#i have tried not to be too sharp and sarcastic in my answer but good lord

[singsweetmelodies]

Why are you posting Carlando and even Piarlos content if you don't like Carlos? Math ain't mathing...

well, firstly, anon, this is tumblr dot com, not maths class. i've said repeatedly, and i will say it again, that i reserve the right to be as hypocritical and insane as i want here. after all, it's tumblr - if i can't be insane and hypocritical here, then where can i?

example: anyone who watches my blog at all during a race week will know that i am NO max fan. not in the slightest. and yet i will occasionally reblog maxiel fic recs. why? well, because they're quite often quite well-written. at the end of the day, i'm a fangirl and also a bisexual disaster, so if there's a well-written gay fanfic, the chances are relatively high that i will read and enjoy it. also: i think there's quite a significant difference between fic!max (who i occasionally enjoy) and driver!max (who i despise quite passionately.) fic!max has a lot of background and nuance that can make for fascinating characterisation, and as a writer, i just enjoy that.

now for carlos specifically: please let it be known that i do not hate him the way i hate max. not even close. i am, however, a dedicated chirlie (charles girlie) and anyone who gets in the way of charles doing well is automatically in my bad books. i do try to be at least a little reasonable about it, though, and yes i absolutely do realise that a lot of major fuck-ups this season were ferrari's, not carlos' (see: silverstone 2022.) but yeah, unfortunately the way carlos has handled a lot of interviews this year really rubbed me up the wrong way, and i read one too many comparisons of carlos girlies calling him more talented than charles as well. which.... babe, no.

like i said at the start, i am fully aware that i'm a hypocrite lmao. but i'm not HERE to be unbiased. we are watching a sport - everyone is biased towards their favourites, and i'm not going to apologise for that.

and as for carlando and piarlos - i treat them the same way as i would maxiel. carlos might not be on my favourites list as a driver, but he's an interesting character to explore in fic. i am at the end of the day a writer, and i like interesting characters to explore, so yes, i am quite happy to post carlando or piarlos or very very occasionally even charlos content (because akira is the best and might convert me one day. we'll see.)

anyway! the last thing i wanted to say to you, anon, is just a gentle reminder again of the PURPOSE of fandom. it is an escape from real life, somewhere where we can come to have fun. the same rules and restrictions and - dare i say it - morals that we use irl do not apply here. they just don't! fandom should be about what makes one happy, and nobody really has the right to police that, i don't think.

so tl;dr - anon, i am here to do whatever it is that makes me happy in that moment. if that's carlando and/or piarlos, then that's what i'll do. if you have a problem with that, then i'm happy to point you in the direction of the Unfollow button, lmao - curate your experience! see what you want to see. have fun!

x

[astranite]

Limp

John and Virgil!!! The whole range of hurt/comfort, angsting and fluff though leaning rather towards comforty. Scott also sneaks in for a good bit at the end. And there are hugs. Also there is autistic John and Virgil which it isnt about but its very there :)

This started off from the first line from a tumblr prompt from @aliceinwhumperland and the idea from @katblu42 to have John being the one limping then it grew from there!!! Minor warning for injury and medical stuff. Also that this reached 6k words!!

---

"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” he replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out. 

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him. 

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring. 

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp. 

Virgil’s disappointment was another blow. “And here I thought I had one sensible brother. How did it happen?”

Mechanism of injury, a completely ordinary question for a medic to ask. One he’d compliantly answered for many accidents, even ridiculous earthside ones such as, ‘Fell over again and it’s all gravity’s fault.’ But up here he was meant to be in his element. 

John crossed his arms stubbornly, wobbling on one foot. 

“Couldn’t say.”

“Johnny.” Virgil was exasperated by now. 

“Definitely not telling you anything if you call me that.”

“Johnathan Glenn Tracy.”

“Nope. That’s not even my name.”

“John.”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” John spat. 

Virgil looked taken aback. 

A lump rose in John’s throat. 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day.” 

He could feel his face growing as red as his hair with shame. It would definitely be visible over holograms. To make it worse, Virgil was probably as exhausted as he was. The last rescue had been nasty, earthquakes so often were, and Thunderbird Two had been on several more before that. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with John’s sarcastic, bitchy attitude as well. 

John admitted defeat and hopped over to the wall to hold onto a grab bar to keep his balance and take the weight off his foot. And resisted the urge to bang his head against it because that sort of thing had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

His foot was throbbing, Virgil’s expression was soft because he’d already forgiven him and John was just over it all. 

“Please promise you won’t laugh.” He couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else, no matter how unlikely it was that Virgil would. 

“Alright, I promise. I’m not going to judge you, John.”

“I kicked a wall,” John mumbled, “On purpose, because I got mad that the bagel dispenser wasn’t working and a call came in so there was no time to fix it and I couldn’t sleep last night and I’m stressed about literally everything and just wanted a fucking bagel but clearly that was too much to ask of the universe!”

John shut his mouth with a clack. The words had come out in a torrent rising in volume that he couldn’t hold back. Over such a stupid thing too. 

When John could finally  bring himself to glance up from the stars beneath the floor outside, Virgil’s gaze held nothing but empathy. 

“You’re right, it has been a pretty shit day.”

John nodded quietly. 

Virgil continued, “Just— John, you know you don’t have to hide stuff like that from us, from me, right?  We’ve all done stupid things in anger before and probably will do so again. That big, blue splodge of paint on my studio wall? Yeah, I chucked a paintbrush at it because a painting wasn’t working out and I was frustrated and it was three am after a string of bad rescues and I lost it a bit.”

Huh. John hadn’t known that. Virgil was usually least likely to blow up as far as it went. 

“Point is, you’re not alone in this. Tracy temper, remember? We’ve all got it and we are all working out how to work with it. But it isn’t an excuse to conceal an injury that might need treatment even if it seems like it, ‘Should be fine,’ or ‘Isn’t that bad,’ or you think it’s caused by something stupid and you’re worried about us judging you. Because we won’t.”

John took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. 

He wasn’t even getting lectured at for being an idiot, or having it brushed off as nothing because, ‘Red heads and their tempers, y’know,’ or plain old being yelled at because, ‘John, you’re meant to be better than this.’

Virgil cared about him. That was simple fact. 

So John cooperatively answered Virgil’s questions about pain, the range of motion he had and when exactly had the injury occurred this morning. That he couldn’t bear weight on it was pretty telling something was wrong. And it really did hurt. 

“You’re going to need to come down here so I can get x-rays of that foot,” Virgil said apologetically. 

John bit back the wave of disappointment, along with the accompanying urge to snap and snarl. 

“I know.”

He really didn’t want to go back to earth and deal with everyone’s concern and fussing when he just wanted to ignore them and go to bed. Up here on Five no one was close enough to be affected by his moods unless they put in a comm call which he could, as above, ignore. 

But John dutifully transferred control over to Eos and the island, packed his bag because he’d probably be there for a while but he wasn’t going to think about that and loaded himself into the space elevator. He knew how dangerous untreated injuries were in space better than anyone. 

The descent was slower than usual, as was protocol for an injury where speed was not of the essence and a less turbulent descent outweighed the need for timeliness. It gave John plenty of opportunity to stare at the rounded edge of the space elevator’s inner ceiling. Frustration over near guaranteed being grounded bubbled up until he had to screw his eyes shut and force himself to focus on the way the g-forces felt against his body so he didn’t utterly lose it. 

Landing on earth came with a jolt that managed to catch John by surprise. He flinched, then checked the systems read outs and undid his restraints. Remaining lying on the launch couch was one third to demonstrate he could be sensible and wait instead of trying to walk off a potentially serious injury, another third because he didn’t want to tangle with gravity on his own, and also so that he could childishly pretend he was still up on Five and far away for a little longer. 

Virgil knocked on the space elevator doors and a second later they slid open. John gave him a weak smile. 

The journey through the hangars to the infirmary was made with Virgil’s supportive arm around his waist and John’s arm draped across his brother’s broad shoulders as John stubbornly limped along. He did take a moment as his feet first touched the concrete floor and gravity really took hold to lean into Virgil’s half hug and just breathe. 

The infirmary was the same as it always was, with its sterile smell overloaded with the sharpness of antiseptic that made it different from the atmosphere on Five, and thankfully quiet. 

John manoeuvred himself up onto the closest bed, sinking into the stiff foam mattress as much as was physically possible. Stars, he was tired. 

Virgil was exceedingly gentle as he eased John’s foot out of his space boot. He stripped the sock off too, propping the foot up to rest in his lap to examine it. John grimaced as Virgil necessarily poked and prodded at where it was sorest.  Though the bruises and swelling were not particularly hard to spot from where contact had been made with the solid bulkhead. 

John anxiously chewed his lips waiting for Virgil to get the portable x-ray, zap him and be done with it. 

Moving his sore foot around at all the required angles for the shots was… a process. 

He did his best to be patient as Virgil took the x-rays off to Grandma for a second opinion on how they would most effectively treat him, but ended up curled in a ball on the slightly plasticky hospital sheets, stubbornly facing the wall with his foot carefully positioned in a way that it least hurt.

He wasn’t asleep, it was not late enough for that and he was far too wired but he was knocked out of his reverie nonetheless by Grandma stroking his hair. 

“Definitely broken, kiddo. No getting around that.”

Even John could see it when they showed him the x-rays. He could only be grateful the fracture was neatly aligned and wouldn’t need surgery, he’d seen plenty of worse breaks in the field. It still meant weeks of being grounded, away from Five and unable to go home to his stars. 

Virgil applied the cast under Grandma’s supervision. John shuddered at the sensations even as he tried to keep still. He was proud of how far Virgil had come in his medical education and he made sure his brother knew that. 

The usual checks after coming down from space wore on his nerves. He took the painkillers for his stupid broken foot, the anti-nausea meds as his stomach wasn’t settling from the change from microgravity and the tall lidded cup of the least disgusting flavour of electrolyte drink as directed. 

He fidgeted with his baldric, tracing over the lines of his suit; everything was a lot today. For all of them; John didn’t miss the dark circles beneath Virgil’s eyes or the way he slumped as he sat on the bed next to John once Grandma had left and the cast was setting. 

Virgil had briefly crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hands rubbing the flannel of his sleeves. Then he uncrossed them, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller, less intimidating, fingertips still going over the soft, worn fuzzy material of the cuffs of his flannel.

John placed his hand, palm up on Virgil’s leg. Virgil took it and John squeezed his fingers once as they sat in silence for a while. 

Changing out of his space suit for the loose pyjama shorts and t-shirt Virgil brought was difficult and awkward with his foot. And how clumsy he was here in general. 

Trying to walk on crutches was, to put it in far politer words than John vehemently used, a disaster. 

One second he was standing with the crutches around his arms, adjusted to the correct height, his casted foot off the ground, everything done properly, about to take a step. The next he was a tangled pile of limbs on the ground. 

John’s cheeks were burning red yet again. Stupid, fucking gravity and his miraculous ability to trip over nothing. 

He shoved the useless hunks of metal away from him as the room blurred, swiping at the angry tears as they formed. 

Virgil crouched in from of him, checking him over for injury. Well, further injury. 

There wasn’t any, apart from his rather dented pride. John didn’t count the damp tears trickling down his face as he studiously attempted to ignore them. 

Virgil made a soft noise as John let himself be pulled into a hug. Warm flannel absorbed his tears as John hugged Virgil tighter. Somehow it felt like he hadn’t seen him for months even though it couldn’t’ve been that long, could it? Unless they counted for quality time rather than John being periodically dragged down to earth… He missed his quietest and closest brother in age even if they’d been talking mission only this morning. 

Maybe John tried to hide from the world for a little while, and Virgil let him. They both needed this; Virgil’s face was also buried in John’s hair. 

After a while, sitting sprawled on the hard infirmary floor caught up to them with all the aches of too long days of heavy work. And broken bones. John shifted with a grimace.

Now he had to get back up off the ground when the crutches were clearly not a help, when he was pretty near useless down here, unable to resist the inevitable pull of gravity to the centre of the earth and the unforgiving ground. 

…He was probably being far too dramatic about it. Should just get it together like everyone else seemed able to do. 

But it was still a problem that he didn’t want to deal with because fundamentally, he wished he was back on Five. 

He had been going to tell someone about the injury, of course. Just as soon as he’d thought up a watertight excuse slash explanation. As soon as got himself under control and stopped being so sensitive over everything that he’d snap at anyone who got near him. So he would not end up like this, a too-emotional mess on the floor. 

Virgil once again checked his cast and his broken foot were undamaged by his fall. John wondered whether it was as much for Virgil’s sake of making sure idiot big brothers weren’t going to suddenly keel over as for John’s. John rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It was because Virgil cared. And maybe time had proven he had a right to worry.

John protested as Virgil went to pick him up, on the grounds Virgil had already been doing plenty of heavy lifting on rescues today and he had to be exhausted already, and John really didn’t want him to throw his back out or his knees or whatever other worst case scenarios John could come up with. 

He also knew he’d look utterly ridiculous in Virgil’s hold, all gangly, lanky limbs out of proportion with Virgil’s shorter, stockier build. And John was more likely to accidentally elbow someone in the nose, which had demonstrably happened before and the guilt still chewed at him, than even Scott fighting tooth and nail against being slung over someone’s shoulder when he there was no way he could even physically stand, let alone walk any distance. He warned Virgil away sharply.

“John. I know my limits, and you aren’t any worse than Scott.” Virgil sounded done with it all. “And I’d rather carry you than have to pick up the pieces or reset that cast, which I have also had to do before, because one of my brothers is injured and deserves help but they are too damn stubborn to let me.”

The fight in John left him as a hissing exhale, like a hole in a space ship venting atmosphere. 

