#drew this a while ago but didn’t quite like it then but it’s grown on me now

[sunnfish]

[ID: A digital illustration of Hanzawa Masato from Sasaki to Miyano. He is shown from a behind angle from the shoulders up, head hanging down wearily. The back of his neck and his cheeks and ear are angry shades of red and orange, as if badly sunburnt. His eye, barely visible from underneath his bangs, is an image of a photorealistic eye; it looks back towards the viewer. The background is a solid neon cyan. The artist's signature "sunnfish" is written in the corner. /End ID]

sunburn

[unequivocallyreid]

Stay With Me Till Morning

hi guys! another fic for you :) i got a little carried away at the end, but you know how it goes. this is for any munch!spencer fans 🤗

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary:

Spencer and you are co-workers, strictly co-workers, despite your feelings for him. A few nights sharing a room won’t change that, right?

warnings: mentions of body-specific insecurity, fluff, smut, oral sex (fem receiving)

wc: 3.2k

if i missed anything let me know!

One of the worst things about being a newbie, at any job, is coming into a place where connections have already been made. Working at the FBI, more specifically the BAU, was no different.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, working there was a dream for you, but there was no doubt that you were severely lacking in personal relationships compared to others. Derek and Reid had a sort of brotherly bond, JJ and Emily’s like sisters, and Hotch and Rossi’s went unspoken but still glaringly obvious. You existed in their orbit, and while you had all grown to love each other, you still felt a bit like an outsider sometimes.

Unfortunately for you, this feeling intensified whenever the topic of room sharing came up. Sure there were benefits, like having a room to yourself on occasion, but usually it just served to worsen your imposter syndrome.

The case that you were working currently, sans Rossi (he was on a book tour following his latest release), pushed this feeling to surface even more.

You all were in Upstate New York investigating a series of homicides that seemed to mimic a string of murders that had occurred 20 years ago. The town you were in was on the smaller side, so the only place you could find accommodations was a small bed and breakfast.

Said BnB did not have enough rooms available for anyone to ride solo, and with Rossi gone, Hotch and Morgan were buddied up, leaving Emily and JJ and Reid and you. Naturally, Emily and JJ bunked up together, leaving you to share a room with the boy wonder.

It’s not that you didn’t like Reid, quite the opposite actually, you liked him too much. You’ve always had a propensity for falling incredibly deeply incredibly fast, and when you met Spencer for the first time you proved you reputation correct.

Your first impression probably put him off slightly, but he was gracious enough not to show it. When Hotch introduced you, the first thing you thought was how ridiculous attractive the man in front of you was. His high cheekbones and big, brown eyes drew you in immediately. To make matters worse, he was fucking adorable. After snapping back to reality, you offered Spencer your hand, which he declined citing the pathogens and it being safer to kiss.

In one of your more impressive displays of cluelessness you said, “I think we could make that happen.”

This caused Spencer to flush and a ghost of a smile to grace Hotch’s face. Thankfully, in the last few months you had redeemed yourself slightly, developed a rapport with the doctor, and stood by hopelessly as you crush developed into a nasty little monster.

So, no sharing a room with Spencer wasn’t really an issue, but still, might just be the thing that breaks you.

~

“There’s only one fucking bed?”

You’d spoke far too soon.

After assuring Spencer you were completely fine and not at all uncomfortable with sharing a room with him, you and him walked together to your room, only to find a scene straight out of a shitty romance novel.

When Spencer heard you and noticed that there was in fact, only one bed, he immediately said, “I can sleep on the couch.”

Maybe you should’ve just agreed and saved yourself from a week of sexual frustration, but you couldn’t.

“Spence, that couch is maybe five feet long. I don’t even think I could sleep on it.”

You looked at him then to muster up some courage, “We can share the bed. We’re both adults.”

He looked slightly pained, which panicked you a bit. God, how fucking embarrassing.

“Or I can take the couch. I wont let you, but if you’re uncomfortable I can. I’m a bit shorter.”

Spencer hurried to speak, “No!”

His outburst took you by surprise but he quickly went on.

“I mean, no. I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t want you to be at all or feel like I’m forcing you to sleep with me. Fuck, or I mean next to me-“

You cut him off before he could fall into a tailspin.

“We’ll share then.”

~

Sharing the bed had actually not been that bad for you at first. You were on your third day in New York, and you were making steady progress on the case. Hopefully, it would be wrapped up in a day or two.

Aside from the fact that you barely spent any time in the room, you had managed to stay on your side bed. The only spot of trouble was the dreams you were having, dreams about the person next to you that would turn even the worst sinner’s cheeks red. Still, Reid was acting no different, so at least you were confident you weren’t talking, or, god-forbid, moaning, in your sleep.

It had been an incredibly hard day. Not only was it freezing, but you had been outside and away from temperature controlled environments for far too long. Immediately once you got back to the Inn you were staying at, you asked Spencer if he’d mind you taking the shower first.

“I’m freezing my ass of right now. You don’t mind do you?”

“No, of course not. You know it’s kind of a superstition, but there’s some actual evidence that being cold can make you sick. I just read a study which showed 10% of people exposed to-“

You cut him off before he could finish.

“Spence, I’d love to hear about all that, but please just wait till I’m out of the shower.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

You shook off his apology as it wasn’t needed. That was one thing you didn’t get about the rest of the team; you loved hearing all the little tid bits of information that Reid let out. Yeah, he was like a literal encyclopedia at times, but it was never annoying. If anything it made you like him more. You loved the way he lit up when he told you about something he’d just read about, or read about 15 years ago. It was cute.

Getting into the shower was like a blessing. The water rolled over your cold skin and helped to loosen the muscles you’d been stressing all day. If you were bolder, or clueless to Spencer’s aversion to touch, you’d ask him to give you a shoulder rub. Your mind wondered off to where else he might touch you, but that was just wishful thinking.

After spending a near gratuitous amount of time in the shower, you shut off the water and reached for a towel. Only once you’d started drying off did you realize in you haste to warm up you’d forgotten to bring your sleep clothes into the bathroom with you. Now, you had to walk out in a tiny, hotel towel right in front of Reid. Sure, it was the start of a few of your fantasies, but in real life the idea seemed mortifying.

As quietly as possible, to not draw attention to yourself, you opened the bathroom door. With one hand gripping the point where the towel connected with itself, you tried to tiptoe unnoticed to your suitcase.

“Y/n?”

You looked up to see Spencer watching your frame like a hawk. As he took in your damp, barely covered figure, you wished to yourself that the lights in the room weren’t so fucking bright.

“I, uh, forgot to bring my clothes in,” and with that, you raced back into the bathroom to change.

After taking a minute to collect yourself, you make your way out of the bathroom again. The room is, thankfully, much darker and you see Reid tucked into his side of the bed. You climb in next to him.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was weird. I, I won’t forget my clothes again.”

“It didn’t, Y/n, don’t worry.”

With that, you both tried your best to fall asleep and put the day behind you.

~

When you wake up, it’s decidedly not light out and you are decidedly not alone on your side of the bed. One of Spencer’s arms is over your waist, holding you against his body. Still, you don’t know why you’ve woken up.

You tend to be a pretty heavy sleeper, and you know that some light spooning wasn’t enough to wake you up. As you lay awake, trying to figure out why you are up and what to do next you feel Spencer move behind you.

Now, you definitely know what woke you. Spencer, who could barely look you in the eye after seeing you in a towel, was grinding into while you slept. Obviously, he was asleep too, but that didn’t stop the shock of it all from hitting you like a fucking bus. He was silent aside from the occasional whimper, which sent shockwaves straight to your core each time he let one slip.

Despite this, again, being the start to a few of your own wet dreams, you were pretty literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. You felt like you’d be taking advantage of Reid if you didn’t wake him, but if you did you know he’d just about die from embarrassment. Or, worse, he’d think that you somehow executed all of this in a sick ploy. Not likely, but still a source of anxiety.

It took you a few minutes to get your head on straight, what with the burning feeling brewing in your abdomen, but eventually you realized that waking him up was pretty much the only thing you could do.

“Spence,” you said while gently shaking his shoulder.

“Spence, love, you gotta wake up.”

You were turned toward him now and saw his eyes open a crack, “Y/n? What’s wrong what’s goin-“

The realization of your situation also hit him like a truck, which was sort of comforting because at least you weren’t alone in the feeling.

“Oh my god, Y/n. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Jesus, I, I can’t- Fuck I’m so sorry.”

He went to spring out of bed, but your hand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Spence, it’s okay I promise. Honestly I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”

“No, no it’s not. You don’t even like me that way and I was all over you-“

You cut him off when you heard this, “Spence, what do you mean I don’t like you like that?”

“You heard me right? I said your name?”

The world stops spinning, “What?”

“Oh, oh no. Look, I’m so sorry. I’ll go sleep in one of the cars. Fuck, I’m so-”

“Spencer stop. Please stop apologizing.”

It’s like an old Western showdown for a moment, the two of you staring at each other without making a move.

“Were you dreaming about me?”

He nodded, about to speak and likely offer more apologies. But, before he gets the chance you push your lips to meet his.

The kiss is soft and gentle. At first, his lips don’t move against yours, and you start to pull back, worried you read the situation wrong. Fortunately, before your lips could even part from his, he’s pulled you back in. His hands find the side of your face and his lips pressed into yours with a bruising intensity. Slowly, his hands moved to your waist, holding you in place.

The feeling rushing through you was unlike any you’d ever experienced. His lips molded to yours so perfectly it was almost unbelievable. If you’re hands weren’t so preoccupied by his hair, you’d pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. With a move you didn’t think he’d possibly pull, Spencer bit into your lip, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to press further into the kiss, tracing your tongue with his.

Before you could fall completely into the kiss you pulled away to ask, “Spence, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve been thinking about it since the day we met, Y/n.”

With that, he pulled you back in. His hands moved more surely on you, dipping below your shirt. The feeling of his skin on yours sent shockwaves through your body. You moved to take off his shirt in turn, desperate to feel even more of him. He was relentless, breaking free from your lips to drag his mouth down your neck and over your exposed collar bone.

You felt needier than ever, and evidently so did he. In another move you didn’t expect (maybe you should throw your expectations out the window at this point) he grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. With you straddling him, he moved to take your shirt off. Insecurity grabbed hold of you before you could push it away.

You stilled his hands in yours, “I haven’t let anyone see me like this in a long time. Just, please don’t be disappointed by what you see.”

His face morphed into one so full of love that it made your teeth ache.

“You’re my dream, Y/n. You’ll never, ever disappoint me.”

You let go of his hands and they resumed their previous journey, pushing up your shirt and letting that part of you be bare to him. Admittedly, you had to fight the urge to cover yourself, but when you saw his face you knew it was pointless. He was ogling you, not offensively, but more like he couldn’t believe you were actually in front of him.

“You’re so, so beautiful.”

His words didn’t erase the thoughts you had, but they certainly made them easier to ignore. Moving up from your waist, he went to cup your breast, fingers playing with your nipple which made your back arch into him. He took the opportunity to flip you over so you were laying underneath him. The weight of his body over you was heavenly. You felt him press himself into your center through his sweatpants. There were just thin layers of clothes between you now.

“Will you let me taste you? I’ve been dying to.”

You’re stunned from words but you manage to nod your head. As he moved down your body, he took your shorts and panties with you, leaving you completely exposed. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared of the feeling or his reaction to you. With Spencer, you felt completely at home.

You felt him kiss down your things, teasing you in a way that made you feel completely crazy. His breath ghosted over your core, but he still hadn’t made contact with where you needed him most.

“Spencer, please.”

Hearing your voice must have broken his resolve. He dove in like a man starved. In the past, you hadn’t found yourself enjoying the presence on a man’s head between your legs. Not that you had much experience, but the men who had you in that way always seemed to treat it as a means to an end. One of the two boyfriends you’d had refused to go down on you at all, and the other wouldn’t unless you were completely shaved. Safe to say you didn’t feel like you were missing much.

Everything was different with Spencer. He licked into you there was no place he’d rather be. His tongue over traced over your cunt as he tried to find all the places that drove you wild, and god did he. The noises in the room were obscene, from the moans falling from your lips to the sound of his driving you to an orgasm.

You locked your hands in his hair, grinding into his face without even noticing that you were. You were so close, and you found the final push in his fingers. God, his beautiful fingers.

His mouth was on your clit as he pushed two digits into you, curling in before pulling out, over and over until your legs begin to shake. His unoccupied hand pressed on your lower stomach, building up the feeling until you burst.

You repeated a mantra of his name as you came harder than you can ever remember coming before. The sensation took you out for a minute, but when you came back down and looked down at Spencer, you saw him staring at you in awe and completely soaked.

“Fuck, Y/n. Have you, have you done that before? I think that was the sexist thing I’ve ever seen.”

You were confused for a moment, wondering why he’d think you hadn’t orgasmed before. That was before you felt the damp fabric of the bed beneath you.

“Oh! Oh god, uh, no I haven’t. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Don’t apologize for that, Y/n. Fuck, I’d spend the rest of my life between your legs if it meant I could see that again.”

The constat praise falling from him had you noticeably riled up, and you pulled him up, back on top of you.

“Spencer, please. I want you. I want you inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/n.”

He made incredibly quick work of his own pants, freeing himself. Your mouth dropped open as you took him in. He was big, the biggest you’d been with, and he was pretty. You would have drooled if it wasn’t for his lips pressing into yours. He ran his middle finger through your folds before grasping himself. He followed his own path and ran his member through your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect.”

The pet name made you even more desperate, “Please, Spence. Fuck, please.”

He put you out of your misery, sinking into you in one motion. You had to adjust to his size, but the feeling of him inside you, as close to you as possible had you reeling. You bucked your hips up, urging him to move.

He gave you exactly what you wanted, pushing into you at a perfect pace as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

You were overcome and all you could mutter was “thank you, thank you, thank you” in time with each of his thrusts. When he started to push into you harder, you couldn’t help but squeeze down on him.

His hips stalled, “You’re gonna make me come, Y/n. You’re so fucking tight”

You let your hands take down his back, “Please, Spence. Want you to, want to feel you come in me.”

His pace picked up, and you could feel how close he was. Still he wasn’t done. His fingers again found your clit and rubbed circles on it.

“Need to feel you come on me first baby. Need you to come.”

His words made your head spin. It only took a few more thrusts before you were coming again, just as intense as the first time. You pulsed around him and it pushed him over the edge. You felt him come inside you, filling you completely.

“I love you.”

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, but you froze immediately after saying them, worried that you had ruined everything. But, just as he had done before, Spencer quelled your worries.

“I love you too. God, I love you.”

~

The next morning was bliss. You woke in Spencer’s arms, and let him into you again. The sex was slow and you each let the three words spill uninhibited.

When you went downstairs, ready to finish the case, you were met with the sheepish faces of your team.

Derek spoke first, “I’d say congratulations if you both weren’t so loud last night.”

While you were mortified, watching the rest of the team hold back their chuckles, you couldn’t help but agree that this was all a moment to celebrate.

End

let me know what you think!!

[l5byrinth]

safe and sound

“you'll be alright, no one can hurt you now.”

