leo Valdez relationship and intimacy headcanons

As with all steamy/nsfw works, the characters are aged up to 18+/college era

so

let’s get started ‘,:)

(1.2k, get ready)

When you’re making out he’s a top

But when things get heavier

Bottom as hell

Like he’ll instigate

He’ll dance with you and playfully grind a little

He’ll kiss you and bite your ear and whisper things in spanish that shouldn’t be translated

But as soon as you reciprocate

Oh

Bottom mode: fucking on

[plankton voice] I didn’t expect to get this far

Later on in the relationship he might get a little more confident and top you on occasion

Or more if you encourage it

But if he could have one image for the rest of his life 

It would absolutely be you hovering over him about to go to town

Dies in the best possible way if you push him onto the bed/couch/wherever

Gets very excited when you straddle him

Please please straddle him

His hips will automatically go up a little before you even do anything

Really loves when you straddle him 

Loves holding your waist and loves squeezing your butt and loves touching your hair

Genuinely loves all the parts of you

Ass? Yes. Tiddies/pecs? Yes. Legs? Yes.

Big fan of making out

B i g fan of grinding

You could absolutely finish him by grinding

I’m not saying it hasn’t happened before

Like if you grind against him at all even a little

Shabam

Putty in your hands

If you do that little swirly thing with your hips that he loves he’ll moan so loudly

Speaking of which

He is so vocal

S o vocal

Half to break the tension half cause he can’t help it

Makes the absolute nicest noises

Like he takes in a sharp breath and then moans it out

It’s n i c e

A little part of you wants to bite his neck and record the noise as his ring tone in your phone

L o v e s  when you grab him by the collar

If he’s wearing a tie grab him by the tie

Lowkey started wearing a tie more often jus so you’d do this

Generally loves being in a very close proximity to you

He’s the type to be at least a little horny all the time 

His love manifests as horniness a lot

I’m talking any time any place

Especially if it’s inconvenient

Grocery store, clothes shopping, bumping into an old friend

Wake you up in the middle of the night to see if you’re feeling frisky kinda shit

And how could you not be with this boy

The morning after he’ll wake you up with neck kisses

And in his gravely ass morning voice 

“So… you up for round… what round are we up to?”

Goes feral when you lift up his shirt/hoodie by running your hands up his abs

Member 2/2 of the growl/purr thing club

He’ll say something dirty in spanish and punctuate it with some kind of purr snarl and maybe a well placed bite

It’s extremely effective

Don’t let him know that though

Otherwise he’ll do it all the time and have too much power

Speaking of power

Call him papi and he bursts into flame

“Whatever you say, papi…”

!!!!!!

He’ll genuinely freeze in shock

Red as a firetruck

But you can only do it like once a year or he’ll actually die

It’s that powerful

Really likes lacy underwear

If u wear bras and you happen to wear like 

An unlined lace bra

Esp if it’s like burgundy or red

Obvs

Or if you genuinely want to end him then wear matching bra and panty sets

The top of his head unfolds like a cartoon and animated rockets and fireworks spray out  

Another fun thing you can do to ruin him:

Trace your fingers over the lines of his muscles 

Especially his v line

Makes him shiver every fucking time

If you surprise him by pushing him onto the couch, straddle him and grind until he’s bucking his hips and moaning

Dw it doesn’t take long

He will literally genuinely unironically propose marriage if you do that

The type of person to cancel plans if you take off your shirt

Have you seen those tiktok videos where people surprise their s/os by walking out naked

The first one in this compilation is all I have to say about that

H i c k i e s

This man and his hickies,, eye-

He fucking LOVES giving you hickies

Will not object in any way shape or form if you give him a few on his chest and neck

Will “accidentally” let them show without an ounce of shame

r/oopsdidntmeanto

Bite his collar bones really gently

Just trust me his reaction is worth it

Very very worth it

Squeeze his thighs from time to time

It’s a nice surprise for all parties

He is a total hoe for egirls 

You cannot convince me otherwise

Like if you put on any kind of egirl outfit/makeup he loses his shit

Do an ahegao face as a joke 

He actually stumbles backward and falls onto the nearest surface

And then bursts into flame

He just stares at you and you know you’re in for a long night/afternoon/morning

“H-how… how do I make you do that again??”

If you combine the face with the egirl look just uuuh

Time it at the beginning of a vacation or three day weekend

Cause neither of you will be doing anything for a while

Except each other

An “every surface in the house” kinda guy

Literally genuinely such a good lover

Like he’s so focused on you 

Gets serotonin just from you being around

Much less you trailing your hands under the waistband of his underwear

Oh do that too

Like you unbutton his pants and start to tug them down

But kinda play with the band and material of his underwear before you finish undressing him

Drives him fucking wild

m u t u a l  g r o p i n g

Very into foreplay/fun teasing

But won’t die without it

It’s like,, you get a cake and it’s amazing

And the more frosting decorations and sprinkles you add it gets even better

You’re just so excited you have dessert 

Idek if that makes sense but you probs get what i mean

He has a unique brand of aftercare

Ig it’s like,,, more focused on bonding than one person taking care of the other

Good luck not cuddling with this man

Let him sleep with his face in your chest

We all know he’s a stomach sleeper

Esp if you have boobs

If he could purr he absolutely would

If you try to wham bam thank you maam without cuddling after like 

He’ll survive

But when he finally gets you to cuddle he will absolutely make up for that lost time

His favorite thing ever is when he gets to see you just like,,, being organically yourself

Like watching you take off your makeup

Absolutely the type to watch you get dressed the morning after

Like you don’t even really realize he’s awake 

But you get that feeling like eyes are on you yk

You turn around and see him looking at you all sleepy and lovey

“...What?”

“Nothing…”

So you keep getting dressed

But the look doesn’t fade 

And you know it’s not nothing

The way he’s looking at you now, you know you’re the something

He makes it feel really nice to be the something 

Cause like you view yourself as his something

But he deadass sees you as his everything

And he will do everything he can to make you feel euphoric in as many aspects of your life as possible

[jtrbluv]

hell-ish | pjm

summary: can be read as a separate oneshot or a continuation of ‘we’re not really strangers’“

“But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time? … Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.“

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, humor, establisedrelationship!au

word count: 7.7k+

warnings: profanity (they are beyond terrified), inaccurate depictions of amusement park shenanigans, neurotic clowns (but they’re acting)

A/N: IM SO SRY ITS LITERALLY NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN ANYMORE GOODBYE DD; in my defense they typically have these typa things open after halloween ends... miss rona just isn’t allowing it this year ofc ;w; a special thanks to @viopera​ , @koushiningg​, and @bangtans-peaceful-piegon​ for letting me use their likeness, i love u all. and i hope you enjoy this late halloween fic right before thanksgiving break!

The car rolls to a smooth stop. The man in the driver’s seat puts the car into park—turning towards you while placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.

“Hey,” he says, a small close-lipped grin painting across his features, “you excited?”

You reposition in your seat so you can face him, or more specifically, your best-friend-turned-lover—the sight of him smiling causes you to elicit one of your own, your nerves slightly subsiding.

“I am actually,” you admit, “how long has it been? Six? Seven years?”

“Around there I think, but we should probably get going. The lines are probably going to be stupid long like always,” he suggests, his hand leaving your thigh only to ruffle the hair on top of your head, "Here's to new memories Y/N."

You step out onto the pavement—the crisp, cold night air nipping at your cheeks and nose. The cooler temperature serving as a reminder that winter was yet to come and autumn was about to come to a close. You form an O-shape with your mouth, exhaling sharply and seeing your own breath swirling and blending into the air around you.

Footsteps approach you from the side as you shut the car door. Your head whips around to see Jimin walking towards you with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In response, your eyes playfully loll back, a stream of air huffing out of your nose.

You shift your focus back towards in front of you, eyeing the roller coaster that intimidatingly loomed beyond the fence of the park, the drop tower that appeared just as high, and the other neighboring attractions that towered significantly enough to be seen from afar. The whole stretch of the park emitted a red glow, from what you could assume was from the large-scale lighting and technology that was spread out across the expanse.

A soft hand slides its way from your forearm down to your palm, intertwining all in one smooth motion. It was warm and comforting much unlike your frozen, almost entirely numb ones.

“Someone’s a little cold aren’t they,” he teases, using his other hand to attempt to rub more warmth into yours.

“You know my hands are chronically cold,” you pointedly whine, causing small clouds of air to shoot out of his mouth and nose due to his laughter.

He locks the car and you two begin making your way towards the entrance—from what seemed like a mile, in reality, was only a block away. There was practically no gap in between the two of you the entire time, taking advantage of each other’s body heat amidst the numbingly cold weather.

The wait wasn't too shabby, but you knew it was because time always seemed to pass by so much faster when you were with him, most of the pastime consisting of talking about how your past week has been, the fuckton of assignments you two had gotten, and the dangerously high intakes of caffeine you two had consumed as per usual.

The conversation ceased after a while, and it was just the two of you pressed side to side in comfortable silence, hands still intertwined. It was interesting to see such a vast variety of ages all around you—the most common age range were teenagers or people of the same age as the two of you, which wasn’t a surprise. After getting past the ticket booth and security check, you

two finally make it inside.

The first thing you notice is the large, antique carousel that hadn’t changed in the tiniest bit since the last time you were here.

The meticulously decorated entrance—brought to life by the fire torches, heavy-duty fog machines that didn't allow one to see after 10 feet ahead of them, bright lights that were replaced by either no lights at all or a faint red tint, and just the whole ambiance—had greatly juxtaposed the simplicity and familiarity of the carousel that stood in the eye of it all.

The heat of the fire torches allow you to regain some warmth back into your body—you create a small gap in between you and Jimin, in which he pouts and lifts your intertwined hands up to his face, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

“So, where do you wanna go first?” He asks, swinging your arm back and forth after passing through the gates.

“I’m fine with whatever,” you enunciate a bit loudly, the usual noises of amusement park shenanigans hindering your hearing.

“You sure about that?”

You click your tongue, “Jimin please, I’m a college student now, not a puny 8th grader anymore,” you argue, watching him turn away as he tries to stifle his laughter, “I swear!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll believe you,” he eventually caves, frantically waving his hand to dismiss your concerns, “But I won’t believe you until I see it.”

“Oh, so we’re gonna play that game huh,” you retort, brows furrowing as a smirk creeps across your face, “Alright, so what do you think about riding that?” You ask innocently, motioning up towards the drop tower that forced one to crane their neck all the way back just to see the top.

You break your focus as you look back down and turn towards him to gauge his reaction. His jaw dropping down to his knees—eyes widened in complete bafflement and horror.

“Y/N. I am literally going to fucking die if I ride that shit. Oh my god.”

“What do you mean? It’s totally safe! I’ve been on it so many times.” You attempt to console him, knowing it’s futile because of the piercing glare he gives you right after you say that.

“And that’s supposed to make it better how?!"

You soothingly rub the back of his hand in an attempt to ease his nerves, “Of course I won’t push you if you don’t want to, you know.”

He sighs, “Well, now you’re just making me sound like a puny 8th grader.”

“I can assure you that you very much, are not Chim.” And he smirks at that, tightening his grip on your hand, making you wish that you didn't give him that ego boost in the first place because he surely didn’t need any more of that.

You take some time to mull over your options, but instead, go with whatever your gut feeling was initially leaning towards, “Okay, so what if every time you take me to a house, I have to take you on a ride. You get to choose the house and I get to choose the ride.”

He nods in acknowledgment, “I’m listening.”

“Does that sound valid?” You inquire.

He bites on his bottom lip, taking a moment to quickly cogitate between the options you had given him, and at last, he nods, "It sounds like a win-win."

"Or a lose-lose." You chuckle, and he mirrors.

He shakes his head, “I know you like rollercoasters and all that scary shit, but there’s also a ton of stuff that they’ve added since we’ve last been here.” He replies, thinking out loud, while making you feel more content with your decision, “You got a deal ma’am.” He affirms at last—releasing his grip to offer you his hand to seal the deal, in which you confirm resolutely by shaking it.

Just like he said, the amusement park most definitely stepped up their game ever since you both were middle schoolers, navigating the large expanse with a bunch of other measly and equally puny peers.

The deeper you two make your way into the park, the more themed attractions lined the path. At this point, you could barely make out the bottom half of your legs due to the thickness of the fog. Actors were running around left and right—faces decorated with FX makeup that you could barely discern because of the dim lighting—effectively scaring others, clear by the amount of ear-splitting shrieks you've heard in the past ten minutes that was enough to make your eardrums burst.

Jimin takes note of your slight tenseness. He wasn't oblivious and he knew that you were trying to feign nonchalance—but the razor-tight grip on his hand and lack of chatter on your end was saying otherwise. But just like everything you do, he thought it was cute anyway.

He promptly squeezes your hand, making you turn to face him, "Do you want the first pick?"

You hum, "You can have it if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yess," you drag out exasperatedly, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'll be perf– !" You abruptly halt as a zombie (that very much isn't real is what you keep reminding yourself) whizzes past you, brushing against your shoulder and making you jump and trip over your own two feet.

The man beside you is quick to react—leaping in front of you with his arms out so you could fall into his grasp. And you do, gripping his arms to better steady yourself and stand up. As you attempt to straighten yourself out, your head sinks into his chest, laughter erupting out of the two of you to the point where his knees almost give out.

You detach yourself from his chest, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes from laughing so goddamn much. Finally regaining your poise, you immediately slip your fingers back in between his. He cards a hand through his locks with his remaining hand while taking deep breaths.

While tugging him away from where you two were standing to avoid another ruckus... granted that you were at a haunted amusement park, you shout into foggy air, "I'm fine, I'll be fine Jimin! Let's go!", hoping that maybe if you spoke it out into the world, you could manifest it into being true.

Well, weren’t you wrong.

-

A rare and near impossible feat is what you were able to accomplish: forcing Jimin to make a decision. Despite him already being a trademark libra, you always believed that one of his most standout and consistent libra-esque traits was the fact that he was so indecisive. To which had resulted in him forcing you to make decisions instead of him most of the time, whether they had been trivial or not.

The moment you realized that this "feat" wasn’t much of a feat, after all, was when you two had finally reached the entrance of the first haunted attraction he had chosen, his impulsive and most likely ulterior-motivated driven decision causing you to retract all preceding moments in which where you were being stubborn and indignant in him making the first pick.

Just your luck, his explanation behind his decision (and your almost near-death experience) is that he says and you quote, “Start off with a bang! We get the worst over with now so it’s all smooth sailing for the rest of the night. Trust me.”

For some context, you had a very  rational fear of clowns. The year of 2016 was already bad enough as it was—a time in which you had gotten out of your first serious relationship, afterward giving yourself the most horrendous haircut in your entire life because you were emotionally strung and the scissors… well they just happened to be within an arm’s reach.

Later on in said year when you had become a junior and assignments had been piling up higher and higher without any shits given whatsoever, your minuscule fear of clowns had been blown out of all proportions—ultimately fueled by the number of clown sightings around your town and one altercation that you still think about until this day. Four years later, you can still vividly recall the time where you were coming home after studying all day at the local library and on the other side of the street, you had spotted a clown—feet planted to the cement sidewalk, body immobile besides their head that would keep its focus on you as you continuously made your way down the street. As you began to quicken up your pace, the clown began to reciprocate your actions from across the way, and you came to the conclusion that you didn’t really wanna die that night so you sprinted the entire rest of the way home.

And here you two were, at the front of the line standing behind the black curtain entrance—next to a rugged wood sign with the words, CLOWNEUROTICS, inscribed with a dripping, rich red liquid which you surmise was fake blood and not Kool-Aid.

“I cannot believe I let you have the first pick and you do this to me” You quip, chewing the chapped skin of your lips, breath shallow and bated.

“Y/N, you’ll be just fine. I’ll be here right beside you, remember?” he assures you once more, giving you another tight squeeze on your hand.

The curtains swish open, the employee in a simple all-black ensemble motioning the two of you to come inside. You close your eyes, taking one deep and steady inhale before stepping in.

You can barely make out your surroundings, let alone Jimin, who was standing right beside you. The worker’s voice hollers over the deafening noises of the tent. “Follow the path, don’t go backwards, or else you'll hold up the line. And you see that green light?” He asks while pointing to the tiny green bulb that was down the hallway in front of you, “Take a right from there.”

Jimin replies, knowing that you’re too fear-stricken to form coherent sentences at the moment, “Alright, thanks.”

The man nods, and Jimin tugs on your hand as he begins to walk forward. You follow closely behind, reminding yourself to take breaths before you flat out lose consciousness.

As you reach the end of the hallway and the green light bulb the man mentioned, Jimin pauses and turns around to stand in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, I know you hate my guts right now, but I’m sorry in advance and just know that I love you, okay? You have full permission to torture me after this.” He reassures with a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you grumble, lips downturned and head hanging low.

You feel his soft lips graze over your cheek, leaving a chaste peck before giving you an airy, irresistible smile that you can’t really help but relent, even though it already feels like your heart is about to implode on itself.

Taking a right, the setting of the attraction comes into periphery. White walls and floors—reminiscent of a hospital, are tainted with blood, a disarray of medical equipment, and severed body parts. You take notice of the vacant hospital beds, sheets crumpled and stained with red. Framed pictures of medical staff were hanging by loose nails, glass shattered, bloody splatters and smears all over the frames, walls, and white tile.

You two reach a doorway, next to one of the hinges was a sign that clearly said, Psychiatric Ward. Well, I guess that explains the neurotics part.

In an attempt to swallow down some of the fear in your throat, you tighten your grip on Jimin’s hand while opting to slither your remaining hand around his bicep.

He takes notice of your actions that were propelled by your increasing fear, and naturally, he can’t help but feel bad, “Hey, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” He tells you, shaking you out of your slight daze, “You can hold onto me the whole time and stick your head in my shoulder just like you did years ago, I won’t mind,” he teases while booping your nose.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with, please.” You huff out, determined to somehow put on maybe not a brave, but a braver face than what he expects from you.

You manage to fail in a whopping, record-breaking, ten seconds of going inside.

The first jumpscare was so entirely predictable—the thunderous pounds against the wall, the trudging and supposedly neurotic clowns (although clowns are already neurotic enough as they are) had all built up suspense until a head of a clown had shot up from around the corner. Their usual clown features distorted with gashes in their skin and blood dribbling out of the corners of their mouth, clothes ripped and stained. Your entire body violently spasms, a shrill shriek, and an embarrassingly long string of curses leave your lips in a matter of mere seconds.

You don’t even notice the man you’re holding onto folding over in laughter because the clown is still very much still following you even after you turn the corner, but before you can recalibrate and trek forward another clown materializes just sparse inches at your side. Your entire body forcefully jerks back, knocking into Jimin, but the force doesn’t phase him in the slightest as he swiftly brings his arms around your frame to prevent you from falling back.

Next to you, the man’s laughter hasn’t ceased a bit the entire time, and as you quickly dash forward and away from the clowns that you oh-so-wanted to knock a tooth out of, while clinging onto his side, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Hanging in there?”

“I think I’m gonna murder you before I murder any of these clowns.”

“Noted!” he chimes while playfully bumping his head into yours.

As you two turn another corner, the sight of more clowns banging against vacant windows on either side of you has you wincing, and you could swear you could feel your left eye start to involuntarily twitch. You come to the indubitable realization that amidst dozens of clowns, you are evidently the biggest one here.

The sounds that blaringly elicit from your lips are the nearing equivalent to keyboard smashes with a variety of curse words in between. In short, if you had a swear jar, you’d be practically penniless at this point.

The clowns are quick to take note of your cowardly conduct, using it to their advantage and targeting you specifically—reaching and intruding so eerily close that you’re almost convinced that they’re actually touching you. You cower in their presence, squirming and sinking deeper and deeper into Jimin’s hold as you make your way down the path.

Beads of cold sweat began to assert their own path down your forehead—heart ricocheting against the walls of your chest, straining the cords of your throat because of your never-ending shouts and shrieks of terror upon terror. Your whole body was convulsing and shivering without fault, even when accompanied by the body heat of the man next to you, the harsh lighting of the overhead lights, and the lack of ventilation in this shoddy tent proved to be no match against your bodily functions that were going completely haywire. If you were an Amazon package, you would have a large ‘Caution: Handle With Care’ sign slapped right onto the box.

The pea-sized amount of pride that remains within you is the only thing stopping you from completely losing your shit.

Jimin's laughter—airy and unwavering, tickling the shell of your ear was the only thing keeping you grounded, serving as a constant reminder that at the very least when you might have lost all your pride and composure, you still had him by your side.

Without much forethought, he continues to lay kisses along your temple, clutching you close to his chest and keeping you upright as your knees constantly buckled under the weight of your looming fear, crumbling composure, and the grisly clowns that were most definitely preying on your downfall.

The ten-minute duration—which to you, had felt like a whole lifetime-and-a-half had finally come to a close. Once you were able to discern what you thought was the exit of the tent—the small opening leading to what had looked like signs of civilization, you booked it without hesitation, hastily tugging Jimin with you to the point where he nearly tramples over his own feet and crashes to the floor due to the sheer and sudden force.

You two finally pass through the exit. Feeling as if you had just ran a timed mile in five minutes, your body caves immediately—hunching over, briskly bringing your hands to your knees to support your deteriorating physiological state. The sound of your heavy breathing gets disrupted by Jimin’s laughter. You stand up, straightening yourself out when you realize that other people were starting to make their way towards the exit too, and you two were clearly blocking the way out.

Jimin takes you by the wrist and swiftly pulls you aside as more people start to trickle out of the tent. You two lean against the metal fence, comfortably silent as he lets you catch your breath.

You huff out, taking deep exhales as you speak, "Holy fuck, what even was that?"

"The funniest thing I have ever seen," he shoots back with a smile, slightly breathless as well.

You blink rapidly, body slumping against the fence, still completely cynical and disbelieving in what you had experienced. Biting the inside of your cheek so hard you're pretty sure you left teeth marks, you wipe your sweat with the hem of your sleeve.

"You okay?" he asks softly, closing the gap in between the two of you.

You nod, affirming your composure in hopes that it would solidify it for real. Giving him a smile to ease the nerves you knew he had, you visibly saw his smile widen, and with that, you ruffle his hair, take his hand into your own, and walk a few steps forward before announcing brazenly into the chilly autumn wind,

"Drop zone time."

"Y/N PLEASE—!"

-

"Don't do this, anything else but this please." He pleads, lips jutting out while childishly tugging on your sleeve.

You groan, "Bub, we had a deal."

He presses his lip together, "I know... but just look at that! How does that even look remotely safe enough for one to ride?" He tries to reason with you, staring up at the attraction that he believes should not even be labeled as an 'attraction' in the first place.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, "If it was that much of a safety hazard, it wouldn't even exist Chim."

"I will never understand why people ride this out of enjoyment and pleasure. This is insane," he says, his eyes trailing to the long line of people behind the two of you.

"It's three seconds, I swear. Three seconds compared to my ten minutes of cussing and wanting to punch a clown in the face is very reasonable in my opinion. You’ll be just fine, I’ll hold your hand the whole time," you add on.

He quietly freezes in place—eyes fixated on the tower, hands leaving the fabric of your sweater. You feel his warm hand come in contact with yours, the back of his hand grazing your knuckles. Lacing your fingers in between his, he meets your eyes, giving you a timid, lopsided grin. A silent affirmation that had said more than words could’ve. I trust you but I’m still scared shitless.

“You guys are next,” the worker announces, opening the gate and gesturing you two to come inside. Jimin’s smile dissipates, face contorting into a look of mortification at the man’s words—eyes widening to the size of what would be considered as utter shock and lips curling into a form of disgust.