Virgil scooped him up off the ground, promising to figure the rest out later as John avoided flailing too much. 

His brother’s arms were secure around his knees and under his shoulders, holding him close so there was no danger of him hitting the ground, of the falling that some part of John secretly feared, even with the rocking movement of Virgil’s strides. John’s cheek stayed mushed against Virgil’s flannel-clad chest. 

The walls of the house passed him in a tired blur. He really didn’t want to be left to sit around in his room where no matter how tired he was he wouldn’t sleep yet. Lying there staring at the ceiling all afternoon with nothing better to occupy him than his turbulent thoughts was frankly not a good idea. 

He said as much to Virgil, probably far too bluntly. The usual multi-stage filter he sorted his words through before he ever said them had met its untimely demise in face of his exhaustion several hours ago. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to hang around amidst the noise and movement and peopleing of the lounge with everyone else either. John being difficult again, as usual, the voice in the back of his head snarked.

Virgil had mercy on John and took the back route through the house instead of past the comms room where everyone would see him, even if it was only his family who he should know wouldn’t judge him. Everyone had been in the position of being carried about when they’d fallen asleep somewhere or were injured or were about to be chucked into the pool, so except in the last situation, John shouldn’t’ve been embarrassed or really cared, except that he did. 

They passed by John’s bedroom. John curled a little closer to Virgil in something that could’ve been called relief. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely alone right now; he trusted Virgil.

A booted foot nudged open the door before Virgil placed John down on one of the big, squishy beanbags in the corner of his studio. 

John melted into it. He didn’t think he had bones anymore. Or any outside of the ones he’d just broken which had plenty of painful evidence of their existence. But no bones. He could even forgive gravity just this once when it was letting him sink into the soft surface. 

He looked up at Virgil’s low chuckle. 

“They’re good, aren’t they? Gordon found them online and I chose the colours.” Virgil smiled fondly. 

They hadn’t been here the last time John had hung out in Virgil’s studio with him. A spike of sorrow stabbed at his chest. 

New beanbags were a tiny change. It shouldn’t even matter. Except they demonstrated precisely how he was missing out on the details of his brothers’ lives while he was away. 

The beanbag covers were greens and yellows, soft, earthen shades exactly what John would expect Virgil to pick. Colourful, but not in your face. Soothing and restful but not dull. 

Observations probably not as important to anyone else as John found them. 

Virgil ducked out and came back with John’s tablet, the one he used earth-side with its bulky, lilac shatter-proof case. 

John took it carefully from Virgil’s hands, not because it was breakable even dropped from quite a height, but because of the consideration Virgil gave him, to bring him it to read on when he couldn’t go get something himself. 

In space, alone, it wasn’t like there anyone to do that kind of thing for him. Even with the gifts snuck into monthly supply crates by his family, he’d sort of forgotten how it felt.

He shoved away the ever so familiar feeling of being torn in two. He loved the stars, loved being up on Five, he really did. In spite of this, missing his family while up there was a constant wound he packed with the duty of constantly being called upon, of constantly needing to be the Voice Who Answers, in hopes of staunching his bleeding emotions. It contrasted with how he never wanted to outstay his welcome on Earth. 

Why was it that no matter where he was, he still wanted to go home?

Why did anger seethe and rise only to leave him all hollow and empty?

John gulped, running his hands over his face. He tucked one into his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to distract himself. Why the fuck was he like this?

Virgil had turned away to get something off his desk, so at least he didn’t have to see John freaking out over nothing.

John forced a smile when Virgil looked back at him in concern. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Virgil said.

He was wearing his set of large, over-ear noise-cancelling headphones, covered in green stickers, his chin nodding along to a beat John couldn’t hear. Virgil wasn’t smiling but the creases around his eyebrow scar were shallower. Today had been getting to him too. 

Left alone, John examined the art studio more thoroughly, letting himself become absorbed in the details, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The whole place was very Virgil, in the best possible way. Storage for art materials was arranged with an engineer’s precision for putting and keeping things in their proper order, cupboards with closed doors painted olive green and neatly labeled in Virgil’s blocky handwriting. Only the pencils Virgil was currently using were left on his desk, in their tray reordered into an exactingly coloured gradient. John couldn’t deny that it also clicked in his brain with that urge to line stuff up. 

An electric keyboard lived along a side wall by a bookshelf containing folders of sheet music and art theory books. John knew from Virgil that the music was arranged by each song’s dominant colour palette according to folder, when he asked as at first he couldn't make sense of the system when of course Virgil would have a system. 

There were speakers in a few places around the room for the frequent times Virgil listened to music while creating. Good quality ones because Virgil said certain staticky types gave him the same sensation as putting gritty sand in his mouth.

It was Virgil’s space for making art and just being, so he’d adapted it to him. Virgil got overwhelmed when there was too much visual stimulation, with constant busy, bright colours and clutter of the world he couldn't put away, so here was an escape from that. 

The walls and ceiling were light, giving an airy feeling. A large landscape window joined inside and outside seamlessly, looked over what John privately thought was the best view on the island, except for the observatory. You could see right out past Mateo, over pokey trees and ocean. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and there were shades if it got too much.

Greenery was introduced into the room itself by the massive monstera plant in the corner, its umbrella-like leaves forming pleasing shadows on the floor, contrasting with the near liquid golden light. More smaller plants were scattered about. John brushed his fingers over the monstera, to reach out and touch the tangible connection with life and the earth. 

Occasionally a piece of art was hung up for a while as it was finished before being moved to its intended display area in an other part of the house, like the watercolour sketch of playful dolphins amongst their reef obviously intended for Gordon. But mostly there wasn't anything to distract from the artwork, on canvas or as music, that Virgil was bringing to life. 

John found the studio calming too, even when he usually tended towards wanting all his bright stars, books, open screens and telescopes in his space at once. There was something about the soothing surroundings, how the faint smell of paints and real paper lingered, mixing with engine bio-oil and coffee, that meant safety and home. His brother’s mark on it was undeniable. 

John couldn’t help but search for the splatter of paint Virgil had mentioned earlier. It was blue and on a wall in this room, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss but in spite of all of his skills at searching, it was nowhere to be found. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Virgil must have painted over it, destroying the tangible proof that he’d acted out in anger.

The beanbags squished beneath him when he flopped back, long legs stretched out and foot smarting when he moved it, picking up his tablet for something to do. His substantial library of books wasn’t holding anything that could keep his attention right now as he flicked between them, opening and shutting pages. He tipped his head back, looking upwards, letting his tablet fall face down onto his chest.

And there it was. On the wall above him, the blue splodge of paint exactly from Virgil’s story. 

Except it wasn't just a splodge because a rainbow of lines had been added around it, faithfully following the original shape and expanding upon it, forming a bird with wings outstretched, flying freely across the wall. Something utterly beautiful from from what had begun as only painful.

John’s breath caught. He didn't know how Virgil did that. He wrung out hope from anger, forming all the emotion into art where John just flailed because he didn’t want to touch his feelings with a thousand kilometre stick.

But here, in Virgil’s studio surrounded by the calm quiet where he could finally breathe, he could try.

So he picked up his tablet. Opened up the word programme. And began to write.

He had no idea where he was going. No plot, no plan, no outline. When he usually did this, for reports, for academic works, he always had his ideas and arguments all laid out in his head and he simply had to put them on the page in front of him.

His fingers found the keyboard and he let them, doing his best not to second-guess and delete every word he put down. To think too much and bail out as it got too big and too scary even when this was just typing on his tablet sitting in a beanbag in the corner of the room, not doing anything at all that could be thought of as dangerous or would mess up his broken foot. 

It wasn't really much. In subject or in word count or in technical finesse. He hadn’t been doing this writing thing for very long, not since university and stories scrawled in his near illegible handwriting hidden in paper notebooks beneath his bed. Not for himself. 

He saved the document and slammed the window closed before he could look at it and convince himself it was all completely stupid and he never should’ve even tried in the first place.

But it was cathartic and it gave him somewhere to put the irrational seething anger, outlined by the sorrow that seeped through in the lines between, to bleed out on paper, in words that were his first language and first love. In the beginnings of stories that didn’t have to be perfect or real and contained far too much of himself to even think about showing anybody yet, but that maybe one day he would. 

When Virgil knocked on the door and opened it, John jumped like he’d been caught out. Then he glanced up and saw the blue paint splodge turned flying bird from the corner of his eye, and he could smile at Virgil with all the love in the world and more understanding of how his brother worked. Of why after hard rescues and bad days his first instinct was to turn to piano or canvas.

Seeing what Virgil was carrying on the tray in his hands had John wishing he hadn’t ever broken his foot so he could throw himself at Virgil to hug him this very second. Though if he hadn’t been injured, he never would’ve come down from Five today.

A blueberry bagel, toasted, with the special strawberry cream cheese that was his favourite but never lasted long in space. Or on Earth, unless his brothers saved it for him on purpose. 

There was a cup of tea too, next to Virgil’s customarily massive mug of coffee.

John just stared up at him, until he found his voice to whisper all his thanks over and over. He took the plate and the cup in slightly trembling hands, then placed them on the floor next to him. 

He raised his arms so that Virgil would crouch down and John could squish him into a hug. 

John clung to red flannel for a few seconds longer than he usually would. Virgil returned it in kind, smiling at him with soft, brown eyes. 

Then he was fussing over John’s foot again, propping it up on pillows and wrapping an icepack around it. John took it in because this was Virgil’s way of showing he cared. As well, it would mean he could get back on his feet sooner by not ignoring the injury. Plus it hurt less.

Before Virgil returned to his desk and pencils, John bumped their foreheads together in show of affection not as frequently done between them with the distance. It was often Scott and Virgil’s thing.  Virgil hummed happily at him even when John wobbled as he leaned forward, making the collision slightly more forceful than he intended. Instead they laughed together over Tracy hard heads. 

Enjoying each other’s company with no pressure to talk or interact was nice and exactly what they both needed. They could do their own things in parallel, Virgil with his art, a sketch forming beneath steady hands, and John with… whatever he was doing at this point.

Gathering up his courage, he cautiously reopened his word document from earlier and read over what he’d written. It was… okay actually. The typos and errors he grimaced at were numerous, but those were fixable problems.

It was a story, he’d written something. John found himself smiling down at his tablet with the urge to add more so he did.

The time passed in the light from the windows transforming from light gold to a fiery orange, stretching across their room and their island alike. As dusk grew closer, the bird calls and insect songs changed, and there were so many wonderful things about space that John could never give up loving but it didn't have this.

So maybe that was what was wrong with him. Instead of a flaw in his very humanity, it was more not enough food and too much stress, not sleeping right or talking to anyone. Those simple things he sort of… forgot about, ignored. John needed to be around family too, with the sunlight streaming in, plants in touching distance and the quiet company of Virgil and some care to feel better. 

Maybe while he was down here, he’d even go stargazing outside tomorrow, lying on a picnic blanket on the grass like he used to. Monitor work could be taken care of at dad’s desk, there’d be time to help Allie with his school work then play video games together and once his cast was off, swim in Gordon’s ocean. To hang out with Scott too and help pull his beloved biggest brother out of his own overwork spiral. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Grandma or Kayo or Brains in a while either. 

Only then would he return to Five, to his stars and space, his research and monitor duty proper. His little room up there, the gravity ring and central floating hub, with Eos as his companion, they were home too. Not in replacement of the island and his family but in addition. And he knew he could come down to Earth when he needed to even if, especially when it was just because he wanted a hug.

Right now, the soft patter of his fingertips on the glass screen blended with the scratchings of Virgil’s coloured pencils on artist’s paper. 

He munched on his bagel and sipped his tea contentedly. Virgil had been cupping his warm mug of coffee in his hands, happily sighing as John fought the urge to giggle.

It was with a cheerier and more relaxed Virgil that they ended up squished together on the beanbag pile once the sun was fully set. John snuggled into his brother’s side, it really had been too long but he was here now. 

Virgil’s fingers tapped contentedly against the knee of his jeans like he was playing a melody on the piano, other arm tucked around John, meaning John could feel the vibrations as Virgil hummed along. John went from messing with the case of his tablet to happily flickering his hands at his sides.

Also, how were the beanbags this comfortable? These ones didn’t even rustle and squeak like he remembered the ones they’d had as kids did. 

Those had met a horrific end with their guts all over the house when Gordon had wanted to know what was inside them and out of scientific curiosity John had helped find the answers, utilising his ability to read and follow the instructions on the tag of how to open the pull-less zipper with an ancient paperclip. 

He retold the story to Virgil whose eyes widened in surprise.

“So it was you!” he laughed. “I’d wondered how Gords did it, but I hadn't put anything past the fish.”

John lost his battle with holding in his own giggles and decided to let Virgil in on the secrets of a few other John-and-Gordon specials.

There was a knock before Scott ducked his head around the corner of the doorway, just as John glanced up.

Scott leant against the frame, intense blue eyes looking him over. John couldn’t tell whether they were sharper in person than over hologram or softer. They stuck on John’s cast, flicking to Virgil before scanning carefully over his body, same as if any of the others were injured in the field. 

“Scott,” John stated. An acknowledgment that his big brother was here. The tight, tangled  barbed wire ball that had been living in his stomach for days loosened further. 

“You okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? In this moment, laughing aloud with Virgil, yeah he was. But all the rest of the day, the week beforehand? John gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t give much either way. 

Of course that became cause for Scott to come closer. He knelt in front of John, ever so mindful of his broken foot. 

Telegraphing his movements, Scott reached out and brushed John’s hair out of his face before silently kissing his forehead, all gentle big brother who was here for him no matter what.

He repeated the motion with Virgil. 

John froze for precious seconds then threw himself at Scott. 