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: in which finnick shows up at your doorstep and vents his heart out.

warnings/contains: fluff, idk tbh lmk if i should add more

requested

a/n: i combined this with another request bc they were quite similar but tysm for the requests anons 🫶🏼 btw i didn’t really know how to end it im so sorryyy it’s bad. actually this entire one shot is bad 😭

As the sun set, you watched it from behind glass, captivated by the colours adorning the sky. It was something you rarely did, mostly because you had an insanely busy schedule as a former victor who lived in the capitol.

A knock on your door, however, ruined the one moment you had on your own. With a sigh, you walked towards the door, wondering who was visiting you at this hour. When you opened, you were surprised when you were met with Finnick. Yes, the Finnick Odair. The victor from district four who you had grown a fond friendship with. And had on whom you had a secret little crush on. “Hi, finn?” You questioned, rather than said, wondering why he was at your doorstep out of the blue.

Your relationship with Finnick was… difficult. The two of you had shared a kiss and admitted your feelings to each other before, but nothing really came from it. Mostly because you were both scared what would happen when the friendship you shared would blossom into something more. Besides, you hadn’t talked to him for quite some time.

And yet here he was standing silently in front of you. There was something about him that just didn’t sit right with you. His usual cocky and confident attitude, was replaced with an entirely different one. “Well, come in.” The door creaked when you opened it further and you cringed at the sound of it. He walked towards your living space, as if he had already been here countless of times, which he had of course.

It was like his second home before it got complicated between the two of you.

You closed the door behind you, before following him, a million questions filling your head. He didn’t utter a word, staring at the same sunset you had been watching only a minute ago. “Finnick, is everything alright?”

And it was as if that was his tipping point, because he suddenly stumbled into your arms. You were taken aback, that’s for sure, but you hugged him tight nevertheless. You cooed sweet nothings as tears left his eyes like a waterfall. While soothingly rubbing his back, you let him cry his eyes out, not caring that your sweater was now soaking wet from his tears.

“Finn, whatever it is, just let it out.” You said softly, waiting for him to have cried it all out. The man holding onto you for dear life felt ashamed for breaking down like this. But after what he had been through that night, he just couldn’t bottle it up anymore like he usually did. And when he realised it, the only person who he would want by his side was you.

“Sorry.” Finnick mumbled with his head rested on your shoulder. And if you weren’t so close to him, you probably wouldn’t have heard it. He pulled away, one of his hands lingering on your waist, as he wiped the tears on his cheeks with the other. He had been looking down the entire time, but when he finally looked up at you, you could see the pain and fatigue in his eyes. “Oh, finnick.” You put your hand on his cheek and he leaned into the comforting touch.

After he had calmed down, the two of you sat down on your couch. The same couch you were sat at when you finally admitted your feelings. But none of that was important at the moment. Finnick told you about everything he had been going through since he became a victor at the age of fourteen. The man in front of you told things you could never imagine anyone to go through. Your heart broke for Finnick the more he explained and you wished you had noticed this all sooner.

You drew him in for another hug, telling him you would do anything for him. You assured him, “We will get through this together and make sure nothing happens to you anymore. I’m here for you, Finn. And whatever you need, you can ask me.” Finnick nodded knowingly, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your face because of his story, “I know, love. You always are.”

“I know it’s hard, but whatever happens, you’re safe and sound. With me.” You grabbed ahold of his hands and pecked his knuckles lovingly, his heart skipping a beat. A small grateful smile made its way onto his face as he drew you in closer, wrapping his arms around you while you rested your head on his chest. It was as if a weight had fallen off of his shoulder and he let out a contented sigh.

He indeed felt safe and sound. With you.

[anywherebuthere]

i'll love myself if you touch me like that | c.f.

conrad fisher x fem!reader

"Use me if you just insist that you love the body you refuse to kiss" - based on fuck me (i didn't know how to say) by crawlers

[or the one where you would give him your whole world and all he can give you is sex in the backseat of his car]

WC: 1.9k

A/N: i really wrote 4 fics, participated in some discourse and dipped huh... well, it needs to be said that i have read the books and have been a conrad girl since day 1 and am therefore better than the rest. let me know if you want to be tagged for part 2

Warnings: bad smut, light choking, titty sucking vaginal penetration, theyre doing it in a red jeep wrangler. angst, i hated myself while writing the smut holy. all participating parties are 18 in this.

masterlist | part ii | ao3

In retrospect, you’re not sure what you had expected when Conrad had texted you to go driving at 1:22 am. Perhaps Cousins’ summer heat and the buzzing of the cicadas had finally driven you mad. No amount of teenage delusion could turn a “u up?” text into any notion of romance, but when it came to him, you seemed to have an endless well of good faith in his intentions.

The cliffside view he had driven to was beautiful, with the moon reflecting beams of light off the sea, redirecting into the misty depths of Conrad’s eyes. He was sitting tense, his arm braced against the steering wheel, the cords of his muscles flexed, looking as pissed off as he had all summer. In all the years you had known him, had loved him, he had never been quite like this. 

Sometimes you thought you could see traces of the gentle boy you knew; in the moments after sex, where all that could be heard were the mix of your breaths in the wind, and he would look over at you with that boyish smile, his eyes not quite as hard as usual.

Not that you’d seen much of him this summer, not in any way that really seemed to matter. 

You hadn’t even known he was back in Cousins; for months, there had been little interaction between the two of you and you weren’t desperate enough to count him viewing your Instagram stories as such. There were no more late-night calls or even the occasional text. He was just… gone.

Seeing him at the bonfire had felt like a slap to the face. He had grown out his hair and his glasses were long discarded. It was that night that you felt something more in his gaze, as though he had grown hungry in the months apart.

When he kissed you for the first time, it hadn’t been anything like the naive imaginings of your youth. It wasn’t soft or loving and it didn’t happen after a confession in the rain. It was open-mouthed and dirty, the taste of cheap beer etching the memory.

It had been short-lived for the dramatics of it all, with Belly Conklin interrupting midway. 

She had looked shocked but a little smug, with a look of “I told you so” carved into the creases of her grin. 

Once, a summer or two ago, Belly too had felt a flicker of emotion for the boy. It was hard not to; Conrad had always had this quality, an effortless allure of sorts that drew people in. It was a pull that existed even now, amplified by his new sense of brooding, that made anyone who looked into those reflective eyes want to dive in and drown in their depths.

Of course, now Belly hardly felt much towards the boy, too enthralled by her new girlfriend Taylor to care. But she was your lifelong friend. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

It wasn’t long after that kiss that you started sleeping with Conrad. In the light of day, you rarely saw him, catching only the barest glimpse of him through your shared fence. Yet it only ever took the single meeting of gazes to end up in some closet or empty bedroom with the boy. 

It felt unholy and blasphemous to the fantasies you had held for so long, but you relished in the rare moments of tentativeness. In every aching moment, every scorching touch, you yearned for him to see you. To notice the care and attention you place on your appearance, to trace the lines of your frame with more than just lust.

But now here you were, in his car for the first time since last summer, back when your yearning was something of tender love only felt in inexperience. The air hung heavy and you turned towards him, seeking his eyes, praying for a glimpse of the boy from last summer. If you could discern the boy of summer's past, then the love you felt would be justified. Then all the time you spent making yourself prettier, better, for him, would have been time well spent.

It would make all that you were less pathetic; because at least it would have been worth it.

When he finally turned to face you, there was nothing to be seen. He was an empty cracked shell on the shoreline and you were the foolish girl holding him close, listening for waves anyways.

And as he moved to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, leaving his hand to rest on the crook of your jaw, you let him pull you into his embrace. 

The softness of his lips was contrasted by the hard urgency in which he kissed you, inhaling in your being as though you were the air he breathed. The hand cupping your jaw travelled down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake and you gasped against his mouth when you felt him give it a gentle squeeze.

As he swept his tongue against yours, you found yourself clinging to his back, clawing the smooth muscles built from years of football. He tasted like the cigars he smoked, like fire and ash. You were lost to the sensation of Conrad’s hands on your body, too filled with wanting to be embarrassed by the way you were moaning against his lips.

The white sundress you had haphazardly thrown on in the dark was sliding up, the hem skimming your upper thighs as he pulled you across the centre console into his lap. In the dark of the night, as you straddled Conrad Fisher in his red Jeep Wrangler, you caressed the contours of his face, cupping the strong lines of his jaw.

In moments like this, you could almost pretend you didn’t feel like shit being touched in this way; you could fake a level of tender intimacy that did not exist, pretend that you were more than some easy fuck.

“Do you want to move to the back real quick?” he asked, breathless, before moving to kiss the skin above your collarbone.

Almost. 

“Uh- yeah. Sure,” you replied numbly. 

Crawling into the spacious back seats, you could feel the weight of his stare. You barely turned around before his lips were on yours once more, tasting, feeling, consuming you whole. 

This was where you always ended up. No matter which path you took, it always led back to him.

He broke away for the briefest of moments, out of breath and looked into your eyes, before peppering kisses along your jaw. 

His hand shifted away from the small of your back and you felt a tug on the bow keeping your straps up. The delicate triangles of eyelet fabric fell away, revealing your bare breasts and you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate at the sight before he dove in, taking one into his delicate mouth.

Whimpering, you sank into the matte leather seats, clutching his soft curls as he explored the expanse of your chest, openmouthed, gently biting and licking the stiff nipple. Trailing wet kisses down your naval, you shivered at the buzz of his mouth against your bare skin. 

“Is this okay?” he asked. Your sundress was a scrap of fabric gathered around your waist, and he was making sure you were okay with his head between your legs.

Same old Connie.

“Yeah,” you murmured with a smile. “This is more than okay.”

The smile he gave you in return was effervescent. He was effervescent. It was always so easy to remember precisely why you had been stuck on him for so many years; why you continued to cross tightropes to keep his eyes on you.

Grinning into his kiss, you shifted your hips as he peeled away your panties. His shirt was off now, his pale skin glistening in the starlight. The echo of his zipper rang through the car, twirling around notes of heavy breathing. 

He let out a shaky breath as he slid into you easily, groaning at the way you clenched around his thick length. Pulling out a few inches, he leaned in next to you, tickling the curve of your ear with a sigh.

“You’re always so fucking tight for me,” he whispered, thrusting in hard. “Always so pretty.”

Clasping your wrists in one of his hands, he pinned them against the window, which was collecting steam. His other hand coming to grasp your hip, he began to press into you harder, his strokes gaining rhythm. The slapping of skin reverberated throughout the jeep, creating a crude melody. 

He was staring into your eyes, and for the first time that night, it felt like he was truly looking at you. All summer long, a fog had obscured his eyes, but at this moment, there was a clarity in his eyes. He was seeing you.

Shifting your legs to his shoulders, you cried out at the new angle, feeling his cock push deep against your cervix. Your knees shook as you pulsed around him, so close to finishing. 

Bringing his hand down to where you met, you felt him begin to rub your clit, drawing elaborate figure eights around the swollen bud. 

You came then, in his arms as he gave you infinity.

Pulling out quickly, Conrad stroked his length quickly, his cum spread out across your tits.

-

It was 3:05 and the cliffside air was still. In the aftermath of it all, you always found yourself stuck in the limbo between childhood friend and lover. In these moments you were both and neither.

“So- uh, did you want to walk around a bit? Or we could stop by the diner if you’re hungry…” you rambled, sounding all too loud in the quiet night air. 

“Nah, I’m good, I have to be up early to meet Cleveland,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “We should get going anyways.”

You nodded eagerly, trying not to grimace. He wasn’t looking at you. In fact, he was looking everywhere but you. 

The drive home was silent, without any attempt at conversation, as if he wasn’t inside you only 20 minutes before. As though you had not been moaning in each other's mouths, tasting the embers on his tongue.

Rolling into the shared driveway between your neighbouring beach houses, embarrassment dawned on you as the barest rays of sun graced the horizon.

“Is this the only reason you asked me here tonight?” you said, breaking the tense silence. Inside, your heart was crumbling.

Conrad said nothing. 

How did you ever think he saw you? He didn’t see you at age 12 when he had first caught your eye outside of the friendship you shared. He didn’t see you at age 14 when you had gotten your braces out and he hadn’t seen you even at age 16 when he got his first pair of glasses to combat his astigmatism.

“Don't contact me again for stuff like this,” you said, with steel in your voice. Your vision was blurring. “Maybe don’t contact me at all for a while.”

Opening the Jeep door, you stepped out on weak knees, shutting it before the boy who held the shambles of your heart in his hand could call out your name.

When you closed your front door, escaping Conrad’s sight, that was when he allowed himself to cry.

[solbach-colbrock]

Balcony - Seth Borden x Reader

SUMMARY - Seth, your best friend and crush, learns about the state of your mental health when an investigation starts affecting you. His response isn't quite what you expected

WARNINGS - Ghost stuff, mentions of self-harm and suicide (reader is NOT okay), angst (fluffy ending)

WORDS - 6.6k

NOTES - first fic I’ve written in a while and it ended up very dialogue heavy. I also didn't expect it to be this long but here we are

~*~*~*~

Sometimes you weren’t sure why you trusted these boys so much. Sam had requested two things of you for this investigation: one, that you didn’t do any research beforehand so you’d learn the lore from the guide, and two, that you all arrive in the same car so you can have the drive up experience with everyone else. You had gotten into the habit of arriving to locations early to scope the place out before anyone else and doing research before investigations, and the boys started to get pouty about not sharing the experiences, so you complied. It had also been a while since you’d been on an investigation with Seth, so you were excited to see him again. 

You had met Seth after the Sallie House investigation. The boys had immediately FaceTimed you after both the Sallie House and Villisca investigations (and every investigation thereafter that you weren’t involved in) to tell you what they had experienced, and he caught your attention quite quickly. The excitement in his voice and energy about his experiences drew you in somehow more than the other three did, despite Nate practically jumping around the room when he was talking about the 8-ball. You’d been friends with him ever since and loved teaming up with him whenever possible. You had even been on his channel a few times.

To say you two were close was something of an understatement. He had started calling you after his own investigations, and even showed up to your house all hyped about some evidence he caught on numerous occasions. The two of you had grown comfortable with one another very quickly. You had shared beds when locations didn’t have enough for everyone, you constantly teased one another, and you were more than a little physically affectionate with each other. Josh often teased you for being so affectionate, but you were comfortable. 

The first time the teasing bothered you happened only a few months ago. Josh, along with Sam and Colby, had been making jokes about you and Seth being practically married. You were about to respond with a bad joke about finishing paperwork, but Seth replied first. The laugh that broke up his words when he said he could never be with someone like you hurt.  The fact that he found the whole concept funny enough to laugh at shattered any shred of self-confidence you had left in you. He thought you were gross. You swallowed the pain and laughed along with him, but every interaction with him from then on made you feel guilty for bothering him so much.

Eventually, it got easier to act normal again, but the thought that maybe he was serious about what he said still lingered.

The majority of the hour-long drive to the location consisted of Sam and Colby quietly discussing their plans in the front seat, and you and Seth fighting over a bag of gummy worms in the back. Colby finally intervened when you managed to slap Seth in the shoulder with one. 

“Let’s film the intro before these two start a war in the back seat. Everyone ready?” Colby cut in, taking what felt like the 10th right turn the whole drive. Everyone settled, and Sam hit record. 

“What’s up guys, its Sam and Colby, and today we are bringing Seth and Y/N to the famous Haunted Miller House in Fredericktown, Missouri. We are currently… fifteen minutes away from the house. How’s everyone feeling?”