Tugging lightly at his hand, he whips his head towards you, waiting to speak until you two have passed the gate, “Y/N, I’m literally gonna piss my pants like I’m not even joking.”

“Jimin!” you say in a hushed yell, “Please don’t, I know your pride is too precious to you for you to annihilate it by pissing on a ride that even kids go on.”

He scoffs, “Okay fine… but we’re getting churros after this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, smiling at his tone, “Why would I argue against churros?”

“Hello, miss? Come this way, please,” another worker greets, leading the two of you to two vacant spots of the ride where you presume were going to be yours.

You nod, making your way towards the two seats, hearing Jimin splutter incoherent words and sounds from behind your shoulder.

He immediately plops into the innermost spot, refusing to be on the outermost seat that only had one accompanying seat on one side, albeit it truly didn’t matter. And of course, you don’t tell him that.

Smiling at his overt signs of apprehension, you slide into the spot next to him, beginning to put on the seatbelt over your lap.

Drumming his fingers on his knees, he already has his seatbelt buckled and his over-the-shoulder restraints locked and secured into place.

“Ugh, can these things go any tighter! I can still move under here,” he tuts, vigorously trying to push the restraints closer to his body, yet his attempts are proven to be in vain.

“Bub, they still want you to be able to breathe,” you remind him with a small giggle, your head popping out of the U-shaped bar to look over at him—his brows knit in concentration, nose scrunched, lips tucked into his mouth.

In a final attempt, you hear the man beside you take a sharp and deep inhale, only to hear a tiny click emit from the restraint shortly afterward.

He releases his bated breath, only to come to the realization that he can’t extend his stomach all the way forward, the bar forcing it to come short. He splutters, bringing his hand to cover his face while he coughs only to realize that his arm can’t fully reach around the bar to meet his face.

You watch this entire scene unfold out in front of you—wishing you could do something to help the poor guy, but you already knew your attempts would be pointless in the end as your arms are physically incapable of extending that far. You sink back into your seat to make sure he doesn’t see the fact that you were trying so hard not to laugh.

“Jimin, deep breaths, in and out,” you instruct him as the worker starts to make their rounds around the ride, double-checking for seatbelts and secured restraints.

“Y/N, that’s the problem, I can’t.”

“Try scooting back into your seat,” the worker suggests to Jimin, giving him an empathetic smile.

“What do you mean–oh, erm, thank you.”

She nods, shaking Jimin’s restraint a little more energetically to reassure the man of his safety.

As she leaves, he says to you, “Y/N, I can’t believe you convinced me to go on this.”

“Me too, honestly. I’m really proud of you Chim.” You admit, reaching out a hand towards him in which he takes.

“Three seconds, right?” He reiterates.

“Give or take, yeah.”

“Y/N—!”

Your seats suddenly clatter, signaling the start of your long ascent. Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens substantially, causing you to groan out in pain.

He quickly takes note of the noise, loosening his grip ever so slightly, “Oh my god, sor- oh fucking hell, there’s no going back now?!”

You chomp down on your bottom lip before another sound could escape your mouth—his grip on your hand tightening the higher you two go, “No, no you’re fine, it’s okay..”

“HOLY SHIT WHY ARE WE ALREADY THIS HIGH UP?!” He yelps, kicking his feet against the air—people’s heads starting to look as small as ants, the rest of the park coming into view as if you were experiencing it from a drone’s point of view.

“Dumbass, don’t look down!”

“It’s too late–what the hell, why can I see the whole damn city from here?!” He sticks his head out of his restraint, looking up and trying to find the top, “wHen the FUCK does this shit stop please, Y/N, I cAn’T do this?!?!”

“Chim. Breathe. Deep, steady breaths, okay?” You say while audibly taking breaths so he can do the same.

“Okay, okay,” he says, voice cracking but following suit.

After you think that he finally manages to get a grip on himself, you decide to try to take his mind off the situation at hand, “Jimin, look at the view.”

His breath softens as he begins to take in his surroundings. He could see everything. To him, it feels as if he had the city in the palm of his hand. The rollercoasters that reside next to the tower were practically reaching eye-level to him, and despite the lack of color due to the theme of the park, he thought it was mesmerizing anyway. He marvels at the fact that he could even see past the park—catching a glimpse of the cars zooming on the main highway, minute specks of light emitting from the windows of skyscrapers, people living in their own little worlds in each one, And of course, the envy of it all, the night sky—the dark depth littered with a multitude of stars in their own little patterns and worlds of their own as well.

The overhead speakers trumpet, ripping Jimin out of his trance-like state, “Welcome to the drop zone brave newcomers. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable trip on the way up here. And I hope that your descent is just as enjoyable as well. We will be dropping in... “

Jimin heaves out, “Now that’s just plain rude at this point.”

“Ten.”

“Are you okay?”

He scoffs. “What kind of question is that Y/N?!”

“Nine.”

“Jimin, you’ll be just fine,” You reassure for the umpteenth time.

“I swear if this is longer than three seconds–”

“Eight.”

He frantically kicks the air. “Fucking hell! I can’t believe I’m doing this right now, I miss the ground.”

“Seven.”

“We’ll be back down to earth sooner than you think, I’m telling you.”

“Six.”

“Oh my fucking god, oh my fuck–!”

“Five.”

“Oh fuck, holy shit–!”

“Jimin, I’ll be right beside you–”

“Four.”

“–the whole way.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD?!”

“Thre–!”

Before the countdown can finish, you two plummet, plunging down at great speeds—a feral-sounding squawk leaving Jimin’s lips when it all happens.

He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to see what was going on—letting go of your hand, he opts to hold onto the other handlebar on the restraint instead. His breath is caught in his throat, the ride is moving so fast that he can’t even produce any noise, let alone move his body.

Just like you have been saying this whole night, the ride ends in a blink of an eye. Or more specifically, three seconds, give or take.

Jimin slumps in his seat—fingers still curled so tightly around the handlebars that his knuckles turn pale.

You stick your head out of your restraint, craning your neck to look at him beside you, “Jimin, it’s done, it’s over.”

“Are you sure?” He mumbles.

“Open your eyes.”

His head slowly rises, eyes remaining shut. Cracking one eye slightly open, he loosens his grip on the handlebars before opening his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of relief.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" You beam, waiting for the restraints to be lifted.

"I wouldn't know, I had my eyes closed the whole time," he shyly admits, lifting the restraint off of him and unbuckling his seatbelt.

You two jump out of your seats, heading towards the gate and bidding the drop tower goodbye, juxtaposing afterthoughts lingering in the air.

"That felt so weird, I don't know if I wasn't able to move or if there wasn't enough time for me to react," he chuckles dryly while twining his hand with yours once again.

You smile, "Probably a little bit of both," you suggest, eyes scanning the park for any signs of a churro stand, "but hey, you survived!"

He smiles at that, teeth out and all, "We both did," he assures earnestly, "and now as an incentive, we are getting churros."

Your eyes light up—the sight of the bright neon sign being the next destination of the night. Jimin notices your sudden reaction, quickly looking in the same direction as you and pinpointing the small churro stand from afar.

To your luck, the line isn't very long—people are most likely preoccupied with the multitude of attractions that are only going to be available for this appropriate time of the year, taking advantage of the opportunity before having to wait for an entire year before getting to experience it all over again. But you and Jimin weren't like most people, and you two strongly believed that churros should be indulged in at any time during any situation. And right now, it was being utilized as a form of consolation, just in the shape of a deep-fried pastry sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.

After obtaining your consolation desserts, you two resume your journey around the park. Too preoccupied indulging in your churro, you’re temporarily able to block out the commotion that was occurring around you, keeping four out of five senses focused on said churro and churro only. 

“You feel better?” You ask, taking a brief moment to dust off all the cinnamon and sugar off the corners of your mouth. 

“Mmhmph,” he incoherently mumbles, after shoving half a churro into his mouth. He abruptly pauses, cheeks puffed up and eyes wide, realizing he can’t talk and instead he nods with a grin as wide as his mouth would allow him to stretch out. 

You giggle at his actions, taking your focus off of him to take another bite. 

A few moments later, when most of your churros noticeably nowhere to be seen, you ask, “Where should we go next?”

He cinches his brows together, “We probably shouldn’t go on anything to extreme, considering we just ate. How about the ferris wheel?” He suggests, pointing to the attraction that was standing in front of the two of you. 

You nod, “You’re right, these workers already go through enough. And we shouldn’t add cleaning vomit to the list.”

He chuckles, “Agreed. Let’s go, the line is pretty short!” He exclaims jubilantly, flashing you a mega-watt grin while pulling you along with him towards the gated entrance. 

Leaning against the gate, you two wait for the round of riders that were currently riding to finish, mindlessly scrolling on your phones to pass the time. 

The gate entrance opens, tearing your focus off of your phone and back to reality. The enormous and dazzling neon wheel that stood boldly enveloped your vision in replacement of your dim and dark-mode setted phone screen, making you blink a few times to adjust to its harsh hues. 

One of the carts comes to a halt, doors releasing as the group of friends inside it begin to grab their belongings and head out. The worker in charge motions you to step inside after they leave, the two of you following suit. When you two become situated and seated, they press a few buttons on their control panel, the doors promptly swinging close. A few brief seconds after, the cart jolts before moving just enough so the other people behind you could board onto the next cart.

The carts reminded you of the teacup ride at Disneyland—built in a circular shape, seats lined around the border with a small gap made for the entrance door, but of course, it was void of steering wheels in the middle. Now that would just be a recipe for disaster, and a solid segue into Jimin vomiting all over you.

He nudges your leg, “It’s so funny to me.”

You turn to him, “What is?”

“Out of all things to do while being here, and we’re riding the ferris wheel,” he beams, a light chuckle leaving his lips, “I don’t know whether to pity us or not.”

“All my pride has left me already and I’m okay with it,” you tut, lips unwillingly curling upward as you replayed the scenes of what had happened earlier at the drop zone, “I wouldn’t talk too much if I were you Mr. ‘I’m gonna piss my pants.” You tease, poking him in the side.

He scoffs, squirming slightly where you poked him, “I am still proud of myself, I didn’t think I was gonna make it up there.”

You turn away, holding in your laughter, “I didn’t think you were either.”

“Hey! Don’t even get me started on you,” he says, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, “those poor clowns were about to get their noses punched in if it wasn’t for me being there. I think your screams and threats were starting to scare them more than they were scaring me.” He fires back, giggles erupting in his throat and interrupting his words.

“I’m not even gonna argue against that. We are so sad,” you say—laughter flaring up in your chest as well, the two of you keeling over so hard the cart begins to swing back and forth.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Easy there,” Jimin yelps as you two take notice of the movement and immediately cease your actions, hands grabbing the ends of the cart to try to stabilize it. 

Just as your cart has moved up enough for you to start seeing an overhead view of the park, he whips his phone out before saying, “Lemme take a picture of you, the view is so nice here.”

As he whips out his phone, you scoot to the other end of the cart as he brings his phone up to his face and focuses it on you. Naturally, you bring your hand up, hand changing to a trademark peace sign as you flashed a smile for the camera. He brings his phone down many lock screen worthy pictures later, happy with the result evident from the grin etched onto his face. 

“Your turn,” you say, motioning you two switch spots as you take your phone out of your pocket. 

Jimin, infuriatingly photogenic, simply sits while staring off into the distance, jaw on full display as you begin to rapidly snap pictures. Hearing your camera clicks he changes his position—turning towards you as the chilly wind blows through his hair, eyes crinkling and dazzling smile on full display that you can’t help but smile at the familiar yet all too breathtaking sight. 

Placing your phone in your lap, you scoot closer to him—leaning your back against his shoulder, you prop your legs up onto the seats. Turning towards you, he snakes his arms around your waist as his chest comes in contact with your back. You let yourself sink deeper into his grasp, conforming into his body as warmth spreads to your fingertips. Your head lulls back, falling into the space right below his collarbones as you stroke the back of his hands gingerly with the pad of your thumbs. He rests his chin on top of your head, the two of you simply admiring the view below. 

The ride still hasn’t started—people still boarding the ride as the carts momentarily halt and move from time to time. 

Not long after, your cart reaches the very top. 

Head peering over the edge, he turns back, “See, why did we have to go on the drop tower when we could’ve went here instead,” he grumbles, the peak of the tower standing nearly just as tall as the highest point of the ferris wheel to the point where you could stare directly ahead of you without tilting your head.

“Well that takes all the fun out of it,” you tease, making him frown, “Hey! You keep forgetting what you made me go through before that. Don’t think I’ve gotten over it that quickly.”

Looking displeased at your answer, he quirks a brow, “You seemed to be fine when we were riding the tower.”

“What can I say, you make a very good distraction.”

“I think I could say the same for you,” he proposes, “I swear I saw some of those clowns turn away and start laughing every time you threatened them. I was like ‘Yes! That’s my feisty girlfriend!” he cheers, pumping his fists into the air. You cower down in embarrassment, grinning to yourself while trying to swat his arm away. 

“I feel so burned out already though,” you say, head falling back into his chest, “I think it’s ‘cause we’re here at night.” 

“And because you track-starred your way through that entire maze,” he adds.

“That too.”

“I feel it too, we did more walking than anything else to be honest.” He says, which is very much true. The drop tower was all the way on the other side of the park and the churro stand took you guys a whole twenty minutes just to find. 

You hum, “Should we head out after this then?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head, “Yeah, if you want to.”

“I feel bad though, it feels like we just got here,” you admit, chuckling into his arm. 

He shakes his head, hands reaching over to play with the ends of your hair, “Don’t feel bad, I think we’re still hungover because of midterms. And besides, I’m hungry and I don’t wanna eat a ten dollar hotdog after just eating a stale ten dollar churro.”

“Yeah, we can just eat one dollar ramen, we’re still college students above everything.”

And you truly couldn’t argue with that. “Of course.”

Taking your hands off of his, you prop a hand onto the cart to sit yourself up onto the seats. He releases his hold on you, his arms returning back to his sides as the warmth of your body dissipates to his dismay. 

You adjust your sitting position so you could face him—reaching out to take one of his hands into your own. Your eyes bore into his, gazing into the pools of honey that were his irises. The view is slightly obscured as his eyes crinkle.

He smiles, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You don’t even register that he’s speaking to you until he leans in slightly, his features starting to appear bigger as he starts to close the gap between you two. You shake your head once he gets so close in proximity that you could see each crinkle that etches themself on the sides of his eyes each time he grins. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips, taking notice of the action as you quickly revert back to his eyes. He smirks

“Thank you for taking me here,” you say as your eyes intently gaze into his once more, “above all the trepidation we’ve put each other through tonight, at least we’re here together.”

He nods, gratitude evident without him having to utter a single word. It’s as if time is frozen, everything around you stagnant and still, eyes boring into each other because nothing could just quite compare to this. Not even the surreal view of the city or the ability to see all the bustle within the amusement park or even the stars that littered the sky. 

You press your lips against his. Although you initiated the action, the sensation of his lips against yours, regardless of how natural, sends a flurry of shockwaves down your spine. Your body tingles—as if you’re floating and the cart you were sitting on wasn’t even there to support you. 

And he kisses you back. His lips are warm, welcoming, and comforting—like wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket in the comforts of your bed, the indescribable bliss as the fabric consumes your body and runs over your skin. 

Kissing him felt even more blissful than that.

The kiss isn’t fervent, but it’s full of longing. It’s as if he’s communicating to you, through the way his lips mesh against yours, that he plans on making up for all the lost time. Time that could’ve been spent doing things like kissing you, loving you wholeheartedly and unashamedly, was spent pining for each other with the label of being ‘best friends’ standing in the way for far too long. He wants to make up for it just as much as you do. 

He slides his hand under the crevice of your knee, pulling you closer to him as he continues to kiss you. You bring your hand up to his neck, entangling your fingers into his hair as you lightly scratched at the surface of his scalp. 

He kisses you like he’ll never get to again, which isn’t completely false—the fact that you two were so high up in the air to the point where the stars look tangible, basking in each other’s presence and each other’s presence only. 

Frustrated at the abnormal layout of the seating, he hooks his arms under your legs—hoisting you up and placing you in his lap so you were straddling him—incognizant of how the cart was starting to dip due to the unequal distribution of weight. 

The gesture makes you squeak, and you can start to feel him smile against your lips. Before you could do anything else, the cart totters—rocking a few times before moving, signaling that the ferris wheel is finally beginning its journey. 

“Oh fuck—!”

“Oh shit—!”

The two of you immediately detach from each other as you take notice of the unbalance, hurriedly leaping onto opposite sides of the cart while gripping onto the sides for dear life, the cart rocking back and forth at a concerning extent. You sneak glances at each other, your faces painted with the same expression of shock and distress.  

Seconds pass and the cart steadies—laughter instantaneously taking over the two of you.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says, a little breathless while his body hunched over his seat.

“Remind me the next time we kiss to check if we’re less than a foot above the ground first,” you tease, playfully swatting his knee.

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss onto your knuckles before shaking your intertwined hands up in the air—obnoxiously shouting into the frigid autumn wind, “Yes chief!” 

-

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MASTERLIST

[petri808]

N4+Inukag Ex’s Still in Love @liz8080 its angst 🙃

It had been a year since the break up, but Inuyasha was no closer to moving on and according to his best friend, neither was Kagome. He only knew what his ex was going through because their best friends were caught in the middle and providing updates. Poor Miroku and Sango, Inuyasha was sure they thought he and Kagome were idiots by this point.

Not that it was from a lack of trying, because they both were trying... maybe a little too hard to start dating again. Inuyasha had tried the typical avenues like bar hopping and even posting a profile on dating sites. But if irony wasn’t such a bitch, every single site he tried would match him to none other than Kagome Higurashi. It was fate, Miroku would coax the idea onto his friend. Yeah, well fate didn’t have to deal with reality and they were two stubborn fools unwilling to relent.

At the bars, Inuyasha’s handsome hanyo looks gained a lot of attention and the night would always start off right. Every single woman in the place took a chance to talk to him. If he liked what he saw, he’d give them a shot to butter him up, lulling them in with his molten amber eyes. Flirty conversations and flowing alcohol made for... women making excuses and leaving him to walk out single. Every. Damn. Time. Because something always sparked his ex’s introduction to the conversation. It turned out once Inuyasha was past the tipsy stage, all he wanted to do was talk about Kagome. Good or bad. It didn’t matter and according to Miroku during one very drunken evening, he’d even cried. If it wasn’t for the blackmail video, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Okay fine! So he still loved the woman! They’d been together for seven years, that’s not something you just get over quickly! She wanted kids and he was hesitant... it wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes. That’s when Kagome broke up with him.

Inuyasha swirled the drink in his hand with a low growl. “You know our world isn’t always safe,” he admonished his co-worker, a fellow Yokai named Kouga. “And she’s human, the child could be born human, and what if I can’t protect them both?”

“Stupid,” the Wolf yokai sneered back. “You’d lose the woman you love over fear? The Taisho’s son showing weakness, that’s pathetic.”

“Bite your tongue wolf. It’s not just about fear and you know it.”

“Yes, it is.” Kouga countered. “Modern times or not, that woman has spiritual blood coursing through her veins, so an offspring will most likely be a full hanyo. I suspect Kagome senses this, so it is your own fears that’s overruling you.”

“Tch, I didn’t come here for a lecture!” Inuyasha stood up from his bar stool. But as he turned to leave, his phone rang.

It was Miroku. “Something happened Inuyasha. Kagome was attacked on her way home by a yokai. No one knows who. She’s been taken to Shinkon Medical and she’s... in a coma.”

“What?!”

“It’s really bad, you should get here as soon as possible.”

Inuyasha doesn’t respond and quickly rushed out of the bar with Kouga hot on his heels.

“What’s going on?!” Kouga questioned.

“Something attacked Kagome.”

“Oh, fuck.” Kouga could see Inuyasha’s demon side manifesting, purple stripes along his cheeks and red eyes replacing gold. It must be serious.

When they arrived at the hospital, Miroku took them up to the room Kagome was in. Not that Inuyasha needed his help to track the woman’s scent, but thanks to Kouga’s steadfast hand in his shoulder, he stayed cognizant enough to follow quietly so as to not scare the staff. Sango stood just outside of the door ready for their arrival.

“Brace yourself Inu,” the woman warned, “she’s... it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

He simply nodded shakily and walked through, leaving his friends to wait. There really was no way to brace himself for what he saw. Kagome was almost unrecognizable. She had tubes and wires hooked up to beeping machines that flashed her life on a screen. It was an unnerving sound in an otherwise deadly silent room. Her arms were all bandaged up, one leg in a cast with pins and metal sticking out, but her head... his fists clenched tighter. Her forehead was wrapped in gauze, face bruised and swollen, her nose and mouth with tubes coming out of them to keep her alive. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the blood, smelled the dried blood stuck in her hair.

It was his nightmares turned reality.

That’s when he smelt it, the lingering stench of a familiar panther yokai left on Kagome’s body. Had this been a targeted attack? Anger surged to the forefront. Inuyasha leaned down and took her hand gently while placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Regardless of reason, this yokai would pay dearly!

Inuyasha growled and sped off faster then any of his stunned friends could stop him, out of the hospital. Kouga called from behind in pursuit, but his demon side had taken over and nothing could stop him. He leapt over buildings, speeding through alleyways before humans could even register what had passed them by. There was no way to know exactly where the rogue could be, but he had a territory to start in.

The panther yokai had always hated the inu’s reign over the central part of Japan. They fought and lost an epic battle during the edo period, forever retaining a grudge. But this was a brazen attack, the first since those long ago days, and on a human?! It was unforgivable. It was because of the inu’s control that the human world was safe from the yokai inhabiting it. Most of the other’s, like Kouga’s wolf clan fell in line without any problems, and peace remained. Oh, this panther will pay dearly for trying to kill the chosen mate of the Inu no Taisho’s son!! This wasn’t the first time the two men will clash, but it will be the last.

From a rooftop, Inuyasha perched as he quickly scanned the dock area. The yokai was alone. Perfect. With a deep roar, he dropped down on top of the male before it could take off. Claws and fangs unhinged as the two males battled. Despite being a hanyo, Inuyasha’s blood was no different than a full-blooded yokai, and worse, his adrenaline and anger was without remorse due to the bloodied images of his girl lying in a hospital bed to fuel his rage. If there were any humans in this desolate part of town at night, it must have sounded like the unholy blood bath it was.

Over and over, Inuyasha tore his claws and teeth into the panther yokai’s flesh. Though he sustained some injuries of his own, Inuyasha felt nothing but the pure hatred coursing through his veins. Kouga had finally arrived as well, his screams to his friend to stop, deaf in his ears. His blood lust had taken control.

“Stop!!” Kouga roared and jumped onto Inuyasha’s back. He hooked his arms around both of his friends shoulders, lifting, and wrapping his hands behind the man’s head to restrain them from moving freely. Inuyasha thrashed hard against the hold, but Kouga refused to let go, continuously growling at the man to stop resisting. “You’re gonna kill him!”

“He deserves it!” Inuyasha countered.

“Agreed! But that’s not for you to decide my friend, so stop! He’s done!”

“Let me go Kouga!”

“Only if you’ll stop resisting. Think about Kagome, idiot! I’ll take the panther to your father for punishment, you need to get back to her!”

At hearing Kagome’s name, the human side of Inuyasha began taking back control from his inner demon. Kouga was right. If they were caught like this by authorities, being thrown in jail for murder would do her no good. Inuyasha let out a long exhale as his body slowly transformed back to normal, and he slumped in his friends arms. “You’re right.”

“I know I am, idiot.” Kouga let him go. “Now get out of here, and make sure you clean up! You don’t wanna scare the hospital people to death!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the hanyo growled, though he appreciated his friends help. “Tell my dad what’s going on and I’ll contact him as soon as I can.”