It hurt. He’d forgotten about his foot in its awful cast for a moment, knocking it painfully against the floor with a broken yelp. But Scott caught him anyway. Virgil’s arms went back around him too and he was still humming but in a steadier pitch. 

John was sniffling against Scott’s chest, soaking up his brothers’ warmth and all the love in the room, even as he wasn’t sure whether he was crying again from sorrow or pain or because they both cared about him so, so much and the happy-overwhelmed feeling got stuck as a lump in his throat.

Maybe together they could fix this mess John had somehow made. But right now John let them hold him close, let Scott rock them until the calm of the room could creep back in.

A cuddle pile formed on the beanbags once again, this time with Scott too. John leant back on Scott’s chest, still hiccuping occasionally from the tears. Both sets of their long legs alongside each other were tossed over Virgil’s lap, who’d very fairly called them a lanky, boney weighted blanket, while snuggling in with no suggestion they move. He could feel Scott’s chin resting on top of his head, breaths lightly tickling his hair.

Virgil had had to check again, with the medscanner he kept in his studio first aid kit, that John hadn’t screwed up his foot in its bright orange cast. Yet he hadn’t and even though John could still feel the pain of the impact, Virgil had given him another dose of ibuprofen which would take the edge off soon.

John’s eyes slid half shut with exhaustion. Scott let him fidget with his hands as he gripped them. Virgil was tapping out piano pieces again, a more relaxed melody now against the top John’s bare shin, the sensation grounding and reminding him Virgil was close.He had his brothers. All of them. All of his family. They loved him and they’d help him figure this out and that was more that enough, it was everything.

[favorvn]

[nsfw, kinda♡]

on the bed with Z... with his long sharp nails, he slowly traces your skin.

helpless whines escapes from you from time to time and you couldn't help but clench your legs.

once he reached your waist, he fully grabbed them and his hands slid smoothly on your hips then legs and lifted them up—

(I LOVE THIS I hope you don't mind that I built off of it and drew something too 🥰💕 if you had a different version I'd love to read it as well 😍💕)

Z grasps your legs. Your soft thighs are at the mercy of his long dangerous talons as he tries to maintain composure enough not to accidentally knick you.

"Something smells so nice..." Z hums, his face growing closer to your pelvic region.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh and rubs it against your leg. You jolt a bit as his soft bouncy hair lightly tickles you.

Z smirks in response looking at you for a slow moment, drinking in your desperate form.

"Shaking already? I haven't even started yet..."

He places small kisses to your thigh. His grip tightens as his nails sit precariously close to digging in. You can feel his breath grow heavier dusting your skin with want.

"....please"

His eyes flash at you as a devilsh grin grows on his face. He takes his time placing a few more kisses upon you. You shift impatiently.

He chuckles turning to face you once again.

"Please?" He asks teasingly ignorant.

"Z ple-" Before you can fully answer Z nibbles your thigh causing you to gasp and whine.

He gives another mischievous chuckle. His expression turning into a full grin upon the vision of his favorite human desperate and wanting for him.

"Hmm? Did you forget how to speak Human? That's no good~"

He lightly drags his nails up and back down your legs leaving light red marks in their path. You gasp and squirm.

"Well lucky for you, I'm a kind demon.". He drawls out sarcastically.

"I'll teach you how to speak again in no time. Starting with my name."

He continues to nibble and kiss, drawing out little gasps and whines. He pulls back slightly, his voice darkening as his eyes shine with a light glow underneath his hair.

"That's no good human, you are going to have to try harder."

His jaw slackens as his long tongue falls out languidly. You shiver in anticipation and he smirks in response.

All too slowly Z brushes his long slick tongue against your thigh. The tip of it flicking lightly against the innermost area of your thigh.

"Ah! Z!!"

He smiles wildly obviously turned on. "That's a good little Human~. I think we should practice a few more times, Don't you?"

You can't answer, it's impossible to answer while his tongue slowly crawls lower and lower on your skin.

"For now, I'll have to reward this cute little human so they learn to call my name more in the future."

[peachym00]

A crack of thunder interrupted Pete’s thoughts, making him jump out of his skin.

“Fuck me, that was loud,” Pete flinched, his heart nearly beating out of his ribcage.

“Not out here; the pavement will be far too uncomfortable,” Vegas quipped, getting up from the floor and holding out a hand for Pete to take.

“You’re hilarious, you know that,” Pete said sarcastically, holding onto Vegas’s hand, which helped him up with far more force than Pete expected, pulling him straight into his chest.

“So I’ve been told.”

Vegas looked at Pete like he wanted to crack him open and see what was inside. It made him feel good and wanted. Brave.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Pete questioned quietly, not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere that had built up around them.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about you, Pete,” Vegas says unhurriedly, his eyes gazing all over Pete’s face like he’s searching for something, anything that will give him an answer, “every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something else to surprise me.”

Vegas brings his hand up to the side of Pete’s cheek, the tips of his fingers grazing it just so, not bearing any weight but somehow burning their mark onto Pete’s skin.  

It was then, as he was wondering what it would be like to feel Vegas’s lips upon his own, that an extraordinarily untimely and out-of-place thought came to mind, blurting out of his mouth as he couldn’t believe he didn’t catch on at the time.

“Oh my god,” Pete exclaims, horrified, “Porsche and Kinn are fucking; they’re one hundred per cent fucking.”

That would explain everything that Pete had been so far confused about. The reason Porsche was so coy about answering questions about working for the main family, the reason he had nothing wrong to say about him. It would also explain the reason why Porsche wasn’t shot onsite for injuring Macau, why out of every single gun pointed at him, Kinn chose to choke Porsche into unconsciousness instead.

“You’ve only just figured it out?” Vegas asks incredulously, dropping his hand from Pete’s face.

“He didn’t tell me anything!” Pete was slightly miffed that he had been interrogated so brutally on life at the minor compound when they could have talked about how Porsche was hooking up with his boss.

Unbelievable.

“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now, Pete, about Kinn and Porsche and their sex life?”

“Yes, it is,” Pete says, his thoughts coming to a standstill as he realises the moment he has deprived himself of, the sinking feeling of coming to the realisation that he is his own cock-block, “why, what should I be thinking about?”

Vegas’s gaze darkens, the corners of his mouth turning up into a brilliantly evil smile, the sharp edges of it leaving no room for mercy. They’re still standing close together, yet he tries to bring Pete even closer, their proximity giving him no choice but to rest his hand on Vegas’s chest. His other hand is still enclosed in Vegas’s own, getting increasingly sweaty the more nervous he gets.

“Me,” he whispers, turning his head to the side to speak directly into Pete’s ear, his voice hot and tingly, “You should be thinking about me.”

Pete gulps.

They didn’t cover this in training.

[kunikidas-lost-glasses]

Do you have some bramcraft or steinbramcraft headcanons?

First of all, I am genuinely so sorry that I am answering to this only now! I found your ask late in my ask box, I was extremely busy with school, I was lacking headcanons, had no time to post anything on any platform, etc. I am genuinely super sorry.

Secondly, I'm so glad that you're asking anon!! I do have quite a bunch of headcanons for both ships (more for Bramcraft than for Steinbramcraft but okay) but I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested in them!

This post is only about Bramcraft but I will probably make one about Steinbramcraft too.

I hope you enjoy those headcanons and thank you so so much for your question!

TWs: Losing someone (temporary), slight mentions of injuries

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

Bram and Lovecraft met during the medival era by coincidence at night on the shore

Bram had been strolling along the shore after a hunting trip with his vampires and Lovecraft had swam up to the surface for the first time since years for some reason and they spotted each other

Bram got quite spooked when he saw a slightly off looking and very tall person suddenly breaking through the surface of the sea

They eventually started a conversation since Lovecraft asked him what year it was right after they started at each other for quite some time as well as after Lovecraft stretched a bit and also since Bram couldn't resist asking Lovecraft who or what he was

One conversation turned into multiple conversations and eventually they've developed feelings for each other (Bram was a lot more aware of them since he had been a human once and due to this was more familiar with human feelings and behaviors) but it took them literal years until they got together since both are utterly dense and can't handle emotions that well/don't understand them very good

They often spend time together by just sleeping (literally sleeping) together at the most random places

Bram was tall but Lovecraft was still a lot taller than the vampire

Usually they would meet up during the night on the shore but when the weather was bad, Lovecraft would come to Bram's castle where the latter lived with his vampires because Bram didn't really like being outside for long while it was cold and rainy

Lovecraft on the other hand, didn't particularly mind the weather but he wanted his partner to be comfortable

At first Bram called Lovecraft, Lovecraft but after a while he started calling him Howard

Bram is one of the very few persons who actually know Lovecraft's first name and who's allowed to call him by his very first name

Bram has a very thick Irish accent which gets thicker when he's ranting, angry, stressed or very emotional and Lovecraft thinks it's adorable

Bram would always be super careful when they kissed or when they were making-out (which happened kinda rarely) because of his sharp fangs and his long and sharp claws, not wanting to hurt the other

Lovecraft on the other hand was always careful when he hugged or just generally touched Bram because even if Bram was the immortal and feared King of the undead, his body still felt nearly as fragile as the one of a human for Lovecraft and since he was aware of his own immense strength, Lovecraft would always be super careful with Bram

They would spend whole nights talking about deep and heavy topics with each other while Bram sipped blood out of a fancy glass while on other nights they just went to bed and slept for hours

Bram being super sarcastic sometimes and Lovecraft not understanding, causing Bram to laugh it is a thing

When Lovecraft went to the vampire castle the first time without telling Bram about it, the vampires tried to attack him, thinking he was an intruder but Bram who noticed the fuss in the courtyard went outside and stopped them, telling them that this man was a close friend and that had to treat him like a noble guest

He even forbid to even just touch Lovecraft in any way

Since then the vampires treat Lovecraft with a similar respect like how they treat their king

Lovecraft is kind of possessive of what's his (to this counts his home, his "territory" underwater but also Bram) and would kill when someone dared to try to take it away from him so when Bram got kind of badly injured by vampire hunters once he nearly went to burn the whole town down

Them dancing together in the big empty ballroom of the vampire castle but while Bram is leading and dancing incredibly elegantly, seemingly floating across the floor, Lovecraft is clumsily following and often trips because he is still not completely used to his human body, is a thing too

Bram thinks is adorable and amusing

He always tries to hold in his laughter then but often he can't hold back an amused and soft smile

Sometimes they lie together in the sand on the shore or sit on the rooftop of the castle house and watch the night sky

They only exchange some sentences then once a while. Mostly they are just lying or sitting there, enjoying each other's presence

Sometimes they just sat there next to each other but sometimes they would hold hands or Bram would lie his head against Lovecraft's shoulder as he was getting more and more tired

Bram never forced Lovecraft to attend to any formal vampire events and they kept their relationship a secret. Even from Bram's closest relatives

Bram himself would often sneak out of the ballroom during festivities, even though he was the king of the undead and should be attending at whatever celebration was going on, and went down to the shore where Lovecraft was already waiting for him

Large celebrations always tired him endlessly and he preferred to spend the night with his close friend anyways

Bram can't swim at all (like the most people who lived during the medival era) so when Lovecraft once dragged him with him into the water just for the sake of it, he did get scared for a second and screamed out of reflex before his head went underwater despite being immortal, so when they resurfaced again and when he felt that Lovecraft was steadily holding him over the surface, keeping him from drowning he proceeded to yell at Lovecraft after getting the water out of his eyes

Lovecraft didn't even tried to stay serious and burst out laughing

They sometimes sit together in Bram's chamber and read while the fire in the fireplace in crackling and creates an incredibly calm and domestic atmosphere

Bram and Lovecraft both were a bit more energetic and Bram felt more emotions before the invasion happened during which he got sliced in half and got taken away like a trophy

Lovecraft had been sleeping underwater while it happened and after he woke up, swam up to the surface and realized what happened, he did destroy what was left of the town in his sheer rage and pain but it was too late

He did search for Bram for years and when he found him centuries later, he was in the hands of Fukuichi

At first he wanted to save him but soon enough he realized that Fukuichi would most likely use Bram against Lovecraft since Bram was under complete control of him and it be would horrible and most likely hurt Bram even more so Lovecraft couldn't do anything

Despite this, he decided to stay close to Bram and always kept close to wherever Bram and Fukuichi went, waiting for a moment where he could get Bram out of Fukuichis hands

Bram often finds himself thinking or dreaming about Lovecraft

Sometimes he dreams about long, messy black hair, the smell of the sea but which surprisingly it lacked the unpleasant strong smell of fish and the smell of old books like which Lovecraft always smelled for some reason, tired black eyes and cold yet not unpleasantly cold hands as well as about the shore and his castle

Sometimes he thinks about how Lovecraft's hair felt and how his cold lips felt against his but he always quickly snaps himself out of it

On some days he can't even escape him in his sleep.

Bram usually tried to sleep everything off. He can't really do anything besides sleeping or lying awake thinking in that coffin anyways but sometimes Lovecraft also appears in his dreams

Lovecraft has some memories of Bram's real smile or of him smiling sheepishly. He saw it some times when Bram was truly happy or a bit embarrassed.

Seeing Bram smiling was a rare thing because just like Lovecraft, he wasn't smiling very often so it was always a special thing but it also always looked weirdly adorable in Lovecraft's opinion.

When Bram smiled widely, his fangs would poke out and Lovecraft loved seeing him smile. Now he cherishes those memories greatly. They are one of the very few things he has left of the other.