“I’m excited bro. I’ve been wanting to come here for like, almost two years,” Seth admitted as he leaned forward in his seat. You leaned in as well to be heard better by the camera.

“I’ve said this before, but the fact that it’s a house freaks me out just a bit. It screws with my sense of security when we do haunted houses, like, homes are where you’re supposed to feel safe and there’s fucking spirits here. No thank you.” 

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry,” Seth replied. You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Oh what, Ghost Bait’s gonna protect me? No thanks, I’ll just smoke the sage.”

“Ouch, damn, alright. Fuck me, I guess.”

“Damn, roasting him back here. Colby how do you feel about this place?” Sam turned the camera forward to the driver's seat, missing Seth’s pout and your finger heart to apologize for the joke. It was all in good fun and both of you knew that. It was funny to play it up for the camera.

Two minutes away from the house, Sam pulled out the camera again. It felt like you were almost out in the middle of nowhere, even though town was less than half an hour down the road. The property sat on 15 acres of land, which was mostly forest save for the few acres that were cleared out for the house and yard. What was once farmland on the south side of the property had overgrown and been reclaimed by nature, though it was still obviously used for farming at some point. As soon as the house was in sight, everyone let out their excitement for the camera.

The house was beautiful, even in its decaying state. Nobody had dared to actually live there since the 1890s, and it sat abandoned until the 1970s, when it was taken over for paranormal research. Many investigators had come through the place, and unfortunately in the early days of it being open to the public, many frauds had come through. It had been closed again in 1994, and only reopened by approved booking only since 2014. 

The house was three stories, in an almost Victorian style, with a white exterior and a deep green trim. Large windows covered a rounded section on the northeast corner of the house. Even with the peeling paint, it still held a certain elegance. Your jaw dropped at the sight.

“There’s a fucking wrap around porch are you shitting me?!” you exclaimed, admiring the architecture as Colby drove slowly closer. 

“This place is sick, dude. The architecture is amazing,” Seth commented.

“Haunted or not, I’d kill to live in a house like this. Let’s just move in and pretend there’s no ghosts,” you joked. Something clicked in Sam and Colby’s minds the longer they looked at it.

“Doesn’t it feel a bit like the Winchester Mystery house? Just a bit?”

“I was just thinking that, yea. A little bit, like just the style sorta…” 

As Sam and Colby continued talking to the camera, your eyes drifted up to a balcony on the third story, just barely visible from the front of the house. The railing matched the deep green trim of the house, and three large windows lined the wall behind it. You couldn’t figure out why it intrigued you so much. It was just a balcony, though you were sure the view over the north side of the property was amazing You hadn’t even noticed that the car had stopped until Colby opened the door to the back seat. 

“You comin’? We can take a minute here if you’re too nervous.”

“No I’m good, just spacing out a bit. I may need to crack open a RedBull already.”

“Don’t drink it all just yet. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. Come on, help me grab the equipment and we’ll head inside.”

Sam broke the news that the guide was running late, but they had told him where they kept a hidden key, so the four of you let yourselves in and decided where to set up home base for the night. Sunset wasn’t for another hour, so none of the rooms on the first floor felt very spooky just yet. You decided the living room felt the best, and everyone got to work checking batteries and equipment. 

“I’m gonna go wander around for a bit, see if I can find the bathrooms in this place,” you announced, having finished helping Sam sort out batteries and making sure your own camera was fully charged.

“Dpn’t fall in,” Seth joked as he messed with the settings on his camera. You flipped him off and wandered towards the staircase, shaking your head as the boys laughed behind you.

“Hey Y/N!” Sam called out.

“Yeah?”

“Guide should be here in about 20 minutes, make sure to get back down here by then!”

“I will!”

The house seemed fairly well preserved, though you assumed it had been at least a bit fixed up since the 90s. The winding staircase going up the entirety of the home seemed a bit too sturdy for its age. There was a large room on the second floor that looked to be a study or small library, with dust covered books lining the walls. There were two decent sized bedrooms on that floor as well, and two bathrooms, which you took a dutiful mental note of. 

The third floor was fairly similar, but with three bedrooms, and instead of a study there was a room that you presumed was a sort of living room area. There were gorgeous antique couches and rugs, mostly free of dust. Curtains, strangely, only lined two large windows on the east side of the room The windows on the north side were very bare, as was the door next to it. The door leading outside to the balcony. You walked towards the door, using a fair amount of force to nudge it open. It swung outwards, and the light breeze cooled your face as you stepped out. 

The view was beautiful, just as you had anticipated. You could smell the fresh air as it blew by you, feel the chill on your cheeks. You could almost imagine yourself laying in the large grass yard at night, listening to crickets and staring up at the stars. You told yourself you had to come back here once the sun went down, even for a five second glance at the cosmos. There was bound to be almost no light pollution, and you’d definitely need some pictures. 

The wood of the railing felt rough against your fingers, almost bumpy as you pulled yourself closer to it. You hadn’t quite realized how high up you were until you looked down. You stretched up to your toes to get a better feel for the height and then…something changed. Something felt different the moment you looked as far down as you could manage. Your hands gripped the railing, but somehow you felt oddly at peace. You couldn’t move your gaze from its downward position, but you didn’t want to anyways. You let your eyes unfocus, and you took a deep breath. Something about this view felt so… final. Your ears were ringing.

Normally you steered clear of heights, too afraid of your own thoughts and impulses to allow yourself near them. In this moment, it wasn’t the same. You welcomed it, whether by choice or not, you welcomed the feelings that were coming to the surface. You focused on the view. The changing view. It was changing…

A hand on your shoulder snapped you from your stupor, your head whipping in the direction of the sensation. Seth looked at you, wide eyed and confused. Your ears stopped ringing. 

“Are you good? I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute here. Did you see something?” You blinked, risking a glance back out over the trees.

“Uh, no, no. It’s just really pretty out here. Admittedly I did space out a bit, but I’ve just been looking,” you said, still unsure of what just happened. 

“I thought you were afraid of heights, why the hell were you looking down like that?”

“I don’t know, just… just looking around, honestly.”

“Well the guide got here ten minutes ago, I’ve been looking for you. Let’s head downstairs and get you an energy drink on the way.”

“Yea… you know what, I’ll meet you down there. I just want to get some pictures really quickly.”

“You left your camera downstairs. Are you positive you’re okay? You seem a bit out of it.”

“I’m fine Seth. I just want another minute.”

“Okay no, we’re going. You’re acting weird and I don’t want this to be some ‘call of the void’ shit. Let’s go.” His hand once again made its way to your arm, but you resisted his pull. You didn’t mean to, you fully intended to listen and go with him, but your body decided otherwise. “Y/N, you’re starting to freak me out.” Another arm planted itself around your waist, and you were brought inside. The moment you passed through the doorway, the pull you were feeling was gone. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“I don’t- I think I’m just nervous to be in here. You know how I am about houses.”

“We’re safe, we’re gonna sage as soon as the guide leaves. If anything goes sideways, we’ll leave, alright? Let’s get downstairs. They’re waiting for us.”

~*~*~*~

Marsha had a very captivating way of telling stories. You had heard plenty of guides tell their stories about their paranormal experiences and the lore of the locations, but she had done a good job of keeping your interest and making the stories seem just as scary as they actually were.

“Wait, so Edwin, the father, cheated of Gwendolyn with six different women, and then when she found out, she shot him in the cellar, went upstairs, locked all four kids in one of the bedrooms, set them on fire, and then killed herself?” Colby attempted to recap the story that she had just told. He was in a chair next to her, Sam holding the camera standing across from Colby. You and Seth were spread on on a couch across from her, listening intently. Your legs were halfway across the couch, knees bent slightly so as not to jab Seth in the leg with your boot. He leaned forward as Colby spoke, elbows meeting his knees and hands coming up to cover his mouth in shock.

“Yea, you’ve got it just about right there,” Marsha replied nodding. Sam chimed in with his own question from behind the camera. 

“So, what would you say are the most active areas of the house?”

“Most people that come through here say that the cellar, the dining room, the room where the kids died, and the balcony up on the top floor are the most active. You get a lot of stuff happening there. Some people hear stuff, some even smell stuff, and your equipment should be pretty responsive in those areas as well.”

“What’s significant about the dining room and the balcony?” Seth asked.

“Well people have claimed to hear a number of things in the dining room, whether its parties or Edwin and Gwendolyn arguing and throwing things at each other. We’ve even come in to see some of the dinnerware smashed when nobody had been inside for three days. The balcony is where Gwendolyn jumped off and killed herself. Y’all should be careful up there.”

“Hold on, she jumped? I read that she shot herself or drank poison or something. I didn’t see anything about her jumping to her death.”

“People used to think it was something else because of a fake medium that came through here in the 70s or 80s, but we’ve learned the truth since. By the way, if any of you struggle with depression, if you self-harm or think about suicide at all, I'd advise you don’t set foot on that balcony. It affects people that have that kind of thing bad enough.”

“How does it affect people?” You finally speak up, trying your best to keep your voice and expression one of genuine curiosity. You didn’t want the dread to show. You hoped she would say anything but what she was about to say.

“Well nobody’s thrown themselves off or anything, but it definitely picks up on those feelings and seems to amplify them. We’ve had a few guests and mediums tell us that they felt what Gwendolyn probably felt before she jumped. They said they felt rooted to the spot staring off that balcony, like they couldn’t move. They didn’t say they were scared when it happened, but they felt like they needed to be there, and they thought about jumping even though they couldn’t move. It’s only ever been people that hurt themselves or are already thinking about suicide, as far as we’re aware. So now we warn everyone about that. No depressed people on the balcony, we don’t need any more ghosts,” she explained, adding a small laugh to her final sentence. 

You looked at the camera, feigning a surprised face. You could feel Seth’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t look at him. Your cheeks felt hotter than they had a moment before. He had connected dots that you had hoped he would never connect, and now you couldn’t look at your best friend. You all thanked her, and you tried to be casual about your goodbyes. The front door clicked shut behind her. Sam and Colby went to gather equipment for the first investigation, leaving you and Seth alone in the living room. 

“Tell me what happened on the balcony wasn’t what she was just talking about.” There was a faint shake in his voice, as if he was scared of what you might say. He stood behind the couch now, a few feet from where you were still seated, eyes boring a hole into the back of your neck. You tried to think of a quick lie. 

“It wasn’t. I genuinely went up there to get pictures,”. You claimed. You shifted sideways on the couch. You were still too nervous to look at him directly, but you wanted to acknowledge him.

“Without your camera? With the heights? Y/N, you’ve always asked me to get the pictures that are anywhere near any sort of drop, even with guardrails and shit. You understand why I don’t believe you, right?”

“I am begging you to believe me, Seth. When have I ever shown signs of being depressed? I’m fine!”

You weren’t fine, and up until this moment Seth believed you every time those words left your mouth. You had developed quite the skill for hiding your issues, even from the people closest to you. Your mental health had been getting worse and worse, finally devolving into its current tragic state only a few months ago. You were so scared at first that they would spot the wounds on your wrists and hips immediately, but you had no such fear anymore. You had been hiding too well to worry up until now. 

You never wanted him to know, never wanted any of them to know. You didn’t want to bother them with this when they had their own lives to live and personal stuff to deal with. You didn’t want to hear the anger in their voices if they ever found out, didn’t want them to think you were weak or pathetic, but you couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from him.

“Please just tell me the truth. You don’t have to tell me how bad it is, but you need to tell me if it is bad, because not only am I incredibly scared that you haven’t told anyone about this, but this is also about your safety right now. If you’re- fuck, Y/N/N, if you're hurting yourself or thinking about killing yourself, we can’t go anywhere near the third floor. I might just take you home because I don’t want to risk this. Please just tell me nothing's wrong because I don’t want to believe what I’m hearing.” His voice was clearly cracking now, and you felt a pain in your chest every time you heard it.

 As you finally turned to look at him, your hear shattered. Seth didn’t cry often, but the tear tracks lining both his cheeks were so obvious. More tears spilled from his eyes as you looked at him, the look in his eyes a silent plea for you to convince him that he doesn’t have to worry about you. You felt so guilty seeing him like this. 

“Whoa, what’s wrong? Seth, what happened?” Sam’s voice came from behind you. You sighed and shook your head at Seth, whose eyes still hadn’t looked away from you. It was bad enough he knew; you didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. A beat of silence passed before he spoke. 

“Y/N can’t go near the balcony,” Seth said simply, allowing the others to figure out what he meant.

“Actually? Like Y/N… fuck, really?”

You closed your eyes in defeat, resting your head in your hands. The couch cushion dipped next to you as a hand was gently placed on your shoulder. Your knees drew closer to your chest. You hoped that, somehow, if you curled up and closed your eyes, this would just go away. 

“Look, we’re not gonna make you do anything like that, especially if it’ll affect you negatively. Even if I’m assuming wrong here, which frankly I hope I am, and it’s just the heights that are freaking you out-“

“It’s not the fucking heights, Colby. It’s not- they were on that fucking balcony earlier before the guide showed up, staring at the fucking ground. I had to physically drag them inside because they wouldn’t come in when I asked. It only fucking affects people who- God damn it. It’s already affected them and I want to get them the fuck out of this house,” Seth interjected. He was pacing now, picking at the sleeves of his flannel. You had never seen him this freaked out by anything. Colby’s hand moved from your shoulder to your back. You still didn’t want to look anyone in the eye, opting to peek through the gap between your knees to look around the room. 

“I-… I don’t know how long you’ve been feeling like this, and I do think we should talk about it at some point because trust me, its really important to talk to people about this stuff, but I kinda agree with Seth that you should probably sit this one out.” You whipped your head up and jumped from the couch, moving yourself across the room from everyone.

“No, for god's sake I’m a grown adult. I can make these decisions for myself. Put me on a leash if it’ll make you feel safer but I’m not leaving. I’ve been wanting to come here for months. Can we talk about this after we investigate, please? I’m not missing out on an investigation because you guys are overprotective. I’ll be fine.”

The silence that followed your words was tense. Sam and Colby looked back and forth between everyone, but you and Seth just stared directly at each other. The gears were turning in both of your heads, deciding what to do or say from here. 

“The millisecond you feel like you want to go up there you tell someone. Immediately. You can’t go anywhere alone, no solos. I’m not even gonna give you the luxury of pissing by yourself while we’re here. Stick with us at all times, hold my hand, whatever you need to do to stay away from that balcony. I will handcuff us together, I swear to God. I hate this but if you stay in my sight I’ll deal,” Seth rambled, stepping closer to you. 

You knew damn well that he would absolutely physically attach himself to you if he thought it was necessary. You also knew that there was no escaping the inevitable conversation that you really didn’t want to have. The investigation gave you time to prepare, or more favorably, give them a chance to forget that you’re not okay. As much as you wanted to go back to the balcony, you knew that realistically, they wouldn’t let you, which was probably for the best. Your arms crossed themselves over your chest. 

“Fine, fine. As long as I get to stay. Where’s our first stop here?”