“Will do.”

It didn’t take him long to get back to his own house to clean up, and it was only then did Inuyasha realize just how far he’d gone that night. What little of his clothes was left undamaged was soaked in the blood of the panther yokai. He threw it all away and showered the filth from his body, then bandaged his wounds as best he could. By morning they’ll probably be healed, but with the adrenaline gone, the pain had also kicked in. He’d still do it all again in a heartbeat.

When he shambled back to the hospital, of course Miroku and Sango were concerned with his appearance. He assuaged their worries before flopping painfully into a chair at Kagome’s bedside.

“The doctors say she has stabled,” Sango explained now that he had time to listen. “But the shock has left her in a coma, so now we can only wait for her to wake up...” the woman paused, “there’s a small chance, Kagome may never wake up.”

Inuyasha shook his head refusing to entertain such a suggestion. “She’s strong, I know she will,” he spoke even though inside he wasn’t so sure. He just needed to hear those words of reassurance.

“You’re right.” Sango agreed. “We think so too.”

“Hang in there.” Miroku patted the hanyo’s shoulder. “We’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

“Thanks,” Inuyasha nodded weakly.

Now that he was there, the couple left him alone, safe in the knowledge that no one would bother Kagome anymore. So, at the sound of the door closing behind him, the full weight of emotions engulfed Inuyasha. The guilt tore away at what little sanity held him together. He blamed himself for her state. If he hadn’t been so stupid and stubborn to leave her alone, that panther would never have dared to strike at Kagome. She was strong, but couldn’t have fended off a surprise attack by herself.

“I’m so sorry,” the tears broke free as he held her hand tightly in his own. “Please don’t leave me, Kagome. I’ll do anything! You want kids? I’ll give you all the pups you desire, just please come back to me. I can’t— I can’t lose you. It shouldn’t have taken something like this to make me realize that I’m nothing without you.”

Inuyasha thought the pain of losing his mother at a young age was hard, but this was a thousand times worse. His soul was bonded to Kagome by choice and his heart felt shattered at the thought of never hearing her voice again. If she died, a piece of him would die along with her.

Night turned to day, and days passed by with little to no change in Kagome’s condition. Inuyasha rarely left her side, except to take care of bodily functions or shower at the behest of friends and staff. Her family, his family, and their friends visited, but at night it was just her and him alone between the stale white walls of the hospital room. For two weeks, Inuyasha didn’t get a full night sleep. Exhaustion forced him to pass out at times, only to be awaken by nightmares. To suffer along side Kagome was his penitence as far he believed.

He clung to the smallest of improvements. By week three, all the bruising and abrasions were healing well, and Kagome was taken off of the breathing tubes since she was doing it on her own. She was still fed intravenously with a high protein diet to give her body the fuel it needed to mend. To pass the time, Inuyasha would talk to her about everything and nothing, sometimes telling her stories of ancient tales, or just reading the newspaper aloud. The doctors had told him coma patients can sometimes hear them talking, so it was worth a shot.

“It’s crazy right?” Inuyasha chuckled if only to keep his sanity intact. “I’d give anything to hear you yell at me right now.” He sighed. “Just call me an idiot, because I deserve it.”

“You’re not... an idiot.”

Inuyasha sat up stunned at the beautiful sound of Kagome voice. It was soft and raspy, but music to his ears nonetheless. He squeezed her hand. “Yes, I am,” he smiled. “But it’s okay, as long as I still have you— if you’ll still have... me? I’ll give you what ever you want, Kagome. Kids, anything, just please stay with me. I love you too much to let you go again.”

This time it was Kagome who squeezed his hand weakly. “I love you too, you big idiot.”

Inuyasha leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Now there’s the woman I fell in love with.” Everything was gonna be just fine...

The banner is for my AO3

[thevioletjones]

34 for prompt list thing! 💖

Thanks! 💜

Prompt 4: “I might never get another chance to say this.”

Now to War

Ian understood why Mickey was still in the closet. That was never really the issue. He was aware of the deeply scary, tyrannical nature of Mickey’s father, and how his horrible ways had left a lasting impression that was hard for him to shake. However, Ian had eventually started to feel a burden that he was frankly sick of bearing.

He’d never asked or expected Mickey to openly date him in front of his own family, but he would've appreciated some kind of quiet commitment where maybe they could at least let Ian’s family in on the secret (Lip already knew, but Mickey didn’t know he knew). Ian’s family had always been supportive when it came to Ian’s orientation. He knew they’d be supportive of Mickey too, even if they didn’t fully understand him, or even like him. They just wanted Ian to be happy.

But Mickey couldn’t even give him that much. He still fucked women to please his dad; still worked as his right-hand man doing illegal shit, instead of forging his own path; still stayed under that disgusting, oppressive thumb with no plans to ever get out from under it. Mickey still just didn’t believe that he could do or be anything different; had resigned himself to this depressing fate of constantly repressing himself for the rest of his life.

Ian just couldn’t stomach it anymore. Part of that was selfish, because yeah, he wanted to have a real relationship that wasn’t full of darkness and drama all the time. But the bigger part of it was about how deeply he cared for Mickey. He hated witnessing what he considered Mickey’s slow demise over a long period of time. If Ian couldn’t convince him that he deserved better, then what exactly was he doing sticking by Mickey’s side? He couldn’t just let himself be a doormat and get treated like shit just because he was in lo—no, he had to stop thinking of it that way.

What was done was done, ancient history style. The last time shit had fallen apart and Mickey had kowtowed to his dad, tossing Ian’s heart in a blender in the process, Ian had ended things. For good. Probably. He was as terrible at staying away from Mickey as Mickey was at staying away from him. He couldn’t even count how many times they’d renounced each other at this point, but he was doing what he could to make it stick.

That’s why Ian had to go and force things to be different now. He couldn’t risk just falling back into the same old toxic pattern with his wayward ex. There were so many good qualities in Mickey that no one else really got to see, but at the end of the day, they couldn’t outweigh the bad enough to strike a fair balance when it came to Ian.

So after much consideration of options, Ian had finally done what he’d always intended, professionally speaking, and signed up for the army.

It had been nearly 8 months now. Basic and AIT had gone well, considering all his years of ROTC, and now he was back home for a brief visit before being deployed for the first time. He was excited to finally be fulfilling his lifelong dream of being active military, but if he said he wasn’t nervous as shit too, he’d be lying. There was a definite fear there in the background of his mind, but he’d always kind of lived for danger in a way. He liked conquering it.

He supposed every soldier went off to war thinking they wouldn’t be one of the ones to die or get severely wounded, and maybe he was an idiot for believing it, but despite that inevitable fear, Ian truly knew he’d be okay. He trusted his instincts and reactions to volatile situations (thanks, Gallagher family trauma), so he had to trust himself. Maybe if he believed in the idea of coming out the other side of combat unscathed enough, he would manifest it.

Still, no matter his sixth sense, there was that feeling of wanting to make sure that he left everything in his life back home in a nice, neat place, just in case he was terribly wrong and never set foot back on American soil again. He needed all of his important relationships to be appropriately cemented. It was easy with his family (well, the siblings portion of it, at least), but Mickey was a whole different story.

Despite having broken it off months ago, the idea of leaving that whole thread hanging felt terrifying. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to feel closure with Mickey, but he had to try. There was a good chance he’d either get mocked, or socked in the face for making overtures, but he had to try anyway.

He felt resolute as he walked toward the Milkovich house, but once it came into view, his insides were consumed with nerves until his gut twisted with the weight of his apprehension.

What if Mickey wasn’t there? What if Terry and a bunch of Mickey’s idiot brothers were laying about? What if Mickey had done the unthinkable and married some random whore so he could pretend he was straight to please his dad? Ian would hope that either Lip or Mandy would’ve informed him of such a development, but since Ian liked to bury things and not talk about them, maybe they’d just decided not to bring it up?

He took a deep breath, muttered, “Fuck it,” to himself, and made his way to the front door. All he could do was try. If Mickey was gone, or had forgotten him, or didn’t care anymore, then he’d just have to accept it and move on.

He gulped thickly as he knocked, hoping that at least Mickey would be the one to answer, and that the ability to form words based on coherent thoughts would manifest as needed.

He steeled himself for whatever might happen, standing with his back straight as an arrow as the door wrenched open.

The moment those ice-blue eyes met his, every single thought flew out of Ian’s head, feeling breathless as blood rushed to his head. Without a doubt, he’d never seen Mickey so surprised before. His ex wasn’t the type to be at a loss for words, but his mouth hung open, and the full irises of his eyes were exposed, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there studying each other in silence before Ian gained the courage to speak.

“Hi, Mick.”

“Gallagher.” Clear uncertainty permeated his tone.

“Hope it’s not a bad time. Just wanted to talk to you for a minute?”

Mickey crossed his arms and widened his stance, walls going back up. “Been a long fuckin’ time. What, you find out you got an STD or some shit? Come to do the whole benevolent legal disclosure thing?”

One corner of Ian’s mouth lifted in a sad attempt at amusement. “Nah, nothing like that. Can I come in? Or if someone’s home, we can sit out here I guess.”

Mickey scanned him from head to toe, so Ian took advantage and did the same. “Never known you to come over for a conversation before.”

Ian nodded. “Look, I won’t stay long. I really just have something I need to say. Then, if you never wanna see me again, you won’t. I’d just rather not do it awkwardly standing in the doorway if possible.”

Mickey shrugged and walked into the house, leaving Ian to follow. “Whatever, man. No one else is here right now. Terry’s in the slammer, so he won’t barge in or anything.”

“Cool,” said Ian, closing the door behind him.

Mickey sat down on the couch, but Ian had no idea whether to follow or not. Didn’t know how close to get. He hated feeling so weird around Mickey. In spite of everything, he’d always felt a strange sense of comfort and belonging when they were together. Like he could just be himself. Well, a somewhat ‘withholding of affection’ version of himself, but the rest felt natural.

“You gonna sit the fuck down and spit it out or what?” Mickey demanded.

“Right…” Ian took a seat on the sofa, leaving the entire middle cushion between them. “Uh… I don’t really know where to start now that I’m here.” He chuckled nervously.

“Jesus, Gallagher, you fuckin’ dying or somethin’?”

Ian grimaced, unable to tame that tiny pessimistic molecule inside himself. “No. Well, I hope not. Uh, I enlisted.” He looked up from his lap to gauge Mickey’s reaction, pleased to find his expression slipping into something more serious and less put-upon. “I’ve been away training. Shippin’ out tomorrow. Last night home and all that.”

Mickey exhaled raggedly. “Fuck, Ian. The fuck’d you do that for?”

“You know I’ve always wanted to, Mick. Childhood dream and all that. Finally found a reason to bite the bullet, so to speak.”

Mickey ran a shaky hand over his face, snickering derisively. “Wow. So you came here to tell me you’re runnin’ off to get shot, and that it’s pretty much my fault too? That’s real swell of you, Firecrotch. Real nice.”

Ian shook his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say at all. It’s not a guilt-trip. I just needed you to know, in case…”

“In case what? You don't come back? You fuckin’ die?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Mickey shot to his feet and started pacing, running his hands through his black hair, and worrying his pink lip. “So what? Now I'm s'posed to lay awake worryin’ about your stupid, army-go-lucky ass every night? That’s not a fuckin’ guilt-trip?”

“No, Mick, it’s not. It’s not really about you, but I couldn’t just leave without seein’ you again. I miss you, okay? I stand by what I did, leaving… still feels like I had to do it… but that doesn’t just turn the feelings off. I thought about you a lot while I was away.”

“Christ, Ian, what are you talkin’ about? Just stop.”

Ian stood up and walked toward Mickey, forcing him to meet his eye without laying a hand on him. “I won’t. Not this time. I might never get another chance to say this, and it would be great if you could just shut the fuck up for once in your life and listen. I don’t care if you have nothing to say to me in return, okay?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, looking very uncomfortable.

“There's a lotta reasons I left,” Ian continued, “but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to, as much as I needed to. You just never let me tell you what I was feeling. Which is fine. I always knew what you were about, and I know why you’re not out. I didn’t want to punish you, I just had to do it for me. Cuz I can’t live like that—”

“Why are you sayin’ all this shit to me now? It’s in the past.”

“I’m just trying to get to the point, fuck. Maybe I’m rambling. I just mean… I know you don’t wanna hear it, but I have to say it just once, and then I’ll go…” Ian took a deep breath, steadying himself for this ridiculous, sincere proclamation. “Mickey Milkovich, I love you. More than anything. And I’ll be thinkin’ about you while I’m over there. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m sure I’ll fade from your mind soon enough, anyway. But I'll remember you. The good stuff, you know? And I’m sorry that it didn’t work out, but now you know.”

Ian smiled dimly and put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, giving it a short squeeze. “Maybe this was selfish of me,” he added. “It feels good to get it off my chest, though. I hope you get to live your life the way you should one day, Mick. Just, you know… bein’ yourself. Not pretending. Happy; or something close to it. You deserve it.”

Mickey was as still and silent as a statue, probably completely unequipped to deal with all the shit Ian just threw at him, so Ian patted him on the cheek, moving to walk past. Which was fine. He hadn’t expected much more. The point was that Ian had said what he thought and felt, and now he could take that knowledge with him. Hopefully one day, Mickey would get it. Maybe take Ian’s words to heart. Maybe break away and live his truth in some way. And Ian would find his own path too. He was doing what he could to search for it.

He only made it a couple steps, though, before he felt Mickey’s hand slide around his wrist, pulling him back.

“Don’t,” he heard Mickey say softly.

“Don’t what?”

“Just… don’t.”

And then Mickey’s lips were on his for the first time in months, and he couldn’t believe it was happening. His sense memory activated, and he put everything he had into the kiss, in case it was all he got.

It wasn’t all he got, though, because Mickey’s passion matched his own in that moment, and their mutual understanding of each other’s bodies took over. The clothes were coming off before they even made it to the bedroom.

Ian hadn’t expected goodbye sex on his last night in town, but he definitely wasn’t unhappy to receive it… or give it, as it were. What he expected even less than that was Mickey suddenly becoming verbal again.

He was letting him stay the night, and they were practically sharing a pillow, just staring at each other. Not something that had usually been on the menu when they were together.

“Why’d you have to come say all this shit now?” asked Mickey. “When you’re just gonna leave again, maybe for good this time?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“That's not what I mean. I know you’re good at the army bullshit, alright? I’ve seen you shoot. Seen your nerd-ass training. But no one can control bullets and bombs in a war zone, Gallagher. Plus, even if all goes well, you might still settle down somewhere else, right? Go full army life and live full-time on a base somewhere.”

“Are you saying that if I were here you’d want things to be different?”

Mickey sighed, running a thumb over Ian’s cheek in a way that was almost gentle. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Mick—”

“It’s okay. You gotta do what you gotta do. But…”

“But what?”

“Since we’re talkin’ fuckin’ life and death and all that heavy shit… I should say… that I feel it too.”

“Feel what too?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and smacked Ian’s cheek. “You know what.”

“I really don’t,” said Ian, biting his lip with a mixture of anxiety and glee.

Mickey sighed very loudly, huffing and puffing like saying the actual words would kill him. “I…”

“You?”

“God, I hate you. But I love you. I love your stupid, freckly, gingery ass. And I don’t fuckin’ want you to go off to war, okay?”

Ian’s grin stretched across his entire face. “You mean it?”

“No, I'm fuckin’ lyin’, cuz admitting warm and fuzzies is my favorite sarcastic pastime, asshole.”

Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey tenderly once more. “Will you wait for me?”

“Don’t make me punch you in the face now, dipshit.”

“Will you?”

“Fuck no!”

“Yeah you will.”

“I really won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“I think we can squeeze a few more in.”

“You got the shittiest timing of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Ian shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Gallagher curse.”

“You stupid motherfucker. Better not die.”

When Ian got on the bus the next afternoon, he felt so much lighter. And the future was something that he looked forward to. Whatever came.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - day seven - day nine

<3<3<3

It’s loud in the house. Music booms from every possible speaker and shakes the sticky, dirtied floor. Unlike usual, Lorcan doesn’t really mind the noise. She’s sitting with Aelin, listening to the blonde girl lament her woes. 

“She’s so pretty, Lorcy, like… so so pretty,” Aelin gushes, trying to keep her voice down so that the object of her affections doesn’t hear. Since she’s drunk, Aelin has lost all abilities to self regulate and she’s practically shouting into Lorcan’s ear. “Just look at her! Why can’t I have her?” 

Lorcan glances towards Lysandra, to where she dances freely in the middle of the room. Admittedly, she’s beautiful, but not Lorcan’s type. She gets why Aelin’s so into her, too. Lorcan’s vision is blurry, a result of the seemingly endless rounds of beer pong she and Aelin dominated,  the joint that Lyria sweetly rolled for her, and the overcomplicated drinking game Fenrys insisted she join. “You can’t ever have her if she doesn’t know, Ash.” 

Aelin pouts dramatically and rolls her eyes, “But then I’d have to tell her. Like… I’d have to talk to her.” 

Lorcan snorts and slurs, “Gods, woman, just fuckin’ do it already. I’m gonna get alcohol poisoning if I have to sit here and listen to this.” 

“Fuck you,” Aelin spits, bitter as she drains her beer. 

After her drink is finished, Aelin goes on some rant, but Lorcan isn’t listening. 

Her eyes, her entire body, really, is drawn to the woman who steps into the room, her cunning eyes sweeping across the crowd. Lorcan swears everything gets quieter. Aelin’s voice is muffled and the beat of her heart is so much louder than it normally is. 

When Elide’s eyes lock on Lorcan’s, the woman grins, some sort of tension eased from her shoulders. She moves to join Lorcan, but then a happy woman with curly brown hair and doe-brown, freckled skin wraps her arms around Elide from behind.

Elide freezes and turns, relaxing when she sees that it’s only Lyria. Lorcan watches them, but her eyes never stray from Elide. She doesn’t want to wait for the cover of darkness to touch her. She spends her days trying to fool herself, pretending like the rushed and hasty moments she has with Elide are enough. 

She cannot so easily do that now. 

Before she realises what she’s doing, Lorcan is walking across the room, her path clear. Lyria looks up first, smiling at Lorcan, “Well, hey there.” 

Lorcan smiles a tense smile and wraps an arm around her best friend’s girlfriend, “Hey, Lia.”

“You sure look happy,” the young hippie says, arching a brow up.

Lorcan laughs softly, her eyes heavy on Elide’s. “Lochan.” 

“Salvaterre,” Elide replies, her voice cool and detached. Her eyes glitter with something secret. Lorcan loves that she’s the only person who can truly read Elide. 

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” 

She curls a lock of glossy hair around her finger and a smile ghosts across her plush lips. Lorcan really, really wants to kiss her, but she knows she can’t. Not where everyone can see. “I didn’t think so either, but I just couldn’t stay away.” 

Lyria watches them, not entirely sure what’s happening. She’s always told Rowan that there is something between the two girls, but he doesn’t believe her. He says that they’re both too upfront to keep their feelings hidden for this long. 

Almost like she’s manifested him, Rowan walks in, put-together and professional as always, truly his girlfriend’s contrast. It shouldn’t make sense, but no one has ever seen them happier.

He slips his arm around Lyria’s waist and rests his hand on her hip. “Hi, guys.” He tucks his shoulder behind Lyria, always unconsciously protecting her from the world. “Hello, love,” he says to Lyria, sweetly kissing her temple. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Lorcan’s heart cracks just a bit. She wishes she could do that for Elide, wishes she could dote on her. Subtly, she looks at Elide, who remains unaffected. 

She returns to Aelin, but Lysandra’s in her lap. Lorcan silently seethes, choking on tears. She leaves, not able to stand it any longer. 

Elide calls after her, but Lorcan doesn’t answer. She pretends not to hear. In the kitchen, Fenrys is organising something elaborate. The young man spies her and waves her over. 

Lorcan cuts through the crowd, easily. People have always… quickly gotten out of her way. It’s one of her favourite things in life. Fenrys throws his arm around her neck, “What’s gotcha down, kiddo?” 

“The princess,” Lorcan mutters, stealing another glance at Elide. She is… beautiful. Truly. Lorcan wanted to be around her, all the time. Her chest aches and she clenches her jaw, looking towards Fenrys’ pile of booze. “What’re we doing?” 

“Getting you proper drunk, mate,” Fenrys laughs, passing her a can and a pair of keys. Lorcan forgoes the keys and taps the air bubble with her thumb. Then, she pierces the can with her teeth and quickly shotguns it. 

Fenrys whoops and the next while goes by mostly forgotten. Eventually, they stumble into the living room and sit in a circle with their friends. Elide is opposite Lorcan and the brown-skinned girl can see the worried ‘v’ between her manicured brows. She drinks the water Rowan passes her and stretches her legs out. “What’re we playin’, G-Mone-ey!” 

“Hellas, Lorcan, how drunk are you,” Elide comments drily, snorting softly. 

Lorcan frowns and looks at her, taking the bottle Asterin wordlessly passes her. “Evidently not enough, princess.” The nickname is unfriendly and insulting this time, like it hasn’t been in awhile. She holds the bottle to her lips and drains it, decidedly putting it down on that floor. “So, what are we really playing?” 

“Um…” Aelin looks around the circle, Lysandra lazily leaned against her chest. “Seven minutes in heaven. I wanna kiss pretty people.” 

“Are we eighth graders, Ae?” 

She clicks her tongue, “Hand me that bottle, fucko.” 

Lorcan quietly mocks her friend and clumsily hands her the bottle. She pulls her legs back and waits. 

“So,” Aelin says, smiling coyly, “I think our dear Lorcan should go first.” Lorcan protests loudly as their friends laugh and agree, all except Lyria, Rowan, and Elide. The former two watch the latter, recognising the signs of jealousy and hurt. Elide’s eyes flick around the circle, trying to determine who, exactly, wants to kiss Lorcan. 

“You need to get some,” Manon says lowly, smirking. 

“Ok, you know what, Blackbeak,” Lorcan starts, pointing menacingly at her. She takes the bottle from Aelin and spins it, flipping Manon off. “Bite me.” 

Manon shakes her head and mutters into her glass, “I hate you.” 

Lorcan shrugs and turns back to see who the bottle lands on. It spins and spins, catching on the flashing lights in the room. 

Fenrys gasps loudly when it lands on Elide and the others snicker under their breaths, wondering what they’ll do. “Um… well. Ok.” 

Elide presses her lips together and she stands, holding her hand out, “It’s nice to see that you’re enthused.” 

Lorcan gets to her feet and takes Elide’s hand and tugs her out of the circle, ignoring the jeers. “I’m always enthused to do anything with you.” 

Fenrys and Aedion herd them to the closet. 

They’ve hardly closed the door before Lorcan is pressing Elide into it, her leg sliding between Elide’s thighs. Her hands tangle in Elide’s dark, dark hair and Lorcan pulls her head back, kissing down her jaw and throat. 

Elide’s breath hitches in her throat and she arches into Lorcan, her eyes falling halfway shut. She tugs Lorcan’s face up to hers and holds it, like Lorcan is something precious, like she deserves to be treasured. “I can’t,” Elide pants, her body craving something that she can’t give into. Not yet. 

“Why,” Lorcan asks. She sees the way hurt lingers in Elide’s gaze and it threatens to break her. 

“Because I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Elide says. “You’ve been ignoring me this entire night and now you want to hook up in the closet without saying a word?” The smaller girl pushes Lorcan’s shoulders and she backs away. “Why are you so upset with me? Did I… did I do something wrong?” 

Lorcan shakes her head, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Lee.”