Bram would sometimes play the piano for Lovecraft back in the castle

Bram was the one who thought Lovecraft how to write properly

Bram loved roaming through Lovecraft's long and messy hair with his own hands

Lovecraft loved listening to Bram and loved watching him

He'd be lying if he didn't admire Bram and fell for him even more when he saw him commanding/ruling over his kins, standing on top of the staircase with his long black coat, his long soft white hair and piercing red eyes which seemingly could notice everything

Lovecraft once took care of Bram while he was recovering from an attack of vampire hunters and was even more protective of him during that time

The recommend books to each other

Lovecraft is boiling with rage which is aimed towards Fukuichi and he's wanting the moment where he can free Bram and face Fukuichi to arrive oh so bad

Lovecraft gifted Bram small or a bit bigger treasures which he found underwater and Bram cherished them greatly as well as kept each of them in a box which he protected greatly

To those treasures also counted extremely old books, jewels and other things he found underwater as well and he also gifted him an antique and elegant ring once.

It was the only thing which Bram didn't put in his box. He always kept it on his finger.

Many vampires admired the old ring greatly and wondered from where Bram got such a rare treasure but he never told them.

[nightmarecita]

In another life [Nightmare!Sans]

«“It took a while to arrive, but it was part of your destiny.”»

They were lying on the damp earth, staring up at the cloudy sky as a few drops of water fell on their bodies, some of them mixing on the ground with particles of fresh blood.

The silence wasn't awkward or anything; It was just the two of them, lying on the ground as they looked at the sky without any particular emotion, ignoring the mortal wounds on their vessels.

— I'm hungry– she said completely randomly, breaking the ice.

—You will eat when we fall to hell.—they would not be saved, they were dying slowly, and nothing would save them from that inevitable end.

— Do you believe in reincarnation?– she asked suddenly, without looking away from the black clouds that were approaching.

A beautiful, clear sky, with the sun prostrate and shining or with a beautiful albino moon hugging the sky, was not a scenario that was worthy of them, they did not deserve it.

They were only worthy of those black clouds in all their vision and the disgusting sensation of how their clothes, wet with blood, water and some mud, were sticking to their bodies.

— We're about to die, stop torturing me with meaningless questions because you're hungry– he snorted, refusing to answer his opponent's question.

— That's why I don't like you, you're bitter.– He blinked a little, closing one eye when a small drop of water fell into it.

— I'm not interested.–

They both stayed silent for a while, comfortable with each other's presence and with the fact that they would die at the other's side, although they would never admit it.

It was a good ending for them. A good ending for an obsessed man and a traitor.

A King, and a warrior from the enemy Kingdom.

The hatred was mutual as much as the attraction, but that barrier between them would never make them admit their interest. They were infatuated with each other, obsessed with the idea of ending the opponent to make those feelings disappear, that hatred for desire, that desire to be in each other's arms and hide in the depths of the forest, where no one would see them. or would listen, a place away from the weight of their positions, and a place where they would be nothing more than a simple couple loving each other, hidden from the sunlight.

But it was obviously nothing more than a fantasy hidden deep in their heads.

— This wouldn't have happened to you if you weren't so stupid.– His sharp tongue attacked, reminding the girl once again of how he tried to stop Dream from killing him, oh, such a stupid and involuntary action, driven by the hidden feeling of terror. knowing that he would fall.

And it wasn't just him who fell.

She was silent; She didn't want to talk about it, it was true, she was stupid for knowing the purpose of that war and trying to prevent it for personal reasons.

— . . . I deserve it, I betrayed my King a long time ago.– She had planned so many times to abandon the royal guard, and simply be an ordinary inhabitant, even though she swore to protect him until his death.

She wanted to ask him everything, most of all the reason why she had tried to protect him, even though she could imagine it, it was not the same as hearing it from her lips. . . But he knew, she wouldn't get to hear her response, she felt her life draining away, and she didn't have much of it left.

— If reincarnation existed, I swear he would kill you again.

— Oh, how nice of you– she murmured sarcastically.

However, her response was no longer heard. Now she was alone, knowing that she didn't have much time left either.

— If I could be reincarnated, I would kill you too. . .

She slowly closed her eyes, feeling them sting slightly.

A tear was camouflaged among the drops of water.

And she finally stopped breathing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

She was sitting in the living room, on her cell phone, answering the messages her mother sent her asking her if she was having a good time, to which she responded with affirmations and anything that didn't make her worry.

I was in Dream's room, and there were Ink and Blue too, talking and playing the console, suddenly making a fuss when they lost, they had to take turns so they could all play, but there wasn't much of a problem. Dream's mother was already asleep in her bed, since it was 1 at night, and her brother was in her room.

Although she had not even seen her brother when she arrived, she did not even know what he was like, only she knew his name and she knew that he existed.

— Are you done yet?– Ink questioned when he saw her leave her cell phone face down on the nightstand next to the bed.

— Uh-huh– with that short response, she got out of bed under the squid's gaze. — I'm going to the bathroom– she said with a vague gesture, walking out of the room, closing the door behind her.

To get to the bathroom she had to go down the stairs to the first floor and cross through the kitchen, on the other side through a hallway she reached the bathroom. The house was quite dark, so that he had to be careful not to trip on the stairs or any furniture while looking for the light switch.

She walked down the stairs carefully, resting her hand on the wall trying not to trip immediately due to the lack of light. He knew that the kitchen switch was at the entrance to the kitchen, so he walked straight towards it, walking cautiously and silently, somewhat tense, as if something was going to come out of the darkness and catch her, how ridiculous.

Sensing that he would be able to see any spirit lurking near her, he flipped the switch, turning on the light bulb at once. Obviously, there was no one, no ghosts, nothing.

He sighed softly, feeling somewhat relieved.

— On one side, you're getting in the way.

At the first little noise he made, his entire body went numb with fright, jumping slightly, stifling a scream from the small shock.

Moving quickly and moving to the side, moving a little away from the entrance to the kitchen, he finally saw it.

His expression softened.

A tired and angry face was what he saw in the skeleton dyed black, with his pajamas all pretty blue with little yellow stars.

She felt strange seeing him, she felt like she had seen him somewhere, but she didn't remember him.

The tallest man's rough and annoyed expression disappeared in a matter of seconds when she analyzed the human in front of him, she looked at her strangely, slowly analyzing her from top to bottom.

Obviously, she was friends with Dream, but he had never met her, yet she seemed so to him. . . Known

They both remained silent for a while with the same mental objective, they tried to recognize each other, staring at each other, analyzing each other.

— I know you?. . .– Nightmare was the first to speak, with a confused and curious tone.

— I think so. . . I feel like I saw you somewhere but I don't remember where.– Maybe Dream showed her a photo sometime and she just doesn't remember it.

A sudden desire to slap him came to her heart, but she wasn't going to get aggressive for no apparent reason with her friend's brother.

. . . But why did she feel like hitting him?

—What's your name?– The tallest man questioned, believing that with a name he would be able to identify her, not that he was very interested, but. . . Well, yes, he was curious.

He told her name, watching as he fell silent again, trying to remember, but nothing came to her mind, just not.

Between him he closed his eyes.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the place, looking to the sides nervously before the attentive gaze of the man in black.

— You're staying the night, right? — She looked at him strangely at the question, nodding slowly in affirmation.

Her body stiffened, shuddering as a shiver ran down her spine, causing her to straighten slightly when her adversary placed her hand on his shoulder, but what made her break was hearing her voice so close to her ear.

— When everyone is asleep, come to my room.

And with that whispered request, he turned away from her, turning to return to her room, leaving her there as she stared where he had gone, her cheeks red.

— . . . Ah—. . . Oh, right, the bathroom. – Somewhat nervous about the above, she hurried to the bathroom, trying to momentarily forget what had happened.

Finishing, she returned upstairs, glancing at the door to Nightmare's room, remembering her previous request. She shook her head quickly, entering Dream's room.

. . . Yellow's brother is very strange.

.

.

.

Maybe if I go to his room later after all.

[lenna-z]

Hello everyone! Sorry in advance for the erratic updates, I'm typing at turtle speed right now...

I hope you enjoy this fic so far and continue to like it in the future!

Wish you a good day/night!

Previous Chapters: | -1- | -2- | -3-|

What Happened There?

Chap. 4 : Sister

"Don't tell me to calm down! This man has already crossed the line!"

Scott looked up as Gordon's shout made the entire hallway groan. His fish brother wouldn't yell like that for nothing, so he hoped.

Looking in the direction of the elevator, he saw Gordon next to his bodyguard, and Colonel Casey and several people he didn't recognize in front of them.

His head ached to the point of not caring how many there were.

"You can't just come here! I can get someone to get you out!"

The man next to Colonel Casey replied sarcastically. "Try it and we'll see, Tracy."

He got up reflexively, but when he looked the other way, he saw that everyone had already stood up.

"You can't talk to my brother like that," Still, he had to address him properly. At least he would know who he was. "Mr...?"

"Colonel Oliver Martinez." Was this man bragging about his rank as if he had done something good?

"Please note that you are allowed to be here as a courtesy, Colonel." said Colonel Casey coldly.

Casey and that man  were clearly on the edge.

"Scott! They said International Rescue was-"

"Gordon, this is something we really need to talk to Scott about."

Gordon didn't seem to agree.

"No! First you hint to the media that you are blaming our sister, and now you come here and for what? To blame International Rescue? Something that concerns International Rescue concerns us all."

"Huh? You call her 'sister', but you're not even related by blood."

That was just too much, this guy had really crossed the line.

He wasn't going to explain it to him, no, one sharp sentence would have sufficed.

"Family isn't about blood ties, Colonel."

Yet another answer followed.

"There is no need to be related by blood to be a family."

But the man's facial expression was still sarcastic, as was his voice. "What? Who told you that, the person whose her uncle was the Hood?"

"Know your place, Colonel! The things Kayo did to keep the Hood from seeing the light of day are indisputable."

At least Colonel Casey was aware of everything.

"I think you have relevant personal ties in this case, Colonel. I don't even have to warn you." Oh, is he going to play like this now?

"Yes, you can, Colonel, right after I report you for abuse of rank. I will ask you to get out of here, Colonel." Every word was spoken calmly. But the coldness in her voice was undeniable.

When the annoying man finally left, Colonel Casey's shoulders slumped noticeably.

"Scott, we really need to talk."

Although he really wondered what was going on, his brother was right. "Gordon is right, Colonel, it concerns them, I can't speak to you separately."

"Well..." She was clearly displeased, which made Scott even more worried.

Oh, and there was also the fact that Gordon was clearly very angry. His brother had his arms folded across his chest, waiting as if he knew what was coming.

"I'm really sorry to break this news, but you should know that International Rescue has been suspended indefinitely. This information has not been shared with the media yet and no one will share it except-"

"What is it based on?" Virgil was calmer than expected.

"Kayo is under investigation. Based on this, every mission including International Rescue will be reviewed."

This time, a murmur of swearing came from his brother behind Colonel Casey. "Oh, so what's on the news is true, you think she's guilty."

"I didn't want it to be like this, Gordon. I really tried, but in the end there was nothing I could do."

Everyone should have realized that Casey was doing her best before this turned into an argument.

"I trust Colonel Casey on this, do you really think someone did this on purpose and it could be her?" There was no answer to that, but there was still a question to be answered. "Colonel, what exactly is Kayo accused of?"

It was like a question she clearly didn't want to answer. Her shoulders drooped even more.

"Adam Smith, Loretta Rodriguez, Benjamin Stewart. Do these names sound familiar?"

All of them were owners of companies with their own surnames. "Company owners. I know them by name."

"Owners of companies closest to Tracy Industries." She took a deep breath. "Scott... you know there are people dying out there. Those company owners were killed there."

This means...

No!

"This is bullshit! Why would Kayo do that?"

"No, she didn't do that."

John and Virgil had figured it out long before he did.

"My daughter wouldn't do such a thing, Colonel."

"Do you realize what you are accusing her of? This is an insult to her and International Rescue." Did she really believe she could kill those people?

Because if the answer was yes, Scott would do anything to never see Colonel Casey again.

"Sorry. There is evidence that I can't tell. But I don't believe that either. It looks like there's something big that we don't see."

She seemed sincere about it.

"I really did everything I could..." She seemed to say it to Kyrano, but to all of them.

"I will ask you for records that you did not send to us, this is unregistered, what you send or not is up to you. There may be something in these recordings to support Kayo's innocence."

It was a difficult request. And he didn't trust GDF.

"John will give you everything about this event." Limiting it to today only made the most sense at the moment.

John was walking restlessly towards the Casey. "Look, Colonel. I'm tired of saying this now, but I sent her there. She didn't do it, and I'll send you those recordings with what I learned to prove it. Remember that she was injured too and why we are here now."

Casey took another deep breath. "How is she?"

"There is still no update. I even forgot how long we've been waiting here."

And as time passed, he began to think for the worst.

"She is strong. She will be fine."

"I'm sure you have more important things to do, Colonel."

"I'll let you know if there's any progress." She looked intensely at Kyrano.

Was there something he didn't know?

A hand touching his shoulder, and when he turned to the owner of the hand, he met aquamarine eyes.

"You did the right thing, Scott. To give all the records would be to throw us all out. She didn't do that, and they won't find anything in those recordings that says otherwise."

If Kayo were here, she would know better what to do.

Every moment he waited here, he was losing hope.

And damn how long had it really been?

"She will be fine."

He didn't want to think about anything else right now. That damn man could say whatever he wanted, the media could report whatever he wanted.

It was their sisters life at stake here. It was the life of the person he saw and valued as his sister.

Who cares about blood ties?

"She's one of the family. It doesn't matter who says what."

"Of course she is, Alan. That man was a presumptuous bastard." Right now he was too much of a headache to care about Gordon's frankness.

All he really cared about was someone coming out of that operating room door.

"So what will we do?"

The answer was simple. "Just leave everything to time."

"Scott, why don't we take a break for some air? Maybe we'll find something for your head, huh?"