~*~*~*~

True to his word, Seth did not leave your side the entire night. Even when he went under for an Estes session, he kept a hand on your knee, and kept a tight grip on your ankle when you went under later in the night. The higher in the house you got, the more you could feel the pull. Your name had come up a few times during the night, usually followed by ‘follow’ or ‘up’, which didn’t sit well with any of the boys. If the cameras weren’t such a constant presence, he would’ve had a firm grip on your waist, but instead he opted for the bottom of your shirt and your belt loops so the cameras wouldn’t pick up so much of the constant touch. You wanted to be annoyed, but you couldn’t exactly complain about having him so close for hours at a time.

The only place left was the balcony. The boys seem in consensus that Sam and Colby would investigate out there, and you and Seth would take one last crack at the dining room. You, however, had another idea.

“Can you give me the courtesy of hearing me out on an idea real quick? I know none of you like it, but I think we all know the best evidence we could get on that balcony is if I’m out there. It would- don’t look at me like that, I’m right. I’m not gonna jump or anything. Look, I was feeling something when I was out there earlier, I was seeing things, but Seth pulled me back before I could figure out what it was. I know my limits, just trust me,” you pleaded. 

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out there. Even if there wasn’t a risk to your safety, this could trigger you or something. I just don’t think that’s worth the risk,” Colby argued. You looked to Sam for help, but you knew he agreed with Colby. “Besides, if people know the lore and then see you being affected by this, they’re gonna do the math. I mean, is that really something you want fans to know?”

“Fuck the fans and frankly, fuck the cameras. You know I rarely feel stuff like this during investigations. This is real, man. I was drawn to it before I even knew what happened out there. I wasn’t even trying to learn anything, I had zero intentions besides exploring the house, and it was that strong? We can't just ignore that. This will be good evidence and you know it, even if it’s just for ourselves.”

“I fucking hate this,” Seth mumbled, pulling you closer to him. “I’ll let you out there on two conditions. One, that I hold onto you the entire goddamn time we’re out there, and two, we have this conversation right after we finish, out in the yard. As much as I want to do it the second the cameras are off, I don’t want anything in this house feeding off of that energy.”

“You’ve been holding me this entire time, I wouldn’t expect any less right now. Yard would be smart… I just don’t want to talk about it at all. I’d rather pretend everything’s normal but you’re not gonna let that slide.”

“Well it isn’t normal, and we’re gonna address it. Now, do you want me to hold your hand or what? What’s the plan out there?”

“Estes? I can go under and hold the railing. I feel like that would be at least a decent trigger, give us some good results. If nothing else, I can just stand there for a bit and tell you what happens. It honestly felt like scrying just without the mirrors,” you suggested. 

“This is insane, I can’t believe you want to do this,” Sam said. He handed you the blindfold. 

“You spent the night in the conjuring basement Sam, you can’t say shit.”

“Fair.”

~*~*~*~

“Okay guys, we are about to do something… unusual for our last investigation tonight. This balcony is said to have a weird energy about it, and Y/N thinks they can tap into it. Now, even though our guide said there was no real safety issue up here, we’re still gonna be as careful as possible, so Seth is gonna hold onto Y/N while they go under for one final Estes session,” Sam explained to the camera. He pointed it towards you, already pressed up to the railing with Seth’s arms firmly around you. You slipped the blindfold and headphones over your ears, and focused on the static. The boys started with their questions.

“Gwendolyn, are you here with us?”

“Me. Hello.”

“Hi Gwendolyn. We just want to ask you a few questions. We mean you no harm, we just want to communicate and tell people your story. Can you tell us how you died?”

“Husband.”

“Husband… there is that theory that Edwin actually killed her and that he was the one that set the fires, and then killed himself in the cellar out of grief. Do you think-“

“No. No.”

“No, so you did kill yourself?”

“That’s correct.”

“Gwendolyn, why do you draw people to this spot? Do you want them to know how you felt when you died?”

“Feeling. It hurts. Can’t understand.”

“We’re so sorry that you had to go through that. You didn’t deserve for your husband to treat you like that.”

“Why did you kill your children, Gwendolyn?”

“Don’t talk about-… fuck you.”

“Damn, she does not want to talk about that.”

“Leave me alone. I’m going.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down. Down.”

“We want to ask you a few more questions, is that okay?”

“Deserve this. Nobody loves-… not worth anything.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t deserve wha happened to you. We’re so sorry you didn’t have a happier life.”

“Taking them with me.”

“Taking your kids with you?”

“Let go. Off. Borden. Go away.”

“Oh fuck no, We’re ending this.”

“Y/N. With me. Jump.”

Seth yanked you back from the railing as Colby pulled the headphones and spirit box away from you. You were drained all of the sudden, feeling a bit shaky and dizzy. Normally you needed to be under much longer for it to get to you, but this session really took it out of you, physically and emotionally. You didn’t even know what you had been talking about but you didn’t feel fantastic. He pulled the blindfold off your face when you didn’t move to take it off.

“That was fucked up. We’re never doing anything like that again.”

“What was the conversation? Did it make sense?”

“We’ll talk about it downstairs. I don’t want us to be up here anymore, but it made perfect sense. That was terrifying.”

~*~*~*~

The grass was soft, having benefitted from the recent week of rainfall. The stars littered the sky above you, giving you something to focus on other than the heavy silence between you and Seth. Sam and Colby were packing up the last of the equipment in the house, giving the two of you space to talk.

“It was like… the feelings weren’t mine. I fully felt them but it wasn’t coming from me? It’s hard to explain. It was intense.”

“We need to talk about your feelings. You keep dodging the issue and talking about Estes. You agreed we would talk.” You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to tamp down the nerves buzzing behind your rib cage. 

“I know, I know. Fuck, I never wanted anyone to know. I don’t even know how to talk about it. I don’t want to make this your problem.”

“You’re not making it my problem, it isn’t a problem in the first place. It is, however, my business when the people I love are hurting and I have the ability to do something about it. Just… don’t worry about phrasing it correctly, just say whatever comes to mind and we’ll make sense of it together. How long have you felt like this? How bad is it?”

“Since I was twelve, in one form or another. It got worse as I got older, and this is the worst its ever been. I uh… I do cut and I think about suicide a lot. It’s passive though, I don’t have a plan or anything. I just… I’ve tried so many things. Therapy has never helped, my medication does fuck all, all my coping mechanisms stop being effective eventually. It just feels so helpless, like I’m never gonna get better, so why would I put my energy into trying? Every therapist I’ve had has told me that it’s basically managing my symptoms and keeping afloat at this point anyways and I don’t want to fucking- I don’t want to spend the rest of my life keeping afloat. It’s fucking miserable.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone besides a therapist?”

“No, I hate bothering people with this shit. I feel like I’m needy enough without it.”

“You’re not needy, and this doesn’t classify as bothering anyone. It’s using your support system. We’re your friends. We love you. We’re here for you, so let us be here for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to fucking babysit someone that you think is pathetic! You deserve better than putting up with my bullshit! Fuck, I should’ve never come here! This conversation is over until you can get it through your thick fucking skull-“

“Whoa, hey! Y/N, stop!” Seth grabbed your shoulders, stopping your attempt to walk away from him. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never said you were pathetic, and you aren’t. Is this just the depression talking or has someone actually made you feel like you’re pathetic for feeling like this because I swear to fucking god-“

“Do you actually love me? Do you enjoy being friends with me or are you just tolerating me because I work with Sam and Colby? Please just fucking be honest with me. I’d rather have my feelings hurt now than have you put up with me out of obligation. I know I’m not worth the attention or energy most of the time. I know I’m annoying and add nothing to investigations. I add nothing to anyone’s lives and I’m just sort of here, but I just need someone to fucking say it to my face because I’ll happily leave if it’ll make your lives easier.”

You were almost shaking now, hot tears spilling down both of your faces. The heartbroken look on his face sent a pain shooting through your chest. You had made him feel like this and you hated yourself all the more for it.

“I have never, ever felt that way about you. You have no idea the amount of times I turn to say something to you during investigations and get sad when you’re not there. You’re the first person I run to when I have something cool to say. I choose to use my attention and energy on you because I do love you. I wouldn’t crave your presence all the damn time if I didn’t love the fuck out of you. You are not pathetic. You are my favorite person on this god damn planet and I’d give my left leg if it meant you would stop hurting yourself.”

“…Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“You… can you promise me that nothing I do bothers you? I just feel like sometimes I ask for too much attention or I’m too touchy or something. The fans are gonna be all weird and shippy after this video comes out and if you’d rather they didn’t see that sort of thing it doesn’t have to go in the video. We can even stop all touches altogether if you’re uncomfortable with them thinking-“

“I’d rather get possessed than not be able to show you affection anymore. I don’t care what the fans think. They can mind their own damn business. We’ve always been touchy.”

“So… the fact that they’re gonna think we’re dating doesn’t bother you?” His hand drifted up from your shoulder to your cheek, somehow colder than the air around you. You leaned into the touch gratefully.

“Not the worst idea they could have. Actually I kinda don’t mind the thought of it. Our friends are always teasing us for being a married couple. I don’t see how us dating would be much different than things are now. We’re almost there, we just haven’t managed to kiss yet,” he laughed. You we’re hoping, with every fiber of your being, that his laugh was more nervous than joking. You gently placed your hands on his chest and pulled lightly at the edges of his flannel.

“We haven’t kissed because you’d probably regret it,” you mumbled. The buttons on his shirt suddenly became very interesting to you. 

“Why the fuck would I regret it?”

“I’m not exactly worth bragging about. Besides, now that you know that I’m all kinds of fu-“

His lips were warm on yours. The taste of tears lingered in the corners of your mouths. Your grip on his shirt tightened in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. You almost wanted to push him away for his own sake, but the hand that gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him erased that thought entirely. As soft and cautious as it started, the years of both of you wanting exactly this came rushing forth and pushed you both into desperation for one another. The kiss got deeper, fingers pressed harder and wandered further, any care for breathing went out the window. You were the first to pull away, dizzy and overwhelmed.

“There’s no shot in hell I’ll ever regret that,” Seth breathed, smile creeping across his lips as he looked at your breathless state. The butterflies in your stomach hit full force when his thumb brushed across your kiss bruised lips. 

“You just… would it be weird to admit I’ve wanted to do that for a while?” You laughed. He laughed with you, taking your hand in his. 

“So have I. You’re extra stuck with me now because I definitely want to do that a lot more.” He pressed his lips softly to your palm, right above your wrist. “And your issues aren’t gonna scare me away. We’re in this together whether you like it or not. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Tears welled in your eyes once again. The small gesture made your heart flutter, even more so when he kissed your wrist again, holding it longer this time. 

“It’s bad, Seth. It’s really bad and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Then I’ll make it my first official duty as your boyfriend to at least distract you from it, maybe with more kissing.” You laughed at that, pawing the tears from your eyes. He wiped at hem as well, catching the stray ones that you missed. You pulled him closer to you, hugging him as tight as your arms would allow. 

“You guys good out here?” Colby’s voice carried over from the front of the house. He and Sam were lugging bags of equipment, finally ready to leave the location. Seth turned towards them with his arms still firmly around you.

“Yea we’re chilin’. We fuckin’ kissed, bro!” He shouted. You laughed and buried your face in his chest, smacking him lightly.

“Fucking finally! Ready to head out then?”

“Totally, we’ll be right there!”

Two fingers pushed your chin up so your eyes met his. He placed a kiss on your forehead, and another quick one on your lips. You wanted it to continue but you knew you had a long drive ahead of you, so you took his hand and walked with him to the car.

“Before we head out, do you want to talk about the self-harm because I’m still worried,” Sam asked. He leaned against the driver’s side door, keys dangling from his hand. Seth spoke before you could figure out what to say.

“I think they’ll be okay. We’re gonna work on it together, right?”

“Yea… yea we are. Together.”

[genav0s]

❪ ⌕ . ❫ ' OO. ㅤ ﹕ ㅤAMNESIA   !      [  . . .  ]

i was bleeding with a september kind of longing; the type of longing that is both patient and unconditional.⠀–— from, “To The Tune ‘Soaring Clouds’”

✶ . CHARACTERS: sanghyuk & ian. (ft. ian's therapist!) ✶ . WORD COUNT: 2.5k ✶ . WARNINGS: childhood trauma & swearing. ✶ . NOTES: not proofread by anything but the google docs spell checker :)

Ian can’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice. He thinks he resolved to cut it out of his memory a long time ago— much like his father’s face. His therapists all told him it was a coping mechanism, a way for his brain to protect him from the pain of the memories they would bring. Ian never really thought about it much, it just was what it was. He couldn’t remember his mother’s voice or his father’s face and that was quite alright to him. It meant he never had to say much to his therapists when they all asked him the same annoying question: “Tell me about your childhood?” It was a lot easier to shake his head and purse his lips. A quiet “I don’t remember much,” went a long way in Ian Moon’s world. 

Sanghyuk always scoffed when Ian used that excuse.

“I don’t remember much,” didn’t fly in Ahn Sanghyuk’s world.

In his world, everyone remembers, even if they don’t want to. Ian found it funny how invested the older male was in getting to the bottom of Ian’s angsty, subtly antisocial exterior. He questioned him when he disappeared in the early morning hours, threw away his haphazardly stored cigarettes, and took notice of his lack of short-sleeved shirts in his wardrobe. 

It never bothered Ian as much as he was sure Sanghyuk wished it did. He would shrug when Sanghyuk brought up his near-obsessive usage of cigarettes at all hours of the day. He would stare blankly as Sanghyuk droned on about responsibility, risk, and repression. At times he would even roll his eyes at Sanghyuk’s concern for his notoriously hot showers. “You should see someone about that,” was met with a dismissive nod of Ian’s head as he turned to get back to whatever he was doing last.

Sanghyuk leaned against the wall, hovering over Ian’s shorter stature. He eyes Ian carefully as he watches the younger male take another drag from his cigarette.

“Smoking’s not good for you,” His voice laced with concern, though it never quite reached his expression. Without so much as a glance, Ian rolled his eyes. An exhale in the form of a cloud of smoke exited his pursed lips.

“Thanks for the lecture, dad.”

The quip promoted the darkening of Sanghyuk’s expression. A sudden seriousness settled over the two young idols, the silence drew Ian’s attention before Sanghyuk could respond. “I’m serious, Ian. You’re risking your health, fucking over your voice too. In case you forgot, you’re a singer.”

Ian scoffed. “My voice? Give me a break.”

Sanghyk shook her head, incredulous at the sudden switch in Ian’s tone. No longer indifferent to his leader’s concerns, it was as if he had grown tired of his pestering.

“You’re missing the point—”

“What point, Sanghyuk?” Ian snapped, he stubbed out his cigarette with a certain level of arrogance. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his jacket, eyes set on a distant sign on the other side of the street.

“You can’t keep living like there are no consequences for anything you do.” His stance against the wall changed as he pushed himself to stand on his own without support. Ian scoffed, his face hardened as he had already chosen not to listen to a word of Sanghyuk’s advice or concern.

“My bad, I forgot the part where I’m a perfect little singing angel boy.” His voice deepened with sarcasm before he added, “I apologize.”

Sanghyuk crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he tried to decide what course was best to take with the stubborn male in front of him. All the while, Ian paced back and forth, anger finding a home among his features. It was unlike his normally composed self. Never having seen Ian become this irate, Sanghyuk struggled to believe the same man in front of him was the group’s same suave visual.