“Ok, well, then why are you being like this? I don’t get it. I thought we were ok.”

“We were! We are, it’s- fuck, I want more, Elide,” Lorcan confesses, her eyes searching Elide’s. “I want more than closets and climbing out of your window! I want to be able to tell people how crazy I am about you. If,” she breathes in deeply, trying to order her thoughts, “if that isn’t what you want, I can… I can live with that. But I want more.” I need more.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elide asks, her face almost crumpling. 

“Whaddya mean,” Lorcan asks, blinking hard to focus her eyes. 

Elide chuckles quietly and reaches out. She toys with Lorcan’s hands, “What if I wanted more too? What if…” she trails off and looks up through her lashes, “it isn’t enough for me either?”

“It isn’t?” 

“Gods, no,” she says, pressing herself closer to Lorcan. “Of course it isn’t enough.” Elide shakes her head, “I hate seeing you in public and not being able to do anything. I hate sneaking around. I hate watching you leave. I hate that you never spend the night. I hate it.”

Lorcan kisses her, hard. She threads her fingers through Elide’s hair and pulls Elide against her. 

Elide moans softly and slides her hands beneath Lorcan’s shirt. 

They quickly lose track of time, desperate to soothe the ache in their chests. Lorcan turns them and effortlessly lifts Elide onto the closet’s shelf. Elide’s arms loop around her shoulders and Lorcan’s hands grip her thighs, keeping them tight around her hips. 

Elide’s lips are soft and full against Lorcan’s. She gently parts them and Lorcan licks her tongue over Elide’s, Elide’s delicate whimper muffled by her lips. 

Elide rocks her hips closer, making a needy sound in the back of her throat. Lorcan’s blood heats at the sound and she–

“Ok, lovebirds!” Fenrys declares as he sweeps the door open, exposing the two girls, wrapped around each other. 

Lorcan frowns and Elide winces at the shaft of light that falls against them. “Fenrys. What the fuck do you want?” Behind him, Lorcan can see the rest of their friends, all curiously peering in. 

The grin on Fenrys’ face is so cocky, Lorcan wants to slap it off. “Your seven minutes in heaven were done… ten minutes ago. Hurry it up! This is hot real estate, you know,” he says, referring to the closet. 

Lorcan narrows her eyes and turns back to Elide. “Feel like leaving?” 

“Very much so,” Elide replies, hopping off of the shelf and taking Lorcan’s hand. They slip out of the closet, grinning unashamedly at their friends. “Ta-ta, my darlings.” 

Lorcan doesn’t remember how long it takes them to end up at her house, Elide’s back against her mattress. 

Then, after, they lay together, the silver light of the moon slip-sliding over their bare forms. Elide props herself up, her legs still twitching. She leans over and presses her lips to the corner of Lorcan’s collar bone. She trails her kisses down, following the shadows and curves of Lorcan’s body. 

Lorcan mumbles something incoherent and blindly reaches for Elide. “Sleep.” 

Elide grins and lets herself be pulled into Lorcan’s arms. She fits her face against the crook of Lorcan’s neck and inhales her familiarity, her hand sliding around Lorcan’s hip. “Ok, love.”

<3<3<3

an: hippie!lyria came to me in a moment of pure genius and i am never letting it go. salem mitchell is my face claim for her !!

ive decided to only do fourteen days of femslash february since this is a busy month for me and its just too much <3 

@ladyverena​​ @ladywitchling​​ @mythicaitt​​ @sassyhobbits​​ @darklesmylove​​ @julemmaes​​ @letstakethedawn @cicada-bones​​ @highladyofthegentry​​ @darlinminds​​ @nahthanks​​ @sjmships​​ @eyllweambassador​​ @flamingveritas​​ @adelzd-bookblr​​ @somewhatdynamite @woollycat22​​ @firestarsandseneschals​​ @the-regal-warrior​​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​

[laceymorganwrites]

Brokenhearts Club: Stone Cold

Word count: 1,626

Pairing: none, Saeko x her husband

Warnings: angst, swearing, heartbreak, unrequited love

Song: Stone Cold - Demi Lovato

Taglist: @vicassa @ashhhh26 @luckypartyranchmug @chaelysian @2o-done @hoho-cham @thatnikkixx @solarskiesdream @mattsuns-prettybaby @moonlightaangel @madusas-girlfriend @d-angerboys @lulu-102 @anejuuuuoy @killmeplz-uwu @serihandfn @atsumubabe​ @chibioomi​ @onlyshinji​

Female reader

Stone cold, stone cold

You have known Saeko all your life. Starting from kindergarten, going to middle school and then to high school together. You were inseparable, far more than just best friends. You two spent so much time at the other´s house that your families already merged together. It was nice, or it would´ve been.

Such strong bonds, such a pure and wonderful friendship, you did everything together, shared everything. Well, almost everything.

But it was normal to keep secrets, wasn´t it? Especially when those secrets could destroy everything you have built over the years.

Well, it was your own fault. You shouldn´t fall for your best friend, that was common knowledge.

You see me standing but I´m dying on the floor

But you just couldn´t stop yourself, Saeko made it too easy.

She was too charming for her own good, too beautiful, too funny, too caring…

If only she liked women.

But then again, even if she did, you´d never be more than just friends.

It was a harsh truth that you realized over the years and the more time passed, the more it manifested.

The best choice would´ve been to break off contact with her to get over her, but how could you?

You´d rather live with your heartbreak than to ever live a life without Saeko in it.

Besides… you´d get used to the dull ache eventually.

That was what you had hoped all these years, an almost extinguished hope you just couldn´t let go no matter how much it hurt.

Maybe all of this made you a masochist.

But you didn´t care.

How could you care when you could see Saeko be happy and smile, fall in love? Even if it was not with you.

Even if it could never be with you. 

Maybe if I don´t cry I won´t feel anymore

You should distance yourself from her, you shouldn´t clutch onto her like she was the only thing keeping you alive. 

But you were too far gone at this point, too much in love, too dependent on her.

If you were to leave, you´d miss her touch and presence more than anything else

You´d always fall back into her arms whenever she hugged you out of joy, despite your heart hurting oh so much, you´d always let her compliment you when shopping together, living in your fantasy world where all of this meant something.

The worst thing was when she got a boyfriend and of course told you everything about it and him in great detail.

He was a great guy, really, you wished them the best, you knew that he could give Saeko everything she deserved and more, everything she ever wanted.

And still.

It wasn´t you.

The thought alone hurt so much it was almost unbearable, it was fucked up. You knew that Saeko was bound to fall in love with a man, you shouldn´t have held onto this false hope, she would never love you the way you loved her.

But you couldn´t control your emotions.

Especially not when she told you that they got engaged, asking you to be her bridesmaid and help her with the preparations.

This was it. The last piece of your heart shattering. 

You´re dancing with her while I´m staring at my phone

However the whole process, watching her be so happy with someone else, it brought you pain you didn´t even know you could feel.

You were with her when she got her dress, the decorations and the cake.

You were with her at every phone call, every important date and you hated it.

But most of all you hated yourself for desperately hanging on.

It was like you were dependent on her.

She was a virus in your life, eating away at all your hope and your fragile heart and you let her because it was so addicting, so ecstatic, so immaculate.

Yes, maybe you became more than a tad bit masochistic because of her.

And so what?

That was your way to cope…

Well, to run away from facing the truth, you desperately tried to hold up the facade of being just friends.

I was your amber, but now she´s your shade of gold

Everything came crashing down on you at Saeko´s bachelorette party.

It was bad enough to plan it, to watch her try on all those outfits that shouldn´t fit so perfectly.

But then again, everything looked so good on her, you realized early on that Saeko simply couldn´t look bad, not even mediocre.

She was always the prettiest in the room.

Everyone´s eyes were on her but there was only one person she returned the favor to.

And it most definitely wasn´t you.

And it never would be.

This fact would always be repeated inside your head and yet it just wouldn´t stick.

It didn´t hurt to dream, right?

Though dreaming didn´t get you anywhere, not that you actually wanted to pursue her.

No.

You´d never do that, her happiness was far more important than your own.

Dreaming about being with her the way you always wanted only hurt you more.

When you arrived at her doorstep after the party was over to say goodbye, every single one of your emotions seemed to overflow.

It was all too much.

Too much pent up frustration and your broken heart screamed bloody murder.

Your head was spinning from the alcohol and you started feeling sick, you were still supporting Saeko who drank way more than you and could barely walk in a straight line.

“I´m getting married tomorrow!” she slurred, laughing loudly and turned around to you with those big bright eyes and you wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

Saeko slipped a bit and fell against you, but you managed to catch her so that you two hugged now.

Your heart started beating faster and you knew you were about to do something stupid, but you couldn´t stop yourself.

“I love you…” you whispered, sounding almost hysterical, your voice strained with the pain of your feelings but Saeko was too drunk to recognize that.

“Aww, I love ya too! You´re my best friend” she hugged you even tighter and it felt like a thousand knives digging into your skin.

You wanted to scream.

God knows I tried to feel happy for you

“I fucking know...you´ll never see me as anything more than a friend and that´s okay, I can´t control who you love, but goddamn, it hurts….I want you to be happy but it hurts to goddamn much…” you thought, unable to stop the tears that were streaming down your face.

Saeko drunkenly smiled at you one last time before shutting the door and falling asleep next to the man who´d be her husband tomorrow.

You were alone in your bed, as always, and unable to sleep.

Nothing new.

The next morning you got up only reluctantly, not wanting this day to happen at all and wanting to get it over with as soon as possible at the same time.

After you were done getting ready and drove to Saeko´s place to help her get ready, you stood in front of her door for a bit before actually entering.

The events of last nights went through your head the whole night and still you were embarrassed even though Saeko didn´t remember any of it.

Instead of looking at you disgusted, she greeted you like usual, hugging you tight and rambling on about how excited she was to finally get married.

You helped prepare everything else that needed to be done and then tried to calm Saeko down as best as you could before sitting down on your designated seat.

Caught in your head you imagined what it would be like to be the one waiting for Saeko instead of her fiance. If only she´d smile at you that way, if only you could embrace her like that, if only the love in her eyes was dedicated to you.

It hurt seeing all of that belong to the luckiest man on the planet who now looked at the beautiful bride walking down the aisle with bright and loving eyes.

The ceremony passed like white noise for you, maybe it was a defense mechanism from your body that prevented your heart from being completely obliterated.

Biting your lip until it was bloody, you tried your hardest to look somewhat happy.

Needless to say, you failed.

You wanted to escape to the restroom and cry your eyes out, but you were frozen in place, stuck, you just couldn´t move.

Maybe you were more of a masochist than you realized.

Everything around you was happening in a fast forward motion and in slow motion at the same time, making you dizzy.

You knew that people were approaching you, talking to you, saying how happy they were for Saeko, but you didn´t respond.

You couldn´t.

It was like you were having the most fucked up and pathetic out of body experience of all.

Your eyes caught Saeko laughing with her husband as they had their first dance.

She looked so beautiful, so happy.

Everything was perfect.

For her.

You gulped, balling your fists and digging your nails into your flesh to stop your tears from falling.

To no avail.

You could feel your eyes burning and ignored everyone who asked if you were okay.

Okay.

When have you ever been okay? You wasted your whole life pining after someone who´d never love you. And that realization hurt. It hurt that you knew all along, but the dire consequences and meaning seemed to be only sinking in just now.

Maybe you wanted to be happy too.

Even if it could never be with her.

If happy is her, I´m happy for you

[theshopislocal]

corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter two

Heaven is warm, bucolic, and perfect. And it gives Dean the damned heebie-jeebies.

He recalls a memorable night spent with Pamela - well, as memorable as it could be after a fifth of Macallan. Sam had said ‘So get this...’ and then fucked off to the local library, leaving Pam and Dean at the hotel bar. They’d drunk til the lights got fuzzy, and Pam had leaned back against the barstool, arching one dark eyebrow.

She’d had Dean supine across the foot of the squeaky queen, sitting astride him and working some kind of magic. She’d settled his hands on her slim waist, tugged at his hair, bitten his lips; he’d had nary a moment to want something before she gave it - the craving coming on the heels of the having.

Heaven is much the same - perceptive and generous - and it leaves Dean feeling just as he had that night with Pam. Vulnerable, flayed open. Seen.

He assumes it’s heaven’s off-brand kind of ESP that’s landed him here, seated at a teakwood dining table in a house over yonder.

There are soft sounds from the kitchen - cabinets opening, a gurgling coffee maker, a substratum of tuneless humming. Dean hunches over his plate and shovels another forkful of pie into his mouth. It’s sweet and rich, tart and crumbly, and he barely tastes it at all.

“You alright?”

Dean looks up to find Mary seated across from him. She’s a little younger than when he last saw her, but otherwise she’s just as he remembers - her yellow hair falling in waves over her shoulders, her eyes a soft Carolina blue.

She stares at him, calm and unconcerned, the bow of her lips turned up in a tiny smile.

Dean shakes his head and gives a little shrug. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says, gruffer than intended.

She notices, he’s sure, but she only tips her head in a nod. “Okay.”

A quietude stretches between them, peaceful but gravid. Mary tilts her head, face serene and mildly expectant, and she inches a pale hand forward on the table. His fingers clench around the little dessert fork, and he takes another bite.

She’s waiting, he realizes, for him to speak, to get there. Though where ‘there’ is, Dean’s got no damn idea.

“You know,” he says, to fill the silence, “Sammy asked me if I remembered anything,” he swallows, throat dry, and looks down at his plate, “‘bout bein’ a kid.”

Mary’s eyebrows pop up, and she smiles a little wider. “You remembered me,” she offers.

Dean’s eyes alight on hers, and his lips purse. There’s something something fragile in her face, a budding hope that he doesn’t want to crush. You made me sandwiches, he wants to say. You told me bedtime stories.

His stomach clenches. You burned alive, gutted on the ceiling.

Dean looks away, brow furrowed. “‘Course I did,” he grunts out, throat tight.

She gives him a look that goes right through him - compassionate, or maybe pitying. Her mouth turns down like she can hear his thoughts, and he bites his cheek, shamefaced.

“What else do you remember?” she asks, and her voice is mild and curious, lacking the censure Dean expected.

Dean reins in his surprise and dips his head, summoning a wry smile. “Well,” he says and points his fork at the plate of pie crumbs.

She rolls her eyes and nods, smiling once again. “Yes, obviously pie. What else.”

He stares at her for a moment, feeling wrong-footed and a little short-changed, then peers through the open French doors toward the mountainside. He scans his memories, steering clear of the ugly ones that present themselves first, looking for something - anything - to keep her smiling.

...Weedy grass and buzzing bees.

“Our backyard,” he murmurs, and feels his lips quirk up.

Mary’s smile grows soft, warm like the spring air. “Mm,” she hums. “Always overgrown. Your dad never wanted to mow it.”

Dean withholds a wince at the mention of John, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. “I liked it how it was.”

Mary’s eyes dart up to his, and her soft laugh lines deepen. “Yeah, you did.”

Dean’s eyes trace over her face, searching for something, though he’s not sure what. She’s still the girl who made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. Still the woman who left, and left, and left again. She’s no more perfect now than she ever was, but...

She has laugh lines, and yellow hair, and Carolina blue eyes. And she’s looking at Dean like she’s missed him forever. Damn, if he hasn’t missed her, too.

Something loosens in his chest, and his fists unclench. He smiles, wan but sincere, and leans back in his seat, crossing his ankles under the table. “Coulda done without the bees though.”

She huffs a little laugh and shakes her head. “You loved the bees,” she counters.

Dean raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Did I?”

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding sagely. “You’d chase ‘em around, flapping your arms like little wings.”

Dean squints, searching his scattered memory. He remembers the yard, the foliage, the window into the kitchen. He remembers thunder and lightning and torrential downpour. He doesn’t remember himself.

“Huh,” he says, and folds his arms over his chest.

He stares across the table at Mary. She’s silent but smiling, her eyes far away. It’s a familiar look, one he’s seen on nearly everyone he knows in Heaven. Like they’re lost in a beautiful memory - a moment in their past lives that they didn’t regret.

Dean doesn’t think about his human life. He’d lived it, after all. That was enough.

“You drew me a map once.”

Dean eyes flick up from where they’d settled on his dirty plate, and his brow furrows. “A map?”

She nods, still staring glassy-eyed into the middle distance. “You followed one little bee all day long,” she murmurs. “Counted all the flowers she landed on. Then you,” she swallows, and her eyes go shiny, “you raced inside and scribbled it all out on the back of a—” a startled huff of laughter, “—a takeout menu.”

Dean watches her, the way her eyes flick back and forth, like she’s watching the scene unfold before her. There’s an ache near the center of his chest like a bruise. “I don’t remember that,” he says, voiced pitched low.

Her head tilts up, absent eyes meeting his as she pulls herself from reverie. “You were... three? Maybe four?” She looks down and brings a hand to settle over her heart. “It was beautiful,” she whispers, and tilts her head. “Wish I still had it.”

Dean nods at her, though she’s still looking away, and he feels a hot coil of guilt in his stomach. Mary had adored him, he knows that much, and she’d lost him as surely as he’d lost her. He remembers the expectant way he’d looked at her in the bunker, wanting something she couldn’t remember how to give. Something he barely even remembers himself.

There’s movement behind Mary’s head, and Dean’s eyes snap to it.

Something is... growing on the wall.

Dean’s fists clench up, and he watches with hawk eyes as the thing manifests, forming itself into a vaguely rectangular shape. He feels his lips purse tight and his spine straighten like a rod.

Mary senses his sudden tension and looks up, following his eyes over her shoulder.

“Oh my god,” she whispers in awe.

She unfolds herself from her chair and stands up slowly, as if in a dream. She walks the four paces to the wood-paneled wall, reaching out a cautious hand. Her fingers close around the frame of the thing, and she gives a soft sigh.

Dean stares at her back where the knobs of her spine meet her neck, her shoulder blades distorting the periwinkle plaid of her blouse. She turns around, her eyes fixed on her prize, thumbs smoothing over the simple wood frame.

She comes around the table, sliding into the chair at Dean’s side, and when she finally looks up at him, her eyes are bright and red-rimmed. She takes Dean’s hand in hers, her skin smooth and cool, and slips the little framed drawing into his palm.

He peers down at it and gives a startled bark of laughter.

The drawing is entirely ridiculous - an indecipherable riot of squiggly pen lines and waxy crayon color. There’s a messy bed of green near the bottom, which Dean assumes is grass, and it’s speckled with tiny blobs of vibrant pink and deep red - flowers, Dean thinks. Near the center of the page is a single white daisy with a bright yellow bumblebee hovering over it. A swirling purple line trails behind its black-striped body, making loop-de-loops around every flower. The sky is a strip of electric blue at the top, just above an empty field of white - the landscape drawn as children often do, with the heavens separated from the earth.

His fingers hover over a grease-stained corner, illegible text bleeding through. “Jeez,” he breathes out. “Clearly I missed my calling.”

He hears the broad smile in Mary’s voice. “Coulda been the next Da Vinci,” she says, nudging his shoulder.

Dean huffs and raises an eyebrow. “More like Picasso.”

She laughs at that, as he knew she would, and it sounds like Corinthian bells, chiming in harmony on the breeze.

Dean smiles to himself, eyes roving over his apparent masterpiece before alighting on a strange scribble in the corner.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, pointing a finger at the tiny black and blue squiggle.

“Hm?” Mary leans closer to him, and Dean’s nose twitches with the scent of tart apples clinging to her hair. She looks at the little scribble, frowning for a moment, before her eyebrows pop up. “Oh, wow,” she sighs out, leaning closer. “I forgot about that.”

She reaches out a hand to grasp the side of the frame opposite Dean’s, the small weight of the silly little drawing shared between them. She’s got that look again, like there’s an old Super 8 projection playing in her head. Dean wonders what’s on the reel.

She chews her lip for a moment, then tips her head toward Dean. “You remember what I used to tell you before bed?” she asks, peering up at his face.

Dean frowns. “Brush your teeth or they’ll turn green?”

She gives him a look. “That was Dad.”

Dean tips his head back in a nod. “Right. Uh...” Dean trails off for a moment, unsure. Nearly all of his childhood memories are of Mary, but they’re weathered and vague, filtered through the consciousness of a toddler. He barely remembers the words she said, only the lilting strains of her voice as she calmed him, soothed him, protected him—

An image flits across his mind, and he sucks in a breath: a tiny figurine that sat on the mantel, with fluffy little wings and a crown of white roses.

Dean blinks and shakes his head. “Angels are watching over me,” he intones.

He sees Mary nod in his peripheral vision, and her finger taps on the little scribble near his thumb.

“It’s—” Dean starts and frowns, askance, “...an angel?” he guesses.

“Mhm,” she hums, giving another slow nod. Her finger slides across the two tiny black scrawls, vaguely triangular and joined at the middle. “Wings,” she says, then taps the blue oval just above, “halo.” He sees her smile out of the corner of his eye. “You drew it all the time.”

Dean stares at the squiggle, a frown etching across his forehead. The figurine he remembers was nearly solid white, the only deviations its pink skin and dark eyes. There’s not a speck of white in the little scribble, no cherubic cloud-seeder to be found. Just messy black shapes and a faded blue circle. Black wings, blue halo.

Black wings. Blue halo.

Black wings.

... Blue—

The painting slips from his fingers as Mary takes it back in her hands. She holds it gently, reverently, as she stands and walks around the table. Dean shakes his head to clear it, and watches as she replaces the little picture on the center of the wall. It looks, at once, as if it has always hung there, and like he’d drawn it but a moment ago.

A shiver climbs up the back of Dean's neck. He shrugs it off.

“How’s Dad?” he asks lowly, and regrets it immediately.

Mary turns around, her eyes a little wide, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. Dean isn’t sure why he asked. He backtraces his train of thought, only to find he hadn’t had one at all; seems he’s done his usual shtick of putting his foot in his mouth the very moment he opens it.

Mary seems to sense his imminent retraction, and she settles her face into a genial smile. “He’s good,” she says mildly and comes back to her seat across from Dean. “Wasn’t sure he’d like it here, at first. But,” she settles into the worn wooden chair, “I think he does.”

Dean represses a scoff at that. “Why wouldn’t he?” he says and picks up his fork, eyes downcast. “He’s got you.” He slides the crumbs around on his plate, shoulders hunching forward. “All he ever wanted.”

Mary is silent for a long moment, and Dean doesn’t look up - he can picture her face well enough. His fork scrapes against white porcelain, the sun a bright glare on the stainless steel tines.

Mary sighs, barely audible. “You ever gonna talk to him?”

Her voice is soft and ambivalent, as if she’s already accepted his answer. It gets Dean’s back up, and he peers up at her through flinty eyes.

She’s staring at him, face guileless and open. There’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes, flavored with a sort of tempered sadness. But there’s no reproof, no expectation, and Dean gets the strange feeling that there isn’t a right answer. Or a wrong one.

Dean’s jaw goes a little slack, and for a moment, he thinks he might simply say, No.

Mary tips her head to the side, eyes going soft as her lips turn up, and the moment passes.

“‘Course, I will,” Dean grumbles, casting his eyes back to his empty plate. He shrugs. “Not avoiding him, just...” he trails off and shakes his head. Best leave it there.

Mary takes a slow breath, and Dean sees the vague shape of her leaning forward in her seat.

“Well,” she starts, lacing her fingers on the tabletop. “I won’t speak for him—”

Dean snorts. “But.”

Mary sighs, amused and resigned. “But... I know he’s got a lot to say. He just...” she pauses for a moment, then shrugs her shoulders. “He doesn’t really know how to say it. He knows he—” she cuts herself off with a quick shake of her head. “Well,” her hands raise in a brief shrug. “It’s his truth to tell.”