This offer from John was especially tempting when he heard about painkillers.

But he didn't want to leave here.

"Come on, Scott, it won't be long."

It was clear from John's tone that how long it would take was up to him.

The sooner he went, the sooner they'd get here.

This reminded him of Virgil when they first arrived.

With just a nod of his head, he started towards the elevator.

○○○○○○

"Mr. Tracy! How nice to see you again! How can I help you?"

No. Same nurse. Guess they called him Des.

He didn't want her near him, not now, not ever.

How could they get rid of her?

As brazen as she was, neither Scott nor he could have done what she did.

Or Scott could do it right now because he was taking a deep breath.

"Des? We have received information that a new emergency has arrived, can you prepare?"

Thank god someone else took care of it instead.

"This is Desire. Yes I am interested in. With your permission, Mr. Tracy."

Oh please, was Scott the only Tracy here?

As that nurse was leaving, another familiar face was approaching them.

Scott didn't seem to notice.

"This time I was really close to doing anything. She acts-"

"Scott." At the warning, Scott fell silent.

Despite his efforts, the other nurse had heard about it. Her eyes were looking at them with understanding. "Whatever you say, you're right, I'm really sorry."

The nurse was indeed more understanding than the other.

"What brings you here again?"

Again? Was she there when Scott brought Virgil here?

"This is my head..."

At least he was still good enough to explain his problem.

"I hope it's a good thing it's not one of your brothers who needs help this time." And then her eyes opened like a frightened cat. "I didn't mean- I mean-"

"Oh, it's contagious, when one of us is bad, the other's are bad too." After John's attempt at comfort, her eyes seemed to have calmed down, but she was still looking hesitant.

"Including her, she's like our sister."

He seemed to emphasize the word 'sister' in particular. He understood why, and he was still angry with that man.

The nurse asked for a few seconds to get some necessary tools, and he turned his gaze to his brother with concern. No one was really talking downstairs, and when they did, it didn't seem to put anyone at ease.

He found Scott still staring at the woman. He wasn't sure if he was really looking, because of the headache, it was like he was just immersed.

Since the nurse didn't come in with just one medicine, Scott was startled, glanced at everything, including the blood pressure monitor she had brought with her, and then looked at the nurse uneasily.

"I don't want to stay here for long."

He wanted to be downstairs...

And then he gave John a quick, angry look.

"Scott, be nice to the nurse, she's just doing her job."

When the help he asked for didn't come from John, he turned back to the her.

"Please nurse-"

"I'm not a nurse, Mr. Tracy and-" She turned to address John, but was instantly silent.

Oh, finally someone realizes that Scott isn't the only Tracy here.

"This is John." He said in a gentle voice.

He hated being called Mr. Tracy just as much as Scott.

"And this is Scott, please. Sorry I didn't ask your name."

And she turned back to Scott again.

"Ava. I'm the doctor in charge of the emergency today." So that was the reason for so many encounters. But still, why was she wearing a nurse outfit? "As for why I'm wearing a nurse's outfit, it's a long story..."

"I think we have time for that." Said Scott, looking at the tools she had brought with her.

○○○○○○

I would love to know what you think!

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy allowed himself to decompress as Bert’s gentle pats and soft words brought him back from the verge of tears. Nothing had changed. Yet he allowed himself to enjoy the illusion of safety for a moment. “This helps,” It still bothered him how Bert’s comfort came at the cost of distressing him but… What could he do? He knew for a fact that he hated being kept in the dark more. Answering his questions— including those which remained unasked— was the least he could do. He shook his head as he answered the easiest of all with, “Probably not.” It took a bit for Teddy to compile his thoughts. Eventually he hesitantly said, “…There’s this one Glornist named Thomas I’ve been worried about. He’s just too…” Teddy paused to sigh. “…Nice. Nice enough that there was only one reason to keep him alive…” Then he kept his eye shut as he rested his head against his good arm. “Somehow I was still arrogant enough to think that I could save him… Except I put it off because its hard to approach a guy you usually avoid to go,” He scowled and swapped to a sarcastic tone as he grew more agitated. “Hello! If you don’t either dirty up your act or fake your death you’ll be ritually murdered! Here’s how I, known natural shady creep, can help!” Teddy glowered at a stray beaker left on the desk. “So I tried to earn his trust first, but that..,” He sighed as he closed his eye. “…only made it worse…” The air became dead as he recalled how even Thomas, one of the most naïve people he knew, couldn’t believe that he had good intentions. “Eventually I just cut to the chase and it, well…” His voice quickened and he started to idly rub his finger against the counter. “I heard him pray to Grop after I made him cry so I tried to give him contact info for them and urged him to leave but then he showed up Slornday anyways and I didn’t know that Sam and Cyrus were already investigating him for being a Gropist and for a bit I thought they heard everything and Sam was gonna accuse me of being one too and-” Teddy was forced to stop working himself into a panic just long enough to take a breath and pressed his fist against his forehead to ward off an oncoming headache. “It was just Thomas but I still had to use my backup plan before our meeting came out under torture and they sacrificed me too so I told everyone that I was working with them and claimed that I was trying to set him up so he’d find other Gropists on the ship but I told him about Eve because I found out she became a Gropist after what happened to Dawn when I was in the medbay and I may have sealed her fate too and-” Another sharp inhale. “But I didn’t know that Sam was trying to frame Thomas as an infiltrator taking down the Glornch becausethat'slikewanderbeingaslysndcraftygenius so they got mad that they couldn’t use the dramatic presentation they prepared but… I think Thomas bolted before they could start because… he thought I was the evil… mastermind anyways and-” That was as far as he got before he lost the wind for a long-winded rant. While he was recovering he searched the room as well as he could without lifting his heavy head. Where was Sherri Jr? Because he could really use the big lug right about now…

Bert patiently listened to what Teddy had to say without a moment of interruption. He followed along at first, nodding his head. Alright, so there’s a Glornist named Thomas who Teddy deemed worth saving. But trying to talk to him didn’t go so well. Okay.

Bert frowned when Teddy mocked himself, but kept quiet in favor of letting him express his thoughts however he saw fit. But when Teddy’s pace quickened as he started to get more and more panicked, that’s when Bert started to lose track a bit. Sam? Cyrus? Eve? Dawn? Gropism? ...Wander? There were a lot of things being said in rapid succession that Bert was struggling to parse in his head.

At the end of it, Bert gathered that ultimately Teddy was probably in cahoots with the Sam character over the Thomas character. 

“I see,” Bert softly said despite his struggle to fully understand. He gave Teddy’s head a few more pats. He jumped down from his seat and made his way over to a refrigerator while Teddy caught his breath. 

While Bert was gone, something hit Teddy’s helmet with a light thunk and bounced off, clattering to a stop on the table in front of him. It was a cashew… 

Bert returned with a water bottle. He cracked the cap open and slid it over to Teddy.

[fandom-sickness]

Vampire Sans x Reader (Slow Burn)

Chapter 1

The cold night air washed over me as I stepped onto the balcony. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was howling. I shivered and pulled my robe tighter around me. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones. I looked out into the darkness, but I didn't see anything. The only sound was the rain and the wind. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. I told myself that there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just a storm. But I wouldn't shake the feeling that something was out there watching me. I turned and went back inside, closing the door behind me. I locked it and leaned against it, my heart pounding. I was safe now, I told myself. But I couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning.

I looked around my new room. It was almost antique, so old and dusty, excluding the bed, the vase of roses my grandma had left me on the bedside table, and my three small boxes of belongings. Everything else had a coat of grime. This vintage place would not be the same without her sarcastic presence, but knowing she was off exploring Paris with her best friend made me happy, especially since she didn't have to worry about her house being trashed while I lived here. All she had asked of me before she left was to look through her notes in the upstairs kitchen if I had any questions. Personally, this place seemed like a dream—but only during the day. As soon as the sun fell, it gave me a sickening feeling I couldn't explain. I just wasn't used to this house, all the long hallways, seemingly never-ending rooms upon rooms, and the way the house creaks and shudders. I could go on about my grandmother's beautiful mansion turned horror maze at night freaks me out.

A sudden tapping noise caught my attention and pulled me from my thoughts, the noise came from behind the glass, and a chill ran up my spine. Surely it was just the rain or a branch hitting the window. But then it came again. Tap, tap, tap, That.. was intentional. I summoned all the courage in my body and slowly turned around. I was shockingly met with a skull and deep sunken socket eyes that pierced my soul and stared into my every thought. We were locked in a sort of staring contest for at least a minute. Eventually, I fell back from the glass onto the ground and looked up at this being. It was tall..very tall, bulky, and from the looks of it quite strong too. It was draped in a dark cape that covered most of its body. The only thing I could see was the head and an arm peeking out from the cape and a skeleton hand pressed against the glass. I lifted my eyes back, its face and those…eyes?... It also has deadly sharp teeth poking out and deep blue glowing socket eyes. I assumed It was staring down at me hungrily. Fear swelled in me. “Who are you,” I whispered. “It doesn't matter who I am, who are you,” it whispered back, placing both of its boney hands against the glass.

“Why are you here?” I demanded back, I was not going to answer any of this…monster's questions until I know it can be trusted. “I.…..was coming to visit my friend...Miss Amy..” he looked away as my mouth slowly opened and closed before I slowly started to gain my voice back, “How…do you know my grandmother.” he didn't look back over to me but slowly moved closer to the window. “She is friends with my brother, she told me that…if anything should happen…to come here for sanctuary..where is she? She is not……..is she..?” I shook my head stiffly, I guess Grandma did say she had made friends with ALL the locals but I didn't expect this…thing. If it is my grandmother's friend..whatever it may be I should treat it with…..some kind of decency. I sighed, closed my eyes tightly, and looked back at him. “She…is in Paris…I watch over this place for her…” I slowly unlocked the balcony doors and pulled them open. He turned to face me in shock. “It's…raining...I don't know if you CAN catch a cold but..it's never good to find out. Please come inside.” he softly pulled his hood over his face and stepped inside. rain falling off him to the floor. I moved and closed the balcony doors behind him. As I turn back I realize he was already seated on my bed and starting to take off his black boots. I sat across from him on a light pink armchair. he slowly raises his head. "I'm sorry for the intrusion but... I have nowhere else to go.." his glowing eyes meet mine, and I recognize the pain under them.

"stay as long as you need," 

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website A/N: There's a soundtrack to this chapter if you want to listen.

Chapter 95: June 2004

The applause is meant to sound sweeter to her ears. She’s meant to be proud, to be sitting straight and tall with a barely concealed smile—or maybe not concealed at all—and relishing the audience’s delight and enthusiasm. That’s the way this works, after all; it’s the greatest triumph imaginable, the climax of the story in a lot of ways, or at least of this part of the story, and she’s meant to feel that this is in a way her triumph too.

But it doesn’t, and she’s not, and the only thing Liliana feels is annoyance.

She masks it with a polite, empty smile and the least sarcastic clapping she can manage, and at least the cane gives her a plausible excuse for not joining in the standing ovation. Mentally, she pats herself on the back for the foresight to have brought it along, although she couldn’t exactly have done otherwise, not when she’d tried to use her health and fatigue as an excuse not to come at all. But Roger hadn’t insisted on much in the five years they’d been married, and while she could have convinced him otherwise, it would be…inconvenient if he remembered he really wanted her to come.

She should have put a stop to this years ago, she thinks as the lauding goes on around her. Moved into school districts that were cutting the arts rather than encouraging them, pushed him towards athletics, something. Maybe taught him at home like Mary did Gerard, or asked to have them taught together. At the very least, she should have paid better attention when Roger and Melanie tried to tell her what she missed. She’s always just assumed it’s a class like any other, something Martin gets middling grades in and skates by on by stammering and smiling awkwardly and trying really hard so people excuse things (she’s done her best to curtail that, to keep him from attracting too much attention from the Web, but it’s useful in a pinch so she lets some of it slide). When he said he was auditioning for…whichever program, something up in Edinburgh of all places…she assumed he would fail, badly, and it would be that much easier to convince him to stop wasting his time on schooling and go into helping with the books and…other things full time.

She didn’t know he was decent. More than decent. From the cheers of the crowd and the way the director spoke, he’s good.

Two solos. Two! Three if you count his director encouraging him to come out and perform his “audition piece” as an encore. Liliana isn’t sure if the program he somehow managed to get into is actually that impressive or if boys from this school don’t generally continue studying music when they get to their A-levels, but she’s definitely not going to be able to talk Martin into turning this down no matter how hard she tries.

Damn the luck. They were counting on him.

The murmur of the crowd starts up and people begin to move. Roger drops back into his seat next to her, beaming. “Wasn’t that a wonderful performance?”

“That’s the best one ever,” Melanie says enthusiastically from his other side.

Roger laughs. “You say that every time.”

“It’s always true.”

Roger pats Liliana’s hand. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t miss this one?”

Liliana returns his smile and squeezes his hand, and doesn’t answer. Roger is a good man. A good provider. She made a good choice when she picked him out of the group at the SPARK meeting, and his naivety is usually an asset. Once in a while, though, it’s just the teensiest bit irritating.

Melanie gives her a sharp look, just for a second—she always understands when Liliana is neither pleased with nor impressed by Martin—but Roger, sunshine incarnate, merely looks around the crowd. “It’s a shame Mary and Gerard couldn’t make it back in time for this.”

“Someone might have recorded it,” Melanie says. “I know it’s not the same, but at least G—they can hear it.”

Liliana suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, but Melanie’s right; Mary wouldn’t enjoy this any more than Liliana did. Too many people, too much noise, and nothing inspiring whatsoever about the music, plus she would only be sitting there getting progressively more irritated that Martin clearly wouldn’t be going into the business.