“Whatever it is you’re avoiding, it’s gonna catch up with you.” His tone was firm.

“Avoiding what?” Ian snapped, his eyes flashing a level of vexation foreign to the group’s oldest member. “What am I avoiding, Sanghyuk?” His voice rose, its depth lower than Sanghyuk had ever heard prior.

With a raised eyebrow, Sanghyuk cautiously moved to end the conversation before it could escalate any further. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play stupid. You’re running and you don’t know when to stop.”

Ian scoffed. “Sanghyuk, seriously, you don’t know shit about me.”

It was Sanghyuk’s turn to scoff, his head bowed as he turned to return to their apartment building. If Ian wanted to be stubborn that was fine with him, he would be able to live with himself knowing he tried to reason with the younger male. 

“You’re right.” His hand reached for the door as he added, “Go see a fucking therapist or something.”

Ian preferred his minimally dangerous rebellion from the traditionally “good boy” image others in his position adopted early in their careers. In his eyes, the sooner he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be, the sooner people would get rid of their expectations of him. He would be able to get away with whatever he wanted. After their heated argument, however, Ian found himself unable to shake off Sanghyuk’s words. Days spent brooding over their conversation, the memory of the words exchanged by the two replaying over and over again in his mind. It hadn’t been the first time Sanghyuk had voiced his concern for Ian’s habits but it was the first time he had mentioned therapy, it stuck with him.

“Who are you told you resemble most? Your mother or your father?” 

That threw Ian for a loop. Ian had been in and out of therapy offices for years, ever since he was a child— as mandated by the Child Protective Services agent that facilitated his adoption into his uncle’s home in suburban eastern Texas. Over time, he had grown used to the routine: he sat in a quiet room and talked to someone who was paid to listen. 

From an early age he had learned that if he gave them enough information, they would leave him alone to report back to his agent. As he got older, he only found himself growing more frustrated with the system that failed him. He was tired of being probed and analyzed and dissected for the right answers and the right feelings. Eventually, he had shut down enough for them to leave him alone. He had long since left behind the days of shrugged shoulders and blank stares to avoid having to engage with any of his therapists on a deeper level.

The dreaded question about his family had come up enough times that by the time Ian had become an adult, he had a bank of responses to choose from. Though this question wasn’t much different, it sent his rehearsed conscious spiraling for an equivalent, unrehearsed response. His psyche spoke for him instead.

“My… father, mainly. I have his- nose- and his smile.”

She hummed lowly, her pen beginning to scribble across the pages embedded into the small folder in her lap. “And what did he do for a living?”

“He was a pediatric surgeon. I never saw him much.”

With a nod, she motioned for him to continue. Ian stared at her for a moment, his dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He felt a dull ache forming at the apex of his forehead. 

“Uh— he worked at a hospital in Seoul when I was little… before we moved to the States.” He began to stutter, noticeably out of character for the usually intentionally composed vocalist. Out of guarded responses, he could no longer provide formulaic answers that satisfied his audience without so much as a second of contemplation. 

“How old were you when you moved?” 

Ian’s frustration grew apparent on his face as she continued to ask the simplest of questions. It jarred him to see her so calmly in control of their conversation. Without as much as a twinge of emotion on her face, she reversed Ian’s casual complacency against him— flipping his usual tricks onto him. 

“S-seven years old.” His head tilted as she scribbled more words down in her notes.

As she paused, Ian observed her features curiously. It was as if she was unbothered by his being caught off-guard by her unorthodox methodology. She took a moment to consider her next question, Ian left ridden with anxiety as he attempted to determine what direction she would take next.

“You said ‘we’ earlier. Did you have siblings? Or was it just you and your parents? Maybe just one even?”

Just like that, she went in the complete opposite direction. Leaving Ian scrambling once more for an appropriate response. In a carefully calculated moment, he was forced to remember. Memories he had blocked out of his mind at least a decade before came rushing back to him in a flood. 

“‘We’ was all four of us. My parents and my brother—”

“Brother?”

“Half-brother,” His voice quiet akin to the gentle hum of the air conditioner in the quaint office. His eyes were unable to meet hers as she observed him once more.

She waited for him to continue as if she had created a sense of self-direction for Ian, a chance for him to steer the conversation. He knew that wasn’t the case, but he took it regardless. The flood breaking through the barriers erected so long ago he could no longer recognize the materials used to build them. 

“Wonjun— Nathan,” He rushed to correct himself, ever consciously aware of his surroundings even when he craved to be as oblivious as other guys his age.

“He goes by Nathan in the States.” His dark eyes darted about before landing on a spot on the cream-carpeted floor, comfort finding a hold over his senses. 

“Same dad, uh- different mom. He’s four years older. From- from my father’s first marriage.” He blinked rapidly, his mind and heart struggling against each other as one fought to suppress the other’s hold over his words. 

Unsure of which one had won him over, he continued, “I- uh, he wasn’t a huge part of my life until we moved. It was like all of a sudden… he was there- living with us all the time. Then he just- I don’t know, left one day.”

As he spoke, Ian rubbed at his temples. The tightening of his head extended past the point of his forehead to the edges of his eyebrows— the same eyebrows all three male members of his immediate family were famous for sharing. 

“Left?” She leaned in, catching the last part of his recount. Her pen which had never left the page in front of her came to a halt. Her thought was left unfinished as she pried Ian for more detail.

Caught off-guard once more, Ian shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t spoken about, or to, his estranged brother— half-brother, in years possibly. It wasn’t a sore subject, just one that was unimportant to the perception he valued within his little world. For all intents and purposes, Ian Moon was the sole child of his absent parents. 

Ian rubbed at his wrist as he eyed the watch adorning his left arm.

“Boarding school.” He muttered, low under his breath as if he attempted to hide it from the therapist seated before him.

She nodded, eyes sweeping over his figure; closed off and intensely guarded.

“How did your mother treat him? It wouldn’t be unrealistic for her to hold some unpleasant feelings towards the son of her husband’s first wife.”

Steered away from his thoughts, Ian made a brief moment of eye contact with the woman in front of him. 

“Fine,”

Quick to respond, she picked up the pen lying in the crease of her paper to scribble once again. After realizing he would refuse to continue on she conjured another question as his mind swirled to rebuild its defenses once more. 

“What did she do?”

In an instant Ian’s jaw hardened, eyes set upon the spot he had chosen earlier once more. The question had touched then strangled a nerve, one that had never been touched in all of Ian’s years of “not remembering” the sound of his mother’s voice. With a bated breath, he hunched over with his hands folded between his spread legs.

“Cured kids with cancer.”

The silence between the two kept Ian’s mind swirling. He picked at the skin of his fingers, jaw set just the same as his deep eyes. With his flared nostrils, the therapist allowed him a moment to collect his thoughts, granting him a moment to sit with thoughts he had kept out of reach for far too long. The weight of the moment lay heavy on his chest as his head throbbed against his skull, his composure no longer under his control. Once his fists clenched with frustration, the therapist saw his emotions finally spill over.

“She cured kids that had cancer while I walked to and from school on my own with holes in my shoes and clothes that were sizes too small for me.”

The anger in his eyes extended to the clenching of his jaw, switching from discomfort to an embracing of his memories.

“She never spoke to me, I was shy so I couldn’t make any friends, and my father was off screwing some other intern like he had done with my mom. Then, Nathan was sent away and the only person I could talk to… was gone.”

He continued releasing the frustration that he had hidden years ago in favor of the silver-tongued adolescence that granted him the social status to match the looks he had inherited from his father. 

“I would go days without a real meal and the only time she gave a shit was when she wanted to guilt-trip my father about his sex addiction.” He scoffed, his head bowing at the memory.

“He ended up having to resign from the hospital because he caused a chlamydia outbreak.”

“Piece of shit, I’m glad he’s dead,” He muttered with a casual chuckle, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He spoke with a turn towards the therapist seated across from him.

“She was so busy caring for other kids that she didn’t have time to care about her own kid.”

She allowed another moment of silence once more. Ian bit at his lip, enough to come close to drawing blood from the power of the pressure. Seated in the silence, his mind raced to piece together the realization from the memories Ian had long buried away.

He had never been able to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unimportant. It was a wound that he had never given a chance to heal; for fear it would destroy what little of himself he had left. As much as his parents resented his hindrance in their lives, he resented their role in the emotional scarring of the little boy he could never quite grow rid of. In Ian’s little world, his mother’s voice and his father’s face were the hurt and abandonment that left him unwanted at such a young age. The unwantedness haunted him, shattering the rationality that escaped him so long ago. 

That wasn't something worth remembering.

[los-ninos-tortugas]

So you actually live in New York, right? Is there anything that ever bothers you when watching TMNT (any version) because they didn’t get it Right(TM)?

Born and raised! 😃

Quite honestly I tend to be pretty forgiving when it comes to Fictional New York, since NYC is kind of the default setting for superhero type media that wants to feel like it’s set in the “real” world (ex. Anything made by Marvel, ever, Disney’s Gargoyles). New York tends to get depicted over an over again in media so I’m willing to make certain allowances for things like: buildings that don’t exist in real life but exist in the show because it’s the Big Bad’s evil lair. I think something would have to be really egregiously wrong for me to take notice of it.

(Although I do find it kinda hilarious that in 03 TMNT that whenever they have the Birds Eye view of Manhattan they draw the island with this really big dramatic curve in it when in real life uhhh…. Yeah it doesn’t look like that 🤣 but it fits the art style of the show so you know, artistic license)

Honestly it’s a lot easier for me to notice when something is really right, Or accurately depicted. Again, back to 03 TMNT (which aside from the Bayverse movies I personally think was the TMNT iteration that was most dedicated to accuracy in their depiction of NYC) I pointed out a while ago that I got really excited that they included the (at the very least locally) famous “Whale Room” from the natural history museum

(Although for whatever reason they drew the room from the opposite perspective of the stairs where you enter and come face to face with the Whale, probably because the tail was easier to draw than the front of it)

But yeah this thing was a like, the highlight of most childhood field trips to the museum, it honestly never gets old.

I guess the only real nitpick I have (for all the iterations but especially 03) is that honestly, all the turtles should have an accent, not just Raph 🤣 I also have no idea why Raph has a Brooklyn accent of all of them since generally speaking the turtles are always shown to have grown up in Manhattan but like, each borough has their own unique accent (and for Queens, because it’s so big that gets subdivided into accents from specific neighborhoods) so I think all of the turtles should have some pretty obvious New York accents (as a treat). I mean hey, there’s five boroughs and four turtles, it’d be kinda hilarious if they each individually picked up an accent from one specific borough each.

[ichorai]

shout me out ; bucky barnes.

track nine of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; ex!bucky barnes x gn!reader

synopsis ; sometimes a simple ‘sorry’ is more than enough.

words ; 1.7k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, exes au

warnings / includes ; mentions of death/killing/losing a loved one, crying, mentions of a break up, set in a 50s style diner, bucky has a lumberjack beard woohoo, alpine brings bucky dead birds <3

main masterlist.

Love was the act of tattooing someone’s soul into your heart. Oftentimes it’d hurt, it’d sting, it’d bite. A poetic kind of pain one was willing to endure because love was universal—love was all consuming—love was what drew a line between surviving and living. But it was art, in the end, and the art would heal, just as a gash would eventually scab over.

At least, that was the point of love; an end goal of bliss, right?

Sometimes it didn’t feel like your heart’s tattoo of Bucky ever healed. Was it beyond repair? You weren’t entirely sure.

Bucky asked you to meet with him in the very diner you met him at. 

It felt so long ago. You were just waiting tables at the time, barely making ends meet—and there he was, an Avenger in the flesh, all easy smiles and tender eyes. 

Now here you were, nearly a year later from when he broke up with you, fiddling with the cuff of your sweater. You quit your old job a long time ago, having moved away from the small town to pursue a more promising career in the big city, and admittedly, because everything you looked at reminded you of something painful. Whether it be Bucky, or something that reminded you of your father that passed away a while back… it became too much. It was so strange being back—like returning to a place that seemed to remain stagnant in time while you moved on with life.

It was snowing heavily, frost rimming the diner’s windows. The flickering crimson glow from the large neon signs atop the diner seemed to taunt you with its brightness, as if to say: Stop! Don’t go in there!

But in there, you went.

The diner was empty, save for the young teenager manning the cash register, earbuds popped in as she picked at her nails. The checkered red-and-white floors beneath you injected a shot of raw nostalgia through your veins—you remembered the countless hours you spent mopping up these floors, the dozens of instances you averted your gaze to the square tiles so Bucky wouldn’t be able to meet your flustered eyes.

There was a dull sort of ache residing beneath your ribcage upon seeing him again after so long. He was in the process of sipping at his vanilla milkshake, staring at something on his phone with that familiar dip in his eyebrows you had grown so fond of. 

The door jangled upon your entrance, and his head shot up. The teenager didn’t bother to look, blowing a small bubble of her gum. 

You swallowed uneasily. He had a beard now, you noticed. He was always clean-shaven while dating you. For some strange reason, this seemed to make you even more saddened. It suddenly felt like the break up happened yesterday instead of a year ago.

When his eyes met yours, you had half the mind to turn right around and traipse back into your car. A part of you wondered if he was angry. Maybe he knew about that one shirt of his you kept—or the fact that you would mail small cat toys to his address from time to time because you missed Alpine. Maybe he wanted to tell you to stop hanging out with his friends that inevitably became your friends when you dated him. Maybe he wanted to tell you that he hated you—or that he still loved you. 

You had to give yourself a small reprimanding at the last thought. Life wasn’t at all as dramatic as you made it out to be in your head. 

He waved you over, and it took longer than you would’ve preferred for your muscles to kick in, legs sluggishly dragging along the checkered tiles. 

It was hard to speak, so you remained silent the first few minutes. Bucky slid over the plate of curly fries in front of him closer to you, the secondary milkshake in tow.

“You remembered I like strawberry,” were the first words you said to your ex in over a year, voice hoarse from disuse.

A smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Of course I did. You only got it, like, every date we went on.”

Bucky seemed to have a sort of hypnotic effect on you. You felt yourself huffing out a laugh, feeling slightly light-headed.

He spoke up again. “Thanks for coming all the way here, by the way. Honestly, I didn't expect you to show up.”

“It’s nice to be back,” you admitted. “I miss it here. A lot of, uhm… a lot of memories tied to this place.”

His head bobbed once. “Well, I asked you here because I have something I need you to know. It’s the reason I broke up with you—I know I said it’s because I wasn’t ready, and that was true to an extent, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me but just know that, from the bottom of my heart, I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. And I understand if you’d never want to see me ever again—I’ll be out of your life for good after this, I promise.”

“Bucky, you’re scaring me,” you said, hands curling into tight fists in your lap.

“I killed your dad.” 

A beat of silence. The air seemed to grow colder. You straightened, spine stiffening to the brink of borderline pain. There was a sheen film of unshed tears over the trembling blue of his eyes, and you were entirely sure you were mirroring his exact expression.

Turbulent was your mind as you processed those four measly words. You wondered how you were supposed to react to such a situation. What would be deemed appropriate when the love of your life tells you that your dad was dead because of his past-brainwashed self? 

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice was broken, tentative.

A hot tear traversed down your cheek. You sniffled, lips screwing up in thought. 