Dean nods absently, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s known since ‘they live over yonder’ that a reckoning would come for him and his dad. Dean just isn’t quite sure if he’s ready for whatever truth John might tell - or if he’s even inclined to listen to it.

Dean clenches his jaw and drops his fork onto the plate. It clatters loud in the calm of the spring afternoon, and Dean barely restrains a flinch.

Mary leans further forward, hand sliding halfway across the table.

“Dean—”

“Think Sammy’s gonna join the Arch,” Dean says overloud, settling his elbows on the tabletop.

Mary pauses at the abrupt change of subject, but deftly lets it slide. Her eyes flutter a bit, and she pulls her hand back. “Yeah?” she asks, giving a slightly awkward smile.

Dean feels a twinge of guilt in his throat and swallows it down. “Mm,” he nods. “Eileen’s gonna join. And lord knows wherever she goes—”

“Sam goes,” Mary finishes, her smile seeming to widen and soften at once. “He loves her,” she murmurs.

Dean’s stomach clenches taut, even as a smile comes unbidden. He remembers Sam peering over his shoulder as they’d stood on the bridge, his mouth slack and eyes liquid. Dean had known without looking who stood behind him. Sam had gone to her on shaky legs that crumbled beneath him as he reached her. Dean’s vision had gone blurry, and he’d turned away from them, eyes squinting out at the sunlit mountain.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice a little thick. He clears his throat and nods. “And I get it, ya know. He—” he interrupts himself on a wincing inhale. “He lost her before.” A dry swallow. “Twice.”

Mary makes a little noise in her throat. “Three times,” she whispers.

Dean frowns, confused, and glances up at Mary. Her eyes are shiny, mouth screwed up in a tiny sad smile.

Oh. “She... she went before him?”

Mary’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she sniffs. “She stayed with us. Til he came.”

Dean’s brows rise at that. Offering comfort in a time of need isn’t really his parents’ bag - at least, not that Dean can remember.

Then again, he can’t think of anyone who knows grief better.

“Huh,” he grunts in lieu of a response, and glances up.

Mary is still staring at him, but the melancholy has given way to a sharp sort of consideration. Her eyes dart over his face, slightly squinted, and she looks so much like Sam that Dean turns to stare out at the sun.

Here in Heaven, Sam and Mary are quite alike: happy, whole, and ready for a new life - a new fight.

Dean is just... tired.

“You know,” Mary begins, and Dean’s eyes flick to her hands, still resting on the table. “He’s not going anywhere,” she says, and Dean’s eye twitches in a wince. “You know that, right?”

Dean nods and swallows, looking down at his own hands. “Yeah, I know.” And he does know.

“Even if he joins the Arch,” she continues as if he hadn’t spoken. Her voice is ardent but still gentle, and she leans forward. “He’s not going anywhere. He—” she huffs and tips her head side to side. “He might get a little banged up, maybe, but—”

He knows. “I know.”

“—he...” Mary trails off on a sigh, stretching her arm across the table. Her fingers brush his, and he holds himself still. “No one’s gonna take him away, Dean.” She runs her thumb over the knuckles of his fist. “It’s work,” she acknowledges. “Dirty work, even, but... it’s not life or death,” she murmurs with a tiny smile. “Not here.”

Dean knows this. He knows all of this, but... But that doesn’t stop him from... It’s not the same as... 

It doesn’t make him—

“I know,” he intones, giving her a tight smile.

Her eyebrows make a sympathetic shape, and she pulls her hand back. Dean’s shoulders relax, just slightly.

“You know, your dad thought you would join,” she says with a little smile.

Dean huffs out a chuckle, bitter and resigned. “‘Course he did,” he grunts, pressing his thumbs together.

“Dean,” Mary sighs, tone somewhere between chiding and apologetic.

Dean’s lips turn down, and he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mutters, mostly sincerely.

“It wasn’t an expectation,” Mary says, then gives a little shrug. “He just... I think he figured all the—” she shakes her head, as if searching for the words, “-the soul-searching would...” she sighs. “I dunno... Make your teeth itch,” she finishes with a wry smile.

Dean gives her one back, though he feels a headache coming on. His teeth do itch. Everything itches. Everything chafes.

“Well,” he starts and swallows again. His throat’s gone bone dry. “Still searching, I guess,” he says, and he supposes it might be true, but- “Not sure what for, though.”

Mary reaches her hand out again, and Dean goes tense for a moment. His eyes flit to hers, and he finds them crinkled at the corners. She’s smiling at him as she’d smiled at his little drawing, as she’d smiled when she sat him down, as she’d smiled while he ate his pie. She’s smiling at him now, as she had when he was a boy, as she always has.

Her skin looks like clouds, her eyes like the sky. She laces her fingers with Dean’s, and the tension across his back fades away.

“I think,” Mom murmurs, “you’ll know it when you find it.”

chapter one | chapter three

table of contents

[queerebrum]

Your Problem Now

y’know this was supposed to be 1k words. That is my goal for ficlets. And yet, here we are!! Enjoy your 1.7k of Sterrish (Stiles x Derek x Parrish) relationship reflection and sickfic fluff, @wolfflock​ & the rest of you that encouraged this.

--

Jordan had just finished putting on his belt when his phone rang on the nightstand. He glanced first at the alarm clock for the time and then back to the phone. Whoever was calling him, it wasn’t Derek, who was usually awake but not yet willing to socialize at this time of day, and it certainly wasn’t Stiles, who was unbearable if woken before 8am.

He reached for the phone and stared at the caller ID with a raised eyebrow. Answering it with a hard swallow he said, “Good morning, Sheriff.”

Calls from the Sheriff were always awkward. Calls from the Sheriff before 7am were downright terrifying. “Jordan, you’re off today,” Noah said, leaving no room for argument.

Jordan blinked a few times. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, carefully reviewing memories of the last few days of his shift.

“No. Stiles is sick and I’ve decided that if you’re going to date my eighteen year old son the least you can do is be the one to deal with him when he’s sick.” There was a brief pause. “Or, y’know, the two to deal with him. I’ll let you call Derek. I’m surprised he’s not already at my door, supernatural senses and all.”

Jordan nodded, still frozen in the middle of his bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. He decided against pointing out to Noah that he too was technically supernatural, and that Derek’s senses weren’t that enhanced. Instead of arguing anything – arguing with either Stilinski was an exhausting and often pointless process – he just said, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’m taking one of your sick days for this.” Noah said, his tone lighter.

Jordan laughed at that. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

--

‘Stiles is sick I guess? Sheriff says it’s our job to take care of him. See you there?’

Derek yawned and reread the text from Jordan. He grabbed for his half-full cup of coffee and took another long pull, letting the warm, bitter taste settle against his tongue as he mulled over the words.

He had many questions about the content of the text, but the number of question marks seemed to indicate that Jordan too was unsure of exactly what was going on. Derek briefly ran through what he’d planned to get done today.

Which really was nothing he couldn’t put off, because he spent his days as an independently-wealthy 20-something reading books and staring at a blank laptop screen trying to write literally anything that someone might want to read. Sometimes he sat through werewolf council conference calls, which was his duty as the pack Second. Those weren’t really all that more exciting than staring at a blank computer screen, though.

‘Should I bring anything?’ He sent back.

Jordan’s response was: ‘I’m already at Target. What do you know about human illness anyway? :P’ Derek glared at the phone, but Jordan was right. He sat back in his chair, finishing the cup of coffee and climbing to his feet to grab another one from the pot.

Being a werewolf, he knew the coffee was probably just a placebo effect at this point. Both Stiles and Jordan were well aware that waiting until after Derek had his second cup of coffee to interact was the suggested course of action most mornings. It was probably a good thing they didn’t all live together. (Yet.)

Jordan was an early riser, Stiles needed to sleep in, and Derek was a bear (or...a wolf) until he’d had two cups of liquid happiness. It made Derek wonder what their future would look like. Finishing his second cup, he headed to his bedroom with a smile on his face.

It didn’t really matter what his future looked like, as long as he had Jordan and Stiles.

--

Jordan expected Derek to have beaten him to the Stilinski house, with his overprotective werewolf instincts, but he was surprised to find the driveway empty aside from the old blue Jeep. He pulled up behind it and got out, carrying the bag of odds and ends he’d picked up from Target on the way.

The Sheriff hadn’t said what kind of sick Stiles was, so Jordan had no choice but to pick up a variety of things: cough drops, dayquil, pepto bismol, a box of tissues, several cans of chicken noodle soup and three of the big gatorade bottles. Once, Jordan had purchased a movie, and the look of abject horror on Stiles’s face when he realized Jordan had spent actual money on something like that had dissuaded him from making such mistakes again.

(“Where are we supposed to get movies then?” “The internet, Jord.”)

He carried his bag of supplies - double bagged with the weight of the gatorade and cans of soup - up to the front door and tried the handle. He was surprised to find it unlocked but well, he had told Noah he’d be there as soon as he could. That, and, even sick, he knew better than to underestimate Stiles. He may be human, but that didn’t make him helpless.

“Stiles?” Jordan called, realizing as he entered that he actually had no idea how Noah knew Stiles was sick. It was only just now coming up on 8am, which meant that given normal circumstances, Stiles would still be asleep.

The loud sound of a nose being blown upstairs gave Jordan his answer. Whatever kind of sick Stiles was had probably woken him up. “Ub here.” Stiles called, miserably.

Jordan tried not to laugh as he kicked off his shoes and headed up the stairs, pushing open Stiles’s bedroom door. “A little birdy told me you weren’t feeling well.” He said, dropping onto the corner of the bed. “And...forced me into using a sick day?”

Stiles looked awful. He was even paler than usual, moles looking especially dark against the sickly pallor of his skin. His nose was red and irritated, and he kept sniffling every few minutes. He coughed a few times before he spoke too, small, coughs that seemed to more relieve a tickle than actually dislodge something from his lungs. “My dad called you?”

Jordan took off his jacket and tossed it somewhere in the direction of Stiles’s computer chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Your dad decided that you needed company, I guess.” Jordan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips as Stiles, seemingly magnetized, fell forward to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan wrapped his arms around Stiles’s body, stroking one hand along his back. “Did he call Derek?” Stiles asked, somewhat muffled between the stuffy nose and his face pressed into Jordan’s shirt.

“No, he told me I could do that. Even made a joke about Derek already knowing you were sick because of werewolf instincts.” Jordan traced the knobs of Stiles’s spine, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “He’ll be over soon. I think I texted him during his first cup of coffee.” That reminded him. “Did you wake up sick?”

Stiles nodded, halfheartedly, still not lifting his head. “I started coughing in the middle of the night. Woke dad ub.”

Stiles leaned away after he finished speaking, as if saying the word ‘cough’ had manifested the very action itself, tucking his face into the corner of his elbow and letting out a string of bark-like noises that Jordan was now sure didn’t seem productive in the slightest. Sometime in the middle of it, there were footsteps on the stairs, and Jordan glanced back over his shoulder to smile at Derek, whose face was pinched in concern.

“Oh hey–” “–Der, nice of you–” “–to join us.” Stiles managed between coughs, eventually flopping back onto the bed with one of his arms thrown over his eyes. “Fuck.”

Derek had similarly divested himself of his jacket, and he squeezed Jordan on the shoulder briefly as he made his way over to the other side of the bed. Jordan glanced up and smiled, Derek leaning in for a brief, comfortable kiss.

Sometimes, it still mystified Jordan that he was here. He watched Derek sit down on the opposite side of Stiles’s bed, lean over and rest his ear against Stiles’s chest. Jordan felt his smile widen, watching the careful way Derek rested his other arm along Stiles’s, twining their fingers together as he listened.

After a minute, he sat up. “Just wheezy. I think you’ll live.”

Jordan had to bite back a laugh at the malice in the glance Stiles gave Derek when he lifted his arm. “Okay you two.” Jordan nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own. “Be nice, he’s sick.”

“You’re no fun,” Derek teased, but his smile was bright.

Even Stiles’s face had shifted into a smile, and Jordan felt one of his hands – warmer than Stiles usually ran – slid into his own. “I’m glad you’re here.” Stiles said, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m gonna go back to sleep though, It’s still so fucking early.”

Jordan lifted Stiles’s hand to his own lips to press a kiss into it. “I brought medicine. You should take something and then you can nap.” He stood up, wandering to where he’d dropped the bag. He rifled through it to find the dayquil and the cough suppressant, tossing one of the Gatorade’s over his shoulder with the full confidence that his werewolf boyfriend would catch it.

He turned around to see Derek crack the gatorade and pass it off to Stiles, who drank from it while Jordan fought with the packaging on the medicine.

And fought.

And fought.

The damn blister packs were supposed to be childproof not hellhound proof.

Derek was snickering into Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles petting Derek’s hair and biting his lip to hold in his own chuckling. Jordan finally tossed the pack at Derek. “Here, you open it then.”

Derek, ever the show off, flicked out a claw and sliced into the packaging – and directly into the liquid capsule, watching orange-red liquid slide down his finger, sending Jordan into a laughing fit and Stiles into yet another coughing fit.

Several minutes later, Derek’s hands were clean, Stiles had been adequately medicated, and they were all snuggled down into Stiles’s bed for what Jordan suspected would be the first of several naps today. Stiles was on his side, his back pressed along the length of Derek’s chest. Jordan faced Stiles, one if his arms tucked over both of his boyfriends, and his forehead pressed against the sleepy humans.

“Love you.” Stiles murmured quietly. Derek whispered it against the back of Stiles’s neck and reached over to squeeze Jordan’s side. Jordan grinned, more thankful than he could have predicted for the day off.

“Love you both.”

[werezmastarbucks]

Whitmore Guy comes clean

Whitmore Guy masterlist

word count: 4158

music: why are you here by mgk, halfway dead by steve aoki, global dan and travis barker

“I’m here”, he said after a pause. By this time she was already sat in her bed, in a defensive position, with her knees firmly in the mattress.

“Mal!”

He didn’t let her finish.

“Would you have preferred me to stay invisible, would that make you feel more comfortable?” he asked reasonably, reading her mind. “You know I’ve been here. Because I told you”.

“Bonnie did”, she yelled, “Bonnie did! What are you, Mal?”

Mal stepped out of the darkness without making noise, and it hit her finally. Finally. He’s not human. There’s no way in hell he’s mortal! The way he moves, the way he never looks tired, although he claims to barely ever sleep, the way he just manifests himself at places; she thought of the first time they met, back in the gatherings hall, and how he smelt sweet like chewing candy. And how she thought he might be a trickster. That would suit him well. The eyes were pitch black in the twilight of the room. Y/N didn’t move.

“That’s a bit harsh”, he said coldly. “What am I, really? You think I’m some kind of monster?”

He chuckled and gave his light attitude away.

“How did you get inside my house? You never broke the lock”, she said quietly.

“I picked it. It’s easy. Do you want me to show you?”

She got out of bed puffing. She wasn’t afraid of him, but he creeped her out. If that makes sense? She felt like she could take him out, no matter what, and not because she could arguably throw a punch. But because she had certain power over him. Mal has always been nice to her, not in a friendly way, but in a ‘you’re special’ way. As opposed to everybody else. With other people, he was superficial, secretly arrogant and dismissive, but he treated her differently which, unfortunately for him, gave her the advantage. That’s what she thought.

Mal smiled slowly as she approached him, circling the bed. He bit his lower lip, pretending to check her out.

“You never answer any of my questions. You never tell me the truth”.

“I never lie to you, either. You just gotta ask the right questions”.

Mal lifted his hand and looked at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“We have to go. Can you get dressed really quickly?”

She narrowed her eyes. Obviously, something’s up if he showed up in her house. And didn’t ‘stay invisible’. Clearly, she needs to call Damon ASAP and check on them. Her paranoia told her to. Yet, she was standing there, in comfortable darkness, allowing him to listen to her heartbeat, two steps away from him, and her head was filled with the memories of them making out on the couch after the dinner party. Between the dinner party and finding the bodies in the house next door. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted so very badly, but thankfully, she was a thinking creature. Hot take: the desires of the body are not stronger than the council of the brain. Mal wanted that, too. His face was lean, wolf-like in the shadows, and he watched her carefully, badly hidden threat behind his smile. His smile was always only lips-deep, like a sticker he put over his face, like a mask. Every time Y/N touched him, it fell, and she took in his deep, dark color, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

“You think I’m going anywhere with you, you’re severely mistaken”, she said.

“I thought you wanted to know the truth”, Mal said innocently, and tilted his head.

“Truth about what? There’s too many things messed up to know clearly what you mean”.

“What if I tell you they’re all connected? Your gape in the head, and Damon going on a killing spree, and…” he paused, puzzled, “uh… that…” he closed his eyes, ruining the mysterious allure. He was trying to recall a name again. “That dude… Ma… Mutt?”

“Mal, fucking hell”, she threw her hands up, “Matt, his name was Matt, and he was one of my best friends”.

Mal nodded, seeing that she wasn’t joking anymore. Y/N stepped away and went to the window to open the curtains and let some more light into the room.

“Why don’t you jump out of your pj’s and put something on, so that we can go? It won’t be too nice in the town for the next ten hours or so”.

She turned abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

Mal shrugged again.

“I will honestly strike you on the head if you don’t stop talking in riddles”.

Mal licked his lips, and she finally saw, as the street light fell on him, that his jaws were pressed together. His eyes were dark because he was pissed, even though he smiled, even though his voice was close to normal, the usual. There was a time bomb inside his head, and she could all but hear the ticking behind his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t have time to chat you up, okay?” he said, and it sounded like he was a stranger. Y/N’s instincts kicked in, and she grouped standing at the window, like a small animal. As Mal moved towards her, her brain made a crazy attempt to convince her crawling out of the window will be a good idea.

When he grabbed Y/N by the shoulder, she could feel the zip again, that happened occasionally. He always wore synthetic shirts, and she got quite used to it. She never even brought it up, and now suddenly, it was clear as day that she should have. There were no accidents with Mal. This weird itchy feeling when he touched her, meant something and he knew about it, too. She was startled for a second, then she tried to kick out, but his fingers wrapped around her forearm decisively.

“I gave you a chance to change, now you gotta ride all the way to Georgia in your sleeping shirt”.

She didn’t know how he managed to drag her down the stairs, but when she blinked, they were already standing at the driveway. Mal walked towards her car taking her keys out of his pocket.

“Get in, we’re going”.

“What have I gotten into”, she mumbled, approaching the car and opening the door slowly. “You’re too strong for a normal dude, you know that?”

Mal smiled shortly as if she complimented him.

“I’m not a normal dude though, am I?”

He started the car quickly and drove out into the street. Mal usually refused to get behind the wheel if Y/N was willing to drive. He even whined a little about having to drive when she got too drunk to do it. Now, he looked as if he’s been the most experienced driver. The wheel was calm and obedient under his hand, and it felt like betrayal, too. Like she didn’t know him at all. Y/N looked at him, the side of his face, the upturned nose and focused eyes, and thought that it wouldn’t surprise her if his whole personality was a lie, too.

“What’s happening with the town? Are the guys alright?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he frowned childishly, his eyebrows gathering together. “I just don’t want you to be there when it comes down, obviously. The FBI guys have returned, apparently, and they’re determined that Damon has killed everybody… which I fully support”.

“You know damn well he hasn’t killed anybody”, Y/N bumped her fist into his shoulder and he didn’t budge.

“How do you know? You’re so brainwashed by him”, Mal threw.

“That’s far from truth”, she muttered, checking the pockets of her pants. As he was dragging her out of the room, she was still holding her phone in her hand. Millennials, am I right?

“Where’s the damn phone”, she said to herself, frustrated. Mal drove out into the main street and sped up, clearly wanting to get out of the town soon. She put both her hands into her pockets and checked the seat.

“Where’s my phone, Mal?”

“I have it”, he tapped himself on the chest pocket of his jean jacket. Y/N blinked with one eye; it was more like a twitch.

“Give it back”.

She realized he had slipped his hand into her pants while they were walking down the stairs.

“To do what?”

“Give it back, you tricky bastard”, she leaned over and grabbed him by the hand free of the wheel.

“Whoa! Calm down, psycho”, Mal grinned and pushed her back gently. “What do you need it for? It’s the middle of the night, everybody’s asleep”.

“I need to call Elena to make sure she’s alright! Do they even know the FBI… whatever they are, are in town?”

“Of course. I learnt it from them”, Mal said shortly. They were now straight on the highway leading out of Mystic Falls. The town is that small. A couple of streets, weaving inside like spider guts, a park, a square, and that’s it. A little place to live, really. It closes your mind, clogs your imagination. One can easily go crazy here.

“I was at the Craze, then the blonde slow vamp, Carrie, runs in, and her eyes are like, this big, and she says the tol and the smol are back. And I’m like, so what? And she’s like, they’re onto Dean! And I’m like, good for them, you know? Carrie is all flustered. But he’s our friend, and he didn’t kill anybody… while he totally did”, Mal shrugged. Y/N closed her eyes, irritated at his intentional name mess. He has established his dominance enough times already. There’s no need to purposefully diminish them every time, to remind her he doesn’t feel too psyched about the gang.

“And I was all, hm, there might be confrontation, so how about I take you away, yeah? It’s their own problems, let them deal with the feds themselves”, his face lit up a little, “they’re big vampires now after all”.

“I’m involved in that as well”, Y/N hissed, “you know? One of the vampires, before they all died at Craze, refused to bite me, which is a nonsense for a young vampire”.

“Oh”, he frowned a little, “then it’s all the better to take a break, right?”

She hit the back of the seat hard, looking at the dark ribbon of the road lying ahead. Her bare feet were rubbing against each other. Mal started fidgeting with the audio system and actually had the audacity to take out her phone from his pocket to connect it to the player.

“Unblock it”, he said, and it sounded more like an order. She rolled her eyes and, as he handed the phone to her, tried to grab it away from the guy. His fingers were worse than ironlike clutch of death.

“Hey, don’t be funny. Listen, I don’t mean anything to happen to you, okay? I’m just taking precautions”.

There was the familiar rectangular dark shape which was the sign with the name of the town. As the music hit the car, Mal stretched his neck a little, tilting his head from side to side, and she felt a strong desire to make him open up. She just wanted him to trust her enough to tell all. To not play anymore. It’s not that she’ll run, because there’s something wrong with him. She just needs to know to own him completely. Maybe it was crazy, too early for commitment like that, but her flaring nostrils told her she’s cooked enough.

There were cars on both sides of the road, but she couldn’t make them out properly as her own car sped past them. She turned her head back and caught the glimpse of people starting to gather on the road behind them, as if they had been expecting her car to pass, to close the way. One car moved forward and stopped right in the middle, blocking the way out of Mystic Falls.

She looked at Mal, wishing to hell he glances back, and she got severely disappointed, because when he did, there wasn’t a shred of sympathy for her distress. Her gut feeling got much worse though. It looked like a trick now, less like him acting on impulse. Mal understood it, seemingly. He shrugged off his playfulness and was completely serious now.

“I lied to you once”, he said.

I’m not myself

I’m not myself when you’re around, no

Can’t be helped,

the song chanted. He spoke calmly, his head swaying a little as if his neck was a light balloon string.

“I did steal your chain. I wanted to have a part of you with me at all times. Take it”, he lifted his elbow and opened his chest pocket. “Don’t fucking touch your phone”.

Y/N felt her whole body tense, the freeze so deep her skull got stung for a second, like she all turned into a stone.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll break your arm”, he said.