Unless something happens to his voice. Surely there’s something in one of Mary’s books…but that will take time and care. She’ll have to wait until Mary gets back, probably in early September, and discuss it more fully with her.

“Want me to go find Martin?” Melanie offers. “Then we can go get dinner or something.”

“Thank you, Melanie, but I will go get him,” Liliana tells her. “You go with your father to fetch the car, and we’ll meet you out front—will that be acceptable?”

A sudden look of confusion flits across Roger’s face. “Did we—we didn’t drive here. We…walked?”

Liliana’s smile is a bit more genuine as she pats Roger’s hand. She’s been noticing these little lapses in memory, and while she’s not above using them to her advantage when necessary, she is actually sympathetic to his struggles. “We did, dear, but I’m not going to be able to walk much longer, so why don’t you two go to the house and bring the car back, and then we can decide where we’d like to go out to eat? It’s a special occasion, after all.”

“Oh!” Roger looks relieved. “Of course, that’s a wonderful idea. You and Martin will be all right until we get back?”

Liliana laughs lightly. Roger probably can’t tell it’s forced. “I probably won’t even be able to get to him for all the well-wishers until you get back. Off you go, then.”

She waits until Melanie and Roger are out of sight before she stands up so that neither of them notice she doesn’t need the cane to do so, or to shuffle out of the row.

It’s not that she isn’t sick…well, diseased is probably a better word; corrupted fits best, really, but she shies away from using that word more than she has to. But she has good days and bad days, and while she admittedly has more bad days than good when Mary isn’t around to help with wards and rituals, this isn’t one of them. Or hasn’t been so far. She can feel her efforts beginning to fail, and she wasn’t exactly lying when she said she won’t be able to walk much longer. Still, she’s certainly not I’m afraid I’m not up to it tonight sick, and Roger and Melanie don’t need to know that.

She ignores the odd voice that seems to both whisper and shout in the back of her mind insisting that they do, actually, and begins making her way through the thinning crowd. For the first and only time, she wishes she had come to more of these concerts, not to hear Martin’s performances but so that people might recognize her as Martin’s mother. They look nothing alike—Martin looks more and more like his father every day, while she takes after her paternal grandmother, or so her father always insisted, you remind me of Mamusia—and of course she looks nothing like her stepdaughter. Roger doesn’t always make it to the concerts either, between his work and looking after her on her bad days, and without him or Melanie in tow, she’s…invisible.

She dislikes it. She dislikes it immensely. If she has to be here, she ought to be feted and lauded too, the mother of the evening’s star.

Then again, none of the people she passes seem to be talking about Martin specifically, so maybe he’s not as big a deal as the director wants people to think.

She finally finds Martin in a quiet alcove off to one side, his eyes bright and his smile somehow both shy and proud as he speaks to a woman almost as tall as he is, whipcord thin and very elegantly dressed, apricot-colored hair styled in a manner common to women who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s. She’s very nondescript, really, not particularly distinguishable from any other elderly woman in the crowd. Still, while Liliana can’t see her face, she immediately loathes her and wants her to be somewhere else.

Martin spots her over the woman’s shoulder, and surprise and delight flit across his face; he stayed after school to help get the auditorium ready, so this is the first time he’s seen her all day. “Mum! I didn’t know you were going to be coming…uh, ma’am, this is my mother, Liliana King. Mum, this is Mrs. Smith, she’s the one who told me about the program at Edinburgh.”

The woman turns around. Her lips tighten, very briefly; Liliana manages to keep a semblance of a pleasant smile on her own face. “Charmed. Martin, you should have told me you had solos.”

Why, so you could have made a better excuse? a bitter voice hisses in the back of her mind. She ignores it, mostly because it’s right, but it doesn’t need to be so judgmental about it.

“Oh, I…” Martin rubs the back of his neck, which, like his face, is slowly turning pink. “I, um, I didn’t want you to feel bad if you couldn’t make it.”

“Knowing that would have made no difference in my guilt levels,” Liliana says with perfect accuracy. She makes a quick, subtle gesture to ward off evil, possession, and the annoying little whisper that is calling her several rude names and adds, “Do you need to help with the cleanup, or put your music away? You’d best go do that. Then find out if Roger and Melanie are back with the car, there’s a good boy. I’ll wait for you here.”

“Of course, Mum.” Martin hesitates. “Do you want me to—there, um, the school office has wheelchairs you can borrow sometimes, for emergencies. Do you want me to see if there’s one available?”

“After you’ve finished the cleanup.” Liliana hates the idea, actually, but she has to admit she’s not going to make it to the front door under her own steam at this point, and being pushed in a hospital chair that probably has three flat tires and cracked vinyl that will pinch her in awkward places is going to be less of a humiliation than being carried in the arms of her fifteen-year-old son. “Go on, now. I’ll be fine until you get back.”

“Congratulations again, Martin.” The voice is low and slightly gravelly but very, very precise. Martin flushes a deeper shade of pink, mumbles his thanks, and escapes, leaving the two of them alone, Liliana leaning on her cane and the other woman with a chartreuse program in one hand and a tape recorder in the other.

“I told you to leave me alone,” Liliana says flatly.

Gertrude Robinson—excuse her, Mrs. Smith—raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I was planning on it. You approached me. Besides, I assumed if you weren’t at his winter concert, you would hardly be bothered to attend this one.”

It would be a cheap shot if it wasn’t the absolute truth, but Liliana decides to be offended anyway. “You thought I would miss my own son’s last performance?”

“It won’t be his last by any means,” Gertrude says pointedly. She removes the smoked glasses, revealing her eyes—were they always that intensely green?—that are the only thing recognizable on her heavily made-up face. “His last in London, perhaps. If he has any sense, he’ll stay away.”

Because she cannot cross her arms petulantly over her chest, and for that reason only, Liliana regrets bringing her cane. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that, Liliana.” Gertrude’s eyes sharpen as she studies her. “You’re friends with Mary Keay—”

“That’s none of your business,” Liliana interrupts.

“I disagree, but nevertheless, that is hardly the point. You work at Pinhole Books. You know what is out there. Don’t lie to me. I tell you, I Know.” Gertrude purses her lips briefly. “You’re too close to Them.”

“That is also none of your business.”

This time, Gertrude ignores her. “Martin is a child. He is too young to decide to be bound to the Fourteen, and you have no right to make those promises for him until he’s able to make the decision—isn’t that why you refused to have him baptized despite your mother-in-law’s insistence?”

Anger flares in Liliana’s chest. “Have you been stalking me?”

“Keeping an eye on you,” Gertrude says frostily. “I have obeyed your expressly stated wishes and left you alone, but that does not mean I was prepared to leave you to face the Fourteen unguarded.”

“I’m not,” Liliana boasts. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Static crackles on the air, and Liliana’s bones ache. She grips the head of the cane and presses her lips together as the feeling accelerates from gradual to rapid.

She’s come to think of it as the Hollowing. The sensation that her stomach has been removed with an ice cream scoop, that her bones have melted into paper straws, that her head could float away. Usually it’s the stomach first, then the skeletal system, and she can usually stop it before it goes to her head, but the effort of not answering the compulsion forces the marrow from her bones and leaves her weak and light. Martin had damn well better hurry up with the chair.

Gertrude looks suddenly contrite. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them and looks at her seriously. “Liliana. I am addressing you on a professional level, not a personal one. The path you are on is dangerous, and it will not lead you where you want. Step off it while you still can.”

Liliana almost wants to laugh and point out that she can barely walk, but she doesn’t. “I will take that under advisement, Archivist.”

Gertrude scans her face. “And if I said it was also on a personal level?”

Liliana smiles sweetly. “Then I would tell you where you can shove it, Mother.”

“Yes.” Gertrude sighs. “I rather thought that might be your response. Well. I can’t say I haven’t tried.”

“Oh, yes, you’ve tried so hard,” Liliana says sarcastically.

“What do you want from me, Liliana?” Gertrude demands. “You asked to be left alone. I complied. You cannot say now that I was never there for you if—”

“You weren’t there for me before I told you to leave me alone,” Liliana snaps. “You turned up in my life on my eleventh birthday, calling me daughter, telling me—”

“I would have told you why I left, if you had given me the option,” Gertrude says, and it’s obvious they’re related; if they have nothing else in common, their tones of voice are identical. “Telling you now would do no good, but whether you believe it or not, I have always tried to protect you. And if you will not accept it, then I will transfer that to my grandson.”

Liliana narrows her eyes. “You told him that, did you?”

“I have not,” Gertrude says, surprising her. “For the same reason I left you with your father. It’s safer for you both if no one knows of our…connection. There are people—things—that would try to use you against me.”

“Unsuccessfully, I’m sure.”

Gertrude lets out a soft bark of laughter with no humor in it. “It seems we have more in common than you like to believe, don’t we?”

“And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“It means that if the furtherance of your goals comes at the cost of someone you care about—or claim to care about, at any rate—you won’t hesitate to make that sacrifice. If you can call it that, since a sacrifice does imply that the loss means something to you. I don’t believe for a second you think of Martin as anything other than a possession.”

“He’s talented,” Liliana shoots back. “If you’ve truly been watching us all this time, you know that. He has a gift for this kind of work.” She sneers. “What kind of mother would I be if I let him squander it on music?”

“The kind of mother who recognizes that he has other talents as well, and is choosing for himself which ones he wants to nurture. Which, as I understand it, is considered ‘a good parent’. Alastair understood that, which was why he took the raising of you. I don’t know that I could have made the right calls about your life back then, even if I had believed the things I fought—fight—against would have let either of you live if they had known that you were precious to me.” Gertrude straightens and slides the smoked glasses back onto her face. “Remember what I have said, Liliana. And if you know what’s best, let Martin go. I do love you, despite what you believe, but I will not hesitate to retaliate if you prevent him from choosing his own destiny.” With that, she strides out of the room, leaving Liliana shaking and seething.

Martin returns a minute later without a chair, apologetic and worried. He wisely doesn’t comment on Gertrude’s absence, instead offering Liliana his arm. At least he doesn’t offer to carry her. She concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, on making it out of the school without passing out, and on making it through dinner without it being obvious that she is both hurting and angry. Martin notices, of course, and is full of contrition for having made her suffer just to see him perform.

Liliana surprises herself by telling him that it isn’t his fault at all.

Later that night, lying in bed beside her husband and in too much pain to sleep, she stares at the ceiling and broods. There are several ways she could prevent Martin from leaving without actually preventing him. Perhaps if she tells him about the talisman, tells him that she sacrificed her own strength for him and that it’s been extracting payment one drop of blood at a time—probably not the truth but one of the best explanations she can come up with—he might stay of his own free will. That she manipulated him is immaterial. Or maybe it won’t be and Gertrude will come after her. Mary laughs at her, but Liliana knows her well enough to know it’s a front, and that she’s actually deeply afraid of her.

Maybe what she should start with is getting rid of Gertrude Robinson. Then she can focus on keeping Martin close, and then she can get well, and finally have everything she’s always wanted.

She considers summoning Kieran to ask his opinion—and then doing the opposite of what he suggests—but decides against it. Not tonight, not with everyone sleeping. Perhaps Monday when Roger goes to work and Melanie and Martin have school. For tonight, she’ll have to be alone with her thoughts.

She could have worse company.

[hisokas-toybox]

Cold comfort

A short fluff/angst one piece I wrote inspired by this artwork by tumblr user domilk (https://www.tumblr.com/domilk).

Pairing: Hisoka/Illumi

Word count: 1,479

Content warnings: None

Cold Comfort

 “Are you cold?”

Hisoka asked as he gazed down at Illumi sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room in the Heaven’s arena.

“No. I’m fine, why?” Illumi looked inquiringly at the magician who was sprawled out on the sofa, taking up all the space with his long legs.

“Don’t lie to me Illu, you’re shivering. I can see that from here.” Hisoka retorted, not fooled by Illumi’s attempt to deceive him. “You know, you could have just asked me to close a window, or put the heating on for a while. Or done it yourself, you are an adult after all, aren’t you?” Hisoka’s tone was mocking, but beneath the teasing there was a rare hint of warmth and concern for the assassin. Hisoka knew his partner was strange and tried not to question his unusual tendencies, such as choosing to sit on the floor rather than any of the more comfortable seating options in the room, refusing food or drink unless he had cooked and/or paid for it himself and never staying overnight with Hisoka, despite the fact they’d been dating for months now and that his bed was big enough for at least 4 people. Hisoka never questioned these little quirks, accepting that they were part of what made Illumi so different to anyone else and so much more interesting and appealing.

However, that didn’t mean he was just going to allow his boyfriend to feel any kind of discomfort, not in his home, and he certainly wasn’t about to let him lie about it. Deception was Hisoka’s specialty; he didn’t appreciate anyone trying to out-do him.

“Yes. I’m 24, I thought you knew that already?” Illumi’s tone bore its usual lack of expression. However, Hisoka could tell that in this instance he was being sarcastic, and met the response with a sharp glare that served as a warning not to go off topic.

“I’m fine. My body will adjust itself, there’s no need to make changes just to accommodate for me.” Illumi continued, ignoring Hisoka’s warning glare.

“You know that money isn’t a problem, I can more than afford to put the heating on for a while.”

“No thank you.”

Hisoka rolled his eyes, Illumi was being stubborn, but this time Hisoka had decided he wasn’t going to just let this go.

“Then, at the very least let me give you a blanket, I do hate to see you so uncomfortable my dear.”

“A blanket?” Illumi looked at Hisoka with those blank eyes, not comprehending.

“You know, large, soft piece of fabric to sit on or wrap around yourself, usually found on beds or over sofas.” Hisoka teased, earning an eyeroll from Illumi.

“Yes. I know what a blanket is. But why would I want one?”