And after another minute of struggling to maintain your composure, you wiped the tears away and scrutinized him with a soft gaze.

“That first time we met, right here in this diner… you wanted to tell me, didn’t you? But you couldn’t. You just… you looked at me and asked me if I was okay,” you finally said, choking on your own words. “Bucky, you’re not the villain here—you’re also a victim. Should you have told me before we started dating? Absolutely. Should you have left me for a year wondering what I did wrong? Yeah, no, that was a dick move. But do I blame you for my father’s death? No. Bucky, that wasn’t you. The Winter Soldier did that. You were brainwashed and robbed of your right to choose—your right to live. It’s not your fault.”

Bucky was crying now, too, sucking on the roof of his mouth while fighting off the sting behind his eyelids. 

“I loved you so much,” he finally croaked out. “It felt like I couldn’t be with you—like I didn’t deserve to be with you. I kept it from you for so long and I’m so, so sorry for that.”

“Oh, Buck,” you mumbled, reaching across the table to intertwine your hand with his flesh on, nudging the plate of forgotten fries to the side with your elbow. “It’s going to take time for me to process this, I’m gonna be honest. But I… I don’t want you gone. I lo—care about you too much to lose you now.” You nearly slipped up, almost saying the dreaded L word. 

Did you still love him?

The answer, plain and simple, much to your vehement objections, was yes. You would always love Bucky Barnes. He was sweet and loving and cared for animals, he loved tangerines and plums, he complained lightheartedly whenever it rained, he’d dance with you to slow forties music, he remembered the small things about you, and his favorite place to kiss you was the little spot beside your nose where he liked feeling the remnants of your smile.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” he hiccuped, staving off a wracking sob. It withered away into a wet chuckle at his own absurdity. “I’m sorry, I really thought… I thought you’d react differently.”

“I had a long time to grieve my father,” you admitted, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles soothingly. “It was painful, but I’m healing. I don’t think you’ve had any time to grieve what you’ve lost, Bucky. Let yourself feel it—you’re not the bad guy here. Besides, I forgive you—you only had my best interests in mind, after all. Sometimes a simple sorry is more than enough.”

Bucky could only spare you half of a water smile. “I missed you so much, you have no idea. Everyone back at home does. Sam, Alpine, Natasha, Steve… everyone. You’re always…” He gestured vaguely, unsure of how to articulate all his complex emotions into words. 

“I’m always yours.” The words came out a mere whisper of a thing, so quiet that Bucky barely picked it up. After a moment, you cleared your throat and gently relinquished your hold on him, averting your teary eyes to the plate of fries. “So, are we only having cold fries and shakes for dinner or did you order burgers, too?”

“I did—should be here any moment now. I got vegetarian for you,” he quipped, sipping at his milkshake after pulling a tissue from the red dispenser on the table to dab at his damp cheeks. “Extra sauce, just the way you like it.”

Gods, you loved Bucky Barnes.

“I like your beard,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “It’s like you’re a rugged lumberjack of some sorts. Certainly got the muscles for it.”

When Bucky laughed at your comment, all wind chimes and bells and rumbles of thunder, you could feel the tension between the two of you melt away almost instantaneously. 

You briefly wondered if he still loved you the same as he would mumble into the skin of your neck, your lips, your stomach, your thighs, your body, an entire year ago—and if there was ever a possibility of rekindling what used to be there.

Maybe, you mused while listening to Bucky begin to describe Alpine’s new fascination with bringing dead birds into the house, your heart’s tattoo of Bucky wasn’t beyond repair.

[captainkurosolaire]

Resolute Once More, Forever Lastly.

Heading back to create a lot of writing and stories this year throughout. Return to what foremost matters. But within every New Year resides a newly grown sprout of light; hope. However intense we set our resolutions and tough forth with action is how well that hope blossoms into something worthy enough for memories... What I'm setting myself too is simple, but altering to my essence.

Now officially, a decade ago, upon this time. I endured my meant trial a very close touch to death. Young and not determining value yet, I threw myself numerously towards surgeries and just carelessly towards the voices that were experts in treating me for the better, and while true. Every-time I seemingly fearlessly showed while others were frightful of mere needles, I turned blank like stone, uncaring letting my life become the epitome of waves. Hell, I never used my voice even towards what mattered, spoke out, for myself before that time. I was just a simple-minded creature that lives off only habit.

But at the same time all that happened and I was in my critical state only relying on hearing what my surroundings brought. Graced by potent dreams brought on by some powerful painful medicine. I still felt my soul, linger. I heard and felt, every day even when my eyes could not open or my body wasn't in my control, the noise warped my realities and nothing felt, real as it wasn't, but was. There was no way, I couldn't bring up in my mind, was this it? And that is where and when, everything flashes. Confronted what fulfilling things you brought in your time alive? I knew for one thing wasn't definitely, not enough. So why didn't I fight, be tougher, challenge myself, explore, think. To accept death isn't brave not when you can still run marathons. I survived. Told myself I would never again place myself into that position when I awoke and could finally rise to a daybreak, I would hold against myself more. Reinvent, discover, figure out what drives me, challenge, I would tangle and wrestle life itself, cause it wasn't ever going to slip against me. Long as I drew breathe from lungs. In almost the same vain, when I couldn't find value within his own life. A friend who had life's endless potential, accolades, credentials, smart, the type of smile that warmed a whole school, avid wrestler too, just easily liked. Unforeseeable, accidentally and most definitely could been evaded died around when I was recovering and emerging. Two opposing spectrum's, stances. Took that personal, harder than seemingly anyone, just because it was practically a brother, a first friend who saw and knew me beforehand, type you never forget, someone you clung and loved quite simply. So now I get to thrive and before I even jogged out, I now had to collect myself again. Many avenues, paths, could've taken. I could've slipped just gave up found myself quickly back where I started... but instead I spit in the eyes of fate and stubbornly, said I will live a life worth two, or as many as it takes to make up for it, I forced my eyelids open to the light, even when all the power was turned off! I turned my entire soul into a pledged tribute. And that made me rise against being shy easily, to become more engaging, even when I was told to rest, I kept going until I strained myself continuously back to hospital visits, in heaps of pain, but never once undetermined. Took up writing and never looked back, threw and went against pills, never wanting it to be a new way I was defined, or have some excuse so I invented my own cure, what better place, to live many lifetime's over, but to create them? To build them and aim to make them raw. Lead to writing, I could express and be myself, showcase parts of me and be my voice as much as needed, learn and acquire everything I lacked previously. Often we become the stories we tell ourselves. It awakens and alerts us to parts we never subconsciously had deep meaning or connected. There is a bountiful and lifetime amount of stories I have yet to write and to create, dramatics, fights, ups and downs, to dabble into things not in my nature or character, that doesn't discern someone like me. Because writing, no... creating is to know the existence of infinity. Might be asked why I spilled and always go into such elaborate lengths into everything I do. Now in days, if want people to know your story, it's say it under less than ten words. But that's not me. If you understand anything from why I am, who I am. You'd know I think and reflect deeply, I put "why, where and what" after each thought. I risk the damages of knowing those three words, into everything. Every year that changes, is a new beginning. It's only natural and spirit, I reflect on previously, and seek to aim for something new. After a decade of the garden I made. Being someone stubborn always punishing himself, forcing himself into challenges, being hard if I couldn't succeed, no matter what effort I put into, I made myself the grandest mental antagonist, villain in any story, a critic that destroys. Why sure, destruction can often lead you to admire what's left in the aftermath you created. Can't forget what destruction really means. So with it all being laid out. I'm doing something wild. I'm betting, gambling on myself. For once I'm not out to punish, challenge myself to something artificial, to force me to live the fullest. But something much grandeur. I want to live for a happiness for myself. See to really let yourself live for happiness outweighs everything else and that I believe is really what value really is. No matter how smart or massive it may be, or shape and size, if you give it importance, it becomes just that. Silly taken me this long to finally do that for myself and like when I did the XIVWrite to that Tribute my passed Friend, I can now dedicate forever and now on to tribute myself while still many times over. But this was a journey I had to undergo, writing and creating took me on this amazing path here. Met some outstanding people to call friends and mutual-alike, met crucial people that impacted me and sharpened me. Sorry for the blog post but you know, it's a blog I’m old school and lay it all on the table. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Moving on to content and ongoing things forth. I spent last year restraining myself and limiting myself a lot so I could make myself truly thirst and understand what is important and writing has never ached more to do. So throughout year, I got a small goal to just throw some chapters out, sixty would be a sick number, but let's not break this resolution. Getting refresh with somethings for the next week or so, try getting myself polished on some stuff for the Budokai 3 showdown. It's going to be the continuation of these works below, chronologically listed.

1. Parley of the Oceans

2. Give Up Butterfly

3. Genesis

Ideally I have the actual Fight, chopped into seven chapters for a full-on week, soon. Working on condensing stories into one chapters, or just a lot less, going forward. But eventually I can begin the dramatic story-telling and really exploring a whole roster of characters... O_O I've got a lot in-store but this makes me come alive above many things. Got some gut-wrenching feuds, some epic showdowns, war uprising, most anticipating is actually a pirate custom-made sport, next best thing since Blitzball in this universe, I conjured. xD That I really want to get to in the story-timeline. 5v5 of a ton of characters to figure out how I can spoof them up for their debuts. Somehow, unfathomably made it this far down. Thanks, means a lot to have some supporters and even those I admire to give me inspiration to not just create for myself but also create as large I possibly can so that it may matter for others too. That right there is stupendously valuable to me. Cheers hearties and even my lurking enemies!

[grey-gazania-fic]

Chess

Fingolfin enjoys what will be his last moment of peace with his family. Part of my Woman King AU. Rated G.

It was a cold, quiet night at Barad Eithel, a few days into the new year, and I was enjoying a peaceful evening with my family in the warmth and comfort of my parlor. Fingon, Ianneth, and Ereiniel had come to visit for the midwinter festival, as they often did. It was a joy to have them here. I missed Argon and Aredhel, both lost so long ago, and Turgon and Idril, hidden away in their secret city. Fingon was the only one of my children who remained in my life, and I treasured him and his wife and daughter all the more for it.

He sat across from me, frowning as he concentrated on the chessboard that lay between us. While he was brilliant on the battlefield, the finer points of chess still eluded him, though he had played countless games in his life -- not only against me, but also against his cousins and his brothers. Among his generation in our family, it was Argon and Caranthir who had truly mastered the game, not my eldest child.

Ereiniel was cross-legged on the thick carpet near our feet, amusing herself with her doll and a trio of painted wooden horses. Lalwen was keeping half an eye on her as she relaxed by the fire, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Ianneth sat beside my sister, letting out the hem of one of Ereiniel’s skirts, for my granddaughter had grown another few inches. It seemed she was destined to be tall. That was unsurprising; physically, she took after Fingon in everything but her nose, and while he was the shortest of my three sons, he was still of an imposing height.

I moved my castle across the board. “Check and mate,” I said.

Fingon leaned back and groaned good-naturedly. “Best out of three?” he suggested.

“In a moment.” I looked down at Ereiniel. “I have something for you, starshine,” I said. When she laid her doll down and turned to look at me, I added, “I know it’s still two weeks till your begetting day, but you and your parents will be home by then, so I’d like to give it to you now.”

Over by the fire, Lalwen hid a smile behind her hand. She knew what the gift was; in fact, she had helped me think of the idea. But Fingon and Ianneth did not, and my sister and I were looking forward to seeing Fingon’s reaction almost as much as Ereiniel’s. I drew the present out from behind my chair and placed it in my granddaughter’s hands.

“Is it a book?” she asked, examining the rectangular package.

“Open it and see, love,” Ianneth said, setting her work aside.

Slowly, Ereiniel pulled the wrappings away with her small fingers. It was indeed a book, one I had had made just for her, a slim volume with a cover of blue leather and the title embossed in gold letters.

“Prince Fingon and the Fire-Drake,” she read aloud. Then she looked up at her father with wide, shining eyes. “Ada, it’s about you! It’s about the time you fought the dragon.”

My son glanced at me with raised eyebrows before seating himself on the carpet beside his daughter. “So it is,” he said, not quite managing to conceal his own surprise. But Ereiniel didn’t notice; she had opened the book, and now she gasped with delight.

“Look!” she said. “It’s you and Pilin.”

The artist I had commissioned had done a superb job. There on the title page was a picture of Fingon, rendered in vivid colors, mounted and holding his bow. Pilin, his horse, was drawn in full detail, from the blaze on his face down to the pasterns on his back legs. Ereiniel stared at the illustration a moment longer and then, very carefully, closed the book and set it aside. Then she clambered to her feet and rushed towards me, throwing her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, Haru,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

I returned her embrace and then lifted her up to sit upon my knee. “You’re welcome. Your father tells me it’s your favorite bedtime story,” I said. “Now you can read it for yourself whenever you like.”

Beaming, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. She was a delight, this child, and her presence eased the ache I felt in my heart when I thought of my lost children and grandchildren.

“Pass it here, Fingon,” I said, reaching out for the book. “Ereiniel and I can read it together.”

He complied, seeming half embarrassed and half amused -- unlike Ianneth, whose amusement was clearly not leavened by any other emotions. When I glanced her way, she grinned, her green eyes sparkling with humor.

Pushing the chessmen aside, I set the book down on the table, opened it to the first page, and began to read. Though Ereiniel knew the story well, she still glowed with delight as I read, and she gasped in wonder at each sumptuous illustration.

“It’s my favorite story, Haru,” she said when I had finished, leaning back to rest her head against my chest. “Thank you.”

I kissed the top of her head and said, “Anything for my granddaughter. I love you very much, starshine.”

“I love you, too,” she said, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “Ada is very brave, isn’t he?”

“He is,” I agreed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fingon’s cheeks turn pink. “The bravest of all the Noldor, I’d say.”

Though amusement still gleamed in her eyes, Ianneth took pity on my son. “I think it’s time for bed, love,” she said, standing and crossing the room. “Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Haru,” Ereiniel said. “Goodnight, Aunt Lalwen. Goodnight, Ada.”

Fingon scooped her up from my lap and kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “Sweet dreams, mírë,” he said, before passing her into Ianneth’s arms.

“I think I’ll turn in as well,” Lalwen said, setting down her empty teacup with a gentle clink and lifting her hand to cover a yawn.

I raised my eyebrows at Fingon in a silent query, but he shook his head. “Best two out of three,” he said with a grin, claiming his seat at the table once more.

I returned his smile. “Very well,” I said. Once we both had bade Ianneth and Lalwen goodnight, I began setting up my chessmen once more. But Fingon did not join me immediately.

“‘Fingon and the Fire-Drake’? Really, Atto?” he said, mingled amusement and embarrassment once more taking up residence on his face.

“Ah, but did you see her expression?” I said, smiling at the memory. “She truly is a treasure.”

“She is,” he agreed. He lifted his queen and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. Though he was staring at the board, his mind seemed to be elsewhere, and I waited in silence for him to continue.

“You know, this wasn’t something I thought my life would hold, back in Valinor,” he finally said. “Marriage. Fatherhood. But… I am happy. Ereiniel is everything to me. I can’t imagine life without her and Ianneth.”