She kept looking at his absent stare he was radiating onto the road. It’s like he wasn’t watching where he was driving at all, like he was inside somewhere. That’s a powerful stunt, demanding something from a person without even looking at them. She put out her hand out of curiosity and slid her fingers into his pocket. It was warm on the inside, the heat was coming from his body. Very normal human heat. Something stopped her, either the fear of pain, or the fear that this pain will be inflicted by Mal. Her fingers brushed over the lukewarm smooth screen of her phone, and she felt the pricky chain of her necklace. She pulled it out, and looked at it, mesmerized. Mal finally glanced at her.

“Was Martha Hopps ever your girlfriend?” she asked.

“No”, she shook his head, “I wouldn’t do you like that”.

 Y/N looked back again and clutched her necklace in her fist. Her other hand crawled to the handle of the door. Mal was speeding no less than fifty miles on the highway. She pulled the handle and pushed the door with her shoulder, grouping and closing her eyes. The song was filling the interior of her car. It was called ‘halfway dead to me’ and now she thought, right before throwing herself on the road and potentially killing herself, that even the music they listened to together should have communicated some message she’s missed.

It happened very quickly, as the door flew open, and the wind brushed over her violently; the sound of the highway being eaten by the wheels of the car. The dark sky, a starless back dome above; she was almost out, in the air, when his hand grabbed her by her neck and pulled back into the car so hard she collided with Mal and hit her thigh. The door of the car closed by itself with a bash and the music blasted her head like a baseball bat. Y/N closed her eyes, pressing her jaws together to withstand the pain. When it let go, she moved herself in the seat and shook her head.

“You could’ve killed yourself!” he yelled, sincerely frustrated. The car swayed as he returned both hands to the wheel. She has never seen him scared before, and it baffled her. Mal gave her a wide-eyed stare. “What is happening inside your goofy head?!”

“You’re not human!” she cried in return.

“Duh!”

She punched his shoulder once again to see that he doesn’t mind the mild pain. He barely noticed.

“You’re a vampire”.

Mal sniffed with displeasure.

“You only pulled this to test me? What if I hadn’t caught you?!”

“But that’s… that doesn’t make any sense. You walk in the sun and you eat all the time, and… others didn’t smell you”, she was still panting from the jump. Her neck ached from the stiff clutch he performed on her. In fact, Mal grabbed her so hard it felt like he was about to tear her head off completely. She rubbed her throat and the back of her neck with both hands.

“And you entered my house, without an invitation”, she finished. Mal sighed, turning the music down a little. She was still very aware of the songs that were playing. They always listened to this one playlist, which she had no memories of compiling. The title, the combination of the songs, the cover was inexplicable to her. These six months were so frustrating even this screaming oddness felt more like it was meant to be. Now she realized it was the only playlist she ever heard Mal play. And the fact that it was titled ‘douche’…

“That’s because I’ve already been there before”, he said, nonchalantly. He didn’t need to say it, she already knew.

“Malivore is in Georgia, huh”, she said. Diving deep into the seat, she looked on the path they were traveling again. Finally realizing is so liberating it’s hard to describe. For a moment, it felt like the car was completely silent.

The whole attraction thing, Mal knowing ways to get to her, the music, the movies, the manners… the mutual trust which is virtually impossible among people like him… the nights and days she felt lost, when she felt like there was a piece of her brain missing and the gaping hole whistling in the wind. The pink sky reminding her of something it couldn’t utter in human language, and the sucking, sad, tragic tunnel pulsating in her guts – all this meant she was broken over losing somebody at the shore of the sea of oblivion.

 “You know how you had that strange feeling you missed somebody? And thought it was Matt?” he said with disgust. Y/N had no energy to say anything, crashed down by the powerful feeling of loss once again, all coming down at once, like she was pulled away right from her skeleton. She was looking at this stranger sitting next to her, trying to fit him into the frame of the new found truth, and he didn’t match. And that was the part of it.

She finally knew who she’s been crying about those weeks, when she would collapse on the floor of her room suddenly, startled by the outburst, confused by even why the tears are coming. The long nights she spent agonizing, - and she’d never told anyone, not even Elena – over something, crouched under the cover, seized by terror, like something was impaling her – now she knew why. Her chest got hard and narrow, and she put the hand to her throat.

“You’re the guy he threw into the Malivore”, she finally said. Mal nodded. The world was tearing apart; she could see the tear line up above, so clearly. It was fucking crumbling down in pieces. Only Damon – only that bastard could ever think of that. Of throwing someone into oblivion to erase them completely.

She might have whimpered, because Mal slowed the car down, concern on his face, and they stopped in the middle of the road. The night highway was empty and hollow, and when she left the car, almost crawling out, she noticed there were stars after all. Just very far away. Unreachable.

She felt the light movement of air on her cheek that was burning up, like the rest of her body. The road was long, leading away into the dark patch of space where the street lightning failed and gave in. The fields were quiet around them, night fog falling slowly to wrap them in its deadly embrace. The wind cried, get inside! Be safe! But the blue twilight of the forest in the distance felt like a mount of doom approaching. You couldn’t hide from it in the car. She couldn’t figure out now why she was crying. She felt so robbed; she felt like somebody had the audacity to come and tear her heart out, and now, the worst thing, she couldn’t feel anything because it was the heart she lacked. She couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to Mal. A cautious look thrown at him found him on the other side of the hood, watching her carefully. It was as if he was afraid to approach. Maybe he thought she was too delicate, or was actually afraid.

“How…” she tried her voice, and it let her down. Only whisper came out. “How did you get out?”

Mal circled the car slowly, without hurry. There were no more sounds, just the music from the car, and his steps. Mal touched her shoulders and made her focus on him, shooting right into her eyes. He was being very dramatic.

“I crawled back to you. Wouldn’t even be the first time. Remember how I got out of hell?”

In a second only she realized that there’s a smirk crooking his dirty mouth. He enjoyed his little joke.

“Oh, of course you don’t. Sorry”.

Her hands grabbed on Mal’s elbows and she pressed herself into his chest. It’s fucked up how memories are nothing. How not having the essential information makes you lose your head as you try to understand why you trust a person you don’t know so much; why you intuitively know he’ll do no harm to you; how you’re attracted to him. His smell was familiar now, almost vital. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and felt a heavy sigh that left his body. Mal hugged her back, putting his chin on the top of her head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you. I’ll show you everything, I know how. I have so much to tell you… honey”.

All those days, and she cried in vain. And now she knew what she cried for. And that is so unfair her throat is about to burst with rage. Only Damon…

“I’m going to kill him”, she said gravely, all of a sudden. She could hear his heart now, too. Beating like there’s no special vampire force in it. Mal sighed again.

“It was their collective decision”.

She stepped back to look him in the face.

“What?”

“They were all on it”, he repeated. It was hard to hide the joy in his voice, like he was bringing good news. She knew now how to filter it. She knew he can’t control it.

“Even Elena?”

He rolled his eyes a little.

“Even Elena”.

Mal pulled her on the elbow gently as she started crying again.

“I’ll fix everything, I promise. Hey, they’re paying for it right now”.

With a shaking hand, she clutched his, and squeezed it.

“Mal, please… please, don’t…”

His face went hard.

“I don’t get it. Do you want to punish them or not?”

She moaned. She was holding on to his hand because the knees almost gave in. She could literally feel sanity leaving her, from the little hole in her temple. She was going mad.

“Mal…”

“It’s Kai by the way”, he added, harshly. “Kai Parker. Look at me. You know, this is what I never really understood. You’re so clearly upset, and it makes me very happy… I mean, like, not in a way that I like to see you hurt, but… well, you get it. But you still want to protect them? You were never able to make the choice, you know?”

Seeing that she is not able to object, he went on.

“Quite honestly, that’s hurtful. You know, after everything I’ve been through… you know, you have been the only person ever that didn’t hate me outright. You know? I always thought that maybe you will be the first person who chooses me over everybody else. Is that a lot to ask? I don’t know. Is it? Do you know that I spent more time searching and fighting for you since we met than actually being with you?”

“Mal, you’re hurting me”.

“It’s Kai. I am Kai. You call me Kai, because it’s my name”, he snapped, “it’s the only fucking thing I still have left. And you know who’s to blame for it? Your friends. The bunch of…” he sucked the air through his teeth. His hands were doing the opposite of what he was saying, holding her, rubbing her shoulders so that she doesn’t get cold. Maybe he held her too tightly. She yelped a little with pain, and he almost let go. Pressing his forehead close to hers, he whispered,

“This time I have made that choice for you, okay? Clearly, you need my help. I will never leave you, baby, never. You will be with me forever now, okay? Don’t worry. We’re not drifting away anymore, I won’t let it happen ever again”.

She shivered. As they kissed, she wasn’t sure who’s kissing whom. She knew she wanted it, and at the same time, in her mind, the sirens were going off, wailing like the apocalypse was banging on the walls of her consciousness. She was almost sure she knew what was happening in Mystic Falls.

[call-me-merlyn]

I found a list of my favorite things you ever said to me. I cried in a way that I haven’t since I was a small child- broken by my parents’ words, mistakes, and anger. I curled my knees to myself and remembered that I can do hard things. I started to wonder where we went wrong. Because my feelings for you never changed. But then I realized that was never the issue. These words I read now ring as true today as they did over the four years you wrote them. But I want them back. I want you back. I want pragmatism and growth. I want to talk about the hard things and work them through. But I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything because you don’t want to hear it. Because you’re hurt and you want space. So if you stumble upon this blog- the one I told you not to look at all those years ago- I will let a few snippets of your words remind you. Mind you, these are 12 out of about 30.

1. Baby. I want the future with you. It just hit me so hard. I want the visions I have. I want us and I don't see that changing. We are the most beautiful couple I have ever encountered. Not just because we're both convinced the other is drop dead gorgeous, but because I see such magnificent potential in us, together. We are that rare couple that could actually have the dream life that everyone wants and fears is impossible or that they don't deserve it. Health, happiness, adventures, perfect children, successful careers, growth and excitement, cuddles, intellectual stimulation, respect for each other, kisses that leave us breathless, freedom, good friends that we both care about, a lovely home, a dorky dog or five, all the sex we can handle, our families coming together wonderfully, and true fucking love. I want it all with you and I believe that we can have it with all my heart. Ugh I want it and I'm so excited to build towards the future we want. With you. Every damn day, one day at a time.

2. Morning love. To build a home? I'll always like yours more. I'm binging your music this morning. Speaking of songs that make me cry. Night in shining armor? I love that whole analogy. Your words are one of my favorite things about you. I love the music that spills from your lips, whether you're singing or laughing or reading or teasing me. It's all heavenly music to my ears. I'm so proud to be your person, your once and future someone. I love you so much. The dark times have passed baby, you brought the light back into my life.

3. This one's hard to explain. I've never met someone who is such a clean harmony. Your identity, your character, is a beautiful, pure chord. Every interaction I have with you I hear that resonance, and the notes weave together perfectly. That chord resonates with who I am on such a deep level, and I could hear it from the very first moment we interacted. I want to listen to that chord every day, to hear it form your melody, day in and day out. Puzzle out it's layers and listen to you add more. And to play my own song to match yours, to create our own wonderful song in this life.

4. You elicit feeling so well with words, sometimes it makes me feel inadequate

The way you express yourself so effortlessly

Because I've always prided myself on communicating verbally

But it comes pretty effortlessly to me too

Especially when I talk about you

I know I keep coming back to this, I'm sorry

But it resonates so strongly with me

To imagine you as a song, chord, or melody

The way your music weaves with mine

Haunting, ethereal, and divine

You make my eyes and heart shine

With love and affection, at my most painful times

When I can't feel it about myself

You come to my house and put happy memories upon my shelf

I want to show you how much you mean to me

So that you will always see

You are my light

And in the middle of the night

When I roll over and feel your breath

On my neck, I don't fear death

Because a life next to you is a life worth living

The love I have for you is a love worth giving

5. I was watching How I Met Your Mother, and to be honest that show really means a lot to me. I'm not sure why I bonded it with it so hard, it feels kind of silly in retrospect, but I did. In the episode, the main character runs into the girl who left him at the altar for another man, and they talk about true love and who you choose to be with. And the guy has an open moment about his yearning for that special connection that people find so rarely. That spark between people that's so unique and magical when it occurs. The song Careful by Michelle Featherstone plays in the background. I'm sure you've heard it, and it just pulled at my heartstrings. Maybe listen to it as you read this? Bc I am as I write. It makes me think of you. I've said it before, and the words fall flat, but I'm so damn grateful for you. Every piece of you. The fractals, the perfectly formed little moments of unadulterated Merlyn, that come together to form this perfectly cohesive being of fucking light. You know me. And I don't like to admit that I falter, or that I need help from anyone. It goes against what I've been trained to be by my father, my experiences, and my own cynical nature. Before you walked into my life...I wasn't entirely happy. I was missing something. I could feel it. And it made me ache. I went looking for it everywhere, even though I wasn't sure what it would look like when I found it. But I knew how it would feel. And you... you rescued me. From my own damn self. I'm prone to loneliness for a number of reasons. I'm solitary. I like to be independent. I'm proud. I can be harsh and judgmental. I get exhausted by humanity. I can be very sensitive when I'm vulnerable, and I don't like to give more than a handful of people the power to touch my heart. But since you walked into my life? I don't have to look anymore. I have never felt such constantly genuine, gentle, fierce, and unselfish support from anyone. Not from my parents, not from friends, my cousins, my lovers. No one has ever looked at me the way you do. No one has ever been so unyieldingly loving. Every time I have trusted you with more of my heart and my self, you do your absolute best to make me feel valued and loved. No matter how that best manifested, I have always felt your effort. You are always careful with my heart. I used to carry around this utter, soul crushing feeling that I missed someone. Someone vital. But there was no one to miss. And I didn't know where to direct that desire for connection. I got lonely because I wanted someones company...that I didn't know. But since I met you, I haven't felt that even once. I have only rarely felt lonely, and even in those moments, it was because I fucking missed YOU. Your laugh, your touch, our connection. And that's such a revelation to me. To know the face of the person I feel I've been missing all this time. It's been you. I love you, Merlyn. You are an unparalleled treasure to me.

6. God damn it Merlyn, I have so much love for you. I'm so lucky to have you, the thought of losing you is a nightmare. I want late night quesadillas and then to push each other to eat right. I want to scoff at each other's baby names until we get to ones we both love. I want to be your shoulder to lean on, cry on, or try to dislocate with a kimura. I want yours to be the same for me (maybe without the kimura bit?) I want to sing duets with you and write stories on lazy Sunday afternoons. I want to make you grin and I want to make you bite your lip. I want to hear your breathing every night when I go to sleep. I want to put Tristan on my shoulders, have a debate with Chris, try to get your cat to like me. I want you to cuddle into me and let me hold you at night even when I get hot because you're the most precious fucking thing in the world to me. I want you to train with my dad and shop with my mom. I want to get drinks with your mom and laugh at your dad's dirty jokes. I want to travel with you, go jet skiing on tropical islands and throw snowballs at each other in the mountains. I want to walk around crowded cities with you until I get too anxious but you tell me to chill out and stop being such a baby about it. I want to hear my daughter call you mother. I want to see you spin like you did when I first walked you home. Nothing brings me more joy than the thought of sharing the little moments, the big moments, and everything in between with you. Nothing is worth jeopardizing that future for me. I love you with all that I am. Count on it.

7. I just read all your words top to bottom and they hit me hard. I've been looking at them as bits and pieces. One day, one note at a time, not a tapestry. All together in one sitting, I can just feel where your heart was, and maybe still is. I hope it still is in some ways, because I've never been loved like how you love me. Not with such admiration or surety. I've never been wanted the way you want me. It makes me feel simultaneously unworthy and determined to live up to your love. It breaks me to feel the pain in your pen strokes. I want to wrap you up in my arms and fend away anything that would ever make you cry. I hate myself sometimes for making you cry. It breaks me every time, a corruption of my purpose. Every time, to read the simple words "today was hard..." It rips me apart. I love, live to see you smile. To laugh with you. To make music with you, whatever the form. I'm sorry for all the pain I've ever caused you, my darling. It's never my intention. You are my most precious gift, and words fall short of expressing the breadth and complexity of my feelings for you. They boil down to what you've written over and over again though: I want this life with you. I want all the complications, all the routine days, all the late night phone calls, and the adventures. I want to walk around knowing we have the same last name. I want you. Endlessly I want you. I wish I could pull a fragment of that feeling out of my chest and give it to you just so that you'd understand. God I miss you. I love you. You are my partner, and I hope that stays true for the rest of our lives. I can't say it enough. You are everything to me. I want you to express every part of you, never stop, because I love them all. Every mellifluous note in your melodies, every word of poetry in your fascinating mind, every fierce moment on the mat, every tear that falls in your fragile, vulnerable moments. I want to be there. To give you love and to be the best partner I can be. For you. God I can never say enough

8. Kay I'm heading to bed so gonna write this out. It's difficult. Love defies definition by its very nature. Which is a paradoxical statement right out the gate but whatever. I started writing my response in a philosophical approach but it didn't feel right. There's no need to ramble about Forms or essence or any of that philosophy mumbo jumbo. All that matters is how you opened my eyes. I used to think that love was about passion above and to the detriment of everything else. I used to think that love and pain were joined at the hip, inseparable. I used to fear that love was a curse, a burden, a surrender. I used to think that to fall for someone was a trap, and that you were taking a terrible gamble by giving someone the power to destroy you. I used to think that relationships were ropes and that love was a noose. I used to think that love was jealous, demanding, forceful, combative. I used to think that love was sporadic and messy. I used to think that there was no true, sustainable happiness to be found. You've turned it all around. Hell, you've upended the board and thrown away the rulebook. You've shown me that love is a balance of passion and choice, that they should play off each other build each other up. One is useless without the other. Passion will burn you out, but so too can you drown going through the motions. I've been through both. You're the only one that has struck the balance with me. You've shown me that the only necessary pains from love are the growing pains. I've been given and dealt horrible wounds, been through wars. Our relationship is the only one in which both parties can put their weapons down. You've shown me that love is a tank of oxygen when you're drowning, a shoulder to lean on, an investment. Trusting you with my heart has liberated and empowered me. I believe that trusting me with yours has done the same for you. We use that understanding of each other to lend strength, to give joy, to protect. You've shown me that relationships are lanterns and that love is the sun. You lit up my world. You've shown me that love is generous, thoughtful, gentle, supportive. You've shown me that it's steady and pure. You've shown me that happily ever after isn't just in storybooks. It's attainable. We have an obligation to chase it. We've been given a gift. And I will be grateful for it for the rest of my life. I will cherish it. I will cherish you. You've given me everything. You are my true love. Goodnight I hope you sleep well

9. Darling, gorge yourself on my love

I pray to God that it’s enough

To fill you up and keep us above

The water line of that rising slough

Darling, gorge yourself on my heart

I pray to God it’s what you need

Ignore the pain in the darker part

Come home again to me to feed

Darling, gorge yourself on my mind

I pray to God it’s what you want

Those angry echoes you may find

Don’t let them drive you from this haunt

Darling gorge yourself on me

I pray to God I’m what you crave

I know I’m flawed but I can be

The one who saves you, the one you save

Oh darling, I’ll gorge myself on you

On your mind and body, heart and soul

So darling, gorge yourself on me too

To keep us human, keep us whole

10. I want us to be tethered by the sea, to back each other to the hilt, to paint the walls red with love, to get lost in the light. Baby I promise I will take true care of you, tell you that some things last, and know you better than your piano. Because you found me. You came out of nowhere, you made me fall in love with a single touch, and this ain't a haunted house no more. I can't take my mind off of you. Only you can help me to forget the terror that comes and goes in waves. You keep me warm, and I know that all will be well and we'll be just fine. So don't give up love. Three more months, flyin your way home to me. We'll be inches apart and even closer at heart. So send me your location, cause I'm jealous of the wind that ripples through your clothes. Put your eyes on me, and I know a place that we can get away. Say you won't let go, tell me it's real, and let's go somewhere only we know. We won't need to take our clothes off to have a good time, but I'll get the lights and you lock the door, cuz we won't leave that room til we both feel more. Cause I see it all without the lights. No one will ever see you the way my eyes do. You are something to behold. Elegant and bold, you are unforgettable. You are the fire and the flood. Last night I woke the fuck up, realized I never wanted anything so much as to drown in your love. If you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts could tell. I feel life for the very first time: love in my arms and the sun in my eyes. Ohh I fall apart, and I can't help falling in love with you. I still can't believe that I found love where it wasn't supposed to be. Right in front of me. At (college). I made a fumbling play for your heart, and the act struck a spark. I want to be with you for the rest of my life and beyond. No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to you and go straight into your arms. I'm in love with all that you are.

11. You always wonder about the future. What makes you different from the others. There are infinite answers, but some of the biggest ones are that..you make me understand and feel things that people always say but never mean. Until you, I've never truly wanted all of someone. And I mean it when I say I want ALL of you. I am in love with every inch of you, every word that comes out of your mouth, every little habit, every quirk. I have wanted every piece of you in every moment that I've known you without fail. I have never adored anyone or anything so much. You are perfection to me. In the truest sense of the word baby. You make the cliches make sense. You make them feel not cliche. It's incredible. You make sense in my bones. I am so in love with you. I can picture nothing more glorious than a life with you. That's how I know you're the one. Because it's obvious. And when it's right, it should just he obvious. Easiest choice in the world.

12 Goodnight ____. I hope you sleep well. I really enjoyed hanging out and listening to you play tonight. I know you were half joking about how I should be paying you compliments, but your music abilities really are such a gift. It always makes me happy when you use them. You get this energy about you that’s so wonderful to see. I’m listening to your soundcloud stuff again now. Been a while since I’ve done that, haven’t had access to the account for a bit. I wish you had more of your stuff on here. It’s all so lovely. It always makes me think about us. You don’t seem to care for it much, but especially To My Future Someone. I hope I live up to all you dreamt I’d be when you wrote those words. I hope to the gods I’m the one you sang about. Because you are everything I ever wanted in a true love, and more. Things that I didn’t even know I needed. You’ve made me a kinder, much more grateful man. And a happier soul. You deserve the best in this world, and I’ll always do my utmost to be him. I’m so in love with you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, my light. Sweet dreams.

When did the thought of losing me stop being a nightmare? Because the hurt was never more than this. Never more than this love. You said in another snippet that you’d do anything to be the person I built a home with; you’d do your best to be the my person and to never hurt me. But you don’t want to be with me. And you chose your nightmare over your dreams. And I still choose you. I still chose you every second of every fucking day. It was my nightmare too and I’m living it.

But, I’m changing. I’m harder now. The tears don’t fall quite as easily as they used to. And at least I know who I am now. I am a warrior. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am new. Don’t think 8 weeks can change someone?? Come see me again. I’ll show you exactly who I’m not anymore. The only thing that hasn’t changed is my love for you.

And if you want to lose these words and this love, so be it. I won’t fight you. I won’t fear you or that anymore. I don’t want to be the only one fighting. I can’t. And I won’t be afraid of my worst nightmares because they have come true and even though I pray I won’t lose you, nothing in this life is certain. If you don’t want to fight, I will be someone else’s light someday. And I will shine unashamed; unabashed; strong and sure. I will bring beautiful children, music, and love into the world. But until then, I’ll be my own light, and set my darkness aflame every morning, just as I have since the day you left. After all, there’s not much darkness left anymore.