Hisoka opened his mouth to make another sharp retort, but stopped short narrowing his eyes at Illumi instead. His expression, although difficult to read, seemed sincere. Illumi was genuinely asking why he’d want a blanket.

“Why wouldn’t you want a blanket?” Hisoka asked, almost as genuinely curious as Illumi had been, “it’ll warm you up, and they’re soft and comfy.”

Comprehension dawned over Illumi’s face, a brief light in his otherwise dark, mysterious eyes.

“Comfort is not necessary for an assassin. It is merely a luxury and something we cannot become too used to. Not being able withstand simple discomfort is a form of weakness.”

The words may have come from Illumi’s lips, but they were not his. Hisoka knew Illumi had grown up in a strict training regime to become the lethal assassin he was now. These words carried the weight of some kind of indoctrination or mantra that he clearly believed to be true.

“So, you’ve never had a nice blanket, or duvet or anything remotely comfortable? What do you sleep on?” Hisoka felt he already knew the answer and that he didn’t like it, but he had to know for sure.

Illumi shook his head. “I sleep on the floor; it provides good spinal support and is a good habit to get into for long missions where I’m outside a lot.”

Hisoka cringed at the memory of Illumi digging a literal hole in the ground to sleep in during the Hunter Exam. Was that a regular habit of his? At least it explained why he insisted on sitting on the floor at any given opportunity and also why he never stayed overnight with Hisoka, but it was a depressing thought.

Standing up Hisoka crossed the room in two large strides. He opened the wardrobe, eyeing the contents that lined the top shelf – a selection of pillows and blankets left as complimentary extras by the Arena staff to ensure the needs of all the high-ranking fighters were met. Finally, his eyes rested on what he was looking for, the largest, softest blanket he had ever seen. It was too warm for him to use on his own bed, but for this particular emergency it was perfect.

“What are you doing?” Illumi asked as he watched Hisoka pull the ridiculously large blanket out from the wardrobe.

“Fixing this terrible mistake. Blankets and comfort are good things and you deserve to experience good things my dear.”

With a flourish, Hisoka draped the large blanket over Illumi, before settling in behind him on the floor his legs on either side of the assassin’s slim body. Illumi tried to wriggle out from the blanket, but Hisoka wrapped his arms around him, tightly caging him in a blanket burrito, with only his head sticking out so he could breathe.

Hisoka chuckled softly, Illumi looked adorable all bundled up like this, even if he was frowning.

“Relax, I will let you out. But only once you accept that this is comfy and nice.”

“This is comfy and nice.” Illumi responded automatically, clearly hoping that Hisoka would let him go if he said the magic words. Hisoka just chuckled again though.

“Nice try darling. But you can’t just say the words. You need to mean them too.” He squeezed his arms tighter around the burrito bundle and pressed a gentle kiss to Illumi’s neck. Illumi gave a frustrated sigh not liking having his freedom taken from him, if it were anyone else ridiculing him this way, they’d be dead.

Hisoka tried to keep things as natural as possible, chattering on to Illumi as though this was a totally normal position for them to be in. He worked hard to keep his tone light, but Illumi’s rigidity and seemingly total inability to relax and just enjoy or even understand simple comfort made him ache with sadness and rage. He had to work hard not to let his bloodlust show, but Hisoka was furious at the Zoldyck parents. Sure, their training had produced an elite assassin. But at what cost to Illumi? Was it worth it if he couldn’t even enjoy the most basic of human comfort?

Hisoka was beginning to consider just giving up and freeing Illumi from his arms – he was no longer shivering any more so there seemed little point in keeping him trapped against his will if he wasn’t enjoying it.

However, just as he was about to release his prisoner, Illumi shifted slightly – leaning so his back was pressed against Hisoka’s chest. Hisoka barely dared to breathe, he could feel the shift in Illumi’s aura, the usual high alertness that was consistent to him had lowered a little and Hisoka could feel from the weight of Illumi pressed against him, that his muscles were more relaxed than before when he’d been sat upright.

Illumi tipped his head back to look directly at Hisoka, before speaking.

“I suppose, this actually is quite comfortable.”

Hisoka smiled, “told you so…. Just wait until you discover pillows.”

Illumi sighed and curled onto his side, his face pressing against Hisoka’s chest, long hair almost completely concealing him.

“‘s very warm though.” Illumi mumbled almost inaudibly making Hisoka shake with silent laughter. He’d never seen Illumi this unguarded before, it was surprising, and warmed Hisoka’s heart.

“Guess I’ll just have to make-do as a pillow for now.” Hisoka whispered moments later as the assassins breathing slowed and deepened. He watched enraptured as sleep engulfed Illumi, smoothing out his features and giving him an almost child-like look of innocence.

Very slowly and carefully, so as not to wake him, Hisoka shifted so he was lying on the floor, pulling the bundled up Illumi burrito on top of him. He supposed that if Illumi was willing to try sleeping in a blanket for him the least Hisoka could do was try to sleep on the floor. It wasn’t the most comfortable but he would gladly convert if it meant more of this kind of gentle intimacy with his favourite assassin in future.

Though he may need to teach Illumi not to hog the entire blanket next time they decided to nap together.

[jomgiiu]

Back to the Old House pt 4

a/n: this chapter might be the last, this series kinda flopped plus idk where to go with the rest of the series, sorry ya’ll maybe in the future im just tired of it right now. sorry if this sucks lol i just pulled this out of my ass and posted it.

warnings: some angst, jonathan is kinda of a dick, drug use, smoking, overall just the reader being confused

pt1 pt2 pt3

-

The morning came fast for you, your back still turned to Jonathan. You felt him get up and mumble to himself. You stayed still, not wanting to disrupt him in whatever he was doing. The shift of the car and the sudden slam of the tailgate is what woke you up. Dick. The events that happened last night still played in your head. His hands were on your body, how he felt inside of you. Every feeling was still there. You decided to lay there for a minute. The sun felt like heaven on you. It felt like a nice warm hug. You slowly got up, reaching for your bag to change your shirt and into the extra pair of jeans you packed. After you changed, you made your way out of the wagon to where the boys were standing. You heard Argyle freaking out over something and Jonathan trying to calm him down but then you noticed the Agent’s man lifeless body being buried. The smell of a dead man took over your senses. That’s probably why.  

“Open our minds! There's an open grave in front of me, man!” Argyle exclaimed. 

The bickering between them continued as you walked up to Will.  

“Rough morning?” you commented.  

He tsked. “Tell me about it, he’s been freaking out all morning.”

Jonathan got Argyle to calm down and sent him to the van to do this thing, making Will annoyed. After Argyle walked off Will commented on his stupid idea but Jonathan insisted it was a good idea. You noticed Jonathan was more tense this morning, he had more of an attitude now. Maybe this was the new normal for him. You walked away from them and sat on an old car hood, the smell was getting worse and Jonathan was getting on your nerves. Maybe some more palm tree delight would help you. The images of last night kept popping up in your head, it was burned into your mind. God why were you so stupid? It’s clear he doesn’t like you in that way. But then why did you guys fuck? Does he even remember?  

Jonathan remembers the sex but not what he said. It's been eating at him all morning and with the stress of a dead guy and Argyle, it was impossible to think everything over. The image of you under him kept replaying in his head. It was wrong. So wrong. He wanted to be with Nancy, but you opened his eyes. Did he really want to be with Nancy?  

The boys finished burying the body. Will and Mike went off to talk, Argyle was finishing up his palm tree delight, which left you and Jonathan alone. You moved over to leave room for the map he was looking at. You noticed his eyes were tired and you could feel the tension from here.  

“What’s that map for?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

You took notice to his silence and rolled your eyes.  

“Wow, you had a lot to say last night and now you won’t even answer my question.” your remark was cold and sharp.  

It felt like daggers in Jonathan's heart. He knew what he did was messed up. He can blame the weed but you wouldn’t believe that excuse, you weren't stupid.  

“Sorry.” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I bet you are Jonathan.” you said sarcastically.  

“Listen-”

“No,” you interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say Byers. What you did was...God I don’t even know. I enjoyed it but it hurt me. Do you even remember what you said to me?”

Before Jonathan could answer, Argyle came over with a goofy grin on his face.  

“Sorry about earlier dude-oh hey y/n, glad to see you. Anyways, don’t mind me bros.” Argyle smiled and sat down on the ground, making something out of an old pizza box. You looked at Jonathan and he looked away from you quickly, making the map the main priority. You sighed, looking down at the map too.  Argyle was making a tombstone for the dead agent guy, it was sweet. At least he tried to put some light into the situation.  

“Jonathan, can I ask-”

“Y/n-”

“It's about El. Do you think she’s okay?”

It was stupid question but you needed to change the subject. Probably wasn’t a good subject change but you were curious.  

“Why wouldn’t she be. She's like a super hero.” Argyle commented.

“What?”

Jonathan's eye’s widened, looking at Argyle.  

“Yeah, she has some superpowers. That's why we're here in the first place, were saving her from the evil government guys.” his words were nonchalant you almost didn’t believe what he was saying.

“Argyle you better not be fucking with me right now. I swear to God.”

“It's not the weed talking, swear to Christ.” He was occupied with making the pen work.  

Your eyes shot right to Jonathan; he was trying hard to ignore your glare, it was like your eyes were burning into him.  

“Jonathan is he serious right now?”

“I was going to tell you but you passed out.”

“So, you told him and didn’t care to tell me when I came around! You just decided to fuck me because that was more important!?” you snapped at him. You got down from the car.  

“No! y/n, God no! It slipped my mind. I was going to tell you.”

“When it was too late!? When El was hurt? You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie to you.”  

“Yes, you did! About the agents at the house, the media, El being safe, why we're here, about me being here! You lied to me Jonathan Byers. You are a lair.”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” he yelled at you. “Ive wanted to keep you safe this whole time that’s why I didn’t tell you anything! I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Well, you failed. You hurt me. You lied to me. You used me. You’ve done everything wrong.” you held the tears that began to swell.  

“And to think I liked you, Jonathan. Loved you even.”  

Will and Mike ran up to guys, not realizing what went down. You walked away from them back to the wagon to grab your bag. A little later you found out that they found the number they were looking for to hopefully save El. All of you got in Argyles van and were on the road to find a telephone booth, hoping you can reach the number. You sat in the back with the boys, looking out the window.

“Sorry we didn’t tell you about Eleven.”  

You sighed and looked at Mike.

“Eleven?”

“That’s her name, that’s why we call her El.”

“Oh.”

“We just didn’t want you to get dragged into this. But to late huh?” Will interfered.  

“Yeah. It’s okay guys. I promise you.”

They smiled at you.

“But I'm going home.”

“What?” they said in unison.

“When we find a phone booth, I'm calling the airport and I'm going home.” you didn’t mean to come off so stern but you were so tired.  

“No, y/n please don’t.” Will begged.  

“I love you guys but...I don’t want to be in this mess and you shouldn’t either. I can’t be here any longer.”  

Will and Mike nodded. Wills face drooped a bit, looking forward ahead watching the road, while mike looked out the other window. Staying here with Jonathan any moment longer would cause you to go crazy. You just wanted to be back at home, in your bed, seeing your friends again, hoping that everything would be normal.  

-

“There’s not an airport to be seen out here! You’re joking.” Jonathan exclaimed.

“I’m not joking. Like I said, the operator told me there’s one a few miles back from where we came and my flight is covered. It leaves at, 4:15 and its now 1:23. We don’t have all day.”

Jonathan scoffed.  

“We’re not going backwards.”

“And I'm not going to stay with you.”

“I can drive you back no problem.” Argyle said.

“Hey, man you-”

“It’s my van, my gas, we have all day to get on the road. It's not a problem dude.” Argyle looked at the boys. “Is it alright with you guys?”

Will and Mike nodded. You smiled at Argyle, walking back to the van. Jonathan ran a hand through his hair.  

“Fine” he said through his teeth.  

-

It was just 3 when you arrived. It wasn’t the same airport that you and Mike got off on, but this one was a little run down but it functioned. The van pulled up to the drop off, your stomach twisted, you were really leaving. You said goodbye to the boys and Argyle. Jonathan insisted he walk you in to security, you didn’t want to argue with him so you let him walk with you. The sound of people talking and airplanes made up for the silence between you two. Jonathan almost felt sick to his stomach, he just wanted to apologize for what happened but he didn’t know what he said to apologize to you. Yeah, he can apologize for taking advantage of you and your feelings, but he wanted to apologize for all of it. He couldn’t believe you were leaving. He didn’t want you too. Jonathan wanted to hold on to you. He wanted to hold on and beg you not to go.  

“Jonathan.”  

He got out of thought and looked at you.

“Okay, you can go now.” You said.

“Oh. Were at serictery.”  

You nodded.  

“Listen-”

“Jonathan. I know, I just don’t want to hear it right now.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I do. I know you, Jonathan Byers. I've known you my whole life and I know what you're going to say and do and I don’t want to hear it right now. Goodbye Jonathan.” you turned your heals walking into the line for serictery.

“Just know I’m sorry Y/n.” he mumbled softly. He knew you wouldn’t hear him.

Both of you departed and went to live and finish off the spring break. It was clear that both of you had different intentions while being on this vacation.  

Jonathan; wanting Nancy but realizing that you were the one. Besides taking advantage of you, you were his best friend of 8 years and he was stupid to see that you wanted him and just now realized he wanted you. He was willing to do anything for you to forgive him. It wasn’t healthy but he wanted you.

You; wanting Jonathan but realizing that you still wanted him. Despite him totally lying to you, breaking your trust, taking advantage of you and your feelings, you’ve wanted this since you laid your eyes on him. Did you want to see him or talk to him right now? No. Do you want to talk to him and see him? Yes. Was it healthy? Probably not. Maybe after you got home and gave it a few weeks, it’ll be okay. But you knew deep down, nothing would be the same.