“I’m glad,” I said, watching him begin to set up his game pieces. I knew that marriage would not have been his choice, had we been at true peace. It was for my sake and the sake of our alliance with the Sindar that he had agreed to meet the eligible women of Hithlum. But Ianneth had stolen his heart. She was an admirable woman, wise and kind. I was glad that she was at my son’s side, and that they were happy together.

Fingon set his last piece in its place and looked up at me. “Did you feel this way about us when we were small?” he asked. “As though there would never be anything in the world more perfect than your child?”

“I still feel that way,” I said, giving him a gentle smile.

He smiled back, his cheeks turning pink once more beneath his dusting of freckles, and moved his pawn across the board, beginning the game. He played better than he had during our last match, but all the same, two hours later I had won once more, so we wished each other goodnight and sought out the warmth of our respective beds.

I was roused by a frantic pounding on my door, which crashed open before I had even finished climbing to my feet. I saw Henthael, my scribe, standing in the doorway, his face ashen in the light from the corridor.

“Sire,” he gasped, “Ard-galen is burning.”

“What?” In an instant, I was on my feet and halfway into my trousers.

“It’s burning,” Henthael repeated. “The whole plain is aflame, and there are fires and fumes pouring from Thangorodrim.”

As he spoke, I realized that I could already detect a whiff of smoke in the air. “Wake Fingon,” I said. I didn’t bother to change my nightshirt for a tunic, but simply pulled on my cloak.

“I’m awake,” I heard, and a moment later Fingon stumbled into view behind Henthael.

“Wake Lalwen, then,” I ordered. “Tell her to muster the archers.”

Henthael nodded and rushed away, and Fingon and I hurried together to the fortress walls. We found the air outside already thick with acrid fumes, and I could hear the guards coughing. The horizon was lit by an ominous glow. It was difficult to tell through the smoke, but the fires seemed to be coming closer at an unnaturally rapid pace.

Morgoth had made his next move on the chessboard of Beleriand, and it was dire, as I had long feared it would be. Our long peace was broken.

[all-the-things-2020]

All Our Future Prospects - Chapter Three

Summary: Ezra and Claire discuss their short term plans for the future.

Rating: PG

“Three more days,” Ezra said as he sank back onto his bunk. These short trips to the cockpit to check in with the transport crew were the highlight of his day. He was not used to such long periods of inactivity and he could feel the restlessness in his bones.

“Which station are they dropping us at?” Claire asked. She had found a tiny reading lamp and was huddled over a notepad with a leaky ballpoint pen.

“Paddington,” he replied. Technically, it was Space Station 4216 but someone long ago had started nicknaming the stations after stops on the ancient London Underground and the monikers stuck. It was a harmless bit of whimsy that Ezra appreciated. Life was rough out in space and a little levity was always needed.

Claire scribbled on her pad, making lists and diagrams. He envied the casual way she held her pen, the efficient movements as she wrote and drew. He was getting passably good with his left hand, but writing was still extremely difficult for him. He’d never had the best handwriting. Always impatient, he’d scrawled his way through life, but now he had to concentrate just to print a few letters and even then it looked more like the unsteady practicing of a small child than a grown man’s work.

She bit the end of the pen as she paused to think. In the glow of the LED light, her face was harshly shadowed but still quite attractive. Ezra pushed down those thoughts. He liked her; that was undoubtedly true. She was pleasant to look at and smart as a whip. She’d been standoffish at first, but was slowly opening up. There was a vulnerability that he could have easily exploited, but there was nothing to gain from seducing her, other than momentary pleasure. And this woman deserved more than a few fumbling nights in a dark, cold capsule hurtling through space. She deserved something that he could never provide: stability.

She liked the ground beneath her feet to be firm, he could sense that. While he’d spent years adjusting to the shifting sands of fate, and managed to keep himself mostly upright, Claire would crumble if she didn’t have something solid to stand on.

Not like Cee. He smiled at the thought of the girl. So strong and stubborn and brilliant was his Cee. He’d never say it to her, but he felt that losing her father had been a good thing. The man had been holding her back, although without him, she would not be as strong and resilient as she was. Cee was a sand-surfer like Ezra was, capable of adjusting to whatever life threw at her, but he wanted her to have something solid, at least for a little while, to give her a chance to find her footing before she set off into the unknown to live her adult life. She deserved the chance to make a life of her own choosing, instead of being at the mercy of the whims of the universe.

Claire looked up. “Sorry, I was just trying to figure out where they might send me, now that this mission has been scuttled,” she said. She had a smudge of ink on her chin and Ezra clenched his fist to fight the urge to reach out and wipe it off. “FlanCorp has an office on Paddington, of course, but no labs or anything. I have nearly four months left in this job rotation, so they could send me to another station or even one of the closer planets, if there’s a team that needs extra help.” She huffed. “I’ll probably get stuck on a desk job or cleaning flasks. I can’t think of anything in this region that would require my skill set.”

She tapped her pen against the paper. “What about you?,” she asked. “Any plans once we reach Paddington?”

He shrugged. “Not really, beyond trying to find some work,” he said. “Since my erstwhile business partner absconded not only with our ship but all my worldly belongings, I’ll be starting from scratch.” As if to emphasize his words, he felt a nasty itch on the back of his neck where a seam from his landing suit was rubbing against his skin. He reached awkwardly to scratch at it.

“Um, I could loan you a bit, to get you started off,” Claire offered hesitantly. “FlanCorp doesn’t pay a whole lot, the bulk of our salary is room and board and credits toward buying out our contracts, but I have a little cash saved.”

“I greatly appreciate your offer, birdie, but I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ve always managed before.”

“Ezra,” she said, leaning forward to briefly lay her hand on his knee. “You saved my life. The least I can do is help you get back on your feet.” She sat back. “I might even be able to convince the corp official to pay you freelance pilot’s pay for getting the capsule off the planet. I’ll just point out the fact that without you, I — and this highly expensive piece of technology — would have been stuck down there. You saved them a huge chunk of money.”

He nodded. That approach might work. “Speak their language,” he said. “It’s worth a shot.” He chuckled. “Never thought I’d be trying to get pay from a corp, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“They’re really not that bad,” Claire said. “At least, FlanCorp isn’t. Like I said, we get a little extra every rotation, after they deduct lodging and food and contract payments, and most people could never afford university without taking on a corporation contract. It’s a trade off, of course, but everything in life is a trade off, right?” She looked at him, her eyes soft in the semi-darkness. “Only the ultra rich get to do what they want. The rest of us have to take the best deal we can find.”

“It is true that my freedom comes with the uncertainty of never knowing if or when I will acquire funds,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall. “I have spent many a night sleeping on the cold, hard ground with nothing to fill my stomach. I’ve taken jobs I am not proud to admit to, some highly illegal and dangerous, others simply embarrassing in their humility. I’ve cleaned lavatories and I’ve ambushed rival prospectors. Neither was my first choice of action, but at the time, I had little choice if I wished to continue existing. There are undoubtedly stains on my soul that will never be lifted, but for the most part my conscience is clear. I have survived. That’s all that matters.”

“So have I,” Claire said. “I belong to the corp, but I’m fed and housed and have work that’s fairly meaningful. That’s enough for me.”

“Is it, birdie?,” he asked. “Is it really?”

She fell silent and Ezra smiled into the darkness.

************************************

Claire didn’t know what to say. Her instinct was to say “Yes,” but something stopped her. She’d always known that her parents wanted her to score a corp job, a secure place so they could stop worrying about her. And she’d seen enough of the constant fear and anxiety of wondering where the next paycheck would come from, if the food would last until the end of the week, if the rent would go up.

She turned off her reading lamp and tucked it away with the little notebook. It was just busywork anyway, trying to figure out where they’d send her for the rest of her job rotation. The corp would do its calculations and send her where she was most cost effective.

“I’m going to try to get some sleep,” she said. Ezra merely grunted in reply. She burrowed down under her blanket and closed her eyes. She wasn’t tired, but it was either pretend to sleep or keep talking and she’d lost her taste for conversation after Ezra’s question.

When she’d been a kid, still half believing in fairy tales, she’d imagined having a real house all to herself. She would lull herself to sleep planning out all the rooms, choosing furniture and what color the walls would be. There would be a cozy room with a fireplace like the pictures in old books, where she could sit and read. A kitchen, a bedroom with a window that looked out onto a garden, a bathroom with a claw foot tub for soaking in.

When she got older, she realized that no one really lived like that anymore. Space on stations was limited, and most planetside colonies were sealed under domes. Only a handful of planets and moons were safe to walk on without a landing suit, and humans huddled together in crowded housing units for safety. No gardens, except hydroponically grown vegetables; no bathtubs, just tiny shower stalls; no fireplaces, just heating vents that puffed out stale air.

No, a corp job wasn’t enough, would never be enough, but it was all she had.

[farceargon]

The Harbinger’s Slaughter

Yeah I love my Namekian Oc (Harper :]), so what! Here’s a 1-shot I wrote for him a while ago that I’ve actually decided to share. Hiiiii followers! Set from the perspective of a Namekian warrior, part of a hunting party, who wrote this like a diary entry.

(Warning: There’s violence, hence the name. Quite brutal murder. Read at your own risk if you don’t like the gritty.)

~ It was like a whirlwind of fire, of stones and flame... That unlike any of us had ever seen before. Such a rage and anguish... I feel a shiver run down my back when I remember seeing those eyes glaring into my very being. Just a simple mission. Find the omen, the Harbinger, destroy him. For years we had suffered from his ill will, stagnant water and dying plant-life. Finally after all of the failed former attempts this would be it, the strongest of our village left to find it and remove the source for good. All that we found was death. The Harbinger was standing before us, on a cliff face raised up so that he could look down upon what would be our feeble hunting party. We thought we stood a chance, the first of us launched the attack. They were supposed to be fast, some of the quickest and able to land impressive amounts of blows with little to no difficulty whatsoever... But as they drew closer it was then that we realized something was off. After all this time, years and years and years... He had grown stronger than we could have ever imagined. Just like that the attack stopped, the four who'd launched towards him froze in place as if time itself had cut off. I knew it hadn't, I could feel my heartbeat. Somehow, in some terrible way, the Harbinger had taken hold of my people's very bodies and held them in the open. Raising hands on either side of him, he removed four of the orbs from around his neck and let them hover over his hands. It was then that we discovered it was nothing but simple telekinesis and that those... Those were dragonballs. We were all capable of telekinesis to some degree, Namekians are adept at manipulating objects in this way if we train hard enough. However, none of us had ever seen it as strong as this. Before our very eyes he raised his weapons up, then threw his arms down. We all listened, screamed, recoiled, as the sickened, purple dragonballs slammed into our family’s heads with such force that their skulls caved in with little effort at all... As if removing a life were as simple as that, barely batting an eye. - From there I don't remember much. My friends, my family, were slaughtered. We fought as best we could but we were no match for the enemy's relentless, merciless ferocity. The Harbinger was truly his namesake, nothing but death followed in his wake across the battlefield. It didn't matter how many of us there were, within minutes half of the forces were diminished, then another third... Until it was nothing but me and a brother. I am, unfortunately, the only survivor. Staring me dead in the eyes, with those horrible demonic ones of his own. Gripping the last of my family around the neck with enough strength that his sharpened claws drew blood. The Harbinger felt like he should’ve been smirking as he suddenly tore his hand away, ripping his claws across green skin. A scream, a rush of red. Just like that it was over. Surely, I thought, I would be next. But as if to mock me, to make his point, the black Namekian turned around and let the body fall lifeless to the ground. A single huff, as his shoulders jerked in his pent up loathing, a jet of pure red flame was forced from his nose, like a strange, alien bull with flamethrowers for breath. "He begged for mercy, did you hear?" He said to me in a voice deeper than anything I’d ever heard, his pitch like the dying embers scattered across the battlefield. There was an even calmness to his voice that felt like it should have been comforting, but at the back of his throat he almost seemed to growl like the very monster the elders made him out to be. He sounded… Amused. Amused by the idea that he’d been begged to spare a life. "That you would beg for mercy after casting me out and hunting me down like a rabid beast..." The Harbinger seemed to resist scoffing. "W-We are taught that we can only be better than the people that surround us-" I stammered, a pathetic attempt at snapping sense into this monstrosity, but I was cut off. "Then it's a good thing that I am no better than the rest of you.” I said nothing. The Namekian ahead of me waited in silence for a response. When nothing left my mouth he snorted, entertained, then despite all odds… Turned and left. I was in shock, expectedly traumatized, surrounded by the bodies of my formerly living family. I returned home, alone. The village mourned for weeks. Now, I can recall nothing but the horror from that very moment. The pain of losing my family… Of hearing their cries echoing in my ears… Yet despite it all... I swore, somewhere behind those demonic, crimson eyes of the Harbinger I saw a loss greater than my own. ~ CONGRATS IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR! I hope that it was worth the read at least... Can you tell I love him?

[snugasabugbear]

D&D Pride Prompts 2022: "Cottage", Zandek / Galax

Zandek was on the far side of the lake when he heard the teleportation, a sharp crackle that managed to travel all the way from the cottage and across the waters to his large, flat ears. It stood out well against the sounds he had grown used to while alone within the forest valley. The stillness of late summer had quieted the usual rustling of the trees, leaving it to the insects and birds to fill the air with their own melodies.

It was nearing evening, and he had just reached the treeline when the stark sound of magic drew his attention from his own song he had been humming. He stopped, taking a moment to readjust the entire trunk of a tree he had been carrying on his massive shoulder, and beamed as he heard the magic end with a light flourish. There was only one person he knew who crafted his spells with such embellishments, and him being here only meant one thing.

He set off quickly along the bank, moving as fast as he could without losing his grip on the tree trunk, a feat his eagerness made quite difficult. Less than two minutes later, Zandek had reached the path leading through a patch of wild shrubs and up to the cottage’s front door. It opened, and the small figure who emerged was barely out the door before she used her wings to leap into the air directly towards him. The blue kobold covered the distance between them before he even had time to set the log down. When she collided his chest and threw her arms around his neck (barely making it over his collarbone on either side) he let the trunk roll off his shoulder and thunderously crash onto the ground behind him without a second thought. What else could he do, of course, but wrap his own colossal arms around the person he loved more than anything else in the world after two whole months apart? 

“Galax,” he breathed through a tusked smile. No words other than her name came to him to say, but it was the only one he needed. She only stopped pressing herself into his mane when he repeated it again, and turned her yellow-green eyes up towards him. He would never tire of the blissful smile she wore on her draconic face when she looked at him this way. Her sharp teeth poking from her mouth drew a chuckle out of him; they were something she had used time and time again to scare the many people who pissed her off, but to him they had been adorable for a decade now.

She put a hand on either side of his head, and he let her pull his forehead down to meet hers. They both closed their eyes, taking in nothing but each other’s presence.

“Missed you, Zan,” she whispered. She sounded tired, he thought, likely from the endless deliberation between the Circle of Eight and the Council of Waterdeep that she had been looped into some months ago. 

“I missed you too.” He hadn’t know exactly when she would be back, but he had sworn every day since she left that he would provide for her every relief he could when she returned. A throat being cleared from the open door of the cottage finally drew their attention from each other to a tall, blonde human in impeccably clean white and gold robes.

“Didn’t she cast a message to you every single day?” Merridoch teased lightly, his finger running over a small goatee beneath his chin. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s getting late and you won’t be getting rid of me until I get some of Zandek’s cooking.”

~~~

Merridoch stayed true to his word, but Zandek was more than happy to prepare a dinner only one of his oldest friends was deserving of. Once Galax’s traveling things had been put away, the three congregated in the kitchen so they could talk while Zandek prepared their meal. Normally, he was limited by the ingredients that he and Galax had managed to stock up on. What they grew themselves they had in abundance, but any finer spices, seasons, or oils were entirely dependent on what they were able to find from traders who passed through the nearest village. However, this was not a problem when they had one of the most powerful conjuration wizards on the Sword Coast at hand. Within no time, Zandek was preparing a perfect spit-roast pheasant meal for the three of them, Merridoch conjuring nearly every new component as he needed it.

“Every time I’m here,” Merridoch said as he sat back in a cushioned chair, waving his hand idly and drawing a Moonshaen batter from the aether, “I feel like I understand what the rest of the world looks like to you, Galax.” He motioned to the spacious room around them, its ceiling reaching fourteen feet above the floor and a few of its tables standing over five feet tall. While the home technically only had one floor, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to think it had two from a distance based on its height. When Zandek and Galax had started building the cottage, it had been an early decision to make it large enough for Zandek to move around comfortably. He’d greatly appreciated the improvement, no longer feeling like his nearly eight foot tall form was being confined like it had been by the low, cramped ceilings of Waterdeep. The house’s furniture had similarly been built with both his and Galax’s sizes in mind, leaving it filled with things like enormous cabinets right next to tiny arm chairs, giving the cottage an almost whimsical fairytale-like look in most rooms.

Galax snorted, perched on one of the shelves near Zandek. She had changed out of the stately outfit she had arrived in, a white and gold collared robe with long, flowing sleeves, into her more typical beige and brown bodice and hood.

“Hmm,” she squinted, a slight smirk on her face. “I don’t think you’ll know the experience of being me unless you also have to deal with a cocky wizard who thinks he’s charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“Galax, please. I’ve cast Clone on myself multiple times. I know exactly what it’s like to deal with a wizard who is absolutely charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“What I’m hearing is that the only person who can stand you is yourself.”

“What I’m hearing is you’re jealous I can give myself the gift of my own company.”

“We’ve got entirely different definitions of ‘gift’ then, Merri.”

Zandek couldn’t hide a grin as he listened to the two. Their version of friendship was not something he fully understood, but despite the bickering, or perhaps even because of it, he knew it was friendship nonetheless. He couldn’t help being reminded of the year they had spent adventuring together in Waterdeep, all of them living out of the bar previously known as Trollskull Manor but they had renamed “Leaf’s Spirits”. In spite of everything that had happened during that year: the explosion in the alley, nearly being killed by the Xanathar on multiple occasions, even the Blood War and the battle against the renegade demi-god that had called himself “The Emperor”, he would go through all of it again to keep what it had given him.

When the two had finished their current squabble, they told him some of what had occurred during Galax’s time away in Waterdeep, though they only went into light detail on most subjects. It wasn’t that Zandek didn’t care about the current events of the city he had once called home, it was simply that most things involving higher levels of the Waterdeep government went over his head. They did spend a bit more time on their meeting with one Rhyze Ascaelia, the newly named First Paladin of Valaeros. As far as Zandek could tell, the talks had largely been about how the city would approach relying on the divine in times of need, and if such a thing should even be considered after the incident with The Emperor. From the sound of Galax and Merridoch’s testimony, not very much had been agreed upon.

Over dinner their conversation turned towards the rest of their previous adventuring party. They had magic to thank for their ability to stay in contact with everyone regularly, but a short message spell still paled in comparison to getting to see them in person. Merridoch was the one who got to visit each person most regularly, and they couldn’t have someone better to tell the others the stories of their time on their own. It was nearly midnight when he reluctantly admitted he couldn’t delay his return to Waterdeep any longer.

“A wizard’s work is never finished it seems, something I wish I could have warned my younger self of before ever trying to become one,” he joked as he finished the teleportation circle they usually kept partially finished in one of the back rooms.

“Would that have really stopped you from learning magic?” Zandek asked from the doorway, Galax on his shoulder.

“Not in the slightest,” Merridoch said without hesitation, disappearing the piece of chalk into his hand with a wink. “Don’t be strangers, you two. And if you are, I might just drop by when you least expect it.”

“That really may not be the best idea, Merridoch,” Galax wryly remarked. “Surprising a cleric sounds like a good way to get a firebolt to the face.”

Merridoch laughed, turning back to them as the teleportation circle lit up behind him and pointing at the two with both index fingers.

“Counterspell.” 

With a final smirk, he fell backwards into the circle and disappeared in a shower of golden sparks. The air crackled again as the magic dispersed, returning the room to darkness and silence other than the insects chirping outside.

“He’s truly incapable of not having the final word,” Galax sighed, shaking her head.

“I think just when he’s talking to you. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, honestly. Would it be unreasonable to say I would prefer fighting The Emperor again over having to argue with the stubborn fucks on that council for another month?”

“You’re a lot braver than I am to go up against them in the first place.” He leaned his head into her as he walked them both through the main sitting room. Resting on the ground in the corner since it was too heavy to hang on the wall was his Starmaul. Zandek hadn’t looked at it closely for some time, and only now noticed the light layer of dust now forming on the large blue rock that made up its head. He smiled slightly, content in letting dust continue to gather on the weapon.

“How about I put out the rest of the lights? You can head to bed and I’ll be there soon.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, though she couldn’t finish the last word without yawning. Zandek chuckled, opening the door to their bedroom for her. Their ‘bed’ wasn’t on any sort of frame. Instead, there was a small horde of blankets, furs, and pillows covering the ground beneath the far wall, illuminated by the moonlight coming through the skylight that took up over half of this room’s ceiling. Zandek knelt down and offered his hand for Galax to use as a step from his shoulder to the floor. She put a hand on his cheek before he could stand and led him down again, his forehead pressing against the white line that ran from between her horns to the end of her nose. It was something they had done for so many years now, but it still made his heart beat faster every time. “Out of everything these last two months, falling asleep without you may have been the hardest part of all.” He sighed and leaned further into her. The exact same thing had been true for him.

“I’ll make sure not to be long, then,” he whispered, and kissed the scales between her eyes. “Welcome home, Galax.”

~~~

AO3

Twitter

[siiinfully]

continued from this with @bewitchingbaker

A grunt comes from the deepest parts of Chris's stomach, lifting a few 50lb bags of sugar with ease. Our young baker knew a lot of things. How prepare ab fresh batch of bread from scratch. How to decorate a cake for a party. Even how to accommodate the most complicated of orders. But there was one thing he wasn't quite aware of.

How attractive he could be.

He stood at an even 6'0 with a broad shoulders. It wasn't that long ago that was he was a rather lanky pre teen, soon going from a string bean to the thick man you see today. Massive muscles arms with a pair of matching thighs developed from years of lifting any and every heavy thing from the bakery. Though he often wished for a pair of abs, that soft tummy of his drew the eye of many a suitor.

But it wasn't just his thick frame that earned him many suitors. Those big doe eyes hidden behind a pair of round glasses combined with a sweet dorky smile often earned him a crush or two. Helped by his dorky demeanor and helpful attitude.

Once he finished stacking the heavy bags of sugar, the baker took a moment to stretch. Another grunt escaped his lips. Chris began to stretch his arms upwards, causing his shirt to rise a little to give a certain model a peak at the moon shaped piercing that hung from his navel. The baker's head snaps to Serena's direction when he hears the sound of her bumping into the table.

"Are you ok? I'm sorry I meant to move this earlier but I got distracted!" he apologizes as he checks to make sure she's not hurt

+++

It seemed like only yesterday when she was in her basement, getting ready for the party with the Fab Four.

Their deception led to her locking herself in the closet, the wishing dust that had been sprinkled over Chris’s gift spraying over her and transporting her to now.

Now being 17 years later, with her as New York’s highest paid supermodel and him as a baker. She was dating Hollywood’s new It Guy, and he was engaged. She had a luxury penthouse suite in the Upper East Side, and he still lived with his abuela.

But as far as Serena was concerned, she was still 13 years old and living the dream, all while adjusting to the new dynamic she and her best best best best friend had. Because apparently, she had been a right old bitch to her ever since that party.

Serena was also doing her best to be the adult that she wasn’t yet, and seeing Chris’s belly button piercing had distracted her. So much so that she ended up walking right into a table, luckily missing the sharp corner. Still, it was enough for her to have the wind knocked out of her, and she clutched her stomach.

“Uh huh. I just…you…you got your belly button pierced!” she wheezed, pointing at the now-clothed part of his torso. “I thought…we were supposed to wait until college to get ours…”

Serena trailed off and felt over her own shirt to check if she had a piercing, but she didn’t. It made her sadder, and she started to hyperventilate again. Her ‘first day’ at work didn’t go so well as she walked right off the catwalk during rehearsal, and she saw a grown man’s wanger. Serena had hoped that finding Chris would help, but learning more new things about him seemed to be making things worse.

[theovergrowth]

Restart.

It was humid. He hadn’t gotten used to Missouri’s summer climate, but that didn’t really matter now; fall had started, and they wouldn’t be here long.

Titus (just Titus, for now) sat up in the dim bedroom he had lived in over the last few months. It was mostly empty now, everything aside from a backpack of essentials already loaded into the van from the day before.

He grabbed his watch, the one Drew quite literally demanded he own, off of his mattress. 6:12 am. Nobody else would be awake yet, but that wasn’t too unusual. If anything, it was preferable.

Quietly, an old instinct, he crept down the hall to the bathroom. He took a hot shower, put on some clean clothes, and took a moment as he was brushing his teeth to really look at himself in the mirror.

His hair was mostly gone, now a grown-out buzzcut that still sprouted small flowers. His face had filled out more, his complexion had a healthier glow, but most alien of all to him: he no longer had those same dark circles under his eyes. Yes, they hadn’t disappeared entirely, but he felt more… rested?

After spitting out his toothpaste and shoving the toothbrush into his backpack, he went out to the kitchenette and started on breakfast. Everyone would need to eat well today; the four of them were headed out on a “paranormal expedition”, as Pete and Drew had taken to calling it, west towards California, then up the 101 towards Oregon, stopping often along the way with Titus driving his van, Ricky driving his car, and Pete and Drew riding with Ricky.

Titus had been the first one to suggest he could ride alone for the first stretch to Oklahoma, saying he was less likely to need to switch off with someone while driving.

It was true, but really he was just terrified. Things had been good here; he was comfortable, he felt in control of himself, he had a group of friends that he… really cared about, and really didn’t want to see get hurt.

But… he also knew he had to trust them. He had to trust they would take care of themselves with the knowledge they had. Titus had already done all he should; actually trying to open up and tell them his side of a story they already knew, giving them all the information he had about The Sons, The Overgrowth, his father… all of it.

And they all took it in stride, telling him it didn’t change how they felt. If anything, they all seemed even more adamant about sticking together, Drew practically ripping his head off when he floated the idea of just splitting up for safety. “Splitting up is the opposite of safe,” he had chastised, forcing Titus to sit through a night-long horror movie marathon to prove the point. Titus hadn’t minded; he enjoyed falling asleep on the couch with his friend’s laughter as white noise.

Still, he was terrified. He swallowed it as he heard the distant sounds of each of his friends alarms going off, instead focusing on plating breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, biscuits and gravy, vegetarian sausage and bacon, and 4 mason jars of overnight oats he had prepped for each of them a couple of days ago.

They all ate quickly (though Titus noted they were a bit skeptical towards their jars), chattering about their plans with the pleasant side-tangent of Pete’s dream the previous night, which she claimed was a “mega-good omen” for their journey.

He hoped she was right.

[sitespeedmaui]

Lindsey jordan snail mail

Is that a reflection of the higher production values on the new record, or did you feel more confidence in your abilities as a singer that you were comfortable with foregrounding your voice in that way? Your voice is much more prominent in the mix now. There’s a marked difference in your vocals between the Habit EP and Lush. And so I was always really attracted to music and I was just adamant about getting good at it. I just wanted a job that was my own that wouldn’t be, like, team-oriented a real standalone thing. For starting really young – I just liked ballet and soccer, and I wanted to do something on my own and not have to be competitive about it. My sister – I remember when she was younger, she tried out every single instrument and never stuck with anything. I don’t know – I’m the only person in my family who’s into it. What drew you into embracing music at such a young age? Did you grow up in a musical family? You’ve been playing the guitar since you were five. I don’t want to let my rough drafts out into the world. I feel like if it doesn’t end up on the record, it just isn’t good enough. I don’t think we’ll ever do a B-sides thing. But we didn’t actually record any of them. There’s a bunch of opens all over the place, all over my computer. What happened to those other 20 songs? Are you planning on using them in the future? I heard that you had written thirty songs for Lush but only ten made the cut for the record. Oh yeah, I’ve heard good things about that one. And I was talking to some magazine editors about it recently and they’re like “yeah, that’s how it used to be… but it’s nowhere near that anymore.” I haven’t read Confessions, but I did read his The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea awhile ago and it was so good. Her take on the whole thing is really cool and I love how she talks about coming into the job and she’s like, “yeah, they gave me the keys to my new office and the card for a limo company,” all this stuff. I love that… New York glamour, a fashion magazine that isn’t quite how it used to be. I also just finished this book called The Vanity Fair Diaries by Tina Brown where she’s talking about like infiltrating Vanity Fair and redesigning it and bringing it back. I’ve been reading the last couple chapters of this book called Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima. I had the chance to talk to Jordan recently about growing up with the guitar, being a bookworm, and what people get wrong about her songs.Īshley Naftule: You’ve mentioned in past interviews that you like to read before shows. On songs like “Pristine” and “Full Control,” Jordan comes off as Liz Phair’s kid sister: vulnerable, emotionally bold, and unwilling to give any fucks if you don’t get where she’s coming from. It’s a stellar showcase for her preternatural guitar skills while also showing off how much she’s improved as a singer. 2018’s Lush, her full length debut, builds on the songwriting prowess she already displayed on 2016’s Habit EP. She’s grown leaps and bounds as an artist over that brief span of time. Jordan has been writing and performing songs as Snail Mail since 2015. The sound of your bestie spilling her secrets in your ear. And over those knots of melody Jordan’s voice rings out: plaintive yet assured. It’s patient, intricate work: delicate lines threaded together into a complex image. Read our interview with Snail Mail on Lush.Lindsey Jordan plays the guitar like she’s sewing a tapestry. Referring to the process as the deepest level of catharsis and therapy I have ever experienced would be a huge understatement. Jordan had this to say about the album in a previous press release: “I wanted to take as much time as possible with this record to make sure I was happy with every detail before unleashing it unto y’all. Valentine was written and produced by Jordan and co-produced by Brad Cook (Bon Iver, Waxahatchee). The album’s third single was “Madonna” and there was also a live performance video for the song. Then she shared another track from the album, “Ben Franklin,” also one of our Songs of the Week.

When the album was announced, Jordan shared its title track, “Valentine,” which was one of our Songs of the Week. Read the review here and check out the album below.

Also, yesterday we posted our review of the album. Now that it’s out, you can stream the whole thing here. Snail Mail (aka Lindsey Jordan) has released her sophomore studio album, Valentine, today via Matador.