[velvetv0nblack]

An open letter;

(Possible trigger warning)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, maybe because this theme of abuse has be something I’ve been experiencing as a third party, the person removing the victim this time, you know the role many of my friends filled within our tumultuous relationship... maybe it’s because my friends abuser is now threatening and harassing me for helpingher leave... maybe it’s because I’ve finally found my therapeutic dosage of lithium, am in a clear mind and are therefore able to reflect properly for the first time in my life... or maybe it’s because this is not an apology, I mean maybe it is if you had only been a serial cheat, but the truth is you fractured my skull and cut me open with a knife, so this is not a fucking apology. Also I’d rather rip my own eyes out of my skull, smash them with a hammer, and then inject the liquid into my ass than actually engage you in any kind of conversation, so knowing that this is the one platform you can still check for me on, I’m going to post this here... Its about time I had my say without putting myself in physical danger.

You would think I wouldn’t have an essay to correct your 3 lines of a nothing apology, but here we are I guess.

This kind of self deprecating “I wasn’t good enough for you” narrative is truly infuriating, and not because you were actually good enough for me but because of the very reasons you proved yourself not be “not good enough”. You weren’t undeserving of me because you didn’t work, I am physically incapable of doing so myself and I didn’t fall in love with you because you came across mad motivated. You weren’t undeserving of me because you took drugs, drank like a fish or smoked like a chimney, we were both purposefully killing our selves in the same way. You weren’t undeserving of me at all, until you fucked my best friend in the bathroom and collectively gaslit me into wondering if I was imagining the whole thing, and slowly but systematically broke down my confidence and support network away from me. I want this to be very clear; the reason you do not deserve me or any other decent human being is because, you are an abuser, you abuse people.

I was barely a whole person when I met you. I was barely an adult. I had lived through so much already, and had been abused in every area of my existence. I was easy pickings to you. The issue was you were not a pawn to me, a player in any game, or any of that. To me you were this fascinating, beautiful soul, to me you were someone who needed my love who needed someone to support you and I couldn’t believe that you chose me to fill that role. I was freshly 18 that month, and I had just had a flat mate steal £3k and kill my kitten.

I weighed all of 63lbs that night you lost the plot on me because I didn’t want to go to Big Red to watch that actual cunt of a waitress smile at me as she gave you lap dances, it’s not even a dance joint it was a fucking bar. You allowed other people to emotionally abuse me with you for months up until this point and I just didn’t want to go, all I wanted was the keys and I would of gone home alone and gone to bed. Why you feel the need to publicly humiliate me again instead of just leaving it? You couldn’t just go be adulterous without me watching and hurting, so you followed me home, screaming at me the whole time. You told me I was pathetic, you hated me, I should just kill myself- on a bus on a Saturday night, from the bar I worked in, in soho, back to our place near Caledonian Road. I was so unstable anyway, undiagnosed autism, misdiagnosed mental health issues, on the wrong if any medication, deep within the throws of an addiction and eating disorder... you. I couldn’t take you verbally ripping my heart out anymore when I decided that throwing myself from our 3rd story window would hurt less. The fact I could of died isn’t what made you grab me and stop me jumping, no in fact you told me you don’t care if I kill my self as long as it’s not in the flat, you were much more concerned with the amount of drugs in the flat and the prison opposite our window. At that point you threw me full pelt across the other side of the room, all 63lbs of me flew through the air like a paper aeroplane and smashed directly into your guitar. You know your beloved custom Les Paul? The headstock came off, and at that very moment despite the fact you were the one who threw me, my life was the one in danger. You started strangling me and threatening to have men come down to London to gang rape my then 14 year old sister. It gets a little fuzzy, that’s what your brain does when you experience potentially life ending trauma. I do know I ended up with stitches in my lips and hands, that you fractured my right eye socket- that I still suffer issues with to this day- and had black bruising covering my entire body like a bus had hit me.

For a couple of years there my brain completely blocked out important details of that night, and a lot of our relationship. Don’t worry though periodically I have the real type of flashback where I relive these events and I come back to reality remembering more than I ever wanted to. I’m yet to even touch on the fact that whilst I may of been able to escape you in waking life, my dreams are perpetually stuck in this horrific PTSD dream land, a town that is a mash up of all the places I’ve been traumatised in my life, the place you eternally reside inside my head to traumatise me whilst I desperately need to rest. You haven’t really left my life despite the efforts I have made to avoid you (I think I’ve seen you once, from a distance once at Download 2 years ago, my heart fell out my ass, and I dragged Camilla in another direction) I have only 2 dreams in 6 years that haven’t included you chasing me down to finish what you started and kill me or keep me captive. But that’s what trauma does, and oh how you traumatised me.

I really loved you though, that’s why I stayed, and those couple times I tried to leave before I came back. I loved you so unconditionally that it took me realising that everyone else around us was so complicit that they’d help you hide by body. To this very day I cannot believe a man, a male roommate, walked in on you pinning me into a sofa by my neck, with both your planted knees on top of my chest, full weight suffocating me, biting the end of my nose until it was blackened and he had the audacity me I needed to calm down. I have to label the guy the world biggest pussy in my head so I don’t get wound up about it.

I wasn’t perfect, I can never be perfect, I have more imperfections than most. I am severely mentally and physically unwell- I sure as hell am a pain in the ass to love- however I cannot actually think of a damn thing I did to deserve constant unending emotional abuse, threatens and follow through of physical abuse and then after I left stalking and harassment. I am difficult but I am not deserving of abuse and that’s all you gave me in the end... unless of course you “needed your baby girl to suck your dick” - that was the only time you were ever nice to me, and I know because I recently read back a bunch of our texts and you flipped between “I hate you, I’m gonna kill you/kill your self” to “I need my beautiful girl to come and suck my dick I love you so much” is actually fucking insane. - Should I bring up the fact you would bang pathetic girls on the scene and then dicknotise them into stalking and harassing me with you? Because... what I had the audacity to leave a man, of over 6ft tall, who would become violent to my 5ft 63lbs self?

So yeah, you didn’t deserve me, but not because of any self deprecating attention seeking reason but because you’re a sociopath, who seems to take pleasure in fucking with vulnerable women.

Am I happy? Now that’s a fucking difficult one to answer.

I ended up homeless on and off for a year. Despite the homelessness I had suffered before this was worse because of the place I was in mentally.

You caused me to develop complex PTSD.

You caused me to have a 3 year long psychotic break.

You caused me to live in secure supported housing, where I was prayed upon by other residents.

You caused me to fall victim to abuse within the system

Not sure if you know this but our mental health services sucks ass, after leaving you I had a delightful therapist that would text me telling to kill my self and would tell me you were right to abuse me.

But I got one thing from our relationship, I fine tuned my “four Fs” ...I no longer freeze or fight in the face of difficulty... I developed an ability to fawn.

Dead ends are no longer in my eyeline, I will metaphorically straight on walk through someone else’s house to get where I need to be, I will jump the fence, break the locks and out run any guard dog. I may fall down but I’m never out.

When I was diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses and essentially lived in hospital for 3 years, even when I thought to end my life it was weighed out by the thought of “how do I get to a place we’re I can do even 5% of what I want? What do I have to change, manifest?”.

You see if you could only temporarily break me but not stop me then why the hell would I let my own mind and body do that? That ability to fawn came with an ability to find a middle path, to be diplomatic. That ability to fawn gave me the patience to understand medical text and use that to access the right care. ~ I am actually thinking of starting a medical degree just to prove I can ~ I am now 98lbs and healthy for my size and stature, I now have a home with a housing association who like me so much they have me a lifetime partner agreement, meaning I will never be homeless again. I have been clean 7 whole goddamn years and 2 months. I have the most beautiful empathic cat, 2 foster dogs and an incredibly patient partner, who has known me before you had ever entered my life. I am as healthy as someone in my position can be, I still struggle with the anorexic thoughts but I eat everyday of the fucking week now.

I am not “happy” as happy is an emotion and emotions are fleeting but I am content in living for the simple life I have fought ever so hard for. I am strong, and determined and constantly fucking working on making more for myself. I’m proud of myself.

All I have to say is get therapy. If you’re really sorry work on yourself enough to be able to apologise properly before you fuck my day up by rising your head again for this weakness. I can’t say I don’t have morbid curiosity, because that’s me all over, however I’m much more determined to keep all that I have work for mentally, emotionally, and physically safe. For that reason I would never in my right medicated mind talk it out with you, email you back or seek you out. I’m sorry, it is what it is.

You can not damage someone irreparably both mentally and physically and think “I’m sorry for being a cunt” even close to cuts it. You are mentally unbalanced, in a way not even I can relate to.

[mmmmalo]

This is a (meandering, non-exhaustive) overview of Homestuck’s use of

by which I do not mean examples of psychological realism in a character’s words and deeds, but rather the various means by which characters’ psyches are expressed outside of themselves. I wish to elaborate on how thoughts, feelings, and desires may find expression in the environment, in the medium of the story itself, and in the form of other characters.

That’s perhaps a little vague, so here’s a ready example of what I mean: brainghost!Dirk. He talks with Jake, but since he is a construct of Jake’s mind, Jake is essentially talking to himself. Brainghost!Dirk is an alienated medium for voicing Jake’s own thoughts, irretrievably distorted through its intermingling with what Jake thinks/wishes Dirk would say (not unlike a puppet). I am claiming that this mode of characterization is not a unique to Jake; the blurring of inner and outer voices is omnipresent throughout the story.

Or, rephrased: what I hope to show is that a great deal of Homestuck is haunted with brain-ghosts, of one kind or other.

An early example of this kind of storytelling in science fiction would be the film Forbidden Planet (1956). The film contains a pair of conflicts which eventually reveal themselves to be one: the scientist Morbius wants some space explorers to get off his planet, and an immense monster (pictured above) appears during the night to attack the explorers. Morbius, it turns out, has been experimenting with a machine capable of turning thought into reality. So when Morbius sleeps, his dream of driving off the trespassers materializes in the form of beast that forcefully enacts the wish.

The beast is declared a “monster from the id”, the “id” being a concept borrowed from Freudian psychology, indicating the part of the mind responsible for the unfiltered generation of impulses, of urges. In the film, this passing mention of psychoanalysis precedes the revelation of Morbius’s link to the beast.

Homestuck hints towards its own mixing of thought and reality with a device similar to Morbius’s dream machine: Sburb.

A snapshot of Dave’s Sburb client (1519) shows that the final subprograms launched during the games installation make reference to terminology associated with Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud. The terms suggest that Sburb interacts with the ideas in the kids’ subconscious minds (archetypes) and brings symbolic representations of these ideas into conscious reality (manifests the ideas). The game alters the means by which reality is constructed. As with Forbidden Planet, a major result of this is id monsters.

When John slips on a staircase, he flips out (left, 560). And when he nearly launches himself into the abyss with the Pogo Hammer, he has to take a nap before he has calmed down enough to continue (center, 637). Immediately following both moments of vertigo, massive ogres appear. The eventual fight with the ogres begins after John looks over the edge of the platform above his house, into the abyss (right, 662).

All of this suggests that Sburb is reacting to John’s emotional state (fear) to produce in-game content. The game functions as a waking dream.

It should also be noted that Sburb provokes the reactions it elicits. Karkat once mentioned a nagging feeling that the game was mocking him by giving him a planet covered in the candy red blood he had spent a lifetime attempting to hide (2301). Karkat’s paranoia seems to be correct here, and moreover applicable to the cast in general -- John’s house was likely placed atop an immense spire /in order to/ bring John’s dread of falling into sharp relief. The suspicion can be substantiated with a few related motifs.

The story provides two likely origins for John’s fear of heights: his own fall from the slime pogo as a child (2626) and the death of Nanna, which John believed resulted from her falling from a ladder and being crushed by a book (52). What’s more, Sburb’s invocation of the Fall of Man (Adam and Eve being cast from the Garden of Eden) via biting into an apple hints that there is an allegorical significance to John’s more literal fear of heights. 

We can apply these patterns to other characters in an attempt to learn more about them. LOLAR being covered in ocean suggests that Rose is afraid of water, with the likely cause of Rose finding Jaspers dead and washed up on a riverbank (presumed drowned). Dave speaks openly about how his sword fights with Bro left him anxious of metal sounds (7749), meaning the grinding gears of LOHAC were a personalized hell for Dave. Jade’s first imp manifests in response to the sight of a yellow aurora (2998), inviting the reader to investigate why that image invokes a fear response.

But we won’t get to into all of that, not for now at least. Let’s take a step back.

For my reading of the imps as manifestations I’ve been leaning heavily on a piece of film theory devoted to the effects of sequential images. The sequence above constitutes two observations. One, that by this arrangement the viewer will infer the old man sees and reacts to the middle figure. Two, that the viewer’s impression of the old man will change based on the content of the central image, even if his expression is the same. Is he smiling at Nepeta or warm embrace Marvus’s armpit? The answer may influence your interpretation of the little smile.

The neat thing about montage is that the interrupting frame need not bear any obvious relation to what precedes or follows in order to be subject to a causal reading. Moments that occur sequentially can be read as triggering one another, even if what follows any particular moment appears to be a break rather than a continuation.

Example: There’s a moment where Aranea walks into Jake’s dream, and brainghost!Dirk immediately starts razzing Jake about his attraction to the alien girl and threatening to give him a boner. The scene is interrupted by Jack committing a series of gratuitous murders. We then cut back to Jake, and bg!Dirk is now teasing him about his dirty thoughts.

DIRK: You have got to be kidding. Did you seriously just think something THAT dirty? DIRK: You must be doing this on purpose to spite me now. I mean, just wow dude. That was x-rated as fuck. 

JAKE: (No no stop. See youre talking about it and now i cant help it!) JAKE: (You are psyching me into having dirty thoughts get fucking lost you interloping brain douche!!!) 

DIRK: Don't worry, I'm gone. It's like a goddamn peep show in here and I feel like a sleazy piece of shit watching this from a dark corner of your mind. DIRK: You have a graphic imagination, English. I'm kind of impressed. 

JAKE: (Shut up theyre just thoughts its not even like im trying to have them THEY DONT MEAN ANYTHING!)

The ostensible joke is that bg!Dirk is exaggerating or outright fabricating his account of Jake’s thoughts in order to hassle him. But by way of montage, one can infer that we /have/ seen Jake’s dirty thoughts, in the form of Jack’s display of overwhelming bloodlust. Violence is superimposed over the sexually explicit. 

Whether the scene literally takes place in Jake’s mind is secondary (though such a reading would explain why Jake’s brain ghost is even aware of Jack) -- the use of montage allows Jack’s actions to function as a /metaphor/ for Jake’s thought.

Another example of Jack functioning as a murderous/libidinous avatar would be the death of Mom and Dad. At their little tea party, Dad spills some wine on Mom’s clothes and declares that she must disrobe immediately (so that Dad might launder the garment). Mom calls the aromas wafting from his pipe sensuous. The two clasp hands and declare that all they need is eachother. Then they die! The joke is that while Bec Noir is ostensibly an interruption to date night, he also functions as its culmination, with murder acting as substitute for the sex act.

The link between violence and sexuality is perhaps a hard sell, but I hope to convince you that the reading holds merit. Let me emphasize that the very act of Mom and Dad holding hands was itself sexually loaded.

I owe to HS liveblogger elfstuck the insight that John’s linear 3 card sylladex is a reflection of his short attention span. Consider how John’s role as a game character means he is thrown all around his room, back and forth, as the player figures out what to make of the situation. If you ignore the fourth wall, you’re left with an extremely distracted person, who attention flows easily from one object to another. Accepting the object-in, object-out nature of John’s sylladex and the resulting shenanigans as a metaphor for this, it would follow that the sylladex in general can offer an abstract representation of thought.

In passing, I can mention how the enormity of Jake’s sylladex (it cannot even fit on the page, and contains an object that exceed most players’ size limits) would imply that despite evidence to the contrary, the boy likely has a big brain (and perhaps its being offscreen suggests Jakes own unawareness of much of his own thought). Dirk’s comment about avoiding items that are difficult to shoehorn into his mnemonic schema (4535) could be read as a difficulty maintaining information that doesn’t fit into his personal mental models. The sylladex becomes a metaphor for the mind that requires interpretation.

Under this mode of thought, the moments when Jade’s pictionary modus fails to correctly interpret her drawing become akin to a mental slip-of-the-tongue. For the Tanglebuddies to be misread as enmeshed hands implies an association, in Jade’s mind, of horny Squiddles and clasped hands. John affirms the association much later by miming Tanglebuddies as he attempts to grapple with the question of whether Jade and Davesprite are sexually compatible (5294):

JOHN: how do things even work if you marry a sprite?

JADE: what do you mean 

JOHN: i mean... JOHN: ok, he has a ghost butt, for one thing. 

JADE: uh JADE: so 

JOHN: a GHOST BUTT, jade! 

JADE: SO WHAT IF HE HAS A GHOST BUTT!!!!! 

JOHN: i'm just saying... 

JADE: WHATEVER YOURE JUST SAYING, JUST STOP SAYING IT! JADE: and whatever youre trying to gesture with your hands there, stop doing that too!

It should also be noted that before launching into her “daring dream”, waxing poetic on the miraculous union of the human and the animal with her hands clasped in wonder, Jade successfully captchalogued the Tanglebuddies (796). And more to the point, Jade’s pose in reproduced during discussions of cherub (5961) and leprechaun (6007) reproduction. Hand-holding becomes representative of an (oft-sexualized) union, underlining the euphemistic nature of Mom and Dad’s post-contact demise.

The next example of using montage to communicate thought requires a little more buildup.

There’s a gag in Rose’s introduction where the reader tells Rose to play with her writing journals, and scoots the journals under the bed and retorts that she would only do that if no one were watching (220). At first glance, the moment scans as a minor meta joke in a story filled with meta jokes -- but the trick is that Rose does not /know/ herself to be a video game character, her every movement controlled and observed. Rather, she /believes/ this to be true -- the joke about being watched establishes that Rose is paranoid, as will become apparent in the hostility she assigns to Mom’s every action.

The command prompt and narration are themselves brain ghosts of a sort: the voice deployed in them is always linked to the present point-of-view character. The insults that precede character introductions ( “Zoosmell Pooplord”, etc) become marks of anxiety, an intrusive proclamation of what the kids at times think of themselves (and/or what they think others think of them). “Nice time management skills, sweetheart!” becomes a bit of self-deprecation Rose as she procrastinates, which Rose experiences as having been voiced by some objective observer who judges her deficiencies.

A blurred line divides characters from the voice at the back of their head, belonging to the (presumed) omniscient, omnipotent author-god. This is why avatar!Hussie is dressed as Calliope when he is killed by Lord English. Both Calliope and Hussie are a voice in Caliborn’s head, and thus both present apparent obstacles to an unmediated self.

The left panel (3219) foreshadows the right (3358). Gamzee is not being declared the objectively most important character in Homestuck. Rather, Gamzee is declaring himself /to have been declared/ the most important character in the story. The line establishes that Gamzee believes himself to be in a story (with an author!) and that this author has declared him paramount. Furthermore, “fondly regarding creation” is an modus operandi of Problem Sleuth’s Godhead Pickle Inspector. Applying that turn of phrase to Gamzee’s actions further establishes that Gamzee believes himself to /be/ the god-author declaring his own importance. So it should come as no surprise that 137 pages later, Gamzee outright proclaims himself to be the god(s) he worships.

Going back to montage, it becomes interesting that this snapshot of Gamzee’s megalomania is inter-cut with the creation of Jadesprite -- the moment that dead!dream!Jade merges with Bec, forming a unity with a deity not unlike the unity Gamzee claims with his mirthful messiahs. The interweaving would suggest that Jade and/or Jadesprite experienced analogous thoughts of megalomania upon the moment of ascension.

This would be a good point to mention that not only imps and ogres, but trolls also function as manifestations for the people they impose upon. Karkat is not only an interruption here, but also a continuation. He points out that Jade’s self-loathing, that she cannot safely distance herself from the qualities of Jadesprite she finds distasteful. This is precisely why Karkat ends the conversation by telling Jade to turn off the fourth wall (which divides the self!), as well as the reason he imagines Jade making out with herself: Karkat is on every front presenting the prospect of union with oneself.

The notion of trolls as manifestations first emerges clearly when Rose and Dave receive their packages from John. As they finish reading John’s letter, each is suddenly contacted by a troll and greeted with the command “Answer.” Critically, by word alone it is ambiguous as to whether the command refers to answering the troll or the letter. And as it turns out, these answer occur simultaneously: Rose and Dave’s responses to the letters are embedded in the subsequent conversations. 

Rose receives a letter poking fun at her pretensions, claiming that her attempts to hide her affections for people are futile. In response we get Kanaya, who imperiously proclaims her disdain for Rose, only to suddenly change tact and explicitly seek Rose’s friendship, an entreaty which the oft paranoid Rose accepts. Dave receives a letter imploring him to let go of his insecurities and express himself. In response we get Tavros, the very picture of insecurity, who is fixated on the idea of making Dave shit himself (as part of an ‘emotional constipation’ motif that follows Dave). And Dave complies, in a sense, by way of the quasi-ironic gay treatise that compels Tavros to block him. Each conversation addresses the issues laid out in John’s letter.

Examples can be found throughout the comic. Equius remarking that he talks to Gamzee every day (2220) establishes that Gamzee is regularly haunted by the thoughts of domination that Equius voices -- both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Erisolsprite referring to Dirk as a rock 2oliid piiece of a22 and then calling himself 2ociiopathiic for even thinking something so callous (5516) expresses a conflict already present in Jake’s own mind, echoing the frustration with his own dirty thoughts expressed by the argument with brainghost!Dirk. Feferi’s pronounced enthusiasm for the imminent apocalypse should cause you to question Kanaya’s seemingly neutral resignation towards the end of the world, since Feferi manifests for Kanaya (2328). And so on.

The person being trolled is always being confronted with thoughts or feelings or memories already present within themself. Alien contact always doubles as a brain ghost haunting.

Another example, with some buildup: Karkat invokes the phrase “PERFORATE MY BONE BULGE WITH A CULLING FORK” to express his contempt for Vriska, and on subsequent pages we see Feferi pointing her culling fork at a cuttlefish (2181), as if to suggest that the creature symbolizes the bone bulge. Fast forward to Kanaya, who has just gotten through a conversation with Vriska and finds herself haunted by Eridan, who keeps going on about his romantic desperations and insisting (correctly) that Kanaya’s crush on Vriska is itself romantic. That his notification erupts from an image of cuttlefish held at Kanaya’s waist adds to the air of yearning, as though her own bulge is rumbling. The scene is capped off with a double entendre: “its hard and nobody understands” is playfully poignant jab at an inability to understand one’s own desires (among other things). 

And Homestuck devotes a lot of attention to desire.

It’s long been acknowledged by the fandom at large that Kanaya’s attraction to Light players functions as a joke on the proverbial moth-to-the-flame. As reconciliation with the fire destroys the moth, there’s a morbid tinge to the attraction, as though it doubles as a death wish. And the wish is granted -- when Kanaya dies in Homestuck, she dies to light, either from Eridan’s wand or the laser blasts unleashed by HIC. Even the death of Kanaya’s lusus pertains to light -- the matriorb ripped from her innards is shaped like a miniature sun, as if to establish some loose link between the notion of motherhood and the incandescence Kanaya eventually achieves.

This can be generalized into a principle wherein lusii (and the circumstances of their deaths!) can functions as analogies for the desire of the wards.

Vriska, for example, desires execution. When offering Terezi a flimsy apology for crippling Tavros and proxy-murdering Aradia, Vriska offers to slam her head against her desk in penitence. This moment should be read against Vriska’s addiction to breaking 8 balls, and leaving the broken shards lying around as though she’s inviting the “bad luck” of stepping on them. It /is/ an invitation. Vriska seeks love via violent retribution against herself. This is why in the right panel, Vriska’s blood-spattered head is juxtaposed with a broken 8 ball: the blood came from Spidermom’s execution (which characterizes Vriska’s desire), and motif of 8R8K H34DS connects the moment to Vriska’s idea of apology.

Like Kanaya, Vriska (to a degree) seems to structure her love life along these lines. In the words of @azdoine:

like ppl are actually out here writing Vriska as the top as if her entire Act 5 character arc isn’t about bratting out until Terezi has no choice but to punish her

“oh noo, I, the thief of light, stole all of your luck, and made the coin land on the scratched side! now you have to kill me! but I’m probably going to get away with everything, because you don’t have the guts to stab me with that sword of yours!!!!!!!! if only there was somebody, like you, who could prove me wrong!”

EXTREMELY SUBTLE THERE, VRISKA

Vriska’s approach to wooing Tavros also revolves around baiting execution:

The scene: Tavros leads a horde of imps and ogres into a mystery cave, the top of which is adorned with kissing lizards and an alchemical symbol. Tavros is putting a puzzle of a frog together, but Vriska has already pieced together the puzzle: making a frog universe is, in part, a cipher for personal reproduction. The Ultimate Alchemy is making a baby! And as Vriska says, “real gamers cut to the chase. They power through all the nonsense and go for the gold.” So she brings Tavros to LOMAT and makes the moves on him.

Tavros is equated to a treasure chest by the repeated use of framing and Vriska is GOING FOR THE GOLD, like a WINNER. Tavros later reaches into the same chest for his lance before heading off to attempt to kill Vriska -- affirming that the treasure Vriska seeks here is Tavros’s “lance”.

This setup was suggested by the conversation accompanying the kissing salamanders: Vriska gives Tavros a map with a big red X, saying he should take his legion of imps through the gate and go defeat his denizen. The gate actually leads to Vriska, but she isn’t lying. She is positioning herself to be Tavros’s final boss. The imps are manifestations of Tavros’s pent up rage (much of which was generated by Vriska’s harassment), and Vriska wants Tavros to take that anger out on her. Hence the later panel which uses Vriska’s boots to place a big red X directly over her groin, making explicit the implicit goal of Tavros’s trip to the windmill X-gate.

This pursuit of love through violent comeuppance may have something to do with Vriska’s bitter disappointment that ghost!Aradia did not seem to hate her.

An intermission/introduction of sorts, as we bridge from one discussion of desire to another: did you know that Michael Bay’s Armageddon (1998) structures itself in part around Freud’s Oedipus complex? I say this in total sincerity.

The plot: a meteor the size of Texas bears down upon the Earth, threatening armageddon. Luckily, a crew of rough-and-tumble oil drillers are ready to fly into space and split that mother in two. Oh HELL yeah.

Except, wait, the movie’s actually about family drama: Bruce Willis finds Ben Affleck sleeping with his daughter Liv Tyler; Willis proceeds to chase Affleck around the oil rig with a shotgun, bang bang bang. Not Allowed. The Protective-Father-Hates-Your-Boyfriend dynamic is presented as an Oedipal triad of sorts: although Tyler is not literally Affleck’s mother, she performs the mom-function of “forbidden object of desire” -- and Willis opening fire is equivalent to the castration said to await trespassers onto maternal soil.

The above reading is buttressed by jokes: Armageddon appears to function within an implicit dream machine, such that the characters’ thoughts and fears can become manifest in their environment. So when it comes to pass that whenever  Affleck climbs into a hole (heehee), a pipe breaks (hoohoo), and suddenly everything goes boom, I read that as Affleck reliving the consequences of boning Tyler, packaged in such a way that the Freudian fear of castration is more explicit. (The relevance of Oedipus to the proceedings adds some humor to Steve Buscemi declaring the entire disastrous situation a “Greek tragedy”)

At any rate, after some shenanigans, Willis comes to accept Affleck’s claim to his daughter and confers the deed, as it were. Willis gives the young couple his blessing and they get married. Hooray!

Except, wait, the movie’s actually about the perpetuation of the oil industry: the dream machine was declared at the beginning of the movie when a petty street-side argument triggered the first barrage of meteors. The meteor the size of Texas (aka Dotty) is triggered by conflicts that haunt the central cast -- namely Willis, who enters the film hitting golf balls at a Green Peace boat. On a metaphorical level, Dotty is a golf ball the size of Texas, striking directly at the Earth instead its self-declared representatives. There’s a certain irony here: the film lampshades that the men who are destroying the world have been tasked with saving it.

The family drama folds into the environmentalist angle: Liv Tyler is a symbol of the earth (which gets drilled). This is the joke when Affleck is bouncing animal crackers around on her belly like she’s host to the Savannah: she kind of is! It’s no coincidence that Willis confers ownership of the oil rig at the same moment that he offers his daughter’s hand in marriage: the motifs are being discussed simultaneously.

But enough of all of that: back to Homestuck.

Armageddon’s simultaneous casting of Liv Tyler into the roles of earth and mother offers a glimpse at the interpretive possibilities made available by Hussie’s statement that Homestuck is in a way a synonym for Earthbound (an RPG in which “homesickness” is a status ailment which can be cured by calling your mom). Stuckness or boundness can be deployed to communicate a sense of longing for “home”.

A good chunk of Homestuck is built upon feelings of nostalgia, taken to mean a sort of intense separation anxiety with the past. John speaks about this when he watches Con Air with Jade – John wants the movie to feel like it did when he watched it with his Dad long ago, but the feeling from when he was a kid is gone. This upsets him. Moreover, John’s freakout starts at the moment Cyrus puts a gun to the bunny’s head (5286): Con Air itself is partly about Nic Cage trying to return to the life he lost when he went to jail, and ‘putting the bunny back in the box’ is a metaphor for the attempt. Cyrus, in threatening the bunny, is highlighting his role as a force preventing things from going back to how they were. Thus, if we are to believe that John is responding to the movie thematically, Cyrus confronts John with his own inability to go back to a happier past – his inability to go home -- and this recognition is met with anger.

In making the leap to the psychoanalytic motifs, it helps to recall the part where baby!Dirk responds to being born by cracking open his ectotube and crawling back inside. Dirk, who aspires towards his “ultimate self”, illustrates here that he envisions his ascension as a return to the ‘essence’ of Dirk from which he (and all other iterations of himself) arose, as represented by the ectoslime. Baby!Dirk gestures at unity with his ectoslime/essence by crawling back into the place from which he was born, which I’m basically claiming is a “return to the womb” on a symbolic level, or at least that this is a useful parallel to draw. (A related motif to think about: Dirk decapitates himself by sticking his head inside a box, which as per Con Air symbolizes the place you wish to return to)

[Hella Jeff sez: “i took (my pants) off because i was banging your mom for a minute there..... AND NOW YOU ARE BANGING HER”]

Castration becomes unavoidable as you try to relate all of this to Dave, whose occasional references to banging hot moms are part of an ongoing reference to the Oedipus Complex. Critically, the complex is not /just/ about wanting to bone your mom, but also fear that your dad will chop your junk off if you do. The breaking of Dave’s sword on the rooftop is a realization of this fear (yes, we’re doing the “swords are phallic” thing). But Dave has no mom that he knows of, so what gives? 

The answer is in the way Bro inexplicably breaks the record emblem on Dave’s t-shirt, as though he has introduced a fissure into Dave’s very identity. Life with Bro has made it very difficult for Dave to be honest with himself, which is to say, Dave pictures Bro’s abuse as having divided him from an ideal “true self”, which can feel emotions without all the anxious ironic detachment. I mentioned before that seeking unity with that from which you came is a “return to the womb”. This is the sense in which the Oedipal mom attraction becomes relevant: the return to the past is sexualized. The ‘home’ Dave wishes to return to is /himself/, and in this sense Dave is his own hot mom (which is related to how often Dave compliments his own looks, as well as the above gif suggesting Dave’s boner – he is literally/metaphorically “attracted” to himself).

(Incidentally: this model of desire, in which a broken subject attempt to become whole again by seeking out its lost half, is basically the concept of the soulmate, as laid out by Plato. Cherub reproduction turns the metaphysical pursuit of one’s lost half into a plot-level objective)

John’s entry item (apple) was linked to fear embodied in a childhood trauma (the Fall), and the same can be said of Dave. Hatching from the shell that contained your primordial goop (Dirk) is analogous to being violently separated from yourself (Dave), which is why Dave’s entry item (an egg) hatching coincided with Bro slicing the meteor in half: the abuse that divided Dave from himself, his “castration” by Bro, is simultaneously the “birth” that separated Dave from his “mother” (which is also Dave).

The general idea is that birth = self-alienation = castration, insofar as all are depicted as modes of being separated from oneself.

The broad motif of ‘being separated from oneself’ can be very useful for identifying brain ghosts in unexpected places. Take for example, Roxy’s fenestrated planes: when they are introduced the narrative is quick to tell us that if someone were caught half in/out of one of the windows when the power cuts out, they would be sliced in half. By the rule of Chekhov’s gun, this introduction should mean we should eventually see someone get gorily bisected by the window, but alas we never do. 

Instead, when Gcat warped the panel away, trapping Roxy between the windows, we were shown the image of a bisected horse puppet in Dirk’s apartment, This signals that Chekhov’s gun has indeed gone off. But rather than splitting a body, it split a soul: Meenah’s introduction follows the sequence because Roxy has generated a shadow of herself, a doppelganger. This is not without precedent: an earlier portion of this post was devoted to exploring the fourth wall as a mode of self-alienation. Roxy’s panel mishap can be considered part of that pattern.

If Meenah functions as an extension of Roxy, all of her actions can be read as bearing some relations to Roxy’s own latent thoughts and desires. Prior to the epilogues, for example, Meenah imploring John not to give her the ring seemed to be yet another Fuck You to the late Chekov: the issue never comes up again. But a psychic link between Meenah and Roxy would suggest that John broke his promise to Meenah by giving the ring to Roxy, and that whatever motivations compelled Meenah to make her request in the first place would also apply to Roxy.

Decapitation is yet another mode of self-alienation, and thus can be construed as a mode of birth. Hence the image of Lil Sebastian hatching from his shell of taxidermied man meat. That’s a motif unto itself, but what I wish to call attention to is the match-cut from John’s broke body to Jake’s broken tower. The juxtaposition collapses the images into metaphor, such that Jake’s loose dome in the woods becomes a decapitated head -- an appropriate addition to the pumpkin patch it rests in, given all the Headless Horseman jokes. We can look to Dirk for for another example of a headless horse-man of the house echoing the head: for a guy who idealizes decapitation to such a degree, it is striking that Sburb aims to provoke him by reattaching his beheaded apartment to its underlying units.

Houses act as metaphors for heads, then “Homestuck” could also interpreted as “head trapped” -- like the title emphasizes confinement within one’s own mind. Such a reading offers up Failure to Launch and Arrested Development (posters on John and Jane’s walls) as alternate synonyms for Homestuck, as each satirizes (or outright mocks) potential failure states in the process of inter-personal and mental development (ie “growing up”). Like Earthbound, both lean on a sense of homesickness in characterizing despondency, as though characters are haunted by the needs that defined their childhood -- or else find themselves needing that childhood itself.

But collapsing nostalgia into infantile regression is far from the only way to approach the house/heads equation. One might read the transformation and growth of houses with Sburb as metaphors for expanding the mind. One might infer that the choreography of events within houses can map out thoughts like dancing bees. One might take the metaphor as a foothold for interpreting the significance of the Sburb logo being at once a house and a window. \I have my own thoughts about Homestuck’s brain-ghost haunted house-minds, but for now, I only hope that this document has raised some interesting questions -- and ideally, that the interpretive approaches I’ve described might be useful in seeking answers.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Thornton Heath Poltergeist - The Most Haunted Places In The World That You NEED To Hear About #2

January.

A time of self doubt as you take on the latest fad diet. A time of personal struggle as you return to the 9-to-5 and question why in the hell you decided to work in this goddamn office. And a time of thirst as you realise Dry January does indeed include Echo Falls despite their Rosé being mostly sugar and aesthetic.

Is there any hope left in the world?

Oh, dear reader - you didn’t tap on this blog in the hope of reading some article about a cheerful, positive topic like little rabbits with big flopsy ears, did you?

You’re here for the dead. And the demonic. And all manner of terrible things. 

Goodbye, Patches - hello, Poltergeist.

Today, we are going to be discussing one of the most iconic paranormal cases from the UK that no one has ever heard of: the Thornton Heath Poltergeist. 

But it turns out that there’s not just one poltergeist in Thornton Heath. 

Oh, no. 

There’s two. 

And these two pesky spirits are far from alone:

Croydon might not sound like the setting for the next cult horror hit, but this London borough is actually known for its rather macabre history - and the legacy of its dark past.

Whilst your chowing down on a Gregg’s sausage roll you might hear rumours of one of Elizabeth I’s maids-in-waiting traipsing around a school, and perhaps you’ll even see a few children who were killed during the war skip past the local Chicken Cottage.

On top of that - like most areas of London - Croydon is actually a relatively ancient town, with the first settlements appearing in the 6th century. 

This place clearly has a lot of paranormal promise.

However, despite setting the scene for 2 key cases of poltergeist activity, though do appear to be unconnected. Nevertheless, together they provide a lot of insight into a specific form of supernatural activity that tends to get forgotten.

This is especially true since poltergeists have dominated the horror genre for many a year, inspiring iconic films such as Poltergeist (1982), and litter stories which involve any trace paranormal activity.

The thing is, although frequently mentioned, the actual concept of poltergeists is kind of ignored, particularly the debate surrounding them. These 2 cases, however, provide an overview of the different approaches to poltergeist activity:

One case looks into debunking the paranormal, whereas the other presents the typical haunted house case you clicked to see. 

So, today’s article is going to take us through the 2 poltergeists of Thornton Heath, and the paranormal theory behind poltergeists. 

Strap in folks, and let’s get spooky.

First, What Actually Is A Poltergeist?

Anyone speak German?

Poltergeist is a mashup of two German words, and it literally means “noisy spirit”.

Based on that translation, it is a type of spirit who has a thing for physical disturbances. Loud noises, objects moving, biting and pinching are the common symptoms of such a haunting. And despite sounding pretty minimal - well, maybe not the biting and the pinching - such poltergeist activity often represents the first traces of far greater hauntings. 

But unlike most paranormal theories, it turns out that poltergeist activity is pretty well investigated (as this post will demonstrate). 

Heck, poltergeist activity has been reported since the 1st century!

It is claimed that it lasts typically around 5 months, but some say it can stretch out to several years.

On top of our knowledge of the duration of such activity, poltergeists allegedly haunt people, not places - a bit like demons. This does contrast with the 1972 haunting, but we all know that supernatural theories lack the accuracy we expect of an exact science.

And so we come back to the debates and the debunking which always ends up stalking the supernatural. It’s for that reason that Poltergeists are such a valuable component of spiritualist theory because of the intense debate and study surrounding them, as the 1938 case will show. 

Indeed, the first of the scientific theories debunking poltergeists swap the paranormal for the patriarchy.

It's called the Naughty Little Girl theory.

Obviously, it suggests that young girls create activity to get attention because women can’t breathe without doing it for attention, right? The Conjuring 2 is one of the few films that picks up on this concept, showing its use by the media as it was utilised in the real life case.

A less misogynistic theory instead claims that the paranormal activity could be down to seismic activity or water stress, creating noises and physical disturbances often blamed on poltergeists.

Or, it could all come back to the theory of psychokinesis:

It claims that when we are stressed, our fucked-up brains can have a physical impact on the objects around us, making it look - and feel - like we are living in a perpetual Paranormal Activity film. 

Well, that or a rom-com; it turns out the poltergeist was really within us the whole time...

The 1972 Case - The Official Thornton Heath Poltergeist 

Welcome to the the era of the occult - the 1970s. 

The obsession with the paranormal experienced a revival in the late 20th century thanks to the affectionately named Satanic Panic and the rise of hippie-dom. And because so many reports of the paranormal crop up in this era, we have to be wary – blaming shit on the paranormal was nearly as common as institutionalised racism, ensuring that claims were often amped up by fear.

Got your pinch of salt to hand? Good. 

Our story begins in the heat of summer - it’s August 1972. 

A family are fast asleep after, well, I don’t know, what did people do in the 1970s? Listen to too much ABBA? 

Anyway - their peaceful slumber is interrupted in the middle of the night when a radio switches on all by itself and blasts out full-volume-raise-the-roof level musings from a foreign radio station.

This is where the activity begins. 

The following nights, lights turn on and off by themselves, mirroring the first hour of a Paranormal Activity film before Katie makes some off the cuff comment about being besties with a demon during puberty. 

Yet despite the suggestions of something supernatural, it suddenly just chills the fuck out. 

Well, that is until the most wonderful time of the year! Only for this famalam, this are about to get a little less wonderful, and a little more what the fuck. 

Probably in the midst of an ABBA jam-sesh, a small antique figurine is plucked off a shelf by an invisible hand, and flung across the room, hitting the patriarch of the family with such a force that it knocks him to the floor. 

If that wasn’t enough for one day, the Christmas tree then joins in the freaky festivities, and starts shaking.

And that only just scratches the surface of the supernatural events soon to haunt this family.

Cut to a few days later, and its New Year Eve.

Ok, right, let’s be honest here: any activity reported was at times when there would have been a couple of bevvies, a few late nights among friends and family… 

Who hasn’t seen a demon picking cashews out of the mixed nuts bowel when they’re a third of the way through that bottle of Echo Falls?

Regardless of my suspicions, they supposedly started to hear loud footsteps upstairs, and during that very night, a member of the family awoke to see a very tall and very angry man staring at him, giving off very threatening vibes.

But it wasn’t just the son of the family that saw these mysterious goings on.

Some visitors to the house reported similar activity:

At a dinner party (*sigh*) a door began to violently shake, nearly coming off its hinges. The living room door then followed suit, and swung open. Every single light in the house then began to follow the trend and turned on and off.

No matter how many bottles they were deep by then, there’s no doubt that shizz was getting weird. 

In response to this shizz getting weird, the family did the right thing: they called themselves a priest, and got him to check the shizz out. 

However, as a result of his holy presence, the activity worsened. A medium shortly followed, and on his visit deduced that this was a farmer of Chatterton. A quick visit to the library and a rifle through the odd archive later, and the story is confirmed:

This was the spirit of a farmer from the 18th century, and as the medium claimed, he was angry that these trespassers were on his land. So, like all landlords, he kept his cool and was trying to treat these people with the fairness and respect that all landlords hold dear.

Nah, who are we kidding - instead of charging them £60 for not pulling a weed out from underneath the wheelie bin, he manifested as a poltergeist.

The escalation then, uh, escalated.

Following the appearance of the ghost patriarch, his wife then turned up and made a point of targeting the matriarch of the family. 

Despite the coincidence of most claims of boozy nights on the heath, these hauntings that mirror the heads of the household really support the case as it sticks to this line of opposition to the “intruders”.

The ghostly matriarch’s favoured haunting was following people up the stairs; when you turned around, you would see wisps of a grey bun and the outlines of a faint figure which would then vanish into thin air. 

But on top of the wife getting involved, the farmer himself made a commitment to being spooky AF.

Its for that reason that the creepiest haunting of the year award goes to the farmer. 

Why?

Because he would turn up on their TV. 

Like, I don’t know if he was on bloody Blue Peter à la IT, or if the screen would go blank and this bitch would rock up and just be there…

But just like fuck that, no thanks, congratulations, and just take the award ugh.

So, like anyone would, this family were like nope screw this, packed up shop, and moved the fuck outta there. After they moved out the activity ceased - like all hauntings tend to do, confirming that it could be due to their trespassing. 

Well, or that it was all faked but as the gullible young woman I am, I’m going to deny all traces of this family’s excessive drinking and say that the farmer did indeed turn up on Blue Peter and take a badge with him to the afterlife.

For privacy reasons, the actual address is unknown to the public for the obvious reason that innocent families don’t want some Jake Paul wannabe pulling up in a jacked up Ford Fiesta and whipping out a GoPro to make a quick buck on YouTube.

Heck, I don’t know if anyone lives there now! But this is still recognised by paranormal fanatics are one of the greatest hauntings to come out of the UK. 

Well, I say the greatest…

It has to compete with the Thornton Heath poltergeist of an odd 40 years before.

The 1938 Case - Thornton Heath Poltergeist 2: The Prequel No One Asked For

Now we turn to the former haunting of Thornton heath in 1938.

But this poltergeist isn’t set against the scene of some cosy pre-war family home, nor are any long dead farmers getting involved. 

This story, on the other hand, follows the scientific study of the paranormal, and to this day is an unsolved mystery that has left both investigator and individual alike without answers.

And it starts with this bloke called Nandor Fodor.

Fodor lead the argument that poltergeists are manifestations from the subconscious mind, and to prove his claims, he investigated the tales of terror that had been experienced by one woman in a small corner of Croydon.

He followed his scientific studies all the way to a little place called Thornton Heath. 

Sure, this case could have been linked to the Chatterton farmer, but the focus of their investigation was on the nature of paranormal beliefs, so there was no study of what spirit could be behind it. 

All we know regarding the haunting is that the victim of this poltergeist was a woman only known to us as Mrs. Forbes. She was studied at an institute, and in an attempt to be sure she wasn’t creating the hauntings, she basically had to get undressed in front of them, and wear special clothes to prove she wasn’t concealing anything. 

Nevertheless, the weird shizz we saw in the 1970s still seemed to follow her.

Dishes would float in mid-air and then crash to the floor, glasses would suddenly appear in her hand (*insert middle aged facebook meme with a minion in the background*), and objects from her home would appear at the institute.

Her house was 10 miles away from the institute. 

But beyond her possessions appearing out of thin air,  Mrs. Forbes frequently described different entities that would appear and attack her.

These beings included a vampire which would on occasion bite her neck - and left her with two physical wounds in her neck, and a tiger which reached out and scratched deep gashes in her arm. Just like the vampire’s supposed attack, these markings were also found on her body.

However, one of her claims went too far, and was used to challenge every single incident she claimed was caused by a poltergeist:

Alongside the vampire bite and the tiger’s scratches, Mrs. Forbes also had several burn marks scarring her neck. Seemingly coming out of nowhere, Forbes believed it was due to the spirit of a man strangling her with a necklace. 

However, shortly after making this statement, she professed a deep desire to kill this man. 

Fodor drew from this that she thought the man was inside of her, and thus she tried to kill him by choking herself. That’s the burn marks explained - what about everything else? All it took was a quick check of her body and clothing to find small items concealed under her left breast.

That’s right; she has conjured up this “poltergeist” out of thin air.  

Having connected the dots, Fodor deduced that she was both schizophrenic, and burdened by repressed sexual trauma. 

Another day, another hoax.

Unsurprisingly, faked activity vis-a-vis this case is pretty common when it comes to the paranormal, and this label is pinned by non-believers onto, well, basically anything we just so happen to report. 

And despite how frustrating this can seem, it is a necessary disturbance in our research of the supernatural. In fact, the original Thornton Heath story brings this into play when we discuss poltergeists, particularly as their basis centres on physical disturbances which can be both faked or misinterpreted.

Croydon might seem yet another area of London Prince Andrew would pull out of the hat to defend his reputation, but it instead represents a much wider discussion of the paranormal.

From the fake to the unknown, from the mysterious to the mentally unstable:

How we investigate the supernatural starts in a little place called Thornton Heath.

What do you think?

Did the family really witness poltergeist activity first hand?

Or was it all just conjured up by women that purely wanted attention i dont know about you but i just love attention oh gimme attention look I WANT ATTENTION NOWSUFH[HB’[Egb’???????!1//1/1/1!//????

Ahem.

Wanna hear about more spooky shizz like this? Wanna hear about a new haunted location everyday? Then go ‘head and hit follow!