[wanduhhh]

I’m The Fucking Supreme (18+)

Smutty birthday Drabble!!! For my favourite birthday boy @goodebyee. Happy birthday dummy- I am hopefully asleep. I hope these words speak to ur slut mind- I luuuuv u lots and lots. 💋 💋

Wanda/Reader- smutty smut smut

——————————————————————

The same theme tune played for the 8th time that day. The crackly noise piercing through your ears over and over. Wanda had been binge watching American Horror Story- again. Stating it was her monthly tradition just before starting her period.

Normally the sight of Sarah Paulson alone was enough shut you up, but the issue was Wanda’s lack of attention on you. You had tried everything up until now. And if flaunting yourself in front of her in a matching green lacy set wasn’t enough to tear your girlfriends eyes from the screen, you’re not sure what was.

You thought the redhead was secretly enjoying it, if her smirk was anything to go by: then she certainly was. Every little whine you let slip had that cocky smirk deepening.

You wanted nothing more than to stand in-front of the screen and stamp your feet, demanding she lay her eyes on you. But you knew better when Wanda was in this particular mood. You knew you’d have to be more calculated, creative even.

“Mommmmyyy” you whined, laying flat on your back next to a hunched over Wanda. “Mhmmm” not lifting her eyes off of a crying Cordelia, you knew she was not truly listening to you.

“I’m all sticky, and I really need you to help” you didn’t bother to look and see if she was listening, you knew the answer. “Mmm that’s nice baby” her voice was slow, mouth hanging open as she watched the tension build on screen. And you had had enough.

“Guess I’ll just have to fix it all by myself hmm?” She paid no mind to the hand slipping down into your panties, or to the sharp gasp you let out when your fingers brushed past your wetness. “Yeah baby okay”.

That was the last thing you had up your sleeve, normally your mommy forbid you from touching what was ‘hers’. Reminding you to be a good girl and tell her when you needed something. So the fact that you had two fingers pushed deep inside yourself: and Wanda had yet to bat an eyelid, had you reeling.

Your next play was risky; but you knew it would have impact. You pulled one of Wanda’s hands from clutching her blanket in anticipation. Cordelia was in the middle of reminding all the men who was really in charge, the sight left Wanda’s mouth agape and you could see goosebumps on her arms. But your patience had officially run out.

You grasped your girlfriends fingers and brought them down in between your legs. Gasping when you pushed two of her long fingers inside yourself. When you opened your eyes you were met with Wanda’s darkened green ones. Pupils blown as she started to move her fingers of her own accord.

“You are very very bad detka, you know you have to ask permission before you touch” despite her words she did not pause thrusting inside of you. “But mommy, you weren’t paying any attention to me and I told you I was all sticky”. You knew your best chance at getting away lightly was to act as cute and innocent as possible, so you put on your best pout.

“Ohh was my poor dumb little baby just too impatient for mommy’s attention hmm?” She matched your pout with a patronising one of her own. “Poor baby just really needed her mommy” each one of her sarcastic words were delivered with a thigh shaking thrust. You just hoped she would let you come before she changed her mind.

“Well bunny, you have all of mommy’s attention now. Let’s see how many times you can come for me before you pass out”. You were conflicted at getting exactly what you had wished for. It would definitely be a long night.

By the fifth time you had come with your thighs shaking around Wanda’s head, you had started to babble on and on about not being able to do anymore. Wanda laughed you off and did not relent until your eyes began to involuntarily flutter closed.

When you dozed off on top of her, sweat coating your entire body and thighs still twitching with aftershocks; you heard the theme tune start up again. You figured you would give Wanda 6 more episodes before you started up your whining again.

[sakura-chan-25]

Dumbass

Pairing: Mammon & Sakura

Summary: Mammon being dumb and Sakura being a worried mother hen. That’s all.

Word Count: ~720

Warning(s): Sakura’s eyes changing colour based on certain demon brother’s sin colour (a hue over her pink eyes or complete colour change possible), mostly dialogue, Mammon teasing Sakura, Sakura finally cursing like she’s supposed to, Mammon & Sakura fighting a little bit?

„Are you sure that’s a good idea?!”, Sakura harshly whispered at the taller demon’s snow-white head as she jogged behind him, looking like a duckling following its mother.

“Nah.”, Mammon casually answered as he looked over his shoulder and walked slower for the short girl to catch up. “Lucifer’s gonna kill us!”, the human whisper-yelled and glared at him once she finally walked next to the demon. His blue eyes looked into her sharp pink-greenish ones and Mammon shrugged.

“Ya don’t have to follow me like a duckling, y’know? Ya can go back and do your already good work.”, he shrugged again and started to walk faster once more. Sakura huffed and fastened her pace, too. “No, I can’t, dumbass. What if you get hurt?! Huh? What then?”, she said, completely ignoring the fact that Mammon tried to tell her that she’s overworking again. Mammon chuckled. “You’re worried about me? How cute.”, he teased and flashed a mischievous smirk towards his best friend. Sakura rolled her eyes and sighed. “What exactly are you trying to achieve there anyway?”

At this he perked up and cheerfully turned around. “Well, since you’re asking so nicely, the Great Mammon might as well tell ya, huh?”, the human rolled her eyes once more while her best friend laughed cheerfully. “Listen up, S’kura! I’m telling ya, it’ll be exciting!”

“Sure, like all the other times, you said, it’ll be exciting and then it was just another one of your schemes, Mammon?”, Sakura sarcastically remarked and raised a teasing eyebrow at the Avatar of Greed. “OI! That’s not true!”, Mammon barked back almost immediately. Sakura hummed and nodded, not believing a thing but ready to listen to another one of the demon’s idiotic plans. “I’ll show ya!”, the demon said confidently as he walked into the laundry room, which they finally reached. The human raised a suspicious eyebrow and peeked into the room. “Whatcha doing there?”, she asked alarmingly as she watched Mammon picking up the empty laundry basket and walking out of the room again.

“You can’t be serious?!”, Sakura almost yelled towards the demon as they walked to the staircase in the hallway. Mammon only looked at her blankly before putting the basket on the floor and stepping in. “Woah! Hey, no! How are you even fitting in there?!”, the human was stressed now. The demon on the other hand only looked at his best friend as if she had grown a second head. “You’re too much like Lucifer.”, he only grumbled and pushed himself nearer to the stairs. Suddenly Sakura’s hand was in front of him, holding the basket still as she made her way down two steps to stand in front of him now. “Oh, come on now! Sakura!”, Mammon whined and defeatedly threw his arms in the air. She only glared at the whining demon in front of her.

“You are not sliding down those fucking stairs. You will not only break this fucking laundry basket, but you’re fucking bones too. And if I have to fucking act a little bit too much like your sweet big brother, then so fucking BE IT!”, her eyes were a bright green now, perfectly matching with her wrath pact mark on her wrist. Mammon was stunned for a moment at her outburst, but then he sighed. “S’kura. I’m a demon. If I break my bones, ya won’t even realise, because they’d be healed already, too. But… I guess… If you’re that worried…. The Great Mammon will… step aside… and not… do it. You’re happy with that?”, he saw the worry in her wrathful eyes and the relief after he told her, he would not do it.

Sakura sighed and lowered herself on the stairs, sitting now instead of standing there a little bent over. Her forehead met the edge of the laundry basket as she whispered a quiet “thank you”. Mammon smiled and ruffled the human’s hair. “You’re worrying way too much, ya know that?”, he chuckled, “Man. You’re scary when you’re angry. Almost scarier than the Avatar of Wrath himself.”

“Wha-? HEY!”, Sakura’s head snapped up and Mammon burst out laughing at his best friend’s shocked face. They stayed like that with the demon sitting in the basket and Sakura sitting in front of it. Until the front door suddenly opened.

“Oh shit. Lucifer’s home!”

A/n: Mammon's done! Now I need to figure out something for the twins. I hope you enjoyed and have a good day/night! :D

[for-fvckssake]

"sorry, Daddy. didnt know i needed permission," eren states sarcastically and rolls his eyes at you. unable to contain the smirk on his face from growing, he takes his shirt off and folds it again, giving you a little twirl with his arms open, "there. better? can i go to bed now? and dont threaten me with a good time! you know i love this shit. bite me."

he takes a few steps towards the bed, one arm stretched forward as an invitation for you to sink your teeth in before he stops dead on his tracks.

there was a long pause from his side as eren stood there, frozen in place like a deer in headlights. although he tries his best not to show it, his lack of answer is an answer by itself since he'd rarely ever would fall silent to your teasing. unless what you accused him of was true.

his sharp eyes were stranded on yours, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek as he tries to think of something to say, something that would save him from the embarrassment of admitting that yes, he did in fact had gotten several boners from smelling your scent on his clothes before. and your clothes, too. and your pillow. and-

"and so what if i do?! it lingers everywhere and its- you smell good, okay? shut up!" he crosses his arms over his chest, making all of the muscles involved to pop up while he turns his burning face away from you.

-rennie <333333

“well yeah, you absolutely do need permission, and yes, so much better.” i say with a laugh, before reaching out to pat your hip with a satisfied hip.

i listen to you and your dramatics while you ramble about the bite, rolling my eyes before you freeze, and i cant but laugh. “oh, shut the fuck up and quit being a baby!” i say, grabbing the waistband of your pants and yanking them as hard as i can, forcing you face first down on the bed before i lean down and sink my teeth i to your shoulder. it’s not enough to draw blood of course, just enough to shock.

“i get it, you have a scent kink now shut up.” i laugh out again before i go to roll you but fake as if you were much heavier than you actually were before i let out a loud huff of victory when i ‘finally’ flip you over. “so fuckin dramatic i swear.”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi, I have a Jennifer Jareau X fem reader request.

JJ and reader are kindapped for information about the BAU and the reader let's the unsub's torture her for information, not letting JJ get hurt (reader and JJ are in love with each other, but haven't said anything). Jennifer loses it when she hears reader screaming, reader reassuring JJ each time she's hurt and tells the blonde not to say anything. (Happy ending, Morgan and Emily save them and reader waking in hospital with JJ clutching her hand as she sleeps.)

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮

― pairing: jennifer jareau x fem plus size!reader

― summary: after the unsub got the jump on you and jj, you are forced to put your life on the line to make sure the woman you're in love with is okay.

― warnings: torturing, mentions of blood loss, concussions, broken arms, mutual pining, violence, Angst, Angst with a happy ending, knives, mentions of car crashes, mentions of kidnapping, this is very heavy but there's a happy ending/open one, outting.

― wc: 689

⋆ a/n: this is very heavy, so if you're sensitive to any of these tags, please click away, i've got lighter fics that you can read if you'd like :]

masterlist | AO3

There's a painful throbbing as you came too, your eyesight bleary as your body arched. You let out a groan, lolling your head back and forth as a way to try and crack it.

"________?" You heard JJ call your name. You had barely caught it, your ears still ringing, obviously from taking a blow to your head, probably a sign that you were concussed. "Yeah?" You rasped, making an attempt to look around what you could see was a warehouse, the walls moldy and cracked, the windows broken and shattered into pieces. "Are you alright?" She asked again. You grunted as you moved your wrist, the feeling of restraints tugging at the skin of it. "Define alright." You tried to joke.

You and JJ were bound to chairs that were back-to-back to one another. This unsub was a psychopath — as your team profiled. You and she were on your way back to the police station before you were run off the road, the woman throwing an arm over your chest as though it was a double seat belt as you crashed into a creek, your unconscious bodies inevitably abducted.

"Forget about me, are you okay?" You asked, wiggling your fingers until hers brushed up against them. You couldn't stop the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach as you pinkies locked together. You had a bug crush on the long-haired blonde, your feelings for her apparent to everyone than what feels like her. So, if there was anyone you would go through this with, it would be her.

"I think my arms broken." Before you could say anything, the big door opened, the unsub walking in looking like all kinds of trouble.

"You're awake. Good."

The moonlight caught the glint of the blade that she was holding, pulling a gulp from you. You were never a big fan of torture situations, but you were going to make sure that the woman you were in love with was going to make it out unscathed.

"You don't have to do this." You heard JJ sound from behind you. "Oh but I do," She said, twisting the tip of the blade on the pad of her finger, "Because you know what kidnapping two FBI agents would buy me?" She asked rhetorically. "More jail time?" You sarcastically answered. She pressed the blade against your throat, nicking the skin that made you hiss. You could feel JJ's pinkie grip tighten. "No, a negotiation. I get to escape and they get their friends back." She trailed the knife down the side of your neck, your jaw clenching as you glared at her.

"Not without me being able to have my fun first." She slashed your arm, pulling a sharp gasp from your body. "_______!" JJ began to jerk at her restraints, desperate to get out and help you. "JJ, don't —" She cut you again, pulling a cry from your lips, "Don't argue."

"Yeah, JJ." She mocked tauntingly. "What? You have a crush on her or something?" She could see the way your eyes cast down in shame. "Oh you do!" There was excitement in her voice as she announced your feelings. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun." As she finished, she stabbed your leg, pulling a gutteral groan deep within your chest.

You didn't know how long you had been out for, maybe it was the blood loss, or your concussion, but when you had woken up, you were hooked up to a bunch of machines, your hospital room dim as the calming beep of your heart rate bled you into consciousness.

There was a pressure on your hand as you looked down, and there she was, JJ's was holding yours, her blonde hair wildly spread out over the white sheets. You smiled down fondly at her, and you would've scolded the woman for sleeping on you the way she was with that sling on, but in the moment, you just admired her, her sharp jaw line, kind eyes, and plump lips.

You wished you could kiss her, could hold her in your arms, but for now, you would take this.